The new maharaja: How Indian men rewrote the dress code

There was a time—not too long ago—when Indian menswear felt like a polite apology. Safe shirts. Safer trousers. Occasion-wear that peaked at a predictable sherwani, worn less as self-expression and more as social obligation. Style, for the Indian man, was functional at best, invisible at worst.

And then something shifted.

Today, Indian menswear is no longer asking for permission. It’s arriving—textured, layered, contradictory, and unapologetically personal.

What’s new isn’t just what men are wearing. It’s how they are wearing it.

We are in the era of the hybrid man. He pairs a handwoven bandhgalā with sneakers. He throws a grandmother’s brooch onto a linen shirt. He treats a kurta like streetwear and denim like ritual. Fluidity is the new luxury. Gender lines blur, occasion codes dissolve, and “Indian” is no longer a category—it’s a canvas.

The rise of labels like Kartik Research signals a deeper shift: craft is no longer heritage-bound; it’s future-facing. Natural dyes, irregular weaves, and silhouettes that feel both archival and disruptive are defining a new aesthetic language. And it’s being spoken fluently by a generation that grew up between Instagram mood boards and their nani’s trunk.

But to understand this moment, we have to acknowledge the dip that came before it.

Indian menswear didn’t just stagnate—it shrank. Liberalisation in the ’90s opened the floodgates to Western aspiration, and with it came a kind of aesthetic mimicry. The suit became the ultimate symbol of arrival. Global brands dictated taste. Indian textiles were relegated to weddings and festivals, stripped of everyday relevance.

Somewhere in that rush to “fit in,” individuality got ironed out.

The Indian man became cautious. Afraid of standing out. Afraid, perhaps, of being seen.

So what triggered the reversal?

Part of it is economic confidence. A generation that isn’t just consuming global culture but contributing to it. Part of it is digital exposure—where a boy in Jaipur can be as visually literate as someone in Milan. But most importantly, it’s identity. A hunger to reclaim what was always ours, without the burden of nostalgia.

Globally, Indian men have long been boxed into stereotypes: the tech bro in a hoodie, the groom in ornate excess, or the spiritual minimalist in white. The reality is far more nuanced. Today’s Indian man is editorial. He understands silhouette, proportion, and narrative. He’s as comfortable in a draped angarkha as he is in deconstructed tailoring.

And crucially, he’s no longer dressing for validation. He’s dressing for himself—and occasionally, for the algorithm.

Role models have played a quiet but powerful role in this shift. When Narendra Modi is dissected for his half-sleeve kurtas and carefully calibrated colour palette, it signals something larger: menswear has entered public discourse. Clothing is no longer frivolous—it’s semiotic. It communicates power, accessibility, and intent.

But the more interesting icons aren’t always political or cinematic. They are cultural shapeshifters—stylists, designers, young entrepreneurs—who are rewriting the codes from within. Take Rishabh Sharma, whose work leans into sculptural drama while remaining rooted in Indian textile vocabulary. Or the quiet, almost intellectual rebellion of labels that refuse polish in favour of process.

Even the Indian male body is being renegotiated. It’s no longer about fitting into clothes—it’s about clothes adapting to bodies, moods, identities. Oversized is not sloppy; it’s intentional. Jewellery is not ornamental; it’s declarative. Skin is not hidden; it’s styled.

And perhaps the most radical change? Men are allowing themselves to enjoy fashion.

There is humour now. Play. A sense that getting dressed can be an act of storytelling rather than conformity. You see it in the rise of thrift culture, in the layering of high and low, in the irreverence with which tradition is treated—not discarded, but remixed.

The Indian man is no longer a passive wearer. He’s a curator.

So where does this leave us?

In a moment that feels less like a trend cycle and more like a cultural correction. New-age brands, young ambassadors, and a visually fearless generation are not just participating in fashion—they are owning it.

This isn’t about replacing the old with the new. It’s about collapsing the distance between them.

The kurta didn’t disappear. It has just learned how to walk differently.

And the Indian man? He finally stopped asking what he should wear—and started asking what he could become.

Image: Getty Images

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