What Western Designers Don’t Get About Indian Mirror Embroidery

Mirror work—aabhla bharat, for those who’ve watched their grandmothers sparkle through a Gujarati wedding or rummaged through a Kutch bazaar has long been the glinting pride of Indian craftsmanship. Hand-embroidered onto lehengas, odhanis, and cholis, these tiny reflective discs have told stories of folk traditions, protected wearers from the evil eye, and dazzled under desert suns for centuries. But now, they’re being reborn on global runways, yes but also, unfortunately, on polyester fringe dresses that look like rejected Coachella costumes.

Western fashion has a tendency to fall head over heels for a non-Western aesthetic, only to dilute it into a trend soup. And right now, mirror work is the exotic ingredient du jour. From Tory Burch’s widely-discussed 'mirror-embroidered tunic' to high-street versions popping up across ASOS and Zara, the trend has arrived but so has the kitsch.

Let’s be clear: aabhla is not new. It is rooted in regional craft traditions that span Gujarat, Rajasthan, and even parts of Punjab, intricately tied to communities who have honed this art for generations. When done well, it’s delicate yet vibrant, artful yet maximalist. But when Western brands lift the technique without the story, context, or even basic restraint, it tends to look more like a misguided 'festival look' than anything remotely luxurious.

Case in point: a recent Tory Burch dress featuring large, haphazardly-placed mirror discs on a spaghetti strap shift. It screamed less 'global craftsmanship' and more 'DIY with sequins from a craft store.' Yes, Burch did acknowledge the Indian roots of the technique, but credit doesn’t always equal craftsmanship. The execution lacked finesse—the kind that only comes when you understand what the embellishment is meant to evoke.

It’s a pattern we’ve seen before. Remember when the Scandinavian fashion crowd turned the traditional bandhani-draped dupatta into a 'scarf moment'? Or when mass brands reduced block prints to paisley decals? Mirror work now risks the same flattening: turned into flash without feeling.

This isn’t about gatekeeping Indian design, it’s about honouring it. Because when Indian designers like Arpita Mehta, Abhinav Mishra, Abu Jani Sandeep Khosla, Manish Malhotra, or even smaller labels like Jaipur’s Swati Ubroi work with Aabhla, the result is layered. It sparkles, yes, but it also breathes history. Each stitch is intentional, balanced with threadwork, anchored by context. Compare that to some recent Western iterations that resemble a disco ball in distress.

It’s not just the visual mismatch, it’s also the material. Mirror work needs a sturdy, breathable fabric as a base: traditionally cotton, silk, or khadi. When it’s slapped onto synthetic blends with zero drape, it puckers, it sags, it looks cheap. Even worse is the use of plastic 'mirror-effect' sequins instead of real glass, a shortcut that misses the point entirely.

And let’s not ignore the deeper irony: for years, this very embroidery was dismissed by the global fashion elite as too 'ethnic,' too ornate, too 'wedding wear.' Now, as it becomes trendy, there’s little attempt to understand or even collaborate with the artisans behind it.

The way forward? If international designers want to play with Aabhla, they should also play fair. Collaborate with Indian artisans. Source responsibly. Treat the work as design, not decoration. Better yet, invite craft clusters to co-create so the embroidery doesn’t just look Indian, it feels Indian.

Until then, mirror work deserves better than becoming just another boho embellishment on the racks of fast fashion. Because when you take something sacred, textured, and centuries-old, and reduce it to sparkle for sparkle’s sake, you don’t just lose the beauty. You lose the meaning.