I’ve got hundreds of posts saved on my Instagram from brands across India that have caught my eye recently… but since most of us have the attention span of a goldfish, I’ll stick to just 10 today.

Here they are, in no particular order:

Madras Finds

South India has a distinctive, stunning, and deeply rooted culture that rarely gets the attention it deserves from brands. It’s also incredibly hard to capture, because we’re all so beautifully different, yet similar in our own ways.

At the risk of generalising, one thing most South Indians can agree on is filter coffee, and Madras Finds absolutely nails it. What they’ve created feels instantly familiar, like something you’ve seen at home or in Udupi cafés growing up, but with their own thoughtful spin on it.

It’s hard to pick just one piece from their collection, but if I had to, it would be the Parampara Gift Box. An original design by Madras Finds, it’s a brass coffee set that celebrates coffee, craft, and lineage in every pour.

Stunning pieces that would make amazing gifts for your loved ones. A very public hint to my friends, this is exactly what I’d love.

Kokūn

Their pieces are hand-dyed by rural women using flowers grown in their own gardens. Light, breezy cottons make them perfect for summer, and each garment feels truly unique, shaped by natural dyeing experiments.

They describe their pieces as parts of a puzzle coming together to create something rare and collectible, which feels spot on.

Each fabric is individually hand-dyed using madder, catechu, myrobalan, and other plant extracts, giving every piece its own distinct character.

True to its name, ‘Kokūn’, inspired by nature’s cocoon and symbolising transformation and growth, the brand creates designs that feel comforting, warm, and easy to wear.

Tin and Tah

Their bags are as unique as their name, ‘Tin and Tah’, which are two of the many phonetic sounds used to denote different strokes on the tabla in music, and I think that’s so cool.

Every bag has a personality of its own. They’re breathtaking pieces, drawing inspiration from artists of previous centuries such as Nainsukh, Chokha, and Kripal of Nurpur. Each bag features intricate paintings in beautiful colours that depict scenes and stories from ancient India. In a way, every piece tells its own story.

A gorgeous collection to explore, and yes, they’ve got some cute little wallets too.

Gully Labs

I first came across Gully Labs in 2023 and thought their origin story was genuinely refreshing. This sneaker brand from Delhi positions itself as one shaped by local streets, crafts, and culture, not borrowed from the West, unlike most sneaker brands. And I remember thinking, wait, that’s actually so clever. It’s something I’d been wondering about ever since my days of religiously following VegNonVeg.

Fast forward to 2024, and they released the Gully Number 002, Turf Olive, featuring phulkari on the side panels, a traditional embroidery style from Punjab, inspired by India’s hockey dominance. It also happens to be one of their first trainers developed in-house, and easily one of my top picks.

Right up there with it is the Gully Number 001, Baaz “Indrani”, another standout from their collection, designed in collaboration with PRKHR.

Safe to say, my sneaker wishlist has officially expanded.

Koodai Kadaii

The very first thought I had when I saw their bags was that they reminded me of the lunch basket I carried to school, the one my mummy and ammamma (grandmother) used to pack so lovingly. It instantly took me back.

I’ve always been a massive fan of the Madras checks pattern, like most South Indians, and the moment I saw their take on it, I knew I had to have one. One, because it really is that beautiful, the colours are just delicious, and two, because I’m a complete sucker for nostalgia. My Madras checks koodai genuinely makes my inner child very happy.

Fittingly, ‘koodai’ means basket and ‘kadai’ means shop in Tamil, which makes the whole thing feel even more personal and rooted.

They’ve got a wide variety of colours to choose from, and I must say, their Instagram posts are incredibly wholesome.

It’s the kind of brand that feels like a hug from home.

Niharika Vivek

I happened to come across Label Niharika Vivek quite recently while scrolling away on Instagram, and let me tell you, my jaw dropped when I saw their stunning corsets paired with Kalamkari tops.

This one’s a personal favourite, because I genuinely think if I ever had a clothing brand, it would look exactly like this. Their work is incredibly detailed, unique, and truly stands out from the many brands working with Kalamkari and other Indian textiles. It feels traditional, but beautifully elevated.

A standout from their collection is The Matsya Bag, an expression of their vision for a 100% zero-waste clothing brand, crafted using excess cuttings of precious vintage silks.

The craftsmanship and creativity are undeniable, and as you can probably tell from their website, most of their pieces are sold out. Of course they are, and for all the right reasons.

If you love Indian textiles, upcycling, vintage patterns, and thoughtful design, this is definitely a brand to watch.

Handmade in Hampi

Coming from one of my favourite towns in India, Handmade in Hampi brings together beautifully crafted, eco-friendly products that support local artisans, women, and farmers.

At the heart of it all is Shama Pawar, an artist, conservationist, designer, and social impact leader who has spent over 30 years in Hampi, working closely with rural communities through conservation, creativity, and community engagement. She believes heritage is a resource, and her work reflects that, using local materials and traditional practices in a thoughtful, sustainable way.

I love their intricately crafted Banana Fibre Hanuman Doll, which is perfect for sacred spaces, home décor, or as a unique gift. They also have a diverse collection of bags, accessories, homeware, and even beautiful rakhis made from local fibres.

This is a brand with beautiful products and an even more beautiful story.

rkivecity

They describe themselves not as a brand, but as a research and design house exploring how post-consumer textiles can be reused and revived within the current apparel supply chain.

In a conversation with Vogue India, Ritwik Khanna, the founder and creative head of rkivecity, mentions that they avoid comparing rkivecity to other brands. Instead, the focus is on building a new remanufacturing system, with a zero-waste principle at its core.

Their pieces have a distinctly post-apocalyptic feel, with what they describe as natural, neutral, earthy, almost raw colour palettes. I love how functional and wearable their designs are, while still feeling incredibly versatile.

Having lived in both Manchester and London, where working-class communities often have an incredible sense of personal style, I can easily see rkivecity having strong international appeal.

Heritage Blend The Studio

They are a studio that curates bric-à-brac, repurposed curios, artefacts, and art into thoughtful, collectible pieces.

Choosing a single piece from them feels nearly impossible. Each item is a striking work of art, the kind you imagine collecting over time to build a home full of character.

The attention to detail is beautiful. From brass bananas designed for your coffee table to intricately carved wooden celestial beings, the range is both eclectic and thoughtful.

A must-visit for my next trip to Chennai.

re-ceremonial

They explore clothing as a cultural practice that exists in harmony with the environment, working in a circular and respectful way with nature as their guiding force. Much of their inspiration comes from rethinking and reworking textile waste in genuinely innovative ways.

They describe their pieces with lines like, “This exact piece will not be made again”, and “some things we do just to test the limits of our own craft, and in the doing is the reward”, which I think says everything about how they approach design.

Take, for example, their Jama jacket in Himroo, plant-dyed pink using madder root and sapan wood. Himroo itself is a 15th-century weave, born from the coming together of Persian weavers and Paithan artisans in Aurangabad, then known as Daulatabad.

They’ve chosen to expose the reverse of the weave to highlight the presence of the hand, almost like peeking into the workings of a timepiece. There’s something very conscious and ceremonial about their pieces.

Clearly, my saved folder is doing more shopping than I am. But if anything, discovering brands like these makes you realise just how much incredible work is happening right here in India, rooted in culture, craft, and a whole lot of creativity. A gentle reminder that my wishlist is now longer than ever.

In my next article, I’d love to explore more homegrown brands and design houses, because I’ve realised writing about culture and all the cool things happening in India comes quite naturally to me.

Things were simpler when Instagram had a straightforward chronological algorithm. You could drop a post with a random caption and be done with it. There was no need to spend time researching the perfect hashtags just to beat the algorithm.

Ever since Instagram introduced the carousel feature, which lets users post multiple photos or videos together, I’ve noticed how creators and everyday users alike have become increasingly obsessed with the “perfect aesthetic photo dump”. People are fixated on making their carousels look effortlessly candid, yet tailored to their personality. I’m guilty of it too.

To understand the behavioural patterns of Instagram users, I first asked myself why I do this. I’m a marketing graduate who treats Instagram as both a visual diary and, increasingly, a portfolio. I recently came across a post that said: “Instagram for creatives is like their LinkedIn”, and I couldn’t agree more. My profile showcases both my professional work and snippets of my personal life. Unfortunately, that’s often the reality for creatives. We’re expected to have a personal brand. We need to look like we’re constantly doing something. And even when we’re not, we feel compelled to post aesthetic snapshots that romanticise our “much-needed social media detox”.

Of course, whatever I choose to share on my feed is only a fragment of my life, the parts I’m comfortable making public. So does that make it performative? I might not post about my breakdowns or low points, but I have no issue sharing the happy moments. Maybe that’s my way of protecting myself.

It’s easy to dismiss aesthetic posting as just a trend or a harmless form of self-expression, but beneath it often lies something more complicated: the need to be seen, acknowledged, even admired. As much as I’d like to think I post purely for myself, I can’t ignore the tiny rush I get when a post gets a little more engagement than it usually does. Aesthetic posts, especially those that feel effortlessly “cool” or “on brand”, often get the most engagement. And whether we admit it or not, that kind of response feeds the ego.

There’s a strange irony here. We want our photo dumps to look like we don’t care, that we’re just casually throwing together snapshots of our “real life”. But the time spent choosing the perfect order, making sure there’s the right balance of food, outfits, and sunsets, and syncing it to the most fitting 90 seconds of a song, that says otherwise. The randomness is highly calculated.

And maybe that’s the whole point: we want to be perceived as real, relatable, chill, but in a way that still earns validation. In that sense, the ego doesn’t necessarily want attention in a loud or flashy way; it craves recognition in subtle, socially acceptable doses. It’s less “look at me” and more “notice how effortlessly aesthetic I am”.

For creatives, this becomes even more layered. We’re told to be authentic but also to maintain our brand voice. We’re encouraged to be vulnerable, but only if it aligns with the tone of our grid. So even our authenticity becomes something to package. And when that package is well-received, through likes, saves, comments, it fuels a quiet sense of worth. Not always in a vain way, but in a human way.

I think the real danger lies in how quickly we start to measure our self-worth through these small metrics of approval. I guess it all falls down to not just being seen, but being seen in the right way. And when that becomes the goal, even our “random” posts stop being truly random, they become strategic, a performance we quietly hope will feed our carefully managed online identity.

Even our most casual posts are quietly asking for approval. And while that doesn’t make us vain, it does make our relationship with social media more performative than we’d like to admit.

The curated chaos of our photo dumps, the careful imperfection of our captions, the moodboard-like feel of our feeds, they all reflect a deeper desire to be seen as interesting, effortless, and original. Maybe we’re not feeding just our egos, but also our insecurities. And maybe admitting that is the first step in making peace with how much we care.

Note: I wrote this over a year ago, and it’s been sitting quietly in my drafts ever since, mostly because I couldn’t shake the need for it to feel perfect before putting it out into the world. There’s still so much more I could say, more nuance I’d like to explore, but I’ve come to realise that it doesn’t have to be finished to be shared. I can always add to it later.

In 2022, I accidentally stumbled across this Facebook group called View From My Window, where people post what they see from their windows looking out into the world. The pictures typically feature massive floor-to-ceiling windows with a chair overlooking a breathtaking sunset, a tranquil lake, something that makes you stop scrolling and wish that it was your house, your window, your sofa where you could sit and watch the seasons change.

Although I wouldn’t categorise it as niche compared to the next Facebook group I joined, Death Stairs —it got me thinking: Why are people more interested in niche communities now than ever before? Are online niche communities becoming the new way to interact, where people can connect, learn, and explore shared interests?

Mark Deuze, a professor of media studies at the University of Amsterdam, explores this in a book on the psychological and behavioural aspects of niche online communities. He writes:

"Online niche communities offer a glimpse into the lived experience of a person's media life, in all its diversity, complexity, spatiality, and temporality. Exploring the dynamics within these groups as expressions of life itself allows us to gain a deeper understanding of what it means to engage in today's world.”

I’ve always wondered what factors influence people to share and interact in these online communities. Is it the desire to live vicariously through others because, somehow, it feels like they have their lives together—and that brings a sense of peace? Is it the over-aestheticisation of the content we consume, making us engage with it in the hope that it will inspire us to become a better version of ourselves? Or could it simply be pure voyeurism? Or just the plain, human need for belonging?

Chris Beer explores this in The Rise of Online Communities. He notes that:

While social media platforms boast hundreds of millions of users, they don’t always foster an environment where people feel they can be their most authentic selves or where the space feels truly respectful.

Online communities, however—particularly those built around shared interests and with stricter controls over who can participate—offer users a sense of validation, confidence, and security. They feel trusted.

Unlike traditional platforms, where users may be judged by their profile picture, follower count, or carefully curated posts, online communities remove much of that pressure. There’s less expectation to maintain a perfect self-image.

Anonymity, a core feature of many online communities, further reduces this pressure. When identity is stripped away, interaction becomes less about who you are and more about what you contribute. In a way, this anonymity fosters a rawer, more honest form of engagement—one that isn’t always possible in the performative world of social media.

Another major factor that could influence posting in online communities is the desire for validation. The psychology behind our craving for social media “clout” is likely rooted in basic human nature. We are inherently social beings, perhaps even programmed to seek approval and affirmation from our peers.

One factor that many people—myself included—might struggle to admit is the urge to be the first to post something cool or oddly specific before someone else does. Maybe it’s about standing out from the crowd, appearing more knowledgeable, or even feeling a step ahead of others. At its core, the driving force could be the need to be seen as a unique individual—everything else, from social media engagement to likes and comments, is just an added bonus to our online personas and, ultimately, our egos.

Watch out for my next article, where I hope to explore the over-aestheticisation of content on social media and how it might be feeding our egos.

References:

Beer, C. (n.d.). The Rise of Online Communities. [online] GWI Insights. Available at: https://www.gwi.com/blog/online-communities.

Venkatesh, V. ed., 2014. Educational, psychological, and behavioural considerations in niche online communities. IGI Global.

It’s 2007. I wait until my parents leave the house to run errands. The moment the door closes, I switch on the Wi-Fi router that my mum has purposefully turned off to keep me off the internet. Once I’m sure they’re gone, I turn on the computer and adjust the red, adjustable-height cushion chair to make myself comfortable.

I logged onto the My Scene website and eagerly typed in Dazzling Nails. It was a Barbie game that let you decorate nails. The game had three steps: first, you chose a My Scene girl; then, you painted and decorated her nails; finally, you printed out a matching set for her to "wear." You could choose from four characters—Barbie, Chelsea, Madison, and Nolee. I always chose Madison. She was the only one with darker skin and wavy hair, and she felt like the closest match to me.

I spent hours playing that game. I went to an all-girls Catholic convent run by nuns, where wearing nail polish was practically a crime. Maybe that’s why I was so obsessed with Dazzling Nails. It was a small rebellion, tucked away in the safety of my childhood bedroom.

Years went by, and I didn’t think much about nail art—until COVID hit and the world went into lockdown.

I lived my lockdown life vicariously through women on Instagram and YouTube. I was hooked, endlessly watching their “Day in My Life” videos and ASMR clips of them tapping their freshly manicured nails on keyboards, clinking glasses, or making aesthetically pleasing iced lattes. Their perfectly curated lives left me in awe. It was everything I aspired to be but lacked the energy or money to achieve.

Fast forward to 2022, when I moved to the UK for my master’s degree. I noticed how my classmates all had immaculate, carefully chosen nail designs that perfectly matched their personalities. I glanced down at my own nails, painted in oxblood red with a £3 nail polish I’d picked up from Superdrug on Oxford Street. They were pretty, sure—functional, too—but uninspired. My nails said nothing about me. I had a big personality, but my nails didn’t reflect that at all.

I toyed with the idea of going to a nail salon, but I’ve always been intimidated by them. I worry that the nail techs will silently judge me. Here comes the stingy girl who’s clearly never been to a salon in her life, picking the cheapest nail art. Not that it matters. Or that I care. Well, maybe I do. Okay, I definitely do.

It’s funny how much we overthink situations that haven’t even happened yet. Why do we obsess over minor things like this? Are we afraid of projecting the wrong image? You might think it’s silly to fixate on nails, but I wonder if it’s not really about nails—and maybe about control? Because I don’t have control over the bigger, more important aspects of my life, it could be that I obsess over achieving my goal of having perfectly polished, unchipped, medium almond nails.

It wasn’t until I read Poor Little Sick Girls by Ione Gamble that I began to understand this fixation. She talks about the rituals of self-care and beauty as acts of self-preservation in a chaotic world. I then turned to Reddit, my trusty encyclopedia of shared experiences, and found a thread about the psychology of nail painting.

One user described how painting their nails helped them find calm amid anxiety and gave them a sense of worth. Another user mentioned how nail art had become a way to connect with other women.

Perhaps it was never solely about the aesthetics.

These reflections made me think of girlhood—how small rituals like painting nails carry deeper significance. Growing up in a somewhat strict South Indian household, I wasn’t allowed to play outside once I reached adolescence. It was a shock; one day, I was running around with my cousins, and the next, I was confined indoors. But oddly, that was also the moment my mum allowed me to grow and paint my nails. It felt like a small, bittersweet acknowledgment that I was growing up—a permission to engage in something “girly.”

Looking back, maybe that’s why I gravitated toward online spaces like My Scene and GirlsGoGames. If I couldn’t express myself fully irl, I could at least create a version of myself online that could. Those websites felt like an escape—a universe where I could be myself and explore.

I recently came across a concept called “possibility spaces” in a book by Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman. This concept made the most sense to me, especially when I reflected on how I used online games during my adolescent years. Those digital spaces were the only spaces I had creative freedom and explore identities without fear of judgment. In similar fashion, Van Gennep’s idea of “liminality” talks about how transitional spaces provide opportunities for growth and transformation, much like the virtual worlds I escaped to during my adolescence. In these spaces, I found a sense of agency and self-discovery that was otherwise restricted irl.

Perhaps that’s why nails still hold so much significance to me. They’re a reminder of the small rebellions and transformative moments that shaped my girlhood. While I’m still a long way from confidently walking into a nail salon, here’s a recent picture of me rocking some pretty cool nail press-ons that reflect my personality.

References

Gamble, I. (2023). Poor Little Sick Girls.

Reddit.com. (2017). Reddit - Dive into anything. [online] Available at: https://www.reddit.com/r/RedditLaqueristas/comments/66l5hq/psychology_says_painting_your_nails_is_a_good/

Salen, K. and Zimmerman, E. (2004). Rules of play: Game Design Fundamentals. The MIT Press.

Turner, V., 1960. The Rites of Passage. Trans. Monika B. Vizedom and Gabrielle L. Caffee. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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