Is Indian fashion entering its post-virality era?

There’s a recipe to runway shows today: an exotic location, a grand set, foot-tapping music (better if live), and a front row packed with friends of the house, buyers and influencers who may be paid by the brand. A celebrity showstopper is the cherry on top. The aim is to curate spectacle and become the talk of social media. If it translates into business, even better.

Imagine the surprise, then, when a fashion show takes place at an amphitheatre on the banks of the Sabarmati in Ahmedabad with a set that looks subtle and is yet intricate, to keep the focus firmly on the clothes. And no front row studded with influencers. Just soft music and a crowd of 100-odd people—buyers, enthusiasts and a handful of journalists—sitting on concrete steps watching models showcase the collections of 50 ready-to-wear designers from across India.

The show, held on 21 February, marked the runway return of Ensemble, one of India’s early multi-designer stores that served as a launchpad for designers like Anamika Khanna and Raghavendra Rathore in the 1980s, after almost two decades. Over 80 looks were presented, each incorporating clothing, jewellery or bags by different brands, reiterating the endless styling possibilities within one’s own wardrobe.

There was no live-stream of the show as has become customary for most fashion weeks or brand-led runway presentations. The absence of content creators meant zero real-time reactions online, turning the 35-minute showcase into an IYKYK (if you know, you know) moment. If you weren’t in the audience, you might have missed the trick to turn a sari into a beach dress or slip seamlessly into a pant-suit. Or the way to elevate a stay-at-home dhoti for a wedding function. Or the chance to learn how a two-finger ring with teardrop pearls can dress up a simple cotton polka-dot dress.

A “slow” fashion show advocating the idea of slow fashion.

“It feels too transactional,” says Tina Tahiliani Parikh, founder of Ensemble, started in 1987, referring to filling the rows at fashion shows with influencers. Her daughter Aria, who also works with the brand, adds, “We wanted to bring back the traditional idea of a fashion show.”

Saying no to decoration, literally and figuratively, is a flex. Sure, you don’t want the same creator who posted an OOTD (outfit of the day) selfie from another designer’s show just a week ago. But the trade-off comes with the risk of fewer eyeballs. It also limits access for the larger audience who may never buy the collection but still want to participate, react, and feel part of the moment.

Traditionally, fashion shows were intimate affairs, offering designers the chance to present their collections directly to buyers and the press. Over time, these presentations evolved into large-scale theatrical productions engineered for brand visibility and public engagement, all in the hope of driving sales. If the late 1990s witnessed the emergence of Bollywood actors as showstoppers, the post-covid era saw the growing presence of content creators on and off the ramp.

In an earlier interview with Lounge, while talking about the growing desire for viral moments and the attention it takes away from the clothes itself, designer Gaurav Gupta had said: “There’s always good art and bad art. What’s bad to you, would be good to me; it’s subjective. Sometimes these runway tactics are gimmicky, sometimes they are immersive experiences. But these gimmicks bring business to the brand. You need the money.”

But when every show tries to “break the internet” with a social-media-first approach, sameness inevitably creeps in.

You can hear it in the conversations journalists have between fashion weeks: “It’s the same” has become a common refrain.

The pull of nostalgia as a trend reflects this fatigue. We are craving what once had little to do with virality and everything to do with intimacy. Think of the time when photographs weren’t posted on social media for validation but to share a holiday or birthday with friends. Static posts, carousels, and high-quality images are regaining ground over reels, as users seek deeper engagement and connection.

Perhaps fashion, too, is inching towards a post-virality phase, if you consider the Ahmedabad show, or more recently the Fendi show at the Milan Fashion Week, which marked the debut of Maria Grazia Chiuri as its creative director.

When a fashion show doesn’t rely on shock value or algorithm-chasing theatrics, it allows clothes—the true showstoppers—to hold attention and be analysed closely. That’s the beauty of going slow or analogue. Restraint can be radical in an industry addicted to excess.