This year’s Met Gala, the fancy-dress competition for the ultra-wealthy, was a memorable one. Not just because one of the world’s richest tech bros, Jeff Bezos, and his wife, Lauren Sánchez Bezos, served as honorary chairs—a first—but also because the evening of 4 May saw the largest Indian contingent yet ascend the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, with each attendee reportedly paying $100,000 to attend fashion’s most exclusive fund-raiser.
Ananya Birla, Isha Ambani, Karan Johar, Manish Malhotra, Sudha Reddy, Natasha Poonawalla, Sawai Padmanabh Singh and Gauravi Kumari were in attendance, presenting their interpretation of the 2026 Met Gala dress code, “Fashion is Art”, which challenged guests to treat the body as a canvas, express their relationship with fashion “as an embodied art form and celebrate the countless depictions of the dressed body throughout art history”.
Did the Indian contingent get the memo right? That depends on whether you believe fashion as art is best expressed through spectacle, symbolism or genuine risk-taking. Most of the looks felt more reverential than radical—heavy on craftsmanship, wealth flaunting and cultural signalling, extremely light on imagination and surprise.
Ambani, businesswoman and daughter of one of the world’s richest men, for instance, channelled Raja Ravi Varma’s Padmini, with a fixed pallu-like cape by Gaurav Gupta over the head complementing a custom tissue sari by him. What overwhelmed the look, though, was her blouse, constructed with 1,800-carat diamonds and precious stones, all belonging to her “mom, mom, mom”, as she put it in an interview. Was the ensemble imaginative? Not particularly, apart from the bag she carried: a steel mango-shaped piece by Subodh Gupta that injected a touch of wit into an otherwise relentless display of wealth.
Karan Johar, too, chose to pay tribute to Raja Ravi Varma in his Met Gala debut through a custom ensemble by Manish Malhotra. His cape, which reportedly weighed over 25kg—perhaps explaining why it appeared stiff, ill-fitted and more like a teepee than a sculpture—was embroidered with scenes from Ravi Varma’s best-known paintings. Yet what proved hard to ignore was the imbalance of attention: if so much effort had gone into constructing the front of the cape, why was the back an expanse of black at an event where every angle is photographed, dissected and endlessly circulated? And surely designers should know that Indian art history has a wealth of playful and visionary artists who could serve as inspiration for couture, avant garde or not.
Malhotra, who himself wore a cape of which 3D dolls of artisans hung alongside their embroidered signatures, was also the creator of philanthropist Sudha Reddy’s outfit. Her cape (I’m not even going to comment on three capes on the same carpet from one designer) and corset drew inspiration from the Tree of Life, while the embroidery referenced kalamkari motifs. Despite the impressive display of craft, the ensemble came across as visually overworked. What ultimately dominated the look was her reported $15-million necklace—once again shifting the conversation from imagination to excess.
Natasha Poonawalla’s “orchid pectoral sculpture”-meets-couture look, created in collaboration with Marc Quinn and Dolce & Gabbana, at least brought a degree of lightness to the carpet. So did Sawai Padmanabh Singh and Gauravi Kumari, Jaipur’s royal siblings, who made their Met Gala debut in outfits by Prabal Gurung.
The former wore a phulgar coat—traditionally used during desert winters— while the latter offered a Gen Z interpretation of the chiffon sari popularised by her grandmother, style icon Gayatri Devi. Elegant as both appearances were, their relationship to the theme felt tenuous at best.
Ananya Birla, businesswoman, artist and daughter of another of India’s richest men, made her Met Gala debut in a surprisingly restrained ensemble by Robert Wun, elevated by Subodh Gupta’s metallic face piece crafted from utensils. More compelling, however, was her after-party look: a custom sculptural bronze couture gown by Ashi Studio, inspired by Indian bronze sculptures and executed with intricate trompe-l’œil techniques to mimic oxidised metal. Of all the Indian appearances that evening, this perhaps would have come closest to engaging with the theme in both concept and execution.
India’s growing presence at the Met Gala signals fashion’s increasing soft power. Yet visibility alone does not indicate a tastemaker culture. True tastemakers push visual language forward; they surprise, provoke and reshape how fashion is understood. What the Indian contingent largely delivered was an expensive display of heritage and craftsmanship—beautifully executed, certainly, but not transformative. For an event built on fantasy and theatre, India arrived dressed for validation rather than experimentation.