About a decade ago, when I told one of my aunts about my first job at a news agency, she said, “You will become jhola-chappal wali now”. Jhola meant cloth bag, and chappal, Kolhapuris, the clichéd Indian journalist’s uniform. I did become that person, quite proudly. As the years progressed and salary increased, bags became leather, but Kolhapuris remained a constant. They still are—for being affordable, unfussy and reliably good-looking. More importantly, they have outlasted every passing spring-summer footwear trend.
Breaking in a new pair each time, however, demands patience—just the leather around the toe loop takes about a week to soften.
That wasn’t the case when I slipped into Prada’s newly launched limited-edition sandals “inspired by the Kolhapuri chappals”, earlier this week.
The pair is the Italian fashion house’s response after being caught flat-footed last June, when it sent models down a Milan runway in T-strap sandals that Indian social media was quick to note looked strikingly similar to the handcrafted footwear long associated with Kolhapur, Maharashtra. What followed was swift: accusations of design theft, questions of cultural appropriation, and calls for acknowledgement and credit. Towards the end of 2025, Prada signed a memorandum of understanding (MoU) with the leather development corporations of Karnataka and Maharashtra–Dr. Babu Jagjivan Ram Leather Industries Development Corporation Limited (LIDKAR) and Sant Rohidas Leather Industries & Charmakar Development Corporation limited (LIDCOM), respectively. Both LIDKAR and LIDCOM hold the ownership of the Geographical Indication (GI) tag for Kolhapuri chappals. The plan: to produce around 2,000 pairs in India by Prada working in collaboration with 10-plus artisans in Maharashtra and Karnataka who’ve been in this craft for generations and then sell the finished product through the brand’s global retail network and online.
The pair I tried was labelled “Prada Made in India x inspired by Kolhapuri Chappals”, with Made in India embossed both under the sole and along the central strap. A brochure accompanies each shoe box, introducing the buyer to the history, cultural relevance and the components of the footwear and the artisans. It looks almost identical to what you’d find in a neighbourhood shop. Only the price tells you otherwise—€750 (about ₹84,000), roughly 170 times more.
But let’s talk about the comfort. The Italian leather is butter-soft. I can walk, run, dance, even twirl without losing grip, registering the texture of the ground or worrying about slipping—something I can’t say of a ₹500 roadside pair, or even a branded ₹3,000 version. It perhaps comes down to a small but decisive difference in the finish: a cushioned sole and a discreet rubber grip at the heel.
Why wasn't this done before by Indian designers? This absence of attention feels harder to ignore in a country that is the world’s second-largest footwear producer after China, accounting for nearly 13% of global leather output. India has long had a thriving ecosystem of shoemakers, cobblers and saddlers, alongside a legacy of ornate, finely crafted footwear—from Mughal-era, jewel-embellished mojaris to regional staples like Kolhapuris and Punjabi juttis. Even now, a new crop of entrepreneurs is attempting to build India’s “it” shoe. And yet, footwear made in and worn across the country rarely prioritises comfort.
And then there’s the other thing takeaway from the Prada “sandal”: how to respond as a brand after committing a gaffe. There have been many such instances of Indian designs being lifted by international labels without due credit to the craft—the latest being jhumkas being sold as “vintage accessories” by Ralph Lauren. It, too, drew sharp criticism online, but like most social media outrage, the noise faded within a day.
Prada’s response, while undeniably a carefully managed PR exercise, feels different. By working directly with artisans in their own clusters in India, in their factories and hometowns, Prada gestures towards a more considered model of engagement that acknowledges origin and invests in skill, even if the brand still profits disproportionately from both.
The brand claims proceeds from the sales will fund a three-year programme to upskill artisans of Kolhapuri craft at the National Institute of Fashion Technology in Mumbai and the Karnataka Institute of Leather and Fashion Technology in Bengaluru. On the basis of performance, some of the artisans will be selected for advanced training at Prada’s Academy in Italy.
According to LIDCOM managing director Prerna Deshbhratar, IAS, money is important, but so is credit and respect. “Our heritage is our luxury and if it reaches more people, it will only help the artisan,” she says. The Prada collection is available in 40 stores worldwide and online, though India doesn’t have a Prada retail presence. “They will get more work, more recognition, and more exposure to design thinking, technical refinement, which will help increase the lifespan of the craft,” says Deshbhratar. She didn’t talk about profit-sharing with artisans, but did say artisans involved in the production were paid more than their existing daily wages.
It remains to be seen how consumers will respond to the “sandals”. For now, the Prada Kolhapuri-inspired “sandal” sits at an uneasy intersection of craft and commerce, acknowledgement and appropriation, comfort and cost.
Would I buy them? Perhaps, if only to experience what a small, deliberate refinement can do to something we’ve long taken for granted.