Prada Wears Kolhapuris

When Italian luxury brand Prada showcased a designer version of the Kolhapuri chappal, no one asked who actually makes the chappal in India

- By Pritha Vashishth

WHEN Italian luxury brand Prada recently unveiled a sleek version of the Kolhapuri chappal, the internet exploded. Accusations of cultural appropriation flew around. Social media cried theft.

Now, Prada is reportedly planning a limited-edition Kolhapuri-inspired collection in collaboration with artisans after facing backlash, according to officials from Maharashtra's industrial body. But while the debates about aesthetics and credit went on, few paused to ask who still makes these sandals. And where? To answer that, one must turn away from Milan's runways and step into a colony of craftsmen and families in northeast Mumbai. Here, in the cluster of leather workshops strewn across the lanes of Thakkar Bappa Colony, the Kolhapuri chappal survives, barely, but vividly.

The narrow lanes snake between old warehouses, each corridor echoing with the clack of cobblers' tools. Wooden boards lean against crumbling walls, their hand-painted signs reading Dillkhush, Janta, Jagdamba—places not of fashion but of memory, sweat and practice honed over generations.

Here, shop names flicker on tin boards, their paint bleached by monsoon after monsoon. Beneath them, artisans squat over their work, their palms darkened by dye, their eyes trained on curves, cuts and seams. This is where Kolhapuri chappals are born, or at least reborn. Not in the famed bazaars of Kolhapur, but in the interstitial spaces of the city, where heritage clings not to banners but to muscle memory. Under a faded red canopy, Vasudev Yeshwant Abhaynkar, 35, coaxes a leather strap into the arch of a sandal. The workshop smells of old turpentine, fresh glue and time. “These weren’t made in Kolhapur,” he says, dusting a finished pair, “but they’re still Kolhapuris.”