Draupadi could be considered an early feminist icon. In a patriarchal society where women were expected to remain silent, she spoke up against injustice; she refused to be a passive victim, to be treated like property, like an object one can gamble with. Draupadi's story is an example of resilience and courage, and it is precisely from her story that Gundi Studios draws inspiration for its new S/S 2026 Collection.
Natasha Sumant doesn’t work only conceptually; her ideas translate into actions. She doesn’t just tell a narrative about consent; she builds the story through it. She doesn’t just talk about social responsibility; she shows it and then lets us decide. In the consumerism society we live in, where consumerism becomes a kind of aesthetic experience, something that gives us satisfaction, as Gilles Lipovetsky said in his book L'esthétisation du monde. Vivre à l'époque du capitalisme artistique, Natasha brings us back to reality, dismantling ridiculous expectations.
We had the chance to talk with her about her roots, her creative journey and her latest collection. From her cultural shock the first time she set foot on the American continent to the challenges she faced in her career, the Indian-born designer introduces us to her rich cultural heritage and invites us to go for what we want without fear, to live, to experience things, as she likes to say, “to have too much fun to post about it”.
Before moving to New York, you lived in India. What was the biggest cultural shock you faced when you arrived in such a different environment?
Being able to buy cigarettes at the pharmacy. I think it encapsulates America in a nutshell. And polyester clothes being considered a luxury product.
You started your journey in communication design and art direction. What made you transition into fashion design?
I also studied fashion and always wanted to be a designer, but doing communication design and art direction seemed like a more sensible and acceptable career path to my Indian parents at the time, so that’s where I started. But I always loved fashion and mostly worked for fashion, music, luxury, and lifestyle brands, so I stayed close to that world.
All my early internships were at Condé Nast, including Vogue in New York, where I worked on the Punk Met Ball with the publishing team, and at W Magazine, where I was in Johan Svensson’s art direction team at the same time Edward Enninful was there. Later, I worked for many brands but always on the image side, so moving into clothing felt like a natural next step — a dream I had always harboured but was too afraid to pursue for a long time.
A shoot early in my career wouldn’t let me cast models of colour, and I noticed that all the clothes were made in India. It sent me into a spiral about my place in the fashion industry and made me question what I was contributing to it. I then started an art collective with my friends exploring identity, and from that came a little embroidered patch I made that said “Gundi”. I pinned it onto vintage jackets and sold them at gigs where other brown artists like Raveena and Riz Ahmed would perform, and it just grew from there. I started with the patch because typography was a medium I was familiar with and then applied it to embroidery.
All my early internships were at Condé Nast, including Vogue in New York, where I worked on the Punk Met Ball with the publishing team, and at W Magazine, where I was in Johan Svensson’s art direction team at the same time Edward Enninful was there. Later, I worked for many brands but always on the image side, so moving into clothing felt like a natural next step — a dream I had always harboured but was too afraid to pursue for a long time.
A shoot early in my career wouldn’t let me cast models of colour, and I noticed that all the clothes were made in India. It sent me into a spiral about my place in the fashion industry and made me question what I was contributing to it. I then started an art collective with my friends exploring identity, and from that came a little embroidered patch I made that said “Gundi”. I pinned it onto vintage jackets and sold them at gigs where other brown artists like Raveena and Riz Ahmed would perform, and it just grew from there. I started with the patch because typography was a medium I was familiar with and then applied it to embroidery.
How do these earlier disciplines influence your work?
Those earlier disciplines definitely helped me gain attention faster than my peers because I was able to communicate the brand’s world visually and conceptually. Having a design background meant I could create the visual language and identity around the clothes as I was building them.
Your roots play a central role in your work. How do you navigate the balance between honouring tradition and reinterpreting it through a contemporary, global lens?
I’m lucky because Indian culture is so old that any reinterpretation automatically feels contemporary. Working with artisans in India who have been practising these techniques for generations and applying them to my silhouettes naturally opens up a space for new ideas and reinterpretation.
Have you ever felt the need to “whitewash” your work to fit in the industry?
I don’t, or I try not to, cater to anyone except my audience and my customer.
You’ve mentioned facing adversity when pursuing a career in the arts, something I think a lot of young creatives can relate to. As an independent designer running your own brand, what have been the most challenging parts of that journey, and in what ways have these challenges helped you grow, both creatively and personally?
Having a brand means facing challenges every day, whether it’s working with artisans or delivering products on time. Everything about running a brand has helped me grow, from learning management and operations to figuring out workflows for my team. I never worked at a big brand, so I had to learn everything myself, and that has shaped me both creatively and personally.
What would you say to people who would love to pursue a career in the arts but are afraid of the instability that often comes with it?
I think we live in a time where no job is really safe and most things are quite unstable, so I would say go for it. True stability comes from within.
You just presented your new collection in Paris. What is it about the city that inspires you? It’s such a different place compared to India or New York; how does it influence your creative process?
I love Paris so much because it still feels old-world and not as digitally plugged in as other cities. There are so many design and fashion museums that are serving as a great source of inspiration and education as I grow my practice. Paris is definitely influencing me to dive deeper into tailoring and pattern-making, and I also love how the French are so dedicated to preserving and revering their cultural crafts.
Your Spring/Summer 2026 collection draws inspiration from Draupadi, an emblem of defiance and divine power. How did her story guide your creative direction?
Draupadi is disrobed in court, and she prays to Krishna, who gives her an endless saree to protect her. That became the central motif of the collection. The idea of ravelling and unravelling became a way of thinking about consent, agency, and transformation. We used that gesture in our process; for example, in a Shibori dress, we sewed the fabric together, dyed it, and then unravelled the stitching, which created the pattern. We explored precolonial draping techniques and looked at old illustrations of the Mahabharata for styling inspiration.
You’ve described the collection as a meditation on consent, fury, and renewal. How do these ideas translate into your designs?
These ideas come through as much in the process as in the final garments. Consent is about choice and agency, which I wanted to reflect in how we work with women artisans who choose how and when they work. Fury shows up in the physical act of unravelling—pulling something apart to reveal something new and beautiful. Renewal is what comes after that, when fabric that’s been bound and dyed is released and transformed. The whole collection became about that rhythm of resistance and release, which felt both political and deeply personal.
One of the most interesting things about your work is how you combine design and social responsibility. Your pieces are described as being made to last a lifetime. In today’s landscape, where trends change so quickly and consumerism often encourages us to buy more instead of better, how can we begin to re-educate people to value the time, craft, and ethics behind what they wear?
As a designer, the best thing you can do is be transparent and show your process, then allow the customer to be responsible for their choices. When people see the work and the people behind a piece, they form an emotional connection with it in the same way we appreciate art. Once things stop being faceless, they start to hold value. In the end, we vote with our dollars, so it’s really up to the consumer to decide what they value.
Quality comes at a cost, and unfortunately not everyone has the means to buy consciously. How do you navigate the balance between ethics and accessibility?
I think we have a warped idea of how much clothes are supposed to cost and how often we should be buying them. When things are too accessible, they lose value and feed into wasteful consumerism. The goal shouldn’t be to make cheaper products but to change the mindset: to buy less, buy better, and appreciate quality. The responsibility shouldn’t fall on the designer to make things cheaper at the expense of people or craftsmanship just to compete with unrealistic price points.
In your Instagram bio you wrote, “Having too much fun IRL to post about it.” How do you see your relationship with digital visibility, especially in a world where fashion often thrives on constant online presence?
Digital visibility is important for reach and awareness, but clothes are tangible objects that are meant to be worn and experienced in real life. The process of making them is deeply human-centred. While constant online presence can be helpful for designers, it isn’t the focus of my work or my life. Clothes and the way people interact with them have existed since the beginning of civilisation. Digital visibility is just a tool that helps people find their way to the work.
What does slow fashion mean to you beyond sustainability, and how do you keep it alive in a fast-paced industry like fashion?
To me, slow fashion means taking the time to make work that is thoughtful and considered. It’s about intention and the respect you bring to each part of the process.
