When I moved to Amsterdam nearly ten years ago, I remember walking through stores and feeling a quiet disappointment settling in. Everywhere I looked, clothes felt the same — polyester disguised as “premium” mass-produced garments labelled as “luxury” price tags that didn’t match the quality, and collections that changed faster than the seasons themselves.
I kept asking myself: Where is the craft? Where is the care? Where is the human touch?
Growing up in India, I never had to ask these questions. Handwoven textiles were part of my everyday life. Cotton that softened with every wash, wool that carried the scent of the mountains, natural dyes that aged beautifully, and garments that held memories longer than my age itself.
When I moved away, I realised how much I took that heritage for granted.
Every time I travelled back home, I would return with a suitcase full of handcrafted pieces, not because I needed clothes, but because they made me feel connected. Slowly, friends started noticing all the unique things I was bringing for myself. And that’s where the conversation started. They started asking where I found these pieces that looked unique yet modern, warm but breathable, elegant but not wasteful. And a light bulb lit in my head, it’s not just me, but more people around me who were also feeling the “fashion fatigue” setting in. They were tired of disposable fashion.
And somewhere along this journey, I found myself returning to one question again and again:
What is luxury today?
Luxury to me was always well-made, customised, detailed, loaded with stories and craft, made with great materials, and without exploitation. But the fashion industry has trained us to believe that luxury comes with a logo, a runway, a shiny storefront, and a celebrity. But as big luxury brands collapsed in quality and inflated consumption, and more stories of how their products are actually made and their ethics, supply chain, and stories of exploitation came out, we are starting to see through the illusion.
Luxury is owning less, but owning better.
We live in a time where wardrobes are overflowing, yet nothing feels special.
The real quiet luxury movement before it became an Instagram aesthetic was always about choosing pieces that last. Not chasing trends. Not filling closets.
A handwoven jacket, a naturally dyed scarf, a cardigan knitted by an artisan who learned her craft from her grandmother, these are the pieces that are meant to be cherished, repaired, reworn, and eventually passed on.
Luxury is sustainability, not showmanship.
Luxury is in human hands, not machines.
Mass manufacturing has built a world of identical garments. Clothes that look perfect but feel empty.
Handcrafted heritage textiles have a different kind of beauty, one that’s impossible for the machines to imitate. A slight slub in the weave, a subtle variation in colour, the irregular rhythm of a handmade stitch, these are not imperfections. These are signatures of a life lived through craft.
Luxury is individuality, not uniformity.
Luxury is cultural continuity & preservation
Every time you choose natural materials woven on a handloom over polyester, you keep a tradition alive.
You support pastoral communities like the Gaddis.
You preserve natural dyeing techniques that are disappearing.
You keep women artisans employed in their villages.
You ensure ancient skills are carried into the future.
This is not just fashion. This is heritage worn with intention.
Luxury is making items with humanity and in sync with nature, and not against it.
So, what is luxury?
For me, luxury is the feeling I had when I first carried those handwoven pieces home from India, a quiet, grounding reminder of belonging.
It is slower.
More thoughtful.
More human.
More honest.
Luxury is the opposite of what the industry has been selling us.
It is not constant trend chasing; it is authenticity.
Not consumption, but connection.
And this belief that luxury can be meaningful, ethical, and rooted in heritage is what gave life to Charkha & Loom.
