M&S Strawberry Sandwiches and Prada chappals: tales of cultural appropriation

OK so in terms of appropriation, one is soft and the other hard (literally and figuratively) but what else is there to observe about these two examples that have dominated the algorithms?

Let’s start with the M&S Strawberry Sandwich. It’s good to see that the press release acknowledges the inspiration: “Inspired by the Japanese sweet sandos, recently spotted popping up in London’s trendiest Japanese patisseries, our product developers have long dreamed of creating a dessert sandwich.” After all, it’s this inspo that gets the TikTokers TikToking. That and capitalising on TikTok’s food aesthetic.

But alas, at point of sale (from what I’ve personally observed), any reference to the heritage/ inspiration is nowhere to be seen and the packaging provides zero cultural context. No kanji. No QR code. No quiet homage. Literally nothing. It was as if the sando had simply materialised in an M&S kitchen after a particularly aesthetic dream. Imagine the missed opportunity: a short note on the origins, a tie-in with a Japanese bakery, or even the tiniest whisper of a konbini reference. But all we got was strawberry vibezzz and silence. Cultural appreciation lite™—now with 30% less context.

I mean, it’s certainly a VAST improvement on the George Floyd inspired underwear collection, but M&S still has a lot to learn about leveraging conversations and culture for capital gain. 

Prada, on the other foot, didn’t just get ‘inspired’ by traditional Kolhapuri chappals, they gave them a runway strut and slapped a three-figure Euro price tag on them. Darling, it’s not homage. It’s haute extraction - seasoned with a hint of colonial déjà vu. 

Prada described the sandals as 'leather footwear' without acknowledging origins

The backlash was swift, but also kind of joyful. Social commentators called it a rite of passage rebranded as runway. Comedian Vir Das delivered the chef’s kiss with a shared cultural wink that Prada design and marketing teams are unlikely to understand:

“If you spend 1300 dollars on Prada ripped-off Kolhapuri chappals, the fee should include a visit from an Indian mother who shows up and beats you with them.”

The chappal isn’t just footwear—it’s folklore. So when I jokingly Googled, “Can you wear a chappal if you’ve never been hit with one?” the algorithm confidently chirped back:

“Yes, absolutely. ‘Chappal’ is a Hindi word for slipper or sandal, and there’s no rule or reason that prevents someone from wearing them simply because they haven’t been hit with one.”

And this is why we can’t have nice things (and why you shouldn't rely on the internet alone to inform your cultural literacy). 

Interestingly, Prada has finally acknowledged its cultural faux-pas. Lorenzo Bertelli, head of CSR, wrote to the Maharastra Chamber of Commerce:

“We acknowledge that the sandals featured in the recent Prada Men’s 2026 Fashion Show are inspired by traditional Indian handcrafted footwear, with a centuries-old heritage. We deeply recognise the cultural significance of such Indian craftsmanship.”

As Khush Magazine wisely noted: 

“The West profits from the East, rebranding centuries-old craftsmanship and ‘new’ while local artisans stay underpaid and unseen.

“At its core, this isn’t just about acknowledgement. It’s about equity, ownership, and who holds the power to profit from a heritage they don’t own, while those who carry it remain unseen.”

Both the sando and the chappal are examples of how brands commodify culture. One harnesses what’s trending on TikTok to create a fairly harmless snack. The other is a luxe rebrand of utilitarian hardship: theft in leather trim, if you will. 

If appropriation had a face, the Sando would blush and offer you a bite. The Chappal would charge you £450 and walk away—and possibly give you a well-aimed whack on the way out.