Here we go again: another festival, another woman, another outfit becoming a question of public morality. Kriti Sanon wore an ivory bralette-style blouse with a cape and draped skirt while tying a rakhi in a jewellery advertisement, and the internet quickly turned it into a debate over whether her outfit was “appropriate”, “traditional” or “respectful” enough for Raksha Bandhan.
Kangana Ranaut then joined the discussion, questioning why Kriti had chosen to tie a rakhi in what she described as a “bikini/undergarment” when there were plenty of other options. Amid the outrage and the backlash against that outrage, the central issue became increasingly clear. This was never really about the rakhi. It was about a woman’s clothes.
Before judging whether Kriti’s outfit was appropriate, it is worth looking at what the advertisement actually portrayed. She was shown at home with her brother, her dog and her family while celebrating Raksha Bandhan. She was not entering a public event dressed that way or trying to make a statement about how women should dress. The setting was meant to represent comfort, intimacy and a family celebration. That distinction should matter.
If someone is at home with their family, why should they have to worry about whether their clothes meet the expectations of strangers? Home is supposed to be where people can be their most relaxed and unguarded selves. A sibling is not supposed to be examining a neckline, and parents are not meant to conduct a morality check based on clothing. At home, people should be free to wear what makes them comfortable.
Kriti’s response to the controversy captured that idea clearly. She said, “Culture & Traditions are in her heart, not in her neckline,” rejecting the suggestion that respect for culture can be measured by the amount of fabric someone wears. The question is simple: since when has the depth of a blouse determined the depth of someone’s affection for their family?
When did a festival celebrating the relationship between siblings acquire a dress code? Where is the rule stating that a woman celebrating Raksha Bandhan at home must cover her collarbone, arms, waist or any other part of her body before she can participate in the tradition?
Perhaps someone should create an official rulebook: acceptable blouse lengths for Raksha Bandhan, approved necklines for Diwali and emergency procedures for visible midriffs during Navratri. It sounds ridiculous because it is. Yet women face this kind of scrutiny repeatedly. The occasion changes, the standards change and the clothing changes, but the policing remains remarkably consistent.
This also raises a basic question: appropriate according to whom? Who gets to determine whether one outfit respects a tradition while another supposedly disrespects it?
Our festivals are vibrant precisely because people celebrate them in different ways. There is no rule that everyone must wear white during Holi. People wear what they enjoy, whether it is yellow, pink, black or any other colour. Festivals bring people home because they allow us to reconnect with family and return to spaces where we can be ourselves. We eat, laugh, dress up, dress casually, become sentimental and celebrate without constantly questioning whether we are performing tradition correctly.
Why, then, should women suddenly be expected to follow a public dress code inside their own homes?
What makes the controversy even more revealing is how quickly the discussion shifted from whether the outfit was appropriate to whether people should be policing Kriti at all. Once she refused to apologise for what she wore and instead questioned the judgement itself, the conversation became much more uncomfortable. It is easy to frame the issue as one of tradition. It is harder to acknowledge that what some people actually expect is conformity.
There is also an unfair expectation placed on women like Kriti. Once they become public figures, are they expected to represent every woman in the country through every personal choice they make? Public figures can have influence and responsibilities, but that does not make them representatives of how all women should dress.
Kriti is an actor, not an elected representative of women’s wardrobes. She can understand the influence of her platform while still wearing an outfit simply because she likes it. Why does a woman have to become a symbol before she is allowed to simply be herself?
Kangana’s criticism highlights this contradiction. The existence of choices means little if some choices are punished publicly. The argument becomes: you are free to choose anything, provided you choose what we consider respectable. But freedom that comes with conditions is not really freedom. It is permission.
Even Kriti’s decision to include her pet in the celebration became part of the debate, with the actor defending the idea that dogs are family too. That detail perhaps shows how quickly the actual emotion behind a festival can get lost. Raksha Bandhan is not a fashion competition. It is a personal ritual rooted in relationships, memories and affection. If a family wants to include a pet in that expression of love, it hardly poses a threat to culture or religion.
Yet the conversation somehow became more focused on a woman’s neckline and the presence of a dog in a festive advertisement than on the sibling bond the campaign was intended to portray.
The decision to withdraw the advertisement only makes the larger issue more uncomfortable. If criticism of a woman’s clothing is enough to turn a festive campaign into a controversy, what message are we sending women? Are they allowed to celebrate culture only when they dress for public approval? Does their body automatically become open to commentary whenever they appear in an advertisement, film, public event or even a representation of their own home?
Watch the ad here:
No. A woman’s cultural identity does not become more authentic because her sleeves are longer or her blouse is higher. Culture exists in memory, language, rituals, relationships, food, music, family and, of course, in the ways people choose to dress. It changes as people change. The moment we insist that tradition can only be respected through one approved outfit, we stop preserving culture and start policing people.
So yes, Raksha Bandhan has no dress code. Perhaps it is time we stopped creating one for women. The neckline today, the hemline tomorrow, the sleeve length the next day. The clothes will change, and so will the outrage, but the underlying script remains the same.
That is what deserves greater scrutiny: not what Kriti Sanon wore while tying a rakhi, but why, in 2026, we are still so concerned with deciding what she should have worn.
