If you were a young South Asian kid in east London during the 1990s, loving clothes always felt like a private thing. And you just didn’t expect to see someone like you appear on screen. Dare to imagine yourself as James Bond or Indiana Jones in the playground and the other kids would quickly remind you: “You can’t be him, you’re not white.” Moments like that stick with you. They shape how you see yourself in the world. And, for me, it quietly planted the seed for everything that would come later.

Years later, I was travelling the world working as part of the film team at MR PORTER. Shooting backstage at fashion weeks, filming designers in Paris and Milan, interviewing the very people I used to admire from afar. But even in those rooms, I still rarely saw anyone that looked like me. For a culture so deeply woven into the fashion system, through textiles, manufacturing and retail, South Asians were almost entirely absent from the creative conversation. That omission planted the seed for The Asian Man.

At first, it was just a Tumblr page, an online journal of stylish South Asian men I came across in real life or online, but over time, it evolved – and became an Instagram account. A decade on, and later this year, I’m proudly publishing a book, which features portraits and stories of South Asian men from around the world.

Globally, there’s been an undeniable rise in South Asian presence within menswear and style culture. And not just in India, but across the entire diaspora. From the reworking of classic silhouettes to the confidence in mixing heritage and contemporary references, the conversation has moved far beyond tokenism.

Take brands such as Kardo. “Our design philosophy centres around celebrating handcraft; everything we do is made in-house and by hand,” the founder Rikki Kher says. “There’s a direct line between our garments and the traditions they come from.”

In fact, Kher goes one further – check the wash tag on any Kardo garment and you’ll find the name of the craftsperson who meticulously made it from start to finish. A crucially transparent move for often anonymous skilled makers. (See MR PORTER’s Consciously Crafted edit for more pieces created with care and purpose.)

Then there’s New Delhi-based menswear label Kartik Research, founded by Kartik Kumra, that turns centuries-old craft techniques into elegant, experimental, modern menswear. With only locally sourced fabrics, and without the use of electricity, Kumra works with a community of around 50 artisans to create his collections, incorporating traditional embroidery styles including khanta and aari, as well as printing and handloom weaving.

“When you see the garments in person, you can feel the level of effort that has gone into it,” Kumra says. “And that’s unachievable without the artisans. The goal is to grow with them – and that’s the coolest part of the brand to me.” In our AI-driven world, Kumra’s focus on preserving “humanness” within Kartik Research makes his designs all the more special.

American brand BODE’s connection to Indian manufacturing is a key part of its identity. Founder Emily Adams Bode Aujla doubles down on her vision to honour historical textiles by working directly with factories and embroidery studios in Delhi, Kolkata and Chennaito reproduce fabrics based on antique materials and patterns.

Bode Aujla previously told Vogue that fashion “doesn’t always have to be new, we can look back”, and her brand is simultaneously proving that time-honoured South Asian textiles can be contemporary, desirable and globally relevant. These aren’t moments of tokenism, this is global culture evolving in real time.

The most exciting thing is there’s no single look. In my book, you’ll meet guys like Dav Sehra, a tailor whose take on suiting is informed by both family photos and regal references. “Old photos of South Asians from the 1960s and 1970s influence how I dress,” Sehra says. “The Maharaja of Patiala is another big reference – his Savile Row suits remind me how elegant men used to be.”

And there’s Amar Singh, a designer who blends Indian heritage, East African influence and British street culture. “The colours, fabrics and traditions from my upbringing are just part of me now, they’ve shaped how I see style,” he says.

You’ll also be introduced to creative strategist Myles Pereira, whose sense of presentation is rooted in generational pride. “My grandparents, who moved from Goa to East Africa to the UK, always dressed sharply, it was about pride and presence in a new place,” he says.

As well as brand founder Veeraj Haria-Shah, whose love of clothes began in childhood. “One side of my family were fabric merchants,” he says. “My dad ran boutiques in London. He’d bring home designer kidswear. That’s where it started for me.”

While their styles couldn’t be more different, what connects these men – and so many of us South Asians today – is that what we wear isn’t random. It’s in our DNA, it’s reworked, it’s personal. South Asian culture isn’t a monolith. It’s deeply regional, layered and textured. From textile traditions in Gujarat to tailoring schools in Lahore.

What’s beautiful is as more of us rediscover that creative lineage, we’re starting to understand that we were never disconnected.

As I’ve been building my book, I keep going back to one image I found while helping my parents move house. It was my grandfather, perfectly dressed, effortlessly cool. Now that I’m a father myself, it strikes a deeper chord. For years, I never understood where my love of style came from. But seeing that photo, I realised maybe it was always there, maybe I’d inherited it. We’re not just dressing well, we’re remembering who we are.