**1. Introduction**

When exploring the innovative ways in which millennial Sikhs of the diaspora are expressing their religious identity and values in the socio-economic domain, it is hard to miss the plethora of young Sikh fashionistas, designers, models, bloggers, photographers, and activists who are committed to making Sikh dress stylish by way of the fashion industry. Referred to as the "Sikh look" (Gell 1996) or "Sikh chic" (Reddy 2016), the turban and the five outward signs required of the Khalsa Sikh, known as "the 5ks"—*kesh* (uncut hair); *kangha* (comb); *kirpan* (sword); *kachh* (cotton breeches); *kara* (steal or iron bangle)—are central motifs for the many fashion and accessory lines designed by young Sikhs in the 21st century. From beard oils to printed turbans, young Sikh fashion and accessory designers are blending religious garb styles with contemporary style and social trends, including zero-waste bamboo kangas and hipster-stylized printed turbans. Some scholars have highlighted how this growing phenomenon of Sikh chic has demonstrated how the creation of new strategies of branding of Khalsa Sikh identity in the global free market has contributed to the centering of a normative Sikh masculine identity in the Sikh mainstream and the broader public, mainly by way of the growing number of popular Khalsa Sikh male fashion designers and models in America and in the UK; in many cases, where South Asian women are depicted in fashion ads, their Sikh identity is rendered as invisible, as they may not be donning the 5 ks and are viewed as merely extras in these photoshoots (Reddy 2018, p. 188). However, there has been a simultaneous contemporary movement to feminize the Khalsa—via the establishment of new Sikh institutions, websites and blogs, and conversations in online chat groups—where Sikh women discuss wearing the 5 ks or are shown wearing them, as well as the turban (Jakobsh 2015a). I sugges<sup>t</sup> that exploring the recent development of the Sikh fashion industry in Canada serves as another avenue in which a small group of Sikh millennial women are making strides to feminize the Khalsa by creating designs that reflect a Khalsa Sikh feminine form. In doing so, I argue that their designs and fashion enterprises intertwine Sikh values and fashion, while engaging discourses around gender equality and Kaurhood/sisterhood, self-determined representation, intersectionality, diversity, and, in some cases, ethical purchasing.

I explore the complexities of this phenomenon as demonstrated by two Canadian-based Sikh fashion lines, Kundan Paaras and TrendySingh, and one Canadian-based Sikh female artist, Jasmin Kaur. In each case, each designer legitimizes their fashion enterprises by referencing shared—and commonly held—Sikh values. For this essay, I draw from data collected through digital and in-person ethnographic research, including one-on-one interviews, participant observation, and social media, as well as fashion magazines and newsprint. This study is part of my larger doctoral research about Sikh millennial innovators in Canada.

#### **2. Sikh Chic or Khalsa Chic? The Canadian Context**

In the "Epilogue" of her book *Fashioning the Diaspora: Beauty, Femininity South Asian American Culture* (2016), Vanita Reddy outlines a contemporary Sikh diasporic phenomenon: the ways in which male fashion entrepreneurs in America and Britain have been aestheticizing their Sikh bodies, what she terms "Sikh chic". In the cases that inform Reddy's discussion of Sikh chic, it is the normative Khalsa Sikh aesthetic that is stylized, produced, and commodified in the marketplace—that is emphasized. As such, the qualities that define Sikh chic presented by Reddy and how they operate in the marketplace are more reflective of the particular lived experiences of Sikh males and a historical trajectory that contributed to the construction of a normative Khalsa Sikh male identity.

While not all Sikhs maintain or identify with the full expression of the *amritidari* Khalsa Sikh dress (Singh 2018, p. 263), scholars have made note of the fact that the turban—by way of the turbaned Sikh male—has come to be the primary marker of Sikh identity (Jakobsh 2015a; Singh 2018). Of course, there are many factors that have contributed to this. More broadly, historical Sikh movements, such as the intrareligious transmission of Khalsa Sikh ideals undertaken by the Singh Sabha in the 20th century, included a marketing strategy that aided in the construction of a normative Sikh male identity (Oberoi 1994; Jakobsh 2003). A significant aspect of the Singh Sabha movement was that the many leaders and members of the Singh Sabha—mainly Sikh males—made notable use of the print technologies of the time to publish numerous books, newspapers, magazines, and pamphlets, in which writers defined the boundaries of what constituted a true Khalsa Sikh identity and practice, reflective of their own perceived ideals and experiences. In doing so, perhaps inadvertently, these writings propagated notions of the ideal Khalsa Sikh male. These writings contributed to establishing a normative Sikh male identity that, in some cases, still maintains itself today (though not necessarily under the banner of the Singh Sabha).

However, beyond the internal construction of normative Khalsa practices, the turban and the turbaned Khalsa Sikh male also function as the primary marker of Sikh identity and "Sikh-ness" in the North American socio-political public (Singh 2018, p. 262). As the case studies I will be exploring in this essay are rooted in the Canadian context, I situate my research in Reddy's broader discussion of Sikh chic in the diaspora by making reference to Canadian examples.

Reddy identifies two functions of Sikh chic in the diaspora (Reddy 2018, p. 185; 2016, p. 209). The first function of Sikh chic is to address the already existing "capitalist orientalist fashion aesthetic of turban chic", i.e., the cultural appropriation of the turban by non-Sikhs in the fashion industry (Reddy 2016, p. 184). Reddy pinpoints the rise of the Sikh chic industry as a politicized response to non-Sikh designer, Jean Paul Gautier, and his Spring 2013 menswear collection at Paris Fashion week, which featured non-Sikh models wearing his "Sikh-style" turban designs (Reddy 2016, p. 207). Accordingly, Sikh chic can be understood as a practice of creative agency enacted to claim ownership

and authority over the Khalsa Sikh aesthetic to ensure authentic self-representation in the fashion industry. As young Sikhs "take-up-space" in the fashion industry by filling top positions or creating businesses—whether as designers, photographers, models, make-up artists, etc.—they strive to own and curate segments of the industry and, in doing so, define what Sikh fashion is (Reddy 2016, p. 186). As I was beginning my own preliminary research on Sikh activists in Canada around this time and conducting digital ethnography on Instagram and Facebook, I was able to examine the negative impact Gaultier's fashion show had on young Canadian Sikhs, as critiques and claims of inauthenticity were circulated online via global and transnational social networks. The development of this new Sikh expression in America and the UK was being felt in Canada, so much so that, just a few years later, Sikh Foundation of Canada released a short film on YouTube called "Sikhs in Fashion", which included a history of the cultural appropriation of the turban, but also proudly displayed the many ways in which Sikhs are actively engaged in the global fashion industry (Sikh Foundation of Canada 2015). More recently, in 2018, there was another incident in which a non-Sikh designer, Gucci, designed a one-piece turban for \$790 that was being sold by Nordstrom. Prominent American Sikh scholar-activist Simran Jeet Singh, as well as several young Sikh fashion entrepreneurs including Turban&Beard, an American Sikh fashion brand, and TrendySingh, Canadian Sikh fashion line, directly and publicly condemned the Gucci product using their Instagram and Facebook accounts. Just a few months later, Gucci removed the product from sale.

The second function of Sikh chic is to maneuver the "historical and ongoing anti-Sikh sentiment and violence" and the "turban's historical associations with criminalized, terrorist South Asian masculinity" in the diaspora (Reddy 2018, p. 185). Specific historical moments have contributed to these associations. Sikh immigrants of the diaspora have faced discrimination since their earliest arrival to America, Canada, the UK, and Europe (Tatla 1999; Basran and Bolaria 2003; Jacobsen and Myrvold 2011; Singh 2011). The disenfranchisement of early Sikh arrivals came in the form of systemically established restrictions in Canadian institutions such as immigration laws, (for example, the tragedy of the Komagata Maru in 1914) and various aspects of Canadian daily life, including employment, homeand land-ownership, and voting restrictions. Being visibly distinct and disruptive to the Canadian imagination, Khalsa Sikhs have been particularly targeted, facing restrictions on wearing the turban and the kirpan in the public sphere (Wayland 1997; Walton-Roberts 1998; Dhamoon 2013; Jakobsh 2012). In cases of restrictions on employment, *amritdhari* Sikhs were at times restricted in being able to wear their turbans at work. These restrictions were met with resistance from Sikhs, including many legal cases and activism in labor movements, advocating for religious accommodation in the workplace, all in the name of human rights. Many of the e fforts made by Sikhs to advocate for the allowance of wearing a turban on the job, while strenuous, were met with grea<sup>t</sup> success and led to the eventual change of restrictions on workplace dress codes. A prominent example is the case of Baltej Singh Dhillon, a turbaned Sikh man who eventually became the first o fficer in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) in 1990 (Morlock 2018). Dhillon was initially met with grea<sup>t</sup> resistance—not just from the RCMP, as the dress code forbid beards and wearing a turban in place of the uniform hat, but also from many Canadians. Dhillon was faced with a lawsuit that was organized by members of the RCMP that raised over CAD 100,000 to challenge the case (Jaremko 1994). Supporters of the lawsuit managed to ge<sup>t</sup> 210,000 signatures for a petition protesting against Dhillon and changes to the RCMP uniform. In addition, several Canadian vendors sold merchandise, such as calendars, satirizing RCMP uniform changes and anti-Sikh, anti-turban accessories such as pins (CBC 2017; Jaremko 1994; Morlock 2018).

For Sikhs in Canada—and many other racialized minorities—these restrictions are not something of the distant past but are still faced and challenged today. One need only consider Bill 21, the recent ban on religious symbols in Quebec which passed in June 2019, where religious minorities who don religious headwear have been restricted from working as public servants in the province. Amrit Kaur, an educator, activist, and President of the World Sikh Organization in Quebec—a Canadian Sikh advocacy organization—became one of the public personalities advocating against Bill 21. As a young millennial Sikh turbaned female, Amrit Kaur had to relocate to British Columbia as she would not be able to keep her job as a public school teacher due to the passing of the bill (CBC News 2019).

In the aftermath of 9/11, a wave of hate crimes and violence was directed toward racialized visible minorities, including Sikhs who were being mistaken for turbaned Osama Bin Laden supporters. At this time, there was a significant shift in the lived experiences of the Sikh diaspora identified by numerous scholars who highlight the contemporary experiences of Sikh youth (Jacobsen and Myrvold 2015; Nijhawan and Arora 2013; Nijhawan 2016; Singh 2018; Singh et al. 2018; Verma 2006; Verma 2011). As a response to the injustices faced by the Sikh community, many young Sikh students and professionals, especially in America and Canada, felt a grea<sup>t</sup> sense of responsibility to educate their coreligionists, non-Sikh peers, colleagues, and the general public about Sikh religion and culture. In producing this new public outreach strategy, new networks, Sikh organizations, and websites were established, incidentally centering their activities around the Khalsa identity. For example, one of the more popular initiatives included hosting public turban-tying days in parks and on university campuses, to teach the significance of the turban, how to wrap it, and have them try it on themselves (Gill 2007; Singh 2018). In these moments, strategies to dispel xenophobic and racist stereotypes sometimes reinforce and reproduce the gender normativity of the Khalsa Sikh male, while such initiatives are conducted in the name of adequate self-representation and Sikh rights. Similarly, centering aspects of the Khalsa Sikh identity, such as the turban, in the fashion industry can be understood as an attempt to di ffuse the fear and challenge stereotypes held in public perception of the Sikh tradition and make the turban appear "cool" and fashionable. As Reddy suggests, Sikh chic "refashions the violable, violent, and non-national Sikh male body into a fashionable, diasporic citizen-subject" (Reddy 2018, p. 185).

The development of the Sikh chic market can be understood as resulting from a religio-political response from Sikhs to the xenophobic discourse that equates a turban-wearing brown-skinned male with a national threat. The need to make the turban appear cool and trendy functions as a corrective to the xenophobic views held by some Canadians (and other publics) and o ffers a means to create dialogue around something that can otherwise seem like a barrier. It is important to note that a similar—and perhaps more comprehensive—strategy to use fashion as a means of addressing racism and xenophobia has been used by Muslims globally, particularly in the post 9/11 context, as a response to Islamophobia and cultural appropriation. Morlock reminds us of the following:

... religious minorities use dress to communicate their needs and goals to the larger Canadian society, in the process pushing the scope and advancing the parameters of human rights for all Canadians. So doing challenges the common but false narrative of Canada as a religiously neutral nation without many Canadians' own equally fervently held belief system and venerated practices, and of religious minorities as an inherently threatening force to inviolable Canadian values ... In the hands of determined individuals, these items of dress can then become vehicles for legislative and cultural revisioning ... [D]ress functions as a means of communication within and between religious minority communities and the larger Canadian society. (Morlock 2018, pp. 3–4)

The formation of Sikh chic is one of the many strategies that have been implemented to address the limits placed on Sikh dress in the Canadian public sphere, including advocating for religious accommodations that allow Sikhs to wear the 5 ks in various forms of employment. One such Sikh that exemplifies this self-reflexive strategy is none other than Jagmeet Singh, the federal leader of the New Democratic Party (NDP) and also a turbaned Sikh male.

The Canadian political arena has, in some ways, functioned as a fashion runway for Jagmeet Singh, who has become a fashion icon. From postings on his Instagram and Facebook accounts to fashion shows and magazines, Singh is often making model-like poses and is often noticed for his colorful turbans and three-piece tailored suits (Toronto Life 2018). For Singh, wearing his Khalsa Sikh dress this way was an intentional campaign strategy. In their Special Issue Stylebook Fall 2013, *Toronto Life* selected Singh as one of "Toronto's Most Stylish" sartorial superstars. In the magazine, he is

quoted as saying that his wardrobe staples are "Suits from Trend Custom Tailors and Garrison Bespoke, plus colourful turbans and pocket squares. Fashion is both social armour and a barrier breaker if I'm wearing a bright turban, for example, it's a conversation starter" (Miranda 2013, p. 56). Shortly after the release of the Stylebook, Singh provided more context for the photoshoot in the magazine on his Instagram feed stating the following:

... I was born in Toronto, I love the city and Toronto Life is one of my favourite magazines. For this year's 2013 Fall/Winter Stylebook Toronto Life chose me as one of Toronto's Most Stylish. I have to give a huge shout out to the folks at Toronto Life for capturing what an amazingly diverse city Toronto is. Our of the 21 most stylish people Toronto Life chose 8 racialized people. "They featured 2 people of colour on their cover page and 1 person who is proudly wearing his articles of faith. This is pretty amazing given what's going on in Quebec right now with the proposed Quebec Charter of Values, which would ban articles of faith in public places. While one province is rejecting diversity, the other province is embracing and celebrating it. I'm so proud of my city! Thank you Toronto Life! I always said I wanted to encourage people to foster a courageous sense of their self-worth. I hope I am doing my little party to demonstrate you can boldly display your identity and still gain recognition. Sat Sri Akal: Truth is Infinite. (Singh 2013)

Singh's e fforts to educate the public about his turban and Sikh identity has remained constant throughout this leadership and campaigning, sometimes out of direct response to firsthand experiences of racism and xenophobia and, at the other times, in direct response to Bill 21 (National Post 2019). In a *GQ* magazine, he was asked more directly about how his style became such an important part of his political career. In response, he noted the following:

So throughout my life, I realized that people would stare at me because I stood out. Some may feel awkward about that. Being stared at makes you feel self-conscious. I felt that if people are going to stare at me, I might as well give them something to look at. [laughs] I saw it as a chance to transform an awkward situation into an opportunity to show people who I really am. I wanted to show that I was confident and sure of myself—that I wasn't afraid of who I was. That confidence fought o ff some of the stereotypes and prejudice I encountered, and I started to develop my style more when I realized I could tear down some of these stereotypes. A beard and a turban sometimes conjure up negative associations, but if you see someone with a lime colored, bright orange, or pink turban, it disarms people's stereotypical notions of this image and it disarms people from those stereotypes. It became a way for me to extend my platform as a politician. Because I was considered stylish, with these colorful turbans and well-cut suits and showing myself as confident person, I could use that as a tool to talk about things like unfairness, injustice, poverty, and inequality in the public sphere.
