Culture
Why Did Cartier Deny Diljit Dosanjh the Patiala Necklace But Let Emma Chamberlain Wear It?
The answer may lie not in logistics, but in narrative control. When Emma Chamberlain wore the necklace, Cartier framed it as a resurrection of forgotten luxury, emphasising their craftsmanship and guardianship. It wasn’t about India—it was about the brand. The message was of European stewardship over colonial artefacts, presented as timeless luxury.
When Punjabi superstar Diljit Dosanjh made his much-anticipated Met Gala debut in 2025, his appearance was more than a fashion statement—a bold tribute to his heritage. Draped in a regal Prabal Gurung ensemble inspired by Maharaja Bhupinder Singh of Patiala, complete with a turban, sword, and cape inscribed in Gurmukhi, Diljit aimed to honour a royal legacy. However, one key element was missing: the Patiala Necklace, India’s most extravagant piece of jewellery. According to The New York Times, Cartier informed Diljit’s team that the necklace is sealed in a museum and unavailable for loan. Instead, Indian jeweller Golecha created a replica inspired by the original. The response raised more than eyebrows, especially considering that American influencer and YouTube star Emma Chamberlain wore part of the same necklace to the Met Gala in 2022, when she was Cartier’s brand ambassador.
Crafted by Cartier in 1928 and commissioned by the Maharaja himself, the necklace once contained 2,930 diamonds, including the legendary De Beers yellow diamond, and weighed over 1,000 carats. For Dosanjh and his stylist, Abhilasha Devnani, including it would have completed the tribute. But Cartier said no.
Why was a Western influencer granted access to a colonial-era Indian jewel while an Indian artist honouring his ancestry was denied?
The answer may lie not in logistics, but in narrative control. When Emma Chamberlain wore the necklace, Cartier framed it as a resurrection of forgotten luxury, emphasising their craftsmanship and guardianship. It wasn’t about India—it was about the brand. The message was of European stewardship over colonial artefacts, presented as timeless luxury.
Had Diljit Dosanjh worn the necklace, the story would have shifted. His appearance would have reframed the necklace as an act of reclamation, sparking more profound questions about its origin, disappearance, and the legacy of colonial plunder. Instead of a tale of curated elegance, it would have become one of historical accountability—perhaps that was a risk Cartier wasn’t willing to take.
This incident highlights a broader tension between cultural capital and corporate custodianship. For Diljit Dosanjh, wearing the necklace was a chance to reclaim a symbol of Punjabi royalty and spotlight a long-lost heritage. For Cartier, allowing that might have opened doors to uncomfortable truths about how such treasures came to reside in European hands.
The Patiala Necklace isn’t just jewellery—it’s a relic of colonial entanglement, looted heritage, and fractured identity. Its refusal to return to Indian hands, even temporarily, underscores how ownership of history is still filtered through power and privilege.
In walking the Met Gala without the necklace, Diljit Dosanjh did more than showcase fashion—he exposed the layers of inequality embedded in luxury. He brought global attention to who gets to tell history, who gets to wear it, and who still holds the keys to cultural memory.
Sometimes, the most powerful statement is made by what’s missing.
