Indian representation at Cannes 2026 reached a significant high across both cinema and culture. Payal Kapadia served as the president of the jury for the 65th edition of Critics’ Week, marking a major moment for Indian cinema on the global stage. Emerging filmmaker Mehar Malhotra’s Shadows of the Moonless Nights becomes the only Indian film selected for the La Cinef school films competition; meanwhile, Amma Ariyan (1986) from Kerala was set to premiere at the festival.

Ahead, we detail some of the best sartorial appearances at Cannes 2026 so far.

Alia Bhatt

Alia Bhatt delivered some of the festival’s biggest fashion moments at the Cannes Film Festival 2026. Her arrival look featured a custom ensemble by That Antiquepiece, hand-painted by Basuri Chokshi. She paired the look with heart-shaped yellow diamond studs from Chopard, mules by Manolo Blahnik, and a bag by Meera Mahadevia, finishing the ensemble with soft glam makeup and a side-parted French-twist bun.

For the opening ceremony, Bhatt chose a custom coral-pink couture gown by Tamara Ralph in silk crêpe, detailed with sheer silk voile chiffon drapes around the arms. The look was accessorised with a statement necklace by Amrapali Jewels featuring 168.27 carats of rare pink coral centred around a 5.53-carat Golconda diamond, paired with square-cut Chopard earrings and an Asscher-cut diamond ring.

The sari has become a recurring choice in Janhvi Kapoor’s wardrobe, not as a one-note style, however, but a flexible language. She moves between archival heirlooms, sheer drapes, regional weaves and experimental couture. From hand-embroidered Manish Malhotra pieces to custom Di Petsa that rework the silhouette, her sari outings span moods, moments and contexts.

In a powder-blue periwinkle sari by Manish Malhotra, Kapoor swaps traditional structure for a more body-skimming drape, featuring sheer layering, a plunging blouse and elongated cape-like drapes falling from the shoulders. At the back, an open-back blouse and trailing fringe hems add dramatic impact to the sari’s silhouette. Styled by Meagan Concessio, the sari is paired with sapphire-toned floral earrings, a gemstone bracelet and a statement ring. Kapoor paired it with a sleek ponytail and glazed makeup.

Curating the perfect capsule wardrobe looks a little different for everyone, but there are a handful of staples that will benefit nearly every closet. Having a reliable collection of basics makes getting dressed easier, whether you’re a staunch minimalist who sticks to simplicity or an experimental dresser building looks upon a foundation. True luxury can be found among the classics, whether it’s a perfect white T-shirt, a well-fitting button-up or a pair of jeans.

Versatility and a neutral colour palette will be essential to unlocking your own sense of style, and the following six key clothing items are the essential building blocks for any capsule wardrobe.

The capsule wardrobe essentials

White shirt

A crisp white button-down shirt is the ultimate wardrobe essential, equally at home under a blazer for meetings or on the weekend with leggings, white sneakers and oversized outerwear. Look for cotton poplin or linen styles that breathe and hold their shape.

As a child, I once heard someone on the radio talking about how, when they died, they wanted their ashes scattered over the Himalayas. I remember thinking, What must it be like up there, that a person wants to go even in death? I wanted to see it while I was still alive,” shares Jyoti Ratre, who was 55 when she broke the record of being the oldest Indian woman to summit Mount Everest in 2024.

Born in Bhopal, Ratre first saw the snow-capped peaks of Himachal Pradesh’s Dhauladhar range in 2017—an encounter she describes as “love at first sight”. Soon after, with minimal training, she completed the Pin Parvati Pass trek, also in Himachal Pradesh. “It was 5,300 metres. I thought if I worked on my fitness, then I could do Everest.”

Ratre’s first attempt was in 2023. A week before she set out, a stomach ache took her to the doctor, where she discovered a severe urinary tract condition that required immediate surgery. “You usually need full anaesthesia for it, but I opted for a localised shot so I could make a quick recovery,” she says. “In my heart, the desire for Everest was so strong that everything else felt small. In India, women think life ends at 50. I wanted to prove to them that that’s when it starts.” The next morning, she was in Kathmandu. Three days later, the climb began.

During the summit push, Ratre’s team was hit by an unexpected storm and forced to turn back to Camp 4, the final base where climbers rest before attempting to reach the summit. When they arrived, one of her companions was missing—he’d lost his way in the storm. “He was unconscious when the Sherpa found him late at night,” she recalls. “I had a choice then. I could either wait and attempt the summit the next day or save my companion’s life. I thought, if I raise the flag tomorrow and he dies, I won’t be able to forgive myself.” Ratre had been just 600 metres from the goal she had spent six years chasing but she knew no peak was worth a human life. She made the call to let her guide descend with her companion, staying back at Camp 4 for two days until he returned for her. “My dream did not come true, but I was happy with my decision,” she says. In May 2024, she finally stood atop the tallest mountain in the world. “I used to cry when I reached a summit. But with Everest, I think I blacked out. I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel happy or sad. I just can’t express it in words.”

My son went to his first funeral before he’d even been born.

It can be quite an interesting feeling, to stand by a coffin while an unborn life punches you in the bladder from the inside. To find something suitable and formal and sombre to wear over a stomach the size of a fairly decent microwave. To say goodbye to someone dear to you, while a stranger pulses away beneath your skin.

But I believe that having children at a funeral is a great benefit—no matter their age. I recently had the honour of joining one of my oldest friends to mourn the death of her father. In the small chapel, where we listened to stories of his life and love, almost the whole of the front two rows were taken up by children. From breastfeeding babies to teenagers; they sat and listened and tucked their hair behind their ears and cried and looked at the windows and ate breadsticks and simply were.

When I was young, I think there was an assumption that children at a funeral weren’t appropriate guests. This was born of a somewhat old-fashioned cocktail of beliefs: that children are too noisy, that young people are too innocent or that kids would be frightened by too much talk of death. In my experience, children are in many ways far more comfortable and competent at considering death than their adult counterparts.

When the whole world is new, and everything must be learned, death is just another part of the great, magical, strange, complicated jigsaw that we must find the right piece for. Just as you learn that fire is hot, that beetroot juice is purple, that seasons lengthen and shorten days, so you discover that hearts one day stop; that brains drain of blood; that bodies turn cold. I remember taking my son to a museum where there was a small display of bones and explaining to him that after death, much of what we consider to be “us” simply rots away, melts back into the earth, feeds beetles and roots and trees. What starts as a heartbeat ends, eventually, in bones. For weeks after, he thought deeply about this. I could tell because he would occasionally turn to me, half way through a baked potato or a bath, and ask me something like “what makes your lungs work?” or, “when you die, what happens to your eyes?” As someone who was present at the death of both of my grandparents, and who has touched the dead skin of other people I have known and loved, I felt fairly well-equipped to answer these questions honestly, calmly and in the moment.

When my Maori uncle died, his body was laid out, as is tradition, for a number of days in the marae. During that time, people visited, ate food, talked; while his grandchildren did their homework, played and read. Sitting just a few feet from his body, life in mourning took place and those children, well, were children. I thought of them, as I sat in that English graveyard a few weeks ago, and watched the babies and grandchildren created, in part, by the man we’d lost. They behaved impeccably. By which, I mean they behaved as themselves. The baby babbled and fed, the smaller children played with the hems of their clothes, the older boys looked to their parents or down at their hands. I was so glad they were there; not only because they deserved their right to grieve and say goodbye alongside everybody else, but also because they were a reminder that while lives are finite, life is not.