The Culture Edit: On travel, yoga and the myth of the melting pot
Come rediscover parts of our culture that don't always make the brochure, as told from the inside, out. Have a story to share? Drop us a mail at hello@timeoutsouthafrica.com
'I like your 'Om' shirt - can you tell me about the 2,500-year history behind it?'
It's the kind of question that would probably stop most people in their Lululemon-clad tracks. But it's one we should be asking - especially on a day like International Yoga Day.
Cape Town is my home city. It's often described in travel as a 'melting pot of cultures.'
It sounds poetic, doesn't it?
But as a coloured South African, I've found that metaphor somewhat flawed.
A 'melting pot' implies that heritage blends harmoniously into one smooth stew. But in South Africa - and especially in Cape Town - many of us carry cultures that were never allowed to flourish freely. Some parts were erased, others repackaged, and many still go unacknowledged.
And there couldn't be a more opportune time to stir this pot for deeper context than on #InternationalYogaDay.
What is cultural appropriation, really?
Cultural appropriation isn't just about wearing 'someone else's stuff.'
It's about power.
As The Conversation explains, appropriation happens when members of a dominant culture take elements from a marginalised culture without understanding or respecting the original meaning, especially when that culture has been historically oppressed.
In simpler terms, it's picking what looks cool or marketable from another tradition and leaving the context behind.
And in the case of yoga, it's rampant.
Yoga: From spiritual discipline to stretch-and-sweat
Yoga is believed to have originated over 2,500 years ago in the Indus Valley. It's rooted in ancient Indian philosophy and spirituality. But today, when you search the term 'yoga' or scroll through Instagram, what do you see?
More often, it's bendy influencers doing advanced poses in luxury studios or on private beaches. Expensive leggings and Sanskrit mantras on crop tops all accentuate the incense aesthetic.
According to this Self Magazine feature by Rina Deshpande, who posed the opening "Om question" - Indian yoga teachers often feel invisible in global wellness spaces.
The yoga Deshpande grew up with - a deeply personal, spiritual, and philosophical practice - has been commodified into something else entirely.
She postures that the physical activity, or asanas, are just one of yoga's eight limbs. The others, such as breath control (pranayama), ethical conduct, inner discipline, and devotion, are often ignored or forgotten in modern times.
This is where cultural appropriation becomes clear: when a sacred practice is stripped down, rebranded and sold back to the world without acknowledging the people it came from.
View this post on Instagram
A post shared by Rina Deshpande (@rinathepoet)
In Cape Town, this isn't abstract.
A few years ago, a city-based studio faced backlash after hosting an 'Asian Night' where attendees wore bindis, kimonos, and chopsticks in their hair.
While this can all be seemingly playful in intent - Asian community members considered it "flattening and offensive". The studio later issued a public apology, acknowledging the harm caused.
South African context: When borrowing becomes erasure
This conversation doesn't stop at yoga.
Cultural appropriation shows up all over our public life - especially when money, branding, and media attention are involved.
Take Die Antwoord, as highlighted in The Conversation piece. The internationally successful music duo from Cape Town draws much of its aesthetic - Kaaps slang, working-class Coloured identity, and gang iconography - from communities they don't belong to.
Critics argue that the group profited off caricatures of Cape Flats culture while real people living those experiences continued to face systemic marginalisation.
View this post on Instagram
A post shared by DIE ANTWOORD (@dieantwoord)
Another notable flashpoint this year was a viral video of New Orleans' annual 'Zulu Parade' during Mardi Gras - orchestrated by the Zulu Social Aid & Pleasure Club, which dates back to 1916.
The troupe don grass skirts, ornate headpieces, and 'Zulu' warrior-inspired make-up, and South Africans took to social media to express outrage.
Many argued the parade 'totally misrepresents' authentic Zulu culture - going beyond celebration into caricature - prompting heated and complex dialogue about diasporic. This incident crystallises how using a culture's identity - even with historical intent - can be deeply offensive when divorced from consultation or meaningful connection.
The Kaapse Klopse, the iconic New Year minstrel festival, hits even closer to home.
What began as a celebration of survival and cultural expression has been both treasured and troubled.
Some performances still feature blackface or colonial minstrel costumes, raising questions about how cultural practices evolve - and whether they reinforce or challenge harmful legacies.
View this post on Instagram
A post shared by Cape Town Tourism (@lovecapetown)
Even something as beautiful and simple as the Basotho blanket has been co-opted by Louis Vuitton in a 2017 menswear collection, without meaningful credit or collaboration. In contrast, Cape Town-based designer Thabo Makhetha works closely with Basotho heritage and artisans, ensuring the cultural context remains at the heart of her work.
Where a powerful brand like LV could have paid homage through collaboration, Makhetha has shown the difference.
Appreciation involves context, collaboration, and consent. Appropriation doesn't.
View this post on Instagram
A post shared by Thabo Makhetha (@tmakcc)
What does this mean for us as travellers?
Working in travel journalism - especially at a brand like Time Out, which has been spotlighting local culture since 1968 makes this conversation more relevant than ever.
Travel is about curiosity. About crossing borders, meeting new people, and discovering unfamiliar traditions.
But we have to ask: are we celebrating other cultures, or merely consuming them?
The full-blown experience of travel is about walking through a city's backstreets, learning a few words of its language and buying handwoven cloth directly from the person who made it.
Done well, travel builds bridges. Done carelessly, it just reinforces the same old power dynamics.
I've recently taken on the role of City Editor for Time Out Cape Town and it's an invigorating time. We're backed by global experience and rooted in a hyper-local perspective. My goal isn't just to amplify Cape Town's position on the map. It's to tell stories that respect its layers.
That invite people in with open arms, not open wallets.
And that includes naming when something is off. We can't keep melting cultures down into smooth slogans. Sometimes the rough edges tell the most important stories.
Yet, I genuinely believe there's space for meaningful cross-cultural appreciation. The kind that doesn't flatten identity but expands perspective.
Travel (and yoga, at its best) invites us to sit with discomfort, to breathe into nuance, and to be still long enough to listen.
If we approach culture not as something to consume but as something to be in a relationship with, we can all learn to move through the world with a little more awareness and maybe, just maybe, a little more lightness of being.
* You've just read the first instalment of The Culture Edit, a new Time Out Cape Town series that digs deeper into the stories behind the streets, symbols, and experiences that shape how we travel - and how we live.
This isn't your standard city guide. Each edition of The Culture Edit will explore cultural tension points that sit just below the surface of our daily lives: What does 'local' actually mean in a place with as many-layered identities as Cape Town? We'll look at everything from fashion to food, language to landmarks, sacred practices to public parties - asking not just where to go, but how to go there with respect, curiosity and context.
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The Culture Edit: On travel, yoga and the myth of the melting pot
Come rediscover parts of our culture that don't always make the brochure, as told from the inside, out. Have a story to share? Drop us a mail at hello@ 'I like your 'Om' shirt - can you tell me about the 2,500-year history behind it?' It's the kind of question that would probably stop most people in their Lululemon-clad tracks. But it's one we should be asking - especially on a day like International Yoga Day. Cape Town is my home city. It's often described in travel as a 'melting pot of cultures.' It sounds poetic, doesn't it? But as a coloured South African, I've found that metaphor somewhat flawed. A 'melting pot' implies that heritage blends harmoniously into one smooth stew. But in South Africa - and especially in Cape Town - many of us carry cultures that were never allowed to flourish freely. Some parts were erased, others repackaged, and many still go unacknowledged. And there couldn't be a more opportune time to stir this pot for deeper context than on #InternationalYogaDay. What is cultural appropriation, really? Cultural appropriation isn't just about wearing 'someone else's stuff.' It's about power. As The Conversation explains, appropriation happens when members of a dominant culture take elements from a marginalised culture without understanding or respecting the original meaning, especially when that culture has been historically oppressed. In simpler terms, it's picking what looks cool or marketable from another tradition and leaving the context behind. And in the case of yoga, it's rampant. Yoga: From spiritual discipline to stretch-and-sweat Yoga is believed to have originated over 2,500 years ago in the Indus Valley. It's rooted in ancient Indian philosophy and spirituality. But today, when you search the term 'yoga' or scroll through Instagram, what do you see? More often, it's bendy influencers doing advanced poses in luxury studios or on private beaches. Expensive leggings and Sanskrit mantras on crop tops all accentuate the incense aesthetic. According to this Self Magazine feature by Rina Deshpande, who posed the opening "Om question" - Indian yoga teachers often feel invisible in global wellness spaces. The yoga Deshpande grew up with - a deeply personal, spiritual, and philosophical practice - has been commodified into something else entirely. She postures that the physical activity, or asanas, are just one of yoga's eight limbs. The others, such as breath control (pranayama), ethical conduct, inner discipline, and devotion, are often ignored or forgotten in modern times. This is where cultural appropriation becomes clear: when a sacred practice is stripped down, rebranded and sold back to the world without acknowledging the people it came from. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Rina Deshpande (@rinathepoet) In Cape Town, this isn't abstract. A few years ago, a city-based studio faced backlash after hosting an 'Asian Night' where attendees wore bindis, kimonos, and chopsticks in their hair. While this can all be seemingly playful in intent - Asian community members considered it "flattening and offensive". The studio later issued a public apology, acknowledging the harm caused. South African context: When borrowing becomes erasure This conversation doesn't stop at yoga. Cultural appropriation shows up all over our public life - especially when money, branding, and media attention are involved. Take Die Antwoord, as highlighted in The Conversation piece. The internationally successful music duo from Cape Town draws much of its aesthetic - Kaaps slang, working-class Coloured identity, and gang iconography - from communities they don't belong to. Critics argue that the group profited off caricatures of Cape Flats culture while real people living those experiences continued to face systemic marginalisation. View this post on Instagram A post shared by DIE ANTWOORD (@dieantwoord) Another notable flashpoint this year was a viral video of New Orleans' annual 'Zulu Parade' during Mardi Gras - orchestrated by the Zulu Social Aid & Pleasure Club, which dates back to 1916. The troupe don grass skirts, ornate headpieces, and 'Zulu' warrior-inspired make-up, and South Africans took to social media to express outrage. Many argued the parade 'totally misrepresents' authentic Zulu culture - going beyond celebration into caricature - prompting heated and complex dialogue about diasporic. This incident crystallises how using a culture's identity - even with historical intent - can be deeply offensive when divorced from consultation or meaningful connection. The Kaapse Klopse, the iconic New Year minstrel festival, hits even closer to home. What began as a celebration of survival and cultural expression has been both treasured and troubled. Some performances still feature blackface or colonial minstrel costumes, raising questions about how cultural practices evolve - and whether they reinforce or challenge harmful legacies. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Cape Town Tourism (@lovecapetown) Even something as beautiful and simple as the Basotho blanket has been co-opted by Louis Vuitton in a 2017 menswear collection, without meaningful credit or collaboration. In contrast, Cape Town-based designer Thabo Makhetha works closely with Basotho heritage and artisans, ensuring the cultural context remains at the heart of her work. Where a powerful brand like LV could have paid homage through collaboration, Makhetha has shown the difference. Appreciation involves context, collaboration, and consent. Appropriation doesn't. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Thabo Makhetha (@tmakcc) What does this mean for us as travellers? Working in travel journalism - especially at a brand like Time Out, which has been spotlighting local culture since 1968 makes this conversation more relevant than ever. Travel is about curiosity. About crossing borders, meeting new people, and discovering unfamiliar traditions. But we have to ask: are we celebrating other cultures, or merely consuming them? The full-blown experience of travel is about walking through a city's backstreets, learning a few words of its language and buying handwoven cloth directly from the person who made it. Done well, travel builds bridges. Done carelessly, it just reinforces the same old power dynamics. I've recently taken on the role of City Editor for Time Out Cape Town and it's an invigorating time. We're backed by global experience and rooted in a hyper-local perspective. My goal isn't just to amplify Cape Town's position on the map. It's to tell stories that respect its layers. That invite people in with open arms, not open wallets. And that includes naming when something is off. We can't keep melting cultures down into smooth slogans. Sometimes the rough edges tell the most important stories. Yet, I genuinely believe there's space for meaningful cross-cultural appreciation. The kind that doesn't flatten identity but expands perspective. Travel (and yoga, at its best) invites us to sit with discomfort, to breathe into nuance, and to be still long enough to listen. If we approach culture not as something to consume but as something to be in a relationship with, we can all learn to move through the world with a little more awareness and maybe, just maybe, a little more lightness of being. * You've just read the first instalment of The Culture Edit, a new Time Out Cape Town series that digs deeper into the stories behind the streets, symbols, and experiences that shape how we travel - and how we live. This isn't your standard city guide. Each edition of The Culture Edit will explore cultural tension points that sit just below the surface of our daily lives: What does 'local' actually mean in a place with as many-layered identities as Cape Town? We'll look at everything from fashion to food, language to landmarks, sacred practices to public parties - asking not just where to go, but how to go there with respect, curiosity and context.
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