From Karan Aujla to Badshah: How Fan Merch Is Powering India’s New Fandom Economy

When the New York Knicks won the NBA championship in June, fans poured into the streets wearing the same jerseys and chanting the same slogans. A few years earlier, Taylor Swift's Eras Tour had people exchanging friendship bracelets across the world, while closer home, crowds still gather outside Amitabh Bachchan's residence for a glimpse of the superstar. These are stories of extraordinary artists and entertainers — but also of the communities that rally around them. 

According to a report by MyFandom, a direct-to-fan platform and media company asks, “Would a fair assessment of [their] true value be possible without accounting for the fandom of each?” 

For decades, fandom was viewed as a by-product of popularity, and merchandise was little more than a souvenir picked up after a concert. But today, it’s increasingly becoming an industry in its own right, influencing everything from touring decisions and brand partnerships to whether international acts choose to perform in markets like India. 

“It’s not just about having merch, but about building a business around fandom itself,” says Jinal Ajmera, co-founder of MyFandom. 

At the heart of this shift is what many call the fandom economy — an ecosystem where fans are not just the consumer, but stakeholders without whom the entire enterprise would cease to exist. And increasingly, it is not just the star that is being celebrated, but the fandom itself. 

Design Reigns Supreme  

Bhavik Vora, founder of C.O.R.E., India’s first large-scale pop-culture festival, has spent two decades in the merchandising business. 

“When we started, it was largely centred around kids’ entertainment channels like Cartoon Network and Pogo, with products such as toys and apparel,” he says. “Then came the internet, e-commerce and OTT boom, and everything changed.” 

But what has truly propelled the fandom economy, Bhavik says, is the rise of experiences. And merchandise completes this loop. It gives fans a tangible connection to the characters, stories and artists they love, particularly when tied to live experiences such as concerts, conventions and festivals. 

“Music merchandise is currently the most sought-after category,” he says. The surge of international artists performing in India has fuelled that demand, and he now receives several calls a day from fans looking to buy merchandise linked to their favourite artists. 

Jinal points to 2025 as a landmark year for the fandom economy, driven in part by Coldplay’s record-breaking concerts in India. 

“However, there are still very few Indian [music] artists who are genuinely invested in building a merchandise or fandom business,” she says. Rapper Badshah, who launched his streetwear brand, Badfit in 2017, is one of them. 

“You can’t delegate your identity,” he says. 

For Badshah, artists need to approach merchandising with the same rigour they bring to the studio. That means being involved in everything from fabrics and silhouettes to colour palettes and graphic design. 

“When your merchandise holds legitimate artistic and sartorial value, it commands respect far beyond the music industry,” he says. “If you treat it as an afterthought by just slapping a logo on a generic, low-quality [garment] your audience will sense the lack of authenticity immediately. Today's consumers are design-literate and visually sophisticated; they don't buy a band shirt out of charity; they buy it because it fits their aesthetic.” 

Bhavik agrees that design is often the difference between merchandise that sells and merchandise that doesn’t. 

“The assets you use for a billboard are very different from what works on a T-shirt or backpack. Merchandise shouldn't look like advertising,” he says. “The product itself should be brand-agnostic. It should be so cool that even if you don't know the brand, or didn’t like the movie, you'd still want to buy it.” 

“If I'm being real, most merch in India doesn't clear that bar yet,” admits Jinay Vora, co-founder of SuperClan. He explains that the average fan today is shopping at international chains like Uniqlo and Zara, so they understand what ₹1,500 can get them. 

For the team at Odd Not Even, who design merchandise for singers Karan Aujla and AP Dhillon, the process begins with understanding how fans connect with an artist. 

“For Karan Aujla, the merchandise was centred around a very specific phase of his career, the P-Pop Culture album,” says a representative from their team. “But with AP Dhillon, the creative approach was broader, so the merchandise incorporated references to several songs and themes that fans strongly associate with him.”

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is 

Bhavik understands, however, that India will always be a price-sensitive market. But that doesn't mean there is no audience for collectibles and premium merchandise. As disposable income grows, people are willing to spend it.  

“Today, there are so many streetwear brands like Jaywalking or Bluorng, that appeal to 20-year-olds who are paying ₹5,000 for a T-shirt; something that would have been unheard of in the past,” he says. “These brands are selling a vibe, an experience.” 

And when fans pay for merch, it says something about their connection to the artist, too. For Outstation, a young Indian music band, buying merch is one of the most sincere expressions of fandom. But the band's audience is young too, so these price points are often not accessible to them.  

“We know that currently not all our fans can afford the apparel since a lot of them are in school,” they admit. “So, we're working on releasing a lot of smaller and more accessible items that everyone can hold on to as a way to connect with us.” 

They keep that promise by giving away wristbands and small cards to everyone in each show. 

On the other hand, for Badshah, a seasoned artist who has spent two decades in the industry, streaming numbers indicate reach, while merchandise sales reveal retention.  

“A stream costs the listener minimal effort and zero financial sacrifice. Even a ticket sale can simply mean curiosity or a desire for a night out,” he says. “But when a fan buys merchandise, they're investing capital into your identity; that's a direct metric of emotional equity.” 

He continues, “If you have millions of streams but nobody's buying your merch, you have traction, not community. You have a hit song, but you haven't built a culture.” 

Jinay agrees. Merchandise sales are the most honest number in the room; one can’t fake it or buy it. It’s the number that tells you who's likely to still matter five years from now.

Demand and Supply 

But what makes merch successful? According to Jinal, it starts with the IP. Then comes relevance to the audience, the artist's layer, product quality, and attention to detail. And that naturally raises another question: do artists actually look at merchandise sales when evaluating a market? 

“It's more of a business conversation,” she says. “Of course, knowing the numbers matters for artists and their management teams, and for us as well.” 

By now, says Jinay, every international team knows Indian fans will show up — and spend. What they often underestimate is everything that happens behind the scenes. 

“What I don't think they fully realise is that merch here is an operations problem wearing a creative costume. The right product, the right size run, the right price, a stall that isn't a 45-minute queue, and an online link for the 90 per cent of fans who couldn't even get a ticket — mess up any one of these and the whole thing falls flat, no matter how good the design looks.” 

India, he argues, is already a serious merch market. The opportunity lies in getting the backend right. So why aren't Indian artists selling merch at the same scale as international acts? 

“It will happen,” says Bhavik. “I hate saying this, but we still have an aspiration for global artists, whether it's Hollywood, music, or sports.” 

He points to Indian cinema and cricket — arguably the country's strongest cultural forces — as proof that demand exists. The challenge, he says, is design. Even after 18 years of the IPL, only a handful of teams have truly cracked merchandise from a design perspective. Vora points to A47, the company's own e-commerce brand, which sells official merchandise for ISRO, the Indian Armed Forces, Amar Chitra Katha and Andaz Apna Apna. Their goal is simple: make space for Indian stories and institutions. 

The audience, he says, is already here. 

However, if a concert tee or collectible ends up being resold for multiples of its original price, is that a win for the brand or a headache for rights holders? For Bhavik, it's largely a sign of value creation. 

“If it's limited edition, then yes, it definitely creates FOMO value. We're living in a world of collectibles. Trading cards are having a huge moment. Rare Pokémon cards, anime cards, sports cards — people are paying five, six, even a hundred times their original value.” 

The same logic applies to merchandise. But that culture is still largely driven by global brands in India. He adds that for Indian IPs, the mainstream merchandising ecosystem itself needs to be cracked first.

“The [Indian] fandom economy is still in its nascent stage,” says Vivek Ajmera, co-founder of MyFandom. “We're very bullish on it and look forward to 2028, when we see this becoming a $10 billion economy.” In fact, he believes that's a conservative estimate.  

For Badshah, its importance goes beyond revenue. Merchandise is the tangible anchor of an artist's ecosystem, he says. “In a digital-first era, music has become highly ephemeral, and merch is how you solidify that fleeting digital interaction into a physical relationship.” 

The real goal, he argues, isn't maximising profit on a single T-shirt. It's maximising the number of people wearing the artist’s name on the street.  

“A lower margin means more kids can afford the gear, which means more walking billboards and more long-term marketing value. Because ticket sales fund the immediate overhead of production and venues, while merch converts that temporary two-hour performance into a permanent subculture,” he says.  

Long after the show ends, fans continue doing what no marketing campaign can fully replicate: creating organic visibility and community in the real world. 

That idea of cultural ownership is also what excites Vora about the future of Indian IP; to give them a platform on a level playing field with global brands so people start looking at homegrown brands as pop culture too.  

“Japan owns manga. They don't worry about what Hollywood is doing. They created their own category. If we can do the same with our mythology, folklore, and stories, it can travel across the world,” he says. 

For India's merchandising industry, that may be the next step: not just selling T-shirts but turning local stories into global cultural enterprises.