by For costume designer Neha Bajaj, cinema has always been about truth—quietly observed, carefully lived-in, and deeply rooted in realism. Over the years, her work has become synonymous with authenticity, whether it was the understated everyday wear of The Family Man or the textured, period-inflected styling of Guns & Gulaabs. Bajaj built a reputation for making costumes invisible in the best way possible—allowing characters, emotions, and narrative to take precedence.
But with Toxic: A Fairytale for Grown-Ups, Bajaj steps into a radically different cinematic universe—one that is stylised, glamorous, edgy, and unapologetically visual. Directed by Geetu Mohandas, the film introduces audiences to a heightened world populated by striking new avatars of Yash, Kiara Advani, and Huma Qureshi—a world where costume is no longer just a background element, but a storytelling force in itself.
In an exclusive conversation with Bollywood Hungama, Bajaj opens up about this pivotal shift, the creative risks involved, and what it truly means to reinvent oneself in an industry that often boxes its technicians as tightly as it does its stars.
What Toxic also allowed Bajaj to explore was the psychology of aspiration—how power, ambition, and moral ambiguity translate into visual language. Costumes here are not merely aesthetic choices; they reflect inner worlds. Sharp tailoring, deliberate colour palettes, and controlled extravagance mirror characters who operate in morally complex spaces. Bajaj explains that every fabric choice was guided by intention rather than excess. “Even when it’s glamorous, it has to feel earned,” she notes. This attention to psychological realism, even within a stylised universe, ensures that Toxic never slips into superficial spectacle, maintaining emotional credibility beneath its visual boldness.
Breaking Free from the Comfort of Realism
“I’ve largely worked in realism,” Bajaj admits candidly. “And Toxic sits at the opposite end of the spectrum—suave, stylish, glamorous, and very cinematic.”
This acknowledgment is more than just a description of genre—it is a reflection of how the film industry functions. Bajaj points out a reality that rarely gets discussed outside industry circles: typecasting affects technicians just as deeply as actors.
“If a costume designer does realistic cinema, those are the projects that keep coming their way,” she explains. “That doesn’t mean we can’t do the other extreme. It’s just that the opportunities don’t always present themselves.”
For years, Bajaj’s grounded sensibility made her the go-to choice for stories rooted in realism. Her costumes blended seamlessly into the world—never overpowering, never calling attention to themselves. But while this approach earned her acclaim, it also quietly narrowed perception.
Toxic arrived at exactly the right moment.
A Career Turning Point Disguised as a Challenge
When Bajaj first came on board Toxic, she knew immediately that this was not just another assignment—it was a career-defining pivot.
“This project came at a very crucial point in my journey,” she says. “It pushed me into a space that people didn’t associate me with.”
Directed by Geetu Mohandas, known for her emotionally layered and visually distinct storytelling, Toxic demanded a complete reorientation of Bajaj’s design instincts. This was not a film where costumes could quietly recede into the background. Instead, they had to participate actively in world-building.
“When I first met Geetu and shared my ideas, it felt very personal,” Bajaj recalls. “I wanted to prove—to her and to myself—that just because I’ve done one kind of cinema doesn’t mean I can’t do another.”
That trust became foundational. Mohandas’ confidence in Bajaj’s vision gave her the creative freedom to step out of familiar territory and into a realm where style, silhouette, texture, and colour carried narrative weight.
Redefining the Role of Costume in Storytelling
Bajaj draws a sharp distinction between her philosophy in realistic cinema and the approach Toxic demanded.
“In realism, the actor and the narrative must speak before the costume,” she explains. “If the clothes draw attention first, then the design has gone too far.”
This principle guided her work on The Family Man, where clothing reflected middle-class practicality, emotional wear, and lived-in familiarity. The goal was invisibility—costumes that felt so authentic they disappeared.
Toxic, however, flipped that logic on its head.
“This film required a visually charged world,” Bajaj says. “Here, costume, production design, art direction, hair, and makeup had to work together in sync. The look itself is part of the storytelling.”
The challenge wasn’t to abandon realism entirely, but to reinterpret it through a heightened, cinematic lens—creating a world that feels believable yet stylised, grounded yet glamorous.
Entering a World of Glamour, Edge, and Intentional Excess
Describing Toxic, Bajaj calls it “the polar opposite of The Family Man.”
“It’s more glamorous, more on-the-face,” she says without hesitation. “When you see Yash in this world, the impression is instantly that of a suave, stylish gangster. That’s the intention.”
This immediacy is key. In Toxic, the visual language establishes character even before dialogue does. Costumes are not merely reflective; they are declarative.
Early glimpses of the film—Yash’s striking new looks, Kiara Advani’s polished yet powerful styling, and Huma Qureshi’s commanding presence—suggest a cinematic universe designed with precision and ambition.
“This is meant to be a visual experience,” Bajaj emphasizes. “It’s not subtle in the way my earlier work was, and that’s exactly the point.”
Designing New Avatars for Familiar Faces
One of the most exciting aspects of Toxic for Bajaj was the opportunity to present actors in ways audiences haven’t seen before.
“With a film like this, you can’t rely on familiar tropes,” she explains. “You’re creating new identities.”
For Yash, already a pan-Indian icon, the challenge was to evolve his screen persona without losing the charisma audiences associate with him. The result is a look that signals power, control, and sophistication—a gangster aesthetic that is stylish rather than raw, composed rather than chaotic.
Kiara Advani’s styling, meanwhile, reflects a blend of elegance and strength, moving away from predictable glamour into something sharper and more intentional. Huma Qureshi’s character, too, occupies a visually commanding space, reinforcing the film’s emphasis on strong, distinct identities.
“The idea was that no one looks generic,” Bajaj notes. “Each character has a visual personality.”
Collaboration Over Competition
Despite the scale of the project, Bajaj is quick to stress that Toxic was never about individual brilliance—it was about collective cohesion.
“Yash has his own stylist,” she reveals. “But we were in constant coordination.”
In large-scale films, especially those involving high-profile stars, conflicting visual sensibilities can easily fragment the aesthetic. Avoiding that required continuous dialogue and mutual respect.
“The film has to look cohesive,” Bajaj says firmly. “It can’t feel like people belong to different worlds.”
This collaborative ethos extended across departments, with costume, production design, and cinematography aligning toward a shared visual goal. The result is a world that feels unified—intentional in every frame.
High Stakes, Higher Standards
What makes Toxic particularly special for Bajaj is the creative intensity that defined the project.
“Everyone came in with extremely high benchmarks,” she says. “People were pushing themselves to do better than their best work so far.”
This environment of creative pressure, rather than being intimidating, became energizing. It elevated the process, forcing each department to innovate rather than rely on formula.
“Projects like this don’t come often in a costume designer’s life,” Bajaj reflects. “You’re aware that what you do here could redefine how people see your work.”
The Industry’s Quiet Evolution—and Bajaj’s Place in It
Bajaj’s journey mirrors a larger shift within Indian cinema—one where technicians are increasingly being recognized as storytellers in their own right. Costume design is no longer viewed as a secondary craft but as an integral part of cinematic language.
Toxic positions Bajaj firmly within this evolving landscape. It signals her readiness to move fluidly between realism and spectacle, between grounded storytelling and stylised extravagance.
“This film gave me the confidence to embrace both ends of the spectrum,” she says. “I don’t want to be boxed into one kind of cinema.”
Reinvention Without Rejection
Importantly, Bajaj doesn’t view Toxic as a rejection of her past work, but as an expansion of it.
“Realism taught me discipline,” she says. “It taught me restraint. And that actually helps when you’re doing something more stylised—you know where to stop.”
This balance is what gives Toxic its distinctive look. Despite its glamour, the film never feels hollow or ornamental. The costumes are bold, but they are anchored in character psychology and narrative intent.
A Fairytale for Grown-Ups—Visually and Creatively
As Toxic: A Fairytale for Grown-Ups moves closer to release, Neha Bajaj’s work stands out as one of its defining elements. The film doesn’t just mark a new chapter for its actors—it represents a creative evolution for its costume designer, one that reflects courage, adaptability, and artistic confidence.
In stepping into this visually charged world, Bajaj has done more than reinvent her craft. She has challenged the industry’s assumptions about her—and perhaps, more importantly, challenged her own.
And in doing so, she reminds us that the most compelling journeys in cinema often happen behind the camera, where artists quietly—and sometimes boldly—redefine what they are capable of.
