As a designer, museums are my classrooms. Living in France, Denmark, and India, plus on countless travels, I’ve made it a point to visit museums everywhere I go. They are where I learn, get inspired, and connect with different cultures.
When I moved to Ahmedabad two years ago, everyone told me the same thing: “You have to visit the Calico Museum of Textiles.” So I booked a slot months in advance, excited for it. But the moment I stepped through the big wooden front gate, something unexpected happened.
Two guards welcomed our group and immediately asked for our phones and IDs. I was genuinely shocked. In all my museum visits across the world, from the Textile Museum in Lyon to the National Museum of Denmark in Copenhagen to countless galleries in Paris, no one had ever asked me to give my phone at the entrance.
Colours, patterns, conversations
Our guide greeted us as we waited for the rest of the group. I’ll admit, I usually skip guided tours because I like exploring at my own pace, but here, it’s the only way to visit. As our guide began narrating the stories behind each textile, something magical started happening. She explained ancient block printing techniques, shared stories of craftspeople from different regions, and showed us colours and patterns that carried centuries of tradition.
I found myself wandering through beautifully carved wooden corridors, climbing narrow stairs, walking by heavy doors, and genuinely listening to a world I knew nothing about. Without my phone, I wasn’t thinking about capturing some of the beautiful textiles for my “inspiration gallery” or writing down the name of every technique to “look it up later”. Instead, I was fully present.
I noticed things I would have missed, like the depth of the colours of century-old sarees, the way the textile for the tente was still falling perfectly, recreating how it looked before. The most surprising part? People were actually talking to each other. We started by introducing ourselves and exchanging stories about our profession or travels, and what brought us here. When someone spotted an incredible detail on a textile, they’d lean over and whisper to a stranger, “Look at this!”
We exchanged smiles, pointed at fascinating patterns, and shared moments of wonder. It felt human and warm in a way I haven’t experienced in any other museum before. The no-phone policy at Calico felt almost rebellious in our digital age. In a society obsessed with creating digital proof of every physical experience, there was something magical and secretive about not being able to “keep” any visual memories. All I had were stories, feelings, and words to share with others later.
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Take note, museums
Walking through those halls, I remembered why I fell in love with museums in the first place. The immersion. It was about that moment when something from another time or place suddenly makes sense, and you feel connected to it in some way. When we finally got our phones back at the end, the contrast was jarring. Suddenly, everyone was back to their individual bubbles, checking messages and notifications, booking cabs. The “spell” was broken.
This visit became, by far, the best museum experience I’ve ever had. Not because the artefacts were the most spectacular (though they were incredible), but because I was forced to experience them properly. No digital barrier, no urge to document the experience—just pure, unfiltered wonder.
Maybe other museums and creative spaces, like concerts, should take note. In our rush to make everything shareable, we might be forgetting what it means to truly share an experience. But perhaps what made Calico truly special was realising that everything I’d just admired wasn’t locked away in the past—those sarees, those techniques, those beautiful patterns were all around me on Ahmedabad’s streets, still being worn and created today. I wasn’t just visiting a museum; I was being introduced to a culture that was very much alive.
Julia Chaigneau is a French material and communication designer based in India and the co-founder of This is it Studio. She tweets @juliachaigneau. Views are personal.
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)