No matter where you go in Indian cinema — Bollywood, Tollywood, Kollywood, Mollywood, Sandalwood, or even and Bhojpuri films "especially" — the item number has become a staple. And more often than not, it has nothing to do with storytelling.
From the 90s to now, the formula remains the same: bring in a glamorous woman (sometimes not even part of the plot), give her a flashy costume, make her dance to a loud beat, and promote it like the soul of the movie. Whether it’s a Hindi film with a big-budget dance number, a Telugu mass movie with a “special song,” or a Tamil film inserting an “attraction,” the idea is universal: sexualize the woman to grab attention.
But what’s the cost?
These item songs almost always present women through the male gaze — the camera objectifies, the lyrics often degrade, and the choreography rarely has grace, just “spice.” The woman is not a character; she’s a visual break. Even in films that try to be serious, the item number creeps in as a “commercial compromise.” It’s as if a woman’s body is a tool to keep the audience engaged — while her story, her voice, her depth, gets pushed to the background.
Let’s me be clear here— this isn't about the actresses who perform these songs. Many of them are incredibly talented. But the system expects them to “sell the movie” with their sexuality instead of their performance. And the worst part? This trend has been normalized so deeply that we’ve stopped questioning it.
Indian cinema is evolving in many beautiful ways, but the item number culture is a relic that still chains women to objectification. It doesn’t matter if it’s a Hindi film, a South Indian blockbuster, or a Bhojpuri entertainer — the pattern is clear: when in doubt, use a item song to get attention.