Regardless of how African fashion has been misunderstood globally, one thing is certain: long before fashion influencers, the corset pandemic, runways, the importation of foreign fabrics, and what we now call “formal dresses,” we already had our own distinct way of dressing. And it wasn’t just out of necessity; it was a reflection of our creativity, identity, and unique sense of style.
Fashion is a silent teacher. It’s a lens through which we understand social, economic, and cultural history. Talking about fashion helps us trace our roots and the influences that shaped how we express ourselves through appearance. As playful and fun as fashion may seem, the moment you step into a crowd, your dress, your shoes, and your hair are the first things people use to judge who you are before you even get to speak.
African mothers have always understood the power of fashion. That’s why our dressing was always inspected before we stepped out of the house. I remember my mum always repeating one phrase in my ears: “The way you dress is the way you will be addressed.” Fashion has always been a tool for communication of status, culture, and individuality. According to some African traditions, young women wore only simple skirts, and when they got married, they wore full wraps and cloaks that covered their breasts.
African fashion has evolved, most of it born out of necessity. Many early African garments were minimal because of the warm climate; men wore loincloths or aprons, and women wore wraps around their waists or breasts.
The first forms of clothing were bark cloth, furs, skins, and hides, while the rest of the body was adorned with beautification marks and coloured pigments. These clothes were designed to suit our warm atmosphere, to be covered, yet comfortable.
As time went on, Africans began using raffia to sew separate pieces of bark cloth together. Likewise, they used accessories to decorate the uncovered parts of the body. These included intricate jewellery and headgear made from seashells, bones, ostrich eggshells, and feathers.
Fur, skins, animal tails, raffia, wood, grass, bells, and pressed metal all contributed to rich, decorated costumes, especially for ceremonial purposes.
Another fashion upgrade that came out of necessity was the use of colours and patterns. Printed and dyed cloth, woven fabric strips, and beaded attire helped distinguish one ethnic group from another.
Since Africa is home to many cultures, each tribe developed its own unique way of dressing. Our traditional clothing carries deep history and meaning; it tells where a person comes from. For example, African royals chose the finest fabrics, while ordinary people wore simpler clothes. Even today, high-quality African fabrics still symbolize wealth and status.
In many African homes, Sunday morning was like a mini fashion school. Everyone dressed in their finest and lined up for inspection, especially by mothers. Siblings learned how to combine colours and styles just by watching their aunties and uncles. Whatever aunties wore was automatically “in vogue.” Even our mothers sometimes wanted to dress like that auntie who always looked extra fine!
Growing up, I found it endearing watching my mum wear her traditional iro and buba with aso oke as gele. Then my aunties would come in, wrapped in their trendy oleku, a version of iro and buba that was shorter and flirtatious. Those moments were special.
African designers have always been creative, mixing old and new to make something fresh. African fashion brands continue to find modern ways to use traditional fabrics like Ghana’s wax print cloth. Now, you see these prints in everything: suits, streetwear, sneakers, and handbags, even luxury collections on global runways. What used to be reserved for cultural ceremonies has now become a global fashion language, one that proudly says, “We are here, and we are stylish.”
So imagine if we could play with all these prints and styles in a digital game. Picture this: you get to pick fabrics from across Africa, style your avatar for an owambe, or design your own fashion line inspired by your heritage. It’s more than just dress-up; it’s a way to learn our fashion history, explore our fabrics, and see the beauty of our diversity.
A game like that isn’t just entertainment; it’s storytelling. It’s a way for a new generation to reconnect with what our mothers and aunties already knew.
To every mother who turned cloth into confidence, and every auntie who said, “Come, let me fix your Gele,” this is for you. Thank you.
Until next time, my neighbours, remember, as we say over here, the A in Africa stands for Attitude, Atarodo, and All Things Extra!