What would the world look like without archives and proper documentation?
For decades and centuries, documentation and archives have preserved life, evolution, and history, safeguarding heritage, culture, and legacy. Without proper documentation, a nation risks losing its identity and heritage, allowing its stories to be rewritten and customs transformed. Progress cannot thrive without archives, as knowledge is a vital source of power.
Recently, African fashion has emerged unexpectedly. We have long been accustomed to the dominance of the "big four" fashion capitals- New York, London, Paris, and Milan dictating trends and conversations in the fashion industry. In contrast, Africa has often been recognized only for its cultural contributions, rather than as a source of luxury and craftsmanship.
This perception stems from the belief that African fashion lacks sophistication, often viewed as too cultural and defined largely by fabrics that don't even originate from the continent. It’s important to remember that Africa, with nearly 54 countries, has often been reduced to a single aesthetic: wax fabric, bold prints, and flowing silhouettes.
However, perceptions of African fashion are evolving, thanks to incredibly talented creators, designers, stylists, and creative directors who consistently challenge norms. They showcase the beauty, diversity, and craftsmanship of African fashion, effectively rewriting the narrative and redefining what African fashion truly represents.
The evolution of African fashion is truly beautiful to witness. It’s refreshing to see African fashion appreciated for its authentic identity, rather than being viewed through the lens of outsiders. It’s gratifying to have our designs and craftsmanship showcased by our own designers and craftspeople. This is especially evident with the rise of "Made in Africa" and the increasing visibility of African designers and creatives on larger stages and platforms.
However, an important question arises: who is documenting these transformative changes?
Fashion, as a global phenomenon, is preserved through a multitude of written and visual archives, institutional museums, and, in today's digital age, various online platforms. These resources include runway shows, in-depth documentaries that chronicle the journeys of influential designers, curated collections that reflect different eras, and specific silhouettes that have come to define various decades in fashion.
These archives serve as repositories of knowledge, providing an invaluable resource for anyone eager to explore the rich history and evolution of the fashion industry. They allow researchers, students, and enthusiasts to examine fashion's cultural significance and understand its impact on society.
However, when it comes to African fashion, the situation is markedly different. Often, the archives that do exist come from outside the continent, creating a significant gap in the representation and documentation of local fashion. This scarcity of accessible local resources presents a formidable challenge for designers, stylists, patternmakers, sewists, and tailors across Africa.
Much of their knowledge and skills are passed down through informal channels, relying heavily on word-of-mouth traditions rather than formal institutions or well-documented visual and written records.
This reality leads to significant hurdles for the fashion industry in Africa. The lack of comprehensive preservation efforts results in frequent instances where African designs and symbols are appropriated without due recognition or credit to the creators. Many original works go undocumented and, consequently, unprotected under intellectual property laws. This opens the door for larger international brands to leverage these unique designs for profit, often without acknowledging the original creators.
The absence of legal protections and verified documentation makes it exceedingly difficult for African designers to claim ownership of their creations. Without concrete evidence or legal support, they have limited recourse to confront these infringements or hold larger companies accountable for artistic theft. This precarious position not only undermines their creative contributions but also stifles the potential growth and recognition of the African fashion industry on the global stage.
There is an African proverb that says:
“As long as lions do not have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter”
History keeps repeating itself since the colonial era, but this time through fashion. Many of the biggest fashion houses globally use African designs and patterns without proper recognition. Just as I was told that Diego Cao discovered the mouth of the Congo River, many African designs today are labeled after the brands that adopted them before we did. Many of our core designs are reproduced with Western names and price tags, often without acknowledging the nations that originated them.
Even when our contributions are recognized, they are often referred to as “sources of inspiration.” The real question is: Would this happen if we had clear, structured archives and documentation of our fashion?
I fear that the response would be no.
Proper documentation goes beyond simply recording something's existence; it's about tracing its origins: who created it, under what conditions and time frame, for what context, and for what purpose. Real-time archives are not merely about revisiting the past; they involve exploring what has been done from a fresh perspective and sharing the knowledge and skills of those who came before us. Without these two essential elements, we cannot protect our fashion heritage, and we risk remaining mere guests at a wedding where we should have been the bride.
THE GENERATION OF CULTURAL RESEARCHERS AND ENTHUSIASTS
There is a new wave of cultural and diaspora researchers and enthusiasts actively exploring the African continent, its heritage, history, and journey with great passion.
The fascinating aspect is that they are not just learning; they are actively selecting information, adding their own insights, and questioning what they receive. In return, they educate others and bring this knowledge back to the forefront through various forms of content, including writing (like my contributions here at Afrique Noire), visual content on platforms such as Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube, as well as community events and discussions on public platforms like Twitter.
This phenomenon is not a fleeting trend; rather, it represents a dynamic, emerging generation that understands documentation as an ongoing journey. This journey involves continually questioning the validity of information, examining the methodologies employed, and reflecting on the experiences both positive and negative that shape our understanding.
This generation recognizes that preserving our cultural heritage is essential to our identity as Africans, regardless of whether we reside on the continent or in the diaspora.
We are witnessing the rise of a generation that does not view learning about their history as a terminal point but rather as a starting line for deeper engagement. They actively immerse themselves in historical narratives, are keen to participate in discussions surrounding these topics, and are committed to reinterpreting aspects of history that require critical reevaluation.
This active engagement goes beyond academic research; it reflects a fervent dedication to preserving our fashion heritage as a vital part of our cultural identity. This generation seeks to contribute to a larger dialogue, ensuring that our historical narratives are not only preserved but also enriched by contemporary perspectives and narratives from African voices and experiences.
In light of this generation's recent enthusiasm for our fashion heritage, I'm excited to introduce my all-time favorite co-writer and soon-to-be partner in creating a Nigerian fashion guide, MaryCinthya, founder of Fashion Nut.
Today, she will share her insights on the topic and bring her data analysis expertise to the discussion. I believe that fashion transcends mere commercial interests; it encompasses human, psychological, political, and analytical dimensions, supported by real data.
Enjoy reading her perspective!
Who are the individuals building archives that preserve the work of these designers, stylists, and creatives?
Firstly, thank you, Hadassa, for always thinking of me for these collaborations. This topic matters, and it deserves to be raised often, not just once.
From my perspective, and from the data I sit with every week, we need to start caring again. About our heritage. About preserving our artifacts. About preserving what is actually ours.
Africans living in the diaspora, among diverse groups of people, understand the importance of this preservation and documentation. Colonialism did real damage here: financially, economically, politically, and psychologically. And part of that damage is how “nonchalant” we have become about our own fashion history.
I say this as someone who lives and works in Nigeria, whose whole life has been built around this industry.
Africans should be documenting our own fashion archives. This is foundational and essential.
And documentation is not just old photographs sitting in an archive somewhere. It is the record of who made something, when it was made, where it was made, who wore it, how it was worn, what it meant, what it cost, who photographed it, who sold it, and what happened to it afterward.
Because without that record, what happens when someone else tells the story?
We have had not one, but several cases of intellectual theft where there was little or no documentation to prove the history behind what was ours and demand consequences. We have seen instances where traditional African garments, techniques, and ideas are presented as discoveries elsewhere.
And the problem isn't simply that someone else is telling the story.
It is that we don't always have the records to tell ours louder.
We need to understand and wake up to the reality that we have been, and in many ways remain, disadvantaged. And we have work to do collectively.
And I'll say the harder part too, because it needs saying: we don't have a government that takes this industry seriously enough.
We need to stop treating fashion like “a women's thing.” I genuinely don't know what that phrase is supposed to mean, or protect.
Fashion is an industry. It is manufacturing. It is trade. It is employment. It is heritage. It is export. It is culture. It is intellectual property. It is tourism. It is media. It is technology. It is education. And so much more…
We need to get as serious and as enthusiastic about fashion careers here as we are about celebrating them once they've succeeded elsewhere.
We need to hype up our own talented designers with the same energy we give brands abroad that have had houses built and supported for decades. We need institutions that preserve fashion history, schools that teach it, businesses that can survive locally, and policies that make it genuinely profitable for founders, brands, and everyone building inside this ecosystem.
Nobody is coming to save this industry for us.
If we don't build it, no one will build it for us.
And building doesn't only mean starting brands.
It means building the archives.
Building the institutions.
Building the databases.
Building the museums.
Building the media.
Building the research.
Building the infrastructure that allows the next generation to look back and actually see what we did. And be inspired.
We need to stop pointing fingers and start making it easier to build and succeed locally, because we care enough to.
And here's something that sits with me: your favorite “African” brands often aren't from here.
The founders might be, but the founder and the brand are two different things. Some are dual-citizenship brands. Some are simply African-owned but built elsewhere entirely.
I saw Kai Collective, and several others, described in Vogue as British brands — because that's exactly what they are, legally and structurally, even with a Nigerian-raised founder behind them.
That distinction sent my mind somewhere heavier:
What are we losing, quietly, if we don't build the infrastructure to keep this industry and its history here?
So much is already going wrong on this continent. But losing more of our heritage on top of it won't make the present easier. It will only make the future harder.
History needs to return to our earliest school curricula.
And fashion needs to be treated as history worth preserving.
But I also want to be careful not to make this sound like nobody is doing the work.
People are.
And they deserve to be known by name.
Tosin Adeosun is the founder of the African Style Archive, a visual research platform documenting African fashion history through archival photographs, magazines, footage, and other ephemera.
It started small and personal: she was digitizing her family's photo albums from Ibadan, some dating back to the 1950s, and became fascinated by the stylish people captured in those images.
That curiosity turned into a full archiving practice, piecing together sartorial African histories. Her work has since grown into collaborations and platforms that have brought African fashion history to wider audiences, including the London College of Fashion.
Then there is Tejumola Maurice-Diya, founder of The Fashioned Museum and the mind behind IAF54 —an ambitious project documenting fashion, identity, craftsmanship and textile histories across all 54 African countries, one nation at a time.
Her work involved nearly two years of fieldwork, not simply desk research. She went to Iluoke in Oyo State and sat with a woman who had been weaving Aso Oke for more than 30 years.
That is the kind of knowledge that can disappear if nobody records it.
And that is why this work matters.
Because an archive is not simply a collection of old things.
It is evidence that we were here.
People and institutions outside the continent are also doing meaningful work to document and preserve African fashion. The V&A's Africa Fashion exhibition, for instance, brought together more than 200 works from over 50 designers across more than 20 African countries and deliberately centered African creativity and perspectives.
I think that work is important.
But it should also make us ask a harder question:
Where are our own institutions doing this at the scale our history deserves?
Others documenting us is not the problem.
Our inability to document ourselves at the same scale is.
And perhaps this is where Fashion Nut fits into this conversation.
Archives aren't only about preserving what happened 50 years ago.
Someone has to document what is happening now.
The brands launching today. The prices they charge. The people buying from them. The professionals building behind the scenes. The trends we're seeing. The problems we're trying to solve—the businesses that succeed, the ones that don't, and why.
Because today's industry is tomorrow's history.
That is part of why I care so much about the work we're doing at Fashion Nut.
These two women deserve all the hype, support, press, and coverage we can give them — not subtly, but loudly.
So they keep going.
So more people find them.
So more people follow them.
So more people get inspired by them.
And so more people realize that this work is worth doing.
This is bigger than any one of us.
But it starts with all of us paying attention.