.svg)
Crowned TikTok Best-dressed Guy by Vogue, Wisdom Kaye has seen many big fashion moments. From collaborations with big labels like Crocs and Adidas to having a Met Gala debut in early 2026, the Nigerian-American fashionista is presently having a major moment across global fashion.
He proved his mettle at the kickstarter event for New York Fashion Week, Harlem's Fashion Row's 19th Annual Awards Show, where he clinched the Virgil Abloh Award.
After receiving the award from LVMH, Kaye gave a speech about how much the moment meant to him and how he was once a boy with an iPhone camera and a dream. "I never thought that with an iPhone and the corner of my room that I would inspire people all over the world,” he said, tucked in his navy pinstripe suit and aviator-themed reading glasses.
Kaye built his fanbase across high fashion, just from styling ludicrous things on the internet like fonts, or countries, and even animated shows.
One of my favourite moments of Wisdom Kaye was his behind-the-scenes look on his YouTube channel of how he styled the solar system.
Kaye’s style of edits is heavily modern and alt. Music, jump cuts, and a silly sense of humour adorn his uploads on social media. A lover of the Chrome Hearts symbol and elegant fashion, Kaye represents effortless style. He is a proud poster-face of global Black fashion, one opening doors that were previously closed to creators like himself.
The Virgil Abloh award, sponsored by LVMH, honours fashion creators who carry the late fashion designer's creative ethos. Other recipients of the award include Issa Rae, in 2022, A$AP ROCKY, in 2023, Teyana Taylor, in 2024, and Usher, in 2025.
Some notable people were also given their flowers at the ceremony. Harlem's Fashion Row honoured Erykah Badu with the Fashion Icon Award for her bold, maximalist, and risk-taking style, Jahleel Weaver who was the deputy creative director of Fenty from 2019 to 2021 was awarded with Stylist Of The Year, and Brandon Blackwood was crowned Designer Of The Year.
Beyond an award night, it puts Black fashion creators under a spotlight, a place that is not credibly accessible due to the worsening industry classism, racism, and colourism.
Kaye, who was also recently featured in an Old Navy commercial with Cardi B, recognizes this privilege: "I recognize that not everybody has the same privilege that I do.”
Cover Credits: Photo by Max Tardio, Edited by Wisdom Kaye
Céline Dion feels like an idolization of our 2000s. One of her biggest hits and best-selling singles, My Heart Will Go On, was recorded for the blockbuster Hollywood flick, Titanic, in 1997. She has also soundtracked other movies like Disney's Beauty And The Beast and Up Close and Personal in 1996. And that’s barely just the surface to scratch with her accolades over the decades.
Other of her fan favourites include songs like; Power Of Love, Before You Loved Me, and It's All Coming Back To Me Now. Dubbed the Queen of Ballads, she is the youngest of 14 children and she wrote her first song when she was 12.
Recently, Céline Dion struggled with a rare neurological disorder called Stiff Person Syndrome. The singer was told she could never sing again. A 2024 documentary about her life, I Am: Céline Dion showed her opening up about her 2022 diagnosis: "If I can’t run, I’ll walk. If I can’t walk, I’ll crawl.” She promised to never stop singing.
On Saturday, Dion later returned to Paris, at the Plénitude Arena in Nanterre, to much love and admiration at the opening night of her five-week residency in a statement black dress and diamond jewelry. It's no surprise that fans had camped out to watch the star perform her first sold-out live concert in six years.
Mid-show, Céline Dion got emotional - a testament to a six-year struggle with the nightmarish possibility of never singing again. She has one of the most powerful voices in the industry, and has sold a lot of records and dominated charts.
Seeing an invincible figure break down gave fans a vulnerable look into everything she has gone through with her diagnosis. "I made a promise to be back on stage. Singing for you. Singing for me, Singing for life,” Dion said, muffling tears. And she did it!
She pummeled through with hits like Because You Loved Me, The Power of Love, My Heart Will Go On, All By Myself, and Courage - a song that was recorded after the death of her husband, René Angélil. She performed more of her other classics to a crowd of more than 30,000 people that night, proving why she is one of the highest-grossing female artists of all time.
According to John Hopkins Medicine, the rare neurological disorder called Stiff Person Syndrome causes severe muscle spasms and, in other cases, symptoms include unsteady gait, slurred speech or double vision. The syndrome is common in people around 40-50 and it can come in different types.
In the 2024 documentary, we saw how the disease affected the once potent voice that earned her awards and adulations. SPS gave her strong muscle spasms that left her with broken ribs.
The 58-year-old is also an entrepreneur and a philanthropist. She goes through life's blocks with strength and confidence, whether she’s battling grief from her husband's death or anxiety from her neurological diagnosis. Céline Dion is always going to be Céline Dion, irrespective of circumstances that societal conditioning might see as a disability. Céline Dion would go on and on.
Cover Credits: Robin Galiegue
In December 2025, at the Streamer Awards, American streamer-cum-designer Kai Cenat announced he was going into fashion. He took nine months away from the most subscribed streaming career on Twitch, flew to Italy, learned to sew, studied textiles and came back with a collection.
Last Saturday, Cenat’s Vivet Collection 1 had its inaugural show at New York Fashion Week, attended by Ms. Lauryn Hill, Law Roach, DDG, Karrahbooo, PlaqueBoyMax and the full AMP crew. The show was also livestreamed globally.
The nine months matter because of what Cenat left behind to spend them. In October 2025, he had just surpassed one million Twitch subscribers. His final broadcast before the hiatus, Mafiathon 3, featured Twitch CEO Dan Clancy and LeBron James. He stepped away from all of it. The YouTube video he posted in January 2026 was titled "I Quit," but what he said he was quitting was not streaming. "I quit overthinking. I quit staying in my head about the goals I have and whether they're going to work or not. I want to push limits to see what I can truly create in life."
He travelled to Italy to study textiles and document the brand's denim manufacturing process, learned to sew, and attended the Louis Vuitton and 424 runway shows at Paris Fashion Week Men's in January 2026 with a Vivet journal in hand, connecting with Pharrell and Guillermo Andrade. Law Roach became his fashion industry mentor.
He documented the process across vlogs, posting journal pages, leather swatches, handwritten notes, Polaroids from a sewing shop and factory floors as the collection took shape. Select orders of Vivet Collection 1 include a printed copy of the journal. The brand is 100 percent owned by Cenat through VIVET APPAREL LLC, registered in Marietta, Georgia, with no outside investors and no corporate backing.
Cenat did not claim to be a fashion authority. He found people he could learn from, including Law Roach, Pharrell and Guillermo Andrade, and he listened. What matters is that he spent nine months learning the process before showing anyone a single piece. He did not need to draw every design himself or lead every part of the execution for that time to count. “This is not me sticking my name on a brand and money-grabbing,” he said in the “I Quit” video. His decision to spend nine months working on Vivet before launching it gives that claim some weight. He returned to streaming in July, pulling over one million combined peak viewers on his first broadcast back, and continued building Vivet alongside it.
Collection 1 is 20 pieces across men's and women's, covering tops and knitwear, bottoms, footwear and accessories. The aesthetic is dark and graphic-heavy, with bold tribal-style shirts, leather pieces including a cargo jacket, slim-fit leather pants and a leather button-down, chunky boots and a raglan zip-up jacket. The ornate cross-like logo runs through the collection as a recurring motif, and prices range from $20 to $1,195, available immediately through a see-now-buy-now model purchased directly from the livestream. The models who walked the runway held two worlds at once.
Alton Mason, one of the most recognisable faces in high fashion, walked alongside Duke Dennis, Raysian Boy, Marlon, Giovanna Ramos, BruceDropEmOff and Siebe: the fashion industry Cenat spent nine months trying to earn credibility inside, and the internet community that already believed in him before the first stitch was sewn.
Ms. Lauryn Hill in the front row at a first-time designer’s debut says a lot about the scale of attention around the show. Law Roach, whose mentorship shaped the collection and whose eye helped Cenat understand what he was building toward, was also there. The show was livestreamed rather than invitation-only, giving the audience that has followed Cenat throughout the process a way into the presentation.
Whether or not he designed every piece himself or handled every part of the execution is beside the point. The important thing is that he did it. It is still too early to know if Vivet will become something significant in streetwear, but Cenat has already put serious work into the project.
Cover Credit: Kai Cenat
Crowned TikTok Best-dressed Guy by Vogue, Wisdom Kaye has seen many big fashion moments. From collaborations with big labels like Crocs and Adidas to having a Met Gala debut in early 2026, the Nigerian-American fashionista is presently having a major moment across global fashion.
He proved his mettle at the kickstarter event for New York Fashion Week, Harlem's Fashion Row's 19th Annual Awards Show, where he clinched the Virgil Abloh Award.
After receiving the award from LVMH, Kaye gave a speech about how much the moment meant to him and how he was once a boy with an iPhone camera and a dream. "I never thought that with an iPhone and the corner of my room that I would inspire people all over the world,” he said, tucked in his navy pinstripe suit and aviator-themed reading glasses.
Kaye built his fanbase across high fashion, just from styling ludicrous things on the internet like fonts, or countries, and even animated shows.
One of my favourite moments of Wisdom Kaye was his behind-the-scenes look on his YouTube channel of how he styled the solar system.
Kaye’s style of edits is heavily modern and alt. Music, jump cuts, and a silly sense of humour adorn his uploads on social media. A lover of the Chrome Hearts symbol and elegant fashion, Kaye represents effortless style. He is a proud poster-face of global Black fashion, one opening doors that were previously closed to creators like himself.
The Virgil Abloh award, sponsored by LVMH, honours fashion creators who carry the late fashion designer's creative ethos. Other recipients of the award include Issa Rae, in 2022, A$AP ROCKY, in 2023, Teyana Taylor, in 2024, and Usher, in 2025.
Some notable people were also given their flowers at the ceremony. Harlem's Fashion Row honoured Erykah Badu with the Fashion Icon Award for her bold, maximalist, and risk-taking style, Jahleel Weaver who was the deputy creative director of Fenty from 2019 to 2021 was awarded with Stylist Of The Year, and Brandon Blackwood was crowned Designer Of The Year.
Beyond an award night, it puts Black fashion creators under a spotlight, a place that is not credibly accessible due to the worsening industry classism, racism, and colourism.
Kaye, who was also recently featured in an Old Navy commercial with Cardi B, recognizes this privilege: "I recognize that not everybody has the same privilege that I do.”
Cover Credits: Photo by Max Tardio, Edited by Wisdom Kaye
Céline Dion feels like an idolization of our 2000s. One of her biggest hits and best-selling singles, My Heart Will Go On, was recorded for the blockbuster Hollywood flick, Titanic, in 1997. She has also soundtracked other movies like Disney's Beauty And The Beast and Up Close and Personal in 1996. And that’s barely just the surface to scratch with her accolades over the decades.
Other of her fan favourites include songs like; Power Of Love, Before You Loved Me, and It's All Coming Back To Me Now. Dubbed the Queen of Ballads, she is the youngest of 14 children and she wrote her first song when she was 12.
Recently, Céline Dion struggled with a rare neurological disorder called Stiff Person Syndrome. The singer was told she could never sing again. A 2024 documentary about her life, I Am: Céline Dion showed her opening up about her 2022 diagnosis: "If I can’t run, I’ll walk. If I can’t walk, I’ll crawl.” She promised to never stop singing.
On Saturday, Dion later returned to Paris, at the Plénitude Arena in Nanterre, to much love and admiration at the opening night of her five-week residency in a statement black dress and diamond jewelry. It's no surprise that fans had camped out to watch the star perform her first sold-out live concert in six years.
Mid-show, Céline Dion got emotional - a testament to a six-year struggle with the nightmarish possibility of never singing again. She has one of the most powerful voices in the industry, and has sold a lot of records and dominated charts.
Seeing an invincible figure break down gave fans a vulnerable look into everything she has gone through with her diagnosis. "I made a promise to be back on stage. Singing for you. Singing for me, Singing for life,” Dion said, muffling tears. And she did it!
She pummeled through with hits like Because You Loved Me, The Power of Love, My Heart Will Go On, All By Myself, and Courage - a song that was recorded after the death of her husband, René Angélil. She performed more of her other classics to a crowd of more than 30,000 people that night, proving why she is one of the highest-grossing female artists of all time.
According to John Hopkins Medicine, the rare neurological disorder called Stiff Person Syndrome causes severe muscle spasms and, in other cases, symptoms include unsteady gait, slurred speech or double vision. The syndrome is common in people around 40-50 and it can come in different types.
In the 2024 documentary, we saw how the disease affected the once potent voice that earned her awards and adulations. SPS gave her strong muscle spasms that left her with broken ribs.
The 58-year-old is also an entrepreneur and a philanthropist. She goes through life's blocks with strength and confidence, whether she’s battling grief from her husband's death or anxiety from her neurological diagnosis. Céline Dion is always going to be Céline Dion, irrespective of circumstances that societal conditioning might see as a disability. Céline Dion would go on and on.
Cover Credits: Robin Galiegue
In December 2025, at the Streamer Awards, American streamer-cum-designer Kai Cenat announced he was going into fashion. He took nine months away from the most subscribed streaming career on Twitch, flew to Italy, learned to sew, studied textiles and came back with a collection.
Last Saturday, Cenat’s Vivet Collection 1 had its inaugural show at New York Fashion Week, attended by Ms. Lauryn Hill, Law Roach, DDG, Karrahbooo, PlaqueBoyMax and the full AMP crew. The show was also livestreamed globally.
The nine months matter because of what Cenat left behind to spend them. In October 2025, he had just surpassed one million Twitch subscribers. His final broadcast before the hiatus, Mafiathon 3, featured Twitch CEO Dan Clancy and LeBron James. He stepped away from all of it. The YouTube video he posted in January 2026 was titled "I Quit," but what he said he was quitting was not streaming. "I quit overthinking. I quit staying in my head about the goals I have and whether they're going to work or not. I want to push limits to see what I can truly create in life."
He travelled to Italy to study textiles and document the brand's denim manufacturing process, learned to sew, and attended the Louis Vuitton and 424 runway shows at Paris Fashion Week Men's in January 2026 with a Vivet journal in hand, connecting with Pharrell and Guillermo Andrade. Law Roach became his fashion industry mentor.
He documented the process across vlogs, posting journal pages, leather swatches, handwritten notes, Polaroids from a sewing shop and factory floors as the collection took shape. Select orders of Vivet Collection 1 include a printed copy of the journal. The brand is 100 percent owned by Cenat through VIVET APPAREL LLC, registered in Marietta, Georgia, with no outside investors and no corporate backing.
Cenat did not claim to be a fashion authority. He found people he could learn from, including Law Roach, Pharrell and Guillermo Andrade, and he listened. What matters is that he spent nine months learning the process before showing anyone a single piece. He did not need to draw every design himself or lead every part of the execution for that time to count. “This is not me sticking my name on a brand and money-grabbing,” he said in the “I Quit” video. His decision to spend nine months working on Vivet before launching it gives that claim some weight. He returned to streaming in July, pulling over one million combined peak viewers on his first broadcast back, and continued building Vivet alongside it.
Collection 1 is 20 pieces across men's and women's, covering tops and knitwear, bottoms, footwear and accessories. The aesthetic is dark and graphic-heavy, with bold tribal-style shirts, leather pieces including a cargo jacket, slim-fit leather pants and a leather button-down, chunky boots and a raglan zip-up jacket. The ornate cross-like logo runs through the collection as a recurring motif, and prices range from $20 to $1,195, available immediately through a see-now-buy-now model purchased directly from the livestream. The models who walked the runway held two worlds at once.
Alton Mason, one of the most recognisable faces in high fashion, walked alongside Duke Dennis, Raysian Boy, Marlon, Giovanna Ramos, BruceDropEmOff and Siebe: the fashion industry Cenat spent nine months trying to earn credibility inside, and the internet community that already believed in him before the first stitch was sewn.
Ms. Lauryn Hill in the front row at a first-time designer’s debut says a lot about the scale of attention around the show. Law Roach, whose mentorship shaped the collection and whose eye helped Cenat understand what he was building toward, was also there. The show was livestreamed rather than invitation-only, giving the audience that has followed Cenat throughout the process a way into the presentation.
Whether or not he designed every piece himself or handled every part of the execution is beside the point. The important thing is that he did it. It is still too early to know if Vivet will become something significant in streetwear, but Cenat has already put serious work into the project.
Cover Credit: Kai Cenat
The 12th of September marks a great loss for the Nigerian music industry. It was the day Mohbad, Ilerioluwa Aloba, reportedly died three years ago while receiving unlicensed treatment in Lagos. Sadly, three years later, and the controversy surrounding how he died is still debated by the aggrieved families involved.
Mohbad is known for hits like Peace, Sorry, Feel Good, and KPK(Ko Po Ke), which would go on to be nominated multiple times for the 2022 The Headies Awards, among other notable awards. His musical prowess is his ability to tap into different genres like hip-hop, street-pop, Afrobeats, Amapiano, and Afropop and translate these genres into songs that resonated with thousands. He was also nominated for Best Street-Hop Artist by The Headies Awards in 2023, the very year he passed away.
The 27-year-old singer had built a fanbase with his freestyle videos before breaking into the scene with a debut album called, Light EP. One of his popular songs, Ponmo, which features Lil Kesh and Naira Marley was part of this album. His collaborations with other artists went from Davido to Small Doctor, Zlatan to Oladips, and many more.
Perhaps one of the biggest controversies when he was alive was his 2022 split from his then label, Marlian Records, headed by street-pop maverick, Naira Marley. Mohbad alleged mistreatment and assault from Naira Marley, as well as his then manager, and industry socialite Samson Balogun, popularly known as Sam Larry. However, these cases were not addressed for many reasons; prior to his death Mohbad hadn't followed up with the police over these allegations, majority of the parties involved distanced themselves from the reported crimes, while others filed a defamation suit.
Justice delayed or dignity denied?
Also, Mohbad’s death has been marked by public discourse of which his wife, Omowunmi and his father, Joseph Aloba, are positioned in the centre. He remains unburied under divisive paternity claims and unresolved DNA tests.
Many of his fans are calling for justice over his death as the investigation has been inconclusive, entering a third year with no closure or any end in sight.
A Nigerian tabloid called Leadership Newspapers spoke to a civil rights advocate, Kunle Faboyade, who commented on Mohbad’s body being held without a forthcoming burial that "justice delayed is dignity denied."
Bella Shmurda, a colleague of his and fellow collaborator who has made a tribute song called My Brother and also released a R2 Sept 12 EP dedicated to the late singer, posted a three year tribute on X (Formerly Twitter) saying, "Woe to Evildoers. Keep resting Imole!".
Fans and loved ones alike are still calling on the authorities to conclude investigations on his case so he can be laid to rest.
Cover Credit: Spotify
WHEN Yemi Alade dropped her breakout hit, Johnny, in 2014, Nigeria’s pop culture felt her pulse in full force. Bars, concerts, disco floors, recreational spaces — her music was embraced everywhere. Its distinct cultural flavour, powerful melodies and unforgettable hooks kept Yemi Alade in the spotlight since then.
Six albums, two Grammy nominations, a Grammy win alongside Angélique Kidjo, a Beyoncé collaboration, sold-out world tours, over one billion global streams, a UNDP ambassadorship and a beauty brand later, Yemi Alade is back with her seventh album, It’s Yemi Alade.
The album was named by her fans directly — the first time she has handed that decision over — and is built on highlife, zouk, RnB, house, disco and Afropop. She taps vocal powerhouses from Nigeria, Kenya and Congo including Bien, Jeriq, Fave, Njerae, Don Jazzy, Singuila, Spyro, Ferre Gola and Sofiya Nzau.
The 37-year-old chanteuse describes it as something new, something old and something borrowed. Before the day of its release, Deeds spoke with Alade about going back to her roots, what it felt like to let her fans choose the album title, and why she is not interested in playing it safe.
Sophia From Deeds: For anyone reading this and discovering you for the first time, how would you introduce yourself and your music?
My name is Yemi Alade. I am a musician and music is what I do. It's therapy to me and it's my love language to the entire world. It's the thing that I was put on this earth to do. I'm best known for my high life inspired Afro Pop sound. Blessed to also be one of the few Nigerians granted Grammy nominations. At the end of the day, I feel like my music is a safe space for people that love authentic music and are in touch with their roots or want to reconnect with their roots. I'm that person.
It's Yemi Alade is your eight studio album, shaped by two years of writing and recording. What was different about this process compared to your other album?
First of all, this is the one album that was titled by the fans. My fans were in charge of the process. I had put it out online that I needed their assistance to influence and inspire me on the album title. They came to my rescue. They offered me hundreds of options but the most reoccurrent option was Yemi Alade. I feel like they wanted a self named album and chose that and that is one thing that really stands out for me. I've never done that before. I always produce the title of my album. So that's it about the title. However, speaking on the body of work itself, I went with the approach of something new, something old, something borrowed.
The thing that is old is going back to my roots of high life completely and really revisiting that and revamping that to elevate it to the sound of today and also still retaining something old. Then in terms of something new, I played music that people did not expect to see me on. I dabbled with a bit of rap and some house music. In terms of elevating the sound and borrowing a sound, I mixed high life and disco at some point. There's a lot to experience on this album and I feel like on this album I wasn't playing it safe. That's a very beautiful place to be creative.
The collab list spans Kenya, Nigeria and Congo - Bien, Don Jazzy, Ferre Gola, Teni, Singuila and others. How do you actually manage that in the studio without losing the thread of your own identity?
I feel like the best way to answer that question would be to say, I feel like every artist is the product of their environments, their experiences and their musical taste boards. And for me, I grew up in a family where I was exposed to all genres from jazz, the high life to juju to opera, RnB etc. So, there is no putting me in a box. I feel like that foundation has helped me to very easily flourish in any genre that I find myself in. So when I am on beats or a piano beat or whatever instrumental I might put in my face, I'm able to flow, I'm able to adapt, I'm able to occupy space like water because of my foundation. At the end of the day there will always be the Yemi flair. There is no diluting. I'm just always becoming myself on every track.
'Don't Be Shy' with Bien has already gone viral and 'Ala Bekee' with Don Jazzy is the highlife-inspired lead single. What do those two songs together say about the emotional range of this album? I do love Ala Bekee’s music video.
It's been a while since people did that. Shout out to Clarence Peters for putting all of that together.
I feel like Don't Be Shy featuring Bien and Ala Bekee featuring Don Jazzy. They are both two good examples of the range that is on the Itzyme Aladdin album where the. The Ala Bekee song with Don Jazzy truly emerged, is submerged into the high life side, whereas the Don't Be Shy truck, which is on a zouk beat is also an R & B version of myself. It's R & B and it's still Afro pop in there. It just goes to show the versatility that is on the album. It's a buffet of sound.
You collaborated with Beyoncé on The Lion King: The Gift and with Angélique Kidjo on Mother Nature, which earned you your first Grammy. Looking at those two moments and now It's Yemi Alade, how has your understanding of what African music can do globally shifted?
Honestly, I have always known that African music would always belong in the sky amongst all the stars of the world. I've never doubted that for a second. I'm also aware of the history of musicians before me who have been. Who have been nominated and actually won several awards that are world acclaimed, you know, but for me personally now being on this journey to self where I have been blessed to be nominated in association with Angelique as for the Grammys as well as be nominated with Beyonce on Lion King for the Grammys, it has opened my eyes to the possibility even more. Just knowing that in my own lifetime, I'm able to experience that as. Also there's the Grammy nomination for the Latin Grammys as well.
That's not a category that a lot of Afrobeat artists are blessed to have under their belt, and I'm thankful for that. Even with all these Grammy nominations in association with other artists, God has been so gracious because I have also been nominated for a solo song that is mine, and that song is called Tomorrow. It came at the right time, especially with the message behind the song. The message in life as well. I think it just goes to show that everyone's, every one of us, our dreams.
You are UNDP ambassador, ONE Campaign ambassador, founder of the James and Helen PathWay Foundation, founder of yem beauty and Mama Africa to millions. How do you hold all of that alongside simply being an artist who makes music?
Now that you mention everything like that, I'm like, who, who's that? That's a lot to carry on and I'm thankful that I'm able to carry these things and make it seem like it's easy. But I would say that I've always taken everything one step at a time. Everything that you mentioned, now all those titles, were amassed over time. They didn't just come at me. I feel like as long as, you know, they say a rolling stone, you know, God is no more. Then the more you move, I feel like the more momentum you get and things start to seem easy. So in all I would just say that I have continued to be myself and what is for me. I'm thankful for the opportunities that come and opportunities that are still on their way. I'm more than ready for more titles.
It's Yemi Alade arrived September 11. What do you want a first-time listener to feel by the time the last track ends?
So what I'm served on this album is a proper food buffet, and a proper balanced diet. Every corner is covered. Expect you to be full of joy and full of a connection. I want the listener to feel seen and to connect with me on the topics that truly matter the most to them. Because that is my number one goal on this album, it is a love letter to my fans and to any listener out there. Connection is the most under-appreciated thing in life. But that is what we thrive on. Human beings, we all thrive on connection. I dearly and truly intend to and hope that at the end of the track, of the album, the listener will feel more connected than ever to me and to the experience that we have said in that moment.
Cover Credit: It’s Yemi Alade Album Cover
We have all had that moment when a song finds us before we find the artist behind it. It might be a few seconds in a TikTok or Instagram Reel, the kind of hook that refuses to leave your head for a few days. The discovery feels intimate even though it happened through an algorithm.
Now, imagine finally finding the song, only to discover that the voice you have been trying to place belongs to nobody at all.
AI-generated music has moved from an experimental corner of the internet into the mainstream music ecosystem, with synthetic and AI-assisted acts appearing on charts, artists incorporating generative tools into their work and streaming platforms confronting an unprecedented volume of machine-made uploads.
In June 2025, Deezer said fully AI-generated tracks accounted for more than half of all new music delivered to the platform on some days, with the service receiving nearly 90,000 such tracks daily. Although fully AI-generated music still represented only a small share of actual music streams, at that time, its sheer volume was enough to force the industry to confront what happens when making music becomes something that can be done almost endlessly.
The development has inevitably revived an old argument about technology and music. Every major technological shift has initially unsettled the people whose work it changes, from drum machines and synthesisers to sampling, Auto-Tune and, more recently, streaming.
Streaming was once criticised by artists and independent musicians who feared that a system built around unlimited access would devalue recorded music and make it harder to earn a sustainable living. Those concerns did not prevent streaming from becoming the dominant way much of the world consumes music; instead, the industry gradually built its business around it, even as debates over royalties, algorithms and artist compensation continue.
Is it Time to Regulate?
AI is obviously not the same technological or economic phenomenon, but streaming offers a useful warning about what happens when an industry treats a disruptive technology as something it can simply react to later. By the time the music business established the structures through which streaming would operate, the technology had already fundamentally changed how music was distributed and consumed. AI is still at an earlier stage, which means artists, labels, platforms and regulators have an opportunity to decide what kinds of participation, consent and compensation should be expected before synthetic music becomes as ordinary as a Spotify release.
Black music has a particular reason to be attentive to that conversation because technological change has always been woven into its evolution. Drum machines helped shape the rhythms of hip-hop and R&B, synthesisers transformed production, sampling became an artistic language of its own and Auto-Tune eventually became an expressive tool rather than simply a piece of corrective software.
The difference with generative AI is that the technology does not merely expand what a human artist can do; it can draw from existing music, generate new material and, in some cases, imitate voices and styles closely enough to make the distinction between influence, assistance and replacement increasingly difficult to establish.
Tyga's latest album, $TARFACE, placed that tension directly in the public eye. After initially discussing the project largely in terms of its analogue equipment and '80s-inspired sound, Tyga later confirmed that AI had been used as a tool during production, specifically mentioning the generation of '80s-style synthesiser parts and a guitar solo while maintaining that the songwriting and vocals were completely his. He compared the technology to Auto-Tune and argued that artists should adapt to where music technology is going. The response demonstrated how quickly the presence of AI can become part of an argument about artistic credibility.
Tyga's position is not shared by everyone however. Dr. Dre has taken a more openly pragmatic view, describing AI as another tool for creativity and comparing people who see it as an existential threat to those who would once have opposed drum machines. Coming from a producer whose career has been built around technological experimentation as much as musical instinct, his argument reflects a long-standing reality of music production: new tools do not necessarily eliminate the artist who uses them, but they can change what the artist is expected to contribute.
That contrast is precisely where Tiffany Ngige, an A&R at Unhurdmusic, sees the enduring value of human artists. For her, a label is not investing in a song alone but in whether there is an entire world around an artist that can be developed, from their identity and community to their relationship with an audience, personality, values and lived experiences. She argues that those things are fundamental to the music business precisely because it remains, at its core, a people business.
“If AI makes it possible to create an endless amount of music then the scarce commodity becomes the artist themselves; their perspective, emotional depth and ability to connect with people,” Ngige tells Deeds.
She also points to something that can be difficult for generative systems to replicate convincingly: the accidents of human creativity. For instance a vocal crack that was never supposed to make the final recording, an unexpected take, a spontaneous lyric or an imperfect moment in the studio as the very things that gives a record its emotional character.
Those moments are not necessarily the result of an artist deliberately choosing imperfection; they emerge from the unpredictable experience of human beings making something together.
That does not mean the A&R sees AI as inherently destructive. In fact, she believes it has already begun democratising music-making, particularly for independent and emerging artists who may not have access to expensive studios, engineers or producers. AI stem splitters, for example, can allow artists to isolate vocals and instruments for remixing, sampling, experimentation or analysis, giving musicians ways to explore ideas that might previously have required considerably more money and technical access.
Her concern is what happens when the tool stops serving the creative decision and begins making the creative decision itself. If artists begin using the same systems to generate music optimised around what algorithms already reward, the industry could find itself with more music but less distinction between the people making it. In that scenario, convenience and volume could become more valuable commercially than risk, experimentation or individual perspective.
“There’s a line between using technology to realise your creative vision and allowing technology to become the creative vision,” she says, something that becomes even more complicated when audiences cannot tell whether the human contribution they believe they are hearing actually exists.
Fenix Flexin's “Rubberz” became one of the year's most striking examples of that uncertainty after the song climbed to No. 58 on the Billboard Hot 100 while listeners questioned whether its unusual vocal performance and production had been generated using AI. Flexin has denied that the song was AI-generated, and the controversy remains unresolved, but the fact that a song could become a significant charting hit while listeners were simultaneously debating whether the credited artist had actually made the recording himself points to a new problem for the industry. Authenticity is becoming something audiences may feel compelled to investigate rather than simply assume.
Pushing Back on IP Theft
It is one thing for an artist to use AI themselves; it is another when their music is used without their knowledge or consent. R&B singer-songwriter SZA has spoken forcefully about discovering that 238 of her songs appeared in material identified as being used to train AI systems, including songs she believed could include unreleased work. Her anger points to a different side of the debate from artists such as Tyga and Dr. Dre, not as a user of AI herself yet large chunks of her catalogue have become part of the material from which machines learn without her permission.
Mary J. Blige's own recent experience with Suno, an AI music creation platform, exposed another dimension of the same problem. The company released an advertisement that made it appear as though Blige was endorsing an AI-generated R&B song, only to withdraw the campaign after discovering that the person who negotiated the deal had falsely claimed to represent her. The incident goes to show that the threat posed by AI is not limited to copying a recording or generating a synthetic vocal; an artist's name, likeness, credibility and cultural authority are also increasingly becoming part of the technology's commercial machinery without their consent.
For the music industry, these developments have made regulation increasingly difficult to postpone. The International Federation of the Phonographic Industry (IFPI) introduced principles this year for determining the eligibility of recordings developed using generative technology for official charts, while industry organisations have also moved toward distinguishing between music that is substantially human-made but AI-assisted and recordings in which generative AI creates the primary creative material.
Streaming platforms are developing their own approaches as well, namely platforms like Tidal which announced that fully AI-generated tracks would be labelled and excluded from royalty payments, while Spotify and other platforms have introduced measures targeting unauthorised vocal impersonation and mass-uploaded AI music.
Responses that suggest the industry is beginning to recognise the central issue of how unstoppable AI is and draft measures to protect the people whose work, voices and audiences make the music business valuable as it is and give it meaningful control over how AI participates in it.
This becomes even more urgent for African music. AI could give artists across the continent access to production possibilities that were previously limited by money, geography or industry connections. At the same time, African music is increasingly valuable within a global cultural economy, which means the continent's artists have to think carefully about who controls the technologies learning from their music, how cultural material is incorporated into those systems and whether the economic value generated from that material returns to the communities that created it.
Ngige believes the answer should not be to reject the technology outright. Instead, she argues that AI can remain useful as long as artists retain control over the creative decisions that give their work meaning – which ultimately determines whether AI becomes another chapter in music's long history of technological adaptation or something more disruptive to the people who make/have made the industry function.
The temptation will be to measure that disruption in the simplest terms of how many AI songs are uploaded, how many are streamed, how many appear on charts and how much money can be made from producing them. But those measurements risk overlooking the thing that has always made music more than an efficiently manufactured product. A song carries the perspective of the person who wrote it, the experiences that shaped the performance, the decisions made in a studio and the relationship that develops between an artist and the people who listen to them. At the core, music is and has always been inherently human.
If AI eventually makes it possible to generate an effectively infinite supply of competent music, that abundance may make those human qualities more important rather than less. As Ngige puts it, when music becomes easier to generate at enormous volume, “authenticity becomes a lot harder to fake.” The challenge for the industry, then, is not simply deciding how much AI it can tolerate, but making sure that in its pursuit of efficiency it does not lose sight of why audiences cared about the human artists in the first place.
Cover Credit: Courtesy of Getty Images.
Graphic treatment and AI composition by Stanley Kilonzo.
Photo Credits: Adraint Khadafhi Bereal
After her 2015 mixtape, But You Caint Use My Phone, Erykah Badu did not release any musical project. After a decade of waiting, it is unsurprising that when she announced her collaborative album, early last year, with one of Hip Hop’s most influential producers, The Alchemist, fans were strapped to their seats before the tracklist, cover, or title was out.
Before the World Blows: The Abi and Alan Experiment, is a 16-track project with star features ranging from Earl Sweatshirt, Kamasi Washington, Westside Gunn, to Steve Lacy. The recording of this album bounced from Dallas to Los Angeles, and after many cryptic teasers Before The World Blows saw a digital release on August 28.
Erykah Badu, known for her afrocentric expression and her big contribution to the neo-soul genre, is always an exciting act to watch out for. Her last mixtape project was a 30-minute RnB/Soul bop inspired by Drake's 2015 Hotline Bling. She made a Hotline Bling remix titled HOTLINE BLING BUT U CAINT USE MY PHONE MIX before expanding the idea into a mixtape. The mixtape was about how everyone is always connected due to the accessibility of the cellphone. After this mixtape, Erykah Badu would go on to sell out arenas for 10 years before her recent album.
The Alchemist, Alan Maman, is one of the big names in hip-hop, having produced tracks for main hip-hop artists like Kendrick Lamar, Rick Ross, Lil Wayne, Eminem, MF DOOM, Earl Sweatshirt, Ghostface Killah and many more. His signature sample-heavy beats made him popular to underground rap acts. His discography is a wide range of interesting genres; alternative hip-hop, jazz rap, and lo-fi. He produced Meet the Grahams by Kendrick Lamar during the 2024 feud with Drake. And was the runner-up for Producer of the Year by HipHopDX, an online magazine for hip-hop news.
Two influential people in hip-hop collaborating on a record was sure to create electric buzz before and after the album release. Erykah Badu's contribution was more than vocals and a self-directed visual to the track, Witch Doctor.
In a video posted on Instagram, Erykah Badu spoke about her production abilities saying, "My ears are lethal. I have a gift." She has always talked about not wanting to be limited to being the queen of neo-soul. In the same Instagram upload, she continued to say, "I just want you guys to know I ain't just a singer. This is my production." The Alchemist had provided some beats for Badu and she programmed it into what is now Before The World Blows.
About their collaboration, The Alchemist said in a conversation with Apple Music that it "enabled him to be like a motorcycle sidecar instead of riding in the cockpit." Erykah Badu also revealed in the conversation that she has written a poem with the title Before The World Blows. The now-released album had been given a placeholder title because the album title took a while to be figured out.
A throwback to one of her appearances in Tamron Hall Show, Erykah Badu sat before the interviewer in a statement red hood (or hijab) and bold, eclectic jewellery. She said the difference between a recording artist and a performance artist is: a recording artist perfects a moment, while a performance artist creates a moment. Before The World Blows is a seamless integration of Erykah Badu being a recording and performance artist.
In an NTS RADIO live show, Erykah Badu is seen singing passionately in a trashy blonde wig, a distinct look from the Witch Doctor video, and creating a soulful performance with The Alchemist. The producer duo/hip-hop trendsetters would embark on a North American tour with hip-hop group De La Soul that was formed in New York in 1988 and St. Louis rapper, Smino in 2026-2027.
Cover Credits: Adraint Khadafhi Bereal
There has never been a better time to be African in global culture. Across music, fashion, film and entertainment, African creativity has moved from being something the world occasionally discovered to something it actively seeks out.
From Burna Boy headlining stadiums, Wizkid selling out arenas, Tems appearing and co-writing on some of the world's biggest records to Ayra Starr and South Africa’s Tyla turning their distinct sounds into a global pop language, as well as Aya Nakamura —despite being largely French-speaking— becoming one of the biggest African-born pop stars on the planet.
One thing from all this is evidently clear: the world is paying attention. This makes East Africa's relative absence from that conversation increasingly difficult to ignore.
Not absent entirely, of course. East Africa is not short of musicians, filmmakers, designers, writers, photographers, artists or digital creators doing excellent work. But why are they largely missing from the spotlight?
Nairobi, Kigali, Dar es Salaam and Kampala remain some of the continent's most interesting creative cities. Sauti Sol became one of Africa's most respected contemporary groups and former member and lead vocalist Bien has gone on to build a solo career beyond the confines of the band. Diamond Platnumz turned Tanzanian Bongo Flava into a regional force. Visionaries across the region continue to produce work that deserves international attention.
So, talent across East Africa isn’t up for debate. Instead, the lens is on how it rarely becomes a global cultural power – a contrast that may explain why calling this a “flop era” feels both laughable and strangely accurate
We can all agree that the term “flop” is deliberately dramatic. East Africa is obviously not culturally irrelevant. But if the last decade has represented a historic opportunity for African culture to establish itself globally, the region has arguably been slower than its potential suggests to convert creativity into sustained influence.
Talent alone as we know it has never been enough. What separates a talented artist from a global star is often the machinery surrounding them: management, PR, publishing, distribution, international partnerships, touring infrastructure, investment, legal support and an ecosystem that knows how to turn local success into an international business.
West and Southern Africa has spent years building much of that machinery around its biggest exports. East Africa still largely seems to be figuring that out as it goes. One artist breaking through can be and is exciting, but an industry consistently producing artists who break through is something else entirely.
Look at music. East Africa has sounds of its own. Bongo Flava, Genge, traditional tunes like Taarab, Indie/Afro-soul and a growing range of hybrid sounds have travelled beyond their countries of origin; yet the biggest hurdle is an ecosystem that hasn’t been capable of making that momentum sustainable.
And the same problem appears outside music. East African fashion has produced designers whose work is sophisticated enough to belong in international conversations. Yoshita 1967’s LVMH Prize win this year by the designer Anil Padia affirms that. Our filmmakers be it Wanuri Kahiu, Dilman Dila, Toni Kamau and more are telling stories with global resonance. Our writers have published stories that deserve to be read beyond the continent as do photographers and visual artists' works that are documenting a region whose cultural identity is increasingly compelling to the rest of the world.
Yet somehow global recognition still feels like an event rather than an ecosystem.
A creative gets featured in an international publication, invited to an overseas festival or collaborates with a major foreign brand, and the moment is celebrated as an exception. We rarely stop to ask what infrastructure exists to make the next ten such moments easier.
Perhaps that is part of the problem. East Africa is very good at producing moments. We are less convincing at producing movements. There is also something peculiar about how we understand ourselves collectively. Nigeria has become almost synonymous with Afrobeats. South Africa has successfully attached amapiano to a global cultural movement.
Still, what does East Africa mean to the rest of the world? Kenya is not Tanzania, neither is the latter Uganda or Rwanda. Our differences are part of what makes the region culturally rich, but our creative industries still operate largely within national boundaries.
An artist who has built a following at home can struggle to turn that momentum into a regional career, while a designer, filmmaker or musician looking beyond their own country may find clearer pathways through international markets than through neighbouring ones. We have the talent, the audiences and the proximity, but the infrastructure connecting those pieces remains surprisingly thin.
Then, there is our complicated relationship with international validation. Sometimes, it feels as though East African culture only becomes valuable to us after someone outside Africa confirms it is. A Vogue feature makes a designer suddenly important. A foreign festival invitation makes a filmmaker suddenly prestigious. An international collaboration makes an artist suddenly “global.”
Of course, these opportunities matter. International recognition can open doors that local markets cannot. Nevertheless, there is a difference between building global relevance and waiting for somebody else to certify your relevance.
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o didn’t have to retain a Eurocentric identity to become an internationally successful author nor did Tyla have to stop being South African to become global. Their identities were not obstacles to their global appeal; they were part of it.
East Africa similarly has plenty to export but we have to believe in it to make it. Our diaspora could also be doing more to bridge that gap. East Africans living in London, Toronto, New York and elsewhere represent communities with cultural, economic and professional connections to home. The global success of African culture has repeatedly demonstrated how powerful those communities can be – not just as audiences, but as marketers, tastemakers and consumers. Festivals and concert platforms such as Afro Nation and Afro Plus Fest have shown how diaspora communities can help create demand for African music and culture far from the continent, turning cultural familiarity into a viable international market. East Africa has that diaspora resource too. Perhaps, we haven't been strategic enough about turning it into a bridge between local talent and global audiences.
None of this means West, South or other regions in Africa have figured everything out. They haven't. African creatives everywhere still contend with exploitative contracts, limited funding, piracy, weak infrastructure, visa restrictions and unequal access to international markets.
So perhaps the “flop era” diagnosis is ultimately unfair. Maybe East Africa is simply playing a different game. The long game. Our cultural influence doesn't always show up on Billboard, at the Grammys or on the cover of an international fashion magazine. Perhaps the region's influence is more fragmented, more local and less interested in becoming a single exportable product.
But again, if that is our defence, we should be honest about whether we are comfortable with it. Because the ‘world has long moved on from waiting for Africa to become interesting.’ African culture is already interesting. The market has already demonstrated its appetite.
The fact that we have something to say is clear enough. The challenge now is to convince ourselves and others whether that’s worth building an industry around.
To answer the question, East Africa is not in its flop era. It is simply a frustratingly unfinished one. The region doesn't need another viral moment. It needs infrastructure. It needs investment. It needs stronger creative institutions, better regional collaboration, international-facing management and industries that understand culture now as an economic force more than an identity.
Most importantly, it needs to stop measuring its potential against what other heavyweights like Lagos or Jo’burg have already achieved. East Africa doesn't need to produce another Fela Kuti, Burna Boy, Hugh Masekela or even another Tyla. It calls for creating the conditions in which the world can discover whoever comes next.
Cover Image Credit: Skott Bennett-Riff Magazine
The first time this writer heard Nikita Kering’, she was already singing with the kind of conviction that made it easy to forget how young she was.
“Happy With You,” her debut 2018 single, arrived when she was just 16, introducing audiences to a young Kenyan R&B and pop singer-songwriter whose voice seemed far older than her years.
Nearly a decade in, her music still carries that same immediacy. But Kering’ has spent the years since growing far beyond that girl to a more intimate, assured fully-fledged artist who isn’t afraid to say exactly what she means.
That evolution has unfolded across three EPs, A Side of Me, The Other Side and this year’s The Lick Back that finds her leaning further into self-possession, desire, vulnerability and the freedom to speak from a place of greater personal clarity.
In 2021, just three years after her breakthrough, Kering’ became the first-ever East African musician selected for Apple Music’s Africa Rising programme, another benchmark of how quickly her career was expanding beyond home. Since then, she continued to build a catalogue around her distinctive RnB sensibilities while drawing from pop, Afrobeats, dancehall and the sounds of her roots – all feats she has done without a full-length studio album to her name yet and a gap she hopes to finally close next year.
Deeds caught up with the Kenyan singer-songwriter to talk about growing into her voice, embracing the parts of herself she once kept hidden, the evolving identity of Kenyan music, and what comes next for an artist who is still discovering just how much she has to say.
Stanley for Deeds: How is your day going so far?
My day is great. I just came back from a getaway, so just kind of back with a lot of work.
Your music has been around for more than five years now, but songs like “Never Let You Go” and “Ex” still feel remarkably current. How does it feel knowing people are still returning to those songs years later?
So cute. Thank you so much.
You’ve been making music since you were very young. When did music stop feeling like something you were naturally good at and start feeling like something you had something to say through?
I guess from just being a talent to being almost like a channel or a platform for expression, right? I'd say probably when I was around 16. It's kind of my mom that pushed me and pressured me into writing my own music. I really used to think that I can't write my own music. So she used to just tell me, you can just try. And so that's when it happened. It stopped being about music school, stopped being about just vocal ability. But it started to be about like, who is she? Because the only way people can really know who I am is to connect with me really, was through using my music as a space where I could give my thoughts and opinions on certain things, where I can share my emotions. People could tell the kind of person that I am through my music. And so yeah, I'd say around that time and then it also became a business, so it was kind of just trying to balance the two.
Fans can hear different versions of you across A Side of Me, The Other Side and your newer work. Which version feels furthest from who you are now?
I'd say the first EP. I'm only saying that because it just makes sense for that to be so, given that that was the youngest version of me. And I allow myself to really immerse myself into my eras or phases, like I really live in the moment. And so, A Side of Me may be the furthest to who I am now, but it was very authentic to who I was then, right?
You’ve grown up in public ever since the Emmy Kosgei days we discovered you and that audience has grown up alongside you. What part of your evolution do you think people haven’t quite caught up with yet?
People haven't yet seen that side of me that doesn't really care, the side of me that is aggressive and speaks up for herself. And I think with The Lick Back, the people who are the closest fans that are listening to the music deeply and listening to the lyrics, they can see that.
But what I've seen is my music really takes a long time for people to catch up to. I don't know what it is about the music, because when I drop it at first, no one ever really gets it. Then a year comes, okay, everyone is now on the Nikita Kering’ hype and blah, blah, blah. So I would just say, perhaps the people who listen to my music at a more surface level haven't really gotten to see the side of me that is a little bit more outspoken and doesn't shy away from the truth.
So you feel like sleeper hits/albums are a good thing?
A hundred percent I think sleeper albums are the best because the majority of people then who are discovering are actually in a quest to discover, rather than the people who just were listening to it because it had hype at the moment. You'll find that people who are listening to an album a year after and had never listened to it probably were like, okay, this album had gotten good reviews let me see it for myself and there isn't that noise at the time that they're listening.
So I'm for it and the whole sleeper concept has really built and sustained my longevity that I've had because then people are still able to experience music of three, four years ago right now. And in fact, if you want to look at TikTok and stuff like that, there's people that I'm seeing still discovering “Ex.” There's a performance I did in Ethiopia months ago of a song that came out years ago that's trending right now. So that just tells you that rediscovery is amazing because even as I perform songs I sang five years ago today, they're still relevant. And I feel like that's how music is supposed to be.
People are always listening. Is there a song you've written that you understand differently now than when you wrote it?
I actually don't. I don't think I have an answer to that because I don't really listen to my own songs. I just perform them. After I sing them, now it's in the hands of the people I made it for.
You write quite openly about love, heartbreak, and desire. Do you really understand what you're feeling or do you need to understand it before you can?
I don't think I internalize my feelings before writing music. I kind of just go with the flow. So I would say I discover my feelings after the fact.
When a melody or lyric comes to you, do you usually know what the song is about, or does the song tell you as you go?
Yeah, it definitely tells me, but it depends. Different songs, different approaches. When I initially write it, sometimes I know what I'm trying to talk about, but for the most part, it always reveals itself.
For instance, the “Niwache” song, the line that you sang, was actually the first line I came up with in the whole song. I only had that, and nothing else. And then I sent that to the producer, and we built from that. So already that kind of tells me this song is probably about someone who's playing games, someone who's doing like a cycle back and forth type of thing.
What emotions do you find the easiest to sing about, but hardest to actually live through?
I think the pain from heartbreak; because we hear about it so much, we watch a lot of movies, we interact with each other, our friends go through it and the pieces of heartbreak; the crying at night, people's life moving on and yours is kind of stuck. We know those little pieces, so I'd say heartbreak is very easy to write, yet very difficult to go through.
When you're going through it, the process is so profound and you get so immersed in it that those feelings never really leave you and that's why perhaps it's very easy to describe them because literally, you live inside those feelings so immensely and so vividly that I guess you can't forget.
Your latest EP feels like another step into your artistic evolution. What did making The Lick Back reveal about the artist you're becoming?
I would say that it reveals less to me about the artist that I'm becoming, but more so the person that I'm becoming because my art is directly linked to my personal experiences and to who I am and how I'm feeling. So I think it's just a reflection of somebody growing up, finally becoming a woman. Being able to speak out for myself because that's some of the things I struggled with a lot as a young person. Like I’m finally grown up and out of being that timid young girl who is scared of voicing her opinions and is scared of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It's just shown me how much I am actually growing and if I thought that I wasn't growing I can now see it in my music from also experimenting with different sounds.
You’ve experimented with different sounds and languages throughout your catalogue. Is there a version of yourself you can express musically that you can’t quite access in everyday life?
The sensual part of me, mainly because I find that society isn't very forgiving with women. Sometimes when it comes to freely expressing your sensuality and yourself. That’s something that I've been able to put in my music, even in collaborations such as Motto, I feel as though if I was to transcribe that and tell it to people word for word, everyone would be like, what the hell is this girl saying?
We are also at a time when Kenyan music is drawing increasingly from across the continent while also developing its own new identities. What does the Kenyan sound look like to you today?
I think that Kenyan sound looks like a Kenyan person that grew up in Kenya or was exposed to Kenyan culture, presenting it in the way that they understood it. I don't think there's any way that it's supposed to sound. I just think that if you took part in being Kenyan in any way and you're expressing that musically, I think that's Kenyan music.
I think the exposure to the difference in cultures and even different music and how you choose to interpret that is exactly what makes it Kenyan, because the thing is, that culture is just a bunch of people that sat together and behaved and acted a certain type of way. It wasn't influenced by any sort of DNA or anything. We are just a couple of people that settled on this part of the earth and started to do things in this manner. And that became culture. So I think with music, it's the same. I'm glad the exact rule applies.
And what do you think Kenyan artists or creatives are doing exceptionally well right now and what are they still getting wrong?
Let me start by saying that finally, there's some kind of trend where there's a lot more Kenyan musicians making Kenyan music that is inspired by their own cultures. So when I look at Kodongklan, Kosta Ojuang, Elsie Wameno or Zaituni, all of these people are not only inspired by, for example, the Nairobi culture or the Swahili language. They have embraced who they are and where they come from. And even through my EP and what I was doing with the intro with Sofiya Nzau.
We have unlocked a new level to even more content by allowing ourselves to access our own cultures because I genuinely believe that we are spiritually connected to where we are from. I myself come from the Nandi community, and I know my clan and exactly where we come from. And there are stories our parents teach us about our clan and the things that we used to do and our strengths. And I can see that coming out now, even being in Nairobi or traveling around the world, I can understand.
So I would say how we are attaching ourselves or rather how we are holding on to our history is really important and I think that is something that we're doing so right because it makes the pot overflow. It will consistently pour out more and more content because we're not just Kenyans, we're not just Kalenjins, we're not just Nandis, we're not just Taitas, we come from this home. And the deeper you go into who you are, the more there is to find and the more of that DNA will show through your music making it even way more unique than perhaps someone that was just following some trends, right?
Yeah and at the end of the day, like creativity, music continues. Music has been around for maybe a few thousand years and maybe even more, but I mean in terms of like proper proper structured songs and stuff like that, it can't end here. It has to keep going and how does it? We have to keep finding new inspirations and that means going deeper into your culture while at the same time going wider into the future and wider into exposing yourself. How can my culture mesh into this? How can we intermarry different cultures to create a new art form? And that discovery is what I'm seeing in Kenyan music and not just music/artistic space, because even with fine arts, even with culinary arts, with people like Denis Ombachi, turning things like managu and terere into cold salads, you know, that kind of stuff. That's why people like that are still relevant, because it's innovation. And innovation doesn't necessarily mean that you have to come up with something from thin air. Sometimes it just means taking this thing, taking this other thing, and blending them together to create a new thing.
Because that's exactly how humans evolve. It's a mother and a father coming together to create something new. And if you yourself see yourself as a new being, as a new creation, then that, I think, reflects creativity. That you've taken this that was already in existence, and this other thing, and you're putting them together, and you're literally just consistently creating something new every time. And I think that's amazing. In terms of what I feel like Kenyan artists are doing wrong, I don't know what Kenyan artists And I don't think I will ever come out and say anyone is doing anything wrong creatively because I see artists who are making “bubblegum” music being shunned upon, but we are listening to it.
That is an art form in itself. For example, there's calculus and then there's freaking one plus one. And without one plus one, there would have never been calculus. Like both of those things are necessary. Sometimes life doesn't have to be so complex. People don't have to do the right thing all the time. And so I would never, ever comment on what I think someone should do or shouldn't do creatively. What I think I would say is how hard are you working to make this into something proper? Because you can turn something very stupid into something amazing and something that is worth sharing to the world as a representation of Kenya music. What I would say artists are doing wrong on the other side of things is not knowing how to protect this art that they are creating, is not knowing how to correctly monetize it. Those are now the things I can speak on because I can see exactly how my input would benefit them.
What do you admire about the next generation of East African artists coming up alongside you?
I applaud my fellow artists because they’ve kept going because I've seen and experienced crazy things, and there's times where I've genuinely sat down and was just like, bro, I don't think I can do this anymore. I can imagine that all these different artists have probably been in the same exact space where they felt like giving up. But the choice to continue, to me, that is the most amazing, brilliant thing. And I'm so proud of all of them.
And I support in the ways that I can. When I speak to upcoming artists, when I talk to Bridget Blue, when I speak to so and so; I sit with these people, and all I do is encourage them and tell people, you should try this and try that. My hand is never closed. It's always open to giving and that's why I believe that I keep receiving, because I don't tie that information to myself. I don't believe in gatekeeping, because I really genuinely believe that we can all coexist. And I know people that are so worried about gatekeeping and stuff, they're copycats because they know they copied something and they know it's not authentic enough to sustain, but because I know what I'm coming with is so original, I'll never be worried about what anyone else is doing or that they're doing better than me.
I'm so proud of each and every one of my fellow artists and I wish them all the best and I have generally given upcoming artists opportunities way more than I've even given anyone else and I don't talk about it, I don't post about it, I don't go out there wanting anyone to lick my bum about it, I'm just out here and I know one day, should I help the right person, and they're grateful, they're gonna come out and they're gonna be like, you know what, I appreciate Nikita because she helped me get here, she helped me get there, but I don't even do it for the applause, I don't do it so that they can say, I do it because it's just the right thing to do. And why not?
Your music influences have ranged from Rose Muhando and Nigerian pop to American R&B with people like Rihanna. When you're creating, do you think about those influences, or have they become so deeply embedded that they just come out in the way you create your own music?
I see inspiration kind of like taking a test. You read for your exam, and when you're in the exam room sitting with your paper, you're not thinking about every single thing that you read. You read the question, and you hope that the answer will flow to you depending on how prepared you are.
How I relate it to making my music is if I am genuinely, I've listened to the music, I've taken it in, I've meditated with it, I do not need to go over my notes again. I just write, and it will show. There is a way that your brain is able to divide or to compartmentalize different ideas and how they would apply into your different ideas. You never have to be listening to other songs at the same time in order to make that happen.
You just have to constantly feed yourself with the material, and then it will show in the music, because if you then do the former, what's going to happen is you're just going to plagiarize. So even when I'm making a song and I can hear like, okay, this song kind of sounds like, let me give an example, Diamonds by Rihanna. The one thing you're not allowed to do at that one instance is play that song because then you're going to start copying. That's how I do it.
Speaking of influences, are there any people that are on your dream collaboration list?
I think I only have one person on my dream collaboration list right now, and that's Dave. I really like Dave. His song, Raindance with Tems is amazing. But I think if I were to make a song with Dave it would never be a commercial song. I wouldn't waste my opportunity on that. I would want to drain him of every little bit of niche creativity he has in him, because that's how I fell in love with Dave. I didn't really get exposed to Dave through the commercial song.
What can fans look forward to next? Is there anything else in the book? An unreleased project before the year ends that you want to bless them with?
There's definitely gonna be some songs out before the year ends, but, in terms of a whole project, no. I'm not gonna lie and say that. I really hope to release my debut album next year though.
For the Peaches and Cream event, I would say that's gonna be the best show of the year yet, actually the best of my life yet. So if anyone is waiting to attend my concert, and they don't know which one to attend, because I know there's a couple, they need to attend that one.
Finally, if we remove Nikita Kering’ the public persona that people know, what would you want to discover next just for yourself?
I really just want to see how far I can push my entrepreneurial side. I'm just about to launch one of my businesses, aside from Nikita Kering’, because I'm not going to be publicizing it, and I just want to see that I can actually manage a huge business and not lose my mind.
Cover Credit: Nikita Kering’/Tofauti Vibes
In its first 12 days on Prime Video, The US TV series Off Campus drew 36 million viewers worldwide, becoming Prime Video's most-viewed series debut of all time among young women aged 18 to 34.
It was the first of a dozen young adult titles the video streaming platform rolled out this summer as part of its "Obsession Is In Session" initiative. Other titles coming include: Every Year After, The Love Hypothesis, Fourth Wing, Rose Hill, Boys of Tommen, Sterling Point and Elle, a Legally Blonde prequel.
Three weeks after Off Campus broke records, The Last Sunrise, based on Anna Todd's novel and starring Maia Reficco and Eva Longoria, debuted at number one on Prime Video's global Top 10 Movies chart in 33 countries within 24 hours of release.
Prime Video is not dabbling in young adult romance. It is building a content world around it. To understand why that matters, it helps to understand what existed before it.
For two decades, The CW was the home of glossy, emotionally intense young adult television. Gossip Girl, The Vampire Diaries, Supernatural, Riverdale, Arrow, Jane the Virgin, One Tree Hill: the network built a specific audience and served it steadily.
When Nexstar Media Group took over The CW, in August 2022, ten shows were cancelled immediately, three times the average annual cancellation rate over the previous decade. Average primetime viewership fell to 453,000 in 2023, down 21 percent year over year, finishing last among all five major broadcast networks. Riverdale, the last show still carrying the network, ended in August 2023 after seven seasons, averaging just under half a million viewers in its final run — a quarter of what it drew at its peak.
The CW's Netflix licensing deal ending was the financial trigger. Without that revenue stream, the network cut aggressively. The audience that had grown up watching Gossip Girl and The Vampire Diaries had nowhere to go.
Netflix had built a streaming version of that audience in the late 2010s. To All the Boys I've Loved Before, The Kissing Booth, Never Have I Ever, Heartstopper: the platform demonstrated that young adult romance worked on streaming and drew a devoted, active fanbase. Then it moved on. Adolescence swept awards in 2026 and became the defining teen drama of the year. XO Kitty and Heartbreak High continued but represented lighter investments. Netflix recognised that the young adult romance audience existed and then chose to serve a more prestigious version of teen content instead. The gap it left was real.
Prime Video's path into that gap was not accidental. A Prime Video executive told The Hollywood Reporter directly that the push into young adult content had been "very thoughtful, very curated", and that the platform had done a purposeful study of what engages younger female audiences.
The answer was BookTok, the TikTok subcommunity for readers that had already built passionate, active fanbases around titles like Off Campus, The Summer I Turned Pretty and Red, White and Royal Blue before any of them had a screen adaptation. BookTok readers are not passive audiences. They campaign for adaptations, create content around them and drive conversation before a show has aired a single episode.
Prime Video noticed that energy as a distribution infrastructure it could plug directly into. Adapting novels with pre-built fanbases was not just a creative decision. It was a way of acquiring an audience that had already done the promotional work.
The shows reflect this logic consistently. The Summer I Turned Pretty is based on Jenny Han's novels. Maxton Hall on Mona Kasten's. Off Campus on Elle Kennedy's. Every Year After on Carley Fortune's. The Last Sunrise on Anna Todd's, the author behind the After series, one of the most successful self-published young adult romance franchises in history.
Every major Prime Video young adult romance is a book adaptation. Every author had an established fanbase that preceded the screen version. Every fanbase was active on BookTok. The A.V. Club's assessment was direct: "All the soaps and ships have moved to Prime Video."
Maxton Hall Season 2 is confirmed. Off Campus is already renewed for Season 2. The pipeline beyond that includes Fourth Wing, based on Rebecca Yarros' romantic novel that broke UK records for fastest-selling sci-fi and fantasy title, and Boys of Tommen, another BookTok phenomenon. The platform is not treating these shows as experiments. It is treating them as franchises.
The demographic the platform is targeting is specific. 66 percent of romantasy book buyers in the UK are aged 13 to 34. Prime Video's Off Campus debut set records among women aged 18 to 34 specifically, the same demographic The CW spent two decades building and then lost.
The Last Sunrise reaching number one globally in 33 countries in 24 hours confirms the audience is not limited to one market. Young adult romance travels, and Prime Video has built its slate around titles with global fanbases rather than domestic ones. Maxton Hall is German. The Last Sunrise was shot in Mallorca. Every Year After is Canadian. The platform understands that BookTok is not an American phenomenon and has positioned its slate accordingly.
What Prime Video has built is something The CW spent twenty years cultivating through broadcast television and Netflix briefly owned through streaming: a destination. When a viewer finishes one show and wants another like it, Prime Video is now the platform they open. The Summer I Turned Pretty leads to Maxton Hall leads to Off Campus leads to Every Year After. The slate holds them. The CW understood this logic for two decades. Netflix understood it briefly and then chose prestige. Prime Video is the third party in this sequence, and the first to build intentionally around serving this audience.
The CW served this audience for twenty years and then stopped. Netflix created a streaming version of it and then moved on. Whether Prime Video becomes the permanent home of young adult romance or simply its current one is a question the next few years will answer. What the numbers already confirm is that 36 million people in 12 days is an audience that was waiting for somewhere to go. Prime Video gave them an address.
Credit: Amazon Prime Video
Mama's Gun is one of Erykah Badu’s acclaimed albums. After she made headlines with her debut album, Baduizm, her second studio album, Mama's Gun, was widely anticipated. Erykah Badu's distinct sound is a tasteful blend of RnB, neo-soul, jazz, and hip-hop. In one of her recent interviews, the American music icon told Popcast’s Jon Caramanica and Joe Coscarelli that she only puts out a record when she has something to say. The songwriting in Mama's Gun touched on spiritual themes, romantic love, and the mistreatment of marginalized groups.
Mama's Gun is many things; bold, soulful, inspiring and lyrically witty. This is the second album after her exciting 1997 debut, Baduizm. Mama's Gun set out with a goal and at Green Eyes, a song about her then breakup with rapper Andre 3000, that goal was completely achieved. The neo-soul album successfully blends elements of funk, jazz, rock, and reggae. Released in 2000, Mama’s Gun is more than 25 years old and is considered one of the best albums of its era by numerous publications like NPR and Pitchfork.
The record succeeds at expert storytelling. It starts with a 6-minute opener, Penitentiary Philosophy, where Erykah uses her vocals like an instrument. She sings about boxing oneself into an identity, and the nonconformity of individualism. Three songs off this album; Bag Lady, Cleva, and Didn't Cha Know explores self-fulfilment in relationships with self and others. This is one of many things that makes Mama's Gun a timeless listen; she covers issues—both personal and societal— that are integral to the human experience.
My Life, the third track of the album, was from a 1995 demo. Two other songs from that era On & On and Appletree were released as singles from Baduizm. Following My Life is ...& On, a sequel to her Grammy-winning single, On & On. She continues to teach the principles of the Five-Percent Nation, a black supremacist movement on this track. Erykah Badu has been linked to the Five-Percent Nation due to her cultural identity and lyrics with nods to the doctrines of this movement. Based on research documented in Encyclopaedia Britannica, Five Percenters believe that 85 percent of humanity are oblivious to the true nature of God and thus, are misled by 10 percent of humanity who are knowledgeable but falsely teach about the existence of God. Only 5 percent understands the truth about God; He is living and He is a black man teaching freedom to black communities. Hey Sugah (interlude) levels the tempo before going into the track Booty. A song with clever lyrics about an unfaithful man and his protective lover. Other songs that explore romantic motifs include; Kiss Me On My Neck (Hesi), Orange Moon, In Love With You (featuring Stephen Marley), and Green Eyes.
Mama's Gun also features two songs about the racialized sufferings of black people in early 2000s America. A.D. 2000 is a tribute song to a 22-year-old Guinean immigrant Amadou Diallo, who was shot dead by members of the New York City Police Department in 1999. Wyclef Jean also made a similar tribute that year with the track Diallo. Time's A Wastin' is a message about survival, targeted at young black men who aim at thriving in a white supremacist system that wasn't created for them. The album spans more than an hour of soulful melodies and grounding lyricism.
When Erykah Badu broke into the scene with her signature head wrap inspired by African women and her silver jewelry, she came as herself and noted the influence her spirituality has on her music. Perhaps one of my personal favourite things about Mama's Gun, apart from its mid-tempo groove is its richly textured soundscape, with everyday sounds like finger clicks and sounds from analog or naturalistic elements being incorporated into the composition of the album. This was the perfect addition to nail down the perfect album for a chill, candle-lit day.
Truly, who could compare to the great Erykah Badu? Her influence can be seen in fashion, film, and music. Erykah Badu is more of a lifestyle. She is a cultural tastemaker, and a trueborn artist. RnB and soul acts like SZA, Summer Walker, Jhené Aiko, Ari Lennox, Teyana Taylor and many more have cited her as a major influence in their music artistry, especially for her spiritual teachings and use of sound systems like tuning forks. Ari Lennox has covered a lot of Badu songs including Green Eyes. According to VIBE, the singer Solange said of her at ESSENCE‘s 8th annual Black Women in Music in 2017: “She is a beautiful reminder that you cannot put us in a box.”
P.S: If you enjoyed Mama's Gun by Erykah Badu, then give two of Willow Smith's projects a listen; Petal Rock Black, and The Thread. A Seat At The Table by Solange and 5 by Sault are also some of this writer’s personal favourites.
Cover Credit: Erykah Badu captured by Eric Johnson in 1997
Six days ago Anil Padia stood at the Fondation Louis Vuitton, in Paris, before an industry that had gathered to decide which young designers deserved to exist at the next level.
He is the first Kenyan finalist in the history of the Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy (LVMH) Prize, competing against 2,400 applicants from across the world.
His label, Yoshita 1967, is based between Nairobi and Paris, built around handmade production and collaboration with women-led craft communities in Kenya.
He won the Savoir-Faire Prize, worth €200,000 and a year of LVMH mentorship. "I am completely lost for words," he said backstage. "This has been a collective effort from all our team in Nairobi, and I am just extremely honoured."
The prize was introduced in 2024 specifically to recognise craftsmanship, technical innovation and sustainability. Yoshita 1967 is exactly what it was designed to find.
The brand is named after Padia's aunt, Yoshita,whose story shaped part of its creative direction. It draws from his Indo-Kenyan lineage, with his family having migrated from Gujarat to Nyeri over a century ago, and collections that explore identity, memory and family histories that have remained largely unspoken across generations.
Padia studied at La Chambre Syndicale de la Couture Parisienne in Paris and La Cambre in Brussels, training in the technical rigour of haute couture, before returning to Nairobi where the heart of his practice remains.
The garments are made using crochet, embroidery and intricate hand embellishment, produced by women artisans the label has spent four years training and working alongside. Among them is a group of Zimbabwean-born nuns who joined the production line. Every piece is made to order and never held as stock.
The mirror work draws on Gujarati embroidery tradition. The sterling silver-plated bells sewn into hems and panels reference the ornaments worn during Navratri celebrations, so that the pieces carry sound as well as shape when the wearer moves. "The brand unifies the unheard voices of the women in my life and the censored stories in my lineage. It is a liberation of our collective karma,” Padia said at Yoshita 1967's launch in 2024.
He beat 2,400 applicants to reach the final. Then, he won.
Seven years before Padia stood at the Fondation Louis Vuitton, Thebe Magugu of South Africa won the main LVMH Prize, the first African designer to do so. His label, rooted in South African identity and history, built through specific research and deliberate craft, also not designed around the narrative of being overlooked.
President Cyril Ramaphosa wrote to commend him after the win. The industry took note of what was being built in Johannesburg. Magugu did not wait for the industry to find him. He entered the competition, made the case for his work, and won on its merits.
What Magugu and Padia share is a simple approach: make something specific, make it well, enter the room. Their brands were built around the work, and recognition followed. At a time when conversations around African fashion often focus on exclusion, their wins shift attention back to what is being produced. The snub argument remains valid; global fashion has long borrowed from African aesthetics while sidelining African designers. But Magugu and Padia show another route forward: grounded, excellent work that earns its place in the rooms built to recognise it.
The prize Padia won was introduced, in 2024, to recognise something the main LVMH Prize does not always foreground: craftsmanship, the human labour behind the clothes, the communities that make the work possible.
Yoshita 1967 won it in only its second year of existence. The women in Nairobi who embroider, crochet and sew bells into hems are not a footnote in the brand's story. They are the brand's story, and Padia's vision for what comes after the prize reflects that. "Yoshita can only grow if the community around it is nourished," he has said. "We are linked to each other, and no one should be left behind."
A prize designed to see that kind of work saw it, and gave it €200,000 and a platform.
Padia's immediate priority after winning is hiring more staff. One extra person, he says, would be "a really a dream." The money does not change the model. It expands it. Yoshita 1967 will keep making clothes the same way it always has, in Nairobi, with the same women, using the same hands.
Magugu's win in 2019 did not produce a wave of African winners in the years that followed. What it produced was proof that the door could open, that the room was not structurally closed to designers from the continent, that the work could speak for itself inside one of the most competitive selection processes in global fashion. Padia's win in 2026 is the second data point in what may become a longer story. The gap between them is seven years. It is also not forever.
Cover Credit: LVMH Prize
On the night of November 16, 2001, at Sun City in South Africa, an 18-year-old computer science student from Port Harcourt walked out of a Miss World final and directly into Nigerian history.
Agbani Darego was the first Black African to win Miss World in the competition's 51-year history, and the weeks that followed were spent processing what that meant with the kind of sustained attention usually reserved for World Cup victories.
Darego competed in a year when the pageant had introduced a new audience voting system, a structural change that gave her an advantage previous contestants had not had access to. When she was crowned, the announcement ran on loop across Nigerian TV in a way that beauty pageant results simply did not, before or since.
Governor Peter Odili of Rivers State described the win as "an expression of the natural endowment of the people of Rivers State and noble qualities of Nigerian womanhood." The entire country celebrated the way it does when a win feels personal, not just for the woman who won it, but for the country watching.
What that night produced, beyond the headlines, was a standard. Not an official one. Nobody announced that future Nigerian representatives would be measured against Darego's win. It was informal, persistent, culturally embedded, and carried by every woman who has represented Nigeria at Miss World since, whether she knew it or not.
The conditions that produced 2001 were specific: a new voting system, a particular year, a particular contestant. None of those conditions were guaranteed to repeat. The expectation that the result would repeat anyway is what has shaped Nigeria's relationship with the pageant across the 25 years since.
The record of those 25 years is largely one of participation without breakthrough. Nigeria sent representatives consistently across the 2000s and 2010s, collecting occasional Top 20 placements that were noted in the press and then largely forgotten.
The gap between what the country expected, because 2001 had taught it what was possible, and what the pageant delivered was never formally examined. It was simply felt, in the quiet way that unexpressed standards make themselves known, whenever a Nigerian contestant did not place and the conversation turned briefly to why not.
The restructuring of 2024 was the first formal acknowledgment that something in the Nigerian pageant infrastructure needed to change. Silverbird Group separated Miss World Nigeria from Miss Universe Nigeria and the Most Beautiful Girl in Nigeria competition, creating a dedicated pathway for the Miss World title rather than treating it as one output of a larger system.
Joy Raimi became the first representative under the new structure, travelling to Hyderabad for the 72nd Miss World in 2025 and finishing in the Top 20 and Top 5 from Africa, the strongest Nigerian performance in years, produced by a system that had only just been built.
Tamunosoye Karibi-George carried that momentum into Vietnam. The 26-year-old is from Port Harcourt, the same city Darego called home, and she arrived in Nha Trang having already won Miss Africa International 2024 in Accra. Her advocacy platform, Beyond Labels, centres on inclusion and empowerment for children with disabilities, a specific, substantive cause rather than the generalised statements of intent that pageant representatives sometimes offer.
At Miss World 2026, Karibi-George won Africa's Top Model, beating representatives from Equatorial Guinea, Botswana, Kenya and South Africa to secure her place in the Top 40. She then advanced to the Top 12 through the People's Choice vote, finishing among the final twelve contestants out of 111. The Dominican Republic's Joheirry Mola was crowned Miss World 2026, earning the country's second win after 1982.
Karibi-George's Top 12 finish, Africa's Top Model title and People's Choice qualification, set alongside Raimi's Top 20 in 2025, constitute the two strongest consecutive Nigerian performances at Miss World since Darego won in 2001.
Still, the result deserves to be read in that context rather than against the unrepeatable standard of 2001. Whether that represents a genuine shift in how Nigeria prepares its representatives, a product of the restructured pathway or simply two good years arriving in sequence is not something the evidence can settle with confidence.
What can be said is that the women Nigeria has sent to Miss World in 2025 and 2026 have arrived at the competition prepared, competitive and visible in ways that the years between 2001 and 2024 did not consistently produce.
A win of that historical weight does not recede simply because time passes, and the shadow of 2001 was never going to lift on its own, but what has changed in the last two years is that the shadow is being navigated with more care. Darego was 18 when she won, from Rivers State, studying at the University of Port Harcourt. Karibi-George is 26, also from Rivers State, also from Port Harcourt. She won Africa's Top Model, advanced to the Top 12 through the People's Choice vote, and left Vietnam with a result that sits more comfortably in the long story of Nigeria at Miss World than most of what came between her and the woman who started it.
The standard set in 2001 has not been met. It has, for the first time in a long time, been seriously attempted.
Cover Credit: Agbani Darego
Chinyemugo Obiekwugo-Charles did not set out to build a fashion brand. During her third year at Parsons School of Design in New York, a distinct design vocabulary was assembling itself through references, images and garments before she could fully name what it was becoming. By the time she graduated, with her collection featured in Vogue, the vocabulary had a name, and what MUGO MUGO needed next was the woman who would wear it.
That woman is genuinely difficult to describe, which is exactly the point. The MUGO MUGO woman is not a fixed archetype that other women have to qualify for. She is not a mood board or a demographic or a set of aesthetic preferences. She is someone who contains contradictions without needing to resolve them. She can be assured and still have moments of vulnerability, seductive without wanting to be consumed, ambitious and still romantic. She can change her mind. She can leave one version of herself behind and become someone entirely different. MUGO MUGO does not ask a woman to embrace a label and stay inside it. It gives her permission to keep becoming. That freedom to move between contradictions, rather than resolving them into a single coherent identity, is where the brand locates femininity, not as a fixed state but as something in motion.
Marie Claire Nigeria named MUGO MUGO one of the Nigerian fashion brands to watch in 2026. The design language that earned that recognition is built around sharp tailoring alongside sheer fabrics, structure meeting fluidity, sensuality present without being obvious. The clothes hold the same contradictions the woman does, discipline and softness occupying the same garment without either cancelling the other out. The military shapes and antique references in the collection are not decorative choices but the visual grammar of a brand that understands clothing as armour, as vocabulary, as the tool a woman uses to control the narrative around herself before anyone else gets to write it. The clothes are made. She decides the character.
For Obiekwugo-Charles, reinvention is an inevitable part of becoming. She is interested in the freedom a woman has to reassess who she is, move beyond versions of herself that no longer fit, and decide what comes next. Reinvention, in her understanding, is not about rejecting who you used to be, but allowing yourself to evolve. What interests her is not the difficulty of those moments but what comes after them. A woman can experience something that changes her and still decide what happens next. Reinvention, in her understanding, is not about rejecting who you used to be but about allowing yourself to evolve. That idea is the emotional core of MUGO MUGO, and it connects directly to the collection at the centre of the brand's current moment. The thirteen-piece I Still Dream wardrobe is not named accidentally. Even after disappointment, change or uncertainty, there is still the capacity to imagine something beyond your present circumstances.
Now, MUGO MUGO wants to find her. The brand is conducting a worldwide search for one woman to receive the complete I Still Dream wardrobe - a collection built around the idea that even after disappointment, change or uncertainty, a woman can still imagine something beyond her present circumstances. The search is extended to September 15, 2026, and it is not a conventional giveaway. The questions being asked of applicants reflect that: the city that influenced your creativity, the song that embodies MUGO MUGO, the fashion rule a MUGO MUGO woman would never follow, the place that feels like the brand, the moment that changed your life for the better. These are not questions about follower counts or aesthetic preferences but questions about how a woman sees herself and the world, and what she does with that vision. Entries are open through MUGO MUGO's Instagram and TikTok until September 15.
Perhaps the MUGO MUGO woman was never meant to be invented by the brand. Perhaps she was always out there, waiting to be found.
Credit: Mugo Mugo
…on reinventing himself, mental health recovery, olodo uprising
YCee dropped his breakout song Jagaban, in 2016, and Nigerian pop culture did not recover for a long time. Within the next two years, another smash hit, Omo Alhaji, followed, then Late Night Vibrations, an EP that showed a different side of the same artist, one willing to sit inside heartbreak and make something honest out of it. By 2019, his debut album, YCee vs Zaheer had surfaced, cementing his status as a prolific rapper. After another extended play, Love Drunk, in 2021, and it went a bit quiet on YCee’s end. The years after were shaped by a bipolar disorder diagnosis that he has only recently begun speaking about publicly. Out of Sight, Out of Mind, his debut album, was built across that period.
In this conversation with Deeds, the 33-year-old artiste, born Oludemilade Alejo, speaks about mental health recovery, artistic integrity and what the ‘Olodo Uprising’ revealed about modern Nigerian youth culture.
Sophia From Deeds: For anyone reading this and discovering you for the first time, how would you introduce yourself and your music?
My name is Ycee Omo Alhaji. I'm a rap musician from Lagos, Nigeria. I love music. I love creating music, I love consuming music. I like to think of myself as a fun guy.
Who is YCee when there is no music, no industry, no public version of you to maintain? What does a regular day actually look like?
I mean, it depends on the day of the week, actually. If it’s a Monday—because I literally have a tattoo that says “Weekend Forever”—I think I structure my weeks like weekends. It’s like one long weekend.
Very flexible Mondays. I try not to do anything, you know, just probably chill, unless I have obligations like work or an interview or any other thing. But outside of work, I’m usually just home, either on my laptop, watching a movie or series or anime, or playing a video game.
When you think about what success, money, family and happiness meant to the person who made Jagaban and Juice, how different does that person feel from who you are now?
I’d definitely say my view on success has changed a lot over the course of not just my career, but my life in general. I think at different stages, it’s usually a thing where you have dreams or goals that you’ve envisioned for yourself, and there are people who are lucky enough to get to a point where you meet those goals and you live those dreams.
I think one thing that I learned very early on in my life is that there’s always a higher level than the top. So it’s always been a thing for me where, whatever venture I’m embarking on, when you achieve that, you then realise there’s always that question of, “What next?” There’s always a next step.
I think for me, success right now, as opposed to back then—back then, success meant making music that would travel the world, I guess. It was never necessarily a thing about, “I want a million dollars.” It wasn’t. I think my concept of success has always been detached from monetary value and more about just breaking boundaries, breaking ceilings.
There was a conversation I was having with a younger friend of mine, and he was just talking about how he needs to make money. He wants to make money, money, money. Bro, you’re better off setting goals for yourself that, when you achieve those goals, there’s possibly no way you would be in that position and money wouldn’t be there.
I feel like there are a lot of people we see in society today who have money or have made money, but there’s still a certain longing, there’s a certain itch that needs to be scratched. For me, I’ve always been detached from that. I’m not saying that I don’t like money. I like money because money makes things happen. Money is a necessary tool. Whatever it is you want to do in life, even if you want to live a low-key life, that in itself comes at its own cost.
You know, as opposed to back then, where it was just about trying to get my music to a bigger stage than I was at the time, getting a larger fan base, being able to travel and just take my music as far as I could take it, I think right now success for me is more about my well-being, my state of mind, my state of physical being, and the state of my relationships with my friends and my family.
I feel like if I’m able to maintain a good level of that, then I would think I’d be successful in whatever other metric people would want to grade my life or career by.
So I feel like I’ve grown older. I’ve become more in touch with who I am as a person. I think, for me, it’s just about trying to make that reflect in the music. That’s the most important thing to me. I’ve come to realise that, in doing so, it elevates the quality of the music itself.
I’m a yapper, by the way. I tend to just talk.
The years when things went quiet publicly - what was actually happening? Not the narrative, not what people assumed. What were you doing, who were you spending time with, what was shaping you?
Oh my God! You know, it’s so crazy. I feel like every time I was getting ready to release music again, people were always asking, “What’s been going on? What have you been getting into?” I think a lot of people were expecting deep responses like, “Oh, I went on a journey of self-discovery. I was, you know, with the monks in the mountains. I was meditating.” And I was like, bro, I literally was just out here trying to live as much as I could.
I think from when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, it just put a lot of things on the back seat because I wasn’t able to necessarily function as I used to before the diagnosis and before all the medication and everything that I was going through. So I think when I was able to get some level of stability back in my life, I was like, there’s no reason why I will not make the most of every single minute of every single day for the rest of the life that I have.
Because one thing that I notice about the entertainment industry in Nigeria, especially within the music space, because that’s where I operate, so that’s where a lot of my knowledge comes from, is that we work so hard to become so big, just to seclude ourselves from the world. And that has never made sense to me because I think one of my favourite things about being popular and being a celebrity is the perks that come with it.
There are pros and there are cons, but I’m not going to sit here and act like a lot of times the pros don’t outweigh the cons because you’re in a position where your presence is appreciated anywhere you go. You get access to the crème de la crème, premium spaces and everything. It’s just a great experience. It’s a great thing to be popular.
And you find that people just become so secluded from everything that’s going on because you don’t want to become too accessible. You don’t want your value to be overly saturated because it’s like, “Oh, we see this guy here, we see him there.” But I still want to do the things that I used to do before I became popular. I still want to go to the cinema. I mean, private cinemas are cool, but there’s nothing better than the experience of watching a movie and seeing the reactions of other people as well, in real time, and just being part of a community.
Just going to the beach, going out to eat in a restaurant. I tell people all the time, I feel like the number one thing about living on this earth is how we interact with other human beings. That’s one of the best experiences in life because there are times that I will literally just be in a crowded place and I’m looking at, maybe, give or take, hundreds of thousands of people, and it’s like every single person in this crowd, every individual, is a different story, with different experiences. You know, even within a household, children don’t necessarily experience the same parents, even if they are born of the same parents.
So our experiences as human beings come down to how we interact with other human beings. And it’s like, why would you want to keep yourself away from the pinnacle of human experience, existence? I love to go out. I love to just do things.
So it was a question of, “Where’s Ycee?” and it’s like, Ycee is in W Bar. Ycee is here. Ycee is there. I pretty much was very active, just not necessarily present within the music industry.
And I felt like the time away that I took just really helped my outlook on life in general and informed my decisions on what it was that I wanted to do with my re-emergence back into the industry. I think it’s always a thing where you tell artists all the time that, as long as you’re within your younger years, because you can’t be active for as long as you would want to be, you should make the most use of it.
And that, in turn, tends to—not all the time—but tends to translate into: you can’t take breaks. You have to always be at the top of your game. You have to be active. You have to be releasing music. And it just gets very exhausting because you can go to the cinema and count the number of times you watch certain actors in movies, and it’s not because they’re not good actors. It’s not because they’re not making movies. But there’s a season for everything. There’s a time for everything.
And breaks are very important because one thing that I’ve learned about the body is that if you don’t take a break for yourself, it’s going to be worse when your body decides to take that break for you.
I think the whole time away and just being low-key was a very trying time, obviously, with my mental health issues and dealing with that. I think one of the saddest parts about it was not just what I went through personally, but pretty much what the weight of my condition was putting on the people around me. It affected a lot of my friendships. It affected a lot of my relationships as well.
But I think one of the key parts of my recovery was also the people who stuck it out with me and were able to meet me in my time of need. And I’m more than grateful to the circle around me that just helped me get back to—not who I was—but back to a version of myself that was able to come back into the industry and just get back to making music and the things that I love.
I think, as much as there were certain experiences that were dark, I feel like it was a necessary time that I needed for myself. And I’m glad that I was able to deal with everything that I dealt with and just come out on the other side and get back to doing what I want to do.
About bipolar disorder. How are you?
Yeah, I’m good. I’m fine. I haven’t had an episode, if I’ll call it that, since 2024, and everything has been very good, I would say. Aside from the things that we deal with on a day-to-day basis, I’m just thankful for a good state of mental well-being and, to a certain extent, some peace of mind as well.
I think ever since I became public with my mental state and my mental health issues, I’ve encountered a lot more people, more Nigerians, coming up to me and saying, “I also suffer from bipolar disorder,” or some form of mental health issue. So I think it’s a conversation that a lot more people need to be having because, as much as there’s been positive feedback on it, there’s also been a lot of pushback, even from people that I know personally, just talking about why I’m speaking about bipolar disorder so casually.
And I think it just comes down to how I was able to deal with it. I’m still—I don’t think there’s a cure for it—you just need to learn how to live with it.
I feel like the more people share their lived experiences, the more it helps other people who are dealing with the same struggles know how they can navigate their lives as well. It’s something that I would always like to push for. I would always want to speak about it, just let people know that, as much as the healthcare system in Nigeria is the way it is, there are still means to navigate mental health issues through the strength of community and the strength of just being within safe spaces where you’re in touch with your emotions and you’re able to speak freely about your feelings without the pushback of other people’s opinions, stigma and all that stuff.
Late Night Vibrations is the clearest example of your personal life finding its way into the music. Is that something you do deliberately, or does it just happen?
It started to come about the older I got because I think, in the earlier stages of my career, I was just more content with making music that people would listen to and just be amazed by my rapping ability, or people would listen to it and it’s just like, “Oh, it makes them dance.” I started gravitating towards wanting to make music that would make people feel something because I realised that, with the music I enjoy from my favourite artists, they’re pretty much giving a piece of themselves. It’s always a crazy thing to listen to a song and be able to relate to the experiences of whoever is creating the music.
I think that’s one thing that has helped my music connect with my core audience: the level of relatability. I think with Late Night Vibrations, that was pretty much the first time that I was open enough to be as vulnerable as I was with what I was going through at the time. So I made that EP during the time when I was going through my very first major breakup, from a relationship that I was in for almost over two years.
And I think, for me, it’s just been a situation where, regardless of whatever I’m going through, my number one coping mechanism is just going into the studio and expressing my emotions on a song or into a song. And it’s not necessarily about whether the song is going to come out or whether I’m going to release it. It’s more as a means of therapeutic release than as a means of self-expression.
I would liken it to someone who journals. It’s like just being able to put your thoughts down and then go back to it, read it again, listen to it again. In this case, I think it was a thing of joy for me to see people gravitate towards certain songs and connect with certain lyrics. It just strengthened my thoughts on music being a universal language. Ever since then, I’ve been more comfortable with just expressing my views on love and life and everything else in between.
I think within the Nigerian space, it wasn’t up until more recently that you had artists singing more about the dark side of relationships. I think, for the longest time, you had love songs where it was always beautiful stuff. You know, you talk about the girl, you talk about meeting the girl, guy meets girl, they fall in love—all the fairy-tale stuff. Don’t get me wrong, that is equally essential to tell that story. But there are also other sides that we encounter every day. We experience it every day.
I have a lot of my friends who complain about the fact that I’m always listening to, quote-unquote, sad music. But I find it a lot more sincere when people are singing about heartbreak because it’s very easy to sing about love even when you’re not in love. It’s the easiest thing to say: “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day,” all that.
There’s a certain level of sincerity and just a certain level of vulnerability that goes into making music that touches on the discomforting side of love.
Out of Sight, Out of Mind was made across several years, which means different versions of you are in it. When you listen back now, do you like them?
I like them a lot. I think most of what makes me like them is the fact that, inasmuch as these individual songs were made across different periods of time, there’s still some level of cohesion across the body of work.
And I think, for me, I listen to it and I just see growth and maturity because, like I said, over different periods, this was created and that was created, and we brought that together to make this. It doesn’t feel out of place. It doesn’t feel like these songs shouldn’t be put together. It’s a thing of beauty for me, and I just feel like it’s even helped me with the next step that I want to take creatively, just going off people’s reactions and everything, and then listening back.
That’s the thing about music. You could listen as a consumer, and there are certain songs that, when you listen to them, take you back to the first time you heard the song or the memories attached to the song. Like, “Oh, I remember this song. I heard it at this wedding.” Every time I hear the song, I remember the wedding party and all that stuff.
Yeah, I think for me, anytime I listen to the album, from the intro, I can remember when I got the voice note that I used for the intro. With the songs, I remember how I felt when I first heard the production and the beat: “I like this beat. I want to work on this beat.” It’s like a time capsule of sorts.
You are a rapper, a singer and a songwriter, and Nigerian music has always wanted you to pick one. Has that pressure gone away?
I think during the earlier years of my career, it was always a thing where I was—I wouldn’t say forced—but I was pushed to work on my singing because, at the time, it was considered that if you wanted to make money, there wasn’t really that much money within the rap industry.
So I had to get a vocal coach. I was doing vocal training, and I got better at singing. It then started to lean to a point where I was doing more singing than rapping. My earlier fans, or the people who fell in love with me because of my rap ability, were now on the side where they were like, “Oh, so you’re no longer a rapper? Are you going to leave what we all fell in love with you for?”
It wasn’t until I became more confident in my ability that I realised getting better at singing had also helped me become a better rapper, in the sense that I was able to infuse melodies into the rap I was doing at the time. And with singing, because of my ability as a rapper and being able to write raps as a songwriter, it also helps you make better songs that are more fleshed out, with deeper meaning and deeper lyrics. It’s a no-brainer.
So it got to a point where I was able to blend both seamlessly, and that just gave rise to a merger of both fans: people who love the singing and people who love the rap side. It was always a conversation where you either do one or the other, but I feel like, as a creative, there’s always going to be that desire to evolve, that desire to better yourself, that desire to make all kinds of music and touch on as many genres as you can.
Because I feel like being an artist and just being comfortable enough in one sound gets very monotonous. It gets very boring. And you could extend that conversation to collaborations. For example, before Asake did “Chanel” with Blaqbonez, I don’t think anyone would have envisioned Asake on that type of bounce. Seeing how he was able to just come into the song and make it his own, it’s one of those things that shows it’s even better for artists themselves to step outside of the box as much as they possibly can. It’s in those experiences that you’re able to evolve as an artist and as a creative.
How do you make your records? Take us through your creative process.
For me, it's always a thing where I believe the creative should decide what the fan base consumes and not the other way around. My reason for this is I would use my journey personally. It's like before I made Condo, it wasn't like anyone asked me to make it that way. It was because of what I made and how good it was that they liked it.
So it's always a thing where I always liken this situation to someone going to eat in a restaurant, for example, you go to a Michelin star restaurant, look through the menu and find out there's no jollof rice. You're not going to ask them to tell the chef to make you jollof rice; you know where to get Jollof rice. So it's like regardless of whatever it is that you want to eat, it all comes down to what's on the menu, what they're offering. So you have to pick from what is available.
So it's not the restaurant's job to make what the fans want. It's the restaurant's job to make the best meal possible. As soon as you taste it, your taste buds start telling you that this tastes amazing. As a creative, it's just my own job to make music that I feel like making, to just put my best foot forward and work to the best of my ability. As a music consumer myself, I want to believe I know what good music is.
So, the beauty of making music is that you've made something that you think is great and you can share with the world. I feel like a lot of people want to always question an artist when they say they made an album for themselves. You see, that is the beauty about art; it is like you've made something beautiful, but you can't possibly be the only one that would enjoy the beauty of what you've created. And that therein lies why people share the music that they make for themselves with other people. Because it's like the beauty of art is consumption. It's people resonating with what you've created for yourself and they also like relating that to their own experiences. So, for me, it's always going to be me first, then you guys can come in and I share that with you. That's just the beauty of creation in total.
The Olodo Uprising and the Peller conversation - beyond that specific moment, what is your bigger concern about what Nigerian popular culture is rewarding right now?
As much as I'm trying, I feel like it's a necessary conversation that needs to be had. I feel like in this day and age, especially with the advent of social media and social media now being a platform that is giving people, it pays now, there's financial benefits from being on social media. There's always going to be another trending topic, another trending conversation. But I think with the strength of how long we've had this little olodo uprising conversation, it just shows that it's a necessary conversation that we need to constantly keep having so that we continue to increase the bar of excellence within our society. I feel like a lot of people look at the clippings from the video that went viral as opposed to going to watch the full interview. So a lot of people were considering that I had something personal against Peller. Yeah, I feel like it goes beyond just the content creation industry or just the entertainment industry as a whole. You can akin certain different areas of our lives and point out an olodo uprising moments within them, whether it's politics, dealing with other people within your neighborhood, within the systems you operate in, within education, within the movie industry, the work, the office, the 9 to 5 industry. There's a hint of Olodo uprising within every facet of our Nigerian society today.
People can beg the question to say, it's not just a Nigerian thing. But at the end of the day, I can only speak to the society that I am a part of, and that's the Nigerian society. I think a lot of people felt like it was a personal attack on people that don't necessarily have formal educational backgrounds and stuff. I think for me, it was just like a degradation of just education in general. People are no longer curious anymore. People don't ask questions. They only rely on AI summaries. It used to be a thing where one would research publications, factual accounts on history, scientific theories and so on. Now, people are okay with outsourcing their own intelligence. That's why we are dealing with the repercussions already. People consider this mentality of, “as long as he's making money,” and that's why we have a lot of people that are okay with doing questionable things. If you are in a working society, you wouldn't be doing those things unless you really wanted to. There's no reason why you would want to be a clown when you're not part of a circus. So I just look at certain things and I think, “oh, God, I wish we had better leaders. I wish we had a better, administrative arm.”
If you look at it, it's like people have just outsourced, not just intelligence now, but even their justice system. People don't have faith in the judiciary anymore. They're more comfortable with going to social media personalities that will bring them justice because of their following. It just is quite telling that people are more comfortable with putting their trust in somebody that's just within the same sets of limitations as themselves.
That in itself lies the lesson where it's like we can see that this person is able to pull this much public appeal or public opinion. So why can't we, as the public, pull our own public opinion ourselves and engineer the change that we so desperately want? So, yeah, it's a lot.
Cover Credit: _teeshots
The annual NBO Film Festival is returning to Nairobi this October for its seventh edition, expanding its offerings with new competitions, a filmmaker retrospective and a broader industry programme under the theme “Cinema for Us.”
Running from October 15 to 25, the festival will take place across four venues: Prestige Plaza, Unseen Cinema, Kaloleni Social Hall and, for the first time, Alliance Française Nairobi.
The expanded footprint reflects NBO’s ambition to make cinema part of Nairobi’s wider public life, bringing audiences together through screenings, filmmaker conversations, City Dialogues and community programmes.
This year also marks a significant expansion of the festival’s competitive programme. The Fiction Feature Film Competition, introduced in 2025, will return alongside a new Short Film Fiction Competition, creating a dedicated space for short-form storytelling. NBO is also introducing the Nick Wambugu Prize for Documentary, honouring the late Kenyan filmmaker known for his work in documentary filmmaking, including The People Shall.
The festival will also present its first filmmaker retrospective, dedicated to acclaimed French-Senegalese filmmaker Alain Gomis, whose films include Félicité and Tey. Gomis is expected to attend audience and industry events during the festival, with the retrospective examining his body of work and creative evolution. Supported by EUNIC (European Union National Institutes for Culture), the full retrospective line-up is scheduled to be announced on September 9.
Beyond screenings, NBO 2026 is placing greater emphasis on the infrastructure behind African cinema. Its expanded industry programme will include the NBO Project Showcase, creative labs and professional exchanges designed to connect filmmakers with industry professionals while supporting projects in development and pre-production.
For Artistic Director Mbithi Masya, the festival’s “Cinema for Us” theme is rooted in the belief that African audiences should be able to experience, discuss and celebrate the stories being made across the continent at home.
With its expanded venues, competitive categories and industry programming, NBO’s seventh edition positions the festival as more than a showcase of films. It is becoming a meeting point for Nairobi audiences, filmmakers and the wider African creative industry – one designed to keep cinema within the cultural life of the city.
Cover Credit: NBO FESTIVAL
For its second annual edition, this year, Afro Plus Fest returned with a sold out event headlined by major acts across Afrobeats, dancehall, soca, R&B and hip-hop. Held in the DMV, Maryland, this past weekend, it was a full 3-day experience that saw headliners such as Wizkid, Davido, Tems, Ayra Starr and Alkaline take the stage – as well as supporting acts namely Latto, Sexyy Red, Chief Keef, Tiwa Savage, Sarkodie, Odeal and more.
Dubbed as the largest celebration of global Black music and culture, Afro Fest debuted last year, founded by DMV (Washington D.C., Maryland and Virginia) native Michael Awosanya who noted that the festival represents the culmination of years spent building spaces for African and diaspora culture in the region.
A Prince George’s County local and Towson University alum, Awosanya began organizing DJ battles and dance competitions before bringing artists, including heavyweights like Burna Boy and Asake, to the region.
That work eventually culminated in Afro Plus Fest’s inaugural edition in 2025, a one-day event at the RFK Festival Grounds, which sold out and drew more than 20,000 attendees. The festival also generated an estimated $10 million in local economic impact, establishing Afro Plus as more than a concert but a growing cultural and economic platform.
That first-year response set the stage for an even more ambitious sophomore edition which expanded from a single day to a 3-day format and moved from the RFK Festival Grounds to the Northwest Stadium Complex in Landover. Additionally, it was projected to draw as many as 120,000 attendees across Labor Day Weekend, reflecting the rapid growth of an event that is positioning itself around the breadth of Black music and diaspora culture rather than a single sound or region.
In that sense, Afro Plus joins a wider festival movement using large-scale live experiences to bring Black artists, audiences, businesses and cultural expressions into the same space; therefore pushing its central idea even further and the increasingly interconnected sounds of the African diaspora.
If its sold-out debut proved there was an audience for that vision, then this year’s 3-day expansion shows just how far that audience can reach. It also ultimately suggests that Afro Plus may be building something with staying power across other cities such as London, Dallas, among others, beyond its inaugural location.
Cover Image Credit: Afro Plus Fest
The scenes witnessed at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium on the first of Jay-Z’s two-night JAŸ-Z30 London show can only be described as captivating, iconic and legendary. For the Brooklyn rapper celebrating the 30th anniversary of his debut album Reasonable Doubt, this was another stop on the tour, a true celebration of the iconic catalogue he has built over his 30-year career and his impact on hip-hop.
The show marked a major moment, not only celebrating 30 years of his career but also his first solo performance in London in 13 years, since his Magna Carter tour, and his last time on stage alongside Beyoncé on their On The Run II tour in 2018. From the start of the show, which began with Hackney native Idris Elba delivering the intro to “American Gangsta”, Jay showed why he is one of the greatest of all time. The show featured an iconic setlist and a band of musicians who enriched the songs. It also featured stunning visuals that matched themes and moments from his life and career. It was truly special to witness an artist who has built and delivered a show at that level 30 years into his career.
His energy towards the crowd was truly next level. The transitions and outfit changes flowed effortlessly across the 2-hour show, which felt like it could've gone on with the amount of music he has. The love and deep respect for all he has was well and truly alive in the stadium of fans who were not only London locals but also very much international, having crossed borders and seas. New York was present, as shown by the number of American accents and the NY merch all around. It was worth every minute and truly euphoric to witness.
From the announcement of the show, which was taking place on September 4th, there was high anticipation that he would be joined on stage by his wife, Beyoncé, who just happened not only to be celebrating her 45th birthday but also the 20th anniversary of her second album, B’Day. Yet on this night, she was merely one among the crowd, watching like a proud wife and, most importantly, a fan. She did have a brief moment in the spotlight when the crowd sang happy birthday to her and put on a fireworks show in her honour. Another iconic moment came when he was joined by two other musical legends, The Fugees, who took the stage to perform a 3-track medley of “Killing Me Softly,” “Ready or Not,” and “Fu-Gee-La” from their album The Score, which is also celebrating 30 years since its release. The group went back with Jay, who opened for them on his first European tour, so the moment was full circle for both legends. Another legend who took the stage was the UK's own Giggs, who joined HOV for the UK anthem "Talking The Hardest." Having previously shouted him out in his 2022 single “GOD DID”, it only made sense for him to bring him out, adding in his “Welcome To The Jungle” verse and adding in his own freestyle ad-libs over the iconic beat.
There was so much to take in from the show in how it married and came together from the production, which was quite simple yet maximised in its execution of the stage design, screen and lighting show. It was much needed, and it really showcased Hov's true artistry and performance. Multiple outfit changes and transitions flowed effortlessly before you realised they were happening. The setlist was crafted not only to showcase his many hits but also his catalogue as a whole. It included tracks like “Pray” “Fuckwithmeyouknowigotit” “Run This Town” “Dead Presidents” “Can I Live” “Song Cry” “Girls Girls Girls” “Niggas In Paris” “Public Service Announcement” and the show closer “Numb / Encore” It was a perfect blend of old and new yet also timeless delivering something for the old school JAY-Z fans as well of those of the new generation. Backed by a band of live string players, drummers, piano players, and electric guitarists, the show enhanced the songs' sound and emotion, adding a special touch to the musicality. Not to mention the visuals displayed throughout the show, put together by Gabriel Moses, which spoke to the emotions and impact of the songs and the significant cultural and personal moments in his career. His vocal performance is another thing to note, as his breathwork and control were flawless throughout. Whilst some of his counterparts struggle to maintain it throughout a couple of songs. As a 56-year-old who performed with the energy and hunger of someone who just started, he reinforced that he is still the best in the game, because no rapper comes to mind who can match that breathwork and control.
The whole thing was captivating to witness and will stay in the memory of all who saw him and will see him for the remainder of his run of shows, as somebody who has retired from music, having not released any new original material since 2017’s 4:44 album. He clearly showed that music will always be in him. Dusting off the mic and showing the world why he really is one of the greats, and that his legacy does speak for itself. Rappers, artists, and creatives should take note of the master at work, showing that even at this point in his career and life, he remains meticulous and maintains a status that will forever be etched in the history books.
Cover Credit: Chloe Newman
August 31, 2026 might just be a few days ago but it has become one of the most important dates in global pop culture history.
Exactly two weeks before the 30th anniversary of Tupac Shakur’s death, a Las Vegas courtroom finally delivered a verdict in the murder that had gone unsolved for three decades. His longtime rival, Keffe D, was found guilty.
Duane "Keffe D" Davis was convicted of first-degree murder for orchestrating the 1996 killing of Tupac Shakur.
Significantly, the prosecution did not have a murder weapon, DNA evidence, fingerprints or a surviving eyewitness who could place Davis in the white Cadillac from which the shots were fired, given that every other alleged occupant of that car is dead.
Instead, what the prosecution did have was Davis's own words, spoken across nearly two decades of interviews, a BET documentary and a memoir he published in 2019 titled Compton Street Legend, in which he described his role in the murder in detail. The jury convicted him on those words, and nothing else was needed.
Las Vegas detectives travelled to Southern California a dozen times in the years after the murder and were met with uncooperative witnesses, unreliable informants and a wall of silence that Suge Knight and the South Side Compton Crips maintained with the consistency of people who understood exactly what breaking it would cost them.
Orlando "Baby Lane" Anderson, the man Davis says fired the shots, was killed in an unrelated gang shooting in 1998 and took whatever he knew with him. The code of silence in gang culture is not merely social pressure but survival infrastructure, maintained by fear and enforced by consequence, and for 30 years it worked exactly as designed. Law enforcement could not break it, forensic science could not break it, and the passage of time did not break it.
Keffe D broke it himself, not under duress, not in exchange for a deal, not because a witness turned on him, but across a 2008 police interview in which he opened by saying 'Don't bullshit me, and I won't bullshit y'all,' described the positions of everyone in the car, and named his nephew Orlando 'Baby Lane' Anderson as the one who pulled the trigger, all in exchange for immunity from drug charges he believed would carry a life sentence. A BET Death Row Chronicles appearance in 2018 where he described how the fatal shots came from the backseat, a memoir in which he wrote about obtaining the gun and searching for Tupac - 'Them jumping on my nephew gave us the ultimate green light to do something,' he wrote. 'Tupac chose the wrong game to play.' When they spotted the car: 'No words exchanged, the time for talking had passed, the sht was about to go down', and YouTube interviews with anyone who would listen.
The prosecutor's closing statement captured the situation plainly: "For nearly 18 years, Duane Davis has told the police, television, books, YouTube interviewers, anybody that will listen. He has told you he is responsible for the murder of Tupac Shakur. Tell him you hear him."
The jury heard him.
Davis kept talking because talking was profitable, because the memoir generated income and the interviews generated profile, and because the reputation of being the man who orchestrated one of hip-hop's most notorious murders carried its own currency in the underworld he operated in.After his arrest in 2023, he told ABC News: 'I shouldn't have said nothing. I'm innocent, man.' He also claimed he had never read his own memoir and that his co-author wrote it independently.
The culture of silence that hip-hop built around this murder survived everything except the man at the centre of it, who talked ‘too much’, until he spoke to a jury that was finally listening.
Cover Credit: John Locher/Pool/AP
Last summer, Pharrell Williams walked out of his Louis Vuitton presentation at Paris Fashion Week wearing a shoe nobody had seen before. Chunky, strange, nearly six inches wide, built on the chassis of a 2005 Adidas Adistar Cushion 3 running shoe but bearing almost no resemblance to it.
The 3D moulded rubber panels protruding from the surface in organic, dimensional clusters gave the shoe its name. The Virginia Adistar Jellyfish. Footwear News named it their 2025 Sneaker of the Year. Every colourway sold out the moment it became available. The shoe that nobody had seen before became one that everybody wanted.
The Jellyfish sits outside everything Pharrell has been doing at Louis Vuitton. His LV tenure, now in its third year, has produced wearable, considered, commercially reliable collections season after season, with the spectacle of the shows absorbing the creative risk the clothes themselves rarely take on. The Pont Neuf debut, the Snakes and Ladders installation at the Pompidou, the DROPHAUS Zen garden: all of it ambitious, theatrical, and surrounding garments that critics have consistently found safe. The Jellyfish operates on different logic. It is polarising, technically strange, deeply personal, designed under his VIRGINIA creative alias, named after his Virginia roots, priced at $300 and built around an aesthetic that most brands would have softened before it reached retail. For once, the object itself was carrying the risk.
From August 2025 through July 2026, every Jellyfish colourway sold out immediately. The Focus Olive/Orange debut. The Real Green and Solid Grey paired release. The Triple Black and Royal Blue in February. Each drop was deliberately limited: raffle releases, Virginia website exclusives, pop-up appearances in cities including Chicago where Pharrell arrived in a box truck to the Adidas store in Wicker Park.
The shoe commanded nearly triple its retail price on StockX and GOAT. Pharrell and Adidas had built one of the most coveted sneaker stories in recent memory, and the conversation around the Jellyfish stayed alive because demand consistently outpaced supply.
The Triple White dropped August 1, 2026, and something shifted. For the first time, a Jellyfish colourway was made available through big-box retailers, Foot Locker, Finish Line, wider distribution than any previous release. It was the first colourway to sit. Business of Fashion asked directly whether Adidas was misreading the market. The sneaker community noticed. The shoe that had never been findable for longer than it took a line to clear was suddenly on shelves.
What happened next is the more interesting part of the story. The Crystal Sand dropped August 22, also in wider distribution, and sold through considerably faster. The Triple White sitting was not the end of the Jellyfish hype. It was a data point Adidas absorbed and responded to.
For the Timber, dropping September 5, Adidas introduced a Golden Ticket system through the ‘confirmed’ app, giving select fans guaranteed purchase access without the usual release-day scramble. The brand is not retreating from wider distribution. It is learning how to manage it. The Golden Ticket is a demand management tool, a way of maintaining the feeling of exclusivity inside a release that is no longer actually exclusive.
Adidas has also already produced a takedown model, the Adistar XLG 2.0, a more accessible version of the Jellyfish silhouette that signals the shoe has become significant enough to warrant its own ecosystem.
This is how hype products mature. They generate a more accessible tier that lets the original retain its cultural position while the brand captures a wider market. It is the same logic that produced the Stan Smith Recon after the original Stan Smith became ubiquitous, and the same logic that will determine whether the Jellyfish remains a cultural object or becomes a product that used to mean something.
The Watermoc makes the architecture even clearer. Dropping the same day as the Timber, September 5, and priced at $140, the VIRGINIA Watermoc is the third silhouette in Pharrell's footwear line alongside the Jellyfish and the Flat Earther.
Built on an early-2000s Adidas Adventure Water Moc base, it has a neoprene upper, bungee lacing, reflective webbing and a rubber lug outsole built for wet terrain. It debuted at a VIRGINIA beach takeover in Marseille earlier this summer. Three colourways, Blue, Yellow and Black, launch globally September 5 through the CONFIRMED app and select retailers.
Where the Jellyfish is about expression, the Flat Earther reinterpretation, the Watermoc is where VIRGINIA gets experimental, and at $140 it brings a different customer into the ecosystem without touching what the Jellyfish represents at $300. This is not Adidas managing one shoe's hype. It is Pharrell building a brand with deliberate tiers, and the Jellyfish sits at the top of it.
The problem Adidas is trying to solve does not have a precedent that ends well: whether a shoe can be both coveted and available, both culturally significant and commercially maximised, is a question the sneaker industry has been trying to answer for decades without arriving at a clean solution.
Pharrell designed something genuinely strange and it worked, commercially, culturally, critically. Adidas now has to decide how to scale something whose value was partly built on the fact that it could not be scaled. The Triple White sitting suggested the market had a ceiling. The Crystal Sand recovering suggested the ceiling was higher than one bad week implied. The Golden Ticket system suggests Adidas is trying to find a distribution model that preserves the feeling of the shoe without limiting the revenue it can generate.
Pharrell wore the Timber colourway at his Louis Vuitton SS26 show in Paris before it had a release date. The worlds he is operating in, LV, VIRGINIA, Adidas, are not separate. They are different expressions of the same design thinking, and the Jellyfish is where that thinking has produced its most uncompromising result. The Timber drops September 5, and nothing about how it performs will settle what is actually being decided here.
Cover Credit: Pharrell Williams in Adidas VIRGINIA Adistar Jellyfish
.JPG)
%20(1).jpg)
.JPG)
.png)
.JPG)
.JPG)
.jpg)
%20(1).jpeg)
.jpeg)
.jpg)
%20(1).jpg)
.jpeg)
.jpg)
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
.JPG)
.png)
.jpeg)
.JPG)
.JPG)
.JPG)
%20(1400%20x%201400%20px)%20(11)%20(1).png)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.JPG)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
