On November 2, Deeds brought Lagos Fashion Week to a close with FADE, an RSVP-only night that doubled as the unveiling of our new FACES cover. We’ve closed seasons in every major capital this year, kicking off NYFW with Michael Rainey Jr. 's cover reveal, calling last orders in London, and shutting down Paris twice with Gunna, and Davido just to name a few. But when the doors opened at 7:00 p.m. in Lagos, the energy shifted. This wasn’t another stop on the tour. This was homecoming. The brief was simple: celebrate the model community, and do it our way.

RSVP-only meant something that night. The energy from the door was electric, that specific kind of Lagos anticipation where you know something's about to go down. The fashion community showed up, showed out, and reminded everyone exactly who owns this moment. After taking Deed's signature energy to London & Paris, after shutting down New York, bringing it home to Lagos meant something different. This was the blueprint returning to its source.

Inside, DJ Calixx was already setting the tone behind the decks. The space itself was intimate by design, red and pink lighting washed over the Deeds signage. This was a curated space where every corner felt intentional, where the crowd could move between conversation and dance floor without ever losing the thread of celebration.

Martell understood the assignment and transformed the bar into an experience. Bartenders crafting cocktails with precision while the crowd moved between conversation and dance floor without ever losing the thread of celebration. Their support validated what Lagos has been building. Fashion week isn't just about the runway shows. It's about the ecosystem, the photographers, the makeup artists, the models, the creatives who turn Lagos into a cultural capital every season. FADE celebrated that ecosystem, gave it room to breathe and dance and be messy and joyful without having to perform for anyone's approval.

The Faces cover unveiling added weight to the moment. Joy Akhigbe, the new face of confidence, represents something bigger than a single campaign. She's part of this generation of Nigerian models who refuse to be undervalued, who understand their power, who move through this industry with intention. Her feature dropping the same night as FADE proves that the infrastructure is changing, that platforms like Deeds are creating space for these stories to be told properly.

Models moved through the space with that specific confidence that comes from being among peers. The fashion was its own conversation, from sleek black ensembles to bold patterned pieces, from halter necks to oversized silhouettes. Everyone understood the assignment: show up, show out, but make it look effortless.

This wasn't your standard fashion week afterparty with industry people doing the requisite two hour appearance before heading to the next thing. FADE was different. When Teni the Entertainer pulled up, the entire room shifted. Then Ladipoe. Then Fireboy DML. Then Fave. Then Taves, Minx, Ajebutter22, Boj, Lady Donli, Ifeanyi Nwanyi. Adenike Adeleke was there. The energy kept building, each arrival adding another layer to the atmosphere.

But here's what made FADE matter: this wasn't about celebrity sightings or clout chasing moments for the grid. This was the model community's night. The faces that walked Lagos Fashion Week, the creatives who held down casting calls at 6AM, the stylists who safety-pinned a look together backstage, they were all there, and they were celebrating each other. The models weren't background. They were the story.

By midnight, the dance floor was packed with people genuinely lost in the moment. Hands in the air, drinks raised, that universal body language of relief and celebration. Calixx kept reading the room perfectly, dropping tracks that had the entire venue moving in sync. The Joy Akhigbe Faces cover stood on display, a physical reminder of why everyone was really there. This wasn't just about the party. This was about the work, the grind, the six-hour shoots under the Lagos sun that led to moments like this.

Fave's energy was infectious. These were community moments, the kind where everyone knows the words, everyone feels the connection. The line between performer and audience dissolved completely. That's what happens when the model community celebrates itself, the hierarchy flattens, the joy becomes collective.

What happened at FADE proves what we've been building all year. From Paris Fashion Week where, to London’s Last Call, to New York, we've been showing the world that Nigerian youth culture isn't asking for a seat at the table. We're building our own tables, in every fashion capital that matters.

FADE was different because it was home. And it hit different. Because this is where the model community lives, works, grinds through casting calls and six-hour shoots under the Lagos sun. This was their night, in their city, celebrated the way they deserved.

As the night stretched past 2AM, as people finally started trickling toward the exit with hoarse voices and tired feet, the consensus was unanimous: this is what closing parties should feel like. Not exhausted obligation, but genuine celebration. Not the end of something, but a feeling that Lagos fashion is just getting started.

The marathon continues, but we're not just running, we're setting the pace globally, and bringing it all back home.

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Whenever you think of the Nigerian music industry, one city inevitably comes to mind — Lagos. Over the years, it has evolved into the beating heart of the nation’s creative economy, the cultural marketplace where artistry, nightlife, media, and audience engagement intersect. Lagos has long defined the metrics of success; it dictates what trends, who rises, and what eventually translates into mainstream recognition. In many ways, it has monopolized the narrative and rightly so, given its history as the most effective launchpad for Nigerian superstars. Even when artists aren’t discovered there, Lagos often becomes the center for marketing and promotion, the inevitable destination for any act seeking commercial success.

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Commercial Success, however, is the keyword here,  and one worth pausing on. This epicenter has cast an enormous shadow over other vibrant markets across the country. From the North to the East and South, numerous scenes struggle to make their voices heard within the national conversation. For many artists from these regions, breaking into the mainstream almost always requires a pilgrimage to Lagos which is  a necessary move to sustain traction or risk watching it fade away.It’s important to note that these artists are far from obscure. They command loyal communities, often with cult-like devotion. Their music thrives within their local ecosystems, and ignites movements and street-level excitement that feel both organic and undeniable. Yet, their impact rarely translates into mainstream visibility. Take artists like Jeriq, who has sold out stadiums repeatedly in Enugu, or rising figures such as Highstarlavista, Zyno, Aguerobanks, Evadolee, Kolaboy and more — names that ignite massive local energy. Despite the scale of their influence, their numbers often fail to reflect on national charts or major media platforms or else they tap into the Lagos audience 

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This dissonance isn’t due to a lack of talent or audience, but rather a systemic imbalance,  one shaped by illegal streaming practices, poor documentation of real-time engagement, and limited access to digital streaming platforms (DSPs). These factors distort visibility, making it difficult for genuine listener activity to be recognized in the data-driven ecosystem of modern music. Unlike Lagos, where a viral TikTok sound can spark nationwide Shazams and alter an artist’s destiny overnight, other regions are yet to reach that level of infrastructural synergy where they stream, talkless of the streams even being premium enough to generate revenue for the artist or allow them a break into conversations that are ultimately defined by data.

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But through all the noise, one constant remains, the presence of organic listeners. This current era of the Nigerian music industry is a deceptive one; metrics have become mirages. In a time when everyone seems to boast a million streams, only half of those numbers are often legitimate. The growing outcry from top-tier artists about stream farming, and the recent crackdowns by DSPs like Spotify,  which have trimmed inflated listener counts reveal an unsettling truth: the charts no longer serve as an accurate mirror of real-time engagement. What we’re witnessing is a quiet pandemic of artificial success, where numbers are inflated, but genuine connection is diluted.

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And this is exactly where the eastern market stands out as a beacon of authenticity. There’s an undeniable pulse of organic consumption there, real people listening, streaming, attending shows, and celebrating their homegrown stars. This ecosystem deserves recognition, and more importantly, infrastructure that amplifies its presence within the national industry framework. The talent, audience, and passion already exist; what’s missing is the structural support to make their voices count in the mainstream metrics that dictate opportunity. Artists like Flavour, Phyno, Chike, Yemi Alade, and Duncan Mighty are living proof of what these regional markets can produce. Yet, they all share a common thread, the inevitable move to Lagos as a prerequisite for mainstream validation. That shouldn’t have to be the rule. The system must evolve to a point where a kid from Enugu, Aba, or Port Harcourt can top charts and shape culture without the need to orbit Lagos. Such decentralization wouldn’t just promote equality; it would restore faith in organic listenership, enhance audience engagement, and generate sustainable revenue for artists and their communities alike.

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This year at Lagos Fashion Week, something unusual happened. For the first time in a long time, streetwear, the lifeblood of African youth culture, made a formal appearance on the runway. The moment came courtesy of Street Souk, Nigeria’s leading streetwear convention founded by Iretidayo Zaccheaus. A welcome sight, yes. But the showing left many wondering if the inclusion was merely symbolic rather than systemic.

Street Souk’s presence felt both progressive and performative. While it signaled a recognition of streetwear’s influence, it also underscored how little space the movement truly occupies on Lagos Fashion Week’s main stage. The irony? Streetwear is arguably the most vibrant and globally relevant form of African fashion today. From the oversized tees and baggy denim flooding Lagos streets to the expressive, gender-fluid fits worn by alté kids across the continent, this is what African style looks like now. Yet, on the official runway, the supposed mirror of the culture, it’s almost invisible.

So, why is African streetwear still fighting for a seat at the table?

Lagos Fashion Week (LAFW) was built on a high-fashion framework modeled after Paris, Milan, and London. It prioritizes luxury, structure, and seasonal collections, systems that don’t align with how streetwear functions. Streetwear thrives on spontaneity: drops, pop-ups, collabs, and cultural moments. Its success is built on community, not couture.

This structural disconnect makes it difficult for LAFW to accurately reflect what’s happening on the ground. When the event does engage with streetwear, it often treats it as a novelty or side attraction rather than a legitimate design movement. Including Street Souk as a collective was a good start, but it also blurred individual designers into one amorphous brand. The result? The people driving the culture, designers like Free the Youth, Motherlan, WAF, and Severe Nature amongst others remain faceless in the grand narrative.

Then, there’s money— the great divider in Nigerian fashion.

To show at Lagos Fashion Week, designers reportedly pay a participation fee of around ₦179,880 (about $120 USD). But that’s just the entry point. The real costs lie in production, creating a runway-ready collection, paying models, styling, lighting, hair, makeup, PR, and logistics. According to Vogue Business, most emerging brands spend between ₦2 million to ₦5 million (roughly $1,300–$3,200) to participate fully in Fashion Week, factoring in materials and presentation. For context, some established Nigerian designers spend over ₦83 million (above $57,000) for international showcases.

Streetwear labels, most of which are youth-led and self-funded, simply can’t compete on that scale. Many rely on personal savings, side hustles, or crowdfunding to produce their collections. Their ecosystem is built on efficiency and digital accessibility, not capital-intensive runway formats. That’s why streetwear thrives in spaces like Street Souk and Homecoming Festival, where the cost of entry is low and the energy feels authentic.

The LAFW structure, as it stands, favors institutionalized brands and designers with corporate sponsorship. For the rest, the dream of showing on that glossy runway is as distant as Paris itself.

Beneath the economics lies another issue: gatekeeping. For years, Nigeria’s fashion establishment has been slow to embrace the creative energy of Gen Z. The industry’s gatekeepers such as stylists, editors, and curators still define “fashion” through Eurocentric parameters. A deconstructed tracksuit or hand-dyed cargo pants might not fit their idea of couture, even though that’s exactly what the next generation is wearing.

Streetwear isn’t just clothes but also it’s language, rebellion, and cultural memory. It draws from markets, bus stops, and backstreets, translating everyday survival into fashion. Yet, when institutions filter this through polished runways, it risks becoming sanitized, a digestible version of rebellion. This isn’t inclusion; it’s gentrification.

Streetwear doesn’t need the runway to exist. It lives in Lagos’ thrift markets, on Instagram pages, at underground shows, and in studio photoshoots. It lives in the self-expression of young Nigerians who remix old school Nollywood, global hip-hop, and Yoruba slang into something entirely their own.

Events like Street Souk and Homecoming have built ecosystems where music, art, and fashion collide without institutional validation. Here, designers trade ideas directly with consumers. The runway is the street itself—unfiltered, messy, and alive.

But fashion weeks are meant to document and elevate what’s real. If they continue to overlook the rawness of African youth culture, they risk losing relevance altogether.

Street Souk’s involvement at LAFW was a breakthrough, but it also highlighted the flaws in the system. The collective format allowed for cultural representation, but it diluted individuality. Viewers saw “Street Souk,” not the brands within it. The narrative became one of inclusion rather than equity, a seat at the table, but not a voice in the room.

The danger is that when institutions adopt streetwear as an aesthetic trend, they often strip it of its community-driven roots. What was once an act of rebellion becomes a fashion statement. The culture gets co-opted, and the creators fade into the background.

For Lagos Fashion Week to truly represent the pulse of African fashion, it must evolve beyond symbolic gestures. Inclusion should be structural, not seasonal.

It could start by:

Creating subsidized slots or youth-led showcases for streetwear designers.

Reimagining presentation formats: street shows, pop-up runways, digital storytelling that reflect how this generation designs and consumes fashion.

Highlighting individual designers from collectives like Street Souk, not just the platform.

Encouraging collaborations between established fashion houses and streetwear labels to build bridges across creative generations.

African fashion is no longer confined to couture silhouettes and traditional prints. It’s in the sneakers, the thrifted cargo pants, the airbrushed tees, and the slang-stitched hoodies. Streetwear is not a subculture, it’s the culture.

As Lagos Fashion Week continues to evolve, the real opportunity lies in shifting from showcasing fashion about Lagos to presenting fashion from the streets of the city and next year could be the turning point.

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It’s midday at Tarkwa Bay, Lagos — the sun, relentless; the sea breeze, warm and heavy. I watch closely as Joy Akhigbe moves effortlessly in front of the camera, each pose more fluid than the last. She is the perfect muse as the photographer is clicking away and having the best time. Even as the sun scorches, it feels like it’s conspiring with her glow as the light catches every angle, the sand framing her stride. What’s striking isn’t just her beauty or poise, but her ease. There’s a confidence in the way she commands the lens like she was born to do this. 

This shoot ran for nearly six hours under the fierce Lagos heat, but Joy handled every moment with grace, professionalism, and charisma. Beneath her calm exterior lies a woman deeply aware of her power and one who understands her craft and the value it carries. She’s part of a new generation of models who know their worth and are unapologetically shaping how the industry should treat them - with respect, integrity, and fairness.

What began as an Instagram discovery has evolved into a purposeful career. Joy Akhigbe’s rise is a story of willpower, self-belief, and quiet rebellion. It’s the kind of journey that reminds us that modeling, at its core, is not just about looking good; it’s about standing tall.

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Take us back to the beginning. How did you first get into modeling, and what moment made you feel like "this is really happening"?
I've always loved fashion, but I never really thought about modeling, at least not at first. After I graduated from secondary school at 14, my passion for fashion led me to start making clothes for myself. Whenever I wore them, I’d find myself posing in front of the mirror, not really knowing what I was doing, just doing what felt natural.

Things shifted when I got a phone and joined Instagram. The algorithm started showing me models, and as I watched them pose in videos, I realized that is exactly what I’ve been doing. That moment was eye-opening. I said to myself, I can do this. I told my family, but I didn’t get much support. Still, I was strong-willed and determined to follow what felt right. I joined a modeling academy, and within a month, I was already being noticed for how well I could pose. Then came my first photoshoot with a photographer from the academy, and that was the moment everything felt real. I knew it was happening.

Every model has that one job or campaign that feels like a turning point. What was that for you so far?
For me, the real turning point was when I got my first paid gig for a brand campaign. It was the first time I earned money from modeling, and that moment meant so much more than just a paycheck. It was a clear sign that all the work I’d been putting in collaborating with photographers, building my portfolio, staying consistent etc was starting to pay off.

The fact that someone who didn’t know me saw my potential and was willing to pay me to work with them. That felt incredible. It made me feel like I was on the right path and gave me the confidence to believe that I could go further, do more, and become more through modeling.

The modeling industry isn't always easy. What challenges have you faced in your come-up, and how have you pushed through them?
The modeling industry isn’t always easy, and my journey hasn’t been without its challenges. I’ve had to deal with unprofessional behavior, people and brands that tried to take advantage, and even instances of sexual harassment.

But through it all, I’ve stood my ground. I’ve learned to say no, to speak up, and to protect my boundaries. The strength and confidence I have is what’s kept me going and it's why I always encourage other models to be confident, fearless, and aware of their worth. Your voice and your safety matter, and no opportunity is worth compromising that. Your voice is your power. I also give all the credit to God, because I truly believe my Creator has placed me on this path and guided me through every step of the process.

How do you balance staying true to yourself while fitting into the demands of the industry?
I’ve always stayed true to myself, no matter what. I’ve never let the pressures of the industry break my character or compromise my values. I stand firmly for what I believe in and carry myself with strong work ethics.

For me, authenticity is everything. I believe that when you’re truly yourself, the right people, the ones who value and respect you will find you. And when you walk in that truth, the rest will adjust accordingly. There’s power in being real in an industry that often tries to shape you into something else.

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Who are the models, designers, or photographers that inspire you most right now?
Right now, I’m most inspired by every creative out there who carries good work ethics and strong values. The ones who keep showing up, putting in the work, and staying true to themselves regardless of the noise around them. It’s about energy, integrity, and consistency for me. Those are the creatives that truly inspire me.

Do you feel like being a Nigerian/Black model comes with added pressure or responsibility in today's global fashion scene?

I haven’t had the opportunity to work outside of Nigeria yet, so I can’t speak from personal experience when it comes to the global fashion scene. However, I’m very aware of the challenges that Black models often face in the industry, from underrepresentation to racial bias, and I know those issues are real.

That said, I’m also inspired by how many Black models continue to shine and break barriers despite it all. Their resilience and success show that things are changing, it’s inspiring. I believe it will keep getting better, and I truly hope we reach a point where race is no longer a barrier, but simply a part of the beauty and diversity the industry celebrates.

What story do you want your career to tell about beauty, identity, and representation?
Through my career, I want to show that beauty is diverse and deeply connected to who we are. Identity is powerful, and it’s important to embrace your individuality and stay true to yourself. My journey is about owning who I am and encouraging others to do the same, while putting in the hard work it takes to succeed.

When it comes to representation, I want to prove that everyone’s beauty and story deserve to be celebrated, regardless of where you’re from or your race. Every talent should be respected and valued.

Payment and fair treatment have been recurring conversations in the modeling space. How do you feel being part of a generation of models advocating for better pay and respect - and do you see yourself as a voice for that movement?

I’m genuinely excited to be part of a generation of models who aren’t afraid to speak up for what’s right. It’s something that really resonates with me, because I’ve always been against any form of unfair treatment. Seeing more models stand up for fair pay and respect is empowering, and I’m proud to be a voice within that movement. I truly feel like I’m in the right generation, one that values integrity, respect and change.

How would you describe your personal style off the runway?

I'm not really on the runway, I’m a campaign girl but I get the question, for my “off duty” style, I just make sure I look good, whatever I throw on! Modeling’s taught me I can rock pretty much anything. Most days, I keep it elegant, but sometimes, I like to give cunt.
What’s the funniest or most unexpected thing that’s happened to you on set?
I was once on set when the hairstylist lied about me, claiming I refused to wear the wig provided when the directors asked. In reality, she was the one who said it would not suit me. I don’t think she expected me to find out, but someone on set came up and asked why I had refused the wig, so I knew exactly where the story was coming from. 

It really upset me, because I value honesty and professionalism, and there was no reason to lie.  But fortunately, I’m not someone who stays silent. I believe in speaking up, so I called her out in  front of the entire team. I also had models testify because she said it in the changing room and  other models were present.

I was also lucky to have worked with some of the creatives on set before, they could vouch for me and confirm that I have solid work ethics. It was a reminder of how important your reputation and character are in this industry.

‍If you weren’t modeling, what would you be doing right now?
I’d be running my clothing brand and probably making jewelry and shoes because of how much I love both.

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What’s your guilty pleasure reality TV show or series?
Stranger things / Wednesday

Finish this sentence: This summer, Joy Akhigbe was…
Outside!

As the waves crash behind her and the golden sun begins to set, Joy Akhigbe’s laughter cuts through the hum of the beach — light, easy, grounded. She’s a reflection of what the modern modeling industry should look like: self-aware, professional, and unafraid to take up space.

Her message is simple yet powerful — respect the craft, value the effort, and never dim your light for anyone. Joy Akhigbe isn’t just a face for today; she’s a voice for the future of fashion in Nigeria and beyond.

Credits 

Photographer:  Roderick Ejuetami @deedsart 

Production: Deeds Studio @deedsstudio

Writer: Oreoluwa Peters @oreoluwapeters_ 

Stylist: Jide Alli @latifalli 

Makeup: House of Daffodil @House_of_daffodil

Design: Diane Adanna Enebeli @DianeAdanna

Project Manager: OGHENEFEJIRO ADRIEN AYETENI @adrissck

PR: The Yellow Company @the.yellowcompany

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When Ossi Grace released her debut single, 'Reason', back in 2024, she introduced herself to the world as a solo artist.  As a songwriter, previously her vocals first appeared on M.I. Abaga's The Guy album with "Crazy,". However, she wasn't ready to begin her career at that moment. Two years later, she released "Reason", which has led to her freshly released debut EP In A Hopeless Place.

The EP is set against the backdrop of her experiences living in Lagos, Nigeria. The 11-track EP explores a range of sounds and features production from PGRSHN, Mojam, Remmy Baggins, and others. The soulful tone in her voice runs through the project from "Reason" to "FA" to "Where You Belong", the tracks previously heard before the EP release. From top to bottom, the project gives off a vibe different from what's considered afrobeats. Her musical influences, including Rihanna, Fela Kuti, and Tracy Chapman, among others, are evident in the EP's various sonic tones.

The colour blue sets the tone for the visuals across the EP and captures the mood and essence of Ossi as experienced in the backdrop of Lagos, coming through in the EP's tone and essence. And whilst the feelings of being in a hopeless place were the backdrop to the project's concept, the EP itself captures moments of joy, happiness and love, channelled into a sense of hope and resilience.

Speaking with Ossi, we dove into everything from songwriting and creating the EP to why the colour blue, her style, and more.

Hi Ossi, this is your debut EP—the first body of work you've released. Where did the process of making this project begin for you?

I've been working on this EP for three or four years, and I recorded the first song about four years ago. After the second song that I recorded, I knew what I wanted to sound like. I know what direction I'm going in. I'm also a songwriter, so I make music across different genres, but for me, it's always important to figure out your style. I knew that it was more soulful. I'm also more sensual and everything. So that was the start, and then everything just started falling into place.

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You're a songwriter yourself —what was the process like for you when collaborating with others on this project, not just in the writing but also in production?

One thing that I really wanted to do, especially for this first project, was handle the songwriting. It just made things less complicated, and I didn't have to explain myself too much about where I was coming from. So I wrote every song on the EP with producers; I worked with a lot of different people. There's PGRSHN, Mojam and Remy Baggins who did a lot on there. These are people I really respect —not just for their work ethic, but also for their talent. I trust their ear, I trust their fingers, I trust that whenever they press a button or a key, it's going to be, if not something I like, something close to it. They are musical people, so it was very easy for me to explain where I was coming from. And it wasn't about pushing their ideas on me, but more about supporting the ideas I had, which is one of the amazing things I experienced working with them.

What was your experience of working with the producers, not just in terms of leading the project as the artist, but even just working with them to build the sonic sound of the EP?

One thing I have been blessed with in making this project is that I haven't worked with many people who have tried to push their ideas on me. I've met a couple of producers who are a bit it's my way or the highway. But once we get to that point, it's not gonna work. As a songwriter, I learned that the artist comes first. So I had to be a good listener. Even if I disagreed, I had to do what you wanted, because it's your art at the end of the day. For the most part, every producer was very much in the space of asking, "What does Ossi need?" Even someone as talented and amazing as PRGRSHN. He's a big producer, but he's also there to learn. He's coming there and asking, "What does this artist need?" I was working with people who wanted to make great music.

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You released several songs from the project as singles before the release. One of the songs I wanted to speak about was "FA." What can you tell us about making that song, and how did we arrive at that one?

I know I didn't want anything complicated. It's a sexy song, but I didn't want anything complicated. I just wanted to be a confident woman around me and enjoy moving. You're not really looking at anybody around you. I wanted everybody to feel connected, because that's what I'm saying in the song. It's very Lagos. It's the vibe you get when you're enjoying yourself, and hopefully it leads to what I want. But regardless, I'm having a good time.

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The colours for the EP are very blue, dark, and moody —that sort of essence. How did you arrive at that colour palette that reflected the project's tone?

I'm a moody girl, I like to have a good time, but in Lagos, sometimes a good time isn't bright. It's in a dark place. So that's the vibe that I grew up in. And I'm not gonna say I am totally because, you know, I like a bit of daylight sometimes. Those blue lights hitting you are a lot of the spaces that I am afraid of. So that was really where the vibe came from. And blue does look good on my skin. A lot of times, going out in Lagos, when we're in the club scene or night scene or whatever, when we make videos, because different lights always shine on us, we're making videos. The blue really did stick out to me, and every time we went somewhere, it was the, you know, neon blue, just bare, like, I really loved it.

Talk to me about that, in terms of, you know, your fashion, your style, and how that also feeds into your creativity as well?

It took me a while to dress the way I do. At the end of the day, I am from Nigeria, and even as a woman there, whether anybody wants to admit it or not. There's a way you're supposed to look. Yeah, dreadlocks are a no-no. As crazy as that would sound, because we are literally in Africa, but like dreadlocks is seen as a sign of being irresponsible, then obviously my tattoos, and then piercings, it's everything that you should not be as a Nigerian woman or a Nigerian as a whole, that I took on and I embodied. So, it took me a while to get here, comfortable with myself. And for me to embrace who I am, and that I really like experimenting with different things. I'm very expressive, and as time goes by, I'm going to be experimenting with a lot more stuff. When it comes to clothes, it's not just about what I wear right now — especially jewellery and colours — because there was a time in my life when everything was black. I just started dabbling with different colours; some work, some don't. But I feel like life is short, so I try whatever makes you happy.

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Having had this experience as a brand-new artist, what has it been like overall?

I'm not going to say it has been easy. There are things that you don't want to do, that you have to do. One thing I struggled with — and that is definitely much better now — is posting on social media. I grew up where Facebook was cool, but we didn't constantly have our phones to our faces like everybody was out, like we were at the cinema, or just being kids —you get what I'm saying. So definitely, now, as an artist, you have to use TikTok and post on Instagram. And so, social media is definitely something I had to get the hang of. Also, just doing interviews where you are talking to a person. And you know, now it's like, even if you're so comfortable with the interviewer, you also need to know that this is going out to the whole world, possibly, and you can't just sit there and say anything.

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For anybody who will be introduced to you from the EP, so what do you want them to know about you, and what do you want them to take away from the project?

I think there's something they will probably expect, being that I'm from Nigeria —I grew up in Nigeria —and you're not going to get that EP. My music comes from everything I've listened to, from when I was a child to now. I've travelled a bit, too. So I've always drawn inspiration from different places —like, growing up, you know, my mom made us listen to all sorts of things. We can listen to Fela Kuti today and Tracy Chapman tomorrow, as if it were just one or the other. So you're not going to experience the Afrobeats you're from Nigeria; open your mind to good music, is what I would say. 

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Lagos Fashion Week 2025, which kicked off on the 29th of October, has come with its usual thrills. As usual, in the lead-up to fashion week, the air buzzed with excitement and a litany of questions; among them, the question of what new sartorial innovations the designers would serve us this year. If the relatively insipid air at recent global fashion weeks, including New York and Paris, prompted a bit of worry about Lagos Fashion Week among fashion enthusiasts and critics, the wonderful displays of the past few days have not only put us all at ease but stirred a flurry of excitement. Several moments from Lagos Fashion Week have jolted social media, stirring spirited conversations and debates. 

Take the case of American singer-songwriter Ciara, who looked stunning as she walked for FRUCHÉ wearing a luxuriant red gown and gele combo. The source of rancor? Well, the organizers made the rather curious choice of soundtracking her walk to Akanchawa, a classic Nigerian song that has, in the past few years, taken on something of a parodic tone as skitmakers and meme accounts have adopted it as an anthem. 

Among my favorite shows are Studio Imo’s, which leaned into geometric silhouettes, clean lines, and sedate colors, conferring elegance with a modernist spin. Imad Eduso is another brand that impressed. The show brought a gale of fresh air to traditional Benin fashion. Here, ancient red and white motifs, soft suede fabric, and beads—all elements of traditional Benin culture—dovetailed with more contemporary aesthetics. 

Dwin the Stoic, a Lagos-based musician-poet, walking for Studio Imo is another moment that served. His outfit—a colorful floor-length crocheted robe paired with brown pants and shoes —was breathtakingly gorgeous. For their debut show, Street Souk served a convincing futuristic perspective on street style. The brand also stirred excitement in other ways. Among their models were the trio of Fresh L, Taves, and Smada—all of whom are Nigerian artists. Going off on a slight tangent, the internet has had its share of teasing Smada, whose walk has been labeled stiff and mechanical. In all fairness, he just might deserve all the banter they’ve lobbed at him; his hands were glued to the front of his thighs throughout his walk. 

Music, as always, has played a significant role in Lagos Fashion Week. Last year, we watched Davido dazzle as he strutted down the runway for Ugo Monye, wearing a beige color royal outfit, complete with neck beads, a complementary brown hat, and a priapic scepter. This year, we’ve been treated to a glittering cast of stars including Dwin The Stoic, Ciara, Taves, Smada, and Fresh L, among others. Songs like Njideka Okeke’s classic, Akanchawa, and Zaylevelten’s Fly also roused excitement and scrutiny in equal measure. In all of these, one thing is clear: music has played a major role in this edition of the Lagos Fashion Week. 

In the spirit of celebrating and foregrounding the areas of intersection between music and fashion, Deeds Magazine has curated a list of the best fashion moments in Afrobeats videos this year. From Rema’s Fun, which finds the 25-year-old superstar in a crisp white Bola PSD polo shirt—this look absolutely broke the internet—to Ayra Star wearing a bikini emblazoned with the colors of the Nigerian flag in the video of Hot Body, here is the definitive list of the best fashion moments in Afrobeats videos! 

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Rema Rocking Bola PSD in Fun Video 

Artist: Rema 

Designer: Bola PSD (Top)

Stylist: Mui-Hai Chi

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Ayra Starr Wearing Ricky G. Briggs in Hot Body Video

Artist: Ayra Starr 

Designer: Ricky G. Briggs

Stylist: Diamond Heart 

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Wizkid in Kese Video

Artist: Wizkid

Stylist: Dunsin Wright 

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Victony in Tanko Video 

Artist: Victony 

Stylist: John Joseph Angel

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Deela in Supreme Dee Video 

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Artist: Deela 

Stylist: Diamond Heart 

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For over a decade, the legendary rap duo Show Dem Camp, comprising Tec and Ghost, have stood as towering figures in Nigerian music. Their presence has been a constant in a generation that continues to demand more from the country’s hip-hop landscape, artists who not only entertain but also embody the culture. Show Dem Camp were never just rappers; they were storytellers, culture shapers, and architects of an identity that helped define what we now recognize as the Alté movement. Their artistic journey has never hinged on fleeting hits or mainstream validation. Instead, it has been built on consistency, authenticity, and an unrelenting commitment to evolution. Across their discography, SDC have perfected their sound, Palmwine music, which marries soulful highlife rhythms with hip-hop, crafting a wave that has become the heartbeat of an entire subculture. Their music doesn’t just reflect the times, it narrates them with depth and introspection.

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With their latest project, Afrika Magik, the duo sounds more purposeful than ever: reflective, grounded, and deeply connected to the continent that has always served as the core of their inspiration, featuring ten artists namely Taves, Tems, Lusanda, BOJ, Joey B, Ajebutter, Winny, Moonchild Sanely, Moelogo, Mereba & Lulu.

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The album opens with “Libations” , a record that immediately commands attention, inviting you to fasten your seatbelt from the very first note. Over slow, soulful piano strings, the duo delivers top-tier lyricism and confident, braggadocious verses. Tec wastes no time asserting their legacy with the line, “This is Victor Olaiya in ’83, highlife giants they all starting to see,” and goes on to pay powerful homage to icons like King Sunny Ade, Oliver de Coque, Victor Uwaifo, and 2Baba while underscoring SDC’s own growth and influence. Ghost follows with vivid storytelling, reflecting on their humble beginnings, the Alabama days, and the birth of the Alté movement. If there were ever a record that defines SDC in full, “Libations” is it. The project then transitions smoothly into “Pressure” featuring Taves. His smooth Afro-pop vocals glide effortlessly over a laid-back instrumental enriched by a clean trumpet section, creating the perfect backdrop for romance and self-assured charm. Tec and Ghost flex their achievements and newfound status while serenading a lover, culminating in a dynamic post-chorus back-and-forth rap exchange that stands out as one of the album’s highlights.

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Love remains the album’s emotional core, whether Tec and Ghost are showing off their success or laying their emotions bare. This is evident on “You Get Me” featuring Tems, a soulful R&B gem built on subtle guitar riffs and gentle percussion. Tems delivers a tender plea for her lover’s attention, while Tec responds with introspective, comforting bars. Ghost, as always, matches the energy with an effortless flow that elevates the record. The “Nollywood Vixens” interlude introduces a cinematic dimension to the project, a theme that has been evident in the rollout of the album from the reimagination of the Jim Iyke and Mike Ezu movie scene for the release of Normally and the cut out clips of 80s Nollywood scenes in promotional visuals for Italawa. This theme continues to carry a very attention-reserving feel to the project and the interlude further acts as the perfect prelude to “Spellbound” featuring Lusanda. On this track, a graceful blend of hip-hop and folk textures creates an emotionally charged atmosphere where Tec and Ghost shed their usual bravado and embrace raw introspection. Both rappers are deeply in touch with their feelings here, laying bare their vulnerabilities, exploring themes of love, longing, and self-awareness while maintaining lyrical precision and poetic grace.

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The project gains rhythm with “Normally” featuring BOJ and Joey B, a percussion-driven standout that recalls the dance-floor essence of Lagos nightlife. BOJ’s groovy hook anchors the record, while Tec and Ghost navigate the beat with confidence, playing off each other’s cadences with surgical precision. The track’s vibrancy flows into “Small Chops and Champagne” featuring Ajebutter22, a record that captures the indulgence of success while acknowledging its cost. Tec’s bars radiate calm dominance, Ghost complements him with sly, knowing humor, and Ajebutter’s laid-back chorus ties it together with a flavor only he could deliver. It is a quintessential Alté cocktail of class and confidence.

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The energy shifts again on “Pele” featuring Winny, where highlife strings and soft percussion merge beautifully with her angelic vocals. Tec glides over the beat with lyrical precision, maintaining the album’s emotional arc and the tension between love, ambition, and gratitude. Ghost follows with equal poise, reaffirming SDC’s reputation as the undisputed Palmwine Music pioneers. The sonic storytelling continues on “Magik” featuring Moonchild Sanelly, where kwaito and hip-hop collide for a beautiful sonic experience. Afrobeats is not left behind in this odyssey. “Lifestyle” featuring Moelogo and “Italawa” pulse with nostalgic energy, evoking the rhythmic patterns of the early 2000s. Both songs lean into Afrobeat’s timeless groove while reminding listeners of SDC’s versatility. Then comes “Send A Text,” one of the lyrical pinnacles of the album. Over 90s-inspired production with faint strings and mellow piano riffs, Tec and Ghost deliver a masterclass in flow and narrative depth, part reflective and part triumphant. The track feels like a conversation between two men who have seen the industry’s highs and lows and still stand tall. 

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As the album begins its descent toward closure, things adopt a more reflective mood. “Master Key” featuring Mereba fuses R&B and soul with hip-hop, its romantic tone returning us to the heart of the project’s emotional terrain. Then comes “Rise Again” featuring Lulu. You will find trumpet flourishes stealing the spotlight and Lulu’s voice soaring as the narrative stakes rise. Tec holds his ground, committed to the mantra “if I fall, I go rise again,” while Ghost delivers a courageous, gratitude-filled verse that honors the long journey and consistent achievements of the duo. Finally, the album closes with “I’ll Wait” , an unexpectedly brisk finish. Amapiano-inflected shakers and high-tempo drums sweep you out of your seat as Tec reassures his partner of his constancy and presence. Ghost, as ever, turns in a standout performance, his breath control immaculate, and his storytelling both unique and worthy of the closing act. It is a substantial way to end: full circle, vivid, and memorable.

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Afrika Magik is a full-bodied sonic exploration of the continent’s musical DNA. Across its runtime, Show Dem Camp weaves through an intricate tapestry of genres, from the soul-stirring hip-hop foundations that define their lyrical essence to the highlife inflections that pay homage to Nigeria’s musical ancestry. The Palmwine Music undertones, mellow, rhythmic, and sun-soaked, still serve as the heartbeat of their sound, yet the duo stretch their palette wider than ever before. The album is deeply anchored in hip-hop, but it is not confined by it. Instead, it treats rap as a vessel for cultural expression, weaving it fluidly with a spectrum of African genres. The rhythmic backbone of highlife and Palmwine music runs throughout, evoking nostalgia while grounding the project in the organic warmth of live instrumentation, with guitars, percussion, and horns that breathe life into every verse. 

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There is an evident interplay between Afrobeats, R&B, Alté, neo-soul, and Amapiano-inspired grooves, each genre carefully folded into the fabric of the album without losing its authenticity. The project does not approach these sounds as fleeting experiments but as living traditions, reinterpreted with SDC’s signature finesse. The album ultimately mirrors the vastness of the continent it is named after: diverse, rhythmic, and endlessly evolving. Show Dem Camp succeeded in representing African music’s range as well as demonstrating how interconnected its genres truly are. By blending tradition and innovation, they reaffirm their position as custodians of culture, proving that the African sound, in all its forms, remains both timeless and boundless.

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Remember when Andrea Iyamah's swimsuit popped up on Beyoncé's Instagram feed in 2019? That single post crashed the brand's website for three days straight. Welcome to fashion's new reality.

Nigerian designers aren't just making clothes anymore—they're gaming the internet. And they're winning. From cramped workshops in Yaba to For You pages worldwide, this article examines five brands that have cracked the code: Kilentar, Vicnate, Andrea Iyamah, Onalaja, and Kai Collective. Each one turned a smartphone screen into their personal runway.

But what sets them apart is how intentionally they use social media. For these designers, platforms like Instagram and TikTok are not just marketing tools, they are communities and ecosystems. Through behind-the-scenes reels, styling tutorials, influencer partnerships, and brand storytelling, they build relationships with audiences across continents. Every post becomes part of their brand narrative, keeping followers invested beyond the clothes.

Kilentar exemplifies the blend of craft and contemporary relevance. Rooted in heritage techniques and handwoven fabrics, the brand creates flowing, feminine silhouettes that reinterpret Nigerian tradition with a global gaze. Its imagery is rich with texture and story, weaving culture, femininity, and identity into motion. These visuals perform powerfully online, resonating with global audiences drawn to authenticity and artistry. Kilentar’s rise shows how visual storytelling, when paired with e-commerce readiness, can turn clicks into customers.

For Vicnate, virality comes through silhouette and form. Founder Victor Anate creates striking pieces that balance sculptural tailoring with fluid drapery, garments that feel both architectural and emotional. His videos are cinematic, garments moving like sculpture, designed to live as beautifully on screen as they do in person. Vicnate’s success shows how design and digital intuition can merge into one language, the language of visual impact.

Andrea Iyamah mastered this translation long before virality became a metric. Her brand’s evolution from a swimwear label into a full-fledged lifestyle house is a study in consistency. The bold colour, the sculptural detailing, and the storytelling all reinforce an identity that feels unmistakably hers. Her designs often celebrate the female form through structured dresses, statement swimwear, and resort pieces that exude confidence and ease. Celebrity dressing accelerated the journey. From magazine covers to red carpet moments, Andrea Iyamah’s creations have become visual shorthand for glamour and modern femininity. What began as a brand rooted in the diaspora now stands as one of Nigeria’s most visible exports, built on the power of narrative and repetition.

Onalaja operates on a different frequency, one that fuses art, embellishment, and emotion. Every piece feels like a story stitched in beadwork and texture. Known for her ornate, hand-embellished dresses and intricate surface detailing, the designer explores themes of womanhood and identity through tactile opulence. The brand’s commitment to craftsmanship has earned it global press and recognition from luxury boutiques to major retailers. Yet Onalaja’s true power lies in how its visual maximalism translates digitally, intricate detailing that demands close-ups and captures the eye before a caption even finishes loading.

Kai Collective bridges continents with clarity. Headquartered in London but deeply rooted in Lagos, the brand’s voice is both global and familiar. Its signature pieces; from body-conscious dresses in swirling prints to sheer, vibrant coordinates, are anchored by storytelling that speaks directly to the African diaspora. Kai’s growth shows what happens when strategy meets infrastructure. Its ability to turn engagement into sales is supported by a strong e-commerce backbone and efficient fulfillment systems. It understands the rhythm of online audiences and mirrors it, turning fashion into movement, identity, and conversation.

Still, the journey from Lagos to the algorithm is not without tension. For every designer who converts virality into business, there are many who cannot keep up with its pace. Production remains one of the biggest challenges. A viral post can bring global attention overnight, but not every atelier is built to handle the flood of orders that follow. Costs, sourcing delays, and limited manufacturing capacity can turn excitement into backlog. Pricing also poses a problem. The internet flattens audiences, and those drawn to a post may not be the same ones willing to pay for luxury craftsmanship. Without solid logistics, what should be momentum can quickly become a missed opportunity.

This is where Lagos Fashion Week stands as both bridge and test. Over the years, the platform has evolved from a calendar staple into a credibility marker. For designers, it offers not just a runway but a stage for global recognition. Through initiatives like Green Access and the Fashion Focus Fund, Lagos Fashion Week has widened its scope, promoting sustainability and capacity building while giving designers an institutional seal of legitimacy. The event’s visibility brings international editors, buyers, and influencers into the same conversation as local creators, translating Lagos’ energy into global relevance. Yet for some, that spotlight remains symbolic. A runway show, no matter how well received, cannot fix broken logistics or scale limited production. Lagos Fashion Week can open doors, but it cannot walk brands through them.

What is unfolding is a cultural shift. Nigerian designers are no longer waiting for validation from traditional fashion capitals. They are building their own ecosystems of visibility, one viral moment, one fashion week, one intentional collection at a time. The diaspora amplifies them, social platforms connect them, and institutions like Lagos Fashion Week frame them within a larger story of African creativity.

The old guard might sneer at "Instagram fashion," but the numbers don't lie. Nigerian fashion exports hit $1.9 billion in 2023, according to the Nigerian Export Promotion Council. That's up from $890 million in 2019. Someone's buying.

The algorithm doesn't care about your fashion week invites or your Vogue mentions (though those help). It cares about one thing: does this stop the scroll? Nigerian designers figured that out. Now they're teaching the world that the future of fashion might not be in Paris or Milan. It might be uploading from a studio in Surulere at 2 AM, hoping the power stays on long enough to post..

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For this edition of Through My Lens, we spotlight Maximillian Bley, better known as Max the Magic, a photographer whose work lives at the intersection of sound, light, and emotion. His images do not just capture moments; they pulse with rhythm. Whether he is behind the lens at a concert, shooting artists, or documenting the people closest to him, Max brings a cinematic touch to every frame. Each photograph carries his creative fingerprint — a spark he calls “magic.”

Can you introduce yourself and tell us a little about who you are as a photographer?

“Hey, it’s Maximillian Bley. I’m Max. You can call me Max, you can call me Magic, or you can call me Max the Magic. As a photographer, I really create. I push forward to create different styles of art because I don’t want to be boxed into one look or one type of image. I like to merge my creative vision into every single photo that I take to add something new to it. Whether it’s a photo of a celebrity, a music artist, or just friends and family, I make sure I add my little magical flair. That way, you don’t just see the picture, you feel the moment inside it. I want people to look at my work and remember how it made them feel, not just how it looked.”

What inspired this particular shoot or photography project?

“Music. Music has always been the thing that pushes me. It’s what inspires my path in photography and what connects everything I do. That’s why I find myself working with artists and record labels so often — it’s like combining two worlds that already live inside me. I’ve always loved music, and I’ve always been gifted with photography, so putting them together just made sense. Every time I’m shooting, I think about how the photo would sound if it were a song. The lighting, the energy, the vibe — it all plays a role. My goal is for someone to see a photo and almost hear the beat or emotion behind it.”

What themes, stories, or emotions do you try to capture through your photography?

“Through my photography, I try to capture the mood of whoever I’m working with. I always pay attention to the energy in the room because that’s what guides me. If there’s an artist with a dark, gritty mood, I make sure the photos give off that same energy. When I took photos for NBA YoungBoy, it gave off this eerie, haunting vibe, so I leaned into that. I added visual effects, like bats swirling around him, to make it feel like a scene straight out of a dream. I like working off the vibe I’m getting — either from the artist, the concert, or the space itself — and then combining that with my creative knowledge to bring something unexpected to life. It’s about taking reality and making it feel just a little more magical.”

How does your photography connect to conversations, movements, or inspire change?

“I think my photography inspires creativity more than anything else. I’ve had people message me after seeing my work, saying how much a particular photo meant to them or how they felt motivated to pick up a camera again. That’s what I love — that chain reaction. I want people to feel that spark when they see my photos, to think, ‘I want to create something too.’ Because that’s exactly how I started. I saw other photographers doing incredible things, and it lit something in me. Now I get to pass that forward. For me, that’s how art grows — by inspiring the next person to dream bigger.”

What is something you want people to understand about you beyond the lens or beyond your photography?

“I think a lot of people see the photos, but they don’t always see the person behind them. I’m a creator who really cares about energy and intention. When I’m shooting, I give everything to that moment. I want whoever I’m photographing to feel seen, to feel like the photo says something real about them. Beyond that, I’m just a regular person who loves art, music, and connection. I spend a lot of time thinking about how to make things better, how to make something people will remember. It’s not about fame or attention; it’s about creating something lasting, something that makes people stop and feel.”

Through his lens, Max the Magic turns emotion into energy. His work captures not only what we see but what we hear, what we feel, and what we remember long after. Every image carries a rhythm, a pulse, a quiet charge of creativity that stays with you. His photography reminds us that art is not just about what is in front of the camera but the life that moves behind it. In Max’s world, every frame is alive, and every picture holds a little bit of magic.

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ASC3NSION, the monthly rave series of Activity Fest, co-founded by Lagos based electronic music DJ and producer B3AM, pushes Lagos nightlife beyond the shore and into new territory

Lagos has always been a city that refuses to stay still. Built on water and hustle, it's constantly shapeshifting, so maybe it was inevitable that when the city's nightlife finally evolved beyond the same club raves and beach parties, it would happen on water.

ASC3NSION put a rave on a barge in Lagos Lagoon. And in doing so, it did something Nigerian nightlife has been threatening to do for years: prove that we can create experiential moments that hold their own on any global stage.

To understand what ASC3NSION represents, you have to first understand what nightlife has become in recent years. Somewhere between the underground warehouse raves of 1990s Manchester and the Instagram-documented festivals of today, a shift occurred. Nightlife stopped being just about music and dancing, it has become very intentional about experience — about creating moments so distinctive, they burn themselves into collective memory.

For too long, Nigeria watched these innovations from the sidelines. We’ve always had the music, the energy, the crowds, the culture. But when it came to experiential nightlife, the kind that makes people say "I have to be there", we've been conspicuously absent from the conversation.

ASC3NSION is helping change that.

Picture this: you're dancing on a barge in the middle of Lagos Lagoon. Behind you, the city skyline glitters, a reminder that you haven't left Lagos, you've just seen it from an angle most people never will. Beneath your feet, you can feel the water moving. Not dramatically, but enough to remind you that nothing here is fixed. The bass from the sound system hits your chest; it reverberates through the platform, through the water, creating a physical sensation the beach clubs, rooftops and posh night clubs can't replicate. There's a collective understanding in the crowd: this doesn't happen often. This might not happen again. So we're going to be present for every second of it. That's ASC3NSION.

It's not trying to be Tulum. It's not trying to be Berlin. It's unapologetically Lagos. Ambitious, water bound, slightly chaotic in the best way, and deeply intentional about creating something that can only exist here.

There's a narrative that's been floating around Lagos nightlife for a while: that the scene is saturated. Too many parties. Too many promoters. Too many events competing for the same audience.

It's a lazy analysis.

The problem has never been saturation. The problem has been repetition. Same venues. Same DJs on rotation. Same experience, just with different flyers. After a while, it doesn't matter how good the music is, boredom sets in. Not because there are too many parties, but because there aren't enough parties that feel genuinely different.

ASC3NSION understood this instinctively. It created an entirely new category. It asked: what if we reimagine not just the music or the lineup, but the fundamental physics of where a party can happen? You can throw a thousand parties in the same club, but one party on a barge in Lagos Lagoon? That's the one people remember. That's the one that gets talked about. That's the one that shifts culture. As December approaches, that beautiful end-of-year moment when Lagos becomes the center of the Afrobeats universe, there's a collective hope that ASC3NSION will return.

And that hope isn't just about wanting another party. It's about recognizing that Lagos is at a cultural inflection point. We've conquered global music. Afrobeats is global. But we haven't quite claimed our space in global nightlife culture in the same way. We haven't yet become synonymous with must attend experiences the way Ibiza or Tulum are. ASC3NSION showed us that we can. We have the creativity, the execution, the sheer audacity to create experiences that hold their own on any global stage.

If there's one thing Lagos knows how to do, it's turn anticipation into a banger. We know how to build hype. We know how to create cultural moments. And ASC3NSION has positioned itself perfectly to be one of those defining moments.

The success of ASC3NSION opens up fascinating questions about the future of Nigerian rave culture. If a party on a barge works, what else is possible? Could we see raves in abandoned colonial buildings?  Sunrise sets on Bar Beach? Sound installations in Lekki Conservation Centre? What happens when we apply this same level of creative ambition to other aspects of nightlife culture?

More importantly: who is watching and taking notes? Lagos is always ready. It just needs more people willing to take the leap.

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How Much does Fashion Week Prep cost for a Designer

We cannot begin any discussion of the most idealised aspect of the fashion business without discussing the economics that drive it. Fashion makes sense in theory; clothing is an essential need, but also a medium of expression and actualisation. We dress because we need to, but we wear fashion because it is the most intuitive manifestation of culture; an effective way to telegraph status, express ideological affiliations and subvert or uphold the status quo.

The intimate relationship between garment makers and customers, and the individualised sartorial expression that resulted from it, has endured through the many evolutions of the fashion industry, and inspiring design labels to codify sartorial expression through house codes & design language.

Each generation of designers have refined this process, mirroring or subverting popular culture, expanding their influence as technology and mass media allowed them to reach across geographical barriers to influence the world. It is in the aftermath of this exchange of ideas and design language that we situate the emergence of African fashion weeks, the impact they have on the export of fashion from the continent, and the economics of participating in the global fashion industry.

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There are a lot of misconceptions around the business of fashion. Observers outside of the fashion ecosystem do not understand that the business as it currently exists, is a capital intensive, high-risk, low rewards gamble. The fashion industry runs on a structural foundation of production, marketing & advertising and administration, before any revenue is generated through retail of products and merchandising of brand equity. These costs are front-loaded, with design labels investing capital into all these activities with the hopes that they are able to create compelling enough brand story backed by high quality product that generate demand for the end product, which is clothing and accessories.

Fashion is unfortunately a business of image and branding and few marketing tools are as potent as runway shows. They started in the late 1800s, serving the dual function of communicating a brand’s aesthetic vision as a cohesive brand story and instructing its potential customer on how to incorporate the product into their lives. From the earliest fashion presentations of the early 1900s to the glitzy Victoria Secret style runway shows of the 2000s, each iteration of this essential component of fashion at scale seeks to either engage the zeitgeist or define it.

This obsession with the zeitgeist has spurred the evolution of the runway show from simple promenades to ‘fashiontainment’, a subset of fashion marketing that borrows elements from media entertainment to transform traditional runway shows into buzzy spectacles that generate generate media attention and consumer interest through set design, videography, music and special effects.

Runway shows serve a particular function: they allow the designers to present’ an idealised version of their brands, encapsulating the fantasy of the collection through movement and carefully orchestrated staging. Each element of a fashion show: hair, makeup, accessories and styling are chosen to appeal to end consumer, who see themselves embodied on the runway through models. They are also an opportunity for fashion buyers and tastemakers to understand the designer’s ethos can be sublimated into the real world through a label’s designs.

Photo by OLYMPIA DE MAISMONT / AFP

Creating this fantasy is quite expensive, designers who want to organise a fashion runway presentation must shoulder costs like venue, lighting and sound, set design, logistics, model fees, glam teams (hair, makeup and grooming), artistic and creative direction. A single 10 - 15 minute presentation can run up to hundreds of thousands of dollars months before a single item is sold.

Unfortunately, this is a tool that favours brands with significant capital or structural access to funding, a perk that African businesses do not have. So African fashion labels invest a lot of their administrative resources towards balancing operational costs against potential revenue. As a way to circumvent this structural imbalance and provide much needed visibility to African brands, the African Fashion Week model has emerged.

It is a divergence from traditional international fashion weeks where design labels, irrespective of size and capacity are burdened with the costs of organising fashion presentations, Usually organised as a collective, non-profits like Nigeria’s Style House Files, underwrites the cost of producing the shows by seeking grants and sponsorships, and pooling resources such as models and glam squads for designers invited to showcase. Designers participate in fashion weeks because they benefit from the reduced costs and the maximised visibility as the allure of having multiple showcases at the same venue incentivises local and foreign press, fashion buyers and potential customers to attend the showcases, even though they relinquish some control over how their collections are presented and have to adhere to rules instituted by the organisers. Many see this as a fair trade off considering the costs of going it alone.

Photo by OLYMPIA DE MAISMONT / AFP

Designers who want more creative control over how their collections are presented either choose to stage a presentation outside of the official Lagos Fashion Week calendar or organise an ‘offsite’ show, which is still affiliated with the organising institution and promoted as part of the show schedule.

While Lagos Fashion Week might offset some costs of producing a showcase for designers, it is still a hefty obligation. These costs are determined by the designer’s choice to either participate in the show schedule or organise an off-site show. Designers are chosen using a set criteria, including incorporation of their businesses and at least a year’s worth of retail with a reputable retailer. So designers must already build some kind of revenue pipeline before they are considered to show.

ODE TO GABO Collection, photo by Fruche

Designers must produce show ready collections, usually ranging from 10 - 60 looks, depending on the capacity of the organising institution. Designers have very little say in if they will be chosen or what time slot they get to show their collection in the showcase so production is a leap of faith. There is some opportunity cost negotiation that goes into this process, as designers must decide how much to invest in production, as a collection that is too slim might not communicate the brand’s potential to buyers, and a collection that is bloated might overwhelm fashion buyers or bore customers. There are also last minute alterations to consider. Production costs range between N1 - N10 million depending on the quality of materials used, sampling expenses and other miscellaneous production costs.

Orange Culture Lagos Spring 2025b Collection

After the items are produced, designers must then navigate logistical and administrative costs. There are at least one fitting and one rehearsal before the showcase and these pre-show events are compulsory. Other events include the Fashion Week press cocktail and the designer cocktail events which are optional but recommended for designers who want to network and position their brands before the show. The costs are cheaper for designers who live in the city where the showcase happens, but for designer coming from out of state, flights costs range from between N200,000 - N400,000 one way. Other costs include accommodation, feeding, which range from N50,000 - N300,000 a day depending on the designer’s taste levels. Designers require assistance during showcases as the mental load before the showcase can be intense. Some designers bring in assistants to help and others hire interns, which can run a ball park of between N20,000 - N200,000 per day depending on the skill level required.

                                                                 Photo from emmykasbit

Fashion Week is a game of visibility so some designers choose to invest in marketing to amplify their showcase before their presentation. Digital marketing is the medium of choice here, and daily ads per platform range from $10 - $100 per day depending on the expected reach of the ads. There is some finagling that goes into this process because international marketing platforms are finicky about Nigerian cards, and most designer defer to virtual dollar cards to fund their advertising accounts. Others rely on relationships with influencers to promote their showcase, either offering reciprocal barter deals where influencers are dressed in exchange for promotion or pay outright for influencing. A ball park for influencer rates usually start from N100,000 for an Instagram or Tiktok post, or N1 million for a campaign.

For designers with high profile clients, there is also the added cost of tickets for the showcase. The goal for a designer is to secure their HNI clients with a coveted front row seat. Lagos Fashion Week reserves two to six front row seats depending on the influence of the design label, and so labels with more clients attending must settle for VIP seating, which are the second and third rows in the showcase tent. There is a black market for VIP tickets which are exclusively reserved for clients, with smaller brands with less influence recouping costs by selling their reserved seating to bigger brands. A VIP pass can go anywhere from N50,000 - N200,000 in these arrangements with both brands benefitting.

Kadiju’s Collection 007, ‘ROOTED IN JOY’

All of these investments, which can cost a designer anything from N2 million to N20 million are the toll required to play at the highest echelon of fashion marketing, vying for an audience that saturated with content and desperate for novelty. Some designers are choosing for-go runways all together for more innovative alternatives like digital photo books, virtual showcases that use AI and livestreams that beam direct to consumers. But irrespective of what direction a designer chooses, there is always a cost to visibility, a price to participate.

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Says If President of Rwanda Kagame Can Invade His Neighbourhing Country, He Should--Amidst Congo Genocide

Ibrahim Gano, better known as “Gano Did It,” is a Gambian content creator. Not to be mistaken with Gambian-rooted rappers such as Pa Salieu, or even J Hus, who have always expressed their solidarity and pan-African ideals through their music. Ibrahim, by contrast, has just started trending for his YouTube series, in which he travels across African countries and offers his honest ratings as a tourist. However, all of this took an unexpected turn three months ago when he uploaded a video from his last visit to the same country that Nigerian sweetheart Tems had been forced to cancel her show back in January due to an ongoing massacre.

First popularised by Ghanaian pioneer Wode Maya, this idea of Africans sharing their travel experience within the continent has garnered significant attention. Take Nigerian YouTuber Tayo Aina; for example, who even extended his journey as far as Siberia, a Russian region rarely visited by tourists, let alone African travellers. This wave of content creation not only highlights how Africans are exceptional visual storytellers but, most importantly, the biases they face when travelling in their position. To this day, only six African countries offer visa-free entry to all African nationals, not to mention the difficulties with bureaucratic hurdles and unpleasant encounters with foreign authorities, both Wode and Tayo have documented several times through videos.

In 2013, the late Anthony Bourdain visited the Congo to film an episode of his renowned series, The Parts Unknown. Inspired by Polish-British novelist Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness,” he explored the country with an open mind, capturing the complex yet resilient beauty of Congo. Almost a decade later, Wode embarked on a similar journey, aiming to shed light on a nation often portrayed as isolated from the rest of the world. However, the result of his video revealed how challenging a task it is. Despite what many might think, his legitimate criticism was applauded by both the Congolese diaspora and locals alike, proving that while many want to view the Congo beyond a political lens, its people are equally committed to demanding much-needed change.

While Ibrahim often includes brief and loosely framed explanations of an African country's history in his videos, nothing compared to the veiled comments he felt compelled to share in his video titled “The Africa You Don’t See On TV - Rwanda.” At this point and time, it is not known whether the Gambian upcomer has ever visited the Congo or taken any lessons on its region’s history; however, judging by the ignorant remarks he made, we can assume that it does not appear to be the case. His exact words, and I quote, in the same video content, which was meant to focus on Rwanda, he claimed; “When I hear that Kagame wants to take over Congo, [...] if he can, he should. At least then, we might see peace in that region.” 

It goes without saying, Ibrahim’s opinions echo the propagandist rhetoric promoted by Rwanda’s authoritarian government and amplified through its media. To add insult to injury, he seemed to believe that the best way to uplift one African country and its beautiful people is by diminishing another. Just to be clear, Rwanda’s leadership can not bring peace to a country that is “unstable by design” when they are the direct cause of its unrest. Moreover, a weakened government does not justify stripping an entire population of its right to national sovereignty.

Africa stands as the youngest continent in the world, and so is its entrepreneurship. It has massive potential to lead in the areas of tech, entertainment, and vast industries targeting a global audience. If we want to progress as a collective, we need to avoid repeating the same mistakes of our oppressors, namely division and conquest, which resonates in the derogatory words the young Gambian shared online. Anyone with an impressionable mind could have landed on OkayAfrica’s article on Ibrahim Gano and come across his dangerous message. In the same vein, it is our duty as media outlets to spotlight individuals within the African community who act with good intent and hold them accountable where necessary.

When Lagos Fashion Week (LFW) arrives, it’s not just the designers who define the moment. Hair, make-up, and skin finish are just as essential in shaping what audiences see. Beauty isn’t secondary; it’s part of how the story is told. But who’s really driving those looks? Are beauty brands and artists pushing creativity, or are they being boxed in by commercial priorities?

At any major fashion week, the beauty structure looks similar: hair sponsors, make-up teams, nail artists, and accessory stylists working alongside designers. In Lagos, this network blends local African talent with global beauty brands, each trying to influence the show’s overall aesthetic.

A key player is Lush Hair Nigeria, the official hair sponsor for LFW over the past two years. Their partnership has helped them rebrand as both premium and inclusive, bridging everyday stylists with high-fashion creatives. It’s smart business, but it raises a valid question: when a brand funds a show, how much of the creative direction becomes theirs?

There’s always a tension between artistic freedom and commercial obligation. Sponsorships bring visibility and funding, but they also come with expectations. A brand might request specific product use or uniform hairstyles that reflect its image. That can quietly limit a designer’s ability to experiment.

Some partnerships, though, find the right balance. Beauty teams that provide structure and skill without overshadowing the designer, and allow creativity to flow. One strong example came when Lush Hair created full runway looks using their own extensions at LFW. It was bold, relevant, and showed what can happen when brand collaboration feels organic rather than forced.

Lagos sits at an interesting point in the beauty conversation. On one hand, international beauty norms bring polish and production value. On the other hand, Nigerian and African aesthetics textured hair, and culturally rooted styling ground the runway in authenticity.

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The real question is whose vision is being prioritised. Are local beauty identities being amplified, or are they being reshaped to fit global expectations? Lush Hair’s focus on inclusivity is promising, but it still operates within a sponsorship system where creative freedom can be limited.

We’re seeing a similar pattern in make-up. Many Lagos shows leaned into the global “clean skin, minimal eye” aesthetic, but others took more daring approaches. Collections from Kadiju, Rendoll, Oshobor, and Love From Julez featured bold smoky eyes and metallic lips. Brands like Oriré and Viviers Studio pushed even further glitter finishes, exaggerated shapes, and experimental looks that stood out.

Nigerian designer Bubu Ogisi

For designers, the key is collaboration. Choosing beauty partners who understand their story instead of controlling it. For beauty brands, it’s about moving beyond visibility and engaging with local narratives. Supporting stylists and artists who represent African beauty in all its forms should be the standard, not the exception.

Platforms like LFW can also take it further by giving beauty its own space in the programme. Hair and make-up aren’t side notes; they’re part of what defines a collection’s identity. And as audiences, we can all be more critical, paying attention to the details behind the clothes and asking whose story is being told.

Nigerian designer Oyin Alesh at the brand Kadiju walks on the catwalk after a private show

Runway beauty in Lagos is at a turning point. The collaboration between brands, stylists, and designers can redefine what African fashion looks like on a global stage if creativity remains the focus. The balance between artistry and commerce will always exist, but the more the industry prioritises originality over obligation, the stronger its voice becomes.

So the next time you watch a show at Lagos Fashion Week, don’t just look at the clothes. Notice the hair, the make-up and pay attention to the complete look of the runway.

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Photos by OLYMPIA DE MAISMONT / AFP

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SAINt JHN has never been one to chase noise. The GRAMMY-winning artist, born Carlos St. John, moves with the kind of quiet conviction that makes his impact louder than any chart position could. Music and fashion may have built his world, but service and community keep him grounded.

More than a performer, he’s a designer of meaning, someone who treats creativity as a tool for care. His latest collaboration with the global nonprofit WhyHunger proves just that.

His powerful partnership with the global nonprofit WhyHunger for their annual Hungerthon campaign transcends typical celebrity endorsement, reflecting the artist's personal philosophy:

“If I can design something beautiful that also buys a family groceries — that’s the kind of art I want to make.”

That philosophy sits at the heart of this partnership: creating beauty that feeds both spirit and stomach. The collaboration raises funds to fight hunger across the U.S., ensuring families, especially children, elders, and those most at risk, have access to nutritious food through the holidays and beyond.

The partnership comes to life through an intimate, one-night-only dinner at Phoenix Palace, New York City, on Nov. 6, 2025.

The Menu: Chef Zhan Chen (Potluck Club & Phoenix Palace) will craft an immersive Guyanese-Chinese menu, a nod to SAINt JHN’s roots and the shared cultures that shape him.

The Gathering: Industry peers, friends, and cultural voices from hip-hop, R&B, and art will join for an evening of food, reflection, and conversation.

The Merch: Starting the same day, limited-edition Hungerthon merchandise—a black hoodie and white T-shirt drops on Hungerthon.org, with proceeds going directly to WhyHunger’s initiatives.

As Jenique Jones, Executive Director of WhyHunger, put it, “The power an artist has to impact positive change when they bring their authentic self to a cause they care about cannot be understated.”

Being a public figure isn't just about accumulating status; in the eyes of many, including SAINt JHN, it's about giving back to the community, especially to those who are less fortunate and lack access to resources that wealth and fame can unlock. While the holidays are a time many look forward to for family gatherings and celebration, the reality that some may have the simple act of a shared meal taken away is deeply disheartening. By partnering with WhyHunger—an organization that has connected 5.3 million people to food and invested $10.8 million in community-led solutions globally over the last five years—SAINt JHN is making a tangible investment in fighting for justice and ensuring the right to food for all.

True influence, as he demonstrates, isn’t about headlines or streaming numbers. It’s about using your spotlight to make sure another family can eat.

Saint Jhn Photographed by Mohtohsoh

Oluwatosin Oluwole Ajibade, better known as Mr Eazi, is a 34-year-old artist from Port Harcourt. Growing up in Ghana and Nigeria, he invented a unique blend of music named “Banku.” Now, a decade into the game and a pioneer of Afrobeats, he has an important message to share.

We caught up with him right before the release of his EP “Maison Rouge” after a year of celebration of love.

Would you like to introduce yourself to our audience?

Yeah, my name is Mr Eazi. I’m an artist, an entrepreneur, and a builder of things. I make music, which I sometimes call Banku Music, a mix of Ghanaian highlife, Nigerian chord progressions, and my own stories. Over the years, I’ve also built platforms like emPawa to support the next generation of African creatives.

Tell us a little about your upbringing; how was it like for a young Eazi growing up in Port Harcourt?

Growing up in Port Harcourt was interesting. It’s a city full of energy and hustle. My dad was an entrepreneur, my mum ran a small business, so the spirit of building from scratch was always around me. But I also spent time in Lagos and Ghana, so my childhood was really a mix of cultures. That’s why my music naturally blends different influences; it’s who I am.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a decade since “Skin Tight”, a track that helped define the global Afrobeats wave. When you look back, what do you think made that song so timeless?

I think Skin Tight was pure. It wasn’t trying to chase a trend. It was just me and Efya vibing to a beat from Juls, expressing emotion in the simplest form. The honesty in that record made it timeless. People felt it, whether in Lagos or London, Nairobi or New York.

If you could talk to the 2015 version of Mr Eazi, the one just about to drop “Skin Tight”, what advice would you give him now?

I’d tell him to keep trusting his intuition and to rest more. Back then, I didn’t know how fast things could move once a song connects. I’d remind him that success isn’t a sprint, it’s a journey. And to enjoy every moment without losing himself in the rush.

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Before we begin to unfold your newest EP, I just have to say congratulations on your beautiful wedding; it was truly a global celebration of love. How has marriage influenced your outlook on life and artistry?

Thank you. Marriage has grounded me. It’s a reminder that beyond the music and the movement, there’s real life happening. It’s taught me balance, understanding love not just as emotion, but as commitment, patience, and growth. That energy definitely reflects in how I see and make music now.

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You’ve always infused your music with elements of love and connection. Did this new chapter in your personal life shape the sound or themes of Maison Rouge?

Definitely. Maison Rouge came from a space of peace, clarity, and gratitude. You’ll hear that in the melodies. It’s less about heartbreak or hustle and more about connection, memory, and legacy. It’s like love in different colours, romantic, nostalgic, and even spiritual.

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“Maison Rouge” feels like a homecoming to your Banku Music roots. How did the recording process for Maison Rouge compare to your earlier projects? Did you approach it differently after a decade in the industry?

Yeah, this one was very organic. We recorded it in Cotonou about 2/ 3 years ago, at a mansion house painted in clay red, that’s Maison Rouge. It felt like being back to the basics, no pressure, just friends, instruments, and stories. The difference now is experience. I’ve grown as a person, so I know how to guide my sound better while still keeping it raw.

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The title Maison Rouge translates to “Red House.” What’s the story or symbolism behind that name?

That’s literally where the project was made, a red-painted house in Cotonou where I spent time reflecting and creating. But symbolically, red represents passion, love, and energy. Maison Rouge became this space of creation, reflection, and rebirth for me. It’s my safe house for art.

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As someone who helped pioneer Afrobeats’ international breakthrough, how do you feel about the evolution of the genre today, especially seeing artists like Rema, Ayra Starr, Omah Lay, and others carrying the torch?

It’s beautiful to see. I feel proud, like a big brother watching the younger ones take the sound even further. Afrobeats is no longer a niche; it’s a global culture. The new generation is fearless, and that’s what we’ve always wanted, for the sound to evolve without boundaries.

With Maison Rouge being an homage to your roots and Skin Tight turning ten, what do you hope your legacy will represent for the next generation of Afrobeats?

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I hope my legacy shows that you can dream beyond music, that you can build, invest, and create systems that empower others. I want people to look back and say, Mr Eazi didn’t just make hits, he opened doors. That’s what matters most to me, impact that lasts longer than a song.

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On Oct. 24, Ashluxe, Nigeria’s leading luxury streetwear house, unveils Ashluxe Manor, a cinematic fashion story that marks the first release in a planned series of drops leading up to the end of December. Each drop will introduce a new creative chapter that expands the brand’s universe of luxury and contemporary expression, with Ashluxe Manor serving as the foundation of this evolving narrative. 

Set within a world of striking architecture and vast, light-filled spaces, Ashluxe Manor captures the essence of movement, ambition, and refined living. The campaign redefines streetwear through a lens of sophistication, blending minimalism, structure, and cultural storytelling. Each look, from sculpted denim to elevated graphic T-shirts and tailored coordinates, embodies presence and precision. The cinematic setting amplifies the brand’s message, reflecting a vision of modern luxury rooted in design, discipline, and individuality. 

Founded by Yinka Ashogbon, Ashluxe has emerged as one of the most influential fashion voices from Nigeria, reshaping the perception of streetwear by merging innovation with cultural depth. Rooted in Lagos and celebrated across the world, Ashluxe transcends fashion to become a cultural movement that celebrates identity, artistry, and global ambition. 

In Yinka’s words, “Ashluxe Manor represents the beginning of a new chapter. We wanted to create something cinematic and sophisticated that still feels connected to our roots. The architecture, the styling, the mood, they all reflect how far fashion from our world has come. This is the start of a story that will unfold through the rest of the year, showing how our world continues to evolve and inspire.”

Ashluxe Manor stands as a visual statement of intent, balancing global luxury with creative excellence. It is the first of several chapters that will define the brand’s direction through the end of 2025, blending fashion, film, and storytelling to celebrate a new standard of modern streetwear. Ashluxe Manor officially drops October 24, 2025, exclusively at ash-luxe.com and ASHLUXURY.

Ashluxe is a global luxury streetwear brand redefining how creativity and craftsmanship are expressed on the world stage. Known for its bold storytelling, design precision, and cultural authenticity, Ashluxe bridges the energy of streetwear with the elegance of high fashion, creating collections that speak to a confident, connected generation shaping contemporary culture.

Creative Direction: Yinka Ashogbo.

Photography: Avron Williams Stylin

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From fashion to music, virality is no longer enough. Kafilat Awotayo and Dowe Biyere explain how education, partnerships, and peer collaboration can build sustainable creative businesses and careers.

From Burna Boy selling out stadiums to South African designers collaborating with Nike, Africa’s creative industries are enjoying an unprecedented moment of global recognition. But behind the headlines, many insiders are warning of a quieter crisis: without stronger business literacy, the creative boom may not be sustainable.

While the world celebrates the “Afrobeats to the world” narrative, too many African creatives are still navigating the industry without the basic skills needed to protect their work. Exploitative contracts, unpaid brand campaigns, and lost funding opportunities are common symptoms of a system that celebrates talent but overlooks structure.

“Talent is never the issue,” says Kafilat Awotayo, founder of YELLOW, a creative consultancy. “The issue is structure. Careers are being built on hype, not on systems. And when the hype fades, many creatives find themselves unprotected.”

The risks are real. A promising Nigerian musician signs a viral record deal but unknowingly forfeits his publishing rights. A Ghanaian fashion designer loses a major European grant because she can’t produce a financial forecast. A young photographer in Nairobi lands a campaign with an international brand but never gets paid, simply because he didn’t invoice properly.

One can argue that creative business education could be the difference between fleeting visibility and long-term viability. “What we need are systems that equip creatives not just to perform, but to own their work and chart their futures,” Awotayo explains. Through Creatives in Common, a creative incubator under YELLOW, she’s building a curriculum for creatives with creative business to thrive.

For Dowe Biyere, Co-Founder of Sygnal Music & Label Manager West Africa at The Orchard, the path forward also lies in the power of partnerships, not only between Africa and the global stage, but within the creative community itself.

“Collaboration is a survival tool,” Dowe says. “We’ve seen how peer-to-peer partnerships, artists pooling resources to shoot videos, photographers and stylists co-creating campaigns, producers swapping skills can amplify opportunities when money or access is limited. On a larger scale, partnerships with brands, platforms, and institutions can give creatives stability and visibility. But the real breakthrough comes when both types of partnerships work together.”

He emphasizes that creatives often underestimate the power of collective strength. “No one builds alone. In an economy as unpredictable as this, leaning you on peers is just as important as chasing big corporate deals.”

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Tips for Building in the Creative Ecosystem

Both Kafilat and Dowe agree that Africa’s creative economy won’t grow sustainably without creatives taking ownership of their careers. Here, they respond to some of the most pressing questions young talents face:

How important are contracts, even with friends or peers?

Dowe: I’d say contracts are very important, even when it’s with friends or peers. At the end of the day, it’s not about mistrust, it’s about clarity. A contract protects both sides by clearly outlining expectations, responsibilities, and benefits. Friendships can get complicated if money or creative ownership comes into play, and having things in writing avoids misunderstandings down the line. It keeps the relationship safe and professional, so that even if challenges come up, everyone has a reference point to fall back on.

Kafilat: I think contracts actually build more trust when everyone knows what they’re signing up for. I tell people: contracts aren’t about distrust, they’re about clarity. Even in community driven projects, you need to define roles and rights. For me, anyone that’s not talking contracts from the jump is a red flag.

What’s the first step towards financial literacy for a creative?

Kafilat: Track what’s going in and what’s going out, follow the numbers. Everything is in the numbers.

Dowe: I think the first step towards financial literacy for creatives is awareness. Once you see the numbers clearly, it’s easier to budget, save, and plan.

How should creatives approach collaboration?

Dowe: Creatives should approach collaboration with openness and growth. Openness in the sense of being willing to share ideas, explore new perspectives, and let the other person’s strengths shine. Growth is also an important way to approach collaboration because it’s not only about the end product, but also about what you learn and gain along the way. Every collaboration is an opportunity to stretch yourself.

Kafilat: Collaboration for me is survival. When I started YELLOW, it was all peer-to-peer, my friends and I leveraged each other's resources to build footprint and for me the lesson is the same at every level: collaboration multiplies your reach and resources when you approach it with openness and strategy.

Why does protecting intellectual property matter so much?

Kafilat: Ownership is everything. Without IP protection, you can lose control of your life’s work. Register your songs, designs, or films, and understand your rights before signing them away.”

Dowe: Protecting intellectual property matters because it safeguards the value of your creativity. As a creative, your ideas, music, designs, or content are your currency; they’re what you bring into the world that nobody else can replicate in the same way. IP protection ensures you maintain ownership, benefit from your hard work, and have the freedom to decide how your creations are used. It’s really about respecting your craft and securing your future.

What’s the long-term mindset creatives should adopt?

Dowe:  The long-term mindset creatives should adopt is one of consistency, adaptability, and ownership. Consistency, because growth rarely happens overnight, it’s about showing up and building step by step. Adaptability, because the industry keeps changing, and the ability to evolve with it is what keeps you relevant. And ownership, because thinking long-term means treating your art like a business, protecting your rights, and creating structures that let your work sustain you for years, not just in the moment.

Kafilat: Think beyond yourself. Your career isn’t just about your next song or show, it’s about the community you build and the systems you leave behind.

Africa's creative economy stands at a crossroads. The talent has always been here, the global attention is finally catching up. But visibility without sustainability is just another form of exploitation. The next generation of African creatives would be celebrated for more than their art. They'll be respected for their business acumen, protected by their contracts, and sustained by the systems they build. That shift won't happen by accident. It requires education, collaboration, and a willingness to treat creativity not just as passion, but as a profession. As Kafilat puts it: "The work is about building something that lasts beyond the moment." And in an industry that moves fast,that's the real foundation for sustainable growth.

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UK grime pioneer Novelist touched down in Accra on Thursday night. By now, he and Ghana's Afro-drill collective Savage4 are deep into recording sessions for The 7 Days Tape, having already completed 2 days of the intense seven-day recording process. You're not reading about something that happened, you're catching it as it unfolds

The tape drops November 2. With seven days to fuse grime with Afro-drill, the clock is ticking. The sessions are being broadcast live via Balamii Radio (UK) and YFM Ghana, with a launch event at the Free The Youth store in Accra when it's all done. We caught them on Friday October 24, just before they locked in the studio for their first session.

What does it mean to bring grime to Ghana, especially given your Ghanaian heritage?

Novelist: It's an extension of myself and a reflection of something the diaspora has built. Africa is the homeland and the music resonates here just as much as it resonates with our people abroad. Being part of the UK diaspora, we've built many things here, and it's my pleasure to come home and build as well. I want people to see we're not so different. We are one. Whether you're born here or there, it's something we have in our blood. So come home and connect with these guys and bring the vibes. I think it would be very impactful for people to see.

How did you connect with Savage4? What drew you to their sound?

Novelist: I've been building riddims and making good music for a long time. Someone these brothers work with made me aware that they like my music, so that made me interested in what they do. This is a very young relationship, but we all recognize the value in good music. People talk about “levels,” but I look for the vibe — and these brothers have it. There was no question, I wanted to work with them.

You've been vocal about maintaining grime's original sound. How does that translate in a collaboration with Afro-drill?

Novelist: The special thing about grime is it's very creative. You never know exactly what you're gonna get, but there's a certain feeling to it. A new branch from the tree of creativity, we've never seen anything like this before. I'm looking forward to hearing how Savage4 approaches the music. It's exciting because you don't know until you’re in the room.

How important is your relationship with Balamii, and why was it important to have them broadcast this?

Novelist: I've been instrumental since the early days of Balamii Radio. I did some of my first shows there. Even before it became a station, James Browning, (the founder), would come to live shows and record sets. I’ve watched Balamii grow and it’s been part of my career landmarks. This is the right time to merge both worlds as I come home. Balamii is very grassroots. You don't have to be some known artist or superstar for them to give you the platform to do your thing.

What does it mean to collaborate with a UK grime pioneer as Ghana's drill scene emerges?

Savage4: It's huge for us because UK grime and Afro-drill literally come from the same place, same raw energy. This shows how far our sound can travel and how connected the streets are to our music.

How does Tema's vibrant underground music scene influence your sound?

Savage4: Tema is everything. We grew up in it. We live Tema, we breathe Tema. That's where the foundation was laid for us. The underground scene was a necessity for us. We didn't choose to be underground, we were underground. That's where we've been. Tema has brought out so many huge names: La Meme Gang, Asakaa Boys in Kumasi, and now Savage4. Tema shapes us and our sound.

What do you want international audiences to understand about Ghana's street culture through this project?

Savage4: Don’t just hear the music, feel the raw energy, culture and originality. See the fire and the pain. We are writing lines that make sense beyond music itself. Music is our lifestyle and it's in our bloodstream. It's either you're born with it or you adapt to it. That's how it is.

For a lot of young artists, getting airplay on YFM is a rite of passage. How does it feel to have your work showcased there, and what kind of community do you hope to reach through YFM?

Savage4: It’s a dream come true. We literally grew up listening to YFM. The audience is the youth, us,  coming up from Tema, from Ghana and beyond. YFM has been able to tap into the streets enough to provide that kind of audience where we can showcase our music. We grew up listening to YFM, and now we finally get to share our sound on YFM. We're very grateful. It's big for us.

Why "7 Days"? What are you hoping comes out of working under that kind of time pressure?

Novelist: Seven days is perfect because they say pressure makes diamonds. When you do something under pressure, it leaves no space for hesitation and no space for confusion or doubt. I feel like we're guaranteed to make good songs because we're under a time constraint and the vibes can't lie in seven days. I think the pressure of the timing will bring the best out of everybody.

Savage4: Seven is a special number. It doesn't need to take much time. It's about our mindset and how we see the project. Greatness. That’s what we're about to create within these next few days.

Why Free The Youth as the launch venue?

Novelist: They've been known to consistently contribute to the community. To me, anyone who has that standpoint, whatever you do with them is legacy stuff. At the end of the day, that's what we're trying to do. We're trying to free the youth.

Savage4: Exactly. They represent the culture. Real recognizes real. We’re telling the same story, connecting to the streets, and Free The Youth does that too. Their flagship store is the natural home for this. It’s family.

What does "UK to Ghana" mean to you, beyond geography?

Novelist: To me, it means Novelist to Savage4 right now, but on a grand scheme, it's building a spiritual bridge that we can walk back and forth from. That's what we're really doing. We're no different from each other. We're both linking up to make the music and enjoy the vibes. There's so many Ghanaians back home who have never even been to Ghana. I just want to be an example of embracing our roots.

Savage4: It's a spiritual thing. Like Novelist said, we're bridging the gap, bringing music to the other side and bringing theirs to our side as well. Music is the bridge. That's what we're doing right now.

How are you feeling going into the recording sessions? What's the vibe?

Savage4: We are gassed. Really gassed. Expectations are high. When Novelist touched down at the airport, the energy was like we've been together for 10 years. We're just glad we started. It's forward, with love.

Novelist: It felt immediate, like meeting my brothers. No funny vibes, and that will translate in the music. We’re open to the unexpected, but know that we're gonna have fun with it. That's the main thing. The fact that people get to be a part of the process with us, that's exciting for me. We will probably preview some snippets before some of them even come out. We're doing the whole thing in real time.

As this interview wrapped on Friday, Novelist and Savage4 headed straight into the studio for Day 1 of 7. Now on Day 3, the sessions are well underway. Over the next few days, they'll preview snippets and share the process in real time. As Novelist put it “the vibes can't lie”. Pressure makes diamonds. In seven days, we'll find out what happens when two sides of the diaspora —  Uk Grime and Afro-drill lock in, and create something new together.

The 7 Days Tape. Nov 2, 2025. Free The Youth, Accra.

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There’s a rhythm in the way our mothers call our names — a melody no foreign tongue can mimic. It’s in the pauses, the pitch, the pulse of home. Our mother language is more than sound; it’s sculpture. Each word is shaped by memory, molded by love, and painted with history.

Before we wrote, we spoke. Before we spoke, we sang. Across Africa, language has always lived beyond words. It’s in the ululations that crown new life, in the chants that guide farmers, in the call and response of the market women. Our tongues carry rhythm — not just in the sound, but in the meaning that only the heart can translate.

In Yoruba, tone can turn peace into mockery or blessing into question. In Wolof, you can measure respect in the softness of a greeting. In Shona, language flows like river water — full of proverbs and pauses. To speak your mother tongue is to inherit generations of performance; it’s to dance with your own history.

But time and translation have stolen much. Colonial borders fractured our sounds, teaching us to measure intelligence in borrowed words. We began to whisper our languages instead of singing them. Yet, like all things African, what is buried is never dead.

Today, the revival is loud — through art, music, and fashion. Designers like Laduma Ngxokolo weave Xhosa patterns and words into knitwear that speak identity without translation. Loza Maléombho bends tradition and futurism, naming each piece in Bété or French — both voices present, both proud. Yinka Shonibare plays with text and textile, turning postcolonial language into visual protest. Our artists are reclaiming what the classroom once made us hide.

And then there’s the sound — the tongue makes a beat. You hear it when artists like Seyi vibes and Asake Yoruba into swagger, when Sho Madjozi raps in Tsonga, when Jeriq lets Enugu slang find melody. Across the continent, our languages are returning to the mic, to the canvas, to the runway. They remind us that our mother tongue is not just speech — it’s style, sound, and soul.

To speak it is to stand taller. To sing it is to heal something. The mother tongue doesn’t beg to be global; it already is — it lives wherever an African heart beats.

Our generation speaks in remix — Yoruba and pidgin, Swahili and English, Wolof and French. We are multilingual mosaics, blending old worlds and new. Every “chai,” “asé,” “habibi,” or “oya” that slips into our sentences is proof that we are still translating ourselves back home.

To return to your mother tongue is to return to your body. To the first rhythm you ever knew. The one your mother hummed before you had words for love.

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In Money Trees, Kendrick Lamar raps, “It go Halle Berry or hallelujah, pick your poison, tell me what you doin’.” The song, like many of his, sits at the intersection of hustle and desire, a quiet meditation on what money means when you have it and what it makes of you when you don’t. Decades before him, 50 Cent declared, “Get rich or die tryin’,” while the ancient philosopher Epicurus once mused, “Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants.”

But who among us can truly boast of having few wants? Especially in our world which advertises pleasure on every screen, tells us we deserve a little treat even when our accounts are screaming for mercy. As the wise King Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes 5:10, “Whoever loves money never has enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income.”

Money is always a huge topic. There is always, always a conversation around it that is neither all-inclusive nor nuanced. Either Nigerian singles on Twitter are fighting over who is gold digging and who is broke, or, in the words of famous philosopher Timaya, “This life I can’t kill myself o, allow me to flex o.”

Money, in all its paradox, brings out something deeply human in us. We crave security, yet we chase pleasure. We budget tightly, yet break our own rules for something that feels right in the moment. Sometimes, the impulse wins. Sometimes, it’s regret that follows.

This week, we asked: Have you ever been seriously strapped for cash and still decided to splurge on an unnecessary purchase? Tell us the story of how that went down.

Here’s what people told us.

Starr, Nigeria

It hasn’t been any major event. It’s maybe getting an overpriced drink on a night out that I know will cost me tomorrow’s dinner, lunch, and maybe breakfast, but my motto is money is a spirit that always finds its way back so spend, I will!

Assa the Pretty, Ibadan, Nigeria

I’m a recording artist based in Ibadan, Nigeria. My music reflects the soul of old African music and exposes a bright futuristic Africa, a perfect blend of ancient and modern spirits. Studio time isn’t cheap, but art must survive, so sometimes I’ll skip meals before I skip a session.

Terry, Westerhaven

I was poor and bought cigarettes. Told myself it was for the stress. It wasn’t. I was just broke and dramatic.

Anu, Illinois, USA

Omo all the damn time😭🫠 Just this week I used my Uber money meant for my trips to work to order food because I had nothing in my fridge except yogurt 😪 and I was suffering from a depressive episode. I usually tell myself if I perish, I perish 🤭 and I have not yet🤣 thank God. It was actually what I needed because it lifted my spirits immensely 🥰

Sophia, Lagos, Nigeria

Lol I got melonypine with my last 14k at the end of the week, five days to salary day. I had to walk home from work once. 10/10 would do it again.

FH, Groningen, Netherlands

A couple of months ago, I was way over budget but decided to go out drinking with pals anyway. We went to some Irish pub in town and got to drinking. I was already like six shots in when I heard my dumbass friend arguing with some middle-aged drunk guy about politics and it was starting to get heated. I honestly don’t remember what happened next but somehow we decided that I’d go against the guy in a drink-off. Whoever wins the drink-off wins the argument. I lost. Horribly. I spent over 70 euros, threw up buckets in the canal near Schuitendiep, and had to be biked home that night. My ego was hurt, my bank account was hurt, and God, my head was hurting the morning after too.

Emma, Jos, Nigeria

I once had minimal funds in my final year of uni. After buying my necessities to get me through the weekend, the only money I had left was 1k. Tell me why I decided to buy croissants for 800 knowing the state of my finances. I told myself, “If I perish, I perish,” and after I finished eating, I starved that weekend.

P.S: I didn’t starve but I had to rely on my cousins when my bag of water finished.

Tochi, Abuja, Nigeria

There was this thrift sale on Instagram. Designer bags going for 7k. Seven thousand! I had no money, but how could I resist? I sent the money, and then spent the rest of the week eating biscuits and praying for a miracle. The bag arrived looking like something from a Y2K Nollywood movie, but I still carry it proudly. Fashion is pain.

Kwame, Accra, Ghana

Once, I had just 50 cedis to my name. My friends said they were going to the beach, and I told myself, “You only live once.” I bought grilled fish and a cold beer, then joined them. By evening, I had no money left for transport. I had to walk home barefoot, holding my slippers in my hand, humming Burna Boy’s “Last Last.”

Reni, London, UK

After paying rent and bills, I had £8 left for the week. I spent £6.50 on a cinnamon latte and a slice of cheesecake at Pret because “self-care.” I don’t regret it though. Sometimes, joy costs £6.50.

Ope, Lagos, Nigeria

There was a day I was down to 5k. I had just enough to buy data and rice. I chose data. I can’t explain it, but I felt peace after. I will actually rather go hungry and use the money to laugh my sorrows away on Instagram. I guess in this economy, data feels like comfort.

Dani, Nairobi, Kenya

I once bought perfume worth half my salary because I wanted to smell like my life was together. I was broke but smelled like old money. Priorities.

Taken together, these responses say a lot about our complicated relationship with money. How we can be broke but still crave joy, still want to reward ourselves with small pleasures even when logic says no. Maybe it’s foolishness. Maybe it’s resilience. Maybe it’s our own little rebellion against a world that feels too expensive to breathe in.

As Oscar Wilde once wrote, “When I was young, I thought money was the most important thing in life; now that I am old, I know it is.” And yet, perhaps the truest wisdom comes not from Wilde or Kendrick but from King Solomon himself, who understood both riches and ruin: “The sleep of a laboring man is sweet, whether he eats little or much, but the abundance of the rich will not let them sleep.” (Ecclesiastes 5:12)

Maybe that’s the paradox of it all. That peace isn’t always in the plenty. Sometimes, it’s in that one impulsive treat that made a hard day softer.

We’ve come to the end of this installment of our Vox Pop series. Join us here next week for another serving of sizzling stories. If you’d like to contribute, head to our Instagram Stories on Thursdays and Saturdays, where you’ll find a form and our question of the week.

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