Odumodublvck’s sophomore album Industry Machine is at once an expansion of his seminal debut album Eziokwu and a radical departure from it. Like Eziokwu, Industry Machine finds Odumodublvck effortlessly toggling between frenetic and often blustery raps and saccharine-sweet melodies. Both projects are steeped in football references and allusions, if you follow him on social media, you will know that football holds a singular fascination for him. Declan Rice, a track on Eziokwu, named for the Arsenal midfielder, went on to become one of the most culturally significant songs of the era; Industry Machine hopes to continue in this tradition, spawning two records named for football stars: Maradona and Vinicius. Both projects also feature covers by artist-designer Olaolu “Slawn” Akeredolu-Ale. 

A closer examination, however, reveals that with Industry Machine Odumodublvck has a different, more cavalier set of intentions: flattening aspersions regarding his artistry, bludgeoning his enemies, and cementing himself within the hallowed pantheon of Nigerian rappers, including acts like Mode 9, Olamide, M.I Abaga, Vector the Viper, Naeto C, and a host of others. If, with Eziokwu, he sought to establish himself as a formidable force within Nigeria’s Hip-Hop scene, proving himself capable of parlaying his cult following into mainstream success, with Industry Machine, he trains his focus on cementing himself within Hip-Hop legacy. 

Though Odumodublvck had spent the latter half of 2022 and early parts of 2023 on a feverish run of singles, including Picanto, Dog Eat Dog II featuring Cruel Santino and Bella Shmurda, the Fireboy-assisted FIREGUN, and Declan Rice, very few people could anticipate the seismic shifts Eziokwu, released on the 6th of October 2023, would occasion. 

Not only did the album go on to become the most commercially successful and one of the most critically acclaimed Nigerian Hip Hop albums of all time, but it also stirred an industry-wide reckoning. Until Eziokwu dropped, Hip Hop in Nigeria had increasingly ceded the spotlight to Afrobeats and other genres, so much so that the prevailing rhetoric held that Nigerians no longer enjoyed Hip Hop, the genre in which stalwarts like M.I. Abaga, Olamide, and Naeto C found immense success. Naturally, Eziokwu’s success forced critics and rappers to interrogate their suppositions and beliefs about the state of the genre, particularly the receptiveness of everyday Nigerians to Hip Hop. 

In the aftermath of Eziokwu, two leading schools of thought have emerged. The first holds that Eziokwu provides a template for the contemporary Nigerian rapper looking to achieve mainstream success: marrying traditional Hip Hop with elements of Nigerian culture. This ethos buzzes through the work of the most compelling emerging rappers of today; among them Zaylevelten, Wave$tar, and Artsalghul. Those on the other end of the divide, the Hip Hop purists, if we may—have dismissed  Odumodublvck’s distinct style of rap, which favours slang over intricate metaphors and double entendres, as a lesser form of rap. More hawkish critics have claimed his style of music doesn’t qualify as Rap.

The implications of this rhetoric are clear: it seeks to undermine his work and estrange him from the lineage of formidable rappers who have defined the genre at various turns. Industry Machine is largely an emphatic rebuttal to the claims. As such, the project glowers with indignation and finds him feverishly railing against his antagonists. In the titular opening track, Industry Machine, he wrestles against the narratives peddled by his antagonists. “Them say na rubbish we dey talk/ Them say na jargons we dey spit/ Some say na hullabaloo lingua/ But na my music them dey chop.” 

In making his case as the latest torchbearer for Nigerian Hip Hop, on this album, he deploys three strategies—enlisting a flotilla of heavyweight artists, among them, Wizkid, Mode 9, Davido, Patoranking, Reminisce, Phyno, and Zlatan; bragging about his achievements and sounding warnings to his antagonists and would-be enemies.

The album is most alive when he’s actively tackling his enemies. When, in the intro of the Pa Salieu-assisted Unaware, he mumbles “Beef na wetin them say make I chop/ Beef na wetin them say make I wallop/ They can never win,” you feel that frisson, that jolt of excitement that invariably surfaces in the opening sequence of a war film. Later in the song when he song when he raps “Picture man begging/ Dem dey wonder how I dominate, ‘he is really doing numbers with his cornerstone rhythms,’” you feel his indignation with forceful clarity. 

If You Like Gym—a diss track aimed at Blaqbonez, a rapper who, in the weeks leading to the release of Industry Machine, claimed Odumodublvck could not rap, crackles with a similar fervour. Layi Wasabi, which features legendary rapper Reminisce, is where this motif reaches its crescendo. “Take man for joke like say I no sabi/ You Layi Wasabi, joke man nothing wey you sabi,” he raps, again railing against his denigrators. From another person, that turn of phrase would perhaps have come across as pedestrian, but the vivacity with its distinctive lustre. The chemistry between Reminiscence and Odumodublvck is scintillating, across the song, as they take turns delivering machismo-sodden lyrics, you get the feeling of watching two virtuosos go at it.

Indeed, much of the pleasure of Industry Machine comes from hearing Odumodublvck bounce off energy with his collaborators. Maradona, in which, over a whimsical beat, he teams up with Justin Quiles, and Saweetie, almost feels like a night of karaoke with friends. We feel the same way when we listen to songs like Pay Me featuring Stormzy and Zlatan, and Adenuga featuring Skepta and Anti World Gangsters. His collaboration with Wizkid, Big Time, is also noteworthy. After Wizkid delivers an impassioned verse in which, with his voice thick with emotion, he pulls apart the grief of losing his mother, amongst other things,  Odumodublvck offers a stirring consolation: “Baba calm down, rora, otito!” 

With 23 songs that span over an hour, Industry Machine, at times, feels superfluous. But it’s an album that stays with you and makes you think of all the times when Hip Hop heavyweights have demanded an industry-wide reckoning. Kendrick Lamar’s beef with Drake easily comes to mind, but in the Nigerian music landscape, M.I. Abaga’s totemic single You Rappers Should Fix Up Your Lives, which prefigured his 2018 album A Study On Self Worth: Yxng Dxnzl, rings with more pertinence. I suspect the album will be here for a long time because it poses a universal question: what do you do when your flowers are being withheld from you? Odumodublvck offers a simple answer: take them for yourself! 

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On this continent, beauty begins with the hands. Hands that part, oil, and weave. Hands that have memorized the language of hair, speaking through sections, patterns, and gentle tugs. Across Africa, from Dakar to Lagos, Addis to Accra, braiding isn’t just adornment. It is history performed, lineage retold, and love translated through touch.

Some of my earliest memories are of sitting between my mother’s knees, my head tilted slightly forward, the smell of hair oil filling the room. The TV would be playing softly in the background, and I’d try to keep still while sneaking glances at the screen. Her fingers moved with a rhythm that felt ancient, parting, stretching, weaving. I didn’t know it then, but those moments were history being repeated. Every tug was a lesson. Every braid, a continuation.

Across Africa, this scene plays out in a thousand different forms, in courtyards and living rooms, on verandas and under mango trees. Women gathered in circles, talking, laughing, braiding. The air thick with stories, with gossip, with a kind of closeness that doesn’t need words. The scent of shea butter and coconut oil mixes with heat and conversation, that familiar rhythm of community. The act of braiding connects us: grandmothers to mothers to daughters, women to women. Each plait a mark of belonging, each pattern a reflection of where we come from.

I’ve always believed that the hands of African women are sacred. They remember things our mouths have forgotten how to say. They can heal, create, and restore. In the simple act of braiding, there’s patience, love, and artistry. The same hands that cook, nurture, and build are the ones that part each line with intention, making order out of something wild.

Our hairstyles were once maps, status symbols, identity markers. The Fulani braids with their beads and centre parts, Yoruba threading, Himba ochre-coated locs, each design a language of its own. Braiding told stories before we could write them down. It said who we were, what we believed in, where we belonged. Even now, when I walk into a salon in Lagos or Dakar, that history hums beneath the chatter and the hair dryers. Every woman there is part of something bigger, a lineage of women who’ve turned creativity into culture, care into legacy.

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When I grew older and started braiding my own hair, I realised how much I had inherited. Not just the skill, but the meaning. Braiding felt like communion, a small ritual that reminded me where I came from. The hands changed, the tools evolved, but the essence remained the same. To braid another’s hair is to honour her, to say, I see you. I care for you. You are part of something that began long before both of us.

In today’s cities, African women continue the ritual, under balconies, in salons, in student dorms, in living rooms filled with laughter and TV noise. The same patterns that once adorned queens and warriors now travel across oceans, reimagined yet rooted. The beauty is not just in the style but in the survival, how something so ancient still feels modern, still feels like home.

Because African beauty has always been deeper than decoration. It’s how we preserve ourselves in a world that keeps changing, through hair, through skin, through the small acts that remind us of who we are. There’s something holy about it, how a braid can hold time, identity, and tenderness all at once. When we braid, we keep memory alive. We say: we were here, we have always been here, and we will keep creating beauty out of our becoming.

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The guest, a teenager gussied up in a crisp navy suit and a red bowtie that gave him an uncanny heft, smiled a sly smile as he took in the question that the interviewer, also wearing a suit, had trotted out. The teenager, Suborno Isaac Bari, an NYU sophomore who spoke in the measured cadence of a college professor, looked 14, maybe 15—in reality, he is 13 years old. Hassan Minhaj, the interviewer on the other side of the blue room wearing a black suit and a black tie, had asked him a question that would otherwise be bizarre for any other thirteen-year-old. “If the universe is governed by mathematical laws, as you’ve described, is free will an illusion? Or does quantum randomness open a door for it?” He had asked. I was sleepy—it was around 11pm—and slightly inebriated when those words floated from my phone speakers into my ears. 

Lying on my bed, I allowed my gaze to burrow into the striped black-and-white blinds to my right and watched my mind—hazy, amorphous—slip into a lull, that soggy interstice between the dream world and awake land. Fragments of the sci-fi television series Foundation floated into my mind. In the evening that day, I had binged on a couple of episodes. I heard the voice—perceived the memory rather—of Demerzel, a sentient humanoid robot from the series, saying something to the effect of how humans are fated to ultimately obliterate themselves. Hours before then I had watched Donald Trump sulk about losing the Nobel Peace Prize. His rant struck me as incongruous considering he continues to roil the belly of imminent conflict in the US by casually deploying the National Guard in cities across the US.

I remembered another video I had watched, this one was about the seemingly intractable rise of AI slop. Beyond AI slop, the technology is increasingly being deployed by bad actors to impinge on the agency and privacy of women. These generative tools have been put to work in stripping women, covering them up, and enacting the perverted fantasies of these men—the common thread in all of this: the desire to control, to subjugate, to dehumanize. If all of this sounds dystopian, it’s because it is. The world is seemingly hurtling towards a tragedy of cosmic proportions, we all know this, and yet capitalists continue to chip away at our chances of a better future, all for a few more billion dollars?

Transitioning from this rather grim introduction to the sunny world of pop culture might seem too tidy, glib perhaps. Nonetheless, it’s undeniable that popular culture possesses a distinctive escapist allure. It beats the mind how a comedy special or social media banter can, however fleetingly, provide pause from the maelstroms of everyday life. As I watched the internet bicker ferociously over whether Madam Joyce was wrong or grossly wrong for claiming to not know Asa; and watched social media mourn the end of MTV videos, I experienced for myself this escapist charm pop culture supplies so generously. In this episode of PopTakes, I give my, famously canny, takes on the aforementioned topics and a slew of others.

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MTV Base Shuts Down Music Channels Across Europe and Africa 

Last week, as I languidly perused the social media app X, I came across a tweet claiming MTV Base had axed its music operations across Europe and Africa, my first thought was “This is not happening.” But of course it was. Explaining the decision, the channel has cited declining profits as platforms like YouTube and TikTok continue to supplant traditional music video channels. To be entirely honest, a part of me feels like the channel did not fight enough to maintain relevance. The part of my heart that feverishly champions this kind of thinking is probably my teenage self who would spend afternoons after school with friends or with my siblings watching curated selections of music videos. Fridays were especially gratifying for me. 

On Saturdays by 6pm, I’d race my siblings to the parlor, abandoning the desktop computer in my room which was loaded with an assortment of games, where the intro song of the Official Top Ten Naija show, then hosted by celebrity VJ Ehiz, would be playing. It was in that show, and similar shows, that my earliest passions for pop culture, the music industry, were stirred. I wanted to be an artist, a video director, a DJ, a host in the lineage of Ehiz and Soundcity Africa’s VJ Adams. All of which is to say the news triggered a wave of nostalgia and that my take here may be biased. And yet I feel like if the channel had taken a more inventive approach to content creation they might have been able to compete reasonably in this age of content saturation. 

Part of why I enjoyed MTV Base as a child was the music videos but the other part of its appeal came from factors such as the host’s commentary, the arguments that each list would foment, and, of course, the guests that would come on the show. Platforms like TikTok and YouTube might try to approximate this level of programming but they almost always falter in some regard. The reason: programming is something that TV Channels do exceptionally well. Imagine bringing all this know-how to the digital space, they’d absolutely kill it and kindle interest in their television shows.

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The Internet Gets Into A Frenzy Over Madam Joyce’s Comments On Asa

The purple couches are adjacent to each other. In front of them are black, low-hanging microphones. Viewed from above, the couches form an L shape. On one couch is the host Madam Joyce, a popular UK-based podcaster. On the other couch is Nigerian singer BOJ. The conversation has been going great when Madam Joyce makes a blunder that upsets the sanguine flow of the conversation.

In response to BOJ listing the legendary Nigerian singer Asa as one of his idols, Madam Joyce says: “Is it bad that I don’t know who that is?” Since the episode aired, a huge swath of the internet has criticized her ignorance, just as BOJ predicted in the episode: “You don’t know Asa? This is going to go crazy.”

I get why people may feel sleighed by Madam Joyce’s ignorance: Asa is a legend, more than that, a national treasure. But I also think that the deluge of indignation directed at her is misplaced as she’s neither a Nigerian nor an Afrobeats podcaster, as many have wrongly claimed. She’s just a British podcaster who makes fun, drama-filled podcasts with friends and acquaintances. It would have been great if she knew who Asa was but holding that against her?

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Taylor Swift Breaks Record For Biggest First Week Album Sales 

Something unusual happened when Taylor Swift released her 12th studio album—The Life of a Showgirl. Critics, social media commentators, casual music fans, even some of the most dedicated Swifties, seemed to unanimously judge the project as middling (or in internet speak: mid.) Too safe, too commercial, somewhat inauthentic—the reviews mostly claimed. Pitchfork, the eminent critical publication which in 2020 rated Folklore an 8.0—rated TLOAS a 5.9 (sheeshhh.) The title of a New Yorker article reads: “Taylor Swift Sounds Stuck.” Other reviews were similarly unflattering, to say the least. 

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As such I adjusted my expectations around the album’s commercial performance. Of course, she’d move an incredible amount of units—she’s Taylor Swift!—but nothing too crazy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. She ended up selling around 4 million units—you might need to pause for a minute to take in how incredible this is. This is happening in an era when the average A-list artist would break a sweat to move even 400,000 album-equivalent units. With this Swift broke the record for biggest single-week album sales, previously set by Adele's 25 in 2015. At the risk of sounding like a Swiftie—and to be clear I’m not, not even close—Taylor Swift might just be as big as the Super Bowl (pun intended.)

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For this edition of Through My Lens, we spotlight Jesse Abai, a Nigerian portrait and wedding photographer whose work captures emotion in its purest form. As the Assistant Creative Director at His Imagery, co-founded with his brother Jeffrey Abai, Jesse’s artistry is rooted in honesty, empathy, and the quiet pursuit of what is real. For him, photography is not about perfection; it is about presence. Each frame is a reflection of truth, time, and feeling, carefully preserved in its most natural state.

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

“My name is Jesse Abai. I am a portrait, wedding, and until recently, sports photographer. I currently work as the Assistant Creative Director at His Imagery, which is founded and directed by my brother, Jeffrey Abai.

I have been photographing for a little over five years now. I first picked up interest in 2019, but it was not until 2020, during the lockdown, that I was really able to sit down and learn. That period of stillness gave me the time to understand the craft and, more importantly, myself. Photography became this space where I could express without words, where I could capture life the way I felt it. What started as curiosity turned into a calling, and every project since then has been about finding new ways to preserve honesty through images.”

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

“One thing that has always been at the heart of our work at His Imagery, something my brother instilled in me from day one, is maintaining naturality in every picture. We try to make sure that whatever we are photographing, it stays as raw and as true as possible.

To me, a good photograph is one that carries time inside it, something you can look back on 10, 15, or 20 years later and still remember exactly how you felt in that moment. Whether it is joy, sadness, peace, or nostalgia, I want the image to pull that emotion back up again.

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There is also a sense of wholesomeness that I always try to carry through my work. Even when I am shooting in the studio, my goal is to capture people at their most comfortable, not staged, not forced, just real. Because that is where the best photographs live.

Creating that kind of space starts with connection. I do not think you can get true emotion from a subject who does not feel safe. So before I take the camera up, I focus on building trust. I talk, I listen, I create an environment that feels calm and welcoming. Once that happens, everything else flows naturally. Their laughter becomes real, their expression softens, and suddenly, we are not just taking pictures, we are capturing truth.”

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Can you share a moment or experience that shaped your journey as a photographer?

“I have had a few defining moments, but the one that stands out most is how much my brother believed in me when I first started. Back then, I was not consistent. I would come for lessons one day and then disappear for weeks. But he was patient, patient enough to start over with me every single time.

At some point, he gave me his camera to shoot with. It was brand new, and I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. But he trusted me with it anyway. That kind of trust leaves an imprint on you. It made me see what he saw in me before I even believed it myself.

That was the moment I decided to take this seriously, to actually learn, to show up, to build something. That faith shaped how I approach photography today. Because beyond the skill, photography for me is also about patience, about seeing potential where others might not, and about nurturing it until it grows.”

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

“I think people would be surprised to know how quiet I actually am. I am very much an introvert. I do not talk a lot, and I do not go out much. But when I am behind the camera, that changes. My personality shifts depending on where I am and who I am with.

In the studio, I have to be open and friendly because people need to feel at ease. You cannot capture true emotion when someone is guarded. So I become that, warm, present, reassuring. But outside of that space, I retreat. I am more reserved, more introspective. It is not that I am cold; it is just that silence is where I recharge.

The camera kind of gives me permission to be both people. When I am shooting, I stop seeing my friend or my client as just someone I know. I start to see them as a story. I start thinking about where the light falls, what expression holds truth, how to bring out their natural energy. In that moment, I am not Jesse the quiet guy anymore. I am Jesse the observer, the one trying to make time stand still for a second.

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So I guess what I want people to understand is that photography is where both sides of me meet. The quiet, thoughtful side, and the creative, expressive one. It is how I connect with people even when words fail me.”

Through his lens, Jesse Abai transforms simplicity into storytelling. His photographs are not about grand gestures or staged perfection. They are about the gentle, fleeting details, a laugh mid-frame, the warmth of skin in light, the quiet joy of being seen. His work reminds us that beauty does not have to be performed. It can simply exist, naturally and honestly, in front of the lens.

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The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show made its grand return on Wednesday, October 15, at the Brooklyn Navy Yard in New York City. Gone are the days of uniform glamour and one-note fantasy. In their place came a new kind of spectacle: one that embraced individuality. The 2025 runway shimmered with sculpted metallic corsets, rose-petal lace, and wings that looked more like art installations than costume pieces. Below, we round up the looks that made us pause, rewind, and remember why fashion should always make you feel something.

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Jasmine Tookes kicked off the night being the second black model to ever open the VS show after Naomi Campbell in 1996. The 34-year-old model, who is nine months pregnant with her second child, opened the 2025 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show as the Birth of Venus depicting her unborn baby as the pearl. 

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One of the night’s most anticipated moments was Quen Blackwell’s runway debut as she took to the Victoria’s Secret catwalk for the very first time, transitioning from digital influencer to fashion model under the spotlight.

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The angels may have changed, but the wings? They still fly. 

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Kirko Bangz is much more than a recording artist; he represents a calculated movement. His signature sound—a melodic, sultry blend of R&B and Hip-Hop—has seen significant refinement, mirroring a powerful personal transformation that has taken place over the last few years. This period of growth has crystallized his perspective, both musically and personally. Deeds Editorial recently captured the Houston native, noting that the evolution of his music has been matched by his style. His aesthetic now radiates a sense of relaxed luxury paired with strong structure. In front of the camera, Bangz was effortless, possessing the same natural command and easy confidence he exhibits behind the microphone.

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The most compelling aspect of Kirko Bangz’s current chapter is his newfound clarity. He describes this personal progress in the language of an athlete, using the analogy of a basketball player who can now "see the floor better." He has transitioned into the role of a "floor general," orchestra strategically directing his entire process. This shift stems from a conscious and deliberate decision to confront and change his life. As he matured, his point of view changed, leading him to reassess his daily routine and approach to his goals. The artist acknowledged that he was not living up to his own expectations, leading to a pivotal realization: the struggle was me against me. He chose to radically prioritize himself and his well-being, initiating a difficult but necessary overhaul of his habits and environment to pursue his authentic self.

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Process and Purity in the Art For Bangz, his art is irrevocably tied to his reality. His music is fundamentally a form of reportage, a chronicle of his authentic, lived experience. This commitment to honesty is a core tenet of his career and something he vows will never stop. His track, "I'll Make It," embodies this ethos. While he recognizes he has achieved a level of success, the song serves as a powerful reminder—a mantra, even—that the work is perpetual. It underlines the necessity of persistent effort and the acceptance of new challenges on a boundless journey. Crucially, this reportage requires experience. Bangz adheres to a philosophy that he must live extensively before he records. His creative process is therefore cyclical: he gathers life experiences—he lives, learns, and engages—and only then does he step into the studio to translate those moments into his music. He has always maintained his autonomy, staying true to his own lane and resisting the urge to follow musical trends, talking about what he chooses, when he chooses.

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The DNA of Houston, his hometown, remains imprinted on his work. While his recent projects may not strictly conform to traditional "Houston culture," they are driven by the city's inherent spirit: the hustler’s mind frame. This ambition is a tribute to the legacy of Texas artists who built their careers from the ground up, selling their music directly to fans in the street. Despite his passion for creation, he holds a starkly critical view of the music business, describing the industry as being run by "terrible people." He speaks frankly about the systemic issues that prevent artists—particularly young, emerging talent—from receiving the financial and professional respect they deserve. This unwavering honesty about the business contrasts sharply with the integrity he brings to his music. To facilitate his new, organized lifestyle, Bangz has made a significant commitment to physical discipline, transitioning to 5 A.M. gym sessions. This dedication is more than just fitness; it is a structural pillar for his productivity. By carving out time early in the day for rigorous exercise and organization, he ensures these necessary routines do not encroach upon the dedicated time he needs for recording and pursuing his artistic goals. Kirko Bangz’s journey is a refreshing testament to genuine character in a music industry often defined by artifice. His deliberate transition from a talented artist to a strategically organized leader offers a hopeful model for the next generation of creatives.

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Ife Ogunjobi is a name familiar to anyone who knows about jazz music in the UK. As a trumpet player, composer, and producer, he understands the power of music and its effect on people. Having played instruments since the age of five, he didn't realise that experiencing Hugh Masekela live as a ten-year-old child was what shifted something within him.  “When I heard him play the trumpet live, it was something I'd never heard before, and I was drawn to it”, he explains about his early experience with the instrument. 

The rest is history, as he has since become a key member of the Mercury Prize Award-winning jazz collective Ezra Collective and has also joined the likes of Burna Boy, Wizkid, and Dave on stage. As a musician, Ife is somebody whose influences range from the likes of King Sunny Adé, Fela Kuti, Ebenezer Obey to Miles Davis, Tems, Dave, Skepta, Kendrick Lamar and Anderson.Paak to name a few. All of them represent the different parts of Ife’s musical identity and are presented on his upcoming EP, Tell Them I’m Here. The EP is a follow-up to his 2023 debut STAY TRUE.

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As you press play on the five-track EP. You are presented with the vastness and richness of his musicality, primarily expressed through his trumpet, set against a production that captures aspects of Highlife, Afrobeats, Jazz, R&B, and Hip-Hop, all of which are stunningly captured across the project.

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Beginning with “East Street Market” and ending with “Real One”, the EP not only transports sonically but also visually across the inspirations and locations that set the tone and form the scenes presented on the project.

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Tell Them I''m Here feels like something new and modern whilst also capturing an element of nostalgia with an ode to Ife’s musical upbringing and his sonic DNA. It is a celebration of his identity, embodying freedom and his ability to express himself in any way that feels true to his identity as an African musician in the new UK Jazz space.

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Ahead of his November release, we spoke with Ife about everything from his musical roots and cultural identity in relation to his music, playing the trumpet and what it means to be a trumpet player, performing with the likes of Burna Boy and Wizkid, the EP, the importance of staying true to one's identity and what it means to be a Jazz musician.

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Hi Ife, first of all, it is great to be speaking with you. I wanted to start with the visuals for the project. When you listen to the EP, you can easily picture what the songs sound and look like. So how did you come to think of the visuals for this EP?

Yeah, it was really exciting on this project to be able to incorporate all the visuals. With my music, especially with instrumental music, there are no words, so there's so much room for interpretation. Music is one art form of communicating, and visuals are another way of doing it. The two of them working hand in hand to tell one story is really powerful. For example, with “East Street Market”, even though there are no visuals for it, I can paint a picture in my head of what it would look like. Even when I'm writing, I can literally see things. So when we're making that song, it just felt like a market to me, the closest reference I have to a marketplace that I go to all the time was East Street Market. That kind of energy, how busy it is,  all the madness that goes on in that market. It felt like that track really, really represented it well. A lot of the time, my music paints pictures in my mind, and hopefully, it does the same for the listener, giving you room to explore and interpret things in your own way. In “Zimbabwe”, again, the way we wanted to create the visuals, I wanted that energy of everyone just literally having a party; there wasn't actually too much to it, but it's more like the song just gives me a bounce and an infectious groove that I can't escape. So I wanted that to be represented in the visuals. It's just ways of enhancing the music and telling the same story it tells. But now, rather than just music, people have the visuals to accompany it.

When you're writing the music, do you tend to put together mood boards, anything visual that informs you of the type of story you want to tell, or the picture that you want to paint with your music? Or is that something that comes out as you're making the songs?

It happens in different ways. With this project, it happened as we were making it. I could see the picture as it was being made. So, for example, with “East Street Market,” I started the song with my friend Gaten Judd, who was the producer on it. He came into the session, and as he was walking in, I was playing old school Highlife songs on YouTube, like King Sunny Adé and Ebenezer Obey. We didn't have a plan in our minds to make that kind of song; we were just going to make something from scratch. However, because of what was playing, we started making a song, and it became “East Street Market”. It was subconsciously in the back of our minds: the energy of highlife, even though it's not really a highlife song, still has that highlife vibe with the guitar and everything on it. As we're making it, I could see it sounding like something I could see, like it sounds like a place I know. And then I started associating that place with East Street Market. So then, because I knew what it looked like, I understood what it needed to sound like and the kind of energy I wanted the track to have.

In your mind, where do you feel like the marriage and your visuals come together in how you saw them for this EP?

With my music, whenever I'm trying to make music, it's not just something where I'm gonna put this out, and then everyone's gonna forget about it in like, four months or whatever. I always try to make timeless music that represents where I'm at in this moment in time. So that anybody who goes back and listens to it will find it still relevant. It still tells a story. Then, with the visuals as well, I give the visuals their own character, so everything works together.

Going all the way back to the beginning of this EP, where did it begin, and how did it come together?

The project started from a conversation I had with my good friend Gaeten, who wrote and produced the EP with me. We were talking about the kind of music I listen to, and many of my influences come from Afrobeats, hip-hop, and different UK-produced music. To tell the story of who I am and present myself musically, I needed to find a way to incorporate that into my music. It was about finding a way to incorporate the energy of where we are now in 2025 into the music, while balancing it with all of my older references. So I feel like this project truly does represent me, because you've got everything that's old school, from King Sunny Ade to Fela Kuti to Miles Davis and Bob Marley, all those older references which have now been mixed in with my new references, stuff like Burna Boy, Wizkid, Tems, Skepta, Kendrick Lamar and Anderson .Paak. And really bringing those worlds together. That is really what represents me as a person, and that's what comes through the music. 

You are known to be a trumpet player, and so, for you, what was it that first made you pick up the trumpet and select that to be the instrument you knew you wanted to play? How did that start for you? 

I started doing music from as young as I can remember. My mom got me involved in music school and playing instruments from around age five or so. I played the piano when I was really, really young, but I didn't start playing the trumpet until later. It was around the age of 10 that I saw Hugh Masekela perform live, and when I heard him play the trumpet live, it was something I'd never heard before. The energy and the sound of the trumpet were entirely new for me, and I was drawn to it as soon as I heard it. After I saw that performance, I wanted to start playing trumpet, because the trumpet has such a unique sound that you can tell a story in that instrument in a way that you couldn't do on other instruments. And then from then, the rest is history. When I play trumpet now, a lot of it is based on that initial encounter that I had with the trumpet, and in trying to tell my own story and show my own personality through that instrument, because that's what initially drew me to the instrument in the first place.

Having played it for as long as you have, what would you say you have learned, not just in terms of the technical skill of playing the instrument, but what has playing the trumpet taught you? 

The biggest lesson I've learned through my years playing the instrument is that you have to tell your own story through that instrument. There are so many trumpet players out there in the world. Hundreds of thousands of people play the instrument. But what is it about it when you play trumpet that defines your sound, and that's the most important thing. I know they are better trumpet players than I in the world, but as long as I'm trying to be my authentic self through the instrument, nobody else can really replicate that. So there's no point in my trying to play like somebody else, because they can already do that better than I. I have to focus on what I'm trying to say through the instrument and make sure it's communicated to whoever's listening. Whenever I play now, whether it's recorded or whether it's live, I'm always trying to connect with the audience and really make them engage with the story I'm telling through the instrument. And that's what music is meant to do at the end of the day, it's meant to make you feel something.

Through your own development and growth as a musician, discovering the type of music you wanted to make, how was the process of finding your sound and developing it into the style you play now? 

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I definitely discovered my style of music later, from when I started playing. In the beginning, when you are learning music and learning how to play instruments, a lot of it is about imitation. So you copy something else to learn, and then you repeat it back. I got to know the kind of music I wanted to play when I started playing a lot with Burna Boy and Wizkid and doing those shows. When I was playing live, it dawned on me that this is such a big part of who I am as a person. I'd been doing jazz for so long, and then when I was doing those tours, I just completely forgot. I've been listening to Don’t Dull by Wizkid since I was a child. I've been listening to Burna Boy and Wizkid for years. So, getting that Afrobeats influence and all the influences I had growing up became much more important to me because I realised this was a whole other part of my personality that I wasn't really tapping into. So then I just made a conscious choice to balance both sides of this, because they both represent me in different ways. Like, you can't get Ife without jazz, and you also can't get Ife without Afrobeats, hip hop, grime, or funky house. It doesn't exist. Now, when I'm making music, my main focus is generally to be myself, unapologetically, and the only way I can do that musically is by drawing on all the different influences I have. So that is the thought process that made me start interjecting these influences and genres into my music. And that's kind of why my music and how my jazz influence changed slightly from being just jazz to being more of a multi-genre type of music. 

As you’ve spoken about performing with Wizkid and Burna Boy. You are somebody who has been on many stages around the world and played with many artists and other musicians. So, how would you say you have been able to develop your performance style and how that has grown through the years?

As an instrumentalist, live music has always been a massive part of my life and what I do. So whenever I'm stepping into that realm, I'm always just curious about new things that are popping up. And a lot of the music I play thrives when it's live. Studio music is great and beautiful, but listening to recorded music and listening to music live are different things and different experiences. The live experience involves considering the elements and energy you can bring from recording the song in the studio to the live performance. I think that's the essence of playing live, and I've been very privileged to perform with the likes of Burna Boy, Wizkid, Ezra Collective and what makes all of those people such great performers in their own right is that they're able to get the energy from the songs that they recorded. They bring an energy that you can't feel through a speaker. You can only feel it when it's live. The biggest challenge and importance when you're playing live music is to bring a different kind of energy. It's like getting another perspective or aspect of the song when you attend the live show.

The title of this EP is called Tell Them I’m Here. In relation to this music and this project, what does the title mean, and how does it capture the essence of what you want people to take from when they listen to this EP?

It is literally showing people this is what I'm about. This is all the influences, all the sounds you're hearing, the way I put it together with the visuals and everything. This is who I am, in a nutshell. And it's me putting that personality and that identity into the world. But then also it has a bit of of a dual meaning, because now that I've had the confidence to put that out into the world, the meaning of Tell Them I'm Here is almost like I hope somebody else who has a dream or any ambition to do their own project, whether it be music or whatever it is, just in life, when you have an idea or an ambition. You're really passionate about it and really convinced about it, you have to be so headstrong about it, to the point that people think you're almost delusional, like this guy's crazy. Why is he still talking about this project that nobody cares about? Because it's like, unless you have that kind of confidence. You may not realise your dreams, but everybody's got their own story to tell. Everyone's got their own dreams and ambitions. So Tell Them I'm Here is almost a motto for life. It's more about not living, not spending your life living someone else's story, telling someone else's story, or listening to what people should tell you to do. You have to live your life the way you want to, how you see it, pursuing your own dreams and ambitions. Because everybody's story is different and unique, and that's the most important thing. So that's the dual meaning of Tell them I'm Here. It's an introduction of what I'm about, but it's also a message for people to be their unapologetic selves truly.

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Where did you record the project?

It was made and recorded in London, but a lot of the writing process was done everywhere whilst I was on tour. There are many times when London is the base. But in terms of when I'm writing the songs or writing melodies, I'm always travelling, and I get inspiration at really, really weird and sometimes random times. So, for example, I'll be on a plane and for some reason the melody will hit me then. So then I have to record it on my phone so I don't forget it. Or I'll be in a hotel in a different country, and then I'll have inspiration. Often at night, right before I'm about to go to bed, when you're switching off and your mind is quiet, I get inspiration at that time as well. So inspiration comes at different times, and when I get it, I record it properly in London. But the actual creative part of it is always in different places.

As someone who expresses yourself through instruments, how have you been able to tap into that emotional side of yourself and then put it into your music? Is it an easy process for you because you've been doing it for such a long time? Or does it come as you get older, naturally expressing your thoughts, feelings, and emotions?

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It's something that came a bit later because, as someone who makes instrumental music, it's very easy for me to make a song, and it doesn't mean anything. It's very easy to do that, because I don't have to put words to it. However, instrumental music, because there are no words or lyrics, forces you to think as a listener. If they are lyrics and words, they've told you already what to think, so you can relate to the feelings and emotions that are being expressed or spoken about because you know what they are. With instrumental music, if you really listen to it properly, you have to search for the feelings and emotions in there and as a listener, you're forced to say let me make my own story based on what this has given me, and it can almost take you to a different, deeper space in the song. Sometimes, if you can't communicate it with words, use music, art, or visuals; it's like a different way of describing something. And for me 

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With this EP and the process of how you made it, you’ve spoken about “East Street Market” and “Zimbabwe”, but in terms of the other songs on the project, can you talk us through the other tracks, in terms of how you made those ?

For “Cali”, the song I did with Samm Henshaw, I actually made a beat before the session. I was listening to some random Anderson .Paak song and trying to capture that LA West Coast hip hop energy in my music. So I was making a couple of beats and brought them to the session as a demo. And then from there, we came up with another idea, which ended up being "Cali". I remember when I first heard "Don't Leave," I kind of brushed it aside and thought, I'll look at this later. I'll focus on something else, but then later on, I came back to it, and I was like, this is a really special song, and we should make something out of this. I remember that session; we were trying to make something else, but ended up making "Don't Leave" instead. And then “Real one”, I was into a lot more azz and a lot more R&B. I know I definitely started with the baseline on that one, and trying to get in like a, almost like a jazz R&B kind of energy. So that one kind of started like that, and then as it started taking shape. It kind of found its own awareness identity. But it started with that bass line and getting on, like an R&B kind of energy as well.

With you being in this moment, and with the EP coming up. How does this moment feel for you right now in your journey? How does he feel this represents where you are and where you are in your story?

It feels very assured. Like, I really do know myself. I know the kind of identity I have, and I know the kind of person I am. It's almost like the building blocks of what's to come. Even in 4, 5, 6, or 7 years, no matter what projects and stuff I put out, this project will still hold weight. The message will still be relevant: be yourself, don't try to be anybody else, and don't care what people say about you —focus only on what you're trying to do. And I feel like even in 10 years, that's still going to be relevant. So it feels like this project is the building blocks for me to move forward and create more, and it's still relevant today. It's the start of, yeah, kind of a new journey, basically. So that's kind of how it feels for me right now.

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Tell Them I’m Here is out on November 14th. 

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In an age when music is more than sound, the way an artist brings a record into the world matters as much as the music itself. A rollout has become an art form, part theatre, part comedy, part cinema, part stunt. It gives an album a skin, a story, and a mood that shape how people experience the listening. However, it appears that one truth holds: we don’t release music the same way anymore. Rollout is art, and it demands to be seen.

One of the clearest examples of this art right now is Sarz. For over a decade, Sarz has been one of Afrobeats’ defining producers, shaping sounds for Wizkid, Niniola, and Lojay, among many others. But his latest project, ‘Protect Sarz at All Costs’, is not arriving as just another producer compilation. It is being staged like a cinema. Confirmed collaborators include Asake, Ayra Starr, Lojay, Big Sean and Gunna, names that signal both deep Afrobeats roots and global pop ambition.

The rollout is built around small, sharp, repeatable moments that add up to a larger feeling. In one clip, comedian Layi Wasabi stars in a movie showing at a cinema where Sarz is on a date. Layi, the star of the show, is at the point where he eliminates his opponents and ends the movie, but he is annoyed, and he demands that the soundtrack be played. That soundtrack, of course, is Sarz’s upcoming record. The video works on multiple levels. It is funny, it is shareable, and it makes a point. This is not only music, it is an event. The language of “soundtrack” matters here. By framing the album as cinematic, Sarz places listeners inside a scene before the first chorus even arrives. The rollout turns anticipation into content, and content into conversation.

Equally important is tone. Sarz’s vignettes are comic, mischievous, and recognisable, grounded in everyday humour rather than solemn declarations. That human touch is what gives them power. The rollout promises a crossover in sound and scope, but it does so by making listeners laugh and lean in. When the record lands, it will feel curated, inevitable, and deserved.

Across the Atlantic, Cardi B is playing in an entirely different register but with the same understanding of rollout as art. Her long-awaited sophomore album, ‘Am I the Drama?’, dropped on 19th September 2025, and she announced it with theatre rooted in hustle and humour. In one viral video, Cardi spreads a blanket on the pavement and pretends to sell vinyl and CDs herself, captioning it with a tongue-in-cheek line about her label forcing her to move units in the street. The gesture is comic, but it also recalls an older music economy, when artists literally sold their work hand-to-hand.

She has also leaned into reclamation. Cardi released special courtroom-themed covers for the album, referencing her own viral trial moments that dominated the news cycle in 2025. By turning screenshots and memes into official art, she flips a messy real-life narrative into controlled self-branding, transforming scandal into merchandise, pain into performance, and spectacle into ownership. That same instinct for spectacle showed up again when she set a Guinness World Record with Walmart, delivering ‘Am I the Drama?’ albums by drone to fans in one hour. The stunt turned distribution itself into performance, making even logistics part of the Cardi show.

Placed side by side, Sarz and Cardi show the elasticity of rollout. Sarz uses cinematic comedy to invite the audience into a soundtrack before the music drops. Cardi uses street theatre and courtroom memes to pull listeners into her lived drama. Both strategies flatten the distance between artist and audience. Both say: do not just stream the music, be part of the story.

And there is precedent for this. In 2016, Frank Ocean made mystique itself a rollout device, live-streaming the construction of a staircase in the visual album Endless before unveiling Blonde the next day. He turned withholding into revelation. Beyoncé turned rollout into a spectacle. The 2013 surprise release of ‘Beyoncé’ changed industry norms overnight, and Lemonade fused visual album, narrative control, and cultural punctuation mark. Kendrick Lamar primes audiences with cryptic billboards and teasers that feel like puzzles, turning fans into co-authors of anticipation. Dave in the UK mirrors the thoughtfulness of his music with short films and weighty interviews that serve as scaffolding before the first listen. Burna Boy expanded Afrobeats into global conversation with African Giant, using visuals, politics, and fashion to elevate the album into a statement about identity and presence.

These examples illustrate that rollout is not gimmickry. It is framing. A great rollout can do three things. First, it creates desire beyond what a press release can. Second, it shapes interpretation by starting the narrative before the music plays. Third, it makes the release communal, giving fans the sense of being part of a ritual, not just consumers of content.

That communal edge is crucial. When Cardi sets up shop on the pavement, she roots her album in the street. When Sarz stages a skit in a cinema, he insists the music belongs to the public experience. These gestures collapse hierarchy, making artists feel present, playful, and accessible.

Of course, rollout as art carries risk. Mystique without payoff can curdle into arrogance. Comedy without substance can feel desperate. Frank Ocean’s ‘Blonde’ worked because the music matched the weight of its unveiling. Beyoncé can drop surprises because her vault is vast and her storytelling airtight. For smaller artists, theatrics must never overshadow the record itself.

For Sarz, the fit feels perfect. His sound has always been lush and cinematic, and staging a rollout as miniature films is not a stunt but an extension of his art. For Cardi, too, the choices feel right. Her brand is built on authenticity, humour, and self-possession. Turning courtroom headlines into album covers is risky, but it is also quintessential Cardi: loud, self-aware, and impossible to ignore.

What these cases show is a new grammar for releasing records. The album is no longer an isolated object. It can be a film, a joke, a meme, a ritual, or a conversation starter. Success is not only a chart peak. It is also the viral skit that feels true, the pop-up that sparks a group-chat debate, the cultural moment fans remember being part of.

Sarz is teaching this in the language Afrobeats knows best: humour, storytelling, and communal experience. Cardi is teaching it in the language hip-hop knows best: hustle, spectacle, and reclamation. Together, they remind us that rollout done right is not marketing at all. It is art.

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Stylish. Elegant. Fashionable. That’s the definition of ‘Chèlbè’, the title of Lou Phelps’ 11-track sophomore album. A pioneer of the dance-rap fusion many now call “bounce” music, Lou Phelps has been steadily defining his imprint on world music and with the release of Chèlbè, the time is now and has never felt more right. 

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From start to finish, the project maintains the head-nodding energy that’s become synonymous with Lou Phelps and with a healthy dose of Haitian cultural influence, Chèlbè offers a window into the heart of Montreal’s identity - a city Phelps describes as “a melting pot of influence.” 

Lou Phelps' rise has been shaped by both talent and authenticity. From his early days with The Celestics to his solo work, his sound has always reflected his charisma and cultural roots. With Chèlbè, he steps fully into his own, blending classic rap, bounce, and Haitian influences into a style that feels as vibrant and self-assured as he is. 

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Deeds Magazine sat down with the star, to unpack his project and all that sits awaiting.

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What was it like to have Chèlbè out in the world, because this has been a few years in the making hasn’t it?

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Man, it feels nice, and I think the people received it well.  I'm very happy with that, but I try not to follow the stats as I love the album from head-to-toe. 

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Talk to me about the word Chèlbè, and do you feel the album encompasses this word sonically?

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For the album I tried to capture that and the vibes I've lived, and that was pretty much the idea behind the album. It does the job well, and I think it sounds how Chèlbè should. To me, it feels very reminiscent of the early Odd Future days and that’s what I used to listen to, when I was growing up, so I made music for what I would listen to if I were a fan of me, you know? 

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Bounce is how you’ve always described your music, it’s almost like a version of G-Funk but Montreal style, especially when listening to ‘PIMP Freestyle’, do you feel there’s been a shift in popularity of Bounce in recent years?

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Every big artist has been making songs with some sort of bounce to it, particularly in the hip-hop genre. When I think about Anderson .Paak, one of his first songs I ever heard was, ‘Am I Wrong (feat. Schoolboy Q)’ and then there was ‘Come Down’, and they were bouncy songs that make you nod your head. It's funky. I think rappers want to explore that a bit more, and can they do it? Can they execute it? Who knows? I stuck to the plan. I just kept doing what I do.

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I think this style is suited to you, and not many other people can rap on those sorts of beats, because it's not for everyone. However, Goldlink works well…

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Goldlink is the only rapper that raps on those types of beats, well one that I can stand for a whole album. Ever since he first started, I've been telling Kay (Kaytranada) “Yo, we gotta work with him”. And then we got him on The Celestics tape - he was like my first ever feature outside of Montreal people. Now we are here again, it's like we’re starting back.

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Since we last caught up, has Chèlbè undergone any evolutions?

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The last time we spoke was when I released ‘Jungle’, right? Yeah. The album I was going to release had a few songs that I dropped as singles in there. We had this crazy transition from ‘2am Interlude’ into ‘Touché’, but we had to drop it because it was too long and I didn't want to have half of the album out already. There's a few songs I left off and then there's the extra song in the vinyl as well. We’re going to drop a deluxe soon, a deluxe album with the instrumentals and I don't know if you heard my tape that I dropped on Bandcamp. It's called SUGE, which is an acronym for Stand Up Guy Entertainment- a label that I want to start.

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Do you think you have a responsibility as an artist to put Montreal on the map?

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There's a lot of talent in Montreal, and I'll do my best to put it on display. The thing with Montreal is that everyone wants to be the first one to do stuff. I'm the type of person that doesn't want to do what everyone wants to do, so I'm just letting them do what whatever they want to do with the whole who's the king of Montreal type of thing. I'm not with those types of antics, I'm just here to do music. Then if you want help, I can help you, because we're in proximity, but then if you don't put the effort, or you don't take it seriously, I'm not going to help - I'm saying this as if I'm like a OG. On a whole though, I would definitely love to be the guy that's like, “Montreal, here's this artist”.

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What was the track where everything just clicked on the album, when you almost knew the direction that it needed to go in the creative process?

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‘Prolly Us’ which was originally called BBW love, and I was trying to be clever because the meaning was ‘Bad Bitches Want Love’. When I heard the sound of that beat, I was like, “Nah, this has to be the sound of the album” - a dancy sample based album. Jungle came around, then ‘After i (feat. Goldlink)’ and then ‘I Dunno’. As much as I wanted a dance-based album, I thought you wouldn’t play this at the club, you would play this while you get ready or when you wind down driving back home. I love club music however people don't necessarily want to hear lyrical stuff. There's specific songs that they listen to. I prefer a bit more substance in my music a tiny bit more.

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What song on the album means the most to you?

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Under My Skin (feat. Nono Black) because I remember that session and it was smooth. The beat was made and I was like “let me try something”. I tried it and it was pretty fire. And then, or, either, either under my skin. If not that song, then ‘AftaParty’ because the first verse is Kay's verse. Kay was like, “You should rap my verse.” And I was like, “Alright, cool”. We were in the studio together, and we made the song together. It felt right. This is a special song to me.

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Reflecting on your most recent tour, were there any unexpected moments that's reshaped your perspective?

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I didn't expect people to like ‘IS MY MIC ON’ that much. Every time I played ‘PIMP Freestyle’ which really is a freestyle like you just saw the heads bopping, you know, because there was like a pause in between the song before, where I break to cool down. But then once the beat hits, you see the crowd moving their head, and then side to side. I'm like, okay, like, I did my job

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Is there a moment in the album where you delved into your identity?

I spit a few Creole bars and try to sprinkle a little bit more of my identity. I would say, ‘Is My Mic On’ is the one song where I'm 100% me. This is like, let's talk about my past, let's talk about where I want to go and let's talk about me identity. Every song to me sounds better in English, completely in English. But when I blend English and Creole, I feel like it's just like a unique touch of mine. I just want to find a way to be creative and have my own identity when it comes to being a rapper, and that's pretty much why I do it, and that's why the English and Creole works well. 

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Do you think bounce as a genre carries the essence and influence of like 80s music?

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I think it does, especially like when you talk about songs like ‘PROLLY US’. I remember showing my Dad that song for the first time, and he was like “Yo, this is about to be a hit. This about to be crazy”. He never really reacts to any of my music like that. But on bounce, Kaytranda’s drums are the music - his instrumentals are Caribbean inspired, and it carries a lot of the Haitian roots in there. It’s not like I'm doing trap music. It's not American. It's not Canadian sounding. The music is like a representation of what a kid from the suburbs of Montreal would listen to when they’re inspired by J Dilla, Karriem Riggins or Madlib.

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What's the mindset do you normally have to get in make sure that you're in that creative zone?

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I have to listen to a lot of beats and then once I hear the beat that makes me feel some type of way about it. I'm not going to rap on any beat. It has to be special. Once I feel that special spark, I start toplining, which is where you lay down the flow of the song, or how you want to rap something. Then come the lyrics once that’s locked in.

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Now that you put the album out this year what is the next step in terms of evolving your sound and where do you see yourself going with your music?

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I would love to be in sessions with other producers, and other artists and instrumentalists, so I can soak up the most knowledge I can before it's too late. Rap has an expiry date, and you have a few years if you're not unique with your shit. 

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Credits 

Photographer: Clare Setian @claresetian

Creative Director: Clare Setian @claresetian and Zekaria Al-Bostani - @zek.snaps.

Producer: Seneo Mwamba @seneomwamba

Hair stylist : Gaia Bezbradica @gaia_maua

Grooming: Afsha Kabani @afshaartistry

Stylist: Josh T Arimoro @joshtarimoro 

Movement Director: Ayanna Birch @ayannabirch_

BTS: Naomi Nwabuisi @naomivds 

Creative Assistant: Whitney Sanni @its.whit_

Writer: Josh Clubbe @joshclubbe

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For Zeze Millz, the power of conversation began at home. “I was always surrounded by opinionated women,” she recalls. “My mum, my aunties, they’d be debating, talking about the world, and I’d just be sitting there listening.” That chorus of voices — unfiltered, honest, deeply engaged — would later become the foundation of Zeze’s own mission: to create spaces for open, and unapologetic cultural dialogue. Her journey began, almost accidentally, when she spoke out about a night she and a friend were turned away from a club. What might have been just another moment of casual discrimination became something larger. “That was the first time I realised people were listening,” she says.

“Women started messaging me, thanking me for speaking up. It clicked that there are so many people who feel the same but don’t have the platform, or maybe the courage to say it.” That moment sparked a media platform built on truth-telling, and visibility. Through her show and her commentary online, Zeze became a voice that represented both the rawness and nuance of Black British culture — a voice that dared to speak when others stayed silent. “You have to be fearless,” she says. “And resilient. Because everyone has an opinion, if you’re going to move culture forward, you have to stand ten toes down in what you believe.”

But with visibility came fatigue. Like many digital commentators, Zeze quickly realised the emotional cost of being constantly ‘on’. “There was a time people expected me to react to every topic,” she admits. “But you can’t die on every hill. You’ll burn out.” That awareness of her own mental and emotional boundaries has shaped the way she works today. She no longer chases the discourse. Instead, she curates it, setting her own pace. “If something happens on a Monday, you might have to wait till Friday to hear what I think,” she laughs. “And that’s okay.”

It’s a mindset rooted in something deeper than ambition. When Zeze speaks about success, she doesn’t mention fame or visibility. “Success, to me, is autonomy,” she says. “Freedom with my time. Financial freedom. That’s the goal. I’ve never been the person who wants to wake up at 7 a.m. every day. I just wanted a life where I could choose how my day goes.” That sense of freedom runs through her newest venture: DaZe Walking, a community dog-walking collective inspired by her beloved Chug pup, Dave. The name itself, a blend of her nickname Zeze and Dave, doubles as a metaphor. “When you go on a walk, you can either go into a daze, or you can come out of one,” she says. “It’s about being present, being outside, reconnecting with real life.”

The project is simple on the surface — monthly walks through London’s green spaces — but it carries quiet intention: it’s about wellness, mental health, physical health, community; it’s about breaking stereotypes around Black people and pets; and it’s about reminding people that connection doesn’t always need Wi-Fi. “We’re all so used to watching each other through screens,” she says. “No one really talks anymore. So this is my way of bringing people back into real time.”

In the imagery promoting DaZe Walking, shot by Deeds creative director Zekaria Al-Bostani, Zeze radiates calm confidence: stylish, grounded, and entirely herself. “I just wanted it to feel cool,” she laughs. “Even down to the grading of it. I love fashion, and I’ve built a nice wardrobe over the years, and I wanted that to show as well.” Because walking your dog can be fly too.

Beyond the aesthetic, though, is a deeper mission. For Zeze, giving back doesn’t have to mean grand foundations or million-pound programs. “Community can be small,” Zeze explains. “It can be ten people who show up for each other. They aren't about massive numbers. They're about creating spaces where people can laugh, escape, and feel at peace — even if it's just for an hour.”

In that sense, DaZe Walking isn’t just about dogs or walks, even. It’s a continuation of the same work she’s always done: creating space. Space for conversation, for healing, for joy. Space to be seen, and heard. Space, simply, to breathe – one dog walk at a time.

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For this edition of Through My Lens, we spotlight Kamyiis McLean, a Jamaican-born photographer based in New York City whose work redefines the narrative of Black identity in fashion and portraiture. Guided by purpose and anchored in faith, Kamyiis captures beauty with depth, emotion, and intentionality. His images do more than showcase, they speak, heal, and remind us of who we are.

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

“My name is Kamalio, but most people know me as Kamyiis. I was born and raised in Jamaica and now reside in NYC. I am a photographer whose work is rooted in the celebration of Black identity. Growing up, I didn’t see much representation, especially in the fashion industry. Black beauty wasn’t highlighted in the way it deserved, and our stories weren’t being told with the depth and care they carried.

That absence became my drive. Through my lens, I honor Black beauty, showcasing how rich, ethereal, powerful, and dominant it truly is. My work leans into the avant-garde and the poetic because I believe a photograph should be more than an image; it should be a story. Each frame I create carries emotion, depth, and meaning. A single photograph can speak volumes, and I want mine to echo with the truth, beauty, and brilliance of Black identity.”

Why is it important for you to create photography that holds meaning or impact?

“For me, photography is not about creating something pretty for the sake of aesthetics. It’s about weight, history, and resonance. A photo should be something you can cherish, something that lingers long after the moment has passed.

I’ve always believed that an image can shift perception. If someone is struggling to see their own beauty, a photograph has the power to reflect it back to them, to show them what they couldn’t see in themselves. That’s the impact I want my work to carry. My images are not just pictures; they’re stories that speak, heal, inspire, and remind us of who we are. That’s what makes photography meaningful.”

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

“My work always returns to themes of identity, representation, and emotion. I want to capture the layers of Black beauty; the richness of melanin, the elegance, the resilience, the softness, the ethereal power.

I approach photography as if I’m writing poetry in light. Each image should feel timeless, like it carries a piece of history and a piece of the future. I want my work to be felt, not just seen. So I lean into emotion — pride, vulnerability, joy, glory because those are the truths that connect us. Through my lens, Black identity becomes not just visible but celebrated in its fullness.”

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

“Beyond the lens, I’m a man of faith and a believer. I live my life chasing after what God has for me. At my core, I’m humble, kind, and passionate about helping others grow, especially when I see potential in them. I want people to know that I’m someone with a heart for people, someone who genuinely wants to see others rise and walk into their purpose.”

Can you share a moment or experience that shaped your journey as a photographer?

“I’ve had many experiences, but one that will stay with me forever happened recently. There was a young girl in my church, only 11 years old, who struggled deeply with her beauty. She would cry to her mom, saying she wasn’t pretty, and she was being bullied at school. But every time I saw her, I could see what she couldn’t: her skin, her features, her very presence — everything about her was beautiful.

So I created a shoot just for her. I wanted her to see herself the way the world should see her — radiant, enough, more than enough. It was my first time photographing a child, but I knew it was something I had to do.

I shared the shoot on TikTok, and it went viral. The outpouring of love was incredible. People from all over the world reached out to say those images and my words, especially when I said ‘beauty isn’t something you chase, it’s who you are’, helped them heal their own inner child. Grown women told me they could finally look in the mirror again.

That experience taught me that my photography could be more than visual. It could be healing, deliverance, restoration. It reminded me why I create — because through my lens, I can help people see themselves, love themselves, and know that their beauty is undeniable.”

Through his work, Kamyiis McLean transforms photography into a language of healing and identity. His vision captures not just faces but stories — each one grounded in faith, truth, and emotion. In a world where beauty is often defined by others, Kamyiis reminds us that it already lives within us.

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The kora is one of the most mesmerizing and sophisticated musical instruments in the world. A hallmark of West African heritage, the kora is a 21-stringed instrument that bridges the worlds of harp, lute, and bridge-harp in both form and sound. With its cascading, ethereal tones and intricate playing technique, the kora occupies a sacred space in the musical traditions of the Mandinka people, and its hauntingly beautiful sound continues to captivate global audiences.

The instrument is traditionally associated with the griot (jeli) caste – hereditary musicians, historians, and storytellers responsible for preserving and transmitting oral histories across generations. According to legend, Jali Mady Wuleng Cissoko was the first person to play the kora, and the first piece ever performed on it was "Kelefaba", a song still regarded as foundational in the kora repertoire.

Though deeply rooted in Malian, Gambian, Senegalese, and Guinean culture, the influence of the kora has spread throughout West Africa and beyond, representing a profound expression of identity, memory, and spiritual connection. It's a 21-stringed, harp-like instrument, constructed from a large calabash gourd and a long wooden neck, with strings traditionally made of antelope hide but now often replaced with nylon.

What makes the kora unique is its bilateral playing technique. The musician plucks the strings using the thumb and forefinger of both hands while gripping the hand posts on either side of the neck. This allows for polyphonic textures and complex interlocking rhythms. The kora is far more than a musical instrument—it is a vessel of history, used to accompany epic tales, praise songs, and moral teachings. Griots would sing of ancestral lineages, battles, and local legends, all while weaving together intricate melodic patterns on the kora.

In many communities, the kora is believed to possess spiritual power. It is often played at ceremonial events, including births, weddings, and funerals, where its music serves to connect the physical and spiritual worlds. Its sound is often described as hypnotic, meditative, and transcendental. Though once confined largely to griot families in West Africa, the kora has achieved increasing international acclaim. Artists such as Toumani Diabaté, Ballaké Sissoko, and Seckou Keita have introduced the instrument to global audiences through collaborations with Western classical, jazz, and pop musicians. One notable recent example is the album "African Rhapsodies" by Seckou Keita in collaboration with the BBC Concert Orchestra. This groundbreaking project beautifully fuses the intricate melodies of the kora with sweeping orchestral arrangements, demonstrating how this ancient instrument can adapt to and elevate contemporary music genres.

The kora is a story, a philosophy, and a living link to Africa’s musical soul. Its warm, cascading tones continue to inspire musicians and listeners around the world. As it finds new life in global fusion projects and mainstream music, the kora stands as a testament to the enduring beauty and relevance of Africa’s cultural heritage and with more platforms embracing diverse sounds, now is the time to elevate the kora’s visibility and cement its place as one of the world’s most expressive and enchanting musical instruments.

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When it comes to R&B talent in Canada, Aqyila is a name that cannot be overlooked. Among the likes of Savannah Ré, Dylan Sinclair, and CHXRRY22, Aqyila's presence has transcended borders, bringing a fresh sound to the genre that feels both intimate and expansive.

Press play on her debut album Falling Into Place, and you're immediately transported. The opening track, "Give Me More," sets an ethereal tone that carries throughout the 11-track project. Featuring two of her viral singles, "Bloom" and "Focus," alongside the previously released "Wolf" and "Limbo," the album maintains a gentle yet intentional flow. "The entire album is a seamless flow of positive emotions," Aqyila explains. Threading through themes of heartbreak, self-love, longing, and empowerment, Falling Into Place showcases a sonically and lyrically evolved artist, one who has grown significantly since her previous EP and early releases.

We caught up with Aqyila to discuss the creation of the album, what it means to go viral, her approach to live performance, and what's next.

Having put out your debut album, what about this was different compared to your last EP, For The Better?

Making the EP, I still didn't know what I wanted to really share with people, what I wanted to say in the music or how I wanted it to make people feel. At first, it was really going off vibes. However, with this album, I was very intentional with the songs I picked. I knew I wanted songs that I actually love, which I won't get tired of performing. It feels like an easy listen from top to bottom. I'm somebody who listens to other people's music and critiques it, so I wanted to make sure that when people listen to this, they're going to enjoy it from beginning to end. It's a nice Sunday-type album, you can play it while cleaning your house, when you're in a good mood, or when you have friends over.

You open the album with “Give Me More,” which sets the tone for the rest of the album. How did you select that song to be the one to start the album with?

I created that one on my first and only trip to Atlanta. During my session, when we were working on the song and the producer was adding in birds and all those different layers, including the strings, I had already told my A&R that this song would be opening the album. I’m a huge fan of high-quality production and incorporating texture and other elements into it. I want actual movement in the song as it progresses, especially when it starts to build. So I really loved that intro.

In terms of the production of the album and that aspect of things, what was the intentionality in the process of what you wanted it to sound like and what you wanted that to be?

I wanted people not only to hear the words but also to feel the emotion that I’m putting into the mic. “Give Me More” makes me want to melt, especially with that riff right before the hook; it’s just so pretty and soft. That’s how I felt when I was singing in the studio, and every time I sing it, I’m just smiling. The entire album is a seamless flow of positive emotions. You do have songs where I’m talking about heartbreak, like doubt and questioning things, as seen in “You Got Comfortable,” which, for me, I knew was going to be an interlude on the album. That one came about in a session that was not even supposed to be a session. So a lot of the album went with what I was feeling and how I wanted it to paint a rounded picture in terms of its sound.

How did you find the process of making this album compared to your first EP?

When I made my EP, it was my first body of work in general. And when you’re in the studio, especially in the early days, you’re going to be a bit more shy because it’s a new environment for you. You may not always feel comfortable speaking up and sharing your feelings about certain things. However, for the album, from then and now, I’m much more confident in my voice, what I want, and how I feel about things. Like, if I feel we’re sitting on something and it’s taking too long to come up with an idea, or I don’t feel strong about it, I say, let’s start something different. My confidence has grown significantly. My lyricism, as well as my singing style, has evolved even further, which is amazing. I’m able to project my voice much more, which helps when working with vocal coaches and when learning to practice and train my voice effectively. The process of using my voice more effectively and growing in my ability to create the album was truly beautiful. I really enjoyed creating the album.

And even though you yourself have grown from the EP to this time in making the album, what would you say have been the growth moments you’ve experienced personally?

I’ve trusted myself more, which has led to significant improvement, and I’ve become less preoccupied with my thoughts, allowing me to take action more easily. On this album, what also helped was having a creative director. I worked with Priya Minhas; she’s from the UK, and she’s amazing. She worked on the album and did an incredible job of helping me curate a vision into a tangible, physical form. Seeing my art take physical form has made me think about what I envision conceptually for the next one. Seeing more of my creative ideas come to life has made me more aware of what I can actually do and less afraid to put things out there.

The creativity of the album is very strong throughout—from the artwork and aesthetic to the incorporation of birds and flowers and everything we’ve seen so far. Was that something that came as you were making the music, or was that something that you thought of later in how you wanted to represent the album as a whole?

It was definitely after the fact when I could see where it was going. I knew for sure I was very much into the whole feminine goddess feel, that Grecian vibe. That’s why in “Soar,” when I see that visual, I have a really flowy dress, looking very soft and feminine. Those elements were ones we wanted to lean into because a lot of the music felt very lush and goddess-like. That was definitely a theme we wanted to tap into, just from the essence and feel of the album and what the music sounded like.

How do you find your creative inspiration? Where would that process start for you?

I create numerous Pinterest boards for content ideas, styling, and various other purposes—even outside of music. That’s where it tends to begin for me in any aspect. And that’s how my whole journey started. I went to Pinterest, downloaded the images, and added them to my vision board. I use it to get a feel for a world that I really want this project to live in and then build it from there.

How do you find your musical inspiration in relation to the different types of music that you listen to or even may want to incorporate into your own music?

I listen to a wide range of music all the time, and for me, it’s more about the feeling I connect with. For example, when I listen to someone like Jhené Aiko, I love the way this makes me feel. It’s very soft, very sweet, and introspective. That might be something I want to do, but it’s not necessarily the sound that I’m hearing. It’s more about the feeling, and that’s when I’ll get inspired. Then I’ll pick up my mic and start recording and writing on a beat or something at home. Additionally, when I’m in sessions with other writers, I can always take something from what they bring out, and that might inspire something within myself. Also, traveling is one of my favorite experiences.

Having gone through the experiences and process of making the album, how would you describe the space that you’re in now? What would you say is your current space?

I am continuously evolving and growing. I recall being extremely nervous in my early days about performing, giving interviews, and interacting with people. However, right now, I’m just evolving and learning. Even now, when I think about something like social media—which is the one thing I am trying to tackle—it’s so interesting because people ask me, “How did you make your songs go viral three times?” I don’t know; I wish I knew. I was sitting in front of my camera, putting the lyrics on the screen, and somehow, it just connected. But then I’m also balancing that feeling—thinking that every time I post, this one’s going to be the one that goes viral—because then I start not to enjoy social media. So it’s just staying connected to the feeling of loving these songs no matter what. And if it’s going to connect with somebody, that is the goal. If it connects with hundreds of thousands of people, that’s even better. But my music ends up finding the right people anyway.

What can we expect from the live show?

I’m excited to build the flow of the setlist, especially with a live band—like drums and guitar—and really be able to sing all of these songs live. It’s great because it’s also really R&B, so I can get really soulful with it now. What I love about live shows, too, is that it’s an artistic way to take a different approach to the song. So it’s not the same. Maybe there’s a sick step-up in the song, or there’s a key change, or, you know what I mean, things like that. Those types of elements—other songs, they blend other stuff—yeah, stuff like that. That’s my vibe.

For anyone whose first introduction to you might be through listening to this album, what do you want them to take away from this album and who you are right now?

The title itself, Falling Into Place, suggests that we’re all on our own journeys, and we don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle like life. Oftentimes, we take a turn and do something different. The songs on there are really relatable. There is relationship content on there, and there are moments that promote self-love. And then you’ve got the moments about love. Overall, these are excellent moods that people feel, much like human emotions, which can evoke a range of different feelings.

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What are you most looking forward to in terms of the next chapter of Aqyila’s journey?

Creating more music, performing it, and making new connections in life—whether with friends, artists, songwriters, producers, and so on. I want to build a really strong sense of community around me with people who just vibe—vibe with the music, come out to the shows, and want to do the meet and greets. Things like that are my next goal: to really build that.

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There's something about a tour finale that just hits different. Maybe it’s knowing this is the last night, or maybe it’s the way the crowd and artist feed off each other’s energies when everyone is fully present. Whatever it was, when Coco Jones took the stage at Camden’s Roundhouse to close her “Why Not More” European Tour, you could feel it in the room. This was going to be special. And boy, were we there to witness and bring you all the gist.

Draped in a dazzling red jumpsuit that caught every stage light like scattered diamonds, Jones commanded the historic venue with the confidence of an artist who has finally stepped into her full power. For those who witnessed her debut London show at KOKO back in 2023, the transformation was undeniable. The promising talent who graced that more intimate stage has evolved into a fully formed performer.

The Grammy Award-winning songstress has travelled a road less straightforward than most. From her early days as a Disney Channel actress to years of navigating an industry that didn't always know what to do with her immense talent, Jones has emerged on the other side with something to prove and the skills to back it up. Her debut album "Why Not More?" was a statement of arrival, and this tour served as its victory lap.

The production choices for the evening were refreshingly minimal, allowing Jones's raw talent to take centre stage. A pair of impeccably synchronized background dancers flanked her throughout the set, their movements adding texture without distraction. Behind them, a raised platform and dynamic backdrop projected shifting visuals that evolved with each song's emotional landscape, creating atmosphere without overwhelming the performance itself.

What truly set the evening apart was Jones's vocal performance. The setlist was a carefully curated journey through her catalogue. "Hit Me Where It Hurts" landed with the emotional weight it demands, while "Nobody Exists" and "Caliber" showcased her ability to navigate complex melodies with ease. "Double Back" got the crowd moving, it was an evening Jones delivered uptempo energy as convincingly as she handled ballads.

What resonated most deeply, perhaps, was Jones's genuine connection with the Camden crowd. Throughout the evening, she expressed heartfelt gratitude for the London audience's support, her appreciation clearly authentic rather than performative. This emotional vulnerability reached its peak before she performed "ICU", the Grammy Award-winning single that helped catapult her to wider recognition.

Coco Jones is not an artist to be underestimated. Her vocal prowess places her among the RnB elite, while her stage presence and artistic vision mark her as someone with staying power.

The "Why Not More" Tour finale at the Roundhouse wasn't just a great concert, it was a declaration. Jones has arrived, and she's here to claim her rightful place among RnB's brightest stars. For those who were there, it was a privilege to witness. For those who missed it, consider this your warning: the next time Coco Jones comes to London, get your tickets early. This is an artist on an upward trajectory, and watching her ascent is one of contemporary music's great pleasures.

When my grandfather died, this was over fifteen years ago, almost twenty now, I learned something important about how we hold each other. I woke up very early, maybe four or five in the morning, and, being honest, I had barely slept when a sudden noise jolted me awake. My Big Mummy, the firstborn, went room to room singing praises of her father in our language.  

I would learn from my Mother later in the day that what she did was called Jikatuwa. Jikatuwa, I write it here the way my family says it, it felt like the sound of the house itself remembering him. Tuwa is the part I can point to in a dictionary: in Bura, tuwa means “to cry.” So loosely translated, jikatuwa is the cry of bereavement offered every day after the death of a parent by their first daughter.  It fits: a ritual cry, a way for the household to make grief visible, to name it out loud.

That morning stayed with me because it showed how music is not an add-on in our lives; it is the thing that organises them. For us Africans, the first impulse at a wedding, a harvest, a new baby, or a funeral is often the same: a song. Clap, shout, dance, cry, music is the grammar we all reach for when we need to speak without always finding the right words. The Bura people I come from are part of a wider web of communities across North-eastern Nigeria; our language, rituals, and dances are tied to place and history in Borno and Adamawa states. That everydayness of music, how it teaches language, history, and social law, is not just feeling; it is also how communities have preserved themselves for centuries. Oral traditions, chants, lullabies, epic songs, and funeral laments are the libraries of many African societies. They carry names, migrations, warnings, jokes, genealogies, recipes, and even maps of the land.

UNESCO calls these oral traditions and expressions central to keeping cultures alive; they are how knowledge is passed from one generation to the next without depending on books. In other words: songs are our textbooks, our archives, and our therapy rooms.

Across West Africa and beyond, griots, jeliw, and oral historians have long been the custodians of memory and moral order. They remind us that music and stories are not only for entertainment; they are social records and, at times, justice. When I sing a song my grandmother taught me, I am doing the same work: carrying information and feeling together, making them available to whoever will listen.

At home, songs taught me language the way school taught me grammar. My Grandmother would start a line in Bura, and my small mouth would fill in the rest. I learned words I had never heard in a classroom, and I learned the weight those words could carry. That is common across Africa: music teaches children idioms, history, religious practice, and a sense of belonging. Recent studies that look at oral traditions and indigenous musical practice show how vital this is for cultural continuity, how songs evolve but still hold on to core ideas. When a woman in a compound begins a praise song, she is doing more than praising; she is updating the family ledger, naming virtues and debts, inviting memory back into the room.

In the Bura culture, there are dances and songs for everything. We have the Bansuwe dance at weddings and other ceremonies; there are praise songs and laments that mark the rhythms of life. We do not separate joy and sorrow into different boxes and then go get music; the music is what lets us be both. Sometimes a funeral becomes a long, fierce concert of memory; sometimes a thank-you at a harvest is a quiet line of singing that lasts until the moon comes up. There are even recordings and collections that capture praise singing and the music of our villages, which is another way this work survives beyond a single household.

I lost my grandmother, my last surviving grandparent, in February, and even though I am very familiar with grief, it was and still is one of the most painful experiences of my life. So, when I sing the songs my grandmother taught me now, months after she died, I am doing more than remembering her voice. I am repeating a pedagogy: the sounds teach me how to say things in Bura that I might have lost otherwise. They remind me of where the words live on the body, in the pause before the chorus, in the way the line bends into laughter at the end. They reconnect me to the particular way our people respond to life: with a song that carries both gratitude and grief at once.

There is also something political about this memory work. Naming our music as language and history is a small act of preservation against erasure. Young people move to the city, languages shift, and instruments gather dust. The minute a grandmother’s song stops being sung, a strand of history frays. That is why recording, teaching in schools, and simply singing in living rooms matter. It is not nostalgia only; it is stewardship.

If there is a single thing I have kept in the months since she left, it is this: music does not let us forget ourselves. It holds the shape of the family when we cannot. It translates private grief into public ritual, so the weight is shared. It teaches the next child her mother’s name and the town she came from. It reminds us, again and again, that to be African is often to respond first with a song.

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Every year, without fail, a few people proclaim the death of luxury fashion through effervescent essays, doleful videos or impassioned tweets. This year’s submissions are in, and their titles are, as usual, super dramatic. My personal favourites: A YouTube video titled Luxury Fashion Is Over. What’s Next? Another one with a more foreboding tone feels gratifying for reasons that escape me: The Imminent Death of Luxury. On second thought, perhaps its appeal, for me at least, comes from its minimalist framing. You can almost imagine a grey-haired, bespectacled fashion connoisseur trotting out those words with her nose turned up in dismay. The frequency of these proclamations notwithstanding, luxury fashion continues to survive and thrive, year on year. As such, rhetoric about the death of luxury fashion has come to be viewed as cliche at best, and at worst: clickbait. 

This year, however, we may have legitimate reasons to worry about the decline of luxury fashion. Let’s ignore the conversation that surfaced at the start of the year, the largely hyperbolic one about many luxury fashion items being identical to Chinese-made dupes, “since they all come from the same factories.” Let’s also ignore the fact that the recently-concluded Spring/Summer edition of NYFW was mostly lethargic, providing sparse moments of thrill and generally failing to convey a compelling vision for luxury fashion’s future. As Oluwakemi Alaya puts it in a recent article for Deeds Magazine: “This season, many designers and critics alike are asking whether the chase for clicks has hollowed out the heart of style.” Let’s also extend grace to Paris Fashion Week, which earned more favourable reviews from critics, but wasn't exactly revolutionary either.

The strongest indicator that luxury fashion might be on the decline, or in a “death spiral,” as Katherine K. Zarrella put it in an essay for the New York Times, is the economic indices. “The industry is facing its steepest sales decline since the 2008 financial crisis, aside from the sharp shock brought on by the pandemic,” writes Marc Bain in a recent article for BOF. Per research from Bain & Company and Fondazione Altagamma, the trade association of Italian luxury goods manufacturers, “overall luxury spending totalled €1.48 trillion globally in 2024, a slight decrease of 1% to 3% at current exchange rates compared to 2023.” This year, analysts predict a steeper decline. In June, Bain & Company forecast that if current trends persist, the industry will contract between 2 & 5 per cent. 

Luxury fashion giants like LVMH have especially been hit hard. Half-year reports this year show that the powerhouse, which owns 75 brands including Louis Vuitton, Dior and jewellers Bulgari and Tiffany & Co., has experienced a 15% slump in recurring operations profits, about 

€9 billion ($10.5 billion). Kering, also a Paris-based powerhouse, which owns Gucci, Bottega Veneta and Yves Saint Laurent, reported a significant decline in sales in the first half of the year.

Luxury fashion’s embattled economic situation is, in part, down to a mix of macroeconomic factors: a cooling off from the post-COVID surge in luxury fashion sales, Trump’s salvo of tariffs, and the current fraught political and economic climate, which has soured many on luxury goods, which might come across as vain. But laying the blame entirely on macroeconomic factors would be disingenuous and reductive. The truth is that the decline of luxury fashion is as much a product of public indignation. In the past decade, prices of luxury goods have steeply risen, as luxury fashion houses have sought to maintain their prestige in the face of increasing demand, especially from the middle class. 

A paragraph from Zarella’s essay for the New York Times is especially illuminating: “From October 2019 to April 2024, the cost of Prada’s popular Galleria Saffiano bag increased 111 per cent. In the same period, the cost of Louis Vuitton’s canvas Speedy bag doubled, and Gucci’s Marmont small matelassé shoulder bag went up by 75 per cent. Chanel is particularly notorious: Its iconic medium 2.55 leather flap bag, which cost $5,800 in 2019, will now set you back $10,800.”

But as prices have surged, not only has quality not kept pace, but many luxury products appear to have gotten worse. In Zarella’s essay, she narrates the excruciating story of a luxury purchase gone wrong. Marc Jacobs had just reissued the runway-show version of his famous Kiki boots, which she had been “lusting after” since their debut in 2016. She rationalised the obscene price by convincing herself they would last. “They did not,” she writes, “the right heel cap fell off after a handful of wears, revealing a flimsy plastic cavern. I got it replaced, only to have a four-inch platform base snap off like a rotting tree limb days later. Timber! Two passers-by heaved me up, and I limped home, barefoot.”

Weeks ago, a similar incident played out with Wisdom Kaye. This story starts with a somewhat hilarious video Wisdom Kaye posted on TikTok. In it, he talks about how he had spent $18,000 on Miu Miu items, only for some of them to come out broken. They sent replacements, which he decided to unbox on camera. “So here we have the new vest and the new sweater,” he says. “I’m making this video because if it does happen to break again, I have to have this recorded on camera.” And guess what? The vest’s button broke again. 

Luxury Fashion houses realise they are in a difficult spot, and their response has mostly been to shuffle around or change their creative directors. Since the start of the year, we’ve witnessed what has been described as the most sweeping shake-up among luxury fashion houses in a long time. Sarah Burton departed Alexander McQueen for Givenchy, Louis Trotter has taken over the reins at Bottega Veneta, Jonathan Anderson swapped out his role at Loewe for a job as the new artistic director at Dior, Demna jettisoned Balenciaga for Gucci, Dario Vitale now mans the cockpit at Versace, following Donatella Versace departure after 27 years of overseeing the creative direction of her brand, the list is endless. And while this industry-wide reshuffling might augur better times, an industry-wide reckoning is needed for luxury fashion to make lasting progress. Consumers are not happy with the quality of products and the paucity of new products that excite them. Durable and exciting products made luxury fashion the economic powerhouse it is today, and for the industry to find its feet, it needs to return to fulfilling its core function. 

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The people are bringing back colour; highlighters on ears, bold blush, and pure, unfiltered fun! After years of pushing the beige minimalism agenda and the reign of the “clean girl” aesthetic, the girls have quietly been rebelling by painting their faces even while the trend told them not to. 

Now, the rebellion has gone mainstream. More people are picking up their brushes again, embracing shimmer, sparkle, and play. Our timelines are alive with creativity, and honestly? We’ve missed this kind of beautiful chaos.

Let me introduce you to my favorite artists and maybe, put you on to some looks to recreate to fill our lives with some fun once more!

Raoúl Alejandre

Originally from California and now based in Los Angeles, Raoúl Alejandre approaches makeup as more than surface beauty and sees it as a deeply expressive, multi-sensory medium. From childhood, he gravitated toward painting and visual art, eventually translating that sensibility into makeup. In his own words: “make-up was just one of those other mediums I picked up as a kid because I wanted to express myself.”

Alejandre’s signature aesthetic balances elegance and otherworldliness. His eyes often explore soft but unexpected colour combinations (baby blue meeting moss green, for example), while lips tend to lean toward bold or defined forms without overshadowing the overall harmony. He rejects strict “signature style” labels, seeing his creative evolution as fluid: “Right now it’s beautiful, standout eyes, but I am constantly evolving.” 

His body of work spans major editorial publications and high-fashion campaigns. Alejandre has been featured in American Vogue, Vogue Italia, Dazed, W Magazine, and V Magazine, and has collaborated with beauty and fashion brands such as Bulgari, Dior, MAC, Mugler, Valentino, and H&M Beauty.

In 2021, he was appointed Global Makeup Artist for Valentino Beauty, a significant milestone that solidified his role not just as a creator but as a voice in the direction of beauty. More recently (2023), he became H&M Beauty’s first-ever Global Makeup Artist, leading the brand’s creative vision for its reimagined, vegan-leaning makeup line.

Alejandre often cites inspiration from masters across mediums: Salvador Dalí, Richard Avedon, Federico Fellini, and Siouxsie Sioux among them. He also draws influence from interior design and ambient elements— the way color, texture, and light interact in a space seeing these surroundings as part of the visual conversation when creating a look.

One standout project was his “Prismatic Stare” residency, in which he paired color draping techniques with blush and layered tones, drawing homage to photographers like Irving Penn and using fluid color transitions. Another is a creative series he made for Allure, blending beauty with themes of nature and heritage drawing on Mexican ecosystems like the monarch butterfly and quetzal plumage to inspire eyes, lips, and tableaux of color. 

His philosophy centers on freedom of expression, inclusion, and pushing conventional beauty boundaries. He believes true beauty should be expansive, inclusive of those marginalized by traditional norms, and deeply rooted in authenticity.

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MakeupxChelsea

Born and raised in Ireland, Chelsea Uchenna, known online as MakeupxChelsea’s fascination with beauty began at around 12 years old, sneaking into her mother’s products long before she was “allowed” to wear them. What started as a childhood curiosity quickly turned into a calling. By her early teens, she was already doing makeup for friends, sharing her experiments online, and developing the precise, skin-focused artistry that now defines her work.

Today, Chelsea stands among a new generation of beauty artists shaping the global conversation around Black beauty. Her aesthetic draws heavily from ’90s and early 2000s glam—frosty lips, blush that beams, and sharp, expressive eyes—but she reimagines it for darker skin tones. Her work celebrates experimentation and  self-definition, challenging boundaries around color and texture in beauty.

Chelsea’s portfolio is as versatile as it is vibrant. She’s the creative force behind looks for Doechii, Ayra Starr, Saweetie, Leomie Anderson, and Bree Runway, with projects spanning from editorial shoots to global fashion weeks. Her collaboration with Doechii, particularly during Paris Fashion Week, captured her signature balance of technical mastery and artistic instinct; sometimes creating looks on the go, even between events.

Her artistry channels emotion and movement, drawing from music, fashion, and Black cultural expression. In interviews, she’s spoken about growing up in predominantly white spaces and learning to master makeup across skin tones; an experience that shaped her adaptable, experimental approach. Her philosophy is simple but profound: makeup should empower, not conceal.

On social media, where she shares tutorials, product breakdowns, and creative inspiration with her 100K+ followers (@makeupbychelseax), Chelsea has built a platform that merges artistry with education. She’s known for her attention to skin prep, innovative use of Danessa Myricks Color Fix Paints, and love for manga lashes, all of which give her looks their signature dimension and edge.

Featured in WWD115, 30 Most Impactful Women under 30 across Beauty and Wellness, 22 year old, Chelsea is only getting started. Her dream list includes working with Beyoncé, but her influence already reverberates far beyond her client roster. She represents a generation of young Black artists using beauty as cultural commentary reshaping how the world sees color, creativity, and confidence.

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Paintedbyesthr

Ngozi Esther Edeme, professionally known as PaintedByEsthr, is a Nigerian-born, London-based makeup artist whose work has redefined the language of color and blush in contemporary beauty. With a portfolio that includes SZA, Naomi Campbell, Kelly Rowland, Adut Akech, Chloé Bailey, and Tyla, Esther has become one of the most influential creative voices of our generation. Her signature is instantly recognizable; diffused blush that extends across the cheeks and temples, skin that glows like silk, and eyes or lips kissed with experimental hues. She opens up makeup to dreamlike perspectives, transforming the face into a canvas.

Born in Nigeria, Esther spent her early years surrounded by color, texture, and rhythm before moving to the United Kingdom. While she briefly worked as a nurse, makeup was always her real language. Her journey began in childhood, experimenting with her dolls and later holding impromptu “glam sessions” for friends during college. Posting her looks online helped her find her community and shape a distinctive style that displays high-fashion fantasy. Over time, this blend of cultural intuition and artistry caught the attention of global icons, turning her Instagram feed into a visual diary of transformation.

Esther’s artistic vision sits at the intersection of nostalgia, emotion, and rebellion. She often draws inspiration from 2000s video vixens, Brigitte Bardot, and drag culture, merging these influences into looks that feel cinematic yet intimate. Her use of blush is revolutionary as it softens and dramatizes at once, painting Black and brown skin in mesmerizing tones. Through her work, she pushes back against beauty conventions that once excluded darker skin tones from color experimentation. 

Her career is a map of excellence and experimentation. She’s created red-carpet looks for global events like the Met Gala and Super Bowl, while also maintaining a strong editorial and social media presence where her work regularly goes viral. Publications like Dazed, Essence, and NSS GClub have spotlighted her for championing inclusivity in beauty and expanding what glamour looks like on dark skin. Despite her rapid rise, Esther remains grounded in her philosophy: there’s no wrong way to wear makeup. Her process emphasizes play; blending, layering, and letting color move freely across the face until it becomes personal.

Looking ahead, PaintedByEsthr sees her work as part of a broader beauty movement. She believes in using makeup to continue shaping how the world sees Black beauty; colorful, fluid, and ever evolving. By embracing imperfection and emotion, she has become a modern-day painter, and her canvas; the human face is her most powerful medium.

Fatimah Zahrah

Raised and Based in Lagos, Fatimah Zahrah is a rising beauty practitioner whose artistry bridges skincare, self-expression, and experimental makeup. Currently maintaining her journey as an esthetician that started nearly two years ago, Fatimah first approached beauty through the lens of skin health and self-care, viewing it as a ritual of healing and empowerment. Her love for transformation soon extended into the world of makeup, where she began practicing in April 2025, drawing inspiration from creators like Uche Natori, Mikai, MakeupxChelsea, and the expressive world of drag culture particularly icons like Plastique Tiara and The Mother Birdie.

For Fatimah, makeup is a medium of freedom; a way to challenge minimalism and celebrate queerness through bold colour and creative experimentation. She’s deeply influenced by drag artistry, which she describes as the ultimate expression of transformation, and hopes to inspire others to “put the nude eyeshadows down and play with colour.” Her practice celebrates the joy of standing out and embracing identity without restraint.

Fatimah’s work sits at the intersection of art and science. She views makeup as both a creative process and a study in how colours, textures, and tones interact. This philosophy also fuels her interest in cosmetic science and product formulation, as she plans to explore the chemistry behind skincare and beauty products. Recently, she’s also stepped into tech, studying product management and exploring how technology can shape the future of the beauty industry.

When she’s creating, Fatimah’s playlists often set the tone with Afrohouse, Gqom, Charli XCX, and PinkPantheress keeping her inspired and moving. She’s also fascinated by where current beauty trends are heading, saying, “I kinda like where it is heading— the exaggerated blush looks, toasty makeup, bright undereyes, and the return of colourful eyeshadows. Maybe because I built my ‘for you page’ brick by brick, but there are a lot of fun and creative trends by really talented creators right now, and there’s more to come.” She’s particularly excited about indie makeup brands, adding that “they’re coming up with really cool stuff.”

Her current favourites include Kaleidos, Beauty Bay, Danessa Myricks, Samplr, and Huda Beauty. She swears by the Kaleidos Space Age Highlighter, referring to it as “the best highlighter I’ve ever used” and Beauty Bay’s eyeshadow palettes for their strong pigment and affordability. When it comes to skincare, Fatimah is currently enjoying the Haruharu Black Rice Probiotic Barrier Essence and the Haruharu Black Rice Cleansing Oil, both staples in her daily routine.

Looking ahead, Fatimah hopes to expand into editorial and on-set makeup, bringing her experimental vision to larger creative projects. Through her work, she continues to merge science, art, and identity, proving that beauty can be both expressive and intelligent, playful and profound.

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Amam Azike

Amam Azike is a Lagos-based multifaceted face painter whose work blurs the boundaries between makeup and art. Trained in law but deeply drawn to visual expression, Amam has carved out a niche for herself through creative, non-traditional, and editorial looks that often verge on body art and illustration. Her work embodies an experimental approach to beauty— one that thrives on environment, transformation and self. 

In 2023, her work was featured on Promonews as the makeup artist for Cruel Santino’s Beautiful Nothing featuring Gus Dapperton; a testament to her growing influence within Nigeria’s visual arts and music landscape. Though she maintains a modest following of around 2,000 across social platforms, Amam has cultivated a loyal and engaged community of admirers who recognize her as an intriguing figure in Lagos’s creative underground.

Amam draws inspiration from her daily surroundings— textures, shells, colors, and fleeting moments that often find their way into her artistic interpretations. Her makeup is less about perfection and more about communication; a canvas for exploring identity, intimacy, and imagination. As she continues to merge her artistic instincts with her creative production, Amam Azike stands as one of Lagos’s most intriguing artists.

Zara.fx

Chizaramekpere Okoye is an 18-year-old makeup artist whose creativity bridges fantasy, transformation, and identity. Based in Lagos, Nigeria, Zara has been fascinated by makeup since she was four or five years old, captivated by its power to reinvent and express. What began as childhood curiosity has grown into a vibrant form of self-expression; one that fuses her love for color and character into experimental looks.

Her style, which she describes as editorial visual FX makeup, combines the refined techniques of editorial beauty with the theatricality of cosplay, drag, and special effects. Each look becomes a transformation; a way for Zara to step into another version of herself, a different “font” of her identity. “My makeup style involves me transforming myself into another version of me,” she explains. “I draw inspiration from editorial looks, but I’m more heavily influenced by cosplay, visual FX creators, and drag.”

Zara’s artistry is rooted in admiration for those who came before her; the pioneers who dedicated themselves to pushing creative boundaries. That same dedication drives her own work. “The commitment and passion they have for their work made me feel more confident, inspired, and motivated to create,” she says. “I pray to do the same for others one day.” Her playlists are just as diverse as her influences, flowing from R&B, jazz, and indie to afrobeats, rock, and even orchestral compositions, all fueling her creative rhythm while she works.

Beyond aesthetics, Zara’s artistry is a declaration of self-acceptance and Black expression. She hopes her work encourages others to feel comfortable in their skin and to make choices grounded in self-love rather than insecurity. Her creations celebrate the beauty of Blackness, queerness, and individuality offering an invitation to express without apology.

Although she currently practices mostly on herself and occasionally, friends, Zara dreams of creating immersive projects that merge makeup, costume, and photography directing full visual stories where her imagination takes center stage. Alongside her sister, she co-runs a growing creative brand called Eyoko, which she envisions expanding into a space for free artistic exploration. “I’ve always felt I was brought to this world to create,” she says. “That has been my dream for as long as I can remember.”

When it comes to trends, Zara celebrates the rise of alternative Black creatives shaping new beauty narratives. “The alternative Black queens are moving mountains,” she notes. “Black culture has its roots in creativity and since that’s what the world is lacking the most, Black culture is here to replenish it.” Her favorite brands reflect her love for expressive color and affordability: CPD Beauty for blush, Ushas for accessible glam, and Juvia’s Place for their vibrant pigments.

Zara.fx stands as part of a new wave of Nigerian makeup artists using beauty as art; transformative, affirming, and limitless.

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August

August is a London-based makeup artist and creative director whose work sits at the intersection of art, fantasy, and beauty. Known for their transformative, nature-inspired looks, August brings a painterly sensibility to makeup; each face becomes a living canvas where texture, pigment, and imagination meet. With over 70,000 followers on Instagram, their artistry has captivated a global audience drawn to the surreal, soft, and deeply expressive world they build through colour.

As the Artistry Director at Samplr and founder of the August Mobile Beauty School, August has created a platform that merges education, community, and experimentation.

Their style defies minimalism. August leans into luminous skin, painterly brushstrokes, and botanical motifs that reference both the fragility and resilience of nature. From “moth orchid” inspired looks to abstract renditions of light and shadow, their work balances technical precision with emotional depth.

Beyond aesthetics, August’s approach to makeup carries an intentionality that speaks to authenticity and empowerment. Their artistry invites people to see beauty as something fluid— something to play with, rather than conform to. Through their platform, August continues to influence how a new generation views creativity, self-presentation, and the transformative potential of colour.

In conclusion, these artists, alongside many others are challenging and inspiring a new wave of beauty; urging you to get funky, dip your brushes in colour, and let your imagination run wild. It’s a call to play, to create, and to find joy in the art of expression.

Adekunle Gold has long established himself as one of African music’s most versatile figures—an artist who thrives on evolution. At every stage of his career, he has resisted creative stagnation, constantly reinventing himself through sonic shifts, aesthetic rebranding, and a restless pursuit of new frontiers. His discography, from Gold to About 30, Afro Pop Vol. 1, Catch Me If You Can, Tequila Ever After, and now Fuji, reads like a gallery of distinct eras, each with its own identity and sonic signature. 

With Fuji, Adekunle Gold does not merely experiment—he takes a daring leap into the heart of one of Nigeria’s most iconic genres, extending the lineage of Alhaji Sikiru Ayinde Barrister and the Were traditions that birthed it. The 15-track project is a rich exploration of Fuji’s percussive core, filtered through Adekunle Gold’s modern sensibilities and global outlook. It is both homage and innovation: a body of work that seeks to preserve Fuji’s essence while testing its elasticity through fusion with contemporary sounds and collaborations across borders. Contributions from an eclectic cast—Lojay, Shoday, Davido, Don Toliver, 6lack, Asa, Cruel Santino, Simi, Robert Glasper, Soweto Gospel Choir, Mavo, Tkay Maidza, and Yinka Ayefele.

The opening track, “Big Fish”, immediately sets the tone with a Sakara sample from the legendary Lefty Salami Balogun. Adekunle Gold frames the record as a personal reflection on his journey from modest beginnings to the global stage—while the production continually morphs, layering synth motifs over shifting drum sequences. Fuji, at its core, thrives on rhythm, and that rhythmic insistence comes alive on “Don Corleone”. Heavy percussion drives the record, a masterclass in layered drum programming that embodies Fuji’s pulse. The subtle but powerful addition of background vocals from Simi softens the density of the drums, adding a wholesome texture. 

On the pre-released “Bobo”, featuring Lojay and Shoday. The track is a fascinating experiment bringing both acts into his world—Lojay’s smooth melodic runs and romantic sensibility colliding with Shoday’s streetwise cadences and Afropop flair, all draped over Fuji instrumentation. Adekunle Gold engineers a meeting point where styles don’t just coexist, but amplify one another. The album takes an intimate turn on “My Love is the Same”, introduced by a heartwarming exchange with his daughter, Deja. Here, Adekunle Gold grapples with the personal costs of artistry—constant travel, physical distance, and the strain it places on family life. Yet the track, tender in tone, serves as an assurance of unwavering love, grounding the larger-than-life sonic experiment in raw humanity.

For African indigenous elements to gain visibility and new audiences, gap bridging has to happen and Global fusion becomes a central theme as the album progresses. On “Believe”, Adekunle Gold reimagines Bill Withers and Grover Washington Jr.’s classic Just the Two of Us, weaving nostalgia with fresh intimacy. It’s a track that feels both familiar and new—an elegant nod to his earlier, soulful style while affirming his current artistic identity. “Love is an Action”, with 6lack, pushes the fusion further, merging Fuji-inspired percussion with hip-hop sensibilities. It’s a daring juxtaposition that proves Fuji is not confined to cultural boundaries, but can converse fluently with global genres.

One of the album’s undeniable highlights is “Many People”, where Adekunle Gold is joined by Yinka Ayefele. Beyond the nostalgia of revisiting Ayefele’s classic, the record is a cultural event in itself—reinventing tradition on a grand scale while celebrating Fuji’s enduring relevance which stands as both a tribute to history and a statement of continuity. Elsewhere, Adekunle Gold expands his palette with “Attack”, featuring Tkay Maidza, Mavo & Cruel Santino. A track rich with two-step Amapiano elements, its layered vocal arrangements and haunting chorus deliver a hypnotic, dancefloor-ready experience. Tkay’s eerie refrain, coupled with Cruel Santino & Mavo’s distinct direction contribute to a record that feels like a bridge of Mainstream Afropop & the Alternative scene, a well done collaboration.

Adekunle Gold’s chemistry with Davido resurfaces on “Only God Can Save Me”, a quintessential Afrobeats cut that tackles the dilemmas of love and dating in contemporary Nigeria. Despite both artists’ marital statuses, the track resonates with its universal relatability, encapsulating the push-and-pull realities of romance in a playful yet poignant way. As the project approaches its closing stretch, Adekunle Gold maintains momentum. “Oba” stands out with its Alujo-driven structure, where trumpet flourishes, layered claps, and intricate vocal textures converge into a vibrant, celebratory tapestry. It is a sonic feast that reaffirms the album’s ethos: tradition as a living, evolving force rather than a static relic.

One of the most striking features of Fuji lies in its production—an aspect that feels deeply intentional. Adekunle Gold has mentioned being particularly hands-on throughout the project’s creation, and that personal involvement radiates through the album’s meticulous arrangements and sonic cohesion. A prime example of this is “Simile”, featuring the Soweto Gospel Choir. The track opens with delicate string progressions—pianos, cello, and violin intertwining in graceful conversation—before the choir’s harmonies enter, transforming the piece into something transcendental. The production is cinematic in scope; that it feels like immersion into a live orchestral performance. Following this grandeur is “I’m Not Done”, which closes the project with introspection and grace. The song takes on a soulful direction, both thematically and musically, with subdued yet powerful instrumentation underscoring Adekunle Gold’s reflective tone. Here, he revisits his journey from his debut, confronting the passage of time while reaffirming his vitality and creative relevance. Despite its reflective nature, this is not a farewell record—it’s a declaration of endurance, a testament to his growth, resilience, and unrelenting drive to keep pushing boundaries.

At a time when African music’s global visibility has reached unprecedented heights, Fuji arrives as both a statement of pride and a lesson in cultural preservation. The world’s eyes are on the continent, and Adekunle Gold seizes that moment to project one of Nigeria’s most authentic indigenous sounds onto the global stage. Yet, what makes Fuji remarkable is not just its revivalist spirit, but its sophistication. Adekunle Gold doesn’t merely pay homage; he redefines the genre by merging it with modern production techniques and cross-continental collaborations without diluting its essence. This album stands as a cultural artifact—an exhibition of how traditional African forms can live, breathe, and evolve within contemporary frameworks. Fuji is not content to exist within nostalgia; it’s an expansion of what the genre can be in the 21st century. 

Ultimately, Fuji cements Adekunle Gold’s place as one of modern African music’s most visionary figures. The sequencing is flawless, the production intentional, and the storytelling coherent—each song seamlessly leading into the next, creating an unbroken emotional and sonic narrative. It’s a no-skip project that engages, excites, and educates, all while reaffirming the power of indigenous sound in a global context. With Fuji, Adekunle Gold makes a statement, one that will undoubtedly be remembered as his magnum opus.

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When you talk about New York luxury streetwear, Avirex isn't just part of the conversation, it’s a a stakeholder. The brand's leather jackets have this rare quality where they get better as they age. It's the kind of piece that becomes part of your life, not just your wardrobe.

At NYFWSS26, Avirex set the tone right from the jump with an exclusive gifting suite at the penthouse of Sixty LES Hotel. And honestly? The location couldn't have been more perfect. Floor-to-ceiling windows framing the entire New York skyline, it was a statement. This is Avirex's city, and they wanted you to see it all.

The FW '25 collection was on full display, and guests were touching the leather, feeling the weight of the jackets, understanding why these pieces have been cultural staples for decades. The vibe struck this perfect balance between intimate and electric, small enough to feel exclusive, but buzzing with the kind of energy that only happens when the right people are in the room.

And what a room it was. Streamers Jay Guapo, Jay Burt, and Jay Flocka pulled up. Rapper Rich Amiri was there. Model Yves Saint Matieau, NFL veteran Marcus Allen, hip-hop legend Crazy Legs, and NBA star Josh Okogie all came through. Add in Sirius XM's DStroy, fashion influencers Alexa Tiziani and Mar Milne, BET's Ashley Nicole Moss, plus a roster of top-tier stylists and models, and you get a sense of Avirex's reach across music, sports, fashion, and media.

The details mattered too. Belaire and DIO kept the drinks flowing, while Joe's Pizza, served in custom Avirex-branded boxes, brought that authentic New York flavor. Because if you're throwing an event in New York, you better get the pizza right. Throughout the week, you could spot attendees all over the city rocking their new Avirex pieces at shows, parties, and everything in between.

 Avirex started as a military supplier in the 20th century, crafting functional, high-quality jackets for pilots and servicemen. That foundation in real craftsmanship is what separates Avirex from brands chasing trends. They weren't built for the runway; they were built for real use. The fact that they've evolved into a global fashion icon, worn by celebrities and featured on magazine covers, speaks to something deeper than hype.

Not every brand gets to call itself a classic. Most don't last long enough, and fewer still maintain the quality that got them there in the first place. But Avirex has earned that title. Like their leather jackets, the brand just gets better with time, showing that when you start with substance, style naturally follows.

Photographs by: Mya-Breyana Morton @lifewithmyabre @_unconsciousmoments

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New York Fashion Week pulses with a particular kind of energy. And this past week, amidst the usual suspects and rising talents, G Herbo carved out his own commanding presence. The Chicago rapper hit the front rows at Private Policy, Kim Shui, and Who Decides War as someone genuinely engaging with fashion as an extension of his evolving creative identity. 

His current approach is mature, a refinement that doesn't sacrifice the raw edge that made him compelling in the first place. Whether styled in oversized tailoring, statement outerwear, or relaxed luxury pieces, Herbo demonstrated an understanding that fashion at this level is about point of view.

What makes Herbo's NYFW appearance particularly resonant is the timing. His upcoming album "Lil Herb", a 16-track project dropping later this year, represents a full circle moment, nodding to the moniker that introduced him to the world while showcasing how far he's travelled since then. The album's rollout is strategic, and his fashion week presence isn't separate from that narrative; it's integral to it.

Hip-hop's relationship with fashion has always been symbiotic, but we're watching it mature into something more nuanced. Artists are now building visual languages that complement their sonic ones. Herbo's emergence on this particular stage speaks to an artist who understands that influence extends beyond the booth. He's joining a lineage of rappers who've used fashion to expand their cultural footprint,but doing it on his own terms.

Looking at Herbo throughout the week, from the structured elegance of his Private Policy look to the effortless cool he brought to Who Decides War, there's a cohesion emerging. He's not chasing trends; instead, he's allowing his personal evolution to inform his aesthetic choices. Creating a visual identity that feels earned rather than manufactured.

The brands he chose to support aren't arbitrary either. Private Policy's exploration of identity and belonging, Kim Shui's celebration of heritage and femininity, and Who Decides War's raw, emotionally charged aesthetic all speak to someone building relationships within the industry rather than just making appearances.

As "Lil Herb" approaches, these fashion week moments become part of a larger story about growth without losing essence. Herbo's NYFW presence was about revelation, showing dimensions that were always there but are now being given proper space to breathe.

If this NYFWSS26 was any indication, we're watching an artist expand his influence in ways that feel both intentional and inevitable.

Photographs by:

• LVTR Kevin
• Mark Cukier

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