Black dandyism has always been more than just fashion, it's a style philosophy forged in resistance, elegance, and identity. It’s an idea with a potent history: one born in the violence of colonial rule, refined through diaspora creativity, and reborn as a statement of pride. Scholars trace its journey from the transatlantic slave trade to Harlem’s jazz-age boulevards, but it also finds powerful roots right here in Nigeria.
Centuries before the Western suit entered the scene, Nigerians were already practicing a form of dandyism. The Edo people, known for their regal aesthetics, wore heavy coral bead regalia, intricately layered wrappers, and embroidered tops during ceremonies, each piece symbolizing nobility, warrior lineage, and ancestral honor. In Yoruba culture, the agbada, a wide-sleeved, floor-length robe often made from handwoven aso-oke or dyed adire, signaled prestige and status. Among the Igbo, the isiagu top, traditionally worn by titled men, functioned as both fashion and family emblem. In Hausa culture, the babanriga, worn with detailed embroidery and turbans, reflected both religious authority and personal wealth.
As Barnard professor Monica L. Miller writes in Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity, “style has always been central to Black identity formation in the Atlantic world.” That sentiment is alive in West African history, where textile was not only art, but currency.
In the Oyo Empire, for example, cloth was traded as money, and a family’s ability to produce or commission high-quality fabric signaled wealth and power. Throughout the Nigerian landscape, from spirited Egungun masquerade costumes to Hausa-Fulani embroidered gowns, clothing has always been theatre, a representation of heritage and power.
Against this backdrop, colonial rule brought new fabrics and tailoring, but did not erase tradition. British officials pushed Western suits and gowns as “civilized”, yet Nigerians cleverly adapted. Many borrowed Nigerian prints into European cuts, creating hybrid styles that honored home while meeting colonial standards.
In most Nigerian tribal societies, women’s wrappers and blouses are often crafted from local textiles. Such fabrics and patterns not only celebrate beauty but also carry lineage and spiritual meaning. This embrace of tradition by women paralleled men’s proud display of attire. Through the 20th century, dressing “superfine” became a form of resistance. Nigerian elites – students, civil servants, artists – often wore sharp suits or native gowns to assert dignity in a changing world. An “elegant middle finger” to rigid racial hierarchies.
A prime exemplar of this legacy is Iké Udé, the Lagos‑born, New York–based artist. Udé’s work, titled Sartorial Anarchy, intentionally blurs eras and cultures. In each self-portrait he mixes a mash-up of garments – for instance, an Afghan-embroidered coat atop an American Boy Scout shirt with Italian soccer socks. By treating his body as canvas, Udé channels Nigeria’s flash and diaspora cosmopolitanism alike. He even credits his family’s Nigerian tradition of taking yearly “new clothes” photos as inspiration. In New York he earned twice a spot on Vanity Fair’s best-dressed list: editors described his style as “outside the norm of classic chic or elegance… idiosyncratic but art”. Udé’s flamboyant elegance – “combining many different cultures, styles, and periods” in one look – embodies the freedom at the heart of Black dandyism. By rooting his aesthetics in Nigerian history and global high fashion, Udé illustrates how a West African sensibility shapes the movement: dressing beautifully not just for admiration, but as a statement of self-possession and creative freedom.
In modern Nigeria, Black dandyism continues to evolve. From Lagos street style to Nollywood red carpets, contemporary figures remix agbadas with sneakers, blend silk isiagus with bold accessories. A cultural remix—part rebellion, part memory, part future. Dressing well, in this context, has always meant more than looking good. It has meant being known, declaring identity in a world that has tried, time and again, to erase it.
