When streetwear emerged in the ’80s, it was meant for skaters, surfers, graffiti artists, and rap fans wanting to make a statement with their style. By the ’90s, it wasn’t just a statement; it was an identity. Streetwear had expanded into a broader cultural movement manifested through punk-infused graphic tees, multi-colored sneakers, oversized puffer jackets, and snazzy sportswear, becoming a bold form of self-expression and an emblem of identity for the rebel and unconventional. It wouldn’t take long for Nigeria to catch on to this pop rave, and soon, youths in the urban areas of Lagos were making their own rendition of streetwear by joining traditional pieces with Western influences in what they dubbed Afrocentric fashion.
Enter the 2010s, and Nigeria’s streetwear scene has evolved into a subculture with a strong ethos for undiluted self-expression. At this point, a cult-like following was on the verge of forming, and brands like WafflesnCream (now Waf.) and David Blackmoore led the movement, setting the foundation for the Nigerian streetwear industry. Then came Street Souk, hosting Lagos’ first streetwear convention in 2018, showcasing distinct variations of Afrocentric streetwear and, in the process, cementing elements for Afro-youth culture.
While streetwear steadily gained traction, it remained an enclave of niche interests. An aura of exclusivity enveloped it – knowing about these artists and events meant being part of an in-group that talked about these things. Engaging the streetwear scene in Lagos felt like an activity reserved for the coolest kids.
In 2020, things had shifted once again. This time, Gen Z, in a classic reshuffling trends cycle, reignited an old trend. Plain tees were out, Y2K fashion and ’90s culture were in, but with it came a new wave of streetwear enthusiasts who had no strong attachments to the style or culture. This, to them, was a trend or aesthetic they liked.
This time streetwear was getting more visibility than it ever had. Yet with the popularity came transformation; streetwear’s exclusivity and underground connection were up against a polar enemy; fast fashion.
Fast fashion giants, Shein, caught wind of the trend, and in typical fashion, they mass-produced streetwear-inspired clothes with watered-down designs. The shift from underground to mainstream, however, isn’t just about fashion; it reflects more profound changes, whether this newfound popularity will honour the pioneers or turn them into footnotes in the streetwear journey.
Streetwear’s roots are in subversive pop culture and strong community values, often shaped by minority voices. But as fast fashion hops on the streetwear train, they take the voice away from the original speakers. The authenticity and soul that once echoed in the neon-lit streets of LA’s skate-surf grounds, the raves of New York’s hip-hop scene, and the clandestine corners of the nightlife in Japan are getting drowned out by corporate suits and toxic capitalism.
The result? The heart and soul of streetwear risk getting overshadowed, and the marginalized designers might end up playing second fiddle, turning puppets in a market they built.