The Dilemma of Finding Your Style in Africa As A Woman

A woman posed confidently in colorful traditional attire against a rustic backdrop photographed by Jagaba Dennis

Growing up as a young girl in Nigeria or elsewhere in Africa, your parents shape your identity and style. In turn, your parents’ sense of style is also shaped by culture, religion, and, sometimes, community.

Growing up, my style was 90% what was appropriate for religious gatherings, 5% what my parents thought was cute, and the other 5% what I inherited from my elder sister. However, things started to change when I became a teen. I started becoming more aware, and I actually cared about how I looked.

I was being influenced by what I saw on television and peer pressure. My routine had shifted from school, home, and Christian gatherings to occasional school events, outings with friends, and, of course, Christian gatherings and school. My life was evolving, and my style had to, too.

But then I realised that, unlike the vixens in the music videos I watched, I couldn't wear short skirts and crazy jewellery, or else I ran the risk of getting called a small “ashawo”, which meant prostitute. In addition to that, I was reminded of how important it was to be modest and avoid any Western influence, as it was ungodly and un-African. Family and religious values, with a sprinkle of “what will people say?”, barricaded and eroded any atom of style I was trying to carve for myself.

So I conformed; I wore big T-shirts, ill-fitting trousers (which I was very grateful they even let me wear), and the oversized gowns every clothing store mannequin in town wore. And this was my style for many years until I finally left home for university.

Moving to an environment where, for the first time, I had full control of my style (to an extent, of course) was difficult. I now had to decide what the best kind of outfit to wear to school, the best place to shop, and, of course, how to say no to convincing store owners.

That's when the real dilemma began, and to this day, I cannot say I have found my style. And I believe this is the reality of many African and Nigerian women. Navigating a world with so many rules for how a woman should dress acts as a barricade to true style. With so many styles flooding social media, it is increasingly difficult to choose between bohemian, Y2K, alte, and clean-girl style, to name a few.

With all this in mind, it makes me question whether even half the women on this continent actually care about style. I believe so many have resigned themselves to wearing what society considers appropriate—not too revealing, not too short, and not too tight. Others have resigned themselves to what their job, partner, and religion have deemed suitable.

It is quite mind-boggling how, as you age as a woman, the rules change for you, not to give you freedom but to further cage you. When you are young, you have to cover up so men don’t become enticed by you. When you are in your twenties, you have to dress and reveal just a little to attract men, but not so much that you are tagged as a prostitute and still have something “left to the imagination.”

When you get married, you have to be decently dressed so you don't show the world your “husband’s property”. And when you have kids, you have to dress like a mother and wear something that lets you breastfeed outdoors. Also, you still have to dress sexy enough for your husband so he does not get tired of you and look elsewhere.

Lest I forget the rules that are also borne from classism and colonialism. If you are always wearing Ankara and/or other traditional fabrics, you are seen as too local. The same goes for wearing your natural hair or braids all the time.

The cycle never ends, and only those who defy society's rules end up developing their own style, uninfluenced by the world's rules. But how many of us dare to do that?

We live in what could be described as the most liberated century, yet we are more shackled than ever.