Personal style is frequently considered a mirror of our identity, influenced by our experiences, surroundings, and cultural backgrounds. In my case, crafting my style has been a slow progression—a journey connecting three unique realms: the warmth and tradition of the American South, the lively and rich culture of West Africa, and the academic refinement of New England living. It required years of discovery, trial and error, and introspection to develop a look that appears genuine—an aesthetic that represents all elements of my origins and the person I have grown to be.
Growing up in Alabama, I found myself immersed in a society that put a high value on appearance. Dressing in your Sunday best was more than just an expression; it was a regular affair each week. Whether attending church, family reunions, or local gatherings, dressing impeccably was viewed as a demonstration of personal dignity and esteem. There was a strong link to heritage, and individuals took meticulous care in their presentation. Southern fashion often gravitates toward the traditional and well-coordinated: neat outlines, fitted attire, and a sophistication that seems enduring and deeply connected to regional traditions. As a youngster, I couldn’t quite grasp the significance that attire held during these times, but I sensed its meaningfulness. This early experience sowed the seeds for my admiration of mindful dressing.
At the same time, my West African background added layers of color, texture, and meaning to my understanding of style. The fabrics, the patterns, the symbolism woven into every thread—these were more than garments. They were expressions of heritage, celebration, and identity. I grew up watching relatives wear garments that told stories—bold prints that conveyed lineage, community status, and even emotion. Whether it was a family wedding or a cultural celebration, these outfits spoke volumes without saying a word. West African fashion, with its unapologetic boldness and intricate design, taught me that clothing could be powerful, even political. It gave me permission to be expressive, to stand out, and to honor where I come from through what I wear.
Afterwards, I arrived in New England—a region where my personal identity and style perception were both put to the test and honed. Experiencing college life in the Northeast exposed me to a distinct visual environment. In this area, fashion embraced simplicity and practicality. The approach was more reserved, subtly sophisticated, and frequently inspired by intellectualism. There was an inherent grace in a well-tailored coat or a pair of impeccably aged leather shoes. Preppy styles combined with urban flair, marking the first occasion I truly considered how to merge my cultural roots with modern fashion in a natural way. Initially, I felt out of sync. My bold Southern and vibrant West African influences contrasted with the muted tones surrounding me. However, over time, I learned to adjust—not by leaving behind my heritage but by integrating it with new aspects.
That fusion process wasn’t immediate. For a long time, I struggled with how to bring these identities into harmony. There were days when I felt too traditional, too loud, or not polished enough. I would question if my choices were appropriate or if I was trying too hard to be seen. But slowly, I realized that authenticity in style doesn’t come from following trends or conforming to one aesthetic—it comes from confidence, and from a deep understanding of why you wear what you wear.
Now, when I look at my wardrobe, I see a map of my life. I see the structure and grace of Alabama’s Southern charm, the richness and symbolism of West African textiles, and the refined subtlety of New England’s style philosophy. A tailored blazer might be paired with Ankara-print pants. A classic Oxford shirt might be layered under a handwoven kente vest. Neutral tones find balance with vibrant accessories. I don’t feel the need to choose between cultures—I embrace them all.
Style, for me, has become less about fitting in and more about standing in truth. It’s about being intentional. It’s about acknowledging that my clothes are part of my narrative. They’re the visual extension of my values, my heritage, and my evolution. I don’t dress just for occasions—I dress to connect with my story.
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned through this journey is that style isn’t static. It grows as you grow. What once felt unfamiliar or even uncomfortable can become second nature with time and self-assurance. And in a world that often tries to simplify people into single categories, blending multiple influences is an act of quiet resistance and personal celebration.
The way I dress is a vibrant tapestry of three distinct identities. Every component—Southern, African, and Northeastern—contributes its own special touch. Together, they have enabled me to craft a style that goes beyond trends—it celebrates memory, geography, and individuality. Reaching this point was a journey, but the effort was entirely justified.
