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 was surrounded by a culture that valued presentation. Sunday best wasn’t just a phrase—it was a weekly ritual. Whether it was church, family gatherings, or community events, dressing well was a sign of self-respect and pride. There was a deep connection to tradition, and people put care into how they looked. Southern style often leans toward the classic and the put-together: clean lines, tailored fits, and a touch of elegance that feels both timeless and deeply rooted in local customs. As a child, I didn’t fully understand the weight that clothing carried in these moments, but I felt its importance. That early exposure planted the seeds of my appreciation for thoughtful dressing.
Simultaneously, my heritage from West Africa enriched my perception of fashion with vibrant hues, layers, and significance. The cloths, motifs, and the symbolic narratives woven into each strand—these were far more than just attire. They represented culture, festivity, and personal identity. Growing up, I observed family members don garments that narrated tales—vivid designs that depicted ancestry, social position, and sometimes emotions. Be it a relative’s nuptial event or a cultural festivity, these ensembles communicated powerfully without uttering a word. Fashion from West Africa, known for its fearless brilliance and complex artistry, demonstrated to me that apparel could wield influence, even political implications. It encouraged me to express myself, to be distinctive, and to pay homage to my roots through my attire.
Then came New England—a place where my sense of self and my understanding of style were both challenged and refined. College life in the Northeast introduced me to a very different visual landscape. Here, style leaned into minimalism and functionality. It was quieter, more understated, and often intellectually influenced. There was a certain unspoken elegance in a well-fitted coat or a pair of perfectly worn leather shoes. Preppy aesthetics met urban edge, and it was the first time I really thought about how to blend my cultural influences with contemporary fashion in a way that didn’t feel forced. At first, I felt out of place. My Southern boldness and West African vibrancy clashed with the subdued palettes around me. But over time, I learned to adapt—not by abandoning my roots, but by fusing them with new elements.
That integration journey wasn’t instantaneous. I spent a significant period wrestling with the challenge of unifying these aspects of myself. There were moments when I felt overly conventional, excessively boisterous, or insufficiently refined. I would contemplate whether my decisions were suitable or if I was overexerting myself to gain attention. Gradually, however, I understood that genuine style doesn’t stem from adhering to trends or fitting a particular visual—it is derived from self-assurance and a profound comprehension of the reasons behind your wardrobe choices.
Currently, when I examine my closet, it resembles a chronicle of my journey. It reflects the elegance and poise of Alabama’s Southern allure, the depth and significance of West African fabrics, and the sophisticated simplicity of New England’s fashion ethos. A custom-fitted jacket might match with trousers featuring Ankara patterns. An iconic Oxford shirt might be combined with a kente vest crafted by hand. Subdued shades are complemented by lively accessories. I experience no obligation to select between cultures—I welcome them all.
Style, from my perspective, has shifted from conforming to embracing authenticity. It’s about being purposeful. It’s about realizing that my attire contributes to my story. They visually represent my principles, my background, and my growth. I don’t wear outfits merely for events—I choose them to resonate with my journey.
One essential insight I’ve gained from this journey is that style evolves. It changes alongside you. Things that seemed unusual or awkward at first can become instinctive as you develop confidence. In a world that frequently attempts to categorize individuals, merging different influences becomes an understated form of defiance and a celebration of individuality.
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.
