Personal style is often seen as a reflection of who we are, shaped by our experiences, environments, and cultural influences. For me, developing my style has been a gradual journey—one that bridges three distinct worlds: the warmth and tradition of the American South, the vibrancy and richness of West African culture, and the academic polish of New England life. It took years of exploration, experimentation, and self-reflection to find a look that feels authentic—an aesthetic that embodies all the pieces of where I come from and who I’ve become.
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.
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.
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 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.
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 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.
