Nigerian Designers are Putting a Modern Spin on Traditional Fabrics

After graduating from university and starting a corporate job, she searched for an elegant, refined style rooted in African fabrics and aesthetics. But she couldn’t find it. Hertunba was born from this need and was heavily inspired by Akwete, an indigenous Nigerian fabric native to the Igbo people of south east Nigeria. Why Akwete? For Agu, it’s more than just fashion. It’s a profound expression of what she calls her “Nigerianness.”

“I love Nigeria. I love being Nigerian,” she says. “Things aren’t great economically, and there’s thejapa syndrome. I, too, wish I could pack my bags and leave sometimes. But I can’t. I’m not happy anywhere outside Nigeria for more than two weeks. It’s a bit of a toxic relationship. I can’t live anywhere else.”

Agu’s passion for her culture is deeply personal and stems from her family. Boxes of old textiles passed down from her grandmother became the foundation of her designs. Some of the Akwete fabrics she inherited were as old as 80 to 90 years. They tell stories of how they were used—some as wrappers, others to strap babies onto their mothers’ backs.

Agu’s work is about reimagining these historical pieces for the present day. “I’m always thinking about how to apply these fabrics, which are almost a century old, to modern life,” she says. “What would Akwete mean today to a woman in Lagos? To my curvy friend? To the less curvy one? I think of real people with real bodies.” She wants her designs to fit seamlessly into women’s lives—whether they’re bankers or entrepreneurs.

Fashion as a way to preserve history

Tsemaye Binitie’s journey was similarly transformative. Deep into Western fashion, creating collections in London and staging presentations in New York, he first explored integrating his “Africanness” into his work while visiting his cousin’s home, where West African masks surrounded him. A book about masquerades, authored by Phyllis Galembo, inspired a collection in which he poured his heritage into his design for the first time.

That moment became a turning point. He knew he wanted to center his heritage in his designs. The opportunity came unexpectedly, born out of disaster. His mother’s old Aso Oke fabrics had been damaged in a flood. Instead of letting her dispose of them, Binitie took the pieces off her hands. “These were old Aso Oke fabrics from the 70s. I was excited about the prospects. I started looking into it. Aso Oke has great underestimated potential.”

For Binitie, Aso Oke represents more than just fabric. It has turned him into a champion of cultural preservation. “There are some amazing patterns in there,” he says, “and it’s why I want to collect as much as I can.”

Binitie agrees. “Aso Oke tells the story of the wearer,” he explains. “In the 60s, for instance, black dye, called dudu, was the most expensive dye. If you pick up a piece of Aso Oke dyed with dudu today, you know it belonged to someone prominent. Some Aso Oke even come with names—maybe Adekoya or Coker—marking the regions they were made in or the families they belonged to. You can trace people, regions, and social status from these fabrics. Aso Oke holds history.” Through his growing Aso Oke library, Binitie is determined to preserve that history.

But preservation isn’t just about archiving—it’s also about reinvention. For Agu, fashion’s ability to sustain and repurpose is just as vital as its cultural power. “We try to make sure that fabrics get a new life, a second chance," she says. "Sustainability might be a trend, but it's the best trend in the world."

For Binitie and Agu, fashion bridges the past and present, historical and modern, and culture and history.

Nigerian fashion and community

Emmanuel Okoro, founder ofEmmy Kasbit, shares a similar philosophy. “Fashion has been incredibly instrumental in keeping cultures and traditional practices alive, especially as the world shifts toward sustainability,” he says. For him, practices like hand-dyeing and hand-weaving, rooted in African traditions, are naturally sustainable.

His latest collection features wrap skirts for men, inspired by warriors’ traditional wrappers. “Back then, there were no buttons,” he explains. “We modernized the design by adding a button on the waistband, making it versatile for both men and women.” This marriage of tradition and the modern captures the essence of what Nigerian designers are doing today—transforming the old into something fresh and contemporary without losing its soul.

For Okoro, the longevity of fashion is just as important as its functionality. “We ask ourselves: How long will this garment last?” He explains that people today want timeless pieces—garments they can treasure for years. That’s whyEmmy Kasbit introduced a means to extend the life of their pieces. If a customer grows tired of an Akwete garment in five or six years, they can return it to the studio. “Instead of discarding it, someone else can adopt it, and we’ll deduct a certain amount from the price. It’s about decluttering responsibly and ensuring that these garments live on.”

He believes African fashion is evolving, but its future depends on a deeper connection to its roots. “We have to think about our communities, our environment. Are we being responsible with our materials? Are we supporting local artisans?” He points to Akwete, a fabric his brand centers heavily on and boasts over a hundred motifs, most of which remain unexplored. “There’s so much untapped potential in our local communities, and these communities form the grassroots of our industry.”

Creating a single piece of Akwete is no small feat. “It takes two to three weeks of hand-weaving,” Okoro says. This labor-intensive process speaks to preserving the art form and the artisans behind it. “We want these pieces to be heirlooms, passed down through generations.”

Preservation is a central theme for Okoro, so he launched theEmmy Kasbit Initiative— to protect culture and empower artisans. A recent Warner Music Africa grant is funding an outreach program for women in weaving communities, covering healthcare, school fees, and improving working conditions. “A woman might spend three weeks, hunched over, weaving one piece of textile,” Okoro says. “That’s luxury—a product of skill, time, and dedication.”

African fashion is proving that heritage and modernity can coexist. Designers like Kasbit, Agu, and Binitie are preserving history and giving it a new voice that resonates across generations and borders. They’re showing the world that African fabrics are more than materials—they’re living stories, steeped in culture, waiting to be retold.