The Fight Against Counterfeit Fashion
When news broke of Ziva Lagos’ founder, Tania Omotayo, calling out the theft of one of her brand’s designs, it struck a nerve across the African fashion community. For many, it wasn’t just another case of fashion plagiarism, it was a reminder of how vulnerable African creativity remains in the face of mass production, counterfeiting, and cultural exploitation.
Unfortunately, this story is not an isolated incident. African designers face the constant threat of their work being replicated by vendors who have little regard for originality or artistry. Markets like Balogun Market in Lagos showcase the double edged reality: a hub of commerce and vibrancy, yet also a place where knock offs circulate freely, undermining the very creatives pushing the industry forward. But here’s the hard truth: the counterfeit market doesn’t thrive in a vacuum. It exists because there’s demand. Many buyers turn to knock offs simply because the originals are priced out of reach. For a customer who admires a designer’s work but can’t afford a 150,000 naira dress, a 15,000 naira replica becomes the only accessible option. Beyond affordability, there’s also accessibility. Original pieces are often sold in limited quantities or exclusive spaces, while replicas flood the open markets and online shops. Some consumers aren’t even aware they’re purchasing counterfeits; others knowingly do so, valuing the look over the authenticity. And for certain buyers, there’s a cultural perception at play: wearing the “style” matters more than who created it, which feeds into a cycle where originality is undervalued and imitation normalized.
Take fabrics, for example. At the heart of African fashion lies Ankara, kente, adire, bogolanfini, and countless other textiles that carry histories within their weaves. Yet many of these fabrics are no longer produced locally at scale, leaving designers to source from mass manufacturers abroad. The result is not only diluted authenticity but also weakened textile economies at home. And even when designers break away from these common fabrics to create custom printed textiles (the likes of Ziva Lagos, Banke Kuku, Wanni Fuga, etc) the risk doesn’t disappear. Because such production often happens overseas, those designs are even more exposed to copying and redistribution without consent. For independent brands, especially, that vulnerability is an ongoing threat.
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- Counterfeit Wanni Fuga Signature Print Two Piece seen being sold at a market in Lagos
The challenge extends beyond fabrics. African fashion weeks have seen collections copied almost immediately after debut, from evening gowns to streetwear silhouettes. Global fast fashion companies have also been called out for borrowing directly from African aesthetics without credit or compensation. Even mid level African labels, which lack the scale to fight back, often watch their designs circulate in markets as cheap imitations within weeks of launch.
Intellectual property laws should act as a safeguard, but in practice, they offer only fragile protection. Registering copyrights or trademarks is expensive, time consuming, and rarely enforced with the speed needed to deter infringement. For most designers, the system feels inaccessible. And when cases do make it through the legal process, penalties often fail to reflect the real economic and cultural damage done. This gap allows counterfeiters, vendors, and even big name brands to profit from stolen ideas with little accountability.
But this issue isn’t just economic. Each stolen print, each replicated silhouette, chips away at the cultural ownership of African creativity. Fashion goes beyond commerce. It is memory, identity, and storytelling. When designs rooted in heritage are stripped of context and mass produced without acknowledgment, the narrative of African innovation is flattened into commodity.
So what comes next? Solutions must go beyond individual outrage. Stronger legal frameworks are essential, but so too are collective initiatives: designers, governments, and trade bodies working together to hold markets accountable. Building back local textile industries is equally critical, ensuring creatives have reliable, protected channels of production at home. And perhaps most importantly, consumers need to be educated about the impact of choosing knock offs over originals. Every purchase is a vote for either exploitation or protection.
Protecting African fashion ultimately means protecting legacies. Every stitch, every print, every design carries not just artistry but identity. Safeguarding that identity is a responsibility shared by designers, policymakers, and the public alike.
How do you think African fashion can be better protected from exploitation? Share your thoughts in the comments below or join the conversation on Instagram @fashionevostyle.
And don’t just stop at the conversation, be part of the movement. FashionEVO Summit and Show at Africa Creative Market 2025 will bring together designers, policymakers, and industry leaders to tackle these issues head on. Sign up here and join us in shaping the future of African fashion.
