What Makes a Brand “African”? Rethinking Labels in a Global Fashion Industry
As Africa’s fashion and creative industries gain global attention, more brands are proudly claiming the “African” label. But what does it really mean to be an African brand today? Is it about geography, identity, production, design language, or something else entirely? And in a global fashion economy where fluidity is the norm, who gets to decide?
For decades, “Made in Africa” was often overlooked or exoticised. Today, it’s a point of pride. Designers from Accra to Addis are building brands that reflect their heritage while participating in a broader, global fashion conversation. But for many, especially those who live in the diaspora or produce beyond the continent, the term African brand can feel both empowering and limiting.
Take Kai Collective, founded by Nigerian designer Fisayo Longe. The brand is rooted in her lived experiences as a homegrown Nigerian, but her designs are informed by a globally minded aesthetic and manufactured in the UK. While the garments are produced outside the continent, her vision, storytelling, and cultural references remain deeply African. This complicates the definition: does the label “African brand” apply only to where a product is made, or does it lie in the perspective and intent of its creator?
Other brands also blur the lines. Orange Culture, designed by Nigerian creative Adebayo Oke-Lawal, explores gender, vulnerability, and fluid identity through fashion. Though based in Lagos and manufactured locally, the brand’s ethos is global. Similarly, Maxhosa Africa, by South African designer Laduma Ngxokolo, champions Xhosa inspired aesthetics while selling internationally and showing on fashion week stages far from home.
Some brands source materials from Africa but produce elsewhere due to infrastructure gaps. Others operate internationally but build their identities around African storytelling. Does this diminish their ‘Africanness’, or simply reflect the modern reality of global business?
Maki Oh, founded by Nigerian designer Amaka Osakwe, is another key example. The brand is known for blending traditional weaving techniques with contemporary silhouettes and has garnered global acclaim. But does that acclaim dilute its African identity or reinforce it?
Suuri Designs, operated by Nigerians in Chicago, fuses Yoruba beadwork with minimalist couture. Its dual base challenges simplified ideas of origin. In such cases, is identity tied to geography, or the cultural language of the work itself?
There’s also the question of ownership. Does a brand need to be African owned to be African? What happens when international labels borrow from African culture or craft but are based entirely outside the continent?
For many designers, the answer is not binary. African identity can be layered, shaped by lived experience, diaspora connections, or ancestral ties. A Ghanaian designer based in London may interpret their identity differently than someone working from Accra. Yet both can contribute meaningfully to the African fashion narrative.
Ultimately, defining what makes a brand African is less about ticking boxes and more about intention, integrity, and cultural respect. As Africa’s creative industries continue to evolve, perhaps the real question is not whether a brand is African enough but whether it’s participating in the conversation with authenticity.
What do you think defines an African brand? Share your thoughts with us in the comments. We’d love to hear different perspectives.
