Before hashtags and outfit grids, Nigerians already had their own runways: the street, the Owambe, campus and the church.
There were no filters, reels or hashtags. Just pure drip and self-confidence.
So the question is, before Instagram, how did Nigerians even know they were stylish? Let’s take a trip back to when your tailor was your stylist, and compliments and stares were the only algorithm that mattered.
The Street Was the Runway Before the Feed
Before influencers and outfit grids, Nigerian fashion thrived on street credibility. The boys in Yaba, Ikeja, and Surulere didn’t need followers to validate their drip.
The real test was how many heads turned or how their fellow guys hailed with two hands raised in the air when they passed by.
Denim jackets, crazy jeans, and FUBU tees were currency. Timberlands in the heat of Lagos? Iconic. The IT girls rocked halter tops and mini skirts, serving attitude.
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Church and Owambe Were Our Original Fashion Weeks
If you didn’t attend Owambe dripping in aso-oke, lace, or damask, did you even attend? Nigerian parties were the real catwalks.
Every weekend was a competition in colour coordination, gele architecture, and shoe shine. The Church wasn’t left out either.
Fashionistas came dressed to slay (not just demons, mind you). Your lace fabric should be porous enough for the fire within to burn your enemies to ashes.
Your eyebrow should be shaped like a sharp sickle to show you’re ready to harvest souls for the Lord.
Your validation came from whispers like, “See as she fine today, ehn!” (see how fine she is today). This is not a backhanded compliment. It’s just how we roll.
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On Campus, Style Was a Matter of Confidence
Campus fashion in Nigeria is basically the bedrock of Y2K Nollywood fashion. Iconic actresses like Tonto Dike, Genevieve Nnaji, Regina Askia, Omotola Jalade-Ekeinde, and Rita Dominic served looks.
They depicted the fashion statement on UNILAG (University of Lagos), UI (University of Ibadan), and UNN (University of Nsukka) campuses. The hostel and lecture room corridors were fashion weeks in motion. These walks gave you the “fit check”, even before the term existed.
Girls matched crop tops with bootcut trousers or mini skirts and chunky belts. And if your sneakers were clean, your reputation was sealed.
Campus fashion wasn’t about money. Thrifted? Tailored? Borrowed? Didn’t matter as long as it looked good and you carried it like royalty.
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Magazines, Music Videos, and Tailors Were the Influencers
Before ‘explore Pages’ and ‘OOTD’ (Outfit of the Day), there were Ovation Magazine, City People, and Drum. You didn’t scroll. You flipped, dissed some outfits, and praised some.
Music videos from 2Face and Styl-Plus, Genevieve Nnaji’s red carpet looks, and Ramsey Nouah’s blazers were just like Pinterest boards.
And let’s not forget our tailors, who were the real influencers with their precious and forever golden catalogues.
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‘Bend-Down-Select’ (Thrift) Were the Real Fashion Scenes
Before fast fashion like Zara or Shein, Nigerians already had sustainable fashion figured out.
Yaba, Balogun, Wuse, and Tejuosho were local thrift markets that became our fashion capitals. “Bend down select” was like treasure hunting.
We were recycling and upcycling everything from jeans to retro jackets and vintage tops way before these terms became a global buzzword.
Your ability to flip an ordinary, ugly bend-down-select is proof that you’re stylish.
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The Confidence Was the Real Filter
Confidence and attitude were face filters. You just had to beat your face with the right makeup, shave your eyebrow and tint it with a strong arch. The sunlight was a natural highlighter.
Style was about how you entered the room. It was the sway in your walk, the starch in your agbada, and how your gele cascades. We truly embodied aesthetics.
Then Instagram Came and We Simply Upgraded the Stage
When Instagram finally arrived, Nigerians didn’t need a manual. We had been prepping for the spotlight for decades. Suddenly, the Owambe pictures that lived in photo albums were getting global attention.
From Denola Grey’s clean tailoring to Toke Makinwa’s glam looks, Noble Igwe’s agbada swagger to Enioluwa’s Gen Z flair, Instagram became our runway, and our styles became the soul of fashion.
The obvious proof of this is how our art and fashion now take the centre stage globally. We didn’t start dressing well because of Instagram. Instagram was just our footstool because we already did.
In summary, we’ve always been stylish. The internet is just an extra validation.
