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This reported feature investigating the future of fashion in Jamaica, by Sharine Taylor, belongs to a package celebrating Caribbean Heritage Month. Throughout June, we will honor the powerful creativity, ambition, and heart of Caribbean culture through the sharp perspective of writers of Caribbean descent. The Caribbean is not just a tourist destination — it is a region, a people, and an identity rich in history and spirit.
For nearly two decades, Beth Lesser’s Dancehall has been the foundational text in establishing the visual ecology of Jamaican style. Published in 2008 by the Canadian photographer, the book features a collection of portraits and text chronicling dancehall, a then-emerging genre and culture that was taking over the streets of Kingston during the '80s.
Through her photos, readers have insight into the bubbling scene. The newly forming sound system crews, the towering systems themselves, dancehall’s earliest players. Unintentionally, the book also did something else: It captured dancehall’s style. Through Dancehall, the fashion sensibilities of Kingstonians have been immortalized and referenced time and time again. But what of the future?
Elli Michaela Young is a University of Brighton PhD candidate whose research explores how practices around style were part of Jamaica’s identity formation between 1950 and 1970, as the country transitioned into independence — a time period during which Jamaica's identity was far from homogenous.
“There's not one national identity. That's the problem,” says Young. “People think about national identity and think [of] it as one national identity, but there isn't one national identity in Jamaica. There [are] different ones, and how people articulate their sense of Jamaican-ness through clothing depends on class. Rastafarianism, which is seen as a Jamaican and national identity for Jamaica, is not [that]. That's a working-class culture. If you look to the middle class or the professional classes, they've got a different type of culture. So their sense of national identity as Jamaicans is something completely different.”
Though Jamaica’s style history is inclusive of what was captured in Lesser's images and of the varying social classes of people who inhabited the space, the country's style continued to evolve. However, when many international entities arrive to the land of wood and water to produce their latest editorial or advertisement, or when labels seek to use Jamaica as a reference point, there seems to be little desire to depart from this particular time period.
So what is the current state and future of Jamaican, and by extension, Caribbean style? Teen Vogue spoke with four of Jamaica’s top stylists to discover what forecasts and trends are on the horizon.
Stylist and creative director Neko “Bootleg Rocstar” Kelly has worked with the likes of i-D, Olympian Shericka Jackson, artist Nadine Sutherland, Miss Jamaica Universe 2017 Davina Bennett, and more. For Kelly, the future of Jamaican style is a paradox of sorts: People are aware of Jamaica’s far-reaching cultural influence, but in the realm of fashion, there is a misunderstanding of the breadth of style sensibilities.
“Outside of our shorts and top-wearing stereotype, I don't feel like they think that we are stylish people," says Kelly. "Jamaicans are very stylish. Our everyday fashion is not relaxed.”
Of course, the fashion found in the dance halls during the '90s is most emblematic of this. Maximalism was the name of the game, and patrons would adorn themselves in a vibrant array of metallics, bold prints, and gold jewelry. Many of these outfits were bespoke. “The '90s were unapologetic. It was an explosion of glamour," Kelly continues. "When we think of the Ouch Crew, Beenie Man, dancehall queen Carlene, and how respect for seamstresses and designers were at a peak… Fashion was so important in the ‘90s. It was like battle armor: Going to a party to make sure seh you ah di ’ottest gyal. It was rivalry. It was celebration. It was unity, and I feel like that is why we can't move past the idea of that era popularly representing Jamaica: that was the last era of originality.”
Though Kelly has made it an integral part of his practice to work directly alongside local designers to elevate the national consciousness of style — like Kadian Nicely Exclusive or Tribe Nine Studios, to name a few — he believes that while subcultures of style exist, with the accessibility and price points that fast fashion retailers provide, styles have leaned towards a more Westernized aesthetic.
“There's always been a lot of subcultures of fashion in Jamaica, but the most prominent one right now is very [mass produced]: it's very Shein, it's very Zara, it's very Boohoo," says Kelly. "Then, you have the other subcultures. When you think about the people who listen to Protégé, Chronixx, Lila Iké, Sevanna, those groups of musicians? They inspire other people to look a certain way, to take chances, to look more cultural, but updated. You see how Sevana dresses? It gives you '70s Jamaica but with a lot of modern sex appeal and intellect. That's why she looks so classic in everything she wears. Even the queer culture here, they're very big on sex appeal, and it gives you Mugler. It's a melting pot right now of fashion subcultures.”
Designer, stylist, and creative director Shamara “Shampagne” Sahadeo owns the Seora Clothing brand and has created custom outfits for Spice, Jada Kingdom, Skillibeng, Kabaka Pyramid, Jesse Royal, and more.
“I describe what I do [at Seora] as between Caribbean couture and what I call ‘Yaad Streetwear,'" says Sahadeo. "The basis of everything is that I want to present something that feels new but also feels familiar, so there are certain things that are embedded visually in our culture when it comes to fashion. I want to pull from that inspiration but also elevate it in a certain way that it feels new.” This is most embodied in her editorial campaigns like Market Day or High Fashion, where the foliage and vegetation of the Caribbean landscape are metabolized into the sets she creates.
On the current state of style, she believes there is an insistence on individuality. “There's so much fluidity with fashion in Jamaica. It doesn't feel like a uniform anymore," Sahadeo says. "To make reference: Clarks. Clarks, straight pants, white T-shirt: uniform. Now you might see somebody in something more casual, you'll see women wearing it. I feel like there's more diversity within the space now, as opposed to, ‘We're dictating that this is what the look is, and we're all going to basically pull up in the same thing.’ Everybody's being a bit more expressive.”
In the future, she hopes that the streetwear scene will grow larger, and given her experience making notable looks for public figures and celebrities, she has a direct role in making that a reality.
“I believe heavily in streetwear eventually becoming the main genre of fashion that's going to be popular amongst younger people or [athletes]. That's definitely going to be what we're going to be seeing way more of," she says. “At some point, gender-neutral looks. Sometimes, as a girl, [you can say] ‘I slept over at my boyfriend's house, I stole his jacket, and I'm gone to work.’ That type of fluidity of streetwear that can be mixed and matched in so many different ways.”
Tamo Ennis, who has a 17-year career as a fashion stylist, wardrobe stylist, creative director and designer, has worked with artists like Koffee, Major Lazer, Tyla, Masicka, WizKid, and more. Ennis considers Lesser’s images as classic, attributing it to the culture of people of the diaspora sending things back home.
“I love this style. It's roots rock. It's who we used to be," she says. "It's what was handed down to us from our barrel culture with our relatives who moved to London and so forth. There's a time capsule and an attachment to that period, but I know that we've moved on from that ages ago. There is no Jamaican I know that you could ever convince to wear anything like this unless it was for a timepiece project, music video, or a stage performance.”
Despite there being a clear desire for personal and individual style expression, Ennis believes that Jamaican fashion is still rather contained. “There's TikTok culture where everybody wants to blend in or express themselves, but not too far outside of the margins of what everyone else is doing. [Style] is very curated, store-bought, trend[y] and fad, opposed to what it used to be, where we used to be very interested in being authentic, original, expressive and creative.”
As a stylist, Ennis knows that it's her responsibility to push the boundaries of style while ensuring her clients feel secure enough to take that next step. “You have to do this dance where you stay within the parameters of what they've asked for [but] also try to figure out how to make it your own and fresh," Ennis says. "For the most part, [a client] will not come to you with something that's so far out and outside the box that's never been done. They want to toe the line themselves, so where your creativity comes in is your having to take them over the line a little bit. Most of the treatments I get are a little on the safe side. What I try to do is just turn that on its head a little bit.”
In terms of her aspirational forecast on the future of style, Ennis names a handful of popular and innovative yet controversial brands. “A lot of people pour water on Balenciaga, Yeezy, [and] Balmain and their attempts to make garbage fashionable, but I don't. I really like that,” says Ennis.
“I like the innovation of turning something onto its head, of using everyday materials and making it fashion, or at least making it ironic fashion. I look forward to more of that, but less in an ironic way, just more back to what dancehall culture was birthed from, which is innovation, a lack of resources, having to use your hand and turn and make it fashion because you didn't have access. Balenciaga's play on trash being fashion reminds me so much of that, and I look forward to it becoming more mainstream where we are doing it as a people, again, as opposed to just waiting on these labels to find creativity in it, overprice it, and then repackage it and sell it to us.”
Stylist and designer Ayana Rivière, whose work has been seen on Arcade Fire singer Régine Chassagne in Rolling Stone and has worked with artists like Popcaan, Sean Paul, Tessellated, Damian Marley, and more, suggests that many external entities don’t know the science of styling within a Caribbean context.
“I think there's this idea that Jamaican style is just random things thrown together. That's what I see when U.S. acts may put together a dancehall scene, ‘Look at me, I'm super confident I can wear whatever.’ But I think there's a little bit more thought that goes into what people wear here,” Rivière says. "Yeah, you have outrageous looks, but that's not the style expression across the board here. I think that's the biggest misconception. Even the palettes that people think are the prominently used colors: it's not always primary colors, it's not always very bright colors. There are more sensibilities than people think when it comes to even that.”
For Rivère, self-expression through style is acquired through comfortability — even with the more “outrageous" style choices. “I think a lot of what people get on the outside, not just from Jamaican style, but Caribbean style, is [that it’s] always over the top," she continues. “It may appear to be over the top, but the person wearing it usually is 100% comfortable. It makes sense for their personalities. They're wearing the clothes, the clothes isn't wearing them.”
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Given what accessibility to fast fashion brands affords, it seems the general consensus among these creatives is that while there is still retention of personal style, there hasn’t been a huge collective shift that would alter the visual ecology of Jamaican style in the way that Beth Lesser’s images have — and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
However, it does provoke thoughts about what perseveres through what is lost. “We might have lost sartorial identity, but what really remains is the confidence, the boldness, being unapologetic," says Kelly. "That is something that you can't take away from our culture. Regardless of what the fashion is, that trend of confidence and fearlessness will always remain in our DNA. Whatever trend comes, whatever style comes, we'll rock it.”
