My mother has always known how to dress. Cameroonian by birth and Nigerian by marriage, she was always destined to show out, effortlessly combining the Francophone influence of her Cameroonian roots with the Nigerian predilection to ‘do yanga’ . Style comes to her like flight to a bird; that is to say instinctively and with joy – and if that fact were ever to be in doubt, well then thank goodness for the mountain of photographic evidence that exists to back it up.
That love of clothes – the acquisition of them and an appreciation for their communicative potential – has from childhood been a shared bond for the two of us. As a teenager, trips to Oxford Street were day-long affairs where we would meticulously make our way through all of my favourite shops, spending hours selecting items and trying on clothes, before finally arriving home laden with bags that would see me through until the next foray.
We do not, however, see eye to eye on everything. My mother is a staunch advocate of colour, her wardrobe full of riotous fuchsias, burnt oranges and emerald greens, while – much to her bemusement – I generally stick to a palette of neutrals: beige, black, cream and grey. When it comes to jewellery, her attitude has always been that of ‘more is more’, piling gold on top of gold – earrings, bracelets, rings, necklaces, the Nigerian tendency towards opulence and excess shining through.
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