“Africa fashion is clean,” according to American-British critic and writer Bonnie Greer. “The clean that makes you feel seen. Woven into African fashion is cleansing; confronting the stains of colonisation, erasure, and oppression to reclaim history, tradition, and meaning to express both past and present identity and culture. It’s a messy process and perhaps fitting that this is a story that can be revealed through mudcloth or bògòlanfini (the Malian term for mudcloth).
Dating as far back as the 12th century, the Malian textile was abandoned in favour of European imports during colonial times before being brought back into the mainstream. It’s since become regarded as “probably the most influential ethnic fabric of the 1990s,” according to author Ronke Luke-Boone, and can now be found across clothing, home textiles, and fine art. Its current resurgence is intrinsically tied to the work of designer Chris Seydou.
Known now as one of the forefathers of African fashion, Seydou was born in Kati, Mali in 1949 as Seydou Nourou Doumbia. His mother, an embroiderer and seamstress, introduced him to the world of couture through her work, and the many European magazines she referenced for her clients acquainted him with the works of Christian Dior and Balenciaga. He apprenticed for a tailor before opening his first store in 1967 in Burkina Faso and another in Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire a year later, where he became known for dressing the women of West Africa’s elite. In the ’70s, he relocated to Paris, where he Christianised his name to Chris Seydou to bring his Malian heritage into the Western context. This bridging of the African and Western would become a signature of his work, a concept that remains present for many contemporary designers.
Chris Seydou creation photographed by Nabil Zorkot via the V&A Museum
Seydou rose to fame throughout the ’70s and ’80s for his use of bògòlanfini. He manipulated the fabric into Western modes of dress such as mini-skirts, bell bottoms and blazers. Upon returning to Mali towards the end of the 20th century, Seydou worked with local artisans, artists and manufacturers on new designs and production process. In the 1980s, American designer Norma Kamali would follow suit with her collection which involved imitation bògòlanfini screen-printed onto wrappers, jackets and blouses–much of which did not acknowledge its Malian origins or meaning. As with most instances of appropriation, the source plays second to its derivative.
However, this was a practice not pioneered by Seydou himself. Having grown up around bògòlanfini his whole life, Seydou was acutely aware of its significance and did not feel comfortable cutting into ceremonial designs for his products. His simplification and standardisation of the designs served to preserve and respect its sanctity.
A woman’s wrapper created by Malian artist Guancho Diarra in 1985 using cotton and vegetal dye and the art of bògòlanfini (Newark Museum of Art)
Bògòlanfini originated from Mali’s Bamana peoples. Bogolan means ‘made with mud’ and fini translates to ‘cloth’, plainly illustrating this unique method of textile production. It’s recognisable by its brown, black, and white palette, with graphic symbols and patterns in lighter colours set against a dark background. Cotton or wool would first be carded, spun and woven into thin strips of cloth by men, which were then stitched together to produce larger pieces for wrapping and draping across the body. The cloth would then be soaked in a combination of water and leaves, dried over calabash gourds, and then the negative space would be painted, stencilled, and stamped in iron-rich mud. Once the mud had permeated the fabric, the cloth would be rinsed and sometimes have sections bleached or re-dyed to increase the contrast.
While each of the different cloths could share symbols, the placement and arrangement of these were unique to each wearer
Bògòlanfini was an important part of ceremonies, rites of passage, and daily life. The cloth provided spiritual protection, camouflage to hunters, aided girls in their initiation into womanhood, and could tell an individual’s life story through the placement of motifs. Each symbol carries meaning; a series of dots could represent local peanut farming, curving lines indicating a particular stream, or an X in the middle of a diamond detailing a particular household object. While each of the different cloths could share symbols, the placement and arrangement of these were unique to each wearer.
The nature of this handweaving, painting, and arrangement also meant that bògòlanfini was rarely uniform, which, while ideal for the wrappers, boubous, and cloaks they adorned—unfortunately all uncut, non-tailored garments—did not work for Seydou’s use of Western silhouettes. Pattern matching, a hallmark of well-made couture, along with the symmetry inherent in garments with a pair of sleeves or pant legs, demanded more static and repeating designs.
Another example of a bògòlanfini wrapper, crafted by the Bamana people using cotton and dye (The Metropolitan Museum of Art)
While this simplification might constitute an erasure of a centuries-old cultural tradition, it also reflects the precarious nature of African identity following liberation. 1960 is known as The Year of Africa, when 17 nations found independence from colonial rule and Pan-Africanist ideals spread across the world. Modern Africans had been forcefully separated from their own material culture, beliefs, and practices by imperialist ideology. The nature of textiles and fashion is ephemeral and although certain practices like the production of bògòlanfini have been able to withstand the test of time, the ideas, attitudes, and contexts in which they emerged did not. In the decades following the Year of Africa, African music, dance and fashion have been galvanised the world over.
While stories of appropriation and appreciation from the West are common—bògòlanfini has shown up in the collections of Euro-American designers like Oscar de la Renta, Ralph Lauren, Givenchy, and Diane von Furstenberg—it’s now increasingly common to see Africa represented by Africans, evidenced by celebrated contemporary Malian designers like Sarakulé and Awa Meité.
Awa Miete at Lagos Fashion Week 2019. ©Lagos Fashion Week / Kola Oshalusi
Seydou’s legacy is not only one of bringing bògòlanfini, and thereby African fashion, to the international stage, but also of allowing the designers, artisans and practitioners following him a blueprint of reclaiming and proclaiming their experiences on their own terms.
- Featured image shows bògòlanfini for sale at a market in Mali by
