Are we all dressing the same?

Hi Y'all?

How are y'all surviving this heat? Personally, I am dying, but we move.

This summer, YouTube has quietly become part of my daily routine. I usually watch cinema recaps, film reviews, social commentary, comedy shows, fashion shows and the occasional feel-good podcast like Houseguest or IMO. But recently, after buying a few new pieces for my wardrobe, I found myself searching for styling ideas. I started watching fashion influencers' videos. 

The only fashion creator I've followed consistently on YouTube over the years is Karen Brit Chick. I adore her enthusiasm for fashion and her ability to tell stories through clothes. She reminds me that fashion can be joyful, playful, and deeply personal. The only downside? She showcases luxury brands that my bank account simply cannot entertain.

So I started exploring other creators. That's when I noticed something strange. Everyone seemed to be wearing... the exact same outfit. The same thong sandals. The same bubble pants and barrel jeans.  Even the same African luxury brands kept appearing across different channels.

At first, I wondered if it was because I was mostly watching Black American creators. Then I thought perhaps these were simply the trends of the moment. But after a while, it became difficult to tell one haul from another. It left me wondering: are we slowly losing our individual style?

Scarf - thrifted 

Dress - Treichville market in Abidjan

Flats - Numero Uno 

Accessories - Petersen market 

To be fair, I understand how the industry works. Influencers need partnerships to make a living. Brands send them products, sponsor videos, and naturally want their latest collections seen by as many people as possible. And it results in everyone shopping at the same places, filming the same haul, and recommending the same "must-have" item from Shein, Zara, ASOS, Amazon and Walmart.

Fashion has become strangely predictable. And every year we can see what will become the it item of the season. A couple of years ago, every influencer owned that one-shoulder pleated dress with the side keyhole. Last summer, it was impossible to escape the printed mesh dresses or crochet dresses. 

Even Pinterest is not safe anymore. It used to be my secret weapon. Whenever I needed inspiration, I would create mood boards and discover unexpected styling ideas. Today, my Pinterest feed still looks like me; however, it has become more and more generic. And don't get me started on AI-generated images.

What has always fascinated me about fashion isn't the labels or the trends. It's the creativity. The idea that two women can wear the same fabric and have two completely different looks. Take weddings in Senegal; in some ethnic groups, they wear the same fabric. Yet you see several different interpretations. And no matter how many guests attend, no outfit looks the same. That's what makes fashion exciting.

Lately, though, I feel we've become more uniform than ever. Post-COVID fashion seems to have settled into a formula. Fashion became more laid-back and casual. Moreover, globally, people gravitate towards the same styles: the corset dress you wear at big events (such as weddings) that leaves you wondering how anyone manages to sit down; the monochrome fitted gown with a lace or tulle illusion skirt; the sweatpants or yoga pants as airport fashion. Where is the fun in that?

If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that developing personal style starts long before you go shopping. It starts with knowing yourself. My style today looks nothing like it did twenty years ago. As a teenager, I was the ultimate tomboy, preferring baggy jeans and sports jerseys to dresses. Nowadays, I've fully embraced my "Auntie era," and I'm perfectly happy there. I know what works for me. I love boho-chic silhouettes, flowing dresses, oversized boubous, wide-leg trousers and comfortable bold printed fabrics that allow me to breathe—especially in Dakar's heat. I have never been a "baddie" (well, maybe when I was in college). You will rarely catch me wearing anything skin-tight. I lean towards modest dressing because that's what feels comfortable to me. Once you understand who you are, trends lose much of their power over you.

That doesn't mean you should ignore trends altogether. Some trends deserve a place in your wardrobe—provided they fit your lifestyle. Last summer, I fell in love with butter yellow. Instead of buying an entire trendy outfit, I purchased a simple camisole. It's a piece I wear all year round under blazers at work or with lightweight dusters on weekends. Even when butter yellow disappears from magazine covers, that camisole will still earn its place in my wardrobe. On the other hand, I was completely obsessed with those printed mesh dresses. I searched everywhere. Eventually, I found one at the market. I couldn't wait to try it on. The excitement lasted about thirty seconds. It simply didn't suit me. Instead of forcing the trend, I walked away and later invested in a beautiful black-and-white drop-waist maxi dress that felt much more "me." Sometimes, saying no to a trend is the most stylish decision you can make.

Another way to avoid looking like everyone else? Change where you shop. Some of my favourite pieces didn't come from shopping malls. They came from thrift markets. Over the years, I've found beautiful Indian-inspired dresses, embroidered Arab kaftans, vintage silk scarves, leather handbags and even Italian shoes that have aged far better than many clothes produced today. Older garments were often made with remarkable craftsmanship. Many have survived decades and still look beautiful. There's something deeply satisfying about giving those pieces a second life.

One of the greatest advantages of living in Senegal is access to talented tailors. I genuinely don't know what I would do without mine. Every couple of months, I buy fabric, sketch an idea—or sometimes simply describe what I have in mind—and leave the rest in their capable hands. The result? A unique garment made specifically for my body, my lifestyle and my personality. And almost without fail, someone asks me where I bought it.

If designing your own clothes isn't your thing, seek out independent designers instead. One of my favourite weekend activities is visiting local fairs and pop-up markets. Yes, the big brands are there. But hidden among them are smaller labels quietly producing extraordinary work. Last year, I discovered a young Senegalese designer whose work immediately caught my eye. I bought a tomato-red gown with dramatic cape sleeves and the most exquisite embroidered parrot across the front. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. I wore it to a family communion. People stopped me all day to ask where I had found it. I smiled every single time. I can't wait to wear it again. Because that's what great clothes do. They aren't memorable because everyone owns them. They're memorable because they tell a story.

And perhaps that's what personal style should always be about—not following the crowd, but finding the confidence to dress like yourself.