Black Fashion & Cultural Appropriation
Cornrows were mocked and banned on Black children in schools. Gold teeth were used in mug shots to signal criminality. Baggy jeans meant prison. Durags were dress-code violations. Then the fashion industry discovered all of it and called it a trend — without naming who created it.
The history of Black fashion in America is inseparable from the history of Black identity, resistance, and survival. Enslaved people maintained African aesthetic traditions — braiding patterns, the use of fabric and color with cultural meaning, head wraps — under conditions that often prohibited them. After emancipation, clothing became one of the first accessible avenues of self-expression and status, and Black Americans developed distinctive styles that were simultaneously expressions of dignity and responses to a world that kept trying to strip it away. The Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s produced one of the first fully documented moments of Black fashion as conscious cultural statement: the zoot suit, the drape, the deliberate opulence of men who were supposed to be invisible.
Cornrows are probably the single most documented example of how Black hairstyles move through American culture. The braiding technique originated in Africa, traveled to the Americas with enslaved people, and has been documented in Black American communities continuously since. For most of American history, cornrows were associated exclusively with Black people and were subject to negative social treatment: professional dress codes that prohibited them, school rules that required Black children to straighten or cover their hair, and a persistent cultural message that the natural texture and styling of Black hair was unprofessional. When Bo Derek wore cornrows in the 1979 film '10,' mainstream American media called it an exotic new trend. The pattern has repeated with braids, locs, box braids, Bantu knots, and the Afro: scorned on Black people, celebrated when adopted by white celebrities or luxury fashion brands.
The criminalization of Black fashion is a parallel and equally documented history. During the War on Drugs in the 1980s and 1990s, specific clothing items associated with Black and Latino youth — baggy jeans, hoodies, certain sneaker brands, durags — were incorporated into criminal profiling logic in ways that were explicit in some jurisdictions and implicit in others. School dress codes banned clothing that was associated with gang activity, which in practice meant clothing associated with Black and Latino youth culture. Meanwhile, the same styles were appearing in music videos, on runways, and in advertising targeted at white suburban youth, where they were understood as cool rather than criminal. Trayvon Martin was wearing a hoodie when he was killed in 2012. The image of the hoodie became a civil rights symbol not because hoodies are inherently political, but because the gap between how they read on a Black teenager and a white one was so stark.
The CROWN Act — Creating a Respectful and Open World for Natural Hair — was introduced in the U.S. Senate in 2019 to prohibit discrimination based on hair texture and protective hairstyles. It addresses an ongoing and documented problem: Black employees losing jobs or being denied employment because of natural hair, locs, braids, or afros; Black children being suspended or sent home from school for wearing their hair in culturally traditional styles. As of 2024, roughly 24 states have passed some version of the CROWN Act. It has not passed at the federal level. The need for a law prohibiting discrimination against natural Black hair in 2024 is itself a data point.
In fashion as in music, the economic dimension matters. Black designers — Virgil Abloh, Patrick Kelly, Ann Lowe, Willi Smith, Romeo Hunte, Kerby Jean-Raymond — have consistently created work that influenced industry trends while being systematically denied the financing, retail access, and media coverage available to white designers working in similar aesthetics. Ann Lowe designed Jacqueline Kennedy's wedding dress in 1953 and was not credited in most press coverage. Virgil Abloh became the first Black American artistic director of Louis Vuitton Men's in 2018, 163 years after the brand's founding, and died in 2021. The system that extracts Black aesthetic innovation while limiting Black economic participation in the industries that benefit from it is not a flaw. For much of fashion history, it has been the operating model.
Our ancestors braided maps into their hair to navigate to freedom. Black hair has always been political. It has always been resistance. It has always been ours.Natural hair activist, on the history of protective hairstyles
Black fashion history matters because it shows how aesthetic culture is both extracted and policed simultaneously — the same style that gets a Black teenager profiled gets a white fashion brand a feature in Vogue. Understanding this pattern doesn't require any single villain. It requires understanding that cultural power flows from communities to industries, and that the communities who originate the culture rarely see proportional economic or reputational return. The CROWN Act fight illustrates where this lands in 2024: we are still passing laws to tell employers that Black people's natural hair is not a reason to fire them. That is how recent this history is, and how present.