On racism and British fashion

I’ve always thought of myself as a stranger, Osman Yousefzada said last week, sitting on a park bench near his home in north London. Often times, I was also made to feel like an outsider, working in and around institutions and industries like fashion that are rooted in white codes and elitism.

At 43, he’s an established fashion designer (his sculptural silhouettes have been worn by Lady Gaga, Beyonc and Taylor Swift); an artist (see 2018s Be elsewhere, an exhibition on the subjects of race and migration at the Ikon gallery); a filmmaker (for Junes Digital London Fashion Week, he showed Her dreams were bigger, Bangladeshi garment workers imagining the wearers of the clothes they made); and the author of The intermediary, a thesis that will be released next year.

The book traces her life from her birth in 1974 to Afghan and Pakistani migrants in Birmingham, England, to the founding of her eponymous women’s clothing brand, Osman, in 2008.

As he spoke, Mr Yousefzada paused preparations for the socially distant dates he would occupy with a handful of editors and buyers during London Fashion Week and pondered the racial calculation that fashion is currently facing in all its capitals.

At the end of the day, I make and sell clothes, he says. But communicating in other ways allowed me to say a lot more about what really matters to me. And I have things to say. Here are a few.

Did growing up in Birmingham expose you to racism?

In many ways, Birmingham city center in the 1980s was a hotbed of immigrants, but we had an extremely conservative and segregated upbringing, despite being side by side with the red light district and the gangs.

I grew up in a craft family in a united, inward-looking Pashtun Muslim community. The mosque kept us off the streets, but we were not allowed to watch TV. I was not allowed to draw. My sisters left school at 11. My neighborhood has sometimes been described as Jihadi Britain. Racism was a daily reality in Britain; police brutality, race riots and systematic racism were all culturally endemic.

Why did you get into fashion?

My father was a carpenter and my mother owned a sewing business. By age 10, I could cut out patterns, sew and even buy muslin and haberdashery, and I made burqas and dresses for my sisters’ dolls.

My family was very artisanal, but it was out of necessity. Creativity is a luxury of the middle class. This is something I realized when I left home and encountered a whole new set of codes when I went to study, first at the London School of African and Oriental Studies and then at Central Saint Martins and Cambridge University, and later when I entered the fashion world.

What was it like to be a young brunette British fashion designer in the 90s?

Personally, I was going through a period of real rebellion, ranging from college and clubbing to drugs and quitting. Professionally, on one level it was exhilarating, but it was also deeply stimulating.

It was wonderful to be defended, for example, but the advice I received, while generally well-intentioned, often seemed to me to be conditioned on following set guidelines. It’s too ethnic of Osman. Oh, people will never understand that. They just won’t buy it.

Because I never had any money, I often felt like I just had to smile, take it, and be grateful. But it also grated. I wanted people in my community to see themselves and to see themselves reflected in their education.

Is it the same for young designers now?

I still think it’s a pretty closed workshop, but I think those kinds of conversations have changed recently. There is more celebration of distinctive personalities and their ideas, amplified by social media; fashion schools these days are more adept at teaching students to make their voices heard and many of those voices are starting to be heard. It’s great to see.

Why did you make the short film Her Dreams Are Bigger?

Racism and inequality exist at all levels of fashion and especially for millions of garment workers. I wanted to create a work that emphasizes their humanity to those who buy and throw away clothes. Seeing these women in Bangladesh dreaming about the lives of those who wore what they made was such a moving experience. He also highlighted how racism and sustainability, another big talking point for the industry, are intertwined.

Western consumers need to know better where their clothes come from and deal with the mess and complexity of this business if we are to improve the structure of the industry.

Is this possible in such a busy climate around subjects like cultural appropriation?

Yes, when it’s done with integrity. And proper re-education in Britain and other countries on the legacies of colonialism, empires and slavery. I remember a time of black solidarity politics in the 1980s when different marginalized communities fought together against the injustices of the system. In Britain in the 1990s, racial activism took to the streets to gain access to government jobs and well-funded organizations, making it almost part of the system the movement had previously fought against.

Can we still fight collectively as marginalized communities? I hope. I think that’s part of what we are currently exploring. We all need to be active citizens.

So what does this mean for your next collection?

Well the last six months have been a time of reset for both me and the industry so it’s a lot smaller than the previous seasons. Only about 50 pieces. And for the video I’m creating to be broadcast online, I wrote a bit of a crazy poem about my life, about weaving in and out of different spheres. I don’t feel bitter about my time in fashion, but I do think that sharing stories and education is the key to getting things done. Hopefully, despite all the uncertainty this season, we’ll see plenty of examples.

Do you feel encouraged by the fashion talks in 2020?

People need to lead by example. I have completely redesigned my business since I separated from investors at the end of last year. I want to refocus away from pursuing relentless growth and giving back. These days, it means more to me.

This season we are working with a block printing community in Pakistan, making sure they get a decent salary, showcasing a heritage craft and hopefully giving them back a percentage of sales. They are integrated into the design process. I was also amazed by the Black Lives Matter movement, which gave attention and inspiration to oppressed communities around the world. When it comes to fashion, the only way to create more equality is with more assimilation. Hope we don’t have just a moment. If so, I’ll throw myself off a wall.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.