We must decolonise our corporate attire in South Africa
EVERY time I wore one of my African print dashikis to work, I dreaded the questions I’d get from colleagues. I always had to negotiate the appropriateness of a dashiki or entertain questions like “Were you at a wedding this weekend” or “Have you checked the calendar? Heritage Month is still far off.”
We are in Africa – why isn’t African attire appropriate for corporate South Africa? As a country and a continent, we have preserved so much of Western cultures and practices, leaving the African traditions and cultures fading.
Fashion and clothing evolve, but we seem to be neglecting our dress code.
It has been years since we began to address the misfortunes of apartheid and colonialism as a country and continent.
But we seem reluctant to address the issue of how we dress. We seem to be selective in our picking of issues to address. We take on only issues that suit our agendas. If corporate South Africa is so adamant about the importance of “the appropriate attire”, which happens to be suits, where is the emphasis in making room for our African attire beyond September 24 which is our national Heritage Day?
This is why our heritage is dying and fast becoming insignificant in its own land. We are more concerned about evolving, improving and promoting European cultures and fashion than we are to redefine our own attire.
Clothing is important to us. But as South Africans, we have accepted the European tailored suit as the barometer of how we are going to be perceived by those we meet in boardrooms, at breakfast, lunch or dinner meetings. Why isn’t my African dashiki a standard of self-awareness, history, identity, assertion, assertiveness, high social class and respect? To me, it represents all the things associated with European tailored suits and more.
Here is a simple reminder: a person can rock up in an expensive, tailor-made European-style suit and still be a criminal. A person can wear a suit and still not utter anything intelligent or smart. A person can wear a nicely fitted suit and still not live up to expectations in an interview. A person can rock a black pencil skirt, white crisp shirt and still not impress you with what comes out of their mouth. However, I can step into your office with my African printed dashiki, clean black pants and knock your socks off.
My African attire should not communicate a message that is below my character, my beliefs, my conditions, my education or my experience. It should encompass all that I am and all that I dream to be. What was the meaning of wearing suits in colonial Africa and why should we still wear suits in postcolonial South Africa?
I will be the first to confess; I love my European tailored suits. But I don’t appreciate the lack of change in addressing our clothing as a country and continent. Our languages are dying. Our marriage protocols and practices are being disregarded and the list goes on. Those are topics for another day. However, I’m not saying we should wear ibheshu to work or have women going to work with bare breasts. We should be in a postcolonial Africa which embraces our clothing as much as the suits and ties that have become the norm. Transformation and decolonisation of our country and continent cannot be restricted to our education only. Our way of dressing has to be decolonised too.
Dressing decently should not be restricted to suits and ties, formal skirts and dresses, heels and formal shoes for men. There is a cry of dissatisfaction within me. I want to be a young, black talented, African man who can express his Africaness through his clothing and depict the strength, the uniqueness, the intelligence and wisdom of being a black African man. The djellaba, dashiki, Senegalese kaftan and the grand boubou are a reflection of who we are.
Corporate South Africa should rethink this reinforcement of colonialism through our clothing or dressing codes.