Social Justice

From Zoot Suits to Kente Cloths in Congress: Fashion, Protest, and Black Identity

Denzel Washington (left) as Malcolm X and Spike Lee as Shorty in a scene from Lee’s biopic of the African-American activist, ‘Malcolm X’, 1992. (Photo by Largo International NV/Getty Images)

Long before Black Americans were allowed to own land, they owned, groomed, and adorned far more valuable real estate: their bodies. Impeccably pressed shirts concealed scars that crisscrossed across the backs of former slaves like an underground railroad. A lowered, stiff brim could hide brown eyes when a direct stare could’ve brought violence. And long before the Crown Act, a hat perched high on a puffy afro sat like a ring of diadems, unapologetic, regal.

Black fashion has been a suit of psychological armor, a decree of determination, and a stalwart statement of stature for centuries. Here’s a dive into the collision of cloth, couture, culture, and political conflict in the Black experience.

Fashion and Black Identity

In January 2020, when democrats draped kente cloths over their shoulders, the true depth of the symbolism was lost on some — if not most — of the adorned. Some of the symbolism is canonical. The colors each have meaning — gold connoting status and peacefulness, green meaning renewal, blue symbolizing harmony, red being passion, and so forth.

But kente cloths are merely a single limb stemming from a vibrant western African root system. For example, Ghanian Adinkra symbols god-fathered logo and statement T’s around 200 years ago.  Some shapes carry succinct, straightforward connotations. “Crocodile,” for instance, means adaptability and cleverness.

Others, such as Kwatakye Atiko, are inspired by the complex experiences of real people and laden with decades of valor and vulnerability. 

Regardless of the pattern or print, Black clothing has always been a storytelling medium. It gives even silent supporters their own personal griot, shouting a Whitman-esque yaup from the hilltops and into faces.

As such, Black fashion has been the shortest path between having a singular and dualistic identity. And Black people have embraced duality sans duplicity as both a weapon and defense mechanism in an extended, existential war. In every battle, Black fashion has been essential, doubling as a uniform and sword.

The Role of Fashion in Black Identity Through History

Black fashion is woven with the threads of Black identity, which often embodies uniqueness, determination, and flagrant disregard for the status quo. And, because there are levels to this, there are moments in history when the connection has been deeper. Black identity and fashion, like complementary strands of DNA, have intertwined to define what it means to be a Black human.

Early 20th Century: The Early Influencers

Using sewing, weaving, dyeing, and spinning skills honed during and immediately after slavery, Black women quickly began changing fashion at the turn of the century. Instead of creating masterpieces only to have them worn by their slave masters’ wives, Black seamstresses crafted clothing for other African Americans.

Soon, people who were only a generation away from slavery were flexing cutting-edge, high-fashion dresses and headdresses. The reversal — from enslaved to slaying — was an emphatic shout of freedom. 

Soon, the roaring 20s struck, bouncing with the syncopated rhythms of the Jazz Age. African Americans dominated both the stage and dance floor, which positioned them as cultural influencers. Leveraging this spike in cultural capital, Black men and women wove a jazzy twist into the 1920s fashion scene. 

This is significant because it spawned some of the earliest Black fashion influencers — those with enough cultural clout to inspire purchasing decisions. As is the case with so many modern influencers, it started with music. The complex rhythms of jazz, folded congruently into each piece, reflected the audacity of freedom. Black fashion followed suit. The shorter dresses allowed flappers to whip their legs across the dancefloor, with tassels accenting each jump and gyration. Soon, it was cool to dance — and dress — black.

Mid-20th Century: The Rise of the Zoot Suit

The zoot suit was more than flashy attire; it was an early example of Black modernism. Their inherent rebellion was appropriately overstated. Instead of featuring straight-legged, simple pants that dropped down to cover a shiny pair of shoes, the zoot suit was tapered at the ankle. This kept it out of the way of whirling, slashing, and dashing jitterbug dancers as they dominated the floors of clubs and performance venues.

Zoot suits also had padded shoulders, broad enough to shoulder the load of racial injustice and double the size of the man wearing them. It was intentionally oversized and in-your-face, just like the civil rights movements that soon followed.

The Late 60’s and 70’s: Black Panthers and Cool Cats

The Black Panther movement inspired militaristic dress that has never fully ebbed out of fashion. The bold, deep-black leather coats and pants atop army boots with dark laces still march down streets from L.A. to New York and everywhere in between.

The Black Panthers used black for the sake of safety, making them harder to identify for trigger-happy cops looking to bring down a “black extremist.” As soldiers for self-empowerment, the Black Panthers interwove berets, combat boots, and armbands — all co-opted from military attire.

The popularity of the movement made it cool to dress like a Panther. By dressing like a Panther, bystanders to their cause could assume the power of their protest and unabashed demand for Constitutional rights. 

The Crazy 80s: Hip-Hop Commodifies the Protest

One of the biggest tidal waves from the earthquake of Hip-hop is fashion. Hip-hop filled the void left by the tragic deaths of MLK, Malcolm X, Hewey Newton, and others. It then became the language, music, and art of those who demand respect — and rebel whether or not their demands are met.

The fashion began with uber-baggy clothing that directly bucked against the tight-fitting jeans and polyester of the 70s. The black and leather and arms-crossed stance of the Panther fashion movement continued to reverberate like an 808 bass. But soon, the colorful, flashy hues of iconic brands like Cross Colors and FUBU added some treble to the beat.

Rappers, break-dancers, DJs, their crews, and hordes of wannabes were impossible to miss. Each sagged pair of jeans, ¾”-thick pair of laces, and backward hat screamed, “This is me. Now what?!”

The appeal was undeniable. Hip-hop went global, bringing the fist of Black protest along with it. 

The Beat Goes On

The sorry-not-sorry of Black fashion, with threads in the postbellum era, shows no signs of unwinding anytime soon. Black Lives Matter has made the implicit explicit: Logo and statement T’s with BLM slogans punch splash water in the faces of the un-woke. Supporters no longer have to say a word. As was the case for former slaves, silence partners with progress to make the loudest of statements, and the clothing does the talking.

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