Raves to Renaissance Man: How Skepta Captured the Soul of British Style
Fueled by a raw, underground energy and the spirit of Nigeria, London’s most restless creative force is re-energizing UK fashion with MAINS.
Skepta is a relentless force. At 42, he’s in constant motion, mastering new skills, reinventing, reimagining and redefining himself year after year. Whatever you knew about him, he’s already left it behind.
Known to family as Joseph Olaitan Adenuga Jr., Skepta’s career is an intricate constellation of evolution and finesse. Coming from a lineage of artistic relatives, including his siblings—fellow musician Jme, broadcaster Julie Adenuga and graphic designer Jason Adenuga—the Tottenham-born Nigerian grime artist embodies the fortitude and fearlessness of the second-generation immigrant mindset.
Since emerging from the Meridian Crew in the early 2000s, Skepta has started the influential collective and label Boy Better Know, won the 2016 Mercury Music Prize, launched his fashion label MAINS, been installed as a chief in his ancestral home of Ogun State, set up Big Smoke Corporation for his commercial projects, sold his first painting at Sotheby’s, released the short film “Tribal Mark” (which saw him take on directing, producing and acting roles), and expanded his house music project, Más Tiempo, with a DJ residency at DC10. It’s a constant grind, but the Renaissance Man is more energized than ever.
In late 2024, Skepta presented the sophomore runway collection for MAINS in an assembly hall-inspired venue in London. Meditating on non-uniform days at school, guests Central Cee, Mahalia, Jack Harlow, Gabriel Moses and Matthew Williams took their seats in the front row.
Inherently British, Kickers—distinctive, chunky boots that were made in France but notably embraced by Northern English rave dwellers in the ’80s—were reimagined as slip-on, shaggy mules. Tailoring was louche and laidback. Graphic skinny ties were layered beneath barely-there mohair polo knits, while slimline fur trapper hats echoed the silhouettes of mischievous 2000s schoolboy hairstyles on both men and women.
These nuanced cultural nods have etched Skepta’s legacy into London’s creative scene, propelling its influence on the world stage. Now a father of two, he’s months away from dropping Knife and Fork, his long-awaited sixth album. Speaking over Zoom, Skepta realizes that the footage will be used in this story, and a huge grin spreads across his face. “Damn, I didn’t even put my chains on,” he laughs, reaching for a hat on the table. “I gotta get my swag on.”
Below, a conversation with the multi-hyphenate following the debut of his second MAINS collection.
When did fashion first become a language for you?
I went to a school that had a uniform, and I remember on non-uniform days, we had to wear our own clothes. That was one of the first times I noticed style and identity. Going to raves too. Sometimes I couldn’t get in because I wasn’t wearing the right clothes. Looking at everybody going in wearing Versace and Moschino drove my aspiration to make money so I could finally get in the club.
What would you wear to shift the energy in a room?
Footwear. Trainers were a real status symbol back in the day. Even in school, whether it was for PE or non-uniform day, your trainers would always show your level, and let people know. That started my love for shoes. I knew that if I had a certain pair of kicks, I had a chance.
When you walk into a room, which pieces still give you a feeling of confidence and presence?
I feel like I’m in the era of a good knit. If I’m going out and know that I’ve got a good knit on, I’m safe. Especially living in London, it’s always cold. You get me? And if you’ve got a solid knit on, no matter what jacket or hat comes through, you’re always good.
What was the moment you thought, “This is it. I’m ready to start my brand?”
I have a unique perspective on fashion because of where I come from. Before I was even doing music, I was raving. I know the theater and the showmanship because I’m always doing my stage productions, so I felt like I had something unique to bring to the table, and that’s MAINS.
I started MAINS because I felt like I could make it a world and a theater that people would be happy to see. I don’t think there’s anything new anymore because everything’s so available—hybrids are the only new thing out there. That’s my ethos when I’m thinking about creative directing for MAINS. I want to bring something crazy to the table. I’m just getting started too. It’s early days, but I already see what it’s going to become. It’s going to be good.
The world-building you’ve created so far feels expansive and intentional. What references do you find yourself continually drawn to?
Old photos of me when I was raving back in the day, and old rave photos in general. The club is where a lot of people find themselves. That’s where a lot of people learn who they are. They’re free and away from their parents.
Are there any other brands you admire?
I respect Burberry to the highest level because of their London representation. It hits you when you land in Heathrow and you see Big Ben and foxes in their editorials. For me, I want to bring the style in that queue outside the club from when I was younger. I want to bring that to the game. That’s my main reference. I always imagine that if you look at the final walk of my show, it’s like a club, a grime rave that you want to be a part of.
Launching MAINS must have been exciting but challenging. Has it changed how you see the industry?
I’ve learned that if you’re not doing it at your own pace, and you’re chasing the big dogs, it’s not going to be good for your dome—especially if you’re starting out. I feel like you need to walk at your own pace and be happy with the fact that you’re not under pressure to deliver. No one’s forcing you to do it. You can just show when you want to. You can post one picture. People could wait a whole year and your drop is just one picture of a fit that they’re happy with.
I think that integrity is lost in a lot of these big fashion shows. The fear is gone, and I feel like I’m just sitting in the lounge at the airport watching people walk. People wearing nice clothes are just walking by me. But I’m happy about it. I feel like everything in the world happens like that. There’s something going on, then the game gets stale, and then there’s this guy or this girl that’s young, budding and coming up. I just know that with what I’m trying to do, the impact is going to be remembered for sure. This is London, today.
You’re working across so many mediums now. How do you balance all these different creative expressions?
I’ve always been someone who tries to understand myself in every way, and I don’t think that’s ever stopped. So when I produce art—whether that’s music, painting, a movie or whatever—they all come out as that immigrant story, that immigrant expression. The conundrum of being too African to be in London, and too English when I’m in Nigeria. Do you know what I mean? That kind of frustration, that circle of life that I go through all the time.
When I made my film, “Tribal Mark,” it happened to come out as an immigrant story. When I write, I write Nigerian lyrics. When I paint—and I don’t even have an intention when I do—I won’t have a specific color in mind, but the colors will come out and look like African paintings. They could be in the Nike Art Gallery in Nigeria. I just let it all flow.
This year feels huge for your music as well.
I love music so much. I love it. I was raised on music, so being able to DJ was another blessing that I got from God. With DJing, I get to enjoy music, but without having to have the anxiety of the microphone and performing or talking all the time. I always treat that like fun. I never try to force anything in my house. I’m a lucky, lucky guy.
I got a little bit of fire from my parents to say what I wanted in my early 20s, and I was very proud and very brazen and very outspoken. But sometimes, when I look back at videos of myself, I cringe. Yet, I feel that the loud, outspoken version of me has spoken myself into a place where I can now just create.