No matter where you look, British streetwear is everywhere—and its influence runs deep through the seams of contemporary culture. It’s arguably one of the biggest British invasions since grime, Britpop and the Spice Girls. Don’t believe us? The scoreboard doesn’t lie. Manchester United recently joined forces with fellow Manny brand Drama Call and Adidas for a limited-edition collection. South of the Northern Quarter, Corteiz and Nike’s trifecta of Air Max 110s, windbreaker jackets and Huaraches have broken the internet more times than Meta’s servers would care to admit. Even New York rap kingpin 50 Cent has been spotted wearing 99ByJMS a few times.

That influence reaches into luxury fashion, too: British-Jamaican designers like Martine Rose and Grace Wales Bonner have brought new perspectives to the industry by blending tailoring, sportswear and Black British cultural references—their work shows that the scene is about more than just hoodies and trainers. Black British fashion may be thriving now, but it hasn’t always been easy. Just ask British-Nigerian designer Walé Adeyemi, a pioneer who walked the line between haute couture and hip-hop.

By the time his pieces were being worn by stars like Victoria and David Beckham, Beyoncé, Rihanna, Usher, Estelle, Mos Def and Tinie Tempah, Adeyemi had already come a long way from his hands-on beginnings. “I started my journey into fashion by buying second-hand clothing, taking it apart and putting it back together again, just for the fun of it,” he tells TRENCH. Raised on BMXing, skateboarding and the sounds of British and American music, Adeyemi spent his formative years devouring copies of Hip-Hop Connection and The Source, soaking up the music, style and culture that would later inform his work. His clothes soon became part of that culture too, finding a home on the dancefloors of UK garage raves and becoming something of a uniform for the scene. That connection between fashion and music is still central to his worldview. In the early days, he sold his designs from a market stall alongside record sellers and drum & bass artists, creating what he describes as a “complete ecosystem” where people bought clothes and records and exchanged ideas. “People want experiences again,” he says. “They want to meet people in real life, engage with tangible art and connect with culture beyond a screen.”

Look no further than an aerosol-filled can of paint to spot Adeyemi’s signature style motif. Whether exploring his storied archive or his latest collection, the swirling language of graffiti—one of the original pillars of hip-hop culture—is always present. In his newest release, you’ll find heavyweight midnight-blue denim and carpenter jeans adorned with eggshell-toned graffiti motifs, as well as a “Snoop” dog denim jacket made for the dogs that stunt on Soho’s best dressed with ease. There’s even a luxe denim football, perfect for the kind of 10am five-a-side that runs dangerously close to a midday London Fashion Week appointment. TRENCH caught up with Walé Adeyemi to discuss his three-decade journey through fashion, the enduring relationship between music and style, his latest collection and the space between streetwear and high fashion.

TRENCH: Walé, let’s talk about your career beginnings. You have built a three-decade-plus legacy at this point, but where did it all begin?

Walé Adeyemi: I was into all sorts of things growing up, but in terms of fashion and styling, I had a few styling trial runs because I worked with a lot of unsigned artists and people trying to break into the music industry and I started asking if I could dress them. Some said yes, some said no, and it developed from there. I went to [South Essex] college and I had a market stall in Camden and kept working with different artists. As those artists grew and got bigger, my name started spreading around, too.

What did Black British streetwear look like when you were just starting out?

Streetwear at the time was very much populated by American styles. It was logo-driven, oversized and heavily influenced by what was coming out of the States. I think it was a little different for me because people didn’t quite know where to place me. When I eventually went to America and showed people my work, they couldn’t quite put their finger on it. Back then, people would say my work was streetwear and not proper fashion. I had to carve out my own lane.

Music played a big part of your creative world from the very start. What were you listening to in those early days?

In the early days, I was really into UK hip-hop, as well as jungle, D&B, R&B and soul. Some names that come to mind are London Posse, Cookie Crew, Demon Boyz, Lewis Parker and Daddy Freddy. I also listened to a lot of American artists, too—like Gang Starr, Jay-Z, Nas, Digable Planets, EPMD and Stetsasonic. There were so many artists I was listening to back then, but the UK sound was special: it was something completely our own.

Let’s fast-forward to your first collection in 1998—how did you approach fashion back then, as opposed to today?

It was a very different time because I wasn’t thinking about sales in the way people think about them now. When people ask me about launching a collection, I always compare it to an artist releasing a record; I was simply putting my work out there. I didn’t feel the pressure to hit certain numbers or move huge quantities of clothing. All I did was put my thoughts into clothing in the same way artists put their thoughts onto paper. There was never a point where I was thinking, “Am I going to sell enough?” or “Will enough people wear it?” Just completing the collection was enough for me.

That’s a refreshing perspective.

When I first started, I was selling in record stores rather than clothing stores. Record shops were where my community existed. That’s where people went to buy imports, discover music and meet like-minded people. Those were the people I connected with most.

Were there any design influences shaping that first collection?

I was always very close to tailoring. It was almost streetwear, but with tailoring; I used a lot of patchwork and deconstruction. Because I was buying garments and taking them apart, I’d take a tailored jacket and turn it into an oversized smock, a funnel-neck hoodie or something completely different. I’d put ribbed cuffs on a two-piece suit.

Were there any designers you looked up to?

I did my work experience with [the late Black British designer] Joe Casely-Hayford, so I was always very inspired by his work. At that age, it was important to see somebody who looked like me succeeding in that space. What Joe and his family built was incredibly inspiring. I also loved the work of [the late] Willi Smith: he was an African-American designer who blended sportswear and tailoring in a really elegant way. That was the space I wanted to sit in. I’ve always described my work as existing somewhere between the curb and the boutique.

I love that! Tell me a bit more about the thinking behind that.

I wasn’t fully accepted by either side. The boutique represents higher-end fashion, and the curb represents streetwear. I was somewhere in between, trying to fuse the two together.

Over the years, your work has been worn by everyone from global stars like Beyoncé and OutKast to local legends like Ms. Dynamite and Kano. How has your sense of what’s deemed extraordinary changed over the years?

I’ve been very fortunate [chuckles]. It never gets old. I remember working with Missy Elliott for the MOBO Awards; I got a last-minute call asking me to design an outfit for her, but I couldn’t start until she chose which trainers she wanted to wear. She eventually picked out a pair of baby-blue Adidas Superstars with royal blue stripes and said, “These are the ones!” We built the entire outfit around that trainer. Everything moved so fast back then. Sometimes, you’d get a call and need to deliver something immediately—I really enjoyed the challenge.

Graffiti has been a recurring theme throughout your work, from your earliest designs through to this latest collection. What is it about that visual language that continues to inspire you?

Back in the ‘90s, graffiti was everywhere. It was on trains, walls and buildings. Whether you were in London or New York, it was part of the visual landscape. What interested me most was tagging—I liked the immediacy of it. Someone would quickly write their name and move on. It felt more like sketching; it was direct.

Let’s get back up to speed with the present and talk about your new collection. What was the mission statement behind it?

This collection is really about 30 years remastered. It’s a look back at our roots, where we started and where we’re going. To us, storytelling has always been central to the garments we create. What we’re doing now isn’t that different from what we were doing at the beginning; we’re just finding new ways to tell those stories. I’m really happy with how the collection has been received. Now it’s about continuing to move things forward and focusing on what comes next.

Music remains deeply embedded in your work. Jme famously name-checked you on his song, “I Love Music”, back in 2010. What was it like hearing yourself referenced in that way?

It’s amazing. It really is an honour to be recognised like that. Hearing it instantly takes me back to that time in my life. What stands out to me is how he put his bars together—they were all about doing things yourself. When he rapped, “I make my own garms like Wale Adeyemi,” I just love how he phrased that. He truly paid it forward with his brand [Boy Better Know].

What’s next for you?

Personally, I’m just going to keep evolving and staying consistent—like I always have. As a brand, our focus is on building, sharing our stories and listening to others. Examining how to improve our global footprint is the next step.