AMUKA- PEMU
COVER NOTE
became hashtags and hot takes, there was Sam Amuka—pen
tongue, and humour sharp enough to cut through the noise. Few names in Nigerian journalism command as much reverence as Prince Sam Amuka Pemu, affectionately known as Uncle Sam or Sad Sam. At 90 years old, he remains the nation’s oldest practicing media professional, a living legend, a conscience in ink, and a man whose dedication to truth and storytelling has defined the very fabric of Nigerian media for over six decades.
There’s a quiet irony in how the world talks about Africa. Our continent is the birthplace of civilisation, rich in natural resources, layered histories, and complex cultures. Yet, when the conversation turns to luxury, Africa is still positioned as the understudy, promising, but not quite there. This week, I am asking a necessary question: Should Africa define luxury by Western standards?
It’s not a rhetorical inquiry. When we speak of luxury today, we often defer to codes established by Europe—centuries-deep traditions from the ateliers of Paris, the leather houses of Milan, the precision of Swiss horology. These aren’t arbitrary; they are deserved legacies built on discipline, artistry, and branding genius. The point isn’t to question their legitimacy, but to examine why they’ve become the default benchmark globally.
Because while Europe refined and exported its version of luxury to the world, Africa has always had its own. From the intricacy of Benin bronze casting to the regality of Ghanaian kente, luxury here has been defined by symbolism, community, rarity, and ritual. Yet our traditions often get reframed as “craft” or “heritage”—beautiful, yes, but somehow not luxurious.
I wrote this piece to interrogate that dissonance. If luxury is about scarcity, excellence, and cultural value, Africa fits the bill. But if luxury is only validated through Western recognition, price tags, and global market dominance, then we’re still playing on borrowed terms.
The bolder move isn’t to challenge the West’s definition but to expand the frame to say both can coexist, that excellence isn’t singular, and that Africa’s luxury, when self—defined, adds something vital to the global conversation.
This idea of redefining value feels especially timely. June, after all, is a month of quiet reckoning—half the year behind us, half still ahead. Which brings me to another feature you should check out: “June Called—It’s Time to Rethink the Rest of Your Year.”
This isn’t your typical self-help article. It’s a prompt—intelligent, grounded, and honest. Because maybe the goals you set in January no longer fit. Maybe life has shifted, and you’re in survival mode. Or maybe you’ve achieved more than you’ve had time to celebrate. Wherever you are, this mid-year pause isn’t indulgent , it’s necessary.
I hope this issue gives you something to reflect on, something go challenge and something go carry forward.
SCULPTED & CINCHED: HOW THE CORSET TOOK OVER NIGERIAN FASHION
There’s structure, and then there’s sculpture. And right now, Nigerian fashion is all about the latter. The corset—yes, that centuries-old contraption once linked to fainting spells and Victorian repression—is having its boldest, most beautiful comeback yet. But this time, it’s not hidden under gowns or quietly doing the work behind the scenes. In Nigeria, the corset is front and centre. Loud. Proud. Unapologetically cinched.
By Aliyah Olowolayemo
Forget everything you thought you knew. Today’s corset is not about restriction—it’s about revelation. It’s not about hiding the body; it’s about commanding attention with it. It’s a celebration of shape, strength, and high fashion drama. And from Lagos runways to owambe dance floors, the corset isn’t just trending—it’s taking over. In the bridal scene, the corset has become non-negotiable. Nigerian brides no longer want a nice dress—they want architecture. They want a silhouette that stops hearts and starts conversations. They want to be sculpted into a memory. And thanks to designers like Veekee James Tubo, and Emagine by Bukola, that’s exactly what they get. These designers aren’t just creating dresses; they’re engineering masterpieces—corseted bodices that lift, shape, cinch, and stun. A Veekee James bride doesn’t walk into a room; she arrives. Laced up, waist snatched, bodice structured to perfection— her gown is a power statement, and the corset is the exclamation mark. But this isn’t just a bridal thing. Nigerian fashionistas are taking the corset from the aisle to the after-party and beyond. Red carpet looks? Boned. Reception dresses? Structured. Street style? Cinched and remix-ready. The corset has become the fashion flex of the moment. Just ask Lanre Da Silva Ajayi. Even casualwear is getting in on the cinch. Influencers pair corsets with denim, mix satin bustiers with oversized pants, and layer sheer corset tops over tees. The vibe? Soft and sharp. Sexy and sculpted. Effortless, but deliberate. What’s fueling this corset renaissance? Power. Confidence. Ownership. For many Nigerian women, the corset isn’t about conforming to a shape—it’s about defining their own.
The act of lacing up—of physically tightening the form, of watching your waist curve and your posture straighten—feels almost ritualistic. It’s intimate. It’s intentional. And it’s deeply empowering. And let’s not ignore the cultural context: Nigerian fashion has always had a flair for the dramatic. We don’t do boring. We do statement sleeves, show-stopping gele, extra everything. The corset fits right in. It gives the drama. It gives the detail. It gives the definition. So, is the corset back? No—it’s reborn. Reinvented. Reclaimed.
From weddings to weekends, zips to lace-ups, Nigeria is in its corset era—and it’s tight, tailored, and absolutely unstoppable.
EXECUTIVE EDITOR
A TOAST TO UNCLE SAM @ 90
It was a night of laughter, legends and Lagos sparkle as the high and mighty gathered at Eko Hotel & Suites to honour Nigeria’s original newsroom godfather— Prince Sam Amuka-Pemu, fondly known as Uncle Sam— who officially joined the elite “Age 90” club. The publisher of Vanguard Newspapers was celebrated with the kind of love and accolades that don’t just fill a room, they overflow into history.
From powerful tributes to hilarious “classified revelations” by his closest allies, the evening was equal parts heartfelt and hilarious. Anchored by Reuben Abati, Funke Egbemode and Darey Art-Alade, the celebration revealed that not only has Uncle Sam built one of Nigeria’s most influential media empires, he’s also the kind of boss who’d rather dodge his own party. (Spoiler alert: they threw it anyway, and it slapped.)
Scroll through the joy, the history and the fabulous faces who came to raise a toast to the man whose pen changed the game.
Photography: Sunday Adigun and Kunle Ogunfuyi
JIM
THE AMUKAS WITH OLU OF WARRI, OGIAME ATUWATSE III (CENTRE) AND COUNCIL OF WARRI CHIEFS
CHIEF SAM AMUKA-PEMU AND WIFE OYINDAMOLA
What Exactly Is ‘Gut Health’?
At its core, gut health refers to the balance and function of the trillions of bacteria, viruses, and fungi that live in your digestive tract — collectively known as the gut microbiome. When in harmony, this microbiome supports digestion, nutrient absorption, and even hormone regulation. But when that balance is disrupted — often due to stress, poor diet, antibiotics, or lack of sleep — it can lead to a host of problems. Think constipation, fatigue, food intolerances, brain fog, and even autoimmune issues.
Step One:
Start With Your Plate
You saw this coming. The gut feeds on what you feed it. If your diet consists mostly of highly processed foods, sugar, fried snacks, and not a vegetable in sight, your gut will struggle. Begin by adding more whole foods to your diet — the kind that doesn’t come in plastic wrappers. Fiber is your best friend. Your good gut bacteria love fibre. Load up on fruits (think bananas, apples, and berries), vegetables (broccoli, spinach, carrots), legumes, and whole grains. Aim for diversity — different types of fiber feed different beneficial bacteria. And no, you don’t need to go vegan overnight. But consider cutting down on red meat, processed meats, and refined sugars. These have been linked to inflammation and poor microbial diversity. Instead, think Mediterranean: olive oil, leafy greens, lean proteins, and the occasional glass of red wine if you’re feeling fancy.
Step Two: Probiotics and Prebiotics
These two terms get thrown around a lot, but here’s the breakdown. Probiotics are the live “good” bacteria — the reinforcements you send in when your gut’s running low. They’re found in fermented foods like yoghurt and kombucha.
Prebiotics, on the other hand, are the food that fuels those bacteria. Think of them as fertilizer. Foods like garlic, onions, leeks, asparagus, and oats are rich in prebiotics.
If you’re Nigerian and wondering what all this has to do with you, relax — ogi (fermented pap), iru (locust beans), and even properly fermented palm wine can serve as excellent probiotic sources. You don’t always need to go abroad to find ingredients for your pantry.
Step Three: Stress Less (Yes, Really)
Chronic stress is like a gut bomb. It alters the microbiome, messes with digestion, and leads to inflammation. Try to carve out moments in your day to breathe. Deep belly breathing, meditation, prayer, a quiet walk after dinner — anything that calms your nervous system helps your gut relax, too.
Step Four: Sleep It Off
Your gut loves sleep. When you’re sleep-deprived, your microbiome
becomes unbalanced, which can then make it harder to sleep — a vicious cycle. Aim for at least 7-8 hours of good-quality sleep each night. Put the phone down earlier. Your gut will thank you.
Step Five: Move More
You don’t need to become a gym rat, but regular movement — such as walking, dancing, yoga, or cycling — has been shown to increase microbial diversity. So, yes, your body actually likes it when you shake it off, literally.
When to Seek Help
If you’ve tried all the basics and still feel like your gut is sabotaging your life — constant discomfort, food allergies, skin issues, or mood disorders — you might want to see a functional medicine doctor or gastroenterologist. Sometimes, deeper issues like leaky gut, SIBO, or chronic inflammation require targeted treatment.
You probably don’t think about your gut much — unless it’s acting up. Bloating after meals? Skin breaking out randomly? Mood swinging from one extreme to the other for no good reason? Welcome to the wild, wonderful world of your gut, where trillions of microbes are working overtime to either keep you thriving… or barely surviving. Gut health has quietly become one of the buzziest wellness topics of the past few years — and not without reason. More and more research is showing that the state of your gut doesn’t just affect digestion, but everything from your mental clarity to your immune system, skin, sleep, and even how happy or anxious you feel. Yes, really. The gut is often referred to as the “second brain,” and for good reason: it produces about 90% of the body’s serotonin, that feel-good hormone we all crave. So, if your body feels off and you can’t quite put your finger on it, your gut might be the one screaming for help.
SHOULD AFRICA DEFINE LUXURY BY WESTERN STANDARDS?
In most major African cities, luxury still wears a foreign name. From the glass displays of high-end boutiques in Lagos and Johannesburg to the curated wardrobes of celebrities and influencers, Western brands dominate the visual language of prestige. Dior, Hermès, Chanel, and Louis Vuitton remain shorthand for success—not just because of their craftsmanship or heritage, but because their value has been globalized, codified, and marketed for decades.
By Konye Chelsea Nwabogor
The association between the West and luxury runs deep. European countries, particularly France and Italy, have long set the global tone for what luxury should look and feel like. They’ve built entire industries around the idea of refinement— heritage leather, slow fashion, rare stones, custom tailoring. Over time, these markers of excellence became the global benchmark, exported and absorbed by markets around the world, including Africa.
But within this imported framework lies a paradox. Africa is not new to craftsmanship. It has always had its own expressions of luxury—intricate beadwork in Benin coronations, the grandeur of Fulani gold jewellery, the regality of kente and aso-oke, the symbolism of Zulu or Ndebele adornments. These traditions, rooted in community, identity, and ceremony, were never branded as “luxury,” but by every global definition—scarcity, detail, cultural relevance—they fit the brief.
In recent years, a wave of African designers and lifestyle brands have
attempted to bridge this gap. Names like Hertunba, Christie Brown, Maxhosa Africa, and Emmy Kasbit are becoming more prominent, not just for their creativity but for trying to carve out a distinctly African take on premium fashion. There are also new homegrown players in leather goods, homeware, fragrances, and accessories. These brands are not mere imitations—they are building stories from scratch, investing in quality production, and placing Africa at the centre of their design ethos. Still, the road is steep. Despite rising interest in “supporting African brands,” many of these labels struggle to scale, to compete, or even to be accepted as genuinely luxurious. The reasons are complex. First, there is a perception problem. Centuries of colonialism and imported aspiration have created a bias: African-made is often considered lesser by default. In the mind of the consumer, luxury is expected to come with foreign packaging and a foreign price tag. Local brands that dare to price themselves accordingly often meet resistance. That same consumer who will save for a $2,000 Balenciaga bag will often haggle with a Nigerian designer over a wellcrafted N250,000 product.
Second, there’s the issue of infrastructure. Most African luxury brands operate in environments that are, quite frankly, hostile to scale. Access to high-quality raw materials
is limited and expensive. Skilled labour is scarce. Energy costs, logistics, and even consistent internet or water supply can become obstacles. European luxury thrives on centuries-old guilds, government support for artisans, and industrial systems that reinforce quality. Many African brands, despite their ambitions, are still bootstrapping in challenging economies. And then there is branding. Storytelling is at the heart of luxury, and Western brands have mastered it—crafting legacies around each seam, stitch, and scent. African brands are still learning to position their stories not just as culturally rich, but globally relevant. There’s a fine line between being seen as “ethnic” and being seen as “exclusive,” and navigating that perception is difficult. While some global platforms are beginning to pay attention—Vogue, Business of Fashion, the LVMH Prize—much of the validation still comes
externally, making local pride often contingent on foreign praise.
To say African luxury doesn’t exist would be untrue. It does—but it exists in tension. The continent is producing beautiful, meaningful, high-end work but within a framework that often undervalues it. Part of the challenge lies in how luxury is measured. If it’s defined by scarcity, excellence, and identity,
Africa certainly has it. However, if it’s defined by global recognition, price tags, and decades of branding, then the continent is still playing catch-up.
The fair conversation isn’t whether Africa should imitate the West, but whether it can afford to rely on the West’s blueprint to define what is aspirational. As authenticity, sustainability, and cultural ownership take centre stage, Africa holds the raw materials—not just in resources but in creativity and history—to define its own version of luxury.
But it must first reconcile with the fact that while some things can be inspired, others must be original.
What makes this moment particularly interesting is the global shift already underway. Fashion weeks are decentralising. Consumers are looking for new narratives. Younger Africans, more culturally aware than ever, are starting to understand the value of things made at home. And even global luxury brands are borrowing heavily from African aesthetics, art, and heritage—often without attribution, but also as proof of influence.
The global luxury conversation is not closed. It’s evolving. As new markets emerge and consumer values shift, the space is opening for different voices, aesthetics, and legacies. Africa, with its immense cultural wealth and creative depth, can and should be one of those voices—but not by simply mirroring Europe’s standards. The continent’s true power lies in rewriting the rules, not replicating them. Only then can African luxury stand confidently on its own terms, rooted in heritage and shaped by a distinctly African point of view.
FEMI HANDBAGS
CHRISTIE BROWN NIGERIAN HANDBAG BRAND, ZASHADU
RAYA JEWELLERY
BOYEDOE
WINSTON LEATHER HANDBAGS
MID-RANGE, MAXIMUM IMPACT: WHY
EVERYONE’S REACHING FOR AFFORDABLE LUXURY BAGS
The hierarchy of handbags used to be crystal clear: if it didn’t cost a small fortune or come with a waitlist, it wasn’t worth showing off.A Chanel flap, a Lady Dior, or the ultimate flex—a Birkin— were the only acceptable markers of status. But somewhere between a global pandemic, rising inflation, and a collective rethink of what luxury really means, stylish women began to shift their priorities. Now, a new class of bags is leading the style conversation. Mid-range luxury bags are the new go-to’s. Not because they’re cheaper but because they make sense. They reflect a new kind of status—one that values taste, individuality, and smart spending over logo obsession.
More Bag, Less Brag
Here’s the shift: where luxury used to be about being seen, it’s now about being in the know. That buttery, sculptural bag slung over someone’s arm may not be instantly recognisable, but it will likely draw compliments and curious glances. That’s the point. These bags whisper “I have taste” instead of screaming “I have money.”
Fashion has entered a quieter, more intentional phase. Logos are taking a back seat. Craftsmanship, subtlety, and brand storytelling are what resonate. You don’t need to carry a Louis Vuitton tote with a giant monogram to feel stylish anymore. In fact, the cool girls aren’t.
It’s Also Just… Smarter
With the naira’s current volatility and international luxury prices climbing ever higher, even aspirational shoppers are becoming more intentional. Why spend ₦3 million on one designer tote when you can buy three impeccably made mid-range bags—each suited to a different look or mood—and still have money left for travel or a stylist?
Many of these brands deliver the
same quality of leather, hardware, and construction you’d find in high-end designer houses—minus the markup for heritage marketing. You’re not just buying a bag—you’re making a valuesdriven choice.
The Global Market Agrees
The shift isn’t just anecdotal—it’s backed by data. According to a Bain & Company report on the luxury market, the entry-tomid-luxury tier (typically priced between $300–$1,000) is experiencing massive growth, especially among millennials and Gen Z. This group is not only more pricesensitive, they’re more value-driven. They’re after longevity, versatility, and vibe—not just brand prestige. TikTok and Instagram have also accelerated this trend. Fashion influencers who once flaunted their Chanel or Dior collections are now building loyal followings around their Polène drops, Telfar restocks, and Strathberry edits. The hashtags say it all: #QuietLuxury, #UnderstatedElegance, #SlowFashion. These bags are social currency, just a different kind.
A Nigerian Twist
In Nigeria, this shift has taken on its own flavour. Lagos girls, in particular, are known for their eye for detail and love of “soft” aesthetics that still make a statement. Mid-range bags fit right into that aesthetic—especially when styled right.
“Mid-range bags are where the smart money is,” says fashion buyer Ozinna Anumudu. “They’re made well, they’re on-trend without being trendy, and they don’t come with that ‘trying too hard’ energy.”
More Variety, More Wearability
Unlike investment pieces that often sit in their boxes waiting for an “appropriate” moment, these bags are designed to be worn. They are perfect for errands or flights. They move effortlessly from work meetings to after-hours drives. And their silhouettes make even a basic outfit look elevated.
You’re no longer bound to treat your handbag like a fragile heirloom. And because the price point is accessible, you can actually use your bag—without anxiety. Which, let’s be honest, is part of the luxury.
Mid-range luxury isn’t a compromise; it’s a shift in fashion’s power dynamics. It’s for the woman who still loves beautiful things but doesn’t need them to come with a logo or a story about “finally getting on the waitlist.” It’s for the girl who’s done with loud, overpriced, overdone—and wants pieces that align with her lifestyle, her values, and her evolving style. Luxury is no longer just about how much you spend; it’s about the experience you create. It’s about how smartly—and stylishly—you choose. And that perfectly made, under-the-radar bag? That’s the new ultimate flex.
DATING IN LAGOS: THE RULES, THE RED FLAGS, THE
RIZZ
Let’s get one thing straight: dating in Lagos is not for the weak, the broke, or the overly hopeful. It’s a full-time sport where soft boys show up dressed like men of God, ghosting is a legitimate love language, and you’re never more than two phone calls away from discovering that your situationship just proposed to someone else in Abuja or London, no less. It’s chaos. Beautiful, baffling, cocktail-fueled chaos. And somehow, we keep going back. From the girlies with “no time for nonsense” who still answer “wyd?” texts at midnight, to the men who swear they’re different but have a roster longer than the GT Bank queue, welcome to the Lagos love jungle. The streets are hot, the red flags are hotter, and the rizz. It’s spiritual warfare.
By Funke Babs-Kufeji
The Rules (That Nobody Admits To, But Everyone Follows)
number one: If he invites you for shawarma on the first date, just know he does not fear God. Lagos girls didn’t beat their faces, glue down a 30-inch install, and risk their lives in Lekki traffic just to split Zobo. We want effort. Not extravagance, just intentionality. Book the dinner. Plan the vibe. Offer to pay for the ride. And if you utter the words “come over to mine” instead of doing all the above, consider yourself blocked in 4K. For the men, hear this and know peace: Lagos babes are not impressed
by vibes alone. You must have purpose. You must have Paystack. It’s not 2016 anymore, nobody is doing “let’s see where it goes.” If you’re not coming with peace, premium data, and properly articulated plans, please shift. And yes, social media is your CV. If you’re softlaunching mystery women, zooming in on car selfies, or reposting every gym mirror boomerang, you’re walking a thin line, beloved. The girls are watching, and so are the guys. You say you’re “not dating right now,” but your Close Friends are giving a rom-com montage. Oya now. Continue. There is God.
Red
Flags Lagos Has Normalised (And You Really Shouldn’t)
There are red flags, and then there are Lagos flags. The kind that comes with a soundtrack and backup dancers. He says he’s “not on social media”? Sweetie, he’s on Snapchat under a fake name, posting blurry club videos and tagging every woman as “my sis.” She says she’s “living a soft life”? Translation: monthly sponsored vacations and a mystery caller named “Uncle T.” If you hear, “I’m still cool
with my ex,” just know “cool” means emotionally handcuffed. Lagos men love the phrase “Let’s not rush this” but somehow manage to be emotionally unavailable and possessive. It’s giving confusion. And don’t get too comfortable in your playlists-and-Pinterest-board love story. One second, you’re baking banana bread with him; the next, BAM! a BellaNaija engagement post of him with the caption, “She said yes to her best friend.” Heartbreak in this Tinubu economy? Be guided.
The Rizz Is Rizzing (Until
It Isn’t)
Let’s talk about Lagos rizz. This city is the city of Yoruba demons and smooth talkers. One minute, you’re minding your business; the next, a beard and a baritone slide into your DMs with voice notes that feel like therapy. They know your birthday, your favourite cocktail, the way you like your jollof. They say things like, “Just wanted to hear your voice before I sleep,” and suddenly you’re thinking: This must be divine connection. Sis. Rest. Because by the time you’re floating on cloud nine, he’s sending the same “Did you eat?” text to three other babes—one in Lekki, one in Accra, and one he’s not quite done with in PH. And let’s not act like the women are innocent, either. Lagos women will flirt, ghost, softreconnect, and somehow get you to pay for the date you weren’t even invited to. Still, sometimes, rizz turns real. The banter deepens. The flirting hits feelings. A vibe becomes
something more. It happens. Sometimes. Don’t hold your breath sha.
Love in Lagos Is a Luxury Sport
Dating here is not romantic; it’s a high-stakes economic arrangement. Uber rides alone can eat up your salary, and let’s not even start on those “casual” brunches in Ikoyi, where the mimosas are ₦ 18,000, and the waiter has an attitude for free. Everyone’s feeling the pressure. People are talking about ROI like it’s a fintech pitch deck. Some are dating for content. Others, for clout. A few brave souls are still dating for love (bless them). The rest of us? We’re just trying to find someone who won’t disgrace us in the group chat.
So… Is There Hope?
Shockingly, yes. Because somehow, in all the madness, people do fall in love in Lagos. Deeply. Dramatically. Sometimes beautifully. They meet on Twitter, in fuel queues, and at bridal showers. They fall hard. They plan matching pyjama shoots. They get posted. They meet their mothers on the second date (alarming but adorable). Because in this city where nothing is calm, love is another kind of hustle— and somehow, it keeps us hooked. Maybe it’s the gist. Perhaps it’s the drama. Maybe we’re all just hopeless romantics with trust issues and data plans. But if you’re going to risk it anywhere, it might as well be in Lagos.
CLAIRE NNANI DOLAPO ONI
SAM AMUKA-PEMU AT 90: JOURNALISM JOURNALISM
Before journalism became hashtags and hot takes, there was Sam Amuka—pen in hand, truth on his tongue, and humour sharp enough to cut through the noise. Few names in Nigerian journalism command as much reverence as Prince Sam Amuka Pemu, affectionately known as Uncle Sam or Sad Sam. At 90 years old, he remains the nation’s oldest practicing media professional, a living legend, a conscience in ink, and a man whose dedication to truth and storytelling has defined the very fabric of Nigerian media for over six decades. Born on June 13, 1935, in Sapele, Delta State, Sam Amuka’s life has been a study in longevity, resilience, and cultural commitment. The son of Pa Amuka Pemu and Madam Teshoma Amuka Pemu, his roots are deeply embedded in a proud heritage, but it was his fierce intellect, his gift with words, and his unshakeable ideals that would eventually propel him to the top of Nigeria’s press establishment.
Sam’s earliest foray into journalism was nothing short of remarkable. He joined the Daily Times of Nigeria in its heyday, quickly rising through the ranks to become one of the most celebrated columnists of his era. His pen name, Sad Sam, became synonymous with sharp wit and nuanced satire. In his widely read column This Nigeria, he dissected society with empathy and acumen, his humour never cruel, his observations always grounded in the realities of everyday Nigerians. His writing was never loud, but always powerful. He could make readers laugh, reflect, and squirm in the same paragraph. In one legendary column, he recounted his encounters with a beggar to whom he often gave loose change. One day, when he told the beggar he had no coins, the man replied that he did, effectively outgiving his benefactor. Sad Sam, ever the craftsman, ended the piece with the punchline: “It’s clear who’s really rich between us.”
This was Amuka’s genius, storytelling that was simple, layered, and always human. His columns weren’t mere opinion pieces, they were moral compasses, guiding a society through tumultuous times with humour, humility, and honesty.
By the early 1970s, Sam had become not just a columnist but a force. Alongside his friend, the late Olu Aboderin, he co-founded The Punch in 1971. With Amuka’s editorial finesse and Aboderin’s business acumen, the paper quickly rose to prominence. Sam brought flair, credibility, and a kind of stylish authenticity that distinguished Punch from its competitors. It wasn’t just a newspaper, it was a statement. Under his editorial leadership, the paper dared to tread where others feared, including bold coverage of the now-infamous raid on Fela Kuti’s Kalakuta Republic by military men. It wasn’t just reportage, it was defiance wrapped in journalistic principle. But behind the scenes, Amuka’s trusting nature was exploited. His deep belief in people, once his strength, left him vulnerable in the world of business. He was slowly edged out of the paper he helped build. Disillusioned and heartbroken, he left Punch, a painful exit that almost ended his media career. He told close friends that he was retreating to his village in the old Bendel State. He’d farm, he said. Maybe try fish trading. “I’m a bushman now,” he reportedly joked. But the joke never landed. To those who knew him, it was clear: a national treasure was in danger of fading out. Of course, Sam couldn’t stay away for long. Journalism wasn’t just a career for him, it was calling, culture, and service. By late 1983, the idea of a new paper began to take root. With a few trusted colleagues, Sam began working on what would become Vanguard newspaper. On July 15, 1984, it hit the stands. If Punch was audacious, Vanguard was deliberate. From the very start, it embodied Amuka’s values: editorial excellence, fearless journalism, and a deep respect for the reader. It quickly grew into one of Nigeria’s leading newspapers. Women were given space and voice in unprecedented ways. Young talents were nurtured with patience and precision. The culture was one of respect and rigour. Amuka’s newsroom was known to be demanding, but never cruel. Mediocrity was not entertained. Egos were irrelevant. What mattered was the work.
Sam’s ability to spot and nurture talent is the stuff of legend. Many of today’s top editors, publishers, and media entrepreneurs passed through his hands. He never withheld opportunities. He believed that leadership was about creating space, not taking it up. He listened always, whether you were a senior editor or a greenhorn trying to figure out headline formats. That humility, that generosity, set him apart. Even now, decades later, that same spirit remains. His presence still carries weight in the
At 90, Uncle Sam is not just a veteran, he is an institution.
But perhaps more importantly, he is a reminder of a time when journalism was principled, when writers were craftsmen, and when the truth was sacred. He reminds us that it’s still possible to do things the right way, even if it’s the hard way.
newsroom When he speaks, people don’t interrupt. He isn’t a man of many words, but when he does talk, people listen and remember. The impact of his leadership ripples far beyond the pages of Vanguard. In 2015, President Muhammadu Buhari called him “a gentleman of the press,” a tribute not just to his professionalism but to his personal integrity. Nduka Obaigbena, publisher of ThisDay, referred to him as a “leading light in Nigerian journalism,” a phrase that seems almost too modest for a man who has shaped the industry’s very foundation.
Yet for all his achievements, Sam Amuka remains astonishingly selfeffacing. He has never sought titles, never traded on his influence, never placed himself above the work. His love for journalism is pure and uncorrupted, even after betrayal, even after loss. He doesn’t believe in shortcuts. He despises laziness. He prizes curiosity, resilience, and clean copy. He is, quite simply, the standard. His journey is not just a timeline of accolades and accomplishments. It is the story of a man who gave his life to an ideal that the press, when done right, is public service at its most potent. And for decades, he embodied that ideal with uncommon grace.
Even as the media terrain has shifted from radio to TV to digital, Sam has remained committed to the fundamentals: fact, fairness, and form. His voice is quieter now, but it still rings with the kind of clarity that editors pray for and readers trust. He has watched generations of journalists come and go, trends rise and fall, governments roar and tumble, and through it all, he has kept writing, kept mentoring, kept believing.
At 90, Uncle Sam is not just a veteran, he is an institution. But perhaps more importantly, he is a reminder of a time when journalism was principled, when writers were craftsmen, and when the truth was sacred. He reminds us that it’s still possible to do things the right way, even if it’s the hard way.
He is, in every sense, the heartbeat of Nigerian journalism. As we celebrate his remarkable journey, we’re not just honouring a man, we’re honouring a mindset, a commitment, a legacy inked in sacrifice and soaked in principle. Journalism today is in desperate need of role models. Luckily, we don’t have to look far. Uncle Sam is right here, still standing, still editing, still smiling. And to that, we say: he deserves a bow.
BRUNCH IS SERIOUS BUSINESS: HOW LAGOS TURNED DINING INTO A FASHION SCENE
By Aliyah Olowolayemo
There was a time not too long ago when Lagosians treated food as something functional. Fast food? Enjoy it discreetly. Brunch? A guilty pleasure best kept off the radar. Even those who loved food often downplayed it, acting like indulgence was something to be ashamed of. Eating out was about convenience, not clout. But that Lagos is long gone.
Today, brunch has emerged as a full-blown lifestyle phenomenon. And it’s no longer just about what’s on your plate—it’s about where you’re eating, what you’re wearing, who you’re seen with, and how good the lighting is for your Instagram Story. Somewhere between the outfit planning and the food photography, brunch in Lagos quietly became the city’s most stylish social ritual.
This transformation didn’t happen by accident. Over the past few years, Lagos’ relationship with food has undergone a cultural shift. Food has gone from necessity to statement. The once-casual act of dining out has morphed into a curated experience. Much of this shift has been fueled by social media and the rise of a new kind of tastemaker or, better still, influencers who helped shift the way Lagos engages with food—infusing it with energy, style, and a strong dose of personality. With witty captions, curated aesthetics, and a flair for storytelling, they made it fashionable to celebrate meals, not just consume them. Suddenly, a plate of fries wasn’t just lunch—it was content. Dining out became part of personal branding, and food moved from the sidelines to the spotlight.
What followed was a full cultural shift. Reviews began to go beyond taste— now, ambience, décor, service, and lighting were just as important. A single viral post could turn an overlooked café into the weekend’s go-to spot. In a city that thrives on momentum, food quickly became part of the lifestyle conversation— an experience to be rated, styled, and shared.
Naturally, restaurants adapted. Cafés, lounges, and even fast-food spots began to double as aesthetic playgrounds—filled with velvet chairs, pastel walls, curated playlists, and menus designed to look good on camera. Instagrammable plating became the norm. Drinks arrived with smoke, glitter, or edible flowers. Even the humble jollof had a glow-up.
But it’s not just about what’s pretty. In Lagos, food has become a kind of social currency—a way to connect, to belong, to express taste (both literal and cultural).
Recommending a new brunch spot is the modern love language. Tagging your friend under a post with “we need to go here” is the new weekend invite. Eating together is a soft kind of intimacy.
And it goes deeper. For Lagos’ creative set, brunch has become the new networking table. Music execs, stylists, editors, tech founders, and influencers are skipping formal meetings and linking up over pancakes and peppered snails. It’s where conversations begin, collaborations are born, and soft introductions happen in linen shirts and vintage sunglasses. The best deals in Lagos might just be sealed over brunch.
Fashion brands have also entered the chat. Brunch is now a low-pressure platform for designers to show collections, influencers to style looks, and guests to shop between bites. It’s no longer unusual to attend a brunch that doubles as a soft runway, complete with models weaving between tables and racks of clothing positioned just so for impromptu fittings.
And, of course, there’s the unspoken Lagos brunch dress code. For women: breezy dresses, muted tones, dewy makeup, hair laid, nails fresh. For men: linen shirts (wrinkled just enough to look expensive), leather slides, discreet designer sunglasses, and cologne that lingers. No one says it, but everyone knows—you dress to eat like you’re stepping onto a music video set. And if the meal doesn’t end with a photoshoot in front of the café mural, did it even happen?
Location matters too. A check-in at The Observatory, Sketch, Cactus, or RSVP carries cultural weight. These are not just restaurants—they’re lifestyle markers.
Posting a picture from the rooftop at The House or inside the dreamy interiors of Knowhere Lagos doesn’t just say, “I had brunch.” It says you’re part of the scene. In all of this, something fascinating has happened: food is no longer a backdrop to Lagos life—it’s part of the main event. It’s no longer about hiding your cravings or pretending you don’t eat. It’s about showing up, serving looks, sharing bites, and living well. And in a city that has always known how to put on a show, brunch just happens to be the latest stage.
QUAYS LAGOS
KNOWHERE LAGOS
DODOS
SANCHAN ELEGUSHI AND CHIDERA UDEH
Trust The Ladymaker to turn a theme into something deeper. With its latest collection, Nautical, the brand doesn’t just flirt with maritime references—it dives headfirst into a world of texture, tailoring, and timeless elegance. No clichés, no gimmicks—just beautifully made clothes that speak to the kind of woman
who’s constantly evolving yet rooted in her sense of self.
Known for its signature blend of structure and softness, The Ladymaker has carved a distinctive niche since launching in 2015. And now, just shy of its tenth anniversary, the brand presents Nautical—a collection that explores freedom, identity, and craft, all through the lens of its refined, heritage-inspired aesthetic.
“This collection is for women who carry the depth of
the ocean within them,” says founder and Creative Director Ifeyinwa Azubike.
“It’s for those always in motion—explorers of beauty, strength, and possibility.” It’s not a metaphor thrown in for effect. You see it in the cuts, the fabric choices, the graceful silhouettes that feel at once anchored and free. Each piece is named alphabetically using the NATO phonetic alphabet— from Alpha to Zulu. But don’t expect anything costume-like. These aren’t
THE LADYMAKER DROPS
‘NAUTICAL’ - A SARTORIAL
LOVE
LETTER TO THE SEA
sailor looks—they’re powerfully feminine clothes, designed with depth and intention. Wide-leg trousers with architectural drapes. Flowing dresses that skim the body like a gentle tide. Tailored jackets softened with clean lines and ease.
The palette swings between muted neutrals and bold oceanic blues, creating a visual rhythm that’s quietly confident.
One of the highlights of the drop is a limitededition handbag capsule
in collaboration with FemiHandbags. The bags are sleek, structured, and steeped in quiet luxury— proving that when two masters of detail meet, magic happens. There’s a noticeable intentionality running through everything. No fast fashion shortcuts here. Every garment is handmade by a team of pan-African artisans led by Azubike in the brand’s Lagos studio.
ECHO DRESS
FOXTROT DRESS ZULU JUMPSUIT
KILO CAFTAN
CONVOY BUSTIER + VICTOR SKIRT
GOLF DRESS
MIKE SET
SEYITAN ATIGARIN X YEMI SHOYEMI A MATCH MADE IN FASHION HEAVEN
Some fashion moments are styled; others are simply destined. When Nigerian broadcast journalist Seyitan Atigarin met designer Yemi Shoyemi, it was less collaboration, more creative chemistry. Four standout looks later, their pairing has become one of the most stylish storylines on and off the red carpet. Together, they’ve blurred the lines between fashion and narrative—one outfit at a time.
1. London Lights, Culture Brights
When Seyitan jetted to London for the Sinners premiere, she didn’t just land an interview with Michael B. Jordan and Ryan Coogler— she delivered a masterclass in cultural chic. Dressed in a beaded cropped jacket over a lace bustier, with a mini skirt hand-embellished in floral motifs, she wore the capital like a second skin. Smart, striking, and statement-making, it was Yemi Shoyemi at his most refined.
Streetwear Meets Tradition
2. Blue Majesty at The Headies
At the 17th Headies, Seyitan turned heads in noir and sapphire—a velvet bodice with a dramatic ruched skirt that bloomed like a royal flower. Regal yet futuristic, it was elegance with an edge. Shoyemi’s signature structure met Seyitan’s poise, resulting in a look that didn’t just command attention—it deserved it.
3. Tailored Impact at the Met Gala
In New York, they broke the mould. At the Met Gala’s ode to Black tailoring, Seyitan ditched the gown and embraced a custom tuxedo: bold shoulders, bell-bottoms, and a ruffled shirt that channeled highstyle Dandyism. Effortlessly cool, and unapologetically Nigerian, it proved that style isn’t just worn—it’s owned.
4. Gilded Grace at the AMVCAs
Golden hour arrived early when she stepped onto the AMVCAs red carpet in the radiant Soleil Noir. A one-shoulder gold gown with a minimalist train and strategic sparkle, it whispered power without screaming it. Earthy, elegant, and ethereal, it was a fitting finale to a fashion streak worth framing.
DRESSING NIGERIAN IN 2025
To dress Nigerian in 2025 is to speak in the fluent, unfiltered language of identity. It’s no longer about wax print Fridays or defaulting to lace for weddings. Nigerian fashion has grown up— and with it, so have we. It has become bolder, more intentional, and unapologetically personal. Today, what we wear is not just an expression. It’s an archive. Of heritage, of hope, of who we are and who we dare to be.
The streets and the shrine now share a wardrobe. Today’s Nigerian streetwear is where lineage meets next-gen. Cargo pants under agbada. New Balance with Fila caps. Geles wrapped around corsets. This is not East vs. West—it’s a remix that’s uniquely Naija. Brunch fits, and protest gear now sits in the same closet. Owambe isn’t the only runway—every sidewalk is one. In 2025, Nigerian clothing doesn’t respond to occasion. It creates it.
Cultural, Not Costume
Gone are the days of kitschy Ankara and half-hearted “African-inspired” gimmicks. Nigerian fashion no longer asks for permission to be taken seriously. It already is. Across Lagos, Abuja, and cities where the diaspora now blooms, heritage textiles are being reimagined, not repackaged. Adire becomes a sharply tailored jacket. Aso Oke transforms into a crossbody bag. Hausa embroidery is no longer relegated to kaftans—it’s found on minimalist separates and modern silhouettes.
To Dress Nigerian Today Is to Claim Space
It’s to wear your story out loud— your roots, your resilience, your rhythm. Fabrics may change, and silhouettes may shift, but the Nigerian instinct to turn clothing into culture—and culture into a legacy—remains. In this country, fashion isn’t just about what’s trending. We don’t follow the wave. We are the wave. Dye Lab. Orange Culture. Lagos Space Programme. Nkwo. The future is not just Nigerian—it’s being worn.
Personal Style as Public Power
To dress Nigerian today is to claim authorship. There’s no singular look. Some opt for full minimalism, while others embrace maximalist chaos. Some use style to tell jokes, while others use it to tell truths. Capsule wardrobes, chaotic layering, soft glamour, tough silhouettes—it’s all fair game. Our fashion is as vast and vibrant as our dialects. It’s not a monologue. It’s a symphony. And everyone’s style has a seat at the table. pic - Toke Makinwa in Eki Kere
The Era of Intentional Dressing
The era of thoughtless slay is over. In this post-pandemic, post-hype, climateconscious Nigeria, we’re dressing with purpose. The ₦250,000 outfit isn’t just a splurge. It’s a story—an investment in craft, legacy, and meaning. Wearing Emmy Kasbit or Hertunba isn’t about clout—it’s a quiet declaration that local isn’t just enough. It’s exceptional. Nigerian wardrobes are becoming visual diaries—edited not for the timeline but for tomorrow. Every piece is carefully chosen. Every detail deliberate.
The Alté Effect
Once dismissed as “strange,” the Alté wave now runs mainstream. It’s more than an aesthetic—it’s a mindset. It taught a generation how to remix nostalgia with defiance. Think: vintage trousers paired with gele. Denim with satin. Androgyny with an accent. What began as rebellion is now a revolution. The Alté kids didn’t just disrupt the style narrative—they rewrote it. They’ve made room for freedom. For fluidity. For fashion that doesn’t tick boxes, but tears them up. Image - Tubo for Ugo Monye
ANGELA OBASI
TUBO FOR UGO MONYE
ADIRE JACKET
By Funke Babs-Kufeji
JUNE CALLED
- IT’S TIME TO RETHINK THE REST OF YOUR YEAR
Half the year has passed— quietly, quickly, and, let’s be honest, a little chaotically. January’s energy feels like a distant dream, blurred by real life doing what it does best: unfolding on its own terms. But instead of waiting for December to reflect, June offers a smarter opportunity— the mid-year check-in. Done well, it’s not just helpful; it’s essential. The question is: how do you actually check in with yourself in a way that feels honest, not performative?
Here’s a guide that cuts through the noise:
1. Step away from the highlight reel.
Start by putting your phone down. Social media has a way of turning everyone else’s progress into a measuring stick for your own. This check-in isn’t about what you should have done by now—it’s about what your year has actually looked like. Think beyond milestones and aesthetics. Where have you been mentally, emotionally, financially, even spiritually?
2. Revisit your January goals—but with grace. Pull up that vision board or those scribbled midnight resolutions. Now ask: were those goals made with optimism or full awareness of reality? If you planned to save more but inflation hit, or meant to be consistent at the gym but didnt make it more than five tmes , give yourself context. Realignment isn’t failure—it’s maturity. Maybe some goals still resonate. Maybe some need to go. Adjust accordingly.
3. Audit your energy, not just your output. We often measure progress by productivity—boxes ticked, goals smashed. But what about your energy? What’s been fuelling you? What’s been draining you? A useful check-in looks at patterns: maybe every Monday feels like burnout, or maybe you thrive when you take midweek walks. Awareness is powerful—even
if you can’t change everything yet.
4. Look for patterns, not just moments. It’s tempting to fixate on that one week everything fell apart or that one high point you’re clinging to. But growth is in the rhythm. Are you starting projects you never finish? Are you most anxious at the end of the month? What are your triggers? What brings ease? Clarity lies in repetition, not random spikes.
5. Do a soft reset—not a total overhaul.
This is not about flipping your life upside down. Sometimes, small changes have the most impact: reducing screen time by 30 minutes a day, drinking more water, saying no without guilt, booking that doctor’s appointment. These aren’t grand gestures— they’re quiet corrections. And that’s more than enough.
6. Think forward—but not frantically. There are six months left in the year. That’s not a threat— it’s a gift. Instead of cramming ten new goals into July, ask: how do want the rest of this year to feel? Peaceful? Intentional? Playful? Pick a guiding theme. Let it shape your choices, not stress you out.
7. Write it down—for yourself. Whether it’s a journal entry, a note to your future self,
or even a voice memo— document what you’re learning about yourself right now. What are you proud of? What’s no longer working? What do you want to let go of? Putting thoughts into words gives them weight and makes the check-in real.
8. Measure growth beyond milestones.
So maybe you didn’t get promoted. Maybe the savings plan didn’t stick. But did you learn to say no more often? Did you leave a toxic relationship? Did you begin healing, even if you’re still in the thick of it? These are wins, too. Ask yourself: How have I grown—even if nobody’s clapping for it?
9. Rethink your systems. Are your routines helping you or just stressing you out? If your to-do list feels more like a punishment, maybe you need to simplify. Switch to a weekly focus instead of daily targets. Automate bill payments. Unsubscribe from the newsletters that clutter your mind. Sometimes the problem isn’t you—it’s the system you’re forcing yourself into.
10. Refresh your digital life. Clean up your digital space. Unfollow accounts that trigger insecurity, delete apps that steal your time, and maybe update your professional bios to reflect
where you are now. These small acts of pruning create more mental room than you’d expect.
11. Check in on your people. Relationships shape the tone of your year. Who brings you peace? Who leaves you drained? This is a good time to reconnect intentionally or create distance respectfully. You don’t need drama—just boundaries.
12. Recommit to joy. Not hustle. Not improvement. Just joy. What are the little things that make you feel alive—dancing in your kitchen, reading for no reason, watching trash TV without guilt? Do more of that. It’s not a waste of time— it’s what makes time feel worthwhile.
13. Choose a word to guide you. One word. That’s all. “Ease.” “Discipline.” “Presence.” “Joy.” Pick a word that reflects where you want to go. Let it anchor you when you feel scattered. Let it whisper to you when the noise gets loud. Mid-year check-ins aren’t about fixing yourself. They’re about finding yourself again in the midst of everything life has thrown your way. So, take the pause. Reflect, reset, and reimagine the second half of your year. It’s still yours for the making.
SPF IN NIGERIA: WHY WE STILL DON’T TAKE SUNSCREEN SERIOUSLY ENOUGH
In Nigeria, where fashion is fierce, beauty is culture, and skincare routines are becoming as curated as our wardrobes, it’s surprising how sunscreen still feels like an afterthought. We cleanse, tone, moisturize, and layer on serums with names we can barely pronounce—but somehow, SPF doesn’t make the cut. For many Nigerians, sunscreen still sits in the category of “not for us.” There’s a stubborn myth that our melanin has us covered—that because we don’t burn like fairer skin tones, we don’t need protection. However, dermatologists, and frankly, those with sun-damaged skin, would like to disagree.
By Aliyah Olowolayemo
Yes, melanin does offer a natural SPF of around 13, but that’s hardly a forcefield against the unforgiving UV rays we face daily. Nigeria isn’t exactly known for gentle weather—our sun is bold, ever-present, and relentless. Unprotected exposure contributes to hyperpigmentation (which we already battle), premature ageing, sunburn, and, in severe cases, skin cancer. The popular phrase “Black don’t crack” has done more harm than good. Because it does crack—it just doesn’t show up the same way. So why, in 2025, are we still skipping the sunscreen?
Part of the blame lies in bad history and worse marketing. For years, sunscreen was formulated and advertised for fair skin—chalky, thick, and guaranteed to leave a ghostly white cast on deeper complexions. It didn’t blend, it didn’t absorb, and it certainly didn’t feel comfortable under Nigeria’s heat. The result? A generation convinced that sunscreen just wasn’t made for us.
But the industry has caught up. Today, there are sunscreens created with melanin-rich skin in mind: invisible, featherlight, sweatresistant, and suited to our weather.
They glide on like serums, leave no residue, and don’t make your face feel like it’s about to fry an egg. Then there’s the cost. While staples like black soap and shea butter are affordable and familiar, good sunscreen tends to sit in a price range that makes people pause. With most purchases driven by survival, SPF often feels like a luxury. But here’s the truth no one wants to hear: the cost of not using sunscreen—dark spots, uneven tone, premature ageing— adds up. And the treatments? Even more expensive.
Thankfully, the tide is slowly turning.
Nigerian skincare creators and professionals are using their platforms to correct the myths. Content creators like Dodos Uvieghara and doctors like Aproko Doctor are normalising the use of sunscreen in our routines. Their message is simple: glowing skin is protected skin.
Even local brands are stepping up. We’re seeing sunscreens made for our climate, our skin tones, and our daily lives. No ashiness, no heaviness—just hydration, protection, and glow. Sunscreen isn’t just for beach days or holidays in Zanzibar. UV rays don’t care if you’re working from home or commuting through Lagos traffic. If there’s daylight, there’s exposure. Your glow deserves backup.
