I Wear What I Like: An ode to the pioneers of post- Apartheid South African streetwear

DISCLAIMER: None of the pictures used here belong to me. I do not own the rights to any of them.They have all been taken from the internet. Please contact me if they belong to you and you would like me to take them down/credit you.

Since its inception, fashion has been used as an instrument to communicate personal, race, class and gender politics. It is most obviously used to gender people as we see the “men’s” and “women’s” departments, among other roles it plays.

Capitalism has done a great job at determining which kind of labour will be most strenuous and therefore least valuable. Black bodies have been tasked with the most physically and emotionally demanding jobs and at the same time, we have been convinced that these are the most menial tasks undeserving of a dignified compensation. In the event that society is unable to identify these people- uniforms have been given to them. Fashion has been used to communicate this clearly.  From the domestic worker’s suit to the blue overalls, blue collar uniforms have been used as markers of position in society.

In defence of forcing working-class people to wear uniforms, it is often stated that a uniform attracts neither shame nor pride. It just is. Police wear uniform, domestic workers wear a uniform and that’s that. However, when one considers the relationship that poverty has with shame, it becomes clear that this is a shortsighted justification as it ignores the role that fashion plays as a tool in communicating prestige (or lack thereof). Furthermore, these uniforms identify people as poor therefore identifying them as powerless.

In 2014, the Economic Freedom Fighters emerged in Parliament dressed in the clothing of blue collar workers. This, they argued, was done to represent those they entered Parliament to fight for. But before the EFF wore overalls as a political statement, there were amapantsula doing so.When kwaito artists such as Trompies and Mzekezeke emerged in their overalls, it was clear that they were aware of the power that these uniforms have and so the reclamation of agency was being clearly communicated. These artists were wearing the shame of their parents, their grandparents and their forefathers with no shame. These overalls could be understood as an ode to migrant labour- the shameful labour reserved for the discarded bodies.

Artwork by Dali Gaga
Similaly, the popular gumboot dance/isicathulo paid tribute to mine workers who had to revert to creating a secret code to communicate as their employers forbade their communication.


Even outside of the blue collar overalls, kwaito fashion still made a statement as it disrupted society’s ideas of how one should present oneself. This is how rhetoric about how kwaito artists were “vuilpops” came about. These young artists  unapologetically wore their Converse All Stars, overalls and bucket hats- an item which has reemerged and has often inspired discourse about who decides when it is a bucket hat and who decides when it is is’poti on the politics of class. This style is especially significant in post-Apartheid South Africa as it signifies the freedom to be, be it unapologetically black, poor, or deliberately against standards of respectability. It is from this context that Loxion Kulca emerged in 1999.

Zola Loxion


Sechaba Mogale was born in exile in Lusaka, Zambia where he was raised by his grandparents while Wandi Nzimande was born and raised in Soweto. They forged a friendship and in the end, they would create the brand Loxion Kulca together in 1997. They started out selling handmade t-shirts and caps from the boot of their car until they approached Sales House -known today as Jet, part of the Edgars Consolidated Stores (EDCON). By those with the lived experiences, Sales House is described as a retail company tailored for the interests of migrant labourers. Sales House sold clothes similar to that of Brentwood for those who could not afford as at the time, Edgars was catering to middle class white people. Mogale and Nzimande approached Sales House with their Loxion Kulca idea and one of the EDCON suppliers, Brian Abrahams who is now deceased, assisted them financially and became their business partner. Understanding that this was just after Apartheid, the market was incredibly difficult for black people to enter and so Abrahams’ social capital would also assist them with that. It was in this way that Loxion Kulca became one of the vendors at Sales House. Unfortunately, the brand did not perform to well in the first week of sales- which is usually used to measure how well a product will perform in the market. It was not until  they got a kwaito star to endorse the brand that the sales for Loxion Kulca skyrocketed. From there, Loxion Kulca rose to prominence as a a brand celebrating being from the township using streetwear.  In many ways, Loxion Kulca paved the way for brands such as Amakipkip, Eish Hade and the Cape Town based 2Bop . It would be dishonest of me not to note the fact that Wandi Nzimande once explained that the brand was not born out of some special story to tell but instead out of the need to put bread on the table. However, I believe that fashion- like all other art forms- can be used as a window to the different experiences used at the time. The name “Loxion Kulca” in a South Africa where black people were still trying to figure out where they fit in the world is political in itself as it shows this pride in being from elok’shini.


Loxion Kulca
Co-founders Sechaba Mogale and Wandi Nzimande


It is difficult to engage with the clothing style of kwaito artists without engaging with South Africa’s sociopolitical dynamics. At all times, it was about facing respectability politics through dress as kwaito artists almost never dressed according to what propriety required. This style has paved the way for my generation to be able to express ourselves through unconventional modes of dress and will live on forever as an inspiration.





  1. This is such an important article. During a time when black South Africans are again trying to assert and re-imagine the South Africa they want to see and live in, it is helpful to look back at people that have done this before us and the different instruments (fashion in this case) that they used to communicate. I am really thankful I came across this article. I think it helps to ponder the different weapons of self-definition at our disposal.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This was such a beautiful read. Made me rethink uniforms since they were great equalizer in our schools which i didn’t think was such a bad thing inside 1 specific establishme but when i think about it, people wearing certain uniform recognizably from upper class/private/town schools did hold a certain amount of disdain for gvt/poor schools. Also, lint live the spoti long live!
    Mvumikazi | Urban Mnguni

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Right! The agency of clothing items obviously changes from once space or another so it is an equalizer within one school but like you said, put it outside with other schools and see how it communicates inferiority/superiority.


  3. I really enjoyed this! This time of well-researched commentary on something “normal” like fashion shows that any subject can be elevated if it is treated with respect. Wow. That little bit about Sales House/Jet and Edcon? I wish I could insert a meme here :”) That is so cool! My parents used to buy clothes at Sales House.
    (As a side note: where did you even begin to do the research for this? Libraries, interviews? It just doesn’t seem like the type of stuff that is readily available on the internet…)

    Anyway. Thank you for putting this out there. I’m going to share it on Facebook and give other people a chance to think about South Africa’s streetwear/fashion/music history.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for your support. I realised that the information wasn’t readily available when I started writing it. I vented to a friend of mine and it turned out that his mother had been working for Sales House at the time and had a close relationship with them. But that’s why I write this, to make our cultural history readily available on the internet.


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