The response has been overwhelming. I’ve heard from tailors who have been silenced, designers who walked away from their dreams, and even stylists and educators who admitted that something about our current setup just doesn’t feel right. We are working. We are creating. We are even trending. But beneath it all, many are quietly asking: Is this really sustainable?

When I see designers and tailors asking me, “What’s the solution, Ma?”—I wish the answer were simple. I wish I could say, “You just need more money,” or “Find an investor, and you’ll be fine.” But it’s far more complicated than that because you can have all the capital to run a fashion house in Nigeria today and still get stuck—completely stuck—if the right systems are not in place.

The answer lies in one word: structure. Because without structure, fashion in Nigeria will remain a hustle—not a real industry. Full of paparazzi, but lacking a foundation that can actually put money in people’s pockets and security in their future.

Let me be clear: this is not an attack on individuals. It’s a call to address the issues hurting the very people keeping this industry alive.

So, what does structure actually mean?

Right now, we don’t even know how many tailors are working in Nigeria, let alone their skill level. Are they beginners, intermediate, or masters? Most tailors don’t even know, and neither do the people hiring them. That leads to underpayment, miscommunication, and chaos. But more critically, it creates a system where fashion house owners face serious operational risk. Today, a designer may hire a tailor and spend three months training them to fit into their bespoke system, only for that tailor to disappear without notice. You’re not even guaranteed they’ll show up the next day. A national registry and grading system wouldn’t just elevate standards—it could help create shared protections: tailors are not exploited, and designers are not sabotaged. 

The current word-of-mouth culture of hiring is unsustainable. Too many fashion houses rely on informal arrangements with no documentation or structure. And they are not totally at fault because the system is wired in such a way that signing contracts with tailors seems like a waste of time. It doesn’t stop them from breaching such agreements. So, tailors move in and out of jobs without contracts, without timelines, and without consequences. And when things go wrong—because they often do—there’s no protection on either side. If we want stability in this industry, we must normalise the use of clear, accessible, and enforceable contracts—agreements that define not just pay but notice periods, expectations, and responsibilities. This protects designers from disruption and protects tailors from exploitation. Otherwise, we risk building a fashion industry of the rich, by the rich, and only for the rich—where only those with deep pockets can afford to hire tailors from abroad to maintain quality and consistency. Without systems that make local hiring more stable and professional, profitability and sustainability will remain out of reach for most.

Education is important, but who regulates the schools that are popping up everywhere? Some founders haven’t even completed training themselves. Students are paying millions, hoping for successful fashion careers, but end up learning very little or nothing at all. For the most part, their education is based on what is trending now. So, what happens when a new trend hits the market? Enroll again. At the end of the day, the academies make huge profits at the expense of aspiring tailors and designers. We need a board that reviews, certifies, and monitors fashion academies.

In France, “haute couture” is through the Fédération française de la couture, a government-regulated body under the French Ministry of Industry. In Nigeria, anyone can add feathers and sequins to an outfit and call it N10 million couture or luxury. Creative freedom is important, but standardisation protects both designers and customers. Failing to do this will keep us struggling with the ongoing “pandemic” of overpricing. 

Why must every designer travel to China or Turkey to have their designs produced in bulk? Why can’t we have one modern plant in Nigeria—staffed by trained tailors and supervised by professionals (emphasis on qualified professionals)—where production meets international standards? This would create jobs, lower production costs, and build local pride. The recently launched SMEDAN Garment Hub in Idu, Abuja, is commendable. But it comes nowhere close to a high-quality mass production plant. 

You spend days, weeks or months creating a new design. You unveil it, and by next week, it’s been copied badly and sold for less. There’s no proper protection, no deterrent, and sometimes even the customer says, “Abeg, I can’t pay original price. Recreate this design for me.” That mindset is stifling innovation and punishing the creator to reward the copier. We need an easy way to register designs and hold copycats accountable.

In Nigeria, success is often more about who you know and how much money you can show you have, than what you’ve built. Someone can launch a brand today and be on a major red carpet tomorrow. Who vetted the work? Who approved the platforming? Everyone deserves a chance. But in a real industry, success should be based on craft and a track record of excellence—not just clout or who can pay or bulldoze their way to access. 

Masterclasses are everywhere. So are industry panels and conferences, some of them even hosted abroad. But what comes after these events? Who is building the cooperatives, mentorship programs, or production collectives? If all we do is talk and trend about who wore the biggest gele at such events, we’ll keep recycling the same frustrations.

Let’s encourage Nigerian companies to sponsor designers the same way they sponsor artists and athletes. For example, at events like the AMVCAs, a corporate brand could sponsor a designer to dress a celebrity—not because they have connections, but because their work earned the spotlight. This kind of support could also ease the growing tension between stylists and designers, where stylists often treat designers anyhow rather than as creative partners. Many stylists treat designers like beggars when in reality it’s supposed to be a mutually dependent relationship. Without the designer’s creation, what exactly are you styling?

Beyond red carpets, private sector investment could also help fund a National Fashion Museum—a space to archive and celebrate Nigerian couture at its finest. Not designs copied from foreign designers and passed off as haute couture, not the trend-chasing, but the original high-quality pieces that reflect our heritage, artisanal craftsmanship, and creative evolution.

Most Nigerian designers and tailors have no pension, insurance, or retirement plan. After years of hard work, many are left with nothing but their popularity. We need a National Creative Retirement Scheme—a cooperative or policy-backed fund tailored to the fashion industry. Designers could contribute gradually and benefit later, just like civil servants. 

After 20 years in fashion—across the UK, Nigeria, and now the US—I’ve learned that talent will take you far, but structure is what helps you last. I’ve seen too many brilliant creatives disappear—not because they weren’t good, but because the system gave them no support.

It’s time to change that. And the Nigerian government must rise—urgently and sincerely—to help us build a fashion industry that can reach its full potential. We should not just amplify the noise that Nigerian fashion is the next big thing when we have not built the structure to accommodate that ambition.  

We owe it to the tailors sewing in silence. We owe it to the designers who are still trying. And we owe it to ourselves because structure is what turns talent into legacy. Without it, all we have is a house built on sand. 

Tessy Oliseh-Amaize is an award-winning Nigerian designer and creative director of Tesslo.

Views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of TheCable.