Windrush style: Psychology, identity & resilience

Whether one is a first-, second- or third-generation immigrant, the influence of ancestry and upbringing rings true through everyday style choices.

My grandparents migrated from Saint Lucia to London in the late 1950s, when migration from the Caribbean was at its peak. They often reminisce their arrival, describing how cold and grey it was in comparison to the lush, tropical countryside of their family home. The ‘Going to Britain?’ pamphlets published by the BBC Caribbean service in 1959 shared writings of Caribbean men already living in Britain.

They advised those intending to travel to England on the type of clothing to wear due to the colder climate. However, many still arrived “Dressed in an odd assortment of clothes, many wearing ties of dazzling designs”, as the Thurrock Gazette reportedly documented the arrival of Empire Windrush on 22 June 1948. Although met with the harsh weather and even harsher attitude of some of the locals, my grandparents and all the other migrating Caribbeans were hopeful.

This was a chance to start a new life, rebuild their ‘Mother Country’ after World War II, and create better opportunities for their future generations.

As a Caribbean immigrant in London during the late 1940s–1970s, your body was constantly under the ‘white man’s gaze’ – scrutinised, judged and, sometimes, attacked. To counteract this and survive, the Caribbeans dressed smart and always tried to look their best. This would help gain respectability, potentially avoid racist attacks or even determine one’s success in a job interview.

In 1962, the now famous Howard Grey photographed the last batch of West Indians arriving on a train from Southampton to London Waterloo station. He expected to be met by a ‘rowdy’ crowd of people, but was taken aback by the calm and gentle people wearing their ‘Sunday best’.

In her TEDx Talk ‘Disobedient dress: Fashion as Everyday Activism’, art historian and designer Christine Checinska explains that Caribbean migrants were “well dressed as a way of showing respect for ourselves and to others” and this was taught or passed down to their children and subsequent family members living in the UK. It was normal to be dressed up (often overdressed) because of this.

Growing up, my granny would tell me that my hair was my crown and so I should look after it and keep it ‘neat’. That my body was a temple and so I should respect it with my clothing choices and behaviour. I would come up against discrimination in my life as a Black woman, but the way that I would be treated and perceived by the world also hinged on the way that I presented myself, not just in my clothing but attitude and speech.

Creative writer and lecturer Omolara Obanishola explores how clothing has always played an important role within the Caribbean community. She talks about crocodile skin shoes, which continued to be worn by both men and women throughout the 1970s–1980s.

Such shoes may have been popular due to the luxury connotations around exotic animal skin. Wearing a pair of seemingly high-end shoes would increase one’s status among peers and beyond. Funds were limited among many British Caribbeans, as they often worked in lower-paid employment. Blakey’s/segs (protective metal covering over the toes and heels) became popular as not only a fashion statement (they gave footwear an extra edge and amplified the sound of walking so that you would be noticed), but also to extend the life of the shoes.

Obanishola’s research also highlighted a transition between going out on a Saturday night, and being able to attend church on Sunday morning without changing. “The best thing about the casual style was I could wear this to church on Sunday... Getting out of the house was one problem... your friends calling was another so if I could stay out and not have to change, even better,” said an interviewee.

Women often wore conservative layers of a blouse/shirt/roll-neck long sleeve top with a long skirt, smart trousers and blazer or cardigan, while men wore smart suits, smart pair of trousers paired with a roll neck top and a chunky knitted jumper/blazer. The fashion was somewhat interchangeable between genders.

Jacqueline Durran, the costume designer for Steve McQueen’s 2020 film Lovers Rock, thinks it's brilliant that the Lover’s Rock style of dressing has not been appropriated in the same way as the fashion of other Caribbean-derived music scenes. Lover’s Rock is a distinctive genre of music formed by both Caribbean immigrants in London and first-generation British Caribbeans in the mid-1970s.

The second-generation Caribbean style of the 1970s–1980s forged a new path of someone living in between two cultures – there was the pride of embracing both parts of Black British identity – and not shying away from their Caribbean heritage.

Another popular piece of clothing worn by Caribbean migrants was the felt ‘trilby’ or ‘fedora’ hat. Trilbys had been imported from England into the Caribbean in earlier years. It was said to be one of the most packed items by men of the ‘Windrush Generation’ as they only brought essential items with them to start their new life. Many carrying a small suitcase – called a ‘grip’ or rucksack – thinking that they would only be in Britain for a few years and then return home.

For women the story was similar – they were often seen in tropical printed blouses – not necessarily suited for England’s colder climates but a reminder of where they came from and who they are.

Trilby or fedora hats were often worn by Caribbean men paired with The ‘Zoot Suit’ consisting of high-waisted, wide-legged trousers and a long blazer. The suits were influenced by the style of 1940s African-American Jazz musicians, vastly popular among the Caribbean communities at the time.

Style has evolved over time with the wave of second and third generation Caribbean Londoners moving towards casual wear. For example, streetwear once seen as rebel clothing only worn by punks and gang members has risen in popularity. But, even within streetwear, there is the focus on dressing well, often described as looking “clean” and “fresh”.

In the use of this language to describe being well dressed, Black people shun the colonial theories and language of them being dirty, barbaric and primitive.

Rebellious style choices of the youth that embrace their dual heritage of being both Caribbean and Londoners is not a new phenomenon. During the late 1960s and 1970s, afro hairstyles weren’t only worn as a fashion statement but also as a form of political and social resistance – rejecting white European standards of beauty and the other constraints of being Black in Britain.

Over time, fashion signatures – much like elsewhere – has also changed within London’s Caribbean community. Young designers such as Tihara Smith are attempting to infuse elements of Windrush fashion, sharing the story of her grandparents through clothes.

Today’s fashion within the community still carries the history of the past style choices of “dressing well” and can be rooted in the immigrant culture of endeavouring to gain respect to be taken seriously as well as adopting individual flair mixed in with elements from their heritage. Fitting into London’s society at the same time as standing out.

Rianna Norbert-David is Assistant Curator at London Museum.