Olori Atuwatse opens every possibility when she steps out in Nigerian design, and I felt something shift the first time I saw her in a striking Ankara wrap or a sharply tailored set by Tubo or Banke Kuku. Olori Atuwatse has made elegance her language and advocacy her purpose. I want to tell you about what I’ve learned so far, because what she’s doing isn’t just about fashion—it’s about culture, identity, power, and legacy.
Olori Atuwatse is more than the Queen Consort of Warri Kingdom. She was born Ivie Okunbo on 22 May 1986 in Lagos. She studied law at the London School of Economics and was called to the Nigerian Bar in 2010. Those educational credentials are impressive on their own, but it’s her vision beyond education that strikes me most.
Olori Atuwatse has been deliberate in how she holds her role—not just as royalty—but as a cultural leader and a patron of Nigerian fashion and design. She doesn’t treat her position as a decorative one; she treats it as one of duty, creativity, and upliftment.
I’ve noticed how often Olori Atuwatse wears outfits that are rooted in Nigerian artistry. I read that she exclusively wears Nigerian designers. It may seem small to some, but to me it’s bold. Every time she does that she is sending a message: those designers matter. The craftsmanship, the tradition, the local artisans—they all matter. And because she often appears in public events, state functions, cultural ceremonies, she uses those moments like stages to amplify the creative voices that are often overlooked.
I learned about Elevate Africa—an initiative Olori Atuwatse co-launched with her husband, the Olu of Warri, Ogiame Atuwatse III. Elevate Africa gives a platform to fashion, culture, design, and especially to young creatives.
I paused when I saw the “Threads of Africa” competition under this platform. Over 500 submissions came from across Africa. The winner, Adeyoola, got $5,000, yes—but importantly, got mentorship and amplification. That, to me, is what Olori Atuwatse is about: not just highlighting what looks good, but lifting up people who make the good possible.
I smile thinking of the kind of style she prefers. It’s not about flashiness or excessive display. It’s poise. She chooses Tubo for structured tailoring, corsetry, jackets, two-piece sets. She also loves free-flowing styles, regal dresses with fabrics that tell stories, abayas, Ankara, beautifully made headwraps or turbans. She balances modesty and majesty. Every outfit she puts on seems like it’s weighed with intention—and that’s powerful.
I felt something in me when I read how she often says, “I’m wearing a Nigerian designer; one day the world will catch up”. That line struck me: it’s patient, it’s confident, it’s visionary. It implies belief in the potential of Nigerian fashion, belief in people who sew, stitch, design, embroider, weave. Belief in heritage, creativity, and in destiny.
It’s not just style for Olori Atuwatse. It’s identity. It’s roots. It’s responsibility. She uses her visibility to put Nigerian designers on the map. Every time a photo of her in Nigerian design circulates, every time someone asks “who designed that,” more attention flows to those creators. I looked at her favourites: Tubo, Banke Kuku, Hudayya, Oyin Lewis, Avenga. Those aren’t just labels. They are part of the ecosystem she’s nurturing.
I also learned that she balances this cultural activism with humanitarian action. With her Royal Iwere Foundation (RIF), she is doing work in education, health, climate, women and youth empowerment. For instance, the Climate Action Bootcamp brought together students from many schools to teach them about waste, environmental protection, and sustainability. That kind of program shows she’s thinking about the future—how fashion, environment, culture, and youth intersect.
When I imagine a day in her life, I picture her choosing an outfit not as a mere fashion decision but as a message. She might be going to a state ceremony, or attending a cultural event. She picks a designer whose story she can honour. She chooses fabrics that reflect Itsekiri heritage. She picks colours, shapes, silhouettes that are respectful of tradition yet modern in execution. And then she steps out—and people take notice. Not just of her, but of what she represents.
Sometimes people say being queen means always looking perfect, always being on. I believe Olori Atuwatse accepts that, but she also accepts the burden of using that expectation as leverage. She doesn’t run from it. She leans into it. She uses it to demand quality, to show consistency, to normalize modesty, to elevate crafts.
To me, the radiance she projects comes from integrity. From not compromising on standards. From insisting that Nigerian design be more than costume or special occasion wear—she wants it seen as global-level, couture or near couture, respected, studied, admired. I see her working to shift mindsets. Not just to dress beautifully, but to reframe what “beautiful” means in Nigerian fashion.
I have been watching the recognition come: Olori Atuwatse was honored with Leadership Newspaper’s Social Impact Person of the Year 2024. I saw that she won MIPAD Influential People Awards in New York. I noticed how globally people are beginning to know her name—not because of title alone, but because of what she does with title.
There’s something deeply personal for me in her journey. I think of every young designer in Lagos, Abuja, Onitsha, Warri, Port Harcourt who struggles with cost of fabric, lack of recognition, or constant demand to copy foreign style to be accepted. Olori Atuwatse gives hope. She shows that authenticity, rootedness, quality, and intention can be enough—and more than enough.
Her style is regal, yes. But her brilliance is not just in what she wears; it’s in what she builds: trust, visibility, tradition, innovation. She understands that wearable clothes carry stories, culture, identity. She gives designers a stage, but also a reason to keep pushing, to improve, to believe in what they do.
When I think of what “bold” means in her context, I see her wearing bold colours, bold silhouettes, bold statements—for example choosing structured shoulders or strong tailoring. But I also see boldness in humility, boldness in service, boldness in supporting others when no one else has given them notice.
I believe Olori Atuwatse’s radiance is a beacon. It’s a beacon pointing toward a future where Nigerian fashion is not always competing with foreign brands for attention, but leading, setting the tone. Where designers aren’t just known locally, but recognized globally because people like her amplified them.
I want to be part of that narrative. I want to encourage those reading this to look closer at Nigerian designers, to support them, to ask about their stories. Because every time someone like Olori Atuwatse puts one of them in the spotlight, the ripple extends: more confidence, more investment, more respect.
So yes, in my eyes, Olori Atuwatse radiates regal brilliance in every thread, every drape, every stitch. She is a powerful queen, but more than that she is a catalyst: for heritage, for artistry, for recognition, for change. And I believe what she’s doing will outlast trends—it’ll shape what we call elegance, what we call value, what we call home.
If you ever doubt the strength of representation, just look at her. If you ever question whether local artistry can withhold global scrutiny, just see where she walks. If you ever wonder what power looks like, watch how she lifts others.
