These Archive Photos Honour The Windrush Generation’s Legacy Of Style

My grandfather, originally from Barbados, passed away when I was 2. It didn’t leave much time to get to know him outside of family stories, but elders in my community would tell me that they could see him – a very tall man whose suits were always razor sharp — in me. “Look, she!” they would laugh in patois as I walked past. “She is Mr Blackett, himself.” I recently began searching through old photographs of my grandparents — they have all “gone to glory” now, as they would say — and marvelled at their elegant and immaculate presentation. My grandmother on my mother’s side, originally from Antigua, passed away earlier this year. She was a woman known for her faith, a powerful voice that turned everyone’s heads in church, but also for her style. She was known to wear a fascinator with a long matching dress on an average Wednesday. Like many Caribbean people who migrated to this country in the 50s and 60s, my grandmother’s adjustment to the UK wasn’t easy. But she took extra special pride in her appearance — a value that was passed down to my entire family.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the legacy of style left behind by this generation. 

It’s soon Windrush Day (June 22), and more than 75 years ago, the first Caribbean migrants arrived on the HMT Empire Windrush in 1948. It’s said there were 1027 passengers on board hailing from Jamaica, Trinidad, St Lucia, Grenada, and Barbados. Many of those who arrived had served in the British armed forces during the war and were recognised as citizens of the United Kingdom — part of the “Empire”. As they arrived in England, hopeful for the life and opportunities promised by the “Mother Country”, many wore their Sunday Best as they traversed to this new frontier. It's said that Caribbean migrants received a pamphlet ahead of going to Britain, documenting how they should dress for the cold (freezing weather my grandma would describe as “wicked!”). Yet, as was reported in The Thurrock Gazette in 1948, they arrived via the Empire Windrush “Dressed in an odd assortment of clothes, many wearing ties of dazzling designs.” 

You may have seen the incredible photos from this arrival and the other ships that followed over those years: Caribbean men, like my grandfather, in tailored suits, wide-brimmed hats and Fedoras, overcoats, and shined-up shoes. Women, a picture of sophistication, in frilled blouses, dresses, and bold jewellery. In many ways, these photos capture the start of the Caribbean’s influence on British culture. The origins of the Black British aesthetic — the fusing of Caribbean and African influences in British fashion, music and culture — arguably began here. 

Today, we continue to see echoes of that original elegance in contemporary fashion. Cast your mind back to May, when Vogue unveiled the theme for the 2025 MET Gala, fashion’s biggest night of the year: ​​“Superfine: Tailoring Black Style.” With its chair of stylish Black men — Colman Domingo, A$AP Rocky, Pharrell Williams, and Lewis Hamilton — the event successfully introduced the fashion world to Black Dandyism. As Unbothered writer Taryn Finley explained at the time, a Dandy is, by its official definition, “a man unduly devoted to style, neatness, and fashion…” However, during the transatlantic slave trade, “enslavers dressed Black people in extravagant clothing and paraded them around, calling them 'luxury slaves.’ It was used as a dehumanising form of minstrelsy that further objectified Black men.” Taryn explained that as time went on, Black people reclaimed Black dandyism. The Met Gala intended to illustrate this reclamation, and it largely achieved this. 

As celebrities stepped out in flamboyant suits, exaggerated wide-brimmed hats, perfectly rounded afros, prints and more in honour of the MET Gala’s theme, my immediate thoughts went back to those photos taken on the Windrush ship (Lewis Hamilton’s suit, made by Black British designer Grace Wales Bonner, paid a subtle homage in its small details). Though they may not have described their style by the same name, the Windrush generation also embodied the spirit of Black dandyism. The Sunday Best suits and tailoring (from my parents’ accounts) gave them an unmistakable swagger that disrupted the common status quo of British fashion. They were seen, and this visibility formed part of the resistance. 

Mahoro Seward put it best for British Vogue back in April, “Black contributions to Britain’s sartorial canon are as extensive as the existence of Black communities on these isles, with dressing long serving as a crucial means of resisting against and rising above diminishing perceptions – and defiantly asserting an empowered, dignified sense of identity.”

Indeed, for the Windrush generation and the generations that followed, dressing wasn’t just about style but dignity in a time when they faced the ugliest sides of Britain; from Notting Hill slumlord Peter Rachman's discriminatory housing policies, race riots and rampant racism. Like the best of fashion, it can reflect a time and space — economic stability or instability, social unrest, a disillusionment in government, etc. In this case, by dressing with intention, Black men and women helped challenge dominant ideas about race; tailored clothing was a point of pride, in a time when your skin colour made you both visible and vulnerable. And so, they gave them something to look at.

Now, where the injustices of the Windrush scandal — when Caribbean immigrants were wrongfully threatened with deportation and denied rightful citizenship in 2018 — are still felt, looking through these photos has felt like a balm. I am reminded that here in the UK, Black Brits continue to shape culture. Our legacy isn’t just stitched into the seams of sharp suits and Sunday hats — it’s woven into the very fabric of British culture.