Taiba Akhuetie's art is unsettling to behold. This is largely because you cannot quite discern whether you are looking at something alive or deceased. She employs hair as her medium, crafting everyday items from synthetic and human locks. Handbags, mirrors, rocking chairs, and umbrellas are adorned with long, thick braids and loose, straight strands. The result imbues these inanimate objects with an eerie, taxidermy-like quality.
Childhood Fascination with Hair
Akhuetie, whose work is soon to be exhibited at the Sarabande Foundation in London, recalls being captivated by hair as a child. “We used to go to my mum’s friend’s house …” She pauses and quickly corrects herself. “My auntie’s – she would be called auntie, obviously.” Akhuetie would watch her “auntie” braiding her sister’s hair, amazed at the speed of her fingers. She also remembers plaiting her friends’ hair at school in Kingston, Surrey, and feeling a natural aptitude for it.
Yet for much of her childhood, Akhuetie did not enjoy having her hair in braids. “I grew up in a white, middle-class area and wasn’t from money,” she says. “I started to realise that my insecurities were due to comparing myself to people that weren’t like me – and wanting to be like them.” When made to feel different because of her Blackness, she felt “gaslit” and dismissed. She decided to surround herself with people who made her feel secure in her identity.
Shift in Perspective
A transformation in her view of braids followed. “I really started looking at them as something incredibly beautiful and therapeutic,” says the 34-year-old. In 2014, she launched Keash Braids with her schoolfriend Jessy Linton: part pop-up braiding service, part creative brand. Akhuetie “hustled my ass off” to build up clients, eventually establishing a permanent salon in Peckham, London. This coincided with a renaissance of braids among Black women, partly sparked by the natural hair movement of the 2010s, when many abandoned straighteners in favour of less damaging styles.
Then, during lockdown, Akhuetie had to find a new way to earn a living from braiding, with human contact prohibited. Was this even possible? “I was like, ‘You know what? I’m just going to do an installation out of these scraps of hair in my house and this random stool.’” The metal stool was wrapped in braids and teased hair, embellished with flowers and a bee. “That’s when I realised I could really use this as a medium ‘off the head’. I knew that was my path. I was like, ‘This is it. This is what I’m meant to do.’”
Rise to Fame
Akhuetie, who is based in Hackney, made her name with one piece in particular: a large umbrella affixed with abundant wefts of dirty-blond hair. She got inspiration when heading out one rainy day and looking for an umbrella. The creation garnered 100,000 views on TikTok. The world of couture has naturally taken interest in her wearable art, with Vogue praising her “super textural and avant-garde garments”, saying they give new meaning to the term “body hair”.
Akhuetie has worked as a stylist and now collaborates with brands, happy to construct custom-made, wearable pieces to order. But she is adamant that she is not a fashion designer. Her work connects with a wide range of people and, while Black hair is clearly a direct inspiration, she describes her work as being “for everyone”.
In 2021, Akhuetie received an Instagram message from Rihanna asking for a bespoke piece and had to reassure herself that it wasn’t a prank. The result – a braided Louis Vuitton handbag – is so intricate that it initially looks like a regular handbag. Akhuetie has also dressed Nigerian singer Tems for a Met Gala afterparty, as well as film star Cate Blanchett.
Staying Grounded
Yet Akhuetie, who comes across as familiar and relaxed during our phone conversation, is careful not to get too swept up by high-profile collaborations. “I don’t think you should fixate on celebrities,” she says. “It can be easy to be like, ‘Oh my God, a famous person really likes my work! I want to do something with them.’ But you have to ask yourself, ‘Would it really make sense if I made something for this person? Or am I just doing it to get two steps ahead faster?’” She pauses and adds: “If someone is wearing my pieces, it has to be someone that embodies my work as art.”
When I ask where Akhuetie sources her hair, I expect her to mention one of the emerging upmarket braiding hair brands that few women can afford. But I am surprised to find it is my local, Pak’s in Dalston, which gives her a discount because of how much she buys. The brands she lists – Impression, X-Pression – are all products that have recently been in my own hair, too.
This brings a groundedness, an authenticity, to Akhuetie’s creations, as well as a mirroring between the work and any potential viewer – a sort of cannibalistic gaze. “It’s the same hair I use on my own head,” says Akhuetie, who has also adorned several actual mirrors with braiding hair – perhaps playing on and deconstructing the idea of looking at one’s own hair in the mirror.
Artistic Intentions
Potentially, there are many elaborate and theoretical interpretations of Akhuetie’s work. As we talk, I offer a few, but notice she leaves things very open. How does she want people to feel when they look at her work? “A bit confused,” she says. “I want them to be like, ‘What? I don’t really understand how that’s hair.’ I also want people to be intrigued as to why I’m doing it. But actually, I just really love the beauty in what I’m doing.”
The exhibition will contain what she describes as her most ambitious work to date: a large, cylindrical patchwork of different types of hair stitched together. The show’s centrepiece, it is composed of numerous colours and textures, speaking to the exhibition title: The Tone. But this has numerous alternative meanings, not least various racialised “undertones”, which Akhuetie describes. “As a Black person, people say the tone of my voice is aggressive. I have to tone myself down for people to relate to me. Then there’s my skin tone.”
Another work in the show is a table studded with resin beads on its underside. “I was reminded of a really beautiful glamorous Black girl with braids and beads,” says Akhuetie. “People who aren’t Black are normally so intrigued they want to touch it and almost treat you like you’re an alien. You wouldn’t ask to touch anybody else’s hair. I named it Don’t Touch My Table.” This is a nod to the phrase “Don’t touch my hair”, which became a slogan of the natural hair movement. “I want people to look at it and go, ‘Why do I want to touch somebody’s hair? What’s making me do that?’”
Personal Milestone
The exhibition marks a personal milestone for Akhuetie. “The reason I didn’t study art was because I was so insecure about being a Black person studying art. I didn’t think it made sense. I didn’t think I could do that. So it’s almost to say, ‘I can do this.’”
She thinks the art world is still very backward, in terms of what it considers to be true art. I think of Akhuetie’s auntie, how quickly she braided, and the deftness, skill and creativity that is so central to styling Black women’s hair. “I hope,” says Akhuetie, “I can show people who think this isn’t art that it actually is.”
Taiba Akhuetie: The Tone: Taiba’s World of Hair is at Sarabande Foundation, London, 22-24 May.
