Black Creativity Must Move From Collabs to Ownership

From Dapper Dan and Gucci to Giggs and Oatly or Bus Auntie and Burberry, some pivotal and genius collaborations continue to emerge between established brands seeking cultural capital and Black creatives and talent who embody taste, culture and authenticity. But, I keep asking myself: can collaboration also become a glass ceiling?  

Collaborations can mean visibility, recognition or temporary leverage, but too often they feel unequal. Landing a collaboration is often seen as the ultimate win – bringing exposure and validation. But that success usually depends on the capital and infrastructure of the larger brand. Black creatives are invited to a space where they remain forever guests.  

When Nike collaborated with London-based streetwear label Corteiz, founded by British-Nigerian entrepreneur Clint Ogbenna, the exchange was balanced. Nike needed Corteiz’s credibility with the culture as much as Corteiz needed a global platform. But how many collaborations truly reach this level – and how many just cap Black ownership at visibility? 

Now is the time to normalise ownership: gaining more control, autonomy and the ability to build a long-term legacy. Without ownership, cultural cachet leaks out of the community and Black creatives’ economic independence hangs in the balance.  

The case for collaboration longevity

I'm not opposed to collaboration – it has its place. Many of the challenges Black businesses face are interconnected, so the solutions must be too. When collaborations work, they ignite the community. Authenticity sells and people rally behind it. 

Stormzy, a pillar of the UK rap scene, has notably channelled his cultural influence into brand partnerships that drive long-term community impact. In 2022, he teamed up with Adidas to launch #MerkyFC HQ. This youth hub in Croydon, London, features a full-size 3G football pitch, a gaming room and a recording studio. Although media hype has faded, the hub still creates opportunities – proof that legacy-minded collaborations can outlive the spotlight. 

The rapper also co-founded #Merky Books with publisher Penguin Random House in 2018 to create space for under-represented voices. Years later, it continues to create pathways for new authors including Bola Sol and Caster Semenya, making it a collaboration remembered not for marketing, but for meaningful change. 

Such collaborations rooted in authenticity can thrive. When they lack that grounding, it borders on appropriation rather than appreciation.  

The trap of cultural capital

Many Black businesses hold cultural capital, but not always financial power. Larger brands often exploit this imbalance by offering collaborations to Black creatives – deals that appear to promise visibility and investment but frequently trade long-term equity for short-term relevance. 

The issue is that cultural capital is fleeting. You're hot when you're hot – but when the moment passes, so does the funding, the attention and the support. 

Take footballer Raheem Sterling’s 2019 collaboration with Nike, which launched coaching clinics for schools without coaches in Brent and funded a Brent Schools Football Association coordinator for three years. It was a meaningful initiative while Sterling was at his peak. Today, the need remains, and his foundation continues the charity work through The Boy from Brent campaign but without the media attention that Nike brought in the first place. 

This is the danger of tying community investment to cultural relevance. Funding driven by hype always disappears. Ownership is not contingent on trends. It builds infrastructure, creates legacy and ensures support isn’t left at the mercy of the marketing cycle. 

The power of Black support and allies

South London pub Prince of Peckham, founded by Clement Ogbonnaya, has collaborated with big names like Hennessy and Foot Locker. But its greatest strength is community loyalty. In 2023, Ogbonnaya opened a second venue, Queen of the South, a pub and community hub in Tulse Hill. When its freehold was later unexpectedly sold to Young’s Brewery, supporters rallied and donated.  

Still open today, the pub continues to serve as a space for local groups like Age UK and UK Youth and offers co-working options. A fundraiser remains active, with the pub needing £500,000 ($672,350, €573,280) to complete the purchase. Such cultural hubs showcase community support. 

Similarly, in 2024, when floral specialist feYi Flowers saw its brand identity mirrored by a larger company, founder Eni Awoyemi exposed the copycat on TikTok, sparking solidarity. The video reached Stormzy, who reposted and backed it with 100 purchases. For small Black-owned brands, the theft of their creative identity is especially harmful, yet they can count on the power of word of mouth and online solidarity to call out plagiarism.  

All brands face theft, but for Black female entrepreneurs, systemic hurdles such as limited capital, fewer networks and increased barriers to entry make erasure more damaging. It deepens existing inequities, transforming what might seem like a routine business dispute into an act of erasure shaped by systemic racism. 

Leading as Black architects

While community and solidarity matter deeply, the structural shift must still come from within – through ownership. That’s why collaboration, even when rooted in authenticity and respect for the community it serves, is not enough. 

Ownership is also cultural sovereignty: our ability to set narratives, create jobs and build legacies beyond hype cycles. Only ownership builds the infrastructure to make collaborations truly sustainable. 

Once, collaboration felt like the goal. Today, it must be the bridge. Ownership is using both hands to build, leading as architects rather than guests in our own house. 

Temi Adepoju is a freelance writer and a University of Warwick psychology graduate.