Collections | Midé World

ỌNA

From the sun-kissed horizon rises a rhythm older than empire. Think of the ochre glow settling over the Lekki-Ikoyi waters, the pink hush of evening caught on the edges of tin-roofed homes, the bronze skins of ancient Benin artifacts watching the centuries roll by with regal patience.

These are not just sights; they're the heartbeat beneath every brushstroke, every hemline, every bead, every daring silhouette.

DAN RAWA

Art moves like a whispered myth in the wind, and fashion doesn't tiptoe, it strides. Together they dance, weaving material and spirit, stitching emotion into form. In their embrace, imagination becomes law.

In the atelier, raffia becomes rebellion. Woven into garments that sway like whispers and bodices that breathe, it refuses to sit still. It crackles softly, like it has something to say. And it does: 'I come from the land. I am not delicate. I am divine'.

OBÌNRIN

She stood before the mirror the way a painting stands before a wall; finished, unfinished, alive.

A quiet composition of curves and pauses, shadows and light.

Her shoulders were soft arches, like bridges at dawn. Her spine, a quiet river carrying memory downstream.

If you looked closely, you'd see brushstrokes where life had touched her, stretch marks like gold seams in marble, scars small and brave, proof that the canvas had survived fire and still chose beauty.

This was not perfection. This was a work of art.

FLAWA

She was not like a flower, She was the flower.

A cherished Beauty with Presence and Purpose, Rooted yet evolving.

When she bloomed, it wasn't loud. It was deliberate. Petals unfurled like secrets told only to those patient enough to wait.

It was her season to be seen.

AMA

She arrived wrapped in gold, as though kissed by the sun. Draped in liquid light cascading down her body like the bronze skins of ancient Benin artifacts watching the centuries roll by with regal patience.

For a moment, the world aligned: metal and fabric, ancestry and now. Every pleat had a story, every curve held court. Elegant, Ancestral, Heavy with memory.

Finally worn, not taken.

KWANDO

Sun-warmed fibers of braided trails that looped and spiraled like ancient symbols of connection.

Each curve whispered stories of warm hands that wove it.

A basket of secrets; topped with a bow, as if daring anyone to unravel the stories inside.

SHEKERE

Woven threads thick with memory of the hands that wove them. Strung beads teasing sounds out of silence.

Together, they became a language, texture, tempo and somewhere between fabric and sound, culture was alive. Unbroken, Still dancing forward.

SARAUNIYA

Wrapped in elegance, crowned in heritage. She was soft yet stern. She reigned, not over people, but over purpose, peace, and becoming.

A queen not by permission but by design.

NOK

She stands unframed, Her skin carried the hue of sunbaked earth.

She moved with the weight of history and the lightness of the wind, tracing the paths where ancestors had planted dreams.

Intricate beadwork of swirling patterns flowed into a cloud of white tulle.

Layers of softness spilled around her, light as secrets. Ethereal yet Fierce.

IVIE

Beads hand woven down her body like whispered prayers. When she moved, the beads spoke, soft clicks, tiny thunder.

They fell like a constellation of quiet power, each bead holding a memory.

Heads turned as she danced to the beat of the drums. The beads clicked against one another to the bass of the drums in a language of culture and heritage as though they knew her or where she came from.

EKOKOUDU

Her story was written in red; beads embroidered into the shape of a blooming, beating heart pulsing with the heat of her ancestors' stories as though drawing power from ancient coral beads.