The education of Tunji Dada

Part 5

by Ellen Barry

Now the period of pure joy has given way to the period of logistics, and Dada -- who thinks of himself "primarily as an artist" -- is logging a lot of hours on the bus into New York's Port Authority. There are a number of plans in the offing: if he can get letters of intent from stores that have shown interest in his clothes, then he can use them to assure investors, and then he just might get the six-figure sum he needs before December. He is planning a massive party for the venturesome firms and industry eccentrics who might possibly give him the money to develop his line. He is pricing studio space in Chinatown and Chelsea.

Tunji Dada is in this position because he has succeeded. The orphan, the Catholic school boy, the buzzer-in of tenants at 1731 Beacon will never have to take a day job again. That in itself is a marvel.

"I never thought I could make money doing this," he says, and it's not hard to believe him. "I have a friend who is working as my manager, and she had to tell me. She said, `Tunji, you can make money doing this.' "

But, at the same time, he is acutely aware that he has not yet succeeded. He's a one-man operation in Roxbury when he'd like to take his samples into Henri Bendel and Bergdorf Goodman. He'd like to be an enfant terrible along the lines of John Galliano or Stella McCartney or Alexander McQueen. Fashion is a social art, after all; in order to make an impact, a designer has to be out there generating buzz. At a certain point it is necessary to be known, so Tunji Dada is leaving Boston. There are no obscure geniuses in fashion.

"The right people haven't had the chance to see my work," he says. "I believe I am ready for it."

Back to part 4

Ellen Barry can be reached at ebarry[a]phx.com.