Edward Enninful: Britain feels less tolerant now than in the 90s
When Edward Enninful was spotted on the London Underground in 1988, his life changed forever. The Ghanaian teenager had just arrived in Britain and found himself drawn into the city’s vibrant 1990s creative scene: first as a model, then as a stylist, and by 18, as the fashion director of i-D magazine.
“I was living through the height of the YBA era—Jay Jopling, Tracey Emin. I met Kate [Moss] at a casting,” he recalls. “Then Naomi [Campbell] for a cover, and I knew we’d become good friends. We moved in the same circles across disciplines. Friday blurred into Saturday and Sunday. I miss that raw energy.”
If Enninful sounds nostalgic, he’s not alone. A growing nostalgic wave for the 1990s has swept through culture, but he believes something has changed over the decades. “I feel like we’re less tolerant now than we were in the 90s,” he says. “It’s not just here—it’s everywhere.”
The trend toward polarization is hard to ignore: the rise of the far right, backlash against ‘wokeness,’ and a reassertion of Eurocentric beauty norms. Where Tony Blair once signified optimism, Nigel Farage now looms as a potential prime minister for some. Even the Union Jack, once a symbol of Cool Britannia, has become a flashpoint again.
For Enninful, the answer has always been to celebrate culture in all its diversity. It guided his first British Vogue issue as editor in 2017—a portrait of modern Britain featuring Sadiq Khan, Skepta, Steve McQueen, Zadie Smith, and others.
“People with a voice should use it,” he says, referencing those editorial choices. “Immigration is a topic everyone talks about, yet I wouldn’t be here if Britain hadn’t been a lenient country that gave my family a home and an education. That’s the Britain I’ve always loved. I hope this moment will pass.”
He finds reassurance in younger generations, who he says are far more aware than previous ones. “They talk about unconscious bias—something I didn’t even know about.”
Enninful speaks with ease about the city he loves as we meet at Kensington Roof Gardens, just as dusk settles over London. In his characteristic monochrome style, he recalls partying there in the 1990s and even notes that the garden once housed flamingos.
These formative experiences shaped a career defined by audacity and inclusivity. He broke barriers as the first Black, first gay, and first disabled gay editor at British Vogue. His covers have highlighted models of color, plus-size women, an octogenarian, a hijab-wearing model, a model with Down’s syndrome, and essential workers, all of which coincided with rising sales. “If you ignore large segments of the population, you’re not just being exclusive—you’re harming business,” he explains.
Recently, Enninful launched his creative company EE72 and its magazine 72, a major project since leaving Condé Nast. He envisions continuing to act as a disruptor. But what does disruption mean to him?
“I’ve always questioned the status quo. I grew up where everyone around me was Black—doctors, lawyers, even the president. Then we moved to England, penniless, and I found myself a minority. I was shy then. Teachers told me I’d never amount to anything. My brothers and I were stopped under the Sus laws by police… that gave me a duality—the sense of being both inside and outside.”
Contrary to the stereotype of fashion editors as brash and high-strung, Enninful speaks softly and remains remarkably calm. He has faced adversity, speaking openly about depressions and 14 years in an Alcoholics Anonymous program.
He has endured six eye surgeries, including a detached retina, and now has partial sight. “I spent two years in a dark place, afraid I’d go blind,” he says. “That fear felt like PTSD—you live with it 24/7. If I could pass through that, I promised myself I’d do everything I’d been afraid to do. I wouldn’t confine myself to just being an editor or a fashion insider.”
That refusal to be typecast drove him beyond the world that made his name. He is curating Tate Britain’s landmark 90s exhibition, bringing together Juergen Teller, Nick Knight, David Sims, Corinne Day, Damien Hirst, Gillian Wearing, Yinka Shonibare, and more. The goal is to capture the decade’s creative cross-pollination and to spotlight artists who didn’t always receive due attention. “Institutions didn’t always highlight the right artists because they lacked the right pedigree.”
Enninful’s first curatorial project was the Robert Mapplethorpe show at Thaddaeus Ropac gallery in Paris. He also hosted a series of 90s-themed talks at Art Basel. The second issue of 72, released this week, centers on this year’s Turner Prize nominees. He describes it as “a whole new chapter for me, a whole new shift.”
It was his enduring friendship with Tate director Maria Balshaw that led to the 90s show. “We were two working-class kids who found ourselves in big institutions. We would always compare notes.” After leaving Vogue, he proposed a collaboration; she replied, “I’ve got something for you.” He said yes immediately.
One of 72 magazine’s most striking features is its absence of traditional advertising. Instead, it operates on a collaboration-based model. At a launch party, guests could use Google’s tech to virtually try on a Moncler capsule designed by Enninful. “We ask, what can we do together? An event, a podcast? The magazine is part of a broader ecosystem.”
Could that model work for cash-strapped museums and galleries? “100%,” he says with enthusiasm. “We must think outside the box. Institutions need each other. When I first arrived in the UK, walking into the National Portrait Gallery changed my life.”
Enninful recently helped organize the British Museum’s inaugural ball—their Met Gala-style event that raised £2.5 million. “Nicholas [Cullinan], the British Museum director, called and said, ‘I want to do something to help not just the museum, but the country.’”
Today, Enninful is one of the world’s most influential creative power brokers. For 72’s launch, he enlisted friends like Julia Roberts, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Oprah Winfrey. His company employs 25 people across London and New York, with plans to expand into podcasts and film. He relishes being his own boss and maintains that any rumored power struggles with Anna Wintour are mischaracterized; he says they are “good.”
His journey, he believes, proves the power of following your passions. After dropping out of Goldsmiths, University of London to model, he didn’t speak to his father for 15 years—the two later reconciled, and when Enninful received his OBE, his father danced with Madonna at the afterparty and returned home with his son’s medal. His late mother, a seamstress, instilled his love of fashion and his habit of always asking “why?”
What would Edward from the 1990s think of today’s Edward? He laughs warmly. “He’d be shocked, but proud. Back then I was anti-establishment. I didn’t think Tate or similar institutions were necessarily for me.”
He pauses. “I never take anything for granted. We lost our home, fled our country, and I nearly lost my vision. Fear isn’t an option. People have underestimated me my whole career. But once I decide to do something, nothing can stop me.”
