Once reserved for visionaries shaping fashion and culture, “creative director” has become today’s most coveted title. But can this position still mean anything in the age of mass curation?
The title “Creative Director” carries an air of mystique — a fusion of vision, power, and precision. It means more than leading a team; it embodies creating a vision of the future. They are architects of taste, the hands shaping how the world dresses, moves, and dreams. They don’t simply design campaigns or collections; they orchestrate the images that define entire eras of beauty and culture.
Today, however, the title has lost some of its lustre. Once reserved for visionaries who built entire worlds from an idea. Today, creative director has become a casual catchphrase — a label easily added to a social media bio or brand.
In the age of curated grids and personal storytelling, everyone is styling their own narrative, chasing that same sense of control. However, a harder question remains: what does it really mean to direct creativity, and who truly embodies the title?
The anatomy of a creative director: vision, power and the art of coherence
At its core, being a creative director is about authorship, the ability to translate a feeling into form, while leading others toward that shared vision. A true creative director is equal parts’ artist, strategist, and diplomat, balancing imagination with execution.
Historically, fashion and beauty have always revolved around the power of personality. Creative directors weren’t just leading brands; they were the brands, and their vision, voice, and energy became the entire story. Tom Ford transformed Gucci in the 1990s with his unapologetic glamour, giving the world a new language of desire. Miuccia Prada, whose intellectual feminism redefined what style and intelligence looked like, turning cerebral fashion into a global obsession.
Phoebe Philo, during her reign at Céline, made minimalism magnetic and gave modern women a uniform of quiet confidence. Alexander McQueen’s dark brilliance continues to echo long after his passing. Donatella Versace turned legacy into theatre, keeping her brother’s vision alive while carving her own. Each of them proved that true creative direction isn’t about decoration but about identity, about creating a world people want to live in. Then there’s Edward Enninful, who turned British Vogue into a mirror of modern identity; and the late Virgil Abloh, whose fearless fusion of streetwear and high art blurred every line between culture, commerce and creativity.
In Nigeria, that definition takes on a uniquely layered meaning. Here, creativity has long been a survival skill, and the role of creative director often expands into multiple disciplines at once: designer, producer, curator, entrepreneur. Folake Folarin-Coker, founder of Tiffany Amber, brought a distinctly Nigerian narrative to global fashion, long before “African luxury” became a buzzword. Adebayo Oke-Lawal of Orange Culture uses clothing as both storytelling and social commentary, redefining what masculinity and vulnerability look like in Africa.
These are not merely tastemakers. They are cultural translators; people who can take the temperature of the world and turn it into a visual language we all understand. Their power lies not only in what they create, but in how they make others believe in that creation.
The age of the self-made creative director
Still, it’s impossible to ignore that the internet has made creative direction a more democratic concept. The tools once reserved for elite art directors – mood boards, photography, and design platforms – are now available to anyone. We “direct” our Instagram feeds, style our homes, and brand ourselves with the precision once reserved for fashion campaigns.
It’s empowering, but it also blurs the line between curation and direction. Taste is personal; direction is collective. A true creative director doesn’t just make something look beautiful; they make it work. They hold the thread between concept and execution, directing designers, writers, stylists, photographers and marketers towards a single vision.
However, in the digital age, that power has become both accessible and disposable. The same platforms that give new voices a stage can also dilute the discipline that once defined the craft. What we gain in accessibility, we sometimes lose in depth, and it shows. We live in a culture where aesthetic fluency often outpaces creative depth, and mood boards are too easily mistaken for mastery.
While everyone can now claim to be a creative director, very few people are still doing it in the original sense. That’s why the few who still embody the title continue to shape culture on a global scale. Beyoncé’s Parkwood team turns music into visual storytelling. Rihanna’s Fenty universe merges beauty, inclusivity, and commerce with effortless precision. These are not just brands; they are blueprints for modern creativity. They prove that when done right, creative direction isn’t only about aesthetics, it’s authorship. It builds worlds, not just images.
The bold truth
So, is everyone really a creative director? In spirit, maybe. In practice, absolutely not.
To be a creative director in the truest sense is to lead imagination into reality, to hold a vision so strong that others can build around it. It’s a role that requires equal parts vulnerability and authority, precision and poetry.
We can all curate, influence, and express, and we should. However, true creative direction remains a rare art form: the capacity to see beyond the self, to direct creativity not just for attention, but for impact.
In a world full of directors, true creative directors are those whose work continues to make an impact years later and remains in our collective imagination.
Read more: Donatella Versace steps down as Versace’s creative director after three decades
