Bell bottoms grazing dusty pavements, oversized sunglasses shielding curious eyes, denim worn soft by rebellion and time — this is Hawkins reimagined as Lagos, 1980s.
Since debuting on screens in 2016, “Stranger Things” has surpassed its genre to become one of the defining cultural touchstones of the 21st century. The Netflix sci-fi horror drama quickly became a global phenomenon, building an audience measured in billions of views across its five seasons and nearly a decade of storytelling. Its debut of Season 5 late in 2025 delivered an unprecedented 59.6 million views in its first five days. This made it the largest English-language premiere in Netflix history.
The show’s nostalgic homage to 1980s Americana, coupled with its richly drawn ensemble of characters, captured the imagination of audiences worldwide. It shaped fashion, music playlists, social media trends, and even the physics classroom. But what if the mysterious portals, telekinetic powers and suburban battles weren’t unfolding in Hawkins, Indiana, but in Lagos, Ibadan or Benin City circa 1980?
The late 1980s in Nigeria were a turning point for fashion. Hemlines climbed, silhouettes loosened, and clothing became an intimate language of freedom, identity and resistance. As Newswatch observed in January 1989, the era marked a decisive break from convention: Miniskirts dominated campuses, adire crossed from casual wear into offices, appliqué replaced heavy embroidery, and denim, which was equally as political as it was in 2025.
Against this backdrop, imagining “Stranger Things” set in Nigeria’s 1980s feels less like fantasy and more like cultural alignment. The characters’ emotional intensity, their rebellion, and their devotion to individuality mirror a generation that dressed for self-expression and not online trends.
Eleven: style in restraint
Eleven’s style is deeply diverse due to her character’s turbulent relationship with her humanity. We watched her rediscover herself, from being treated like a human machine to building a community, and this is reflected in her fashion. Her style in 1980s Nigeria would be sparse, symbolic and deeply intentional. In her post-mid-teen years, she would have been either in her final year of secondary school or her first year of university. She would definitely indulge in the cropped denim jackets over simple cotton camisoles, paired with high-waisted bell-bottom jeans sourced from bustling second-hand markets. A trend that plagued the campuses.
Heavy emphasis was made on natural hair care, as this was the pre-lace front era. She would wear her hair close to the scalp or in a low natural cut, reflecting the era’s growing embrace of authenticity and the rising popularity of Grace Jones in Lagos. Accessories would be minimal, perhaps oversized sunglasses borrowed from global pop culture. She would also have tried the acrylic fill nail trend. Eleven would dress as many Nigerian girls did, highlighting her susceptibility to mimicry as a means of self-discovery.
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Max Mayfield: Mini skirts and teenage defiance
If there was ever a character made for the 1980 mini-skirt moment that swept the nation, it was Max. She would lean unapologetically into rising hemlines, wearing short Adire or sport pieces with graphic tees or cropped hoodies. Tie-and-dye fabrics — playful, expressive, proudly local — would anchor her wardrobe.
She would style her hair in soft, bouncy curls like Donna Summer or feathered layers, inspired by pop stars and unbothered girls. Even though Vecna trapped her in his mind for two years, her hair showed no split ends, and she still maintained her curls.
Max’s style would reflect a generation of Nigerian teenagers discovering the feeling of being looked at and daring to look back. Unfortunately, there were no skateparks back then, but she would definitely love modern-day WAF.
Nancy Wheeler: ambition, tailoring and authority
Nancy is a sharpshooter and a journalist, and that’s all you need to remember to understand her persona. Her Nigerian ’80s wardrobe would signal aspiration. She would gravitate toward Ankara fabrics reserved for formal wear, favouring tailored skirts that skimmed the knee, low heels, and silk blouses. She was definitely a Shade Thomas-Fahm lover who mourned the closure of her shop in the 70s, and she has every issue of DRUM.
She would carefully set and strip her hair of its curls, using hot combs to straighten it. Nancy would dress like a young woman aware that fashion, in Nigeria’s evolving society, was a tool for credibility.
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Steve Harrington: Bikes, Charly Boy and influence
Steve is the undeniable style reference of the group. Did you see that cardigan in season 5?
In the late 80s, the artist Charly Boy introduced a subculture to the youth of Nigeria. He and fellow singer Tyna Onwudiwe created a new punk persona that would come to define him for decades to come. This persona comprises leather jackets and power bikes.
Steve, at his core, is a popular kid. High school students adored him, and the main kids of Stranger Things still love him. This would reflect in his style; he would have been chic in Lagos, and no one was chic-er than a man in leather and “pencil trousers”.
His hair would be in a jheri curl, you know, he had Chris Okotie on repeat. Steve’s look would nod subtly to mainstream culture and emerging ones. Fashion, for him, would be social currency.
Dustin Henderson: Colour, curiosity and play
Dustin’s wardrobe would be joyful and instinctive. Brightly coloured print shirts, sometimes patterned, tucked into flared trousers. His hats — always present — would be reimagined in locally sourced styles and textiles, worn with charm. There’s a lot of Fela and Twins Seven Seven on his moodboard, but he doesn’t think he can pull off the open shirt look.
Nothing about his fashion would feel forced. Dustin would dress the way many Nigerian boys did then: creatively, experimentally, unafraid of colour or contrast. He would also have a jheri curl.
Lucas Sinclair: Precision and cool
Lucas knows his legends of 70s genres like King Sunny Adé, Ebenezer Obey, and Oliver De Coque. He also knows new artists with pop and funk influences, such as Felix Liberty, Chris Okotie, and Mike Okri. Additionally, he is an athlete, and Nigeria’s Super Eagles won the African Cup of Nations (AFCON) in 1980. All this would play into his style.
Lucas would favour clean lines, jerseys and trainers. Straight-cut jeans, crisp shirts, lightweight jackets in Nigerian colour tones. His fabric choices would be durable—cotton blends and denim chosen for function and versatility.
He would wear his hair slightly shorter but maintain the coil of its 4c nature.
Will Byers: Softness in a loud decade
Will’s 1980s Nigerian style would be quiet and inward-looking, defined by comfort and calmness. He’d wear relaxed, high-waisted denim with soft cotton shirts in muted tones—washed blues, off-whites and earth colours. Lightweight jackets, waist coats, or hand-me-down cardigans would add a sense of protection, often sourced from second-hand markets and worn until they felt familiar.
He would have a buzz cut because he was trying to colour within the lines and not draw attention to himself, lest you actually see him.
Fashion industry and the Nigerian 1980s
Economic shifts, military rule, creative competitions and a growing female presence shaped the fashion industry of the late ’80s. Designers like David Kolawole Vaughan and Maureen Amanechi symbolised a new wave — one that celebrated individuality, craftsmanship and reinvention.
Traditional garments evolved, denim was reclaimed, and second-hand clothing became a site of innovation rather than compromise. Fashion became deeply connected to pop culture, music and self-expression. What you wore said who you were becoming.
The Upside Down, Nigerian style
Set in 1980s Nigeria, “Stranger Things” would unfold in bell-bottoms and adire, in denim worn thin by dancing and dreaming. The monsters might change, but the heart of the story — youth, rebellion, friendship and becoming — would remain.
