A COLLABORATION OF TWO CULTURES
CAMPBELL ADDY
Campbell Addy captures intimate moments with large-scale impact. Along with his portraits of cultural icons — Beyoncé, Meghan Markle, Tyler, the Creator — the intrepid photographer has shot major fashion campaigns for clients including Calvin Klein and Off-White, published critically acclaimed monographs, and exhibited his work around the world.
But Addy’s vision extends beyond beautiful surfaces. Through his Nii agency and culture magazine Niijournal (the fifth issue arrives this spring), he has established vibrant platforms for underrepresented perspectives. In every creative endeavor, Addy makes a point of bringing his communities with him.
In his new capsule collaboration with AHLEM, Addy continues his lifelong exploration of identity. We spoke with him about the collection’s very personal backstory, how he defines elegance right now, and the way his commercial projects fuel his personal mission.
Your frames find a dialogue between mid-century West Africa and modern-day London. What’s the backstory?
When I met Ahlem, I was thinking a lot about duality. Every time I'm written up, I get that tagline: “Black British-Ghanaian artist.” I was trying to understand what the hyphen was, and I just erased it. I wanted the frames to be another reflection of self. I remember seeing a lot of images from Malick Sidibé, James Barnor, Kwame Brathwaite, even my own grandparents’ photos of the swinging 1950s and ’60s in Ghana, and looking at how chic all the glasses were. With those pictures, I had all of these amazing West African references to lean into.
What do you love about Sidibé and Barnor’s images?
It's the love of documenting their people in time. It transfers through the lens that they're proud of where they came from. They were innovators. They were really thinking about the message of their homelands, and their careers would be so different if they were born in my generation. I love Uncle James — he's the one who told me to do my first exhibition. He was like, we are now commercially viable as Black artists. So when I see those images, I just think about the audacious, creative minds that were taking photographs of my ancestry, and how chic everything was.
How did you connect these two distinct cultures and eras in your designs?
I did a lot of private research, looking at what people wear in London, what my friends are wearing. I looked at traditional shapes and sizes of the swinging ’60s [in Ghana]. I live in 2025, so what does that look like today? I wanted to do a slight nod, not a direct copy. A bit more modernized — something oversized but lightweight. I wanted a statement for the Campbell Addy frame, and the Campbell Addy 19 to be slightly oversized and versatile, so you can use it as reading glasses, indoors, outdoors.
Anything I buy that's part of my day-to-day life has to do more than one thing. That extends to the design of the pouch — I wanted it to be a specific size, so you can carry your phone in it. In the past, I'd have these heavy, clunky cases that I'd never take out with me. But with these you have the nice sock that goes in the nice pouch, and then you have the hard case that you can use with your glasses or without.
What was the collaborative process like between you and Ahlem?
Ahlem gave me total freedom, which was quite surprising to me. I wanted to make sure I respected the respect she gave me, by making sure I thought about every part of the design. I wanted to know that if anyone asks me a question, I have the answer.
For each pair there were maybe two prototypes, and I wore them for about a year. I would take them on holiday, take them on set, travel with them. I wanted to make sure they don't hurt your temples or slide. At one point I decided they were just too big — I looked like the WAG culture of the early 2000s. They were cute for a moment, but I wanted something that people could use every day. I didn't want to make glasses you put away for special occasions.
You named the metal frame Campbell Addy 19. That number is a recurring motif in your work. Can you share its significance to you?
Nineteen is my favorite number—I was born on the 19th, my older brother was born on the 19th. I also wrote a poem, “19,” for Niijournal II, about a time when I was entering psychosis. It speaks on the feeling of ostracization, of othering, when people look at you as a Black person and cross the street because they're scared. They don't know that you're actually going through a lot. The poem talks about how one can feel in a space where your mind's betraying you, the world's betraying you, by using “19” as almost like a safe space. This collaboration is the first thing I've done in a design space, so I wanted my name on it. The frame felt precious to me, a soft little rose-gold accessory. The idea is so personal. The design is so personal. Just call it Campbell Addy 19.
Do you recall an early encounter with art that moved you?
It would have to be Christopher [Ofili]’s “No Woman No Cry.” I was very young when [Stephen Lawrence was killed], but the energy of that impacted a lot of Black kids in South London. It was something you just knew of because it was so traumatic. Seeing it depicted in this manner — how [Ofili] used nontraditional materials, how he put the image in the tears, the personification of an emotion and the layered application of paint — gave me permission to be more experimental with my ideas.
You recognized something of your own experience?
Yeah, it was feelings I couldn't put into words. But that's what art is, isn't it? It reflects the times. If the artwork is really pure, the human's going to feel seen and heard: Ah, you get me. Or: You unleashed or unlocked things in me I didn't know were there.