At Ìṣẹ̀yìn, the home of aṣọ òkè, the ambience was engulfed with the sounds of looms clicking rhythmically, blending with the hum of conversations and the occasional laughter from children playing nearby. The houses on the streets were lined with weavers, their hands knitting deftly. 

The modernization of aṣọ òkè was also brought up by Ismail Kolawole, a thirty-five-year-old weaver from Ìṣẹ̀yìn. He spoke about the shift from traditional tools to the current setup as he supervised his five-year-old son, Qudus, spinning the red threads for weaving. ‘Aṣọ òkè is the craft of our forefathers who were blessed with the knowledge of weaving,’ Kolawole explained. ‘We, the descendants, have taken up the craft. Unlike before, where they used farm woods and immobile clay seat òfí for the tools, we have modernized to using mobile wooden òfí.’ He also noted that the weaving techniques have changed: ‘We used to weave only two to three strips, he said, ‘but now we can weave up to eight strips, thanks to the new looms. We keep changing with the current trends.’

Kolawole further emphasized that aṣọ òkè’s use has expanded beyond traditional garments. ‘Now, we make bags, chairs, even car seats with aṣọ òkè,’ he said. ‘Influential people use it for curtains, canopies, bedsheets, and prayer mats. Anything you use fabric for, you can use aṣọ òkè.’

While aṣọ òkè continues to adapt, the challenges of maintaining traditional practices remain. Kolawole expressed concerns about losing some of the old processes and materials. ‘In the past, if they wanted to change the colour of aṣọ òkè, they would use leaves or bark of trees,’ he noted. ‘They used insects to cook the ẹtù during the dyeing process, which gave it its shiny facade. You can no longer find the original ẹtù because the traditional materials for making them no longer exist but the knowledge is still very alive.’

Aso alaro, or dyed aṣọ òkè, has also seen a decline in traditional dyeing methods, as noted by Abdulakeem Ifeoluwa, a 29-year-old weaver. ‘In the past, sányàn, ẹtù, and àlàárí were all dyed locally using insects and tree bark,’ Ifeoluwa explained. ‘But now, we import thread colours, so the need for dyeing is much less.’ He added that weaving in Ìṣẹ̀yìn remains predominantly men’s work, while women help arrange the threads.

As modern fashion shifts, so too does aṣọ òkè. Designers like Tunde Owolabi are incorporating the fabric into contemporary fashion, bringing it to international runways and into everyday wardrobes. As an artist who transitioned into fashion by creating products with aṣọ òkè, Owolabi sees this as a way to sustain the tradition. ‘I wanted to create products that people would appreciate, not just for weddings or ceremonial use,’ he told us. ‘We manipulated the weight and texture of aṣọ òkè to make sneakers, bags, and even shirts.’

Owolabi acknowledged the challenges in sustaining the craft, from sourcing local materials to finding skilled weavers willing to learn new techniques. ‘The weavers are set in their ways,’ he said. ‘As a creative person, you have to think about how to innovate while respecting tradition. Sometimes, I have to guide them to achieve the designs I envision.’ Despite the challenges, the impact of his brand has been significant. ‘People who never touched aṣọ òkè before are now experimenting with it,’ he said. ‘The reception has been very good. We have shown that aṣọ òkè is not just a local fabric but a versatile one that can stand alongside jacquard, damask, and other materials.’