Hanayrá Negreiros
Portait by Letícia Vieira / Itaú Cultural.
Hanayrá Negreiros is a fashion scholar and curator, currently pursuing a Ph.D. in History at the Pontifícia Universidade Católica de São Paulo (PUC-SP). She holds a master’s degree in Science of Religion from the same institution and a bachelor’s degree in Fashion from Universidade Anhembi Morumbi. Her research focuses on the history of dress within the African diaspora in Brazil, with particular attention to the intersections between fashion and visual arts, as well as photography, religious practices, and family memories. She has experience in education, museums, art history, and Afro-Brazilian cultures.
Among her key projects, she has served as guest Interlocutor-Curator for the State of Fashion Biennale 2024 (Arnhem, Netherlands), Adjunct Curator of Fashion at the Museu de Arte de São Paulo Assis Chateaubriand – MASP, co-curator of the project Sobre-vestir: Histórias de Cinema e Moda (On Dressing: Histories of Cinema and Fashion) at Batalha Centro de Cinema (Porto, Portugal), and curator of the exhibition Indumentárias Negras em Foco (Black Attire in Focus) at the Instituto Moreira Salles in São Paulo, in partnership with Instituto Feira Preta. She was also a columnist for ELLE Brazil and served on the advisory committee for the exhibition ¡Moda Hoy! Latin American and Latinx Fashion Design Today (Museum at FIT, NY). She also conceptualised the co-curation of the exhibition Artistas do vestir: uma costura dos afetos (Artists of Dress: A Sewing of Affections) at Itaú Cultural (2024–2025).
She is currently a guest lecturer in the Fashion, Art, and Culture specialisation course at the Universidade Federal de Juiz de Fora (UFJF) and a member of the International Creative Advisory Council for the State of Fashion Biennale 2026. She was awarded the PIPA Foundation Residency for Early Career Curators at Chelsea College of Arts and the TrAIN programme at the University of the Arts London (2024), and participated in the Mark Claster Mamolen Dissertation Workshop organised by the Afro-Latin American Research Institute at Harvard University (2025).
LUCIJA ŠUTEJ: In your previous interviews, you described fashion as almost a “family inheritance”. You referenced your grandmother’s sewing machine and her work, with sketching own designs — how did these early interactions shape your understanding of the role of clothing and fashion as a medium of communication, learning, and spiritual practices? Did you ever want to be a designer yourself, and when did you shift towards curatorial practice?
HANAYRÁ NEGREIROS: Indeed, I understand fashion as a kind of family inheritance. It was within my family environment that I first learned to love fashion, to draw, and to sew. Growing up in an Afro-Brazilian context, I came to see fashion not only as a personal or aesthetic expression, but as something deeply communal, spiritual, and rooted in memory.
As a child, I absolutely wanted to be a fashion designer — it was my first dream. But over time, I found myself drawn to research, and eventually discovered a deep sense of purpose in curatorial work. That said, who knows? Perhaps a designer version of myself will still emerge one day.
Hanayrá Negreiros' Family. Personal Archive. Image courtesy of the curator.
LŠ: As Adjunct Fashion Curator at MASP (Museu de Arte de São Paulo Assis Chateaubriand), your work bridges fashion to art and embodies knowledge. Which exhibitions curated to date have most influenced your practice, and why?
HN: My time at MASP was a truly formative experience. Working as Adjunct Curator of Fashion allowed me to think about fashion as a way of making history visible through bodies, textiles, and images — all while building dialogues across disciplines. Fashion as a language that goes beyond trends — approaching fashion in the museum as an artistic form and as a vehicle for education and memory. As a Black Latin American woman, I am committed to decolonial practices that honour the histories, bodies and knowledge systems often marginalised within institutional spaces. My intention is to contribute with sensitivity, critical thinking and a sense of responsibility towards more plural and inclusive narratives.
Two recent exhibitions outside the museum space have also been very meaningful to me. The first was Through the Waters We Sew Other Brazilian Stories [Através das águas costuramos outras histórias brasileiras], which I curated for the 2024 State of Fashion Biennale. It was my first solo fashion exhibition, held in my home country with the support of an international platform. I had the chance to work exclusively with women artists and researchers, which made the experience even more powerful. It was both a challenge and a joy — a moment of professional growth that I’ll always cherish.
The second was Artistas do Vestir: uma costura dos afetos, co-curated with Carol Barreto. Working with Carol was truly special, and alongside Adriele Regine, our curatorial assistant, we formed a strong and joyful trio. This collective exhibition, presented at Itaú Cultural in São Paulo, featured more than 70 artists. Creating a show like that — plural, emotional, and rooted in community — was one of the most fulfilling curatorial experiences I’ve had.
Arte na Moda: MASP Renner [Art in Fashion: MASP Renner], co-curated with Adriano Pedrosa, Leandro Muniz, Patricia Carta, and Lilian Pacce. Museu de Arte de São Paulo Assis Chateaubriand – MASP, 2024. Image credit: Alile Dara Onawale.
LŠ: What new knowledge have you gained through research? What gaps in fashion history did they expose?
HN: Research has been central to everything I do. Over the years, I’ve come to understand fashion as a powerful historical and political tool — one that speaks of identity, ancestry, and resistance.
One of the most important insights I’ve gained is how present Black and Indigenous people have always been in the making of fashion histories — in the plural. These presences are often overlooked or erased by dominant narratives, but they have been shaping aesthetics, techniques, and visual cultures in deep and enduring ways. My work has been committed to making these contributions visible, not as additions to fashion history, but as foundational to it.
This research also revealed the need to broaden what we consider as “fashion” — to include oral histories, ritual dress, communal making, and intergenerational knowledge systems that do not always fit into Western academic frameworks.
LŠ: I would also like to stop here at the role of archives - as a tool to challenge the established knowledge systems. How do you think archives can be activated beyond museums?
HN: Studying the work of thinkers such as Beatriz Nascimento, Saidiya Hartman, Tina Campt, and Carol Tulloch has profoundly shaped the way I relate to archives. They’ve taught me to see the archive not only as a place of preservation, but as a contested space — one marked by absence, silence, and erasure, especially when it comes to the lives and experiences of Black and Indigenous peoples. Alongside that, I’ve been deeply influenced by conversations with other Black women scholars such as Carol Barreto, Christine Checinska and artists like Aline Motta, Angela Brito, Larissa de Souza, and Rosana Paulino— whose works and generosity continue to shape my thinking.
From these studies, I’ve learned that activating archives means listening carefully to what is not immediately visible. It means expanding our notion of archival knowledge to include oral testimonies, personal objects, garments, family photographs, and spiritual memory. It also means engaging with communities — understanding that many forms of archival knowledge exist far beyond institutional walls. Many of my most meaningful sources of inspiration come from personal archives — family photographs, letters, garments, and memories that have shaped my understanding of fashion as both a personal and political language. These materials have been foundational to how I think about dress, memory, and history. This approach is also central to my current doctoral research where I am deepening my investigation into the dress practices of Black women in 19th-Century Brazil. And perhaps most profoundly, my religious community — the Candomblé terreiro Redandá — remains a constant and living source of knowledge, beauty, and spiritual grounding in all that I do.
I believe museums can play an important role in this process, but we also need to recognise and support grassroots initiatives, family collections, and embodied practices that challenge traditional systems of knowledge and authority.
LŠ: Are you currently working on projects that reframe our relationship to archival knowledge?
HN: Yes, I’m currently working on a few publications scheduled for release between this year and next. In these texts, I explore the intersections between fashion, Black memory, and archival practices — drawing from both historical research and curatorial experiences. I aim to propose ways of reading archives that centre affect, embodiment, and ancestral knowledge.
I’m particularly interested in how garments, family photographs, and oral histories can function as counter-archives, opening space for other narratives and timelines to emerge, especially those rooted in Afro-Brazilian experiences. These projects are both academic and personal, and I hope they can contribute to a broader conversation about what we consider as legitimate sources of fashion history. For the second half of 2025, I am preparing a course on Art and Fashion that I’ll be teaching at MASP, in collaboration with professor and researcher Carolina Casarin.
LŠ: Through your advisory role at State of Fashion and other platforms, you’ve positioned biennials as spaces for systemic change and active learning. How can these events transform design education (further impacting the fashion industry)? What impact have you witnessed?
HN: Biennials offer a powerful space to reflect on the connections between fashion, design, and education. In my experience with the State of Fashion Biennale, these platforms are not just about showcasing works and artists — they are also about creating conditions for dialogue, learning, and exchange.
Beyond curating exhibitions, I’m always thinking about what kinds of public programmes, workshops, and conversations we can develop around them. These are opportunities to bring diverse audiences together and to open space for critical reflection on the fashion system, especially in relation to sustainability, colonial legacies, and community-based practices.
Before I became a curator, I was — and still am — a teacher. So I always approach curatorial work with an educational lens. For me, fashion biennials can be fertile ground for testing new pedagogies and reshaping what and how we learn through fashion.
LŠ: What do you see as the current limits of design education? And moving forward — what do you think artists in terms of skill sets should prioritise?
HN: One of the main limits I see in current design education is the emphasis on individualism and market-driven thinking. Too often, students are encouraged to see themselves as brands or products, rather than as part of a larger social and ecological fabric. This narrows their creative potential and distances them from the political, communal, and environmental dimensions of design.
Moving forward, I believe we need to prioritise practices that are collaborative, care-driven, and rooted in context. Artists and designers should cultivate listening, research, and critical thinking as essential tools — not only technical skills.
I see strong affinities with the work of several artists I’ve already mentioned, such as Angela Brito, Larissa de Souza, Aline Motta, and Rosana Paulino — all of whom engage fashion, memory, and image with powerful depth. I would also add Dayana Molina, whose reflections on fashion and sustainability are both urgent and rooted in Indigenous knowledge systems, and Goya Lopes, a pioneer in Afro-Brazilian textile design whose work has been incredibly influential.
Understanding materials, honouring ancestral knowledge, and engaging with local communities are just as important as developing new forms or aesthetics.
In times of crisis, I think sensitivity and responsibility are as crucial as innovation. I greatly admire Carol Barreto and the Fórum Modativismo, which she founded in Salvador as a space for political, decolonial, and community-driven fashion thinking. In São Paulo, initiatives like Ateliê Vivo and the Casa de Criadores Fashion Week are key in supporting independent, local, and socially engaged designers. Of course, it’s always difficult to name just a few — and by doing so, we inevitably leave out many others whose work is equally important. In Brazil especially, there is a rich and growing field of fashion practitioners working across territories and traditions, often with little visibility but enormous creative force.
What I admire most across all these practices is a shared commitment to care, criticality, and contextual thinking — ways of working that honour process as much as outcome.
During the State of Fashion Biennale, I had the pleasure of working alongside Rachel Dedman, Louise Bennetts, Sunny Dolat, and Kallol Datta — curators and designers whose practices challenge colonial frameworks and open space for other forms of knowledge.
LŠ: Specifically, Through the Waters We Sew Other Brazilian Stories (presented at State of Fashion Biennale) and the associated documentary, you looked at the connections between water, memory, and textile traditions. What new understanding for garment-making and the wider industry emerged during this process for you personally?
HN: Although I’ve mentioned the exhibition earlier, the process of curating Through the Waters We Sew Other Brazilian Stories taught me so much — especially on a personal level. Working closely with artists, communities, and traditions that are deeply connected to water allowed me to see garment-making not only as a material process, but as a way of honouring life, land, and ancestry.
This experience made it even clearer to me that fashion must be understood beyond industry standards — it can be a tool for healing, for memory, and for reimagining futures. The exhibition invited me to slow down and listen more carefully to the gestures, rituals, and stories carried by textiles. These are not just clothes — they are vessels of meaning.
Através das águas costuramos outras histórias brasileiras. Handmade by Camila Hion. Image credit: Alile Dara Onawale.
Angela Brito and Isa Silva works in the exhibition view of Through the Waters We Sew Other Brazilian Stories, São Paulo, Brazil, 2024. Photo by Alile Dara Onawale.
Aline Motta’s artwork on the exhibition view of Through the Waters We Sew Other Brazilian Stories, São Paulo, Brazil, 2024. Photo by Alile Dara Onawale.
LŠ: What questions did you want to leave the public with?
HN: I hoped the audience would leave with more questions than answers — especially about what we value, preserve, and celebrate when we talk about fashion. Whose stories are we telling? Whose labour is being remembered — or erased? How can we honour textile practices that are rooted in care, community, and resistance, rather than speed and consumption?
Above all, I wanted people to feel invited into a different kind of relationship with fashion — one that is slower, more grounded, and more attuned to memory and place.
LŠ: Your exhibition with Carol Barreto, Artistas do Vestir: uma costura dos afetos, featured numerous artists transforming the venue into a “co-learning space.” How does craft as a political act redefine fashion’s boundaries?
HN: Artistas do Vestir was indeed about creating a space of shared learning and exchange. The act of making — especially with the hands, with care, with others — became a political gesture in itself. Craft, in this context, is not simply a technique or aesthetic choice. It’s a way of resisting erasure, affirming identity, and transmitting knowledge across generations.
When fashion is approached through craft, its boundaries expand. It is no longer just about trends or markets, but about memory, community, and presence. In the exhibition, we witnessed how artists use making as a language — to tell stories, to honour ancestors, and to imagine different ways of being together.
The curators Carol Barreto and Hanayrá Negreiros at the exhibition Artistas do Vestir: uma costura dos afetos [Artists of Dress: a sewing of affections], at Itaú Cultural, 2024. Image credit: Tamara dos Santos.
Exhibition views of Artistas do vestir: uma costura dos afetos, Itaú Cultural, 2024. Photos by Letícia Vieira.
LŠ: Given ecological crises, what practices (from dyeing practices, to communal repair practices, etc.) should fashion institutions prioritise moving forward?
HN: Fashion institutions need to take seriously the knowledge that already exists — especially the sustainable practices developed by Indigenous, Black, and rural communities around the world. Natural dyeing, communal repair, reuse of materials, and small-scale production are not new ideas; they have long histories rooted in care for the land and for each other.
Moving forward, I believe institutions should prioritise collaborative learning with these communities, support local economies, and centre circular practices that honour time, respect ecosystems, and reduce extraction. This also means rethinking scale and speed — and understanding that sustainability is not only technical, but deeply cultural and relational.
LŠ: I would be excited to hear about your unrealised project to date?
HN: There are many dreams still waiting for the right time. One that stays close to my heart is creating a long-term project — possibly an exhibition or a small cultural centre — dedicated to Black and Indigenous ways of dressing in Brazil. A space for research, memory, making, and storytelling, where garments and archives could be activated through the voices of those who carry them.
I’d love for it to be a living, evolving space — shaped by intergenerational dialogue, artistic collaborations, and ancestral knowledge. A place where fashion is not only displayed, but shared, felt, and transformed.
