Women may be taking centre stage, but who does Carnival really belong to?
Carnival in Jamaica doesn’t arrive all at once. It builds slowly. Early mornings at the gym. Waiting in the salon as hair appointments run over. Sitting in the back seat of your friend’s car, where someone asks who you’re playing with this year and listens closely to the answer. Even though we all know nothing can live up to DJ Private Ryan’s 2015 mix.* People talk about payments, fittings, whether the costume will actually look like the pictures, and whether it is worth the money.
Women carry on most of these conversations. They are the ones budgeting months ahead, shaping their bodies around fittings, arranging nails, hair, makeup. They are also the ones who will wear the costumes all day, moving through heat and crowds, managing their own comfort, exposure, and confidence. Carnival lives on women’s bodies first.
And yet, most of the major Carnival bands are still owned and run by men. Men approve the final designs, set the prices, decide the themes, and ultimately shape what Carnival looks like. Women participate heavily, but ownership – financial and creative – often sits elsewhere.
This imbalance isn’t usually discussed out loud. Instead, it shows up quietly. Subtle complaints about fabric quality. Venting frustration over costumes that look good online but don’t hold up on the road. Decisions are made for women instead of with them. And so, Carnival becomes something women buy into not something they can control.
That’s why YardMas has been coming up so much in conversation this season. Not just because of the marketing, but because people can see the difference. The band is a newcomer with a more modern philosophy. It is also more affordable in a way that changes who shows up. YardMas makes room. It loosens the financial grip that has begun to dictate who gets to cross the stage and who has to watch from the pavement.
YardMas appointed female designer Anna-Lisa Guthrie to lead costume design, and the difference is tangible. The materials move better with the dancers. The designs feel more considered. There’s an understanding of how bodies actually behave over hours, not just how they appear in promotional images.
This isn’t about women being naturally more aesthetic or considered designers. The point of the matter is having a designer who understands what it is like to wear costumes, pay for them, and live in them. Things that are easy to overlook from a distance. Where straps strain. Where wire irritates. How weight shifts as the day goes on. These details matter when your body is the site of celebration.
On the streets, women talk about bands the way they talk about service providers they trust – tailors, hairdressers, nail techs. Who listens. Who doesn’t. Who respects their customers. Carnival, stripped of spectacle, is a transaction as much as it is a celebration. Money changes hands. Labour is performed. Visibility is negotiated. When women make up the majority of consumers, performers, and cultural labourers, but are excluded from ownership and decision-making, participation starts to look like extraction.
The culture depends on women, but power does not usually circulate back to them. As Carnival approaches, this conversation will keep surfacing. In fittings. In group chats. In post-fete discussions about what worked and what didn’t. Carnival hasn’t reached the road yet, but people are already paying attention – not just to the costumes, but to who is shaping the experience, and who is being asked to carry it.
Carnival is often described as freedom. But freedom still has structure. Someone gets to decide the terms. And more women are starting to ask whether participation is enough, or whether ownership should finally be part of the celebration too.
– Rebecca “Becx” Williams
*DJ Private Ryan (Ryan Alexander) is a world-renowned Trinidadian DJ, producer, and event curator celebrated for elevating Soca (”soul of calypso”) and Caribbean music globally. As the creator of the “Soca Brainwash” event brand, he is known for his versatile, high-energy mixes blending soca, dancehall, and Afrobeat.
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