I am a firstborn of four.

And for as long as I can remember, being the first has meant more than simply arriving before everyone else.

I grew up in a family that, like many African families, learned how to make what we had work. We learned to stretch things, adjust, manage, and keep moving. And somewhere along the way, I began to understand that I had a role to play.

I became a second pair of hands.

Then, quite early in life, I became something like a second mother.

I didn’t always need to be told to help. Sometimes, you simply looked around, saw what needed to be done, and stepped up.

That’s what many firstborns learn to do.

We rise to the occasion.

But adulthood has made that responsibility look different.

Today, there are bills. Emergencies. School fees. Family needs. Parents. Siblings. And sometimes, because I have the financial capacity to help, I become the person everyone looks towards.

I’ll be honest.

Sometimes, it makes me cringe.

Not because I don’t love my family.

But because being capable can sometimes feel like being obligated.

And yet, despite the weight, I know that there is something beautiful about being the one who can lend a hand.

I know I’m not alone.

There are firstborn daughters who became “Mummy” before they were ready.

Firstborn sons who learned responsibility before they understood what it meant to carry it.

There are firstborns who became protectors, providers, mediators, examples and bridges between generations.

Some carried it proudly. Some carried it quietly. Some carried it while secretly wondering:

“Who is carrying me?”

And that question stayed with me.

Because every year, we celebrate mothers. We celebrate fathers. We celebrate children. We celebrate husbands and wives. We have Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Children’s Day, birthdays and countless other occasions.

But I kept wondering: who celebrates the firstborns?

That question became the beginning of the Luz First Born Drop.

I didn’t want to create clothes simply because someone was a firstborn.

I wanted to create recognition.

A collection that could look at the firstborn and say: “I see you.”

I see the one who went first. The one who made mistakes so others could learn. The one who became the family’s example. The one everyone calls when something goes wrong. The one who carries the family name with pride. The one who protects. The one who provides. The one who sometimes gets tired but keeps showing up.

And so we gave these identities names.

The Pioneer. For the one who made the first way.

The Vanguard. For the one who stepped ahead into uncertainty.

The First Fruit. For the one who became the beginning of what followed.

The Anchor. For the one everyone leans on.

Olori Ebi. For the one who represents the family.

The Chief Daughter. For the woman who carries responsibility with grace.

The Chief Son. For the man growing into responsibility, leadership and legacy.

The Lead Child. For the one who became an example before they ever asked to be one.

These aren’t just beautiful names for beautiful clothes.

They are pieces of our stories.

And perhaps that is what I want the First Born Drop to do most: not glorify the burden, not tell firstborns that they must carry everyone forever, but remind us that the person who went first is a person too.

They deserve to be recognised. They deserve to be celebrated. They deserve to be poured into. They deserve to rest. They deserve to have dreams of their own.

And yes — they deserve a beautiful piece of clothing that tells them, “I see you.”

So, if you are a firstborn, or you love one, this collection is for you.

Because the ones who carry so much deserve to be celebrated too.

Wear your story. Honour your journey. Celebrating the one who went first.

Luz First Born Collection — Wear Your Identity.