HIGH GLAM,
HIGH SPEED
Photo by Ken Levin/Getty Images
Text by Mario Abad
4 Minute Read
The enduring fashion legacy of
Florence Griffith Joyner.
Florence Griffith Joyner, better known to the world as Flo-Jo, was not just the fastest woman of all time—she was a revolutionary who joined sport and style together like never before. At the 1988 Seoul Olympics, as she blazed past her competitors and into history with world records that remain unbroken, it was not just her speed that captivated the world. It was the unforgettable image of a woman who defied convention: a sprinter in one-legged lace racing suits, six-inch acrylic nails, and a cascade of hair that shimmered like her medals. Flo-Jo's fashion choices were more than just expressions of individuality—they were radical declarations that athleticism and hyper-femininity could coexist powerfully, unapologetically, and brilliantly.
Photo by Tony Duffy/Getty Images
Photo by Tony Duffy/Getty Images
In an era when female athletes were often encouraged to minimize their femininity to be taken seriously, Flo-Jo did the opposite. She amplified hers. Her aesthetic was not tacked on for effect; it was intrinsic to her identity as a competitor and cultural force. The sleek, custom-designed race suits she wore—some asymmetrical, some glittering, all striking—were aerodynamic symbols of intent. They streamlined her figure, yes, but they also sent a message: Style and substance are not mutually exclusive.
When Flo-Jo stepped onto the track, her opponents didn’t just see a competitor—they saw a phenomenon.
Flo-Jo was not the product of a stylist’s vision; she was her own creative director. The daughter of a seamstress who learned how to sew as early as seven years old, she made many of her own outfits and conceptualized her own look. This control over her visual identity was both empowering and strategic. By designing her own apparel, she merged athletic functionality with fashion impact, pushing the boundaries of what sportswear could be. In doing so, she challenged the homogeneity of traditional track uniforms and opened the door for athletes—especially women—to use fashion as a tool of self-expression and psychological warfare. When Flo-Jo stepped onto the track, her opponents didn’t just see a competitor—they saw a phenomenon.
Photo by Tony Duffy/Getty Images
Perhaps her most iconic fashion statement was her nails: long, sculpted, often painted in patriotic reds, whites, and blues or adorned with rhinestones. Even though short utilitarian manicures were the norm, her nails were declarations of beauty as power. Critics questioned their practicality. Flo-Jo shrugged. Her performance never faltered. She proved that what some saw as distractions were in fact components of her competitive armor. Her nails, like her suits, became inseparable from her image—and inseparable from her dominance.
What makes Flo-Jo's fashion legacy so enduring is that it wasn’t merely about spectacle. It was about ownership. She claimed space in a male-dominated, performance-focused arena not by shedding aspects of her identity, but by doubling down on them. In doing so, she redefined what it meant to be an athlete, a woman, and a public figure. She didn’t hide her glamour to be fast. She made glamour part of her speed. In this way, Flo-Jo carved out a new archetype: the competitor as icon.
She didn’t hide her glamour to be fast. She made glamour part of her speed.
Her influence radiates through time and across industries: Serena Williams’ bold catsuits and bejeweled sneakers, Sha’Carri Richardson’s lashes and neon hair, and even elements of pop star athletic-chic (think Beyoncé’s halftime show bodysuits or Rihanna’s sporty couture) all trace lineage back to Flo-Jo. Her willingness to be seen, wholly and on her own terms, resonated far beyond the track. She didn’t just inspire young athletes; she impacted designers, musicians, and anyone trying to reconcile power with femininity.
Photo by Tony Duffy/Getty Images
Photo by Tony Duffy/Getty Images
In today’s culture, where performance and personal brand are increasingly intertwined, Flo-Jo’s blueprint is more relevant than ever.
Importantly, Flo-Jo's style was also steeped in intentionality. She understood the camera, the stage, and the politics of image. She used fashion as a form of narrative control—a way to command attention and write her own story in a world that often tried to reduce Black women to tropes or question the legitimacy of their excellence. Flo-Jo turned that gaze into a spotlight. Her beauty, like her speed, could not be denied. And she refused to make herself smaller to make others comfortable.
In today’s culture, where performance and personal brand are increasingly intertwined, Flo-Jo’s blueprint is more relevant than ever. She anticipated a world where athletes are also influencers, where what you wear is part of how you compete, and where visibility is a form of power. Before there were TikTok videos or sponsored Reels, there was Flo-Jo—sprinting into history with gold bracelets jangling and wind-rippled fabric trailing like a cape.
Florence Griffith Joyner was more than a champion on the track; she was a beacon of self-expression, pride, and unapologetic beauty. With every shimmering outfit and daring design, she told the world that strength could be radiant, that speed could be graceful, and that a woman could be fierce and fashionable all at once. Flo-Jo didn’t just run races—she lit them up, leaving behind a trail of inspiration for those who dare to stand out and run their own way.
