FASHION IS MY ARMOR IN THE RING
All images courtesy Ramla Ali
By Ramla Ali
6 Minute Read
Combat sports are not typically associated with luxury, but wearing couture gives me a competitive edge that you can’t train for.
“Why do you care so much about what you wear for a thirty-second walk to the ring?” As a professional boxer, I get asked this question constantly.
Being a professional female boxer, the sport is actually only half the battle. The other half is proving you deserve to be in the room, period. Female boxing has grown exponentially in the last five years, with more televised fights and actual recognition. But we’re still fighting for every inch of respect and pay equality. When I started 20+ years ago, there weren’t changing rooms for women in most gyms. We’d dress in bathroom stalls.
When I say fashion matters in boxing, I’m not talking about vanity. I’m talking about presence. Authority. Fashion is the statement you make before anyone hears you speak. Before you step into the ring. Luxury fashion is armor.
Next week, on February 14, I am scheduled to fight in Dubai. I have been in training for the last 12 weeks; training as an elite athlete involves rigor, hard work, and a lot of unglamorous hours spent in gym leggings and baggy T-shirts. On fight night, I will be transformed. This time, I will wear a custom fight outfit by Balenciaga’s Pierpaolo Piccoli. The color? A deep, rich, regal purple.
Since 2021, I have been ‘the boxer who wears couture’ to compete. I never planned to become the first to walk out in custom fashion to fight. That wasn’t strategic. It was a dreamland pitch—a spontaneous ask to Maria Grazia Chuiri, who had very kindly invited me to her Dior show in Paris. As soon as I saw her backstage, I knew I needed to pitch her my idea. Make me a custom outfit, I asked. I saw an opportunity, and I seized it.
I am quite persuasive, it turns out. Three months later, I had a custom fight outfit from Dior. It was emerald-green, with a black panther across the back. Thoughtfully, it had a tank instead of a typical sports bra, because modesty matters to me as a Muslim woman—there is a special, mutual respect when women design for women. I put that kit on for the first time, and something shifted in my chest.
When I wore Dior on fight night in New York’s Madison Square Garden, I felt transformed. Stepping out in front of thousands of people, I wasn’t only representing myself. I was representing every girl who’s ever been told she can’t be tough and elegant. I was saying: Watch me be both.
From left: Ramla Ali’s Dior fight night outfit, with Maria Grazia Chiuri in Paris in 2022. (Courtesy; Getty)
That was five years ago. Since then, I’ve worked with some of the most respected and creative minds in fashion. Maria Grazia Chiuri at Dior has designed my look twice. I’ve also worked with Ib Kamara for Off-White, Sarah Burton at Alexander McQueen, Daniel Lee at Burberry, and Donatella Versace for Versace. My Versace outfit was one of Donatella’s last creations before stepping down after a lifetime at the helm. I am honored to have worn a piece of fashion history.
I wore Off-White 18 months after Virgil Abloh passed; we created something that honored Virgil’s legacy. Blue and yellow satin, crystal embroideries that caught the arena lights. “Chingona” was delicately embroidered—a nickname I inherited in the tough boxing gyms of South Central & Southgate. That kit carried forward the spirit of someone who changed fashion forever.
Working with these designers isn’t transactional. They are partnerships rooted in meaning; they matter. The process is collaborative, emotional, and deeply personal.
Off_White and Versace
Sarah Burton at McQueen brought out my spirit. McQueen’s aesthetic is dark, romantic, and slightly dangerous—exactly how I feel in the ring. Beautiful but deadly. My outfit had this haunting quality, like armor for a warrior queen. It was both an aesthetic and a mindset. It was also a manifesto. I am powerful, it said.
With Daniel Lee at Burberry, it was a compelling mix of Britishness. Restraint met grit. I’m from East London, and that kit felt like home: understated but powerful, refined but tough.
Donatella at Versace? She gave me pure Italian maximalism. I asked her to make it as bold as humanly possible. She delivered. Walking out in Versace was like announcing: ‘I’m here, I’m unapologetic, and I’m not asking for your approval.’
And now, to Balenciaga, and my new outfit from Pierpaolo Piccioli. “I want drama,” I’d told him. “I want people to remember this look before the first punch is even thrown.”
Pierpaolo, who helmed Valentino for 16 years, is known for his use of color. When he sent over the design sketches for my fight outfit, the first thing that struck me wasn’t the cut or the construction. It was a deep, saturated purple color. Royal. Defiant. Impossible to ignore. Alice Walker’s renowned novel "The Color Purple" resonates so profoundly with me, and it's as if Pierpaolo instinctively knew that. Purple, once a symbol of royalty, has also come to be the color of those who refuse to be diminished.
Not only that, but what he has given me is theatre. A cape that flows like liquid; silk that evokes evening wear; a black lining that creates contrast when I move; across the back in bold lettering are the words, “Ramla Ali, Balenciaga.” My panther emblem is embroidered into the fabric—this motif is a symbol that’s followed me through every major fight. It’s a nod to my Somali heritage, and it’s the symbol on my country’s coat of arms. This isn’t just fight wear. This is a boxing entrance, afforded the same attention as a couture moment. Because that’s precisely what it is. And to me, this feels like an arrival.
Luxury fashion lets you transform. Clothes can alter not only how you look, but how you carry yourself, and how you inhabit the space. Sure, I take the cape off before the fight—obviously, I can’t box in a cape. But those thirty seconds that encompass my ring walk? That’s when the psychological warfare begins. That’s when I’m claiming territory, setting the terms. The cape gives me wingspan. It makes me larger than life. The purple says: royalty. The black says: danger. The combination says, "I contain multitudes."
Pierpaolo Piccioli’s sketch for Ramla Ali’s Balenciaga couture outfit.
Boxing is a performance as much as it is a sport. Bringing luxury fashion into this setting is essential because visibility matters for the next generation. Young girls need to see that you don’t have to fit into anyone’s narrow definition of what an athlete should be. You can train brutally hard, you can be technically brilliant in the ring, and you can care about how you present yourself. These things aren’t contradictory. They’re complementary.
For too long, female athletes have been told to be grateful we’re allowed to compete at all. Don’t complain about pay disparity; don’t ask for equal promotion; just be happy you’re here, they say. I reject that entirely.
I deserve couture. We all do. Our bodies are instruments of power, precision, and years of relentless training. When a designer treats that with reverence—when Balenciaga says “yes, your ring walk deserves the same creative consideration as a fashion week show”—that’s a radical act of respect.
Versace
When I arrive at the venue hours early, I sit alone in the changing room. Usually, I play music that grounds me. Lately, it’s been Sade—Smooth Operator on repeat. I visualize the fight round by round. I control my breathing. I try to quiet the inevitable nerves. And then I put on the kit.
The fabric hits my skin, and something clicks into place. It’s like the final piece of armor sliding on. The version of me that walks into that room is tired, human, and vulnerable. The version that walks out is unstoppable.
I’m not naive. I know my time in boxing is finite. Bodies age, reflexes slow, younger fighters come up hungry. What I’m building with these fashion partnerships is legacy. It’s a formula and an invitation for others to follow. It’s an elevation of the sport I know and love; the tradition could outlive my career.
Fashion isn’t superficial. It’s communication. It’s power. It’s the difference between being overlooked and being unforgettable. And when you’re wearing a purple cape that makes you feel like you could conquer anything, that’s internalized as “I matter. My story matters.” Women in combat sports deserve artistry, craftsmanship, and creative excellence that is found in many other sports. It’s not vanity. It’s a revolution.
The cape goes on. The crowd roars. I take a breath, drop my shoulders, and start the walk to the ring. This is where beauty becomes armor. This is where I prove, to myself and everyone else, that women deserve it all.
