It's Hard to be the First
Reflections and a New Perspective on the Life of André Leon Talley
A common cliche among people who work in fashion is that when they were younger, they would religiously read Vogue magazine. Growing up in Dayton, Ohio, in the early social media, pre-multimedia content days, this was true for me. I would carefully read each page’s product details and stomach-dense writing on St. Tropez and Sant Ambreous, taping editorials on my painted walls.
As a dedicated reader, along with editor-in-chief Anna Wintour’s monthly Letter from the Editor, I knew to expect Vogue editor-at-large André Leon Talley’s monthly column, Life With André. In it, Talley would share his travels and goings on for the month, matching Louis Vuitton luggage often in the frame while rattling off society events. He wrote with such aplomb that, as a teenager, I never detected any insecurity or vulnerability, especially considering that aside from the occasional celebrity, he was the only Black person in the column’s accompanying images.
Talley was always by Wintour’s side at fashion shows. His 6’6” frame sat tall with arms crossed, complementing her signature bob and dark sunglasses. Years later, I would watch him on TV, seeing clips from his role as a judge on America’s Next Top Model or hosting the red carpet for The Met Gala. In these interactions, I didn't see warmth; I didn't see grace.
I was upset at how matronly he styled Jennifer Hudson at the 2007 Academy Awards, for which she won Best Supporting Actress for Dreamgirls. Combined with his accent, which was a combination of a Southern draw with a French affectation, I saw a Black-American man in fashion who lived in an aspirational world, yes, but also seemed disconnected from Black culture and identity. I knew from his writings that he was raised in Jim Crow-era South and was Baptist, but that was it.
My perception and snap judgment were erased once I read his 2020 memoir, The Chiffon Trenches. Even though I watched and enjoyed Talley’s 2018 documentary, The Gospel According to Andre, I didn't know if I could handle what I thought would be 322 pages of high-fashion name-dropping and superficial adventures with the elite. I had recently finished Alicia Drake’s The Beautiful Fall, a dual biography on the feud between designers Yves Saint Laurent (YSL) and Karl Lagerfeld. I appreciated its balance of humanity and humility.
The Chiffon Trenches is engrossing. Although it does include glamorous, aristocratic anecdotes, it reveals a Black man who enjoyed fashion, literature, and history and naturally became friends with people who shared his interests and passions. These people happened to become the cultural tastemakers who were ushering in a new, exciting generation of fashion, and Talley was a part of it.
Because Talley’s career began less than ten years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the double consciousness of Black Americans that W.E.B. DuBois coined in his seminal work, The Souls of Black Folk, was woven throughout his personal and professional life. As shared throughout his memoir, and as a Black woman who has worked and studied in predominantly white spaces, I agree that Black people integrated into these environments are often judged the harshest and can become stuck between two dueling identities, the American and the African American.
With the backdrop of the Black Lives Matter movement, in The Chiffon Trenches’ introduction, Talley suggests that he could have done more to push for diversity in fashion. But then he quickly laments that it was hard enough being the only Black person in those spaces, and I agree. He also did do enough. Talley was the first African-American creative director at Vogue from 1988 to 1995 after working at esteemed fashion publications, Women’s Wear Daily (WWD), Interview, W, and The New York Times. Unofficially, I believe he was the first Black-American fashion writer for these publications.
He was a mentor to supermodel Naomi Campbell. In 2019, at 69 and in declining health, Talley joined her on a trip to Nigeria to advocate for deeper investments in the country and the African continent. He was integral to her first September cover of Vogue in 1989. In 1996, he cast Campbell as Scarlett O’Hara in a controversial editorial photo shoot for Vanity Fair. Problematically named “Scarlett N’the Hood,” it showed a radical reimagining of Gone with the Wind centered on Black identity and power, with famous white designers John Galliano and Manolo Blahnik acting in domestic roles. Commenting on it for The New York Times, Talley stated, “We wanted it to be a historical comment in the 90's that you rarely see in a magazine," he said. "We wanted to temporarily turn the pages of history around."
He wrote for the pioneering Black publication Ebony Magazine. He accompanied Eunice Johnson on trips to Paris to buy haute couture for Ebony Fashion Fair, a traveling charity runway show for African-Americans that launched the careers of African American models Pat Cleveland and Audrey Smallz, and designers Stephen Burrows, B Michael, and Willi Smith.
He was former First Lady Michelle Obama's stylist, including her first Vogue cover in 2009. He also introduced her to Jason Wu, a Taiwanese-Canadian designer who created her beloved 2009 inauguration gown.
Being the first means that his career was dotted with heartbreak. I was shocked to learn that in 1980, he left his tony position at WWD because an executive accused him of sleeping with every designer in Paris. As an attractive, statuesque Black man, this wasn't lost on Talley: “I was just a big black buck, sent to satisfy the sexual needs of designers, be they man or woman—I had no talent, no point of view or knowledge of fashion.” This accusation is also ironic because, in contrast to the drug-induced hedonism of that time period, Talley alludes to his virginity and how he shied away from romantic and sexual intimacy. I remember seeing an interview with his friend, writer Fran Lebowitz, where she noted how he remarkably refrained from the banality during their Studio 54 days.
Other microaggressions include a friend sharing that a popular socialite called him “Queen Kong.” When he became close and wrote a glowing runway review of the designer Halston; one of the most influential men in fashion, Pierre Berge, the long-time business partner of YSL, accused Talley of stealing YSL’s designs for Halston. Knowing YSL’s “enfant terror” behavior and his entourage of bohemians and social climbers during this period, it's hard not to think this accusation wasn't racially motivated.
While reading, I saw a lot of myself in Talley. We were both voracious readers of classic literature, history, and fashion magazines - Talley also spent his youth pouring over Vogue - which introduced us to a world worth exploring outside of our small hometowns (Talley was born and raised in Durham, North Carolina). We both had non-Black allies who guided us throughout our careers and, for some, became like family. His were former Vogue editor-in-chief Diana Vreeland, American socialite and Jackie O’s sister, Lee Radziwill, and the founder of the Savannah College of Art & Design, Paula Wallace.
But, his writing had an unmistakable comfort and homecoming when he discussed his relationship with other Black people in fashion, including Campbell, fashion activist Bethann Hardison, designer Andre Walker, and critic Robin Givhan. Finally, we were New Yorkers who, although we loved the nightlife and memories, had decided to escape it for Europe: him for Paris and me for London.
While reading his book, I cried. I cried for his loss of lifelong, deep friendships, including Wintour and Chanel creative director Karl Lagerfeld. I cried for his loyalty when it wasn't returned. I cried at his lack of romantic intimacy throughout his life and the strained relationship between his parents, who were alive but didn't raise him.
But I also rejoiced with him. I rejoiced at him dancing with Diana Ross at Studio 54. I rejoiced at his promotion to Parisian editor at WWD and then creative director at Vogue during its prime. He was another Black American in Paris, joining the lineage of Josephine Baker, James Baldwin, and Langston Hughes. This wasn't lost on him. I rejoiced at his big, generous heart that helped many emerging designers, including Galliano, Martin Grant, and LaQuan Smith.
Talley repeats himself throughout the book for effect, and one common phrase is one Black people know too well: “We have to work twice as hard to succeed.”
Talley did, thrice as hard, but I will add another adage for the grandson of sharecroppers, a descendant of American slavery, wearer of custom Tom Ford capes, and full-length furs, who was often minimized and exalted in the same breath: “I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams.”
Yes, you are, André.
Thank you for your legacy, and I hope we continue to tell your story.
Beautiful sensitive and enlightening tribute to Andre who I was mildly obsessed with from the moment I saw him on television. I know he had to be heartbroken and in pain struggling with mobility as a result of his obesity. But he kept going.
He would love what you’re doing.