why we need to talk about the fashion industry and its treatment of Black people right now
consideration
Before you begin reading my words please read “Everywhere and Nowhere: What it’s really like to be black and work in fashion” by Lindsay Peoples Wagner.
I urge you to take the extra minutes to read the links I included because the decision to include each one was very deliberate.
This piece was written carefully and with my best effort. However, there will likely be shortcomings because I’m writing about what I’ve learned but haven’t ever experienced firsthand. I take the responsibility of writing about these issues very seriously, and promise to always approach them carefully and humbly. The lifelong effort to learn new/ forgotten/ underrepresented/concealed vocabulary, frameworks, and histories that empower Black people across this country and the world is just beginning.
I welcome all feedback and look forward to engaging with all of you.
Thank you.
As I reflect on the various political, social, economic and cultural conversations happening right now, and reconsider my understandings of how and why things are as they are, I’d like to direct our attention to an often ignored but influential pillar. It hides, especially at times like this, behind all the illusions of dreams and fantasy and the so-called community it exists by and for.
I want to talk about the fashion industry.
To speak of an industry that tends towards frivolity and superficiality at a time like this may seem tone-deaf, and I understand if you may be reluctant to continue reading. There’s a lot to read right now. But fashion is not separate from the political and social happenings in the world. In fact, it’s the material embodiment of our values, aspirations and culture at any given moment. For much too long fashion has evaded its responsibilities as a pillar in our society that actively protects and reinforces racism. With the continued killings of Black people across the country, which happen on a continuum and not in isolation, it’s important that we assess how far and deep racism goes in our culture if real change is going to happen and endure.
So, let’s talk about the ways that fashion has contributed to the oppression of Black people.
It’s the ways in which Black people made sneakers cool yet are becoming increasingly excluded from participating in the sartorial culture they created. It’s the rising prices, designed to solidify sneakers as a signal of wealth, as well as taste, and the increased interest of those who seek to emulate Black people but never elevate them.
It’s the ways in which young Black Americans are told they should want logos and luxury but are thwarted when they try to actualize those desires. Remember how Dapper Dan’s efforts to make luxury fashion accessible to and inclusive of Black people were vilified by Gucci until they asked to work with him?
It’s the ways in which adults embarrass Black teenagers for looking “too grown up,” in outfits their White counterparts are told they look “pretty” since the narrow definition of beauty is often pale and petite.
It’s the ways in which Black people in the fashion industry are tokenized.
It’s the ways in which Black designers are expected to align with stereotypes or encouraged to construct sartorial narratives that reflect the palatable, pervasive national myth that “we” “are” “all” “welcome.”
It’s that this is still happening. And that the same brand who shamelessly put white models in braided wigs will shamelessly make a “capsule collection” “benefiting” Black Lives Matter before any substantial in-house changes have happened.
It’s that brands and publications are quick to give themselves a pat on the Back for doing the bare minimum like using a “diverse” cast in campaigns or putting a few Black models on covers once in a while .
Fashion often prides itself on supporting the concept of inclusion. But this self-satisfied industry rarely considers how and for whom that word applies, which in turn only gives the experience of exclusion deeper meaning.
The industry perpetuates the myth that fashion crosses borders and boundaries when in fact the industry itself is largely responsible for defining the borders and boundaries of taste, of what is considered elegant and cultured, all of which hold significant social and political weight.
Fashion is still mostly light-skinned.
It’s usually straight hair. Occasionally it’s braids, if the white creative director allows it, otherwise it’s “can those be taken out.” It’s rarely ever 4C.
It’s slender and tall.
It’s small features and smaller pay checks.
It’s white models getting booked for shoots and shows only to be spray-tanned four shades darker than their natural coloring.
It’s Black stylists and celebrities not hearing back from brands.
It’s the makeup artists not having darker shades of foundation on hand and the hairstylists burning hair they never even learned how to style.
It’s not having Black people, a single Black person, in the room to flag that a concept is insensitive or just flat out racist.
It’s that too often there is only one Black person on set.
It’s being careful not to be difficult like the other model who was unpleasant all day because the industry black list is far less forgiving of Black people.
This is by no means whatsoever an exhaustive list of the discrimination Black people have suffered across the fashion industry because as a white woman I do not and cannot know the full list. But after almost two years of being in the industry and on set this is some of what I’ve observed, what I was sad to learn from Black women and men in the industry who have shared their experiences with me and the flagrantly prejudiced remarks I was shocked but not surprised to hear from people I worked with.
There’s not a single publication or brand or person responsible for the clear issues the industry must confront and work through. Yet, some are refusing to look directly, or specifically, at the role they’ve played in maintaining this system and some are choosing to forego the challenging work of addressing their shortcomings altogether by instead foisting it onto someone else. And that’s the problem with the responses we’ve seen from people and brands across the industry over the past week. Very, very few are accepting the responsibility of their personal decisions and actions in the last 10, 20, 30 years when we all know they could’ve done more to make fashion better for Black people. This renders many publications, brands and people complicit. It implicates the entire industry, revealing that fashion, despite the efforts to distinguish itself, is a thread in the web of industries working in corporate symbiosis to keep oppressive systems intact.
The thoughts and feelings and experiences and observations from Black people still haven’t made a dent in the popular discourse in the way they have for white people. This is why I urge the fashion industry and media organizations to make space for Black women, Black Trans women, Black Trans men, Black LGBTQ+ people and Black men who are offering their stories sincew not everyone has the emotional energy necessary to create the collections we need to see, to share the stories we need to hear if this industry and this country are going to change.
I’m doing my research and am learning more about this pillar of our society so that what I publish here can be a vehicle for us to figure out how, why and what’s next together.
There’s more to discuss. And we will.
This is just the beginning.
Let’s keep going.
Talk soon.