How Brown Skinned Models Reshaped Fashion

During the recent round of fashion shows, from New York to Paris, the number of black models on the runways remained stubbornly low. The young women charged with transforming CLOTHES into fantasies moved emotionlessly down countless catwalks. Fashion lumbered forward — a global enterprise of brand names, front-row celebrities and corporate dynasties.

But on November 28, 1973, it looked as though fashion might take a different course.

That night, the world’s social elite gathered in the majestic Théâtre Gabriel at the Palace of Versailles. Originally conceived as a publicity stunt and fundraiser for the dilapidated French landmark, the Grand Divertissement à Versailles had BECOME an international fashion extravaganza, bloated with pomp and passion. Style writers and society columnists; royalty, tycoons and politicians; the crème de la crème of the jet set; burlesque dancers, ballet stars, drag queens, famous choreographers; and one Academy Award-winning triple threat all watched in eager anticipation as five kings of French fashion — Yves Saint Laurent, Hubert de Givenchy, Pierre Cardin, Emanuel Ungaro and Christian Dior’s Marc Bohan — faced off against five unsung US designers.

The planning for the gala happened in only a few months. And the US models were not confirmed until a fortnight before the show. But once all the decisions had been made, it turned out that the Versailles runway would host ONE of the largest contingents of African-American models ever to walk in a major, multiracial fashion show — a show that did not use them as a gimmick, an overt aesthetic statement or a political flourish.

Of the 36 US models hired for Versailles, 10 were black. The US designers — Bill Blass, Oscar de la Renta, Anne Klein, Halston and Stephen Burrows — didn’t have much money for models, and many of the biggest names in the business, such as Lauren Hutton, were out of their price range. “A lot of the models were turning it down because they weren’t being paid enough,” recalls Tom Fallon, who worked with Blass. The black models en masse were just STARTING to find acceptance, and, as Fallon says, “you could get them at a bargain price. They were willing to go for a reduced salary.”

The US designers paid the models a flat rate of only 300 DOLLARS for the entire event. They got themselves a deal.

Still, modelling had its glamorous perks: travel, CLOTHES, parties. And for many of the black women, modelling was far more lucrative than the jobs they’d left or those that might have been in their future.

Designers had their favourite models with whom they worked regularly. These women epitomized the designers’ ideals in proportions and aesthetics or were simply their friends. Blass, for instance, was typically drawn to a Mayflower beauty with an athletic body. Halston liked a lithe physique and a certain sophisticated, jet-setting air of mystery. He was famous for his Halstonettes, several of whom modelled for him at Versailles, including Pat Cleveland and Karen Bjornson. Burrows preferred his models rail-thin. He had a preference for black models, but not to the exclusion of others. He, too, adored Cleveland, as well as Alva Chinn.

In 1973, the modelling world was divided into print girls and runway walkers. There was little crossover; that came later, in the 1980s. Print models were classic beauties who were photographed for advertising campaigns and magazine editorials.

Runway models brought CLOTHES to life on the catwalk. They needed stage presence and grace. But even for models accustomed to commanding a stage, Versailles presented a unique challenge. Because most of them were modelling for more than one designer, and because the great Kay Thompson was choreographing a presentation that was more Broadway-style performance than traditional runway show, Versailles required long rehearsals, plus it came with all the stresses associated with a high-profile performance.

The modern model doesn’t have to work so terribly hard on the runway — not compared with her predecessors. Today, models just walk. Or stomp. And stare unblinkingly into a bay of photographers all aiming long lenses at them like a pack of hunters in a shooting gallery.

Yet these sleepwalkers can build far more lucrative careers than women like Chinn and others of her generation ever imagined. For women lucky enough to be genetically blessed with the right look and attitude at the right time, and the chutzpah and nerve necessary to navigate the emotional, economic and cultural land mines of a volatile industry, an individual model can BECOME a brand.

The only similarity between the modelling world of the early 1970s and now is the path to that first job. The first opportunity to pose in front of an established photographer still comes the same way it did nearly 40 years ago. Models were and are discovered through contests, chance meetings, cold calls and the eagle eyes of fashion editors working inside and outside the New York market. Most of the models invited to Versailles had not yet made big names for themselves. Today, the names of many of the models resonate only within the industry itself or among the most ardent fashion nerds.

Then-Washington Post fashion editor Nina Hyde plucked Brice from near obscurity. Hyde was part of a group of influential newspaper fashion editors who established the fashion beat as a significant part of US newspaper journalism. If Eugenia Sheppard, who died in 1984 after spending much of her career at the New York Herald Tribune, nursed modern fashion reportage through its infancy in the 1950s and ’60s with her emphasis on personalities and trends, then Hyde helped bring the beat to its adulthood with a focus on business, society and culture.