We were a startup with no investors, just young gifted black men with a world of courage and talent to the moon. In other words, we had no money. But, what we lacked in capital we made up for in innovation.
Due to my background in fashion and style, I was tasked with curating the attire. I procured the looks we needed by raiding my parents closets and rummaging through my wardrobe. I took clothing that I purchased from the Thrift along with my mothers old furs and other old frocks, and through some highly skilled tailoring techniques breathed new life into the fabrics. Actually the coat I’m wearing pictured above, I made last minute in the food hall of the Plaza while waiting for Allen to arrive. Held together with thread, safety-pins and a lot of prayer, I must say this is by far still my favorite of all the looks that day.
The scene makes me laugh every time I think of it. Picture me with my sewing kit, patches from varying fabric, fur and a vintage coat sprawled out in this posh European inspired food hall. The bewildered look on the faces of the hotel guest was a sight to see. This food hall instantly became my design studio.
This process of creating is as one of bricolage, the French term for do-it-yourself, in fashion the term refers to a construction made of whatever materials are at hand. However this process of using limited resources to create infinite possibility isn’t new at all. Growing up in a large family, number seven of eight children I had to learn early how to leverage my limited resources. I seen my parents do it and their parents before them. But this practice predates us. We the descendants of the men and women of the diaspora, a group of people who had pretty much everything stripped away from them, stolen from their land and enslaved, still managed to hold on to their ingenuity and resilience.
When given scraps for food they created delicacies, with tattered clothing they skillfully repurposed the fabric into coded quilts that served as road maps to freedom. When our native instruments were stripped from us out of fear of covert codes hidden in the drumming, there rose up from the souls of these inspired men and women Juba or Hambone. Juba, a form of song and dance allowed the captive to express themselves in secret, transforming their bodies into instruments.
Creating this work of couture, was a reminder that we carry our ancestors with us, in our creativity, hearts, and minds. I wear this bricolage coat as a badge of honor, representing my awakening. I now see more clearly that the same creative genius that flowed through our forefathers and mothers continues to flow through us. If they, with their limited access were able to create this wonderment, imagine all that we can do, we are only limited by our imagination. It’s our obligation to pass on the stories and traditions of these amazing men and women to the generations to come, in doing so our ancestors gain immortality.
