Dandyism and the business of Labels and Labels.
Though the term "dandyism" is undeniably Eurocentric, this year's MET Gala emerges as a commentary on Black style being an exception to rule, not originating from the subject as a launching point for this year's most influential exhibit. I would argue the influence of the continent and the diaspora and the culture are more the standard than the exception of Eurocentricity. Yet the ability to flip what's available into elements of pride is uniquely human—as the first thing we could claim and the first thing man did after consuming outside of his provision of God’s abundance in Eden, was to attempt to clothe himself.
Without seeing the exhibit launching today and having not read Miller's Superfine, my analysis is incomplete though I lived through a life where fashion and clothing were central to my identity. The juxtaposition of why Adam created a garment to clothe himself turned to also be incomplete to what God could do. God, indeed clothe man, for his protection as his knowledge was limited. God’s sacrifice of and animal, protected him ushering clothing as physical and metaphorical covering and interpretation of internal struggles, beliefs and identities. Clothing indeed hid a bit of my shame not being able to buy "labels" or popular brands in elementary school. Payless shoes, Reeboks, J Penney's husky pants, were all in my history. Alongside the annual 3 outfits from my mom and pair of shoes; a civil servant for the FAA, raising my sister and I on 1 salary and a part-time job as a church admin at Galilee Baptist Church, I did always have what I wanted but what I needed, incubating ingenuity.
Some of the first Nikes were girl Nikes gifted from a godsister with whom we wore the same size. White and black joints that went well with a faux POLO shirt bought at some DC Market around the sixth grade. My first Jordans came in the 2nd grade, of which I still have the picture, yet these shoes didn't stick and make me a sneakerhead. Maybe because we share the same first name, I don’t know. Unbeknownst to me, I may have be search to be “like Mike.” The man I am today. I recall these interactions with apparel a journey through my path at times a push to avoid the "shame" or being “Joned on” or a true underlying ambition to to increase the value of what I was given and/or purchased for myself. Unable to purchase Timbs, Eddie Bauer New Balances, I relied on hand-me-downs from an older cousin, rocking shoes often a size or two big, doubling up on socks.
As my economics improved in middle school at Hart Junior High east of the Anacostia river in DC Proper, I developed my label based on my nickname at the time, Joker. This effort proved to be a time of freedom, claiming my own style, expressing my art into gear influenced by the entrepreneurs in DC creating brands with blanks and fabric paint alongside bold color blocked apparel designed locally and made at times Asian hands that would easily run $300-$400 for a fit. Never fully owning the entire vertical, cost for these emerging brands created another layer of separation of the haves and have-nots, the labeled or not labeled, the brand or not branded. So Joker Sport for me was born.
Ostracizing the cultural interpretations of the style of the world's most influential demographic brings forth the conversation: why align cultural interpretation to a term that didn't originate from the culture it has placed on the world stage for the first time? The release of the theme has raised questions and required explanatory content, more notably ASAP Rocky's comment "never" knowing of the term. In addition, a comment I came across in my research, "what are people supposed to do? dress like Black people." Though the term is more a celebration and bold expression of one's self through care-free confidence, the term provides the institute a connection to point to its intensive collection and menswear through the centuries. Yet, if there is a figure in respect that embodies this thinking, it is ALT. He was the fashion to Anna Wintour's style.
To honor the legacy of someone I never met—Andre Leon Talley—his influence on designers, influencers, and stylists will always be remembered. "Brave Heart: Men In Skirts" was one of the first exhibits I visited at the MET in 2003. That year marked my first entry into fashion marketing at the Art Institute of Philadelphia. In researched, ever the standout ALT wore pants to the exhibit gleefully. Though I didn't gain admission to FIT in New York to pursue fashion dreams, I remained dedicated to building my own brand and acquiring the experience to do so. School provided me with knowledge, but Life gave me experience.
Though my fashion journey didn't align completely with ALT's, his exuberance and authenticity to who he was and who he was to others is respected. In reflecting on his legacy, I now understand the distinction: fashion is fantasy, while style is about authentic living—at times he served both.
Having lived in cities like DC, Philly, LA, and NJ, I found that while the dream of fashion was elusive, yet style became the guide in my work and calling card. At 25, I was an avid reader of VOGUE, GQ, and Esquire. My goal was to once make it to the cover of one of these magazines. I took sartorial inspiration from figures like my pastor through high school and college, Pastor Lewis Anthony, a prominent figure in DC politics and a steward of the First AME Zion Church, whose influence shaped my view of style and politics.
As I have matured, I've adapted the term "Well-Dressed"—one that has been bestowed upon me through the years to more fully describe a mindful approach to the visual cue of complete personal style. In this era, I learned that style communication was a skill I could control, and my presentation became a powerful tool. Unknowingly, it was also through style that I learned to aide my mood, express my ambition, and translate this tasted into profit and revenue, yet always desiring to create the full experience of my beliefs and take on apparel. My journey from DC, which shaped my expression of style, evolved through a collection of apparel pieces that became transitory that I gained and sold over time. Never ostentatious, I always aimed for thoughtful, functional choices while at other times making purchases that put me aback a paycheck or two. My most dandish gift I loved were gifts of pine green and bright yellow NANA Boateng trousers that always caught some eyes. They literally took me two years to wear!
Washington, DC itself remains a cultural epicenter—true home to the Harlem Renaissance developed by a busboy poet and a pivotal influence on urban fashion. It could even be argued that the sartorial style of figures like Kanye West was shaped by the vibrancy of Howard prep look and its Homecomings. The Capitol Hill look of summer, often worn by professors in DC's social scene, traces its lineage to Howard's campus.
Reflecting on the Superfine exhibition at the MET, I am reminded of how “Black dandyism” shifted from a period of enslavement and commodification to a cultural force. As the exhibition notes, Black people once transformed from being stylized as luxury items to autonomous self-fashioning individuals—global trendsetters and mavericks. The history of style native of the diaspora reveals how the enslaved, once reduced to the status of objects, became emblematic of self-made reclamations reimagining the first property that some may have owned: the literal clothes on their backs. One's clothes, as a form of ownership, was once mended, maintained, and kept up by the hands of the wearer or a member of its community. I imagine that through this very phase of ownership, like the culture’s cuisine and recipes and our style became transgenerational intellectual property. I think emerging from this first phase of ownership for some Americans came the desire to create our own labels, our own tailoring businesses, craft our own identities. Much love to Ms. Cecily's pants in the Color Purple, Ozwald Boateng, Ann Lowe, and the vanguards of world style around the globe, the standard barriers.
Frederick Douglass, Howard University professors, and students all stand as pillars of this transformation. The MET's Superfine exhibit is the first of its kind to directly address the intersection of race, gender, class, and sexuality, while also celebrating menswear. Yet, I argue that the label of Black dandyism—while celebratory—can still be restrictive. This label, though rooted in figures like Beau Brummell, may also evoke a luxury lifestyle putting forth fashion over economics. The lyric from Kanye West: "I went Jacob after I got my advance, I just wanted to shine." Or the subsequent line, "Back when Gucci was the _____ to rock... I'd do anything to say I got it...Man those new loafers hurt my pockets." These lyrics embody the tension between self-presentation and economic realities, a reality I lived at times to a fault.
Early on in my fashion career, I invested in a pair of $200-$300 brown private label boots from Barneys in LA at the Grove, which garnered compliments and became a key part of my personal style. But as I worked at a company where the founders drove leased Aston Martins and luxury cars, my focus on maintaining appearance continued as a form of IP I could invest and control. In time, I found the next phase of freedom in designing neckties and pocket squares in LA—finally able to control a woven portion of my own style from inspiration to production.
While style is influenced by environment, time, and trends, it is ultimately very personal. Yet, in the fashion world, we often find ourselves leasing our bodies to the names of luxury fashion houses. Over time, however, individuals have found ways to produce themselves. The global rise of brands like Corteiz, reviving 90s aesthetics and partnering with Nike, exemplifies this shift. I do sense the world moving towards more true self-identifying luxury. I hope the questions can migrate from less "who you are wearing" to "who you are."
A current example: Ryan Coogler. On this press tour, he may be the most Well Dressed director in America. The personal extension of his style reflected in the movies he has created is well-documented while being understated. As he has grown, he has not been bound by the term of a dandy, for the contrast of the well-dressed and the dandy is that Ryan Coogler not only forged taste, he studied it, wrote and directed it with a humility that more important than his style is that his taste and work aligned with the mind and the man.
Fashion may need a definition, but style does not. It exists and it's naturally noticed. For the uninitiated, understanding dandyism involves more than knowing the history of style icons through the centuries. My favorites; Frederick Douglass and W.E.B. Du Bois. Style is about the choices that speak to the moment.
"Fashion works in terms of references and transformations," as noted by Ms. Miller, author of Superfine and creative partner with this year’s MET exhibition Superfine: Tailoring Black Style. This theme captures the essence of fashion as both an art form and a business. Cultural influencers like Virgil Abloh and Pharrell Williams have used their unique gifts to further shape legacy brands. In doing so, they've highlighted the importance of investing in distinct consumer groups that stretch cultures with each having roots in music. The long-term sustainability of luxury businesses—particularly those that court the demographic that contributes 13-16% of the US consumer market for luxury goods and makes up 13% of the US population—is imposing global influence, not dominance of the old world.
Embracing being "well-dressed" was, for me, a natural evolution and the title I have given the business and brand. Once called MT56, expressed as michaelTHOMAS was an alter ego of sorts. Neckties, waistcoats, hats, kerchiefs, sneakers, blazers, and denim were the tools I used to communicate. I was known for my ability to assemble looks that were timeless and reflective of the time, moment, and/or event. However, I began to realize that my true confidence came not from my appearance, but from my ability to create.
Now, I am less enamored with labels—both literal and metaphorical. I look forward to supporting the Superfine exhibition in New York and acknowledging the intellectual contributions of the diaspora. Global style, in my view, is not about being an exception but rather about recognizing the standard that has always existed from the hands in Eden, to Egypt, the East, West, and beyond. To create from nothing is the true luxury, and the gift to do so is a gift from God not given to all, but yet we are all called to create, but interestingly we are not called to "worry about clothes."
To the creators of Superfine, thank you for bringing forth a dialogue and a conversation. I hope this conversation will bring forth a new generation of whom breaks labels past and present.