For years I have covered the work of Kerby Jean-Raymond, the brilliant mastermind behind the fashion label, Pyer Moss. The brand is seemingly everything that fashion wants right now: It’s young, edgy, of course fashionable, with a unique and poignant perspective on race and diversity in the industry. Not too long ago, the who’s who of fashion flocked out to the King’s Theatre to see the show’s Collection 3, which left me speechless and filled with emotions of destiny, purpose, and Black pride.
However, sometimes that’s really not enough. One of my favorite reasons for the brand has been Kerby’s dedication to keeping it real about what goes on behind-the-scenes in the fashion industry, specifically how he refuses to become the community’s token Black child. It can feel that way, even as an editor, when the larger mastheads consistently put the same Black and brown faces on their covers yet don’t expand their mastheads to employ more writers of color. Or when bigger publications don’t even recognize smaller, indie pubs that are actually doing the work to better marginalized communities, but instead just steal and take ideas for their own corporate betterment. It’s something I’ve endured plenty of times — not being taken seriously enough until some higher (white) being gives me the sign of approval, but at what cost to the integrity of the Black brand we create?
This is the premise to which I align myself with Kerby Jean-Raymond and Pyer Moss, a brand that not only sells clothes but actually sells an experience that Black people can explore. We see ourselves in the brand. So immediately when we found out that Kerby was on BoF’s 500 list for the year, I was elated…well, sort of.
I wrote my first BoF piece this year exploring Blackness in the beauty industry to the acceptance and accolades of my peers, many of whom never thought a piece like that would make it to the digital landscape of the Business of Fashion. I found the moment…enlightening, to say the least. But for Kerby, I felt he deserved all his flowers, and he still does. However, he opened up the discussion of exactly what happened behind-the-scenes in HIS BoF experience that led up to the gala event that took place in Paris the other night and a string of IG posts that left people wondering what was up.
In a post for Medium, Kerby details everything through his unfiltered and unapologetic thoughts. Things would almost sound poetic if it weren’t the stark reality of so many Black creatives, and the unfortunate truth of what it still means to be Black in fashion. Unfortunately, there’s still a lot of pandering to the common group and the access that exists within it. But that is why I will continue to use my platform, at whatever size, to show the world the real work of the people who are making a difference. Who are standing on the work of their ancestors and challenging the status quo. Who are fighting back and not taking no for an answer. Below, read Kerby’s thoughts in Medium:
Business Of Fashion 500 is now 499.
Peace —
I want to address my statements on Instagram last night.
We all got that talk when we were younger… the one that was like “if your instinct is telling you not to leave the house, just stay in…”
I went against it.
Last night, against my better judgment I went to the BoF 500 gala. If you don’t know, BoF (The Business of Fashion) is a fashion industry publication that is known for breaking news on movements in the fashion industry. It’s founder and EIC is Imran Amed. BoF puts out this list annually called the BoF 500 celebrating the people they deem to be the most influential in fashion. In addition, BoF is known for its Voices conference in London too. Both things have become prestigious in their own right.
To give context —
Last year, I was invited to speak at and attend BoF Voices. I was told they wanted to hear my story of the formation of PM and how I’ve navigated the industry. As an outsider for so long, I was proud to be invited and get to share my story. I saw it to be like a fashion version of TED. I was also excited that I’d be in a solo conversation with Bethann Hardison. I had stopped doing group panels.
My reason is that so many of these group panels just lump us all in, ‘Black in Fashion’ or ‘Diversity & Inclusion’ when the reality is my family is vastly different, making strides in every category — sustainability, politics, VC… But instead they make us speak all together in the commonality of our blackness and force us to disagree on stages in public, facilitate infighting and then we have to do the emotional labor to make the ops comfortable.
So I agreed to do this solo panel and they booked the flight, then at the very very last minute, like while I’m on the flight, they told my team that it was now a group panel. (Their plan all along.) Now it was to be moderated by Tim Blanks (who I respect); the panel would include Bethann Hardison, Patrick Robinson (Trailblazer, former creative director of Gap and Armani Exchange) and my friend LaQuan Smith. Because of my immense respect for Patrick and LaQuan as designers who like me are black, I did it, begrudgingly. But in reality all three of us have our own unique narratives and histories that warranted our own separate solo stages. The same solo stages that all the other white designers have received, for years.
The shit was lowkey degrading fam — but I let the audience know my 4th eye was open. (Go watch the video)… but later that night they held this “Salon” conversation that was heated and problematic. I won’t say shit else about that. Maybe my friends who were there can break it down better one day but a few of us left the campus that next day and dipped back to London, ending the trip 2 days early. We were indeed insulted then.
A few months after that hellish “Salon” and panel. Imran reaches out to me and asked to get on a call and talk. He said he was sorry and that he understood why we were all upset and left and that the miscommunication was Bethann’s fault.
He said he’d seen the work I’d been doing with Pyer Moss and in the community and I’d been selected to be on one of the 3 covers of the BoF 500 magazine. Big “oh shit” moment for me. 🥰, me, cover. So this now began a series of phone calls between him and I and meetings in Paris. I brought Jide with me to one of them.
In all these calls and talks he’s picking my brain for names to include on this cover with me and a list of “diverse” people for the 500; I threw out everyone from Kaep, Lena, Clarence Avon, Aurora, Valencia Clay, Nadia Lopez, Antoine Phillips, Precious Blood Ministries, Compton Cowboys, Andre Walker, Christopher John Rogers, Telfar, Heron, Cushnie, Bode, Jerry, Lil Kim, Cardi, Ebonee, Jessie Williams, Hov, Meek, Innocence Project, Richard Phillips, Jason Rembert, Ade, Kollin, Thelma Golden, Noor, Lizzo, Tracee, Jen Rubio, Chromat… you know, all of us.
In the spirit of transparency, I told him about Creative Director roles I’d been being offered, new projects I’m working on outside of PM and about my Reebok appointment a few months before it happened. I figured this is a cover story slated for September, so we can talk openly.
After our last meeting, he looked satisfied with the information he’d received and I left feeling chill but weird. Traffic was nuts getting to his spot from the Marais by the way and during our meeting there was a blackout at the spot he told us at which to meet. I should’ve known that was one of my ancestors trying to get me to shut the fuck up and not to talk to this man. 3rd eye was still waking up, 4th eye was closed. I looked at Jide and I expressed something was off.
Then he hits me with this text like really soon after that meeting saying “we are going to go a different route with the cover”…
I hit Nate like, bro, I felt it. I knew I was being played for info.
Fast forward to now —
They put me somewhere on the 500 list, and invited me to last nights Gala. I did not want to go at all after how he handled that. But I spoke to Eric and he was like let’s just go be mixxy. I grab a suit out the showroom, buy some shoes (!!!) and we head over there.
I came in around 10pm and Aurora’s face is like “did you see” and I hadn’t “seen” anything because I was an hour late. But as we’re talking, like literally on cue, here they come again, a black choir.
Man, I was being good up until that point too. I even texted Nate, and said “I’m doing great, don’t worry”. I shook all the hands, I said all the nice things, played the game and then bam — it all goes awry!
I was at 60% “had it” with this whole shit at that point then Imran gets on the mic and says something along the lines of “I want to just shout out a few people who inspired us to focus our issue on Diversity and inclusion” and calls out a list of names, maybe 20 names, including Olivier Rousteing and Pierpaolo Picolli as leaders in “Diversity and Inclusion.” I was excluded.
To have your brain picked for months, be told that your talk at the “Salon” and work. inspired this whole thing, and then be excluded in favor of big brands who cut the check is insulting. Pay attention to the brands on the covers.
So that brought it up to 80% “had it.”
Then the choir comes back on stage. This man, Imran, turns into Kirk Franklin and starts dancing on the stage with them and shit. To a room full of white people. So now we at 90%. What inspires people to do this? What motivates someone to feel that they have the right to do a Kirk Franklin dance on the stage? Because ultimately that level of entitlement is the core issue. People feeling like they can buy or own whatever they want … if that thing pertains to blackness. We are always up for sale.
So now we’re here. In short, fuck that list and fuck that publication. I take no ownership of choirs, Christianity or curating safe spaces for black people. That’s a “We” thing.
Homage without empathy and representation is appropriation. Instead, explore your own culture, religion and origins. By replicating ours and excluding us — you prove to us that you see us as a trend. Like, we gonna die black, are you?
Was the intent all along to milk people like me for insight into our community, repackage it and resell it back to larger corporations with no intent of making real change? Was the choir the change?
I’m offended that you gaslighted me, used us, then monetized it and then excluded us in the most disrespectful way to patronize companies that need “racist offsets.” And I’m offended that you all made those beautiful black and brown people feel really terrible to the point where some of my friends said “this is helpless”, “this shit will never change” and others left in tears. I was fine until they weren’t fine. So I hit 100%.
I’m all for people trying — even when it’s not perfect. I appreciate the brands that are starting committees, reaching out into ignored communities, diversifying their influencer base and doing their best to be inclusive in their hiring processes. I don’t believe in ‘canceling’ people in general because it’s like putting a band-aid on a shotgun wound. I also tend to believe most people are good. I also know we need allies. Resourced allies.
But I’m not with the explicit exploitation of our plight, culture and struggles for the benefit of your bottom line.
I made a promise to someone who passed. 3 years ago that I was going to stay an open book after she was gone. Even when I fuck up royally and that I’d do my best to send the ladder back down. I intend to keep that promise. For a lot of people, we are the only peek they get behind the curtain of an industry they want to be a part of.
I have let a lot of shit slide because I do think a lot of problems can be resolved without public provocation. I typically prefer not to be blacklisted. I hate being the only one that talks up. I also enjoy peace.
But — me getting checks is not going to stop me from checking you.
I think your brand is exploitative, you proved that it’s fueled by corporate interest and shitty business practices. I understand that you have to make money, we all are selling something, but dawg, not your soul. And not ours.
And to the photographers I gave the middle finger to when we all stormed out, I apologize. I’m sure you deserved it but that was still in poor taste and I’m better than that.
