In 1925, Dr. Carter G. Woodson planned the inaugural week-long observance of Black history, an idea sparked by his belief that teaching Black history was essential to ensure the physical and intellectual survival of Black people within broader society. He said, “If a race has no history, it has no worthwhile tradition, it becomes a negligible factor in the thought of the world, and it stands in danger of being exterminated.” Little did he know that this week-long observance would evolve into a national reckoning, one we’re still fighting to protect.

A century later, we honor what Woodson started. But recognition didn’t come easy, and now, at this milestone, we’re still fighting similar battles he’d recognize all too well.

We’re watching a systematic erasure of books like The 1619 Project, Beloved, Between the World and Me & Black Boy by Richard Wright pulled from shelves. Monuments removed. Curricula stripped of honest analyses of slavery, Jim Crow, and systemic racism. This isn’t a coincidence. It’s a strategy. Because Black history is American history, the good, the bad, and everything in between. These stories enable possibility. These stories prevent repetition. These stories offer hope. And that makes them dangerous to those invested in maintaining a sanitized past and a curated future.

Woodson wrote, “When you control a man’s thinking, you do not have to worry about his actions. You do not have to tell him not to stand here or go yonder. He will find his ‘proper place’ and will stay in it.”

One hundred years later, the fight for whose stories get told, and who gets to tell them, continues. This issue highlighted the next generation of artists who refuse to find their “proper place.” They’re reclaiming their narratives, creating in spite of censorship, and insisting on a future where history cannot be erased.

In these pages, you met a milliner keeping a dying craft alive and flipping it on its head. A denim designer channeling Warhol and Basquiat, documenting his own becoming in real time. Each of them understands what Woodson knew: that to control your story is to claim your survival.

But progress is not inevitable. It must be protected, amplified, and carried forward. So I hope you enjoyed these stories. Share them. Speak them. Teach them. Because a century of honoring Black history means nothing if we allow the next generation to inherit silence.

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Grace Wales Bonner’s appointment as artistic director of Hermès menswear represents a fundamental philosophical reorientation of what luxury fashion can articulate. The truly radical dimension isn’t just about who she is, but about what she brings, an entirely different epistemological framework, one that treats fashion as a site of rigorous intellectual inquiry rather than a commercial spectacle.

What makes this appointment significant is how it reframes the very concept of “heritage” at one of fashion’s most conservative institutions. Hermès has mastered the art of selling a particular kind of heritage, carefully preserving the traditions of saddle-making in silk scarves and leather goods. Wales Bonner offers something different: heritage as multiplicity, as the complex layering of influences that characterizes diasporic experience. Her work suggests that tradition isn’t a singular through-line but a chorus, and how luxury can be the vehicle for expressing these layered, sometimes contradictory cultural genealogies. 

What makes Wales Bonner’s work particularly powerful is how it engages with the politics of visual representation itself. Scholar Herman Gray observed in his foundational essay “Black Masculinity and Visual Culture” that “self-representations of black masculinity in the United States are historically structured by and against dominant (and dominating) discourses of masculinity and race, specifically (whiteness)” (Gray 401). Wales Bonner’s entire practice operates within this tension; she creates visual representations of Black masculinity that refuse the binary of either conforming to or simply rejecting white European aesthetic codes. Instead, her work proposes a third space, one where figures like Miles Davis and James Baldwin become as central to the vocabulary of luxury as any French aristocrat.

Gray’s observation about jazz musicians is particularly resonant here. He notes that figures like Davis and Coltrane “enacted a black masculinity that not only challenged whiteness but exiled it to the (cultural) margins of blackness, i.e., in their hands blackness was a powerful symbol of the masculine” (Gray 401). This is precisely what Wales Bonner does in the realm of fashion. Her vision of masculinity is contemplative, learned, and dignified, drawing on sharply dressed intellectuals who understood elegance as a form of resistance. 

This methodology becomes even more significant when we consider Gray’s analysis of how Black masculinity gets figured in popular culture as “naturalized and commodified bodies in the case of athletes” or “symbols of menace and threat in the case of black gang members” (Gray 404). Wales Bonner offers a counter-narrative to these reductive representations. Her references point to Black men— intellectuals, poets, dancers, and scholars —who expressed their masculinity through refinement, creativity, and thoughtfulness rather than physical dominance or threat. In doing so at Hermès, she’s intervening in the visual economy that determines which versions of Black masculinity get sanctioned by luxury culture.

The economic implications are substantial. Hermès has thrived by maintaining an almost monastic dedication to a particular aesthetic position. But Wales Bonner’s appointment signals a recognition that consistency cannot mean stasis. Younger luxury consumers, particularly those driving growth in emerging markets, are less interested in buying into a static European fantasy. They want brands that can accommodate multiple narratives and acknowledge the reality of a globalized, hybridized culture. 

When Wales Bonner incorporates the tailoring traditions of the Afro-Caribbean diaspora, or the aesthetic sensibilities of the Black Atlantic intellectual tradition, she’s arguing that these traditions are as sophisticated and worthy of preservation and reinterpretation as the European craft traditions that luxury fashion has historically valorized. This is a critical expansion of what can be considered “luxury heritage.”

Wales Bonner’s challenge and opportunity is to bring two archives into conversation, the Hermès archive of French luxury craft, and her own archive of diasporic cultural production. The synthesis could produce something genuinely new: a vision of luxury that is simultaneously rooted and polished, traditional and progressive, specific and universal.

The appointment also marks a maturation of the relationship between independent designers and heritage houses. Her way of creating offers a model for how fashion can engage with history without collapsing into nostalgia or appropriation. To reference the past meaningfully, you’ve got to do the work—the research, the contextual understanding, the careful consideration of power dynamics and historical violence. This rigor is increasingly rare in an industry that often treats history as a mood board, cherry-picking aesthetic elements without actually understanding what they mean.

Ultimately, Wales Bonner at Hermès represents the possibility that luxury fashion can be intellectually serious without being inaccessible, can honor tradition without being conservative, and can engage with complex questions of culture and identity without reducing them to marketing slogans. Her work directly addresses what Gray identified as the need to “unsettle as much as possible the formal and largely constructed ways in which we see and understand visual representations of black masculinity” (Gray 401). In an industry increasingly dominated by financial logic and short-term thinking, her appointment suggests that there remains space for designers who understand fashion as a form of cultural production as significant as literature or cinema, a medium through which we can explore questions of history, identity, and what it means to live in a world of multiple, intersecting inheritances.

Works Cited

Gray, Herman. “Black Masculinity and Visual Culture.” Callaloo, vol. 18, no. 2, 1995, pp. 401-405.

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From Issue 102 — Black Americana

As I again prepare for another transition, these questions are at the heart of my recent work and what I’ve learned over the years in the fashion industry. Art direction has moved from something I once saw as purely visual, about making things look polished or beautiful, to something much deeper. It’s about shaping meaning, telling stories, and building visual worlds that challenge, inspire, and push culture forward.

At its core, art direction is about intention. It’s the craft of deciding what we see, how we see it, and why it matters. It’s the bridge between scattered ideas and a unified message. It’s what pulls together photography, design, typography, styling, space, and emotion – transforming them into something that feels not just aesthetically sharp, but emotionally and culturally alive.

Art directors do a lot. They lead creative teams, generate fire ideas, protect the design process, and develop the visual language of creative executions. That’s a lot. But let’s be honest, you HAVE to focus on all of it. 

Because you can’t really separate one part from the rest. Creative leadership without vision is hollow. Visual language without protection can get watered down. Ideas without execution stay on the moodboard. Art direction requires all of these muscles working together – strategy, intuition, taste, timing, and care. It’s about knowing when to guide and when to listen, when to refine and when to disrupt.

Be a vault. Know your techniques and references like second nature. Make yourself an overflowing fount of visual techniques and motifs, and be able to pull them out on command. You should know what’s trendy (and why), what’s not (and why), what’s nostalgic (and why), and what’s sacred (and why).

Virgil Abloh, who blurred the lines between streetwear, luxury, architecture, and music, pulling references from everywhere from Caravaggio paintings to Nike sneakers to the raw energy of youth culture. He approached art direction as cultural curation. His genius wasn’t just in remixing, it was in reframing. Abloh understood that art direction isn’t about “fitting in,” it’s about making space for new worlds to emerge, for overlooked voices to rise, and for meaning to be layered into every detail.

Or think about Wes Anderson, whose meticulous, symmetrical frames and color palettes have created an instantly recognizable visual language, one that feels nostalgic, playful, and slightly surreal all at once. Both Abloh and Anderson remind me that when art direction is intentional, it becomes its own kind of authorship.

In a time when conversations around identity, equity, sustainability, and justice are at the forefront, the visual language we create matters more than ever. When approached with creativity, innovation, and a social justice lens, art direction can break old systems, challenge dominant narratives, and open the door to new ways of seeing.

Fashion offers one of the clearest examples. For decades, fashion visuals mirrored a narrow definition of beauty, often excluding Black and brown bodies, trans and nonbinary people, models with disabilities, and bodies outside rigid size ideals. But in recent years, we’ve seen a shift. Campaigns and editorials are beginning to center these communities not as side notes, but as the heart of the story. That doesn’t happen by accident. It’s the work of art directors who understand that every image carries meaning, and that their role is to either reinforce or resist the status quo.

And this extends beyond fashion. Social movements like climate justice, Black Lives Matter, and reproductive rights have all relied on visual language to amplify their voices. The bold posters, protest signs, murals, Instagram slides, and zines. All of it carries the fingerprints of art direction. It gives movements a heartbeat. It transforms complicated demands into something people can feel, connect with, and rally around. It makes resistance impossible to ignore.

Here’s the catch: while your references can come from anywhere; art, music, film, nature, history. They shouldn’t come from other ad campaigns. None. You can interpret those inspirations in ways that feel fresh or new, but recycling advertising tropes only keeps you locked in the same cycles. True innovation comes from looking wider, digging deeper, and trusting your own point of view.

What I’ve learned is that art direction is deeply collaborative. It’s rarely a solo act. It’s a conversation between photographers, designers, stylists, writers, activists, and communities. The art director acts as a conductor, guiding these voices toward a cohesive, meaningful expression, while leaving space for experimentation and discovery. When it works, you get visuals that resonate long after the moment passes.

For marginalized creatives, Black, brown, queer, disabled, working class, art direction becomes a way to reclaim space and authorship. It’s about telling our stories on our own terms, showing up in the visual landscape in ways that are authentic, layered, and unapologetic.

And honestly, some of the most exciting art direction today isn’t coming from big-budget brands or agencies. It’s bubbling up from grassroots spaces, DIY collectives, community zines, and independent projects. There’s a rawness, an urgency, and a rule-breaking energy that’s reshaping visual culture from the ground up.

So why do we need art direction? Because it sharpens how we communicate, how we connect, and how we imagine. It’s not just surface-level polish; it’s the scaffolding that holds meaning, emotion, and purpose together. And as we continue to navigate an unpredictable, complex world, the role of the art director keeps evolving. It’s no longer just about aesthetics — it’s about asking: What stories are we telling? Whose voices are we amplifying? How can we disrupt old narratives and create new ones?

At its best, art direction becomes a form of cultural stewardship. It’s a way of shaping the world we want to live in — image by image, project by project, moment by moment.

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From Down The Rabbit hole – Karly – Special Issue

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Kendrick

Verse One: exploitation

The fashion game, It’s deep. It’s complex. And when we talk about the struggles faced by people of color, it hits even harder. Let’s keep it real. In this industry, it often feels like (Poc) only gets one shot to make it, while our white counterparts can stumble, fall, and rise again like it’s no big deal. In examining the exploitative nature of the fashion system and the limited chances for people of color, I cannot escape the undeniable lived realities that many have experienced. The fashion industry, built upon the backs of marginalized communities, has long perpetuated a cycle of systemic bias, violence and inequality. This bias can be attributed, in part, to the scarcity of opportunities and the limited representation of people of color in positions of power within fashion. Those who hold the reins of influence—the executives, the designers, the gatekeepers—have predominantly hailed from white backgrounds. 

Verse Two: the Tribe

I want you to understand something. You are not meant to fit into anyone else’s mold. You were designed to stand out, to bring something unique to the table. Don’t intentionally or unintentionally dim your light to conform to their expectations. Finding your niche is like unlocking a treasure chest of endless possibilities. It’s about tapping into your passions, your interests, and infusing them into your creative expression. Whether it’s streetwear, couture, or a fusion of cultures, your authenticity is your superpower.. It’s your secret weapon, the magnet that attracts opportunities and like-minded souls. When you stay true to yourself, you become a beacon of inspiration for others. Your unique voice, your story, and your experiences are what make you unstoppable. Surround yourself with those who uplift and inspire you. Build a community that fuels your ambition and celebrates your wins. And don’t forget to pay it forward. Lift others up, mentor the next generation, and create a ripple effect of empowerment in the fashion world.

Verse Three: The Tapestry

In the tapestry of life, we discover our most authentic self, a blend of different parts that make us unique. It’s like a colorful tapestry, with no one thing defining us completely. It’s the combination of experiences and elements that shape us every single day. From the core of our being to the light in our eyes. Life has this weird, maybe sometimes cruel way of shaping us, just like brushstrokes on a canvas. Big moments and small ones all leave their mark on us, like scars that tell our story. The whispers of inspiration and the soundtrack to our life guide us. Friendships and challenges plant seeds of truth within us, while the lessons we learn and the wisdom we gain seep into our very being. We’re constantly evolving, you’re constantly evolving. An ever-evolving canvas, curated by the art of life

Yet, within the masterpiece of life, there are false stories that can distort our view and cast self imposed shadows on our path. We possess the power to be architects of change, empowered to break free from illusions and unlock our destined path.Within this performance, we dance, composing our own lyrics and embracing the harmony of what feels right. Our triumphant melody should echo as we conquer every fear. – JK

_{Jeff Karly Drouillard is a Haitian-American multifaceted creative with many talents that allow him to affect different spaces of fashion. As a Creative Director, he brings his unique perspective to his independent fashion brand Unique Expozzure, while also working with well-known brands such as Baron & Baron, Alice & Olivia, Coach, Zegna, and more. As an Educator holding two Master’s Degrees in Strategy Design and Fashion Management from Parsons School of Design, he shares his knowledge and passion with students in the BFA Fashion Design, MPS Fashion Management, and MFA Fashion Design and Society programs at Parsons and GCNYC. As a storyteller, Jeff is also a member of the Council of Fashion Designers of America, The Fashion Policy Council, and the co-founder of a mentorship program that focu- ses on access and the college admissions pipeline, which disproportionately affects students of color. His capstone work “I am creative too: An Intersectional Approach to Understanding the Cost of Racism in Fashion” was just a starting point. He has been featured in various publications such as WWD, CFDA’s Future Fashion Designer Showcase, Creatively, and Fashion United.}

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In the realm of group dynamics, the significance of a headscarf, Mouchwa, Dubi, un Pañuelo, or babushka can vary depending on the context and traditions in which it is worn. Different cultures and religions ascribe different meanings to the act of donning a headscarf. For some, it serves as a symbol of modesty, piety, and a distinctive expression of individuality. While for others, it can embody a sense of solidarity with a specific community or belief system. In the United States, particularly among diasporic communities, women often choose to wrap their heads with vibrant fabrics, paying homage to their cultural ancestry and simultaneously protesting societal expectations that confine them within narrow definitions of acceptable attire. 

In a world that relentlessly champions conformity and assimilation, the decision to wear a headscarf assumes the mantle of defiance—a resolute stance against homogenization. It allows individuals to showcase their personal style and fashion choices, while remaining firmly rooted in their cultural and religious heritage. Wearing a headscarf is not just about personal expression and cultural heritage—it’s also a form of resistance against societal expectations. In a world that often dictates what is beautiful or acceptable, choosing to cover one’s head challenges those narrow standards. It’s a rejection of the idea that beauty is solely defined by revealing clothing or conforming to mainstream ideals. By donning this, individuals assert their autonomy over their appearance and defy the objectification of women’s bodies.

The headscarf holds a special place in the hearts of those who wear it, especially for men and women from diasporic communities. It’s not just a piece of cloth they put on their heads; it’s a way to honor their ancestors, keep their cherished traditions alive, and stay connected to their cultural identity in a world that can sometimes make them feel like outsiders. When they wear a headscarf, it’s like carrying a piece of their heritage with them—a reminder of where they come from, the values they hold dear, and the beautiful tapestry of their cultural background. It’s a tangible way for them to stay true to themselves and celebrate their roots.  

In drawing these connections, I cannot help but think about the parallels between the headscarf and the bandanas donned by members of gang cultures—a shared act of defiance, a declaration of belonging, and an embodiment of distinct identities. In gang culture, the bandana becomes a symbol of unity, loyalty, and protection. It represents an unyielding bond with a particular group or neighborhood. Through the choice of color and style, gang members use bandanas to establish their presence and assert their individuality within their community. The connection between the headscarf and gang culture reminds me of the complexities of identity and the universality of the human need for self-expression and belonging. It highlights that the longing to be seen, heard, and respected is inherent in all of us, regardless of our backgrounds or the communities we align with.

Ultimately, the headscarf emerges as a potent agent of empowerment, propelling individuals towards self-discovery, while simultaneously cultivating cultural diversity and dismantling societal norms. It constitutes a visible and tangible expression of identity, individuality, and cultural heritage—a bridge that connects the personal with the communal, enriching our collective human experience. At its core, the headscarf transcends mere fashion trends. It emerges as a testament to the importance of individuality and self-expression.

_{Jeff Karly Drouillard is a Haitian-American multifaceted creative with many talents that allow him to affect different spaces of fashion. As a Creative Director, he brings his unique perspective to his independent fashion brand Unique Expozzure, while also working with well-known brands such as Baron & Baron, Alice & Olivia, Coach, Zegna, and more. As an Educator holding two Master’s Degrees in Strategy Design and Fashion Management from Parsons School of Design, he shares his knowledge and passion with students in the BFA Fashion Design, MPS Fashion Management, and MFA Fashion Design and Society programs at Parsons and GCNYC. As a storyteller, Jeff is also a member of the Council of Fashion Designers of America, The Fashion Policy Council, and the co-founder of a mentorship program that focu- ses on access and the college admissions pipeline, which disproportionately affects students of color. His capstone work “I am creative too: An Intersectional Approach to Understanding the Cost of Racism in Fashion” was just a starting point. He has been featured in various publications such as WWD, CFDA’s Future Fashion Designer Showcase, Creatively, and Fashion United.}

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An evening in Dubai during the height of the pandemic, this night was one to remember. Here I am riding on a camel heading to a dinner in the desert. The air was still and the sky was calm. The food and the hookah was hittin’ too (translated was very good). The night was going really good, but my mind was occupied and for some reason, this time it was noticeable to the people I was with. Towards the end of the night, my friend and I, a successful entrepreneur, and philanthropist were talking about the state of the world and our place in it. I guess my answers weren’t really inspiring to her enough, so she asked me an important question – “Why don’t you let people really know you, like really? I’ve worn the proverbial “I’m good mask” for so long, secretly, I wasn’t comfortable revealing it, mainly to myself. The separation of the creator from the man.

At the time, my career building was on the up. I was working full time, growing my brand and just signed a contract to design a few pieces for a reputable brand for their spring collection. I was being tapped to design, create marketing campaigns, attend panels, engage in fashion curriculum development, building my brand and while working with some of the most creative minds on some very cool projects. Like looking at the college admission pipeline, working on legislation that tackles human and environmental abuse in the fashion industry. It was/is fun and exactly what I want to do. I was growing, but I felt juxtaposed in my own story. 

I was doing exactly what I wanted all the while feeling exhausted. Many moments felt like I was just running on fumes. Slowly but surely those fume reserves were getting lower and lower. There was this unhealthy feeling that my next move will make or break me, so every move seems super important that I can’t stop. With everything I was working on, I had to remove something off my plate. In my own therapeutic trial, I noticed that retreating in the background while uncomfortable felt safe. Ironically, I am living my dream. I’d imagine it, but I never thought I’d be able to actually have a hand to create in multiple spaces  — . Fashion, film, education, music, theater and more. So if this is my dream, what is this feeling? For a while, I ignored the burnout. The pandemic had only exasperated it and proved that it was necessary to just rest. Was I ok with that? F*ck no. But when the simple things began to get hard, when the things that once brought joy feel like a chore…it sucked. This version of me was winning and I was losing.

At Least I thought I was losing, so I did a social experiment with myself. I asked the question, is out of sight out of mind real? I didn’t post my wins when I didn’t post my losses. I didn’t post the trips to the island or the half a year I spent living in Mexico kicking it with a Mariachi band. My compelling truth though is that my mind was never at rest.

A couple of weeks ago, I sent a friend a happy new year text; he said to me, “personally, I kinda hate the idea of New Year – like you know, New Year, New You in the sense that you’ve not been you for so long and now suddenly you’re new. New Year New You has been played out so much, it  just sounds like bullsh*t when I hear people say it, so much that a visceral f*ck you comes out in my mind.” I chuckled while pressing “Haha” on the text. On the one hand, his statement on New Year, New You, kind of resonated, like seriously, new you? But on the other hand, if you have the courage and or audacity to break the symbolic wall or remove the mask, then perhaps “this year” is the year you get it right, right? 

The anime geek in me thinks about the chapter/episode in Naruto Shippuden where he trains at the Falls of Truth to obtain the Nine-Tails chakra, a power that could change the world. The waterfall becomes a mirror that reflects one’s true self. To get this power, you need to defeat your true self, the version of you that holds doubt, fear, anger, and anxiety. I’ve reached the point in my career where I can take stock of my failures, victories, and losses. Success is fragile, and this shit is lowkey hard. Sometimes it felt like everyday had an infinite beginning with no actual start or a final ending. That loop was tough. I was letting the title character, the lead character, hide in the shadows. In the face of action and growth it presented as a lot of inaction. The conflict was 100% internal. After being approached so many times to explore a side that I instinctively hide, I finally agreed to do it, to let y’all in.

My friend’s text ended with, “I’d think for both of us it’s that opening up, unleashing, becoming more of who you are and meant to be….” I can’t say something had changed, but deep down, it lit a spark. It gave me the bravery to metaphorically travel to the Falls of Truth and begin training to face my inner self. And the goals are clear, flow in transparency, believe in myself again, and rid the inner conviction of worthlessness. Do you ever feel like you’ve made it? I promised someone who passed some time ago that I would be great and remain open to the journey. This piece isn’t a piece shitting on New Year’s, New You. It is a piece that encourages transparency and facing you. It’s to write and tell your own hero story. Anxiety can’t coexist with faith and trust. So New Year, New You? Perhaps, I’ll see you there if you have the audacity to do it.

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On April 26, 1968,  Paul Robert Cohen was arrested in Los Angeles for wearing a jacket. An ordinary jacket that had the words “Fuck the Draft” written in red on the back. He was charged with violating a state “breach-of-the-peace” law. In 1971, The case eventually made it to the Supreme Court, where Cohen prevailed with a 5-4 vote. Justice John Marshall Harlan II  suggested that those offended by Cohen’s message on his jacket “could effectively avoid further bombardment of their sensibilities simply by averting their eyes.”” Judge Harlan stated, “The constitutional right of free expression is powerful medicine in a society as diverse and populous as ours; however, governments might soon seize upon the censorship of particular words as a convenient guise for banning the expression of unpopular views.”

In our current climate, rather than blatant government infringement on Free Speech, it’s the war and the divide between the “woke” and “anti-woke” cliques, the far left and the far right, mainly on Twitter, that dictates what we can and cannot say. The difference in tolerance is only intensifying. I am afraid we are crossing an ideological chasm of censorship – Free Speech vs. Compelled speech. I think it’s important to note that racism, bigotry, hate speech, and other forms of hate should not be tolerated. I do think it’s worthwhile that we engage in challenging and uncomfortable dialogue. We are in a murky space in society where we cannot critique each other without the ramification of being canceled. How does this affect Art? Can speech be an art form we should treasure? 

Throughout history, the advancement of thought, culture, and progressive ideas can always be linked back to Art. Art is the space where we can take the problems of the world and put them on a canvas, paper, a photo, a rap bar, a comedy sketch, a sculptor, a movie, or any other physical or written medium. However, these expressions are often ridiculed by those who wish to keep the status quo. Ironically, the war between the “woke” and the “anti-woke” has begun to control what counts as Art. The pressures of not being canceled subconsciously or consciously are acutely changing the way Art is made, presented, and seen. For many artists, their practice has become like a triple entendre: the work they should show, the work they can, and the work they can’t. 

Then what is the role of Art – to be controversial, shocking, thought-provoking, insightful, offensive? Justice Harlan said during the infamous case of  Cohen v. California, “One man’s vulgarity is another’s lyric.” It’s fair to say that Art may sometimes shock or offend some of us, making the experience unpleasant. Art can also make us think or smile, making the moment enjoyable. Both can should and need to exist. Having the fear of cancellation determine which artistic expression we may or may not want to encounter is a far worse outcome.

It shouldn’t be this scary to talk. (Chappelle, 2022) We are in the era of Compelled Speech, where society dictates how you should think and what you should say, or else face extreme ramifications. That is scary. Let’s also be aware of what society chooses to be outraged about and the performative stances these large corporations are willing to take. Artists have always played an essential role in shaping culture through their unique lens and intentional medium. James Balwin wrote, “The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us, and the light goes out.” ​​Now is the time to work together, become aware, and recognize that our differences, perhaps maybe, are our similarities…

_{Jeff Karly Drouillard is a Haitian-American Fashion Designer, Educator, Strategist, Creative Director and Entrepreneur from Brooklyn, NY. Holding two Master’s Degrees, Strategy Design and Fashion Management, his work at Parsons and his private label examines dichotomy within the context of the Black experience as it relates to design and upward mobility.  He currently teaches in BFA Fashion Design and MPS Fashion Management at Parsons. He has been featured in WWD, CFDA’s Future Fashion Designer Showcase, Creatively, Fashion United, and more. He’s done work with Baron & Baron, Alice & Olivia, Coach, Zegna and more. Jeff currently sits on The Fashion Policy council which aims to bring legislation and to set sustainability regulations for the fashion industry. He is also the co-founder of a Mentorship Program that focuses on access and the college admissions pipeline that disproportionately affects students of color. He believes by combining design with global issues, we can bridge the gaps in the industry.
Paul Robert COHEN, Appellant, v. State of CALIFORNIA.. https://www.law.cornell.edu/supremecourt/text/403/15}

_{Tsesis, Alexander. “Balancing Free Speech.” Boston University Law Review, vol. 96, no. 1, Boston University School of Law, Jan. 2016, p. 1.
Coenen, Dan. “Freedom Of Speech And The Criminal Law.” Boston University Law Review, vol. 97, no. 4, Boston University School of Law, July 2017, p. 1533.
Quote by James Baldwin: “The sea rises, the light fails … – Goodreads. https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/434795-the-sea-rises-the-light-fails-lovers-cling-to-each}

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Do you remember when cabin fever had set in for you last year, and the weight of the world felt so heavy? I do that was June 2020, at least three months into a pandemic, sitting home, witnessing the unnecessary murder of George Floyd. This moment of reckoning sparked one of the largest civil rights movements in recent times. And in that time, I started to see many major companies and brands publicly began putting out messages of solidarity, “We stand with you,” “BLM,” “End systemic racism,” etc. Did you notice that? It was hard not to look at those statements as cap and performative, especially when no real change was happening in the workplace for Black staff or in the classroom for Black students. The industry often uses buzzwords to describe the future, sustainability, authenticity, and currently, its favorite one is inclusivity. But inclusive for who, and where should it begin? Education and the fashion curriculum. However, the industry, which includes fashion schools, continues to perpetuate the eurocentric standard of beauty and design. Black students often find it more challenging to succeed in places where they aren’t heard, seen, or supported. And for many Black children, social inequities and structural barriers beginning early and continue throughout their life. How can education create real long-lasting and provide a space where more students of color can succeed?

Change in fashion can happen. To start is to cut out the fancy buzzwords and look at real systemic change through the curriculum. Fashion education is a space where students should be allowed to reflect more on different thoughts and designs. Fashion influences body, agency, and identity. It’s a space where social inequities are unpacked in many creatives ways through design. However, the industry still holds a narrow view trapped in the on European beauty standards. In turn, the curriculum is biased while Black history and contributions continue to be diminished. Black students may see it as they aren’t important while other students may have missed a learning lesson. Schools and educators should focus on adding more elements of African American/Indigenous studies.  The next-gen creatives and innovators are the future of the industry, what they’re learning and who is teaching have long terms impacts.

Our current fashion curriculum further exacerbates barriers for students of color, which ultimately stagnates the industry. What’s crucial here is how schools teach the next generation. Do we give them a space to dream, a space to explore their culture or do we rigidly tell them the expectation based on the industry-standard? Who we allow teaching is an important factor as well, if your professor doesn’t see the importance of the contributions from people like Jay Jaxon, students will leave with the same narrow teachings. There are few classes in some design schools that provide classes where race is explored within Fashion, Kimberly Jenkins is doing great work in that space. 

For the next generation of fashion leaders, school ideally should be the place students get to cultivate new ideas. A space to gain a  new perspective, feel supported in their work, and take what the past has done and create something new and fresh. You shouldn’t choose to set aside Black creators while many of their innovations have truly impacted the industry. Their history is well worth knowing.  For “inclusivity” to not just be a word used in lectures because it’s the IT word all stakeholders need to be considered, especially students and faculty for marginalized backgrounds. 

Embedding into the curriculum should be center on communities of color and more African American studies. It is a moment where white students can be engaged with racial inequity at an early age. When curriculum explicitly leaves out Black contributions it can prevent expansive learning while missing out on a moment to create a new stream of thought, change. Simply put the curriculum is outdated and needs review. Although it won’t make up for the financial realities many Black students face when pursuing higher education. However, students need to be seen, heard and, supported, altering the curriculum to create a worldview inclusive to all communities, where contributions are celebrated, and schools hire more professors of color. Inclusive education isn’t only race, its body, its fabric, its accessible design.

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