Mentor in chief
André Leon Talley’s mentees remember lesser-known side of former Vogue editor
“He was my first real mentor,” said Dario Calmese, a photographer and fashion consultant, referring to André Leon Talley, the former Vogue editor who died recently.
Their first meeting wasn’t an indicator of what their relationship would become. Both men were visiting St. Louis for a museum panel, and Calmese, 40, had been enlisted to meet the kimono-clad editor at the airport. Talley, famous for his extravagant persona, was in a foul mood from the plane ride. “I would say he was brackish at the time,” Calmese recounted with a laugh. “André corrected me once,” he added, telling Calmese that “brackish” wasn’t a strong enough description.
Despite this episode, the two men bonded over art, fashion, race and other topics. When Calmese, who would later become the first Black photographer to shoot a Vanity Fair cover, showed his student work to Talley, the fashion titan’s cold demeanor melted away, followed by effusive praise.
A few weeks later, Talley traveled from his home in White Plains, New York, to Harlem to attend an art exhibition that included work by Calmese. Talley didn’t say hello to anyone but left behind a guest book signature “that took up half of the page,” Calmese said.
From that moment, a yearslong mentorship full of encouragement, job recommendations, vacations and lunches blossomed between them, with Talley once writing in a long email, “I bow to you.”
This was the lesser-known side to one of fashion’s biggest personalities. Talley is widely celebrated for being one of the first Black people to penetrate the highest echelons of fashion, a world that has been historically closed off to Black people.
However, he was not particularly known for being charitable with his access. The popular narrative around his legacy does not include championing up-and-coming Black editors and designers in the same way as, say, British Vogue editor-in-chief Edward Enninful or late designer Virgil Abloh. But Talley did do this — selectively.
Take, for example, LaQuan Smith, 33, who was another recipient of Talley’s guidance during the later years of Talley’s life. Smith, whose high-glam designs have been worn by stars such as Beyoncé, Kim Kardashian and Rihanna, met Talley shortly after making his New York Fashion Week debut in 2010. The two quickly struck up a friendship, and Talley would visit Smith’s atelier frequently and, occasionally, loan money to the up-and-coming designer.
“There was no limit to the amount of support or guidance he gave,” Smith wrote in an email. “When I was designing out of my grandmother’s home with no team or money, cutting patterns out of newspapers, André gave me the money I needed to travel to Paris for the first time.”
According to sources, Talley even once quietly recommended Smith for a job at Tom Ford (whose namesake designer is another friend of Talley’s; the designer appeared in the 2018 documentary “The Gospel According to André”).
But Talley’s guiding philosophies have proved to be divisive in a Black Lives Matter landscape. In the wake of his death, numerous social media users, particularly those of color, reckoned with the complicated legacy and influence he leaves behind. Amid the rise of full-throated call-outs and brand accountability, it’s easy for younger generations to view Talley’s advocacy as muted.
“I’ve always been empathetic towards him,” said Mikelle Street, 30, the digital editor of Pride Media, referring to the split viewpoints surrounding Talley’s legacy. “But maybe that’s because I’m another gay Black boy from the South.”
As remembrances of Talley poured in after his death, young people of color in the fashion industry credited him for providing vital representation as a judge on the reality competition series “America’s Next Top Model.”
Marquis Neal, 30, a model and content creator who advocates greater body acceptance, recalled seeing Talley on “Top Model” shortly after coming out. “What gravitated me towards him was his acceptance with being authentic,” Neal said. “I’ve very rarely seen anyone — let alone someone who is larger — take up space in that way.”
Tre’vell Anderson, 30, a culture and entertainment journalist, said that an interview they did with Talley was seminal to their life.
“I was wearing what I thought was the most expensive-looking outfit at the time,” Anderson said of their black leggings, heels and poncho. Talley, sitting regally on a couch, peppered Anderson with questions about their life and career, and the two bonded over growing up in the South and being raised by their grandmothers.
Years later, Talley would include the exchange in his 2020 memoir, “The Chiffon Trenches,” writing, “In Tre’vell, I saw my younger self. In that moment, I flashed back vividly to interviewing Karl Lagerfeld at the Plaza in 1975. Now, here I was being asked questions about the documentary and my journey.”
Talley’s work will live on partly through the SCAD Museum of Art, home of the André Leon Talley Lifetime Achievement Award. (Past recipients include Vivienne Westwood, Oscar de la Renta and Karl Lagerfeld.) Talley visited SCAD frequently, often helping students land jobs and internships.
Calmese wishes more people were able to see the side of Talley that he saw. He recalled the last time he spent time with Talley in person: an afternoon spent simply sitting on the porch, enjoying biscuits and tea. Former model Sandi Bass was there too.
“André is someone that, because of what he had to endure and the larger-than-life vision he had for himself, he forced up a couple of walls that sometimes seemed impenetrable,” Calmese said. “But just beyond them was someone who also needed care.”