presence—and Hanlon’s public recognition of her contributions—
struck a chord in the ongoing conversation around representation.
“What a lot of women of color, especially black women, have found
is that because there is such a dearth of prominent hairstylists that are
fully aware of the nuances of black hair textures, they don’t necessarily
find themselves completely satisfied with how they are showcased,”
says Kyle Hagler, president of Next Management’s New York division,
who has helped launch the careers of such catwalk superstars as Liya
Kebede and Joan Smalls. “After the shows, my hair was always falling
out,” 21-year-old Nigerian model Eniola Abioro (pictured here) reveals,
more bluntly explaining that when she first started modeling, her hair
was mishandled—or completely ignored due to lack of experience from
key hairstylists. “They’re models. They want to feel like they’ve had as
much attention as the girl sitting next to them,” says Hanlon.
But things are starting to shift, thanks in part to young designers who
are pioneering a more holistic form of inclusion as they build their
own houses. At the third installment of Pyer Moss’s “American, Also”
collection series, which referenced the
undertold story of rock-and-roll pioneer
Sister Rosetta Tharpe, designer Kerby
Jean-Raymond’s cast of brown and black
models, men and women, wore a dazzling
array of shell- and bead-adorned braids,
towering locs, sculpted flattops, soft curls,
and voluminous Afros.
DOUBLE TAKE
MODEL ENIOLA ABIORO
WEARS A SALVATORE
FERRAGAMO SHIRT,
AGMES EARRING, AND
EMBELLISHED BRAIDS BY
HAIRSTYLIST LACY
REDWAY. PHOTOGRAPHED
BY STEFAN RUIZ. FASHION
EDITOR: JORDEN BICKHAM.
Head Start
A new generation of designers is changing the look of the runways. But where
does inclusivity really begin? Rawiya K ameir goes backstage.
In 2018, Latarra Clarke quit her job as a grocery-store
cashier in South London and opened an impromptu salon
in her mother’s living room. Clarke, who began braiding in exchange
for pocket money after learning to style her own mixed-heritage hair
(her mother is English and her father is Jamaican), soon moved to a
rented chair at a local shop, calling her burgeoning business Braids for
All Textures. Through word-of-mouth buzz, the concept attracted
regular clients, as well as the talent agent Sarah Dawes, a longtime
collaborator of the photographer David Sims. Dawes connected
Clarke to veteran hairstylist Paul Hanlon through the producer Carla
Pierce, and last September the 26-year-old found herself catapulted
from the Waitrose checkout line to the Gucci Hub in Milan, where she
worked alongside Hanlon to give a handful of models precise zigzag
cornrows with razor-sharp side parts. The experience was “epic,”
Clarke says, but it was also significant. “It allowed me to showcase
how to manage Afro hair textures the right way.”
Hanlon called out Clarke in an Instagram post, referring to her
as a “master of her craft” in a nod to social-media etiquette that under
other circumstances might have gone unnoticed. But as the fashion
industry prioritizes inclusive castings and sharpens its focus on the risks
of cultural appropriation, change has been slow backstage. “There
are horror stories,” says Lacy Redway, a celebrity hairstylist who honed
her skills working on shows and who notes that for every model of
color on the runway, there is not always an on-site makeup artist or
hairstylist who understands their skin tone or hair texture. Clarke’s
BEAUTY
BEAUT Y>200
VLIFE
196 MARCH 2020 VOGUE.COM
MAKEUP, ROM
Y SOLEM
ANI. PRODUCED BY M
OXIE PRODUCTIONS. DETAILS, SEE IN THIS ISSUE
