When the late designer Patrick Kelly arrived in Paris in 1980, after having been anonymously gifted a fifirst-class ticket to the French fashion capital by none other than his muse, supermodel Pat Cleveland, he confessed that one of his first stops was to a market.
Portrait of Patrick Kelly. Photograph by Oliviero Toscani. Courtesy of the Estate of Patrick Kelly.
Here, he plucked a grape from a vine and took a bite. So juicy, so succulent, Kelly was mesmerized. If Paris was anything like this simple pleasure, the Vicksburg, Mississippi native was going to stick around. The admission is so telling of a man whose career and ascent in the inner circles of Paris’s exclusive fashion institutions was always buttressed by his parochial American Southern charm. In the decade that would follow his arrival, the designer, whose fashion education began at home by the tutelage of his mother and aunt, managed to trade “grits for glitz,” and endear the industry to his button-embellished, head turning designs that were at once luxurious and homespun. Like his eternal muse, Josephine Baker, Kelly would migrate from America, exasperated by the limiting options offered to Black creatives, to find success. It was here that he flourished: apprenticing for designers like Paco Rabanne, while selling his dresses on the streets and making costumes for the leggy performers at local disco Le Palace before a French ELLE spread featuring his multi-colored Lycra body-conscious tube dresses in 1985 would fast-track his career.
Gloves designed by Patrick Kelly, 1988. Courtesy of the Estate of Patrick Kelly. Naomi Campbell walks the Patrick Kelly Fashion Show, March 1989. Photograph by Paul van Riel.
Anointed the “King of Cling,” Kelly devised a an expansive canon of work that brought exuberant but accessible designs that riffed on Americana and Parisian kitsch, with curve-hugging dresses, smartly tailored suits, and dreamy gowns embellished with teddy bears, ribbons, bows, Southwestern ephemera, and Mona Lisa signifiers. These disparate but cohesive fascinations were all collated in his “Love Lists” that Kelly would pass out at his fashion shows — shows that were buoyant, energetic and imbued with his humor and Black queer joy. Muses of all sizes and shapes took their turn down Kelly’s catwalks, feeling seen and adored by the denim dungaree-clad designer while R&B hits and gospel hymns blared overhead. As Toukie Smith, It girl model and sister of Kelly’s contemporary, Willi Smith, once said, “It’s nice to have a shape and all this and still walk the runway. That means a lot ‘cause I’m not a size 6, honey! And when you have all these curves, it’s real nice that Patrick understands that and he does.” His love for and understanding of women was palpable and earned him the patronage of such luminaries as Bette Davis, Grace Jones, Princess Diana, Cicely Tyson, and more, and eventually a multi million-dollar contract with the American apparel juggernaut Warnaco. His love and understanding of his craft would gain him membership into the prestigious Chambre Syndicale (the governing body of the French ready-to-wear industry) — a first for any American.
Patrick Kelly with models Iman, Grace Jones, and Naomi Campbell. Photograph by Roxanne Lowit.
Laura Camerlengo, Archivist, Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, Costume and Textile Arts, Associate Curator
“My first encounter with Patrick Kelly was in 2010. I was hired to serve as the Curatorial Fellow in the Philadelphia Museum of Art’s Costume and Textiles department, as the museum was in the process of acquiring Kelly’s archive from Bjorn Amelan, Patrick Kelly’s former business and life partner.
A collection of which I am most fond [is] his Spring/Summer 1989 collection, which he presented at Musée du Louvre, Paris, in October 1988. This presentation was his fifirst after his 1988 election to the prestigious Chambre Syndicale du Prêt-à-Porter des Couturiers et des Créateurs de Mode. His induction remains a tremendous achievement, for which friends and colleagues describe him as being deeply grateful. True to form, he offered a rather irreverent collection and runway presentation, drawing inspiration from Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa (1503–1518) to create versions of his own “Lisas,” including “Kelly Lisa,” “Baker Lisa” (for Josephine Baker, his idol), and “Mississippi Lisa.” I am quite fond of the women’s suits in this collection, which draw inspiration from the suiting styles of the 1940s and reveal his knack for tailoring, a talent which is often not recognized.
His friends and colleagues often describe his studio as a safe space for United States expatriates, particularly for Black women, and also a space for artistic play. Newly-arrived-to-Paris models remember having wonderful meals with him – and then staying there until the wee hours of the morning as he wrapped fabrics around them and experimented with different designs. By their recollections, it sounds like a place for true connection and creativity.
In a 1986 interview with The Washington Post, Patrick Kelly told reporter Nina Hyde, ‘I design differently because I am Patrick Kelly, and Patrick Kelly is Black, is from Mississippi.’ His manifold life experiences — his trials, tribulations, his joys — were infused in his designs. This is also why his label could not continue after his passing — there was no one else like him.”
Patrick Kelly at Martha Inc. Boutique. New York, 1987.
Patti Wilson, Stylist
“Patrick Kelly was simply everything and so was the moment when Bette Davis wore a full head-to-toe look of Patrick’s on live television. That moment was so special! Patrick’s soul was vivacious and just as colorful as his designs. He was the kindest person in the world and so full of love. The industry was very lucky to have a light like him in it.”
Grace Jones walks the Patrick Kelly Spring-Summer 1989 Fashion Show Photograph by Pierre Vauthey, courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco. Grace Jones for Patrick Kelly, 1989. Photograph by Gilles Decamps.
Despite all of his critical and commercial success, Kelly routinely was up against microaggressions and outright racism in the fashion industry, often being confused as a deliveryman by buyers visiting his Marais studio, or having his work diminished in the press as “childlike” or reduced to simply knitwear. Kelly seemed to work through this frustration by confronting and appropriating the very racial tropes and memorabilia of his native Jim Crow South that had traditionally dehumanized Black folks by amassing a personal collection of figurines and using the golliwog as the brand’s polarizing logo. Plastering the racist imagery across bags and labels and passing out hundreds of Black plastic doll broaches to customers and showgoers, Kelly believed he was subverting their historical meaning by insisting his consumers reconcile a racist past that continued to reverberate in the present day. “I get a lot of criticism from Blacks and from whites and from everybody about who I am and my image. And with the Blacks, I always say, if we can’t deal with where we’ve been, it’s gon’ be hard to go somewhere,” Kelly once told a rapt audience at a Fashion Institute of Technology lecture in 1989.
The Patrick Kelly Spring 1989 Show. Photograph by PL Gould, Courtesy of the Estate of Patrick Kelly. Opposite page: The Patrick Kelly Autumn/Winter 1990 fashion show at the Cour Carr.e du Louvre in Paris. March, 1989. Photograph by Paul van Riel.
Gloria Steinem, Activist & Author
“I remember walking with Patrick and his partner in the streets of Paris, understanding how much bound us together as Americans, from optimism to a love of diversity, all things we took for granted at home. I saw Patrick’s work as both uniquely his, and an evidence of his love for women — and both those things were rare in the fashion industry. Patrick’s work helped women feel good about themselves, both because a male creative genius was paying attention and because he clearly loved women in all our diversity. I don’t think we spoke specififically about his rarity in the fashion world, but an understanding of his creativity and his love for women were always clear and rare in his work and conversation.”
The Patrick Kelly Fashion Show, October 1988. Photograph by Victor Virgile, courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco. The Patrick Kelly Fashion Show, October 1988. Image courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.
Kelly would continue executing his creative vision with his creative and life partner, Bjorn Guil Amelan, until his death in 1990 due to complications of AIDS. He left behind an incredible but stymied archive, and a profound legacy for today’s Black emerging designers to pull from. One need only look to the work of Olivier Rousteing, Christopher John Rogers, Telfar Clemens and The Kelly Initiative, which strives for industry accountability. But what I reflflect on often with Kelly’s work is it remains so fresh, modern, and unrivaled. True, his work is very identififiable of the times, but any HommeGirl could find themselves perfectly zipped into an archival rhinestone embellished mini. I’m half surprised Zendaya hasn’t already. While the imagery he created with photographer Oliviero Toscani, where Kelly can be seen flflanked by an army of models against a white seamless, is inimitable. Posed alongside his creations, having morphed into any number of alter-egos — a cyclist, French baker, astronaut — nothing is out of reach for Kelly. Here, some of Kelly’s friends and fans reflflect on his work, his life and his legacy.
Patrick Kelly and ballerina Heather Watts pose for a portrait after a fifitting for her dress to the New York City Ballet American Music Gala in New York City on April 8, 2001.
Christopher John Rogers, Designer
"Obviously, Black fashion designers aren’t always highlighted in fashion history, so I didn’t learn about [Patrick Kelly] in class, but I learned about him of my own volition. I was in college and flipping through a book on fashion designers in the library, and Patrick showed up. It was a photo of him — one of those iconic photos of him on a white background with a ton of models. I’m always partial to a gorgeous white seamless because it feels like it’s about highlighting. The subject becomes so powerful in a way [and] there’s some increased autonomy. At that time, not a lot of designers were giving women or their customers the tools to be themselves. It felt very prescriptive. With the work that Patrick was doing and all the different women in the one photo it showed the variety of backgrounds and points of view aesthetically that could be achieved in one collection. That’s something that I try to do in my work. He’s playing with iconic references in images, whether it’s the Eiffel Tower or the American flag, this idea of identity and him owning it, him saying, ‘I can be anything and everything.’ It was really exciting to see someone doing work that was so reflective of who they were and what they believed in. I’m just always a fan of people who have a really distinct point of view and aesthetic point of view.
I referenced his love of the buttons in a lot of my collections. It’s such an easy way to create a strong impact, and I love that. I think it was because his grandmother used to mend holes with buttons and little trinkets, which was an homage to her. This idea of high and low — the low being high — feels cool to me. There’s no hierarchy. You can take something inexpensive or something that maybe feels more homespun, and in the right hands, it can be a million fucking dollars. To be, the first American in the Chambre Syndicale, is insane and unprecedented. And we don’t ever talk about him or his legacy enough. I imagine what more he could have done and how the work that he was doing would’ve changed the industry… Franco Moschino is iconic in so many ways, and it feels like they were in conversation with one another in similar ways. It’s interesting to think about what could have been…”
L’Wrenn Scott in the Patrick Kelly Spring 1989 runway show. Photograph by Victor Virgile, courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.
Sequoia Barnes, Textile Artist & Sculptor
“I think of Patrick Kelly within a legacy of visual artists — Betye Saar, Robert Colescott, Kara Walker etc. — versus fashion designers because he deploys the same techniques of subverting racist imagery. I also know that his golliwog logo is very likely a reappropriation of the Robertson’s Jam golliwog mascot, particularly the post-1970s version. They are nearly identical. So he was also doing something with a pop culture figure that many people in Europe would have instantly recognized. However, he did actually speak about his pickaninny pins that he often gave away for free to friends and fans. He said he gave them to people so that ‘we don’t forget each other.’ When subverting racist imagery, especially reappropriating something pretty much as you found it, you are essentially perpetuating the image with another layer of signification that’s rooted in contradicting/critiquing/exposing the original context. I don’t think any creative can balance something that has always been unbalanced and will possibly remain unbalanced as long as white supremacy exists, but they can grapple with it, and I think Patrick Kelly was trying to grapple with these images and tropes through a subversive camp humor.”
Patrick Kelly Fall/Winter 1988–1989 campaign. Photograph by Oliviero Toscani, courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.
Patrick Kelly at the Patrick Kelly show in Paris, 1988. Photograph courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.
October, 2024