A gift of Cicely Tyson's clothes is American history in satin and brocade

Washington Post

5 days ago

In 2003, members of the Presidential Commission tasked with developing the National Museum of African American History and Culture gathered in the Oval Office to mark their success. They stood behind President George W. Bush and watched as he signed legislation establishing a museum on the National Mall that would stand as a testament to the country's troubled past and be a clarion call for a more equitable future. A diverse, bipartisan group gathered around the Republican president. Republican lawmakers Rick Santorum (Pennsylvania) and Sam Brownback (Kansas) stood along with Democrats John Lewis (Georgia) and John B. Larson (Connecticut). Standing just over the left shoulder of the president was Cicely Tyson.
The accomplished actress was the most petite figure in the frame, a slender woman dressed in a sweater plucked from her closet. Its black and white pattern recalled African mudcloth. With her hands folded in front of her and her eyes cast intently on the viewer, she stood out because of her erect posture and the hints of lost history in her attire. She was visual poetry in the midst of suit and tie prose.
Tyson continued to use her wardrobe as a way of speaking up and speaking out in whatever room she entered. But that wardrobe became far more rarefied. More than two decades later, with that modest sweater seemingly lost to history, the African American Museum is the recipient of a trove of 17 elegant ensembles — including the grand hat she wore to Aretha Franklin's funeral that sparked countless tweets and memes. The collection was donated by designer B Michael and his husband and business partner Mark-Anthony Edwards. They are clothes that will help the African American Museum connect the past to the present in all its complexity.
In the later years of Tyson's life, when her years of activism and artistry began to be acknowledged with a stream of accolades, awards and fancy invitations, she designated Michael as her designer of choice — her go-to guy. Their relationship was born in Michael's New York studio when she was 80 years old, and she asked him to dress her for Oprah Winfrey's 2005 Legends Ball. He did so in one of his bespoke designs: an exuberant white blouse with dramatic sleeves paired with a floor length black skirt with a sweeping train. That was the beginning of a fashion friendship that lasted until her death in 2021 at 96.
'I'm going to be very honest; it was not a collaboration. Because Cicely, you know, felt like she trusted me,' Michael said, during a conversation at the St. Regis Hotel in Washington. 'It was her decision to say, 'I think I have to exclusively begin to wear you.' And so, she just gave me free rein as a creator and she loved being surprised.'
Michael, 68, was in the nation's capital to celebrate his and Edwards' donation and to consider the meaning of the gift in the context of the current political climate, as history is erased and division has become the de facto starting point of most every endeavor.
Michael, who grew up in Connecticut, began his fashion career as a milliner in the late 1980s. It's an occupation that requires unique technical skills, but it also demands a tremendous amount of optimism for a version of fashion that is endangered. Michael believes in clothes that endure. He built a business focused on made-to-order garments for a client list that has included writer Susan Fales-Hill, Nancy Wilson, Phylicia Rashad and Vanessa Williams. His work is glamorous, precise and dignified. His fabrics are substantial and extravagant. They aren't easy or louche. His silhouettes, especially his sleeves, exude drama. There's nothing trendy or of-the-moment in his work. But it looks expensive. It looks important. And sometimes those are qualities that are far more necessary than simply being fashionable.
Tyson was part of a generation of women who, even if not walking a picket line, carried themselves in a way that was itself a way of protesting against assumptions and prejudices, Michael said. 'They could wear couture, but wear it in a way that says 'I'm making a statement. It's like, this is who I am; this what I've achieved; and this is how I present myself.''
Wearing one of his dresses, with its pristine lining and perfectly calibrated seams, is a statement about 'personal identity, personal dignity, personal expression,' Michael said. 'But it's also to say, 'I can do this.' It's to say, 'We don't fit into your stereotype. I can be in this space.''
And then Edwards chimed in with an edit. 'I would slightly change that,' he said. 'It's not that 'I can be in this space,' but 'I am this space.''
'I think because of where we are today, it's even more important that we live in our excellence. So many of us have achieved so much, but we are still silent in that excellence. And this is not to say you're being gaudy, or you're being, you know. No. This is to show up in your excellence at all times,' Edwards said. 'The women that I believe that wear your clothes, I believe they show up in their excellence. It needs to be loud. Because they're trying to drown it out.'
It takes time for museums to receive promised gifts sometimes for the simple reason that it takes time for a designer to summon the will to part with their work. The conversation with Michael began 15 years ago, said Elaine Nichols, the museum's former costume curator. 'Cicely Tyson had to be represented in this museum because of her signature role' in its founding, Nichols said. 'The association with B Michael was the other piece' of the puzzle.
In deciding which items to acquire, Nichols focused on those that were worn on memorable occasions, clothes that marked a cultural moment and remained in the designer's archive. And so the collection includes the red sheath and jacket Tyson wore when President Barack Obama presented her with the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2016. Her gown for the 2014 White House State Dinner in honor of French President François Hollande is also part of the gift. It's a feathered velvet dress brushed with bronze with a round neckline and bell sleeves.
But nothing stands out quite like the simple black brocade dress and black horsehair hat Tyson wore to the Detroit funeral of Aretha Franklin. Tyson wore the hat, with its wide rippling brim, for the entirety of the funeral, which lasted some eight hours. And it became a talking point about Black church traditions, the stature of Tyson within Black culture and how respect for Franklin — who was known for her own dramatic hats — could be communicated by a simple fashion choice.
'I'm in the suite getting Cicely ready,' Michael said. 'I zip Cicely's black dress up and then take out the hat. And she looked at it and she said, 'I'm not wearing that hat.' I said, 'Of course you are.' She said, 'I cannot wear that hat, it's much too big. People sitting behind me will complain.' And I said to her, 'No one is going to tell Cicely Tyson that your hat is blocking them' … I don't even know if I ever told her this, but I had a smaller hat with me. I always have a backup. Which I never presented.'
'I said, 'I think that this is a moment when it's a different kind of requirement.' And indeed, that was true. She couldn't just be there in a nice little hat. I mean, she really had to represent this whole life of Aretha Franklin and what she means to our culture,' Michael said. 'A diva talking to a diva, the queen talking to the queen mum if you will.'
The gift to the museum was marked by a dinner, as such things are. A single, long table was set for about 70 people in the dramatic gallery just outside the museum's Contemplative Court, the quiet space with a towering fountain where visitors can consider the nation's story in full. For the evening, Michael was surrounded by admirers and customers, including musician Valerie Simpson and actress Anika Noni Rose. And examples of his work for Tyson, pieces that were still in his archive, were displayed all around on forms.
They were beautiful works. They reflected her modest stature. Michael's designs reminded viewers that Tyson was not aiming to simply take up space; but to make clear that wherever she stood, that was where she belonged.