André Leon Talley: Style Is Forever
“André Leon Talley: Style Is Forever”, a new exhibition at the SCAD Museum of Art in Savannah (August 15 through January 11) and the SCAD FASH Museum of Fashion + Film in Atlanta (October 15 through March 1), tells the remarkable story of a man who grew up in the segregated Old South and went on to conquer the world of fashion. It is a story told not only through words, but through clothes—the garments that became both his armor and his art.
Long before he became a towering figure in the public eye, André had already lived a fascinating, complicated, and mercurial life. To many, he was a mythic presence: part bravado, part glamour, always underpinned by kindness and faith. Raised in Durham, North Carolina, he was brought up primarily by his grandmother, Bennie Frances Davis, who worked as a cleaning woman at Duke University for fifty years. Though her wardrobe was modest, it was immaculate. She believed that dressing well was both a courtesy to others and an act of self-respect—a lesson her grandson never forgot.
After excelling as a student at Brown University, André moved to New York City in the mid-1970s, where he began an apprenticeship at the Costume Institute of The Metropolitan Museum of Art under the legendary Diana Vreeland. Though he had little money, he dressed himself with flair, collecting remarkable thrift-shop finds: a long military coat he wore constantly, safari jackets, starched army shirts, and even a pith helmet. He cut a distinctive, eccentric figure, turning secondhand clothes into statements of authority and elegance.
Vreeland quickly recognized his gift. “He was the only person who knew more about fashion than I do,” she later remarked. Through her, André met Andy Warhol, who offered him his first job at Interview magazine. In 1976, photographer Sal Traina captured him at Calvin Klein’s apartment—lounging on a leather bed in crisp white shorts, a ribbon-tied Edwardian bow, thigh-high socks, and a boldly banded straw hat. Even then, his look was unmistakably his own: daring, refined, and larger than life.
The next chapter of his journey took him to Paris, where he became a fashion editor for Women’s Wear Daily during the heady late 1970s. At six feet six, he was a wispy yet commanding figure, gliding through soirées in double-breasted evening suits, patent shoes, and long satin bows. Whether escorting Iman or Cher, he was impossible to miss—both protector and entertainer, always the beacon in the crowd.
By the mid-1980s, he was a fixture at Paris couture shows. His circle included Diane von Furstenberg, Tina Chow, Paloma Picasso, Karl Lagerfeld, and Princess Gloria von Thurn und Taxis. When he joined Vogue in 1992, his voice was legendary—booming down hallways even through closed doors. “My dear,” one could hear him saying, “but have you seen the beige of Calvin’s coats?” His wit was unmatched. Once, when asked about a zebra stole he wore, he replied, “Darling, this is the rug from the Ritz!”
But behind the flamboyance was substance. He was deeply erudite, committed to his perspective, and adamant that Black designers, models, and creatives be seen and heard in an industry that often excluded them. At his 1840s country house north of Manhattan—stuffed with Victorian furniture, Warhol portraits, and endless wardrobes—he lived as grandly as he dressed.
When his time at Vogue ended, André shifted his focus to Savannah College of Art and Design, brought in by SCAD president Paula Wallace. He adored the city’s moss-draped oaks and historic architecture, which reminded him of his Durham roots. More importantly, he poured his energy into mentoring students. He persuaded designers like Tom Ford, Miuccia Prada, and Vivienne Westwood to visit Savannah, enriching the Costume Collection at SCAD with treasures from his own archive as well as gifts from friends and patrons. Many of these pieces now anchor the exhibition in Savannah and Atlanta.
And what treasures they are. For the 1999 “Rock Style” Met Gala, he wore a Tom Ford–designed, floor-length embroidered leather coat resembling an 18th-century wall covering. In 2004, for “Dangerous Liaisons,” he swept into the Met in a Chanel Haute Couture opera coat—yards of pale gray silk faille edged with feathers, cuffs of tulle, and antique hand-painted buttons gifted to him by Lagerfeld. In 2011, for “Savage Beauty,” he wore Nicolas Ghesquière’s vivid kingfisher-blue Balenciaga coat with a Ralph Lauren suit and raspberry-buckled Roger Vivier shoes.
His wardrobe evolved with his body. When tailored suits from Huntsman or Ralph Lauren no longer fit, he wrapped himself in extravagant coats—Prada alligator skins in every color, a bright red Norma Kamali “sleeping bag” coat, and sable and mink stoles emblazoned with Louis Vuitton logos. Always, there was a giant designer bag at his side.
In later years, when his size made fine shoes and bespoke suits impossible, André embraced custom caftans and Uggs. But these were no ordinary caftans—they were sculptural garments from Dapper Dan, Tom Ford, Gucci, and Diane von Furstenberg. In them, he looked like a high priest of fashion, regal and commanding.
Yet for all the spectacle, it was his students at SCAD who mattered most. He championed them, especially Black students striving to enter a world that had not always welcomed them. To them, he was mentor, protector, and living proof that style could be a form of power.
“I’d like to be remembered as someone who made a difference in the lives of young people,” he said not long before his passing in 2022. “That I nurtured them and taught them to pursue their dreams and their careers—to leave a legacy.”
André Leon Talley left exactly that: a legacy stitched from fabric and vision, from brilliance and generosity. His life, now on display through the garments that defined him, tells us that style is more than clothing. For him, style was forever.
