Two knights passed within hours of each other.
In high school, I studied Spanish, though I wanted to study French. Really, I wanted to study Latin, but being American no one ever really explained conjugation, so on my first day of Latin class, the homework was to conjugate some verbs and I had no idea what that meant. I felt I was out of my depth. So I switched to Spanish. The only other time I would immediately switch classes was later on in my senior year, when the first day of class for AP Calculus, the teacher said some stuff, issued us a test. I looked at the test, filled in nothing, went home, and told my mom. She went up to the school, did what mother bears do best, and got me switched over to AP Statistics, and I have never taken another math class since. But Latin.
As soon as I switched over, within the first few days I finally understood the whole thing of conjugating verbs. And then I felt real crunchy because I probably could have stayed. But I couldn’t have, because in that class I was made to feel like I couldn’t ask questions. Or, if I did ask questions they weren’t answered. So, I took Spanish all of high school. I would have taken french, but a friend said French was stupid, and I listened. And, it served me well. I can pull it out easily enough when drunk, I can comprehend enough to be stupidly dangerous and navigate Spanish-speaking countries. I’m not fluent by no means, but I also had great teachers with the back-of-house staff at Magnolia Bakery Cafe. Jaunita and Maria. Not a lick of English, though I don’t know why anyone would ever lick English. It’s intangible. But I digress. To make sure everyone got out on time, I would often help Juanita with closing tasks. Namely mopping. Every time I mop I think of Juanita. She taught me how to properly mop. And how to speak Spanish. And how to kind of sort of listen to it.
And then, in college, I took two more semesters of Spanish. But I was now a new person. And, due to some trauma my freshman year, going into my sophomore it was a “new year, who dis type” of energy. It was the moment I really began to stop trying to live for others and figure out what I wanted to do. Actually, I take that back. That happened the summer before I started UGA. It is family lore I made known. We were down at Mercer, my parents and uncles and aunts alma mater. And we were on the tour. A private tour really, because all of this was last minute since I was accepted into UGA but didn’t have housing. And there we are, finished with the tour, and the very nice lady came up with a financial aid packet.
And then, and this is so bizarre, but then, I get a call from Eric. IF you know me, I never pick up. But I did. And Eric said he’d found housing. With Robert and Chris. I hung up the phone and did the equivalent of this meeting is over. My dad remembers me clearly saying I’m not going to mercer, and I don’t care if I have to starve. Or something like that. Eric remembers coming over shortly after and feeling the froideur from my mother. Eric, Laura, and I were more or less inseparable. Laura lived two houses down in Duluth. Eric was over often. He and his brother would come over sometimes after school. Laura and I would go over to his Dad’s shops some days during the summer to pass the time.
So, in my sophomore year, I’m taking more steps to live for myself. So I took French, because I always wanted to take it. And, I feel like that’s become a running theme in my life. I’m doing this because I always wanted to do this. I’m going to take up acting because I graduated and I always wanted to. I’m going to buy this tiara and crown because I always wanted to. I’m going to make myself a duchess, princess, and queen because I’ve always wanted to. I’m going to make a movie because I’ve always wanted to.
And I did. J’adore francais.
And, in taking french, I immersed myself in french culture. And a bit of cinema. Amelie, mais bien sur, but also Un long dimanche de fiançailles, Bon Voyage, Jeux d’enfants. When I hear French, I feel at home, even though I cannot understand 90% of what’s spoken to me (same for Spanish. and why my challenge to myself for the month of March may be 30 days of learning french on TikTok. I’ve been assembling French/English TikTokers. One is incredibly handsome. But I digress.
But, A Long Dimanche. Gaspard Ulliel. Today, I learned he died. He was also in a Hannibal prequel I thought he did amazing in.
Another high school story. My favorite photographer is Annie Leibovitz. And another thing of me doing what I always wanted to do — senior year of high school. I mean, I started working for it my junior year by taking the prerequisite art classes. Including the art class where the straight boy and I developed … something for each other? It was a very confusing time. My senior year we would go on a date, and I got to that Statistics class I mentioned, and my late friend who had just come out as a lesbian asked if I’d gone on a date with her ex-boyfriend. We had. It was the conclusion of a year of flirting in our junior year without even realizing we were flirting. Or maybe we did. High school is incredibly confusing.
But my senior year, I took the photography class both semesters. We learned pinhole photography and developing film in a darkroom. My dad gave me his old Pentax camera and I learned SLR photography. It was everything.
Being an Annie Leibovitz fan meant I had a subscription to Vanity Fair. And Vogue. (look, this spread for Marie Antoinette makes me so envious!
I would love this for The Waltz. A girl can dream, n’est-ce pas? )To round it off for good measure, I subscribed to Esquire and GQ because their editorials were always amazing. And that’s what I thought I’d be when I graduated college. I definitely didn’t start off that way.
Going into high school, I wanted to be an architect. Growing up, i loved to build and design. When I learned a bit about drafting in the 7th grade, I was hooked. Built a to-scale model of the house my parents were building at the time over the summer between 7th to 8th grade. Around 1:16 scale, because my brother and I were in love with die-cast cars at the time, and those were the big ones. Seriously, we had enough that we would make a traffic jam of them in our old apartment. And legos? I loved legos. I loved to build houses. And, before they made legos all fancy, I built a jet with wheels that lowered and a cargo bay to transport the clay animals (ligers and dolphins mostly) I’d make that would live in the houses I’d build out of the legos. There was a beautiful time when that plane existed at the same time as the die-cast model cars and the to-scale house.
So, going into high school, I figure I’ll need to take lots of math classes. Or something. I needed to get on a different track, anyways, because classes were entirely too easy. So my sophomore year I doubled up on math so I could get into the AP classes because apparently, that’s what I felt architects did. And, all of a sudden, it became my dream to go to Columbia. They had a crown in their logo, they were Ivy league, and their colors were light blue. Originally Kings College. And in NYC, where I was truly meant to be, where I could do photography and architecture and be a writer and live out my dreams. Really, the perfect place for me to be. Except, math. Specifically, Pre-cal. I saw the writing on the wall. Plus an aptitude test or something we took told me that I would enjoy being an actuary, and when I looked up what an actuary does I remember thinking I’d rather be dead than spend a life doing this. Every now and then I’ll look for actuary jobs just to remind myself that I want to act and not do that.
So. There I was, a high schooler with a subscription to Vogue and slowly coming into their own sexuality. Actually, it was not slow. It was quick. 9/11 happened and there was a nothing doesn’t matter anymore phase that included my virginity. But that’s another story.
Because there he was. In his magnificence. Andre Talley. A black editor at Vogue. I can’t remember if he was still there when I had the subscription, but the fact that he existed.
A couple of years ago, there was a screening for his biopic here in Atlanta at the Tara Theatre. I think I was asked to speak on a panel afterward, but they were pressed for time so there was no panel. But I watched the documentary, and was even more mesmerized by him.
His late-life feud with Anna Wintour is well known in fashion and entertainment circles. He did help put Vogue on the map with the in-crowd. The complaints and allegations he aired rang of invisible truths almost every black, brown, and beige person can see when working in a predominately white institution. We’ll never know what happened between Talley and Wintour, but for a long time, they had a deep friendship.
Last night I heard of his passing. It was the end of an era. To me, he was the godfather of modern fashion. He shaped so much of our perception, and like Bayard Rustin was relegated to a sideline role in something so seminal, so groundbreaking that we still feel its influences.
Today’s post has been about fashion and french. Which, I guess, go hand in hand. When I make it to the end of my life, I hope to be a Chevalier de l’ordre des Arts et des Lettres. To have made some considerable contribution to French Culture. And to American culture as well. And most importantly, to create a homeland for my queer babies, brothers, sisters, and siblings. A queerdom. The Queerdom of Vosges.
This Duchess bows her head deeply and curtsies towards two knights of the arts and letters who have passed.
