Black Dandyism, the Met Gala Tightrop & Shealene’s Dress Code of Truth

By Shealene Williams, Nfm Contributor

Slaven Vlasic/Getty Images

INTRODUCTION: A LOVE LETTER WITH MET GALA LANDMINES

Let me be real with y’all: this year’s Met Gala isn’t just a red carpet. It’s a runway minefield wrapped in tulle and tension. The 2025 theme? Superfine: Tailoring Black Style. On paper? Iconic. In practice? Potentially chaotic.

From my studio window in Williamsburg, I see Manhattan lit up like it’s ready for its close-up—and it better be, because tonight isn’t just about looks. It’s about legacy, landmines, and who’s bold (or brave) enough to walk the line between respect and risk. And as a 5-foot Black woman in fashion with a mouth like my grandma and a brain wired for culture code-switching, I’m not here to play it safe.

Let’s just say the group chats are hot. Stylists are sweating through their tape measures, PR girls are praying no one tweets the wrong thing, and half the Met’s guest list is quietly panicking about whether their outfit screams “tribute” or “trouble.”

Because this isn’t just fashion—it’s political. Always has been. Especially when the theme calls for honoring Black dandyism, a style born from survival, pride, and rebellion. One wrong accessory and you’re out here looking like you just tried to colonize the culture instead of celebrate it.

This isn’t “just dress the theme and smile for the flash.” This is narrative warfare with sequins. And tonight, every thread, every reference, every receipt matters.

So if you came for fluff, scroll on. But if you’re ready to talk real—about Ann Lowe, Virgil Abloh, and the impossible tightrope Black creatives walk to be seen without being slaughtered—welcome. You’re in Shealene’s house now.

SECTION 1: THEME AS TRAP—WHEN TAILORED MEANS TARGETED

Let’s talk about this theme.

Superfine: Tailoring Black Style isn’t just a dress code—it’s a challenge letter wrapped in silk and signed in gold. It came correct. And for once, nobody can say they didn’t know what it meant. No mystery. No metaphor. Just pressure in couture form.

Because when the Gala tells you to honor Black dandyism, it’s not asking you to serve cute. It’s demanding you serve history. It’s calling for you to walk in the legacy of people who turned three-piece suits into armor and Sunday best into silent protest. This is elegance born from resistance.

So yeah, the Met dropped twelve “dandy traits”—Freedom, Cool, Subversion, Precision, all that. Cute. But this ain’t a BuzzFeed quiz. You don’t get to wear one and call it a day. This is a full embodiment, baby. You better come dressed in clarity, not confusion.

If A$AP Rocky shows up in a cream double-breasted masterpiece with Harlem energy and Paris tailoring, that’s not fashion. That’s testimony. That’s what “Freedom” looks like when it walks like it owns the block and the boardroom.

And yet? Even with all this inspiration on a platter, some folks will still flop. A pastel gown with no context? That’s brunch, boo—not Black brilliance. A beige slip dress with zero narrative? Try again. That’s not restraint. That’s cultural ghosting. And yes, I said it.

Meanwhile, the real MVPs—the stylists—are back in the trenches stitching intention into every hem. Solange Franklin Reed isn’t just dressing bodies—she’s dressing memory, resistance, and pride. She called dandyism “radical self-expression,” and she meant that with her whole chest. Her looks will balance restraint and statement, texture and tension. Because she knows what I know: when Blackness is the brief, perfection is the minimum.

Non-Black stars are spiraling in prep-mode, sliding into Black designers’ DMs like it’s fashion finals and they didn’t study. They’re trying to hit the theme just hard enough to get applause but not so hard they get called out. If Margot Robbie thinks she can toss on a bold lapel and bypass the culture? Baby, Black Twitter’s bite will make sure she gets her citation in real time.

And let’s talk about the double bind for Black celebs. If Tyla comes in minimalist couture—sculpted, elegant, ethereal—someone will still say she’s “dressing white.” The dress could be designed by a Black woman in Ghana and hand-stitched with ancestral rhythm, but if it doesn’t look loud enough? Suddenly it’s “not Black enough.” Sound familiar?

That’s the trap. That’s the setup. That’s what happens when your culture becomes the runway and the firing squad.

Because at this Met Gala? You’re not just walking a carpet.

You’re walking through history, armed with style, soaked in scrutiny—and you better not miss.

SECTION 2: THE CANCELLATION TIGHTROPE—FASHION’S NO-WIN FRONT ROW

Let’s get this out the way:

There is no safe look this year. None. Nada. Zip.

Superfine’s theme is a tightrope stitched with tension, and one wrong step? You’re booted into the volcano. You could slay every stitch, cite every reference, and still end up trending for all the wrong reasons. That’s the game—and Superfine just upped the stakes. 

No one’s walking this carpet clean. Superfine’s Black dandyism theme isn’t a prompt—it’s a test. And one slip? A roast on X, where Black voices are still sharp as ever. Tyla could show up in a sheer gold gown, every bead honoring Ann Lowe, and still get clocked for looking “too elite” before the flashbulbs even fade. Non-Black stars? Even a leopard print suit nailed to Dapper Dan’s blueprint risks cosplay drags if the stylist isn’t Black or the caption’s got no soul. 

And stylists? They’re walking the plank in couture.Solange Franklin Reed is literally hosting pre-Gala dinners just to ground the energy—because she knows her work isn’t just fashion. It’s resistance with a hemline, and the imagery must “stand the test of time.” She’s not alone. Jason Bolden’s been styling a curated Black dandyism for years—elegance meets edge—but even he knows one too-sleek decision could trigger “white-ism” whispers before the carpet’s cooled. And non-Black stylists? Fashionista says they’re “paralyzed,” worried their skin alone could tank a masterpiece.

This isn’t fabric. It’s psychological warfare—identity politics pits “us” vs. “outsiders,” and no gown escapes.Identity politics stitched into satin and smoke. And even the heaviest hitters are expected to land flawless, unbothered, and grateful for the opportunity to walk.

You want to know what real risk looks like?

A crystal-beaded, custom corset—meticulously draped, culturally sound—could get branded “elitist” in a single post. A moiré-silk suit crafted by a non-Black team? Instant cosplay allegations. Even the right look, worn without narrative, becomes a scandal-in-waiting.

We’re not asking for perfection. We’re asking for fair ground. There’s a difference.

Because at the end of the night, the only “safe” move is the one built on story—deep, intentional, unapologetic story.

Credit your inspirations. Speak their names.Put Virgil in your caption. Echo Ann Lowe’s sculptural grace, not just gold. Build on Dapper Dan’s bootleg brilliance or Valdes’ sheer drama.

If you’re going to take up space on our night, come with homework, humility, and a whole lot of heart.

Because let’s be real—everyone on socials turns into a Vogue critic the minute the livestream starts, even if they’re tweeting from a beanbag chair in last night’s greasy tank top.

I said what I said. 

SECTION 3: THE PATRON SAINTS OF POWER DRESSING—ANN & VIRGIL

In fashion, you whisper Ann Lowe and Virgil Abloh like a prayer. They didn’t shout—they rewrote the game with every stitch.

Let’s start with Miss Ann.Ann Lowe was couture’s quiet titan. From a Harlem apartment, she hand-beaded gold gowns that made elites feel royal, sold coast to coast. But she commuted from a Harlem apartment she shared with her sister. Her clients—some of the richest people in America—haggled with her over prices, smiling as they wore her designs.

And still, she showed up.When a plumbing disaster destroyed Jackie Kennedy’s wedding dress just days before the ceremony, Lowe didn’t complain. She remade the entire collection overnight at her own expense. And when a staffer at Jackie O’s estate tried ushering her through the service entrance for the 1953 wedding dress delivery, Lowe snapped, “Back door? I’m taking my gowns and going.” 

That’s Ann Lowe. No hashtag. No viral moment. Just legacy. Just spine. Just grace.

Now... Virgil. Virgil Abloh was a quiet storm.

Virgil Abloh? A streetwear phenom who flipped French luxury. He didn’t just break into the fashion system—he rewired it. With Off-White and later Louis Vuitton, he turned quotation marks, zip ties, and three-percent tweaks into global revolutions. His philosophy? Change something by 3%, and you’ve created something new.And baby, he wasn’t just creating. He was opening doors so others could walk through.

Even when battling a rare, aggressive cancer—a fight he kept private while building empires—he still responded to texts, still lifted others up, still reminded young Black creatives that they belonged. He wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t performative. He was present. And when people dragged him online—over fifty bucks, over opinions, over anything they could twist—he never took the bait. He led with love.

Virgil said, “Rather than preaching about it, I hope to lead by example and unlock the door for future generations.”And he did. He did it with poise, style, and grace.

You think dandyism is just about ruffles and tailoring?Nah. It’s about refusing to shrink. It’s about Black excellence in full view—whether it’s hand-beading until your fingers bleed, or showing up to work at LV while fighting cancer with no one knowing.

These two? They were couture’s quiet revolutionaries. They didn’t wait for the spotlight. They sewed their names into history.And tonight, they should be all over that carpet. In the beading. In the boldness. In every gold thread and leopard print lapel.

This isn’t just fashion. This is sacred ground.Honor it accordingly.

SECTION 4: THE STYLE LEGENDS HISTORY TRIED TO FORGET—BUT WE WON’T

Let’s get something clear:Black fashion didn’t arrive in 2025. It’s been here—it built the damn runway. While the world hyped loudmouths, Zelda Wynn Valdes, Willi Smith, Dapper Dan, and Stephen Burrows stitched legacy in the shadows, no applause needed.

They didn’t beg for recognition. They demanded excellence.Now it’s our turn to say their names—and style accordingly.

Zelda Wynn Valdes didn’t just dress Ella Fitzgerald. She designed the original Playboy Bunny costume.Yes, that one. The one that became pop culture iconography and made millions for Hugh Hefner. But guess who doesn’t get the credit in most write-ups? Zelda.Her gowns were sheer elegance—literally. We’re talking curve-hugging, floor-grazing, gasp-worthy drama that whispered luxury in a language only the bold could understand.You want to serve Valdes this year? Start with sheer fabric, snatched silhouettes, and a walk that says, “I know who I am.”

Willi Smith was making streetwear before you knew what a drop was.In the 1970s, he launched WilliWear, blending prep, nautical stripes, and wearable rebellion into something fresh—and fully accessible. He believed fashion should serve the people, not intimidate them.A Willi nod in 2025? Try a tailored suit with contrast piping, or a bold striped coat that’s part protest, part praise.

Dapper Dan? Child, if you don’t already know… that’s a Google assignment and a style blueprint.The man took luxury logos and flipped them for the culture. He dressed LL Cool J, Salt-N-Pepa, and the entire Harlem block party scene before luxury brands knew what hit them.He’s in the Superfine exhibit because he IS the exhibit.Don’t just mimic his look—understand his mission: take what wasn’t built for you and make it yours anyway. That’s not just dandyism. That’s survival couture.

Stephen Burrows lit up runways when Black designers were told to stay in the shadows.His disco-era dresses shimmered, swung, and refused to behave. Pistachio green, tomato red—Burrows invented the rainbow before Pantone had a say.If you want to serve Burrows energy, it’s gotta move. Think slinky fringe, bold color, and a body that dances even when standing still.

These aren’t just fashion names.They’re blueprints.They’re the why behind every bead, every bold print, every tailored silhouette that’s about to hit the Met steps.

And if you’re blessed enough to walk that carpet under Superfine’s banner?You better not show up empty. You show up draped in legacy.You show up knowing these designers bent the rules, broke the system, and styled through the struggle so you could wear your pride loud and walk like you belong.

Black voices are watching—you better walk like you belong.

CONCLUSION: THIS AIN’T JUST A THEME—IT’S A TESTIMONY

The 2025 Met Gala isn’t just a tribute. It’s a reckoning.

If you’re hitting those stairs tonight—physically or digitally—understand this:You’re stepping into a legacy stitched by hands that didn’t get credit, checks, or a seat at the table.

So don’t just wear the look.Wear the story. Speak the names. Ann. Virgil. Zelda. Willi. Dan. Burrows. Honor the work. Acknowledge the risk. Understand the tension.And above all—don’t show up hollow.

Because this red carpet?It’s sacred ground.And sacred ground deserves more than a moment.It deserves a movement.

Now go on. Watch the livestream.

But remember—if the outfit doesn’t come with homework, humility, and heart, it’s just cosplay with a glam squad.

POSTSCRIPT: FROM SHEALENE’S DESK (AND HEART)

You want to know what the real test is?It’s not the tux. Not the tailoring. Not the tweets.

It’s this: When the camera pans and you start hearing “custom Chanel” or “archival Prada” like a broken record—ask yourself: Where the Black designers at? Because baby, we are an hour into this carpet, and I’ve counted more press mentions for European houses than for the very culture being honored.

You draped yourself in the aesthetic, but did you back the architects? Did you give a platform to someone like Brandon Blackwood? Christopher John Rogers? Tia Adeola? Or was it just another chance to cosplay in couture and call it allyship?

This theme wasn’t about looking Black. It was about lifting Black. Crediting Black. Investing in Black.

And tonight?A lot of folks are failing that part of the assignment. As a Black woman who writes, watches, and weaves receipts for a living—I'll be honest. It kind of breaks my heart.

So I’ll end on this: If you love our style, love us loud. Love us funded. Love is credited. Because threads without roots? That’s not fashion. That’s just theft with better lighting. Shoutout to the queen, Diana Ross. Showstopper!

— Shealene, still watching, still taking notes

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