AndrĆ© Leon Talley was a true tour-de-force, a cultural style trailblazer, a beholder of rich knowledge in history beyond the world of fashion. His second memoir, The Chiffon Trenches, is an illuminated doorway into his mind, traveling largely through the 1970s to the 2020s as he paints vivid pictures of the people heās known, the positions heās held, the places heās been, and the thoughts and emotions heās compartmentalized until he put pen to paper to set them free.Ā
With his electric, unapologetic personality, joie de vivre, and memorable posh British meets Southern accent (if you listen to the audiobook), AndrĆ© smoothly shifts between lyrical writing that slips in French syntax, never shying away from discussing race, ill-treatment, and depression and trauma that would lead to his physical strugglesā¦
āAs I slowly rose, like an old elephant shocked by some unknown noise from his slumber, AndrĆ© [Walker] walked backward before me, orchestrating my tired legs, assuming the stance of a Graham technique instructor. Quietly, he gestured and spoke in low tones, urging me down the steps in a glissade that would have been perfect had I been leaving a party in eighteenth-century Versailles.ā
ā¦and no holds barred sentiments that offer a humorous, eyebrow-raising display of events:
āHalston used to have me over for dinner, just the two of us, and he would serve a baked potato with caviar and sour cream. For dessert: a small mountain of high-class cocaine served in an Elsa Peretti sterling silver bowl. I snorted a line or two, to be polite to my host, and that was it. I never wanted to feel out of my sphere of control. My destiny was not to be hooked on coke. I feared God and my āancestors as foundation,ā to quote Toni Morrison, always lived invisible on my shoulder.ā
The Chiffon Trenches is like a runway with hurdles where readers witness AndrĆ©ās peaks and lows from the front row of his show. It feels like a spiritual transformation from carrying old baggage to walking freely, upright with his head high before what would, ultimately, be his spiritual send-off shy of two years later. There is no stone left unturned as he spotlights those who displayed unconditional love and kindess, pillowing an imprint on his heart, and others who left a stain during his early life and career trajectory. Nonetheless, he eulogizes all of them who have passed.Ā In a way this book could be considered a eulogy to himself as well. š
SN: AndrĆ© was quite knowledgeable of fashion before he stepped into the industry. If youĀ ever wondered how he was able to describe the entire space of a fashion scene so eloquently as if they were paintings, hereās an excerpt on some tricks of the trade:
ā[John Fairchild] taught me how to analyze the beat of fashion and the rhythms of the high rollers, the social doers and achievers of the fashion battlefield. [ā¦] I learned how to embrace what was going on around me in 360 degrees. What makes a beautiful dress? Hems, seams, the way itās put together. The ruffles. Howās the ruffle? Howās the bow tie? Whatās the combination of colors, whatās the combination of fabrics? Thereās Mounia on the runway, in what? What was Yves [Saint Laurentās] inspiration? What is the music behind her? And what is the chandelier behind her? And there are roses, why are they there? Why is she wearing that shoe? And what is the lipstick? What is going on in the mind of the designer? Thatās my role, taught to me by Mr. Fairchild.ā
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