Please God, No.
Let me know if I’m getting on your nerves.
It’s probably OK that Kamala Harris made another appearance last week in Manhattan. She was in New York for the gala at the Met, celebrating an exhibit on Black Dandyism at the Costume Institute. It’s a fantastically interesting look at a culture that hasn’t gotten nearly enough attention, from zoot suits to kente cloth to jeweled grilles for rap stars. I’ve tried to follow it closely online and hope to see it this summer in person. I think It will bump out our shared sense of Black America and display a boldness I can’t even imagine.
The problem, if there is one, is that it’s also a social event. Anna Wintour uses it to raise money for the museum, and it rakes in millions of dollars a year. Tables sell for the price of divorce settlements and the invitation list is tightly curated. Wintour has a gift for dressing the room and creating interesting encounters among her favored few. The only person who is permanently barred is the short-fingered vulgarian who now occupies the White House. Go Anna! That checks my boxes!
What doesn’t, regrettably, is Kamala Harris making an appearance at a venue like the Met. Crystal chandeliers. Great drifts of flowers. Gowns and jewels and the most conspicuous consumption. Please God, no! It’s just not right. Last year, a celebrity wore a dress so extreme that she couldn’t actually climb the steps. She had to be carried by security guards from the floor to the first landing. This year, a Bollywood star came dressed like a maharajah. All he lacked was the Koh-i-Noor diamond dancing on a neck chain between the folds of his robe.
The problem for Kamala is that this compromises the brand. What she told us during the campaign is that it was all about us. A leg up for poor people. Working class values. A minimum wage. The dignity of labor. You can’t pull that off in a designer dress. Your husband can’t preen in patent leather shoes. Choose one or the other: the uniform of a socialite, or the uniform of a sober, committed public servant. We are in the middle of a great challenge to our politics and culture. You have to dress like this is a catastrophe, or at least dead serious business.
I’m probably, at heart, a parliamentary voter. The candidate for prime minister is also the head of the party, and even when she loses, she is still the head of the party until the party decides it is done with the minister. If you’re going to pretend you’re the head of the party, the optics are always going to matter—deeply. Somebody needs to take Kamala aside.