Regally draped in an embellished silk ball gown and a glittering jeweled necklace, costume designer Ruth E Carter ascended the stairs to the stage of the Dolby Theatre last week to claim her very first Oscar. Triumphing for her dazzling work in the Marvel blockbuster Black Panther, she told the A-list audience: “It’s been a long time coming.”
Her words spoke not only to her illustrious career, including nominations for work on Amistad and Malcolm X but for the industry at large, as Carter became the first black winner ever in this category.
Equal parts performance and garment construction and styling, costume design is an integral part of a film or television production. It defines characters, advances storylines, and sets the film apart on and off the production lot. But despite their omnipresence onscreen and otherwise, the intricate artistry of the profession often goes unnoticed. “We’re in a service profession,” Carter told the Guardian. “We are the ones that make [movie stars] look great. We are the ones that hide their flaws.”
But even more difficult than getting the earned recognition from colleagues is actually entering the industry in the first place. Costume design suffers from towering thresholds, leaving it bereft of diverse talent.
“They have made it very difficult to get into film,” says Gersha Phillips, costume designer for Star Trek Discovery and films including Talk to Me and Miles Ahead. “It’s a very closed door. It’s almost like a secret society that it’s been functioning under, even though it seems to be out in broad daylight.” The scene becomes even more troubling when television production is considered. “When you’re on a white show, there might only be three [people of color] when you’re at a production meeting. It’s a little odd. The balance isn’t there yet,” says Michelle Cole, a distinguished costume designer with a career spanning over 37 years, for which she’s earned five Primetime Emmy nominations for shows like In Living Color and Black-ish.
Black costume designers, like much of Hollywood, have often had careers stifled by the hegemonic power structure of the industry. Those who succeed are often family members or close friends of industry insiders.
“When I was starting out as a costume designer, I remember watching white costume designers get jobs before me and I thought I had more experience than they did. That’s how it rolled back then and it still happens now,” laments Cole. Carter articulates a similar feeling of loneliness. “When you break ground and when you become the first, moving through the hallways that are not populated with people like you, it can be a very lonely place.” She professes: “Being a trailblazer means that you sit in a room of people who don’t look like you. You have to be there and represent, to represent the future.”
Even when new talent is brought in, they are forced to work for little to no money, something only a scarce privileged few can afford to do. “You need some kind of support to be able to continue on in the beginning,” said Sharen Davis, the only other black woman to have received an Oscar nomination for costume design. “I worked two other jobs to continue this. I did a whole lot of other jobs. A lot of us did. That’s normal. But sometimes, that doesn’t seem possible for somebody who is in a low-income situation.” Carter puts it flatly: “Sometimes, working for free is not an option.”
But a current has emerged that hopes to turn the tide. Diversity and inclusion are trending in Tinseltown. In her 2018 Oscar speech, Frances McDormand introduced the concept of inclusion riders or stipulations which dictate a certain amount of cast and crew must be women, people of color, from the LGBT community or have a disability. The idea has the stamp of approval from many who think it’s a step in the right direction, including Michael B Jordan and Regina King.
“If these riders are written into studio policy as a permanent part and it includes something for everyone. I think it does work but I think it has to be something that has to be insisted upon,” says Carter. Cole believes insiders must do more work to engage with prospective costume designers. “You can also take the reins yourself as a costume designer. I have a [white] costume designer friend. She just said to me about a month ago, ‘I saw your crew and it taught me that I need diversity in my wardrobe department.’ I don’t think she had ever thought about it until she saw my crew and how diverse it was. It’s up to us to open the doors.” It’s a call she herself has answered. “I said to myself years ago, ‘Before I retire, the one thing I want to do is [make sure] I don’t hear from anybody else that they can’t find a good black costumer. I heard that all the time in the 80s. I’m able now to bring in people and train them to be good costumers.”
The responsibility of introducing black talent to the industry has largely fallen on black creators. “It is very often that the [first] chance that you get on a show, it’s going to be a black show. Your first chance as a black [costume] designer, the first thing that you get to design is black [productions],” says Phillips. She recounts the story of her start, an Eriq La Salle film in her native Toronto, where the director insisted there were black people in every department. “Every department had to go out and find black people to hire because IA [labor union] didn’t have any black people … They called looking for black crew and that’s how I got hired.”
Onstage, Carter recognized Spike Lee. Cole credited In Living Color creator Keenan Ivory Wayans and the writers-turned-producers of the hit 90s show for her success. It is a model followed by much of black Hollywood, like global superstar Beyoncé. For her record-breaking Coachella performance, the singer reportedly hired a troupe of black drummers. Later that year, her September 2018 Vogue cover was shot by Tyler Mitchell, a previously unknown black photographer. In many cases, diversity often starts and sometimes stops on black productions, with predominantly white productions paying little to no attention to the myriad of candidates.
Nonetheless, there is a shared hopefulness about the future of Hollywood. While Carter sharply criticizes the diverse-neglected path she had to take, she hopes it inspires others. “Here, I won, a black woman. That should be the thing that inspires anybody of color to come behind me and do the same thing. I basically represent all the steps it took to get there. That’s what I meant when I said ‘I dreamt of this day, I prayed for this day,’” Carter said.
She hopes her historic win will be the driving force behind other talents joining the industry. Phillips echoes her hope that the win will have a ripple effect. “As black people, [there’s] a feeling that people don’t see you. It’s like you’re invisible or they pretend you’re invisible, that you don’t matter. You don’t count. [She wins] and you can’t dismiss us any more. You can’t dismiss Ruth Carter. You can’t dismiss any of us. We’re here and we’re good at what we do. We want our dues.”
