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Posted Dec. 21, 2009, 12:32 p.m. ET
Ladyfag: In Search of Nancy Cunard
By Ladyfag
My friend, fellow writer and fashion rebel Cator Sparks, once told me I remind him of a modern day Nancy Cunard. My face blushed and my heart swooned. Nancy Cunard is one of my heroes. I remember the first time I laid eyes on her in the iconic Man Ray photo: short cropped hair, sidelong, smoky eyed glance and crossed arms, festooned in bangles from hands to heaven. A rebel.
Born an heiress to the Cunard shipping line she rejected her privileged upbringing and was a poet, a publisher, a journalist, a translator, and a muse who inspired the greats of her time. She counted Aldous Huxley, T.S. Elliot, Ernest Hemingway, Samuel Beckett, Man Ray and the dadists and surrealists of the '20s and '30s as her friends and lovers. In 1928, Cunard's life changed when she fell in love with black jazz musician Henry Crowder. She became actively involved in civil rights, and a public scandal ensued resulting in her family disowning her. She was eventually found on the streets of Paris in 1965, penniless and suffering from years of untreated mental illness. Her body was riddled with health problems that were exacerbated by her heavy alcohol and drug use. Weighing not much more than an armfuls of bangles, she died two days after she was brought to a hospital.
Though Cunard spent several years in Paris, she lived in Harlem during the 1930s. Always adorned in armfuls of African bangles to show her affinity to African culture, she literally wore her politics on her bangled sleeve. I'm also a collector of Bakelite bangles, and while some might call them overpriced plastic, I can't help but love the look. I can easily spot the candy colored gems in a whole pile of junk at the Salvation Army. The sound of my Bakelite-lined
Born an heiress to the Cunard shipping line she rejected her privileged upbringing and was a poet, a publisher, a journalist, a translator, and a muse who inspired the greats of her time. She counted Aldous Huxley, T.S. Elliot, Ernest Hemingway, Samuel Beckett, Man Ray and the dadists and surrealists of the '20s and '30s as her friends and lovers. In 1928, Cunard's life changed when she fell in love with black jazz musician Henry Crowder. She became actively involved in civil rights, and a public scandal ensued resulting in her family disowning her. She was eventually found on the streets of Paris in 1965, penniless and suffering from years of untreated mental illness. Her body was riddled with health problems that were exacerbated by her heavy alcohol and drug use. Weighing not much more than an armfuls of bangles, she died two days after she was brought to a hospital.
Though Cunard spent several years in Paris, she lived in Harlem during the 1930s. Always adorned in armfuls of African bangles to show her affinity to African culture, she literally wore her politics on her bangled sleeve. I'm also a collector of Bakelite bangles, and while some might call them overpriced plastic, I can't help but love the look. I can easily spot the candy colored gems in a whole pile of junk at the Salvation Army. The sound of my Bakelite-lined
arms clanking down the street fills me with pride. These bangles are my rewards for all those days I woke up at an ungodly hour to scour aisle after aisle in antique markets. But I'm not a purist -- I mix old and new, real and fake. Sometimes I dress them up for a retro, American pin-up girl look; sometimes I wear stack-fulls of new modern-style baubles. Rhinestone bangles for glamorous nights, bone and wood for my safari looks, studded ones for some rock 'n' roll. I credit Cunard as my inspiration for changing the way I
accessorize, and when Cator told me she once lived near his home in Harlem, I knew it was time for a day-trip north.
Taking advice from the Duke Ellington song,
I hopped on the A train to Harlem. I was in search of Nancy Cunard, going to pay my homage to the original bangle-wearing rebel. I armed
myself in a mix of vintage and new red, white and blue bangles -- a patriotic nod to an America that Nancy might be a little more proud of today. Exiting
at the 125th street station to meet Cator, I saw the red glow of the
Apollo sign behind me, instantly reminding me of Harlem's storied past. Harlem
is beautiful and, like most New Yorkers with apartment envy, I drooled
over the rows of majestic brownstones.
When we finally arrived at the place where her home should have been, we
found only a plywood construction wall covering an empty lot. I tried
to make peace with my dissapointment. It was the heart of Harlem itself
where she proudly lived and that's why I was here.Cator took me to the Lenox Lounge where Billie Holiday
used to sing, and I had a drink for the ladies of Harlem past and present. Then, it was on to Melba's, which is famous for its American comfort food. Melba, the gracious owner, floats from table to
table, introducing herself to each patron. Diet be damned, I savored every morsel of mac and cheese, cheddar grit cakes, and collard greens that
come from her family recipes. Serenading the crowd at the restaurant's open mic night was no other than Peta Wayne, three-time winner of Showtime at the Apollo.
The whole place clapped and sang along, getting up to dance
with Melba to "Brick House."
I
wish Nancy could have been at Sylvia's or hear the jazz that plays on at the
Lenox Lounge. I wish she could see New York now and the chic
fashionistas inspired by her once rebellious
fashion. I wish she could see how far America has come.
Though I can't wait for the bangle trend to die -- I hate when when staples of my fashion wardrobe become popular -- you'll still hear
me clacking my bangles down the street and still hear me raising my
voice against social injustice. That's a trend I hope never goes away.
If only Nancy could hear me now.
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