Ebony On the Runway

Old-guard designer names -- Givenchy, Bill Blass, Thierry Mugler -- dominate this year's show, titled "Fit to Be Fabulous." Big-buzz, directional labels such as Marc Jacobs, Balenciaga and Prada are scarce.

In response to the gathering dust, the show's producers updated the stage set and dispensed with the traditional live band, substituting recorded music, much of it hip-hop. The result is a more contemporary mood, but no small number of jarring juxtapositions. It was hard to tell how much pleasure the gray-haired audience derived from Kanye West's "Gold Digger" from which the n-word was conscientiously edited.

"We have to reach out to younger audiences. They need to see how they can see themselves as black women," Rice says. "Here is a show showcasing everything about African American women that is positive."

Rice also is interested in incorporating brands spawned by hip-hop such as Sean John, Rocawear and Baby Phat. "I just have to look to see if it's appropriate for us," Rice says. "We're not trying to push the real provocative edge."

In the meantime, an older generation keeps the theaters almost full -- although where a city may once have hosted an afternoon and an evening performance, it now can support only one. The audiences still are distinguished by church hats, fur wraps and sequins. The models continue to twirl. And the show still preaches the glory of glamour.

Dignity and Humanity

One of Fashion Fair's most faithful patrons has arrived. Organizers call him "Mr. Wonderful" and he has attended the show for 41 years. He is not particularly rich or powerful but he is famous for his attire, which in the past has included Zorro capes and suits the color of a ripe strawberry.

In the crowd of spit-shined men and women in their fancy dresses and business suits, he is easy to spot. Only one man lives up to such a visual drumroll: Mr. Wilbur E. Cook. Native Washingtonian. Currently retired. Former government worker. A man who occasionally -- a long time ago -- modeled. Anyone can see how he could have been on the runway, with his wavy hair -- now gone a little thin -- and smooth skin. He is dressed in a turquoise sharkskin suit. A sea-green cloth daisy is affixed to his jacket lapel. Go ahead and say it: wonderful.

"Young people don't follow fashion the way the older people do," he says. "If they would come to Ebony Fashion Fair, they'd get a better idea of what fashion is. You can see things you'd never think of."

So many of the elders at Fashion Fair talk about how important it is to "know" what fashion really is. They regret that young folks don't seem to "understand" fashion.

Barbara Davis is dressed in green: chartreuse skirt and blouse, olive heels, green tweed jacket with a dyed-to-match fur collar. As a rhythm-and-blues band blows brass and beats drums during the reception, Davis voices her distress about young people's lack of fashion knowledge with as much seriousness as she might discuss a lack of competence in the three R's. She shakes her head and clucks her disapproval.

(Then, although no one asked, she leans in to whisper, "I'm 72." Which is to say: "I have the wisdom of age" and "Don't I look good?" And she does.)

On the surface, when these mature guests speak of fashion, they seem to be talking about shoes and matching handbags, fancy hats, and the kind of suit-and-tie combinations that are so slick a man seems to slide around a room rather than walk. But in fact, they talk about fashion as a proclamation of self-respect, as part of the social contract.