LOOKING AROUND: MR. SMITH SETS HIS SIGHTS ON KMAC COUTURE

William Smith on the 2026 KMAC Couture, ANCESTOR.

Michael Crinot, La Bohème, modeled by Michael Crinot. Photo via Sophia Fowler.

It is springtime in Louisville. The lustrous glare of the Kentucky Derby appears on the horizon like a desperate vision of El Dorado. Sweat upon brow beneath the solar corona of an eclipse. Enter the starting gate for our grand staring contest. Let those eyes which last longest warn of the approaching moon.

And so goes the translation of a nervous mind advancing on Seventh and Main for KMAC Couture, the institution’s annual and illustrious fashion show of wearable live art. Crawling out from beneath the shadows of I-64, perhaps the only party unwilling to pay for parking, I followed an elongated white canopy east. Occupying the street was the wine track to the Kentucky State Fair’s Budweiser tent, chaperoned by museum row’s golden guardian David peeking down over its pitch, expectantly. Adherence to the night’s all-white dress code increased with each step, sure attendees blooming like Bradford pears. We checked in at entry alongside Mayor Craig Greenberg, his plain-clothes security officer betrayed by a wraparound sunglasses tan. They quickly disappeared into the tent’s first chamber, a snowfield of half-recognized faces. I lingered around and bothered the busy faculty some, stalling, better practiced in the script of staff than visitor. Mercifully for me, the event’s bourbon-centric bar, in-keeping with the air of refinery, also stocked Miller High Life.

Photo via Sophia Fowler.

KMAC Couture bar, event sponsor logos in tow.

The proud face of our organization, Lindsey Cummins, led the preshow networking mission while I pierced the crowd with half-recognitory glances and fought miniature battles of courtesy over corridor order. Older men existed on a spectrum of Stanely Tucci to Stellan Skarsgård depending on their respective hairedness. Introduced to conversation with Bri Bowers, I became distracted by the shoulder blade tattoo of a woman standing behind her. It appeared to be the state of Ohio, a flock of birds launching from its city of Cleveland and creating an overall image of the islands of Hawaii. A personal symbology I continue to be lost in. Restroom facilities were provided by Bullitt Septic Services, named for the county from which I was provided. Attired models stood upon podiums as breathing décor. Though aiming for innocuous I felt likewise on display. Effort toward performance measured counter to influence; an ultimately small community best behaved and under watch. Event sponsors were projected onto the ceiling above like a fresco for the rest o’ us, local logos rolling round white canvas heaven. 

The next haustrum had us sat for the show, passing the time by examining fellow viewers duelling-desked across the empty runway. I looked down at the pavement of main street and thought about cars. I looked up and saw Steve Wilson dressed like the Thrift Shop music video. Having found my seat, I was freed from the insecurity of milling around. A seed blown from the road and finally planted. It was like waiting for a movie to start.

Photo via Sophia Fowler.

Budding relaxation had me open the event pamphlet I’d absent-mindedly held onto since entry. This year’s curatorial theme was “ancestor,” challenging the participating artists to explore their family histories before sharing their findings with us through expressive dress guided more by live feeling than museum mannequins. The country’s anniversary and ongoing reactionary stranglehold couldn’t help but come to mind, the connotation of ancestry still bleeding. Is the abandonment of tradition, even one soiled, not a concession to the proudly ignorant? Does the impulse to reclaim recur what we wish to replace? I neglected the lights’ modest dimming, the house music growing. The crowd’s gaze shot up. 

Out spilt the proverbial melting pot down the catwalk; a tableau of history -  on heels. Models pulled at cultural threads from the global spool then disappeared behind curtains like fighting fish still uncaught. Ancestors included ceremonial performers, elemental goddesses, and multiple peacocks. The embodiment of symbol often took priority over anthropological observation, the post-colonial world no longer merely seen but heard. Hands and hearts reappeared across designs and longed for a reality shaped by shared values. A Tudor-crested family brushed shoulders with a Palestinian wrapped in olive branches. Sun Ra met Barry Lyndon. Clothing stripped the individual and left collaboration: on one shoulder, an artist’s vision, on the other, the heavy stare of the past. Sight seen through sight up the double-stranded ladder of the family treehouse.

Teresa Greer, The Contemporary Shepherd, modeled by Sameer Rhodes. Photo via Sophia Fowler.

Left: Sara Jane Coakley, Roots of Life, modeled by Dominique Thompson.
Right: Kaylee Bliss, Prehistoric, modeled by Kaylee Bliss. Photo via Sophia Fowler.

Malcolm Fife & Louis Taylor Barks, Lingerie Verite, modeled by Jacob Grant. Photo via Sophia Fowler.

The DJ established commonality between Average White Band’s “Pick Up the Pieces” and Lady Gaga. Someone unfolded their cellphone like a map until it was a tablet and took a picture. Over-encumbered models walked with a command beyond my understanding. At intermission, a professional broadcaster took the stage and reverse-auctioneered a donation drive, everyone placed their bets. One contributor gave $5,000 and, in an appreciated yet confusing act of enthusiasm, the shoes off their feet. Others left for the paddock as a lesson in trickle-down-economic-hardship. I begin to count losses once winners only need show.

Now rested, the exhibition-on-legs returned from globetrotting to settle stateside and acquire gainful employment. Among the footprints of fantasy and the wraiths of wealth now strode the shadows of strivers. Tools of their trade acted as attribute for a forerunner’s respective region. Northeasterner carried net, Midwesterner a pitchfork. A pickaxed Appalachian wore his day’s findings bedazzled while Southerners formed a quilting circle. Living memory in high-fashion high-vis; Louisville’s cosmopolitan promise made parade. The working-class ghost was exorcised with tribute, utilitarian uniform turned artful accoutrement. How long now have we been looking forward to only looking back?

Georgia Lawrence, Black Lung, modeled by Kameron Smith. Photo via Sophia Fowler.

Gerri Lewis, Gianna Leonardo, & Tiff Mansfield, Heritage Mapped in Heat & Thread, modeled by Bren Willis. Photo via Sophia Fowler.

At wrap-up we were ushered into the museum proper for a bit of afterparty. Models still in dress grabbed at the unexpected but appreciated catering from White Castle and mingled with the mortals. Designers, some dressed in accessory to their model, received their well-deserved roses. KMAC staff continued to serve the crowd, though hopefully with a feeling of relief at another year accomplished. A shocking amount of piss had been deposited onto the men’s bathroom floor. I returned, out of focus, to the vacated tent, its interior freed from all eyes but mine. I had enjoyed watching the show as I’m sure it enjoyed watching me. I can imagine a similar relationship between the past and present. Our history creating our moment, and our moment informing our history, both relishing in the control they have over the other. A staring contest where everyone can win if no one blinks.

Kris Thompson, QE1, modeled by Kesley Moorefield. Photo via Sophia Fowler.