Worn in Silk: Black Elegance and Presence in Period Film
Worn in Silk: Black Elegance and Presence in Period Film
I’ve always had an unapologetic soft spot for period dramas. Yes, I was that girl, secretly romanticising candlelight and calligraphy. Give me sprawling estates, stolen glances, tightly-laced corsets, and loosely-held secrets over anything crime-based, sci-fi, or modern reality TV. They were my comfort genre as a child - a world wrapped in old-world romanticism, with life lessons tucked into dialogue spoken in wit and eloquence.
I never needed to see myself in them to find solace. But I also never believed these stories were beyond me. My imagination was never limited by the frame. As I grew older, I began to notice the rare presence of black figures in these spaces. Often positioned as anomalies instead of a legacy. As escapism, rather than embodiment.
That began to shift when I watched Belle, starring the luminous Gugu Mbatha-Raw and written by Misan Sagay. It was the first uplifting period drama I’d seen with a Black woman at its centre, a story grounded in truth and produced with intention. Belle’s existence disrupted the illusion that Black women had no place in opulence unless as an ornament or chattel. Yes, her birthright was complicated, but her elegance was non-negotiable.
It hinted at something many of us have always known: we have always held space in luxury, whether recorded or not. Women of honour, resilience, and grace. Not merely anomalies, but simply never spotlighted.
Fast forward to the polished petticoats and orchestral crescendos of Bridgerton. I’ll admit — I was hesitant. The first episode of season one felt out of context, a saccharine assortment of cast for broad appeal. But then it bloomed, and so did my view of it.
With Queen Charlotte (a true Moor, might I add, played by Golda Rosheuvel), Lady Danbury (Adjoa Andoh), the Duke of Hastings (Regé-Jean Page), and the journey of the Mondrich and Sharma families, what emerged was something richer: a reimagined empire, laced with coded racial proximity, social navigation, and diasporic presence.
Critics called it revisionist fantasy. Netflix framed it: “Not a history lesson. Fiction inspired by fact.” And somewhere in between is where the magic lives. These aren’t just casting decisions, they’re statements. Black elegance isn’t a garnish to a white narrative. It is the narrative. Strategic, storied, steeped in a cultural lineage far deeper than what has been shown on screen.
A palatable media voice might say these films reflect a “new audience.” But Black viewers have always been here, not as newly lit candles, not as a vacuum suddenly switched on. We’ve been imagining, curating, and dreaming, even when the screens didn’t mirror us back.
Luxury, in many ways, is where imagination meets reality. For African Americans in the early 1900s, luxury was defiance dressed in tailoring: silk lapels, fedoras, and style forged from resistance. James Jeter’s work at Ralph Lauren is a modern remix of that same spirit. He doesn’t challenge the brand’s DNA. He adds a bassline and a backstory. He shows that legacy isn’t fixed, it adapts.
Recently, I paused mid-scroll, transfixed by a Vogue shoot of Denee Benton and Jordan Donica for The Gilded Age. The image was still, yet electric. It held a soft, blooming intimacy, a gentleness rarely afforded to Black characters on screen. Honest. Pure. Genteel. A true friendship caught in a fleeting pause from societal pressure.
And as I stared, I realised there is an appetite for this. The industry is only just catching up to an audience that’s long been watching.
Because when trends shift in the US, the ripple is often felt across the Atlantic, and hopefully this time, it’s the kind of cultural contagion that stirs something deeper.
With love,
Terena