Before fashion learned to say inclusion, Ann Lowe was already dressing power.

From Park Avenue ballrooms to presidential ceremonies, her gowns quietly moved through American history—hand-stitched, flowered, and sculpted—often admired without her name ever being spoken.

For decades, Ann Lowe clothed the women who defined American society: Rockefellers, Du Ponts, Roosevelts. Yet her own legacy was deliberately pushed to the margins, reduced to whispers like “a colored dressmaker” in the press. Today, her work stands undeniable—no longer secret, no longer erased.

COUTURE BUILT BY HAND, NOT PERMISSION

Lowe’s design language was unmistakable: romantic silhouettes, architectural volume, and signature three-dimensional

floralappliqués—each petal shaped, layered, and sewn by hand.

Her gowns felt almost unreal, as if lifted from a fairytale but anchored by technical mastery.

This wasn’t ornament for ornament’s sake. It was discipline. Craft. Control.

She learned it early—long before New York, long before acclaim.

Born in Clayton, Alabama, in 1898, Ann Lowe was the granddaughter of a formerly enslaved woman. Dressmaking was not a hobby in her family—it was a matter of survival, tradition, and inheritance. She learned the trade from her mother and grandmother, mastering construction as a child.

In 1917, she moved to New York and enrolled at the S.T. Taylor School of Design. Segregated from her white classmates, she was nevertheless so advanced that she completed the program in half the required time.

Talent could not be contained—even when it was intentionally isolated.

THE GOWNS THAT MADE

HISTORYJacqueline Bouvier’s Wedding Dress (1953)

Lowe’s most famous creation was the ivory silk taffeta gown worn by Jacqueline Kennedy at her wedding to John F. Kennedy. Just ten days before the ceremony, a flood destroyed the original dress and most of the bridesmaids’ gowns. Lowe and her team recreated everything from scratch—on time.

She absorbed the financial loss herself. The credit was muted. The dress became legendary.

Oscar Night, 1947
She designed the hand-painted floral gown worn by Olivia de Havilland when she won the Academy Award for Best Actress—cementing Lowe as a couturier trusted for moments that would live forever.

Madison Avenue, 1965

When Ann Lowe opened A.F. Chantilly, she became the first African American woman to own a fashion business in Manhattan’s Madison Avenue district. It was a radical act of presence in an industry built to exclude her.

Despite her elite clientele, Lowe was chronically underpaid. She charged far less than her white contemporaries for work that was often more complex. She was rarely credited. Her name was omitted while her gowns filled society pages.

Later in life, she battled glaucoma and bankruptcy. At one point, an anonymous benefactor—widely believed to be Jacqueline Kennedy—paid her back taxes, allowing her to remain in business. Even then, the system never bent in her favor.

— Enith Verona

Founder & Editor-in-Chief, ADORÉ

Designer Legacy Series.

Legacy doesn’t disappear when files are deleted.

It waits for the right house to rebuild it.

© Enith Verona. All rights reserved.

Jonathan Anderson at Dior Men

Julian Klausner at Dries Van Noten

Loewe pauses standalone menswear to move co-ed

Grace Wales Bonner focuses on her role at Hermès

Paul Smith transitions to Milan

Jeanne Friot

Magliano

Jonathan Anderson at Dior Haute Couture

Matthieu Blazy at Chanel

Silvana Armani for Giorgio Armani Privé

evolving casting needs

expanded opportunities for emerging models

changing expectations across maisons and formats

Sweet Dreams, your creative empire awaits!

Tonight feels familiar, doesn’t it?
The quiet moment when the world slows, but your mind races — bursting with ideas that tug at your sleeve.

She knew that feeling.

Her name was Liora, but really, she could be you — a woman with vision in her heartbeat and a thousand futures swirling behind her eyes.

She lived in a small apartment above a quiet street, where mornings smelled like fresh bread and nights hummed with distant traffic.

Inside, the world was alive. Paints opened themselves. Fabrics whispered. Notebooks begged for her pen. Ideas fluttered like birds, landing when she reached out.

She hadn’t always been this way.

Once, she walked runways, posed under blinding lights, and learned to hold her chin just right. Modeling humbled her, showing that all women — of every size, shape, and ethnicity — are models in their own way. But modeling never fed her the way creation did.

After the shoot, she peeled off her makeup and reached for her sketchbook. Draw dresses. Write ideas. Collect colors instead of compliments. Somewhere in that in-between life, she found her calling:

Creating.
Building worlds with her hands.
Making something from nothing.

Tonight, her apartment glowed with half-finished brilliance.

Fabric draped over chairs. Paint stained her fingers. Her Laptop hummed with glowing mood boards.

She worked in cycles of inspiration: gold paint on a canvas, half-sewn sleeves on mannequins, digital boards sparkling with imagined futures.

Hours blurred. Daylight slipped into dusk, then deep night. She created out of love — the kind that makes you forget dinner, time, everything but the work.

Eventually, her body whispered what her art could not: Rest, love. You’ve done enough today.

She was so immersed that she didn’t even notice her PHONE
It was Clara, her friend from college:

“Liora, you’ve been at it all night. How about that drink?”
“I’m in the middle of something,” Liora said, still focused.
“Alright, just checking in,” Clara smiled.

Not five minutes later, her best friend Jade knocked on the door.
She entered without waiting, arms full of snacks and a knowing smirk.

“You’re at it again, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help it,” Liora shrugged.
“Good. Don’t. The world needs whatever this is,” Jade said, grinning.

A ping on her laptop. Maren, her friend from modeling days:

“Saw your new designs. keep moving. Your passion isn’t a phase — it’s a gift. A compass. A doorway.”

Her breath caught. And maybe you need that reminder too.
Your passion isn’t random. It isn’t temporary. It’s your map.

As night deepened, she crept until her eyes drooped. She curled on the couch, wrapped in her paint-stained cardigan, and drifted into her favorite place — her dreamworld.

In her dreams, everything shimmered:
The runway, alive with her confidence;
Paintings glowing in ateliers;
Her clothing line on catwalks;
Magazine spreads floating in the air;

A gleaming award just within reach — a recognition she had imagined but never held.

The dream dissolved, leaving the promise of tomorrow’s stage.

Morning light brushed her cheek. Clarity rippled through her:

I’m building something real.
Something mine.
Something worth showing up for every morning.She placed her hand on her sketchbook and whispered:

I remember the first time I realized how powerful a simple street could be.

It was early morning—gray sky, wet pavement, the kind of quiet that only lasts a few minutes before a city wakes up. I had one model with me, a photographer who thrived on chaos, and a makeup artist who could do a full face out of a backpack. No studio. No softboxes. No safety net.

Just the raw world around us.

We turned the corner into a side street—brick walls chipped with history, a neon sign flickering above a corner shop, layers of texture everywhere you looked. This was the moment I knew I had the right team.

The model stepped onto the sidewalk like it was a runway meant only for her.
The photographer caught those first movements—unpolished, honest, full of momentum.
The makeup artist faded into the background, watching how the light hit the model’s skin, ready to jump in with a brush if the sun decided to show up.

That’s what I look for as a casting director.
Not perfection.
Not a full production.

Just authentic style meeting the real world—fashion breathing, moving, reacting.

A Street Style Study strips everything down. It shows me who can adapt, who can create magic without a stage, who can make a cracked wall and a neon glow feel like a magazine spread.

Some of my strongest portfolios, for models and creatives alike, began on streets just like that—no grand plan, just a team of three and a neighborhood with flavor.

Because when fashion hits the street, it tells the truth.
And the camera never forgets it.

✨A Sparkle for Every Story — Simone I. Smith Jewelry✨

It was the kind of evening that smelled like cinnamon and evergreens. Lila wrapped her scarf a little tighter, the city streets glowing with holiday lights. She had a list in her phone, but there was one stop she was most excited about: finding the perfect piece of jewelry for someone who mattered — or maybe for herself.

Walking into the online world of Simone I. Smith, she felt like she had stumbled into a secret boutique where every piece had a story. A pair of delicate hoops reminded her of the laughter shared over coffee with her best friend. A layered necklace seemed to whisper, “This one’s for your inner boldness”. Even the classic pendant called her name, offering a small reminder that sometimes you deserve a little sparkle too.

With the holidays around the corner, Lila imagined the joy of gifting — the look of delight on her sister’s face, the surprise for a friend she hadn’t seen in months, or the quiet thrill of buying something for herself that felt like a tiny, luxurious celebration. Clicking “add to cart” didn’t just mean shopping; it was sending love, style, and memories all wrapped up in glittering metal and thoughtful design.

This season, Simone I.Smith Jewelry isn’t just about what you wear. It’s about the moments you give — and the stories that sparkle long after the wrapping paper is gone.