Miss Manhattan Hangs Out with Thomas Dyja
Definitely more interesting than bananas.
Thomas Dyja was interested in doing Miss Manhattan Hangs Out, but he wanted it to be more interesting than buying bananas at Fairway, he said: “They have terrible bananas.”
Dyja is a historian and author. His work includes exceptional nonfiction books like New York, New York, New York: Four Decades of Success, Excess, and Transformation, which may be one you’ve heard of most recently, especially since it was one of The New York Times’s 100 Notable Books of 2021.
Indeed, I met Dyja for the first time at my book launch party–he had been so kind as to blurb my book–and I didn’t know if a drag show would be to his tastes, but he arrived with bells on and we took a picture together. Needless to say, I was equally delighted when he wanted to participate in Miss Manhattan Hangs Out. When the day arrived for something more interesting than bananas, he emailed me right away, he said. So here we were, meeting outside the Brooklyn Museum. The “YO” side of Deborah Kass’s “OY/YO” sculpture out front is his preference.
Dyja wrote three novels, but after a time decided doing research was much more satisfying “than trying to come up with a reason why Bob hates his dad,” he quips as we navigate the Brooklyn Museum. His current book in progress is about clothing history. It is this, in part, that leads us here today: Catherine McKinley, who curated the current exhibition of work by Malian photographer Seydou Keïta, Seydou Keïta: A Tactile Lens, commissioned Dyja to write an essay for the exhibition catalog. Dyja, also an independent scholar deeply interested in African culture, wrote about the role menswear plays in Keïta’s images.
You will see in the photos that Dyja is himself a dapper gent. He is well put-together in loafers and a smart casual jacket, with a crisp shirt and jeans, professorial and classic. He takes me through the Keïta exhibition room by room, pointing out tailoring and darts and shoes and gowns, unraveling the mysteries of the photographer’s images. He’s generous, too, with his insights about literature, book publishing, and living in New York (he moved here in 1980 from his native Chicago), for all of which I am grateful.
We traverse the museum and he shares stories from his life, his past as a bookseller on Madison Avenue, his love of Marcel Duchamp, how he met his wife, his family, his historical work with the Oysterponds Historical Society on Long Island, how the book in progress is going (it’s almost done). He’s erudite and eloquent even as we walk around–“I’m trying to look natural,” he laughs–and he doesn’t mind my silly jokes or that I know Wallace Shawn’s work best from Clueless. Dyja’s the kind of person who makes you feel smarter just by talking to him.
Soon we leave the museum and head to the 3, parting ways at Atlantic Avenue. It’s still early, and there’s already been so much culture today.
