Jenice Armstrong: Naomi Sims, trailblazer

MY THREE adorable nieces know virtually nothing about a world in which being considered beautiful meant you had to be almost anything but black.

Luckily for them, they get to grow up in a world where not only does a brown-skinned woman hold the title of America's first lady, but they have only to turn on a TV or open a fashion magazine to see people who resemble them.

It's easy to forget that not all that long ago that was not the case. Brown faces used to be nonexistent on fashion runways or in women's magazines. Before Naomi Sims, the fashion pioneer who died Saturday, there was a virtual whiteout in America's fashion industry.

Sims made fashion history when, in 1968, she became the first black model to grace the cover of a mainstream women's magazine, Ladies' Home Journal. It must have been a shock to the magazine's regular readers. But the world was changing. People were beginning to believe that black was, indeed, beautiful. The following year, Sims appeared on the cover of Life magazine. More magazines would follow suit.

This was heady stuff for a former foster child from Pittsburgh who grew up feeling gangly and ostracized because of her height. After enrolling in New York's Fashion Institute of Technology, Sims attempted to model professionally but had the humiliating experience of being turned down by every single New York City agency she approached. Wherever she turned, Sims heard the same thing: Your skin is too dark.

America had come a long way, but it hadn't come that far. Sims' career most likely would have stalled had she not taken the unusual path of marketing herself directly to photographers and designers. Before long, she had reached supermodel status, before the term was coined. But that's what Sims was - America's first black supermodel.

Her ascent in the fashion world was viewed as public validation that you could have brown skin and full lips and still be beautiful. You didn't have to be blue-eyed and blonde to fit that bill. African-American women, who were more accustomed to seeing themselves portrayed in movies as mammy figures or domestics, rejoiced. I still remember listening to one of my mother's more fashion-forward friends raving about her.

"You can be a model like Naomi Sims," she used to tell me. That thought had never occurred to me.

What Sims did back then for the collective self-esteem of black girls and women is incalculable. Women, particularly those with darker complexions, took pride in seeing someone who resembled them posing on magazine covers.

If Sims, with her cocoa-colored complexion, could be embraced by major designers and magazines such as Cosmopolitan, it meant that they were beautiful, too. Women slicked their hair back imitating Sims' signature style and tried to emulate her legendary elegance. Sims, who became bored with modeling after five years, helped her fans along by writing books about beauty and fashion, and launching her own beauty empire. She knew first-hand how hard it was for darker-hued women to find makeup that matched their skin. So, Sims started a cosmetic line. She did the same thing with wigs, which she would bake in her oven to simulate the right texture. Ultimately, Sims' rise to fame ushered in the next generation of models, which included Beverly Johnson, Alva Chin and Pat Cleveland, and eventually Tyra Banks and Naomi Campbell.

Sims died in Newark, a victim of breast cancer. It surprises me that this didn't get more attention. Many news organizations didn't get around to reporting it until yesterday.

With each passing generation, there's a tendency to forget those who paved the way. Naomi Campbell's infamous temper tantrums created headlines, but Sims' quiet passing has barely been noted. Which is a shame, considering how much she did for women and our perceptions of beauty.

Send e-mail to heyjen@phillynews.com. My blog: http://go.philly.com/heyjen.