South Africa-born model Jordan Daniels turned to TikTok to announce that “skinny is back … It’s terrifying for all of us, because now we also have to fit into the standard as well.”
Fashion critics have also called out the lack of size-inclusive casting for autumn/winter 2023 shows, as have a handful of emerging size-inclusive designers.
The number of mid-size and plus-size models walking for womenswear shows dropped by 24 per cent compared to last season, according to fashion search engine Tagwalk. Just 68 brands cast a model of either group, down from 90 brands last season.
The absence of size diversity was particularly noticeable among luxury labels: The New York Times reported that Saint Laurent, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada and Moschino cast no plus-size or mid-size models at all.
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Michael Kors, Dolce & Gabbana, and Alexander McQueen were among the brands that cast just one plus-size or mid-size model, and Chanel was the only top luxury brand to include three.
Skinny has always been in fashion. But changing cultural values and beauty ideals had been pushing brands to diversify their casting both on runways and in campaigns.
The last few years have seen the meteoric rise of plus- and mid-sized models, including Paloma Elsesser, Jill Kortleve, and Precious Lee – a trio that fronted the cover of British Vogue’s April 2023 issue, alongside the title “The New Supers”.
Meanwhile, demand for size-inclusive clothes is at a high. The plus-size clothing market was valued at US$276 billion in 2022, a figure that’s expected to rise to US$288 billion in 2023, according to market research firm Future Market Insights.
In luxury fashion, however, skinny continues to reign supreme.
According to Jane Belfry, founder and agency director of size-inclusive modelling agency Btwn Mgmt, this is down to “companies not wanting to take the tangible steps that are necessary to make these shows and collections truly inclusive with things like extra fittings [and] different fabrications”.
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It is also evident in the restrictive sizing at luxury houses across the board, which have been found to stop at a US size 12 or 14, despite two-thirds of American women being above a size 14.
“[The lack of progress] comes down to racism and misogyny – that’s how the industry has always operated, treating women’s bodies like trends, like a commercial product to be marketed and sold,” says London-based casting director Emma Matell.
“Luxury brands are built on exclusivity. It’s always been about the rich, skinny white girl.”
Last season, Matell cast emerging designer Sinead O’Dwyer’s show, which according to data compiled by Vogue Business was among the most size-inclusive shows in London, with 90.5 per cent of looks presented being either plus size or mid-size.
The recent decline in mid-size and plus-size representation has confirmed what some critics already deemed true: that the industry’s commitment to body positivity was little more than tokenism.
It’s a sentiment shared by Anna Shillinglaw, founder of modelling agency Milk Management, which has long championed size inclusivity.
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“I was really hoping that some of it wasn’t tokenism, that having one curve girl in a show wouldn’t be a trend,” Shillinglaw says.
“Maybe some people felt they had to tick that box in the past [because of political correctness], and now they’ve done it they feel they can just move on. It’s disappointing.”
Industry figures who spoke with the Post say the problem starts with standardised sample sizing, which typically stops at a US size 2, in turn forcing casting directors to hire straight-size models.
There have been independent initiatives to raise sample sizing over the years – not least by industry watchdog S*** Model Management, which in 2020 conducted a poll of 4,000 models, 65 per cent of whom claimed to have developed eating disorders – but with little success.
“I want to empower the people I cast to walk in shows,” says casting director William Lhoest. Lhoest cast Ester Manas’ recent autumn/winter show, the most size-inclusive show at Paris Fashion Week, with 75 per cent of looks being either plus size or mid-size, according to Vogue Business.
“I can’t put them in something that doesn’t fit them. It completely defeats the purpose.”
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It’s true that the production of a single sample size is both efficient and cost-effective: producing bigger sample sizes or duplicating runway samples in plus-size demands more fabric, which can be prohibitive for emerging designers with lower budgets.
And yet, the brands that stood out for their commitment to size diversity last season were overwhelmingly independent.
“The garment is everything,” Matell says. “The responsibility should be on the CEOs of huge fashion houses with lots of money. They can produce marketing campaigns that cost millions and millions of dollars, but then deliberately choose not to spend that same kind of budget on developing sizing that’s inclusive.”
Fetishising thin bodies is an endemic problem within the fashion industry, but it also feeds into a wider culture of skinniness that’s rearing its head once again through celebrity-endorsed crash diets.
Consider Kim Kardashian’s claims that she cut out all sugar and carbs to fit into Marilyn Monroe’s dress in the lead-up to the 2022 Met Gala, as well as the social-media-driven rise in off-label prescriptions for weight loss drugs like Ozempic and Wegovy, initially intended to treat diabetes by managing hunger.
Just last year, over 5 million prescriptions for Ozempic, Wegovy and other comparable drugs were written for weight loss purposes, up from just 230,000 in 2019, according to healthcare data tracking firm Komodo Health. That’s more than a 2,000 per cent increase.
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“We’ve spent the last 10 years reconfiguring how we talk about weight,” says writer and editor Tyler McCall, referring to the ways in which diet culture has been sublimated into the wellness industrial complex, which sells juice cleanses and detox gummies as “healthy” meal replacements.
“As a magazine, you can no longer publish a story about 20 ways to lose five pounds in a day. But what you can do is write an article about things like gut health, which is supposedly beneficial for you.”
By marketing and selling the perception of self-care – and changing the language around diet culture to incorporate mindfulness and health – lifestyle magazines, beauty brands and other so-called wellness companies can resist making meaningful changes to how they communicate about women’s bodies while seemingly advocating for progress.
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“We, and by we I mean both the fashion industry and society as large, haven’t made structural changes necessary for [body positivity] to be true,” McCall says. “It’s a shame because I think body positivity as a result has lost all sense of its original meaning in public discourse.”
It’s a sentiment that’s echoed by photographer Ottilie Landmark, who urges those who hold the purse strings to reconsider the criteria for why they finance brands in the first place. The offering of a wide selection of sizes should be just as important as a brand’s sustainability credentials and good design, she says.
“The [fashion] industry is driven by money, and it needs a total restructuring,” adds Landmark, whose practice focuses on queer female identity.
“Those who are responsible for the distribution of clothes – like the buyers and investors – are also responsible for what the designers and brands base their next season on. The industry needs to show it’s committed to investing money in all forms of beauty.”
