The Model - A Human Clothes Hanger

The Model - an ever-changing woman, who yet stays the same in every fashion house - the muse, the beauty, the human clothes hanger.
In the fashion industry, a model’s role is to serve as a living canvas, bringing visions to life for designers and in turn, the consumers and wearers of their designs. Models themselves are picked out to embody the aesthetic vision of the creative team behind each garment. They act as a bridge between concept and audience, highlighting the fit, movement and vibe of a stylised look. The clothes hanger serves one purpose only - to display the item in a still form in a retail or wardrobe setting. Models however, have personality. Life. Vibrancy. Beauty. An added layer of creativity rooted in the movement of the human body. But what is considered beautiful? Who is chosen for the task to display it?

I think we can all agree that ‘beauty’ is a fluid, ever-shifting concept, shaped by cultural vibes, market demands, and creative whims. Traditionally in fashion, it’s tied to symmetry, proportion, and a certain unattainable polish - high cheekbones, long limbs, and a waifish frame that makes clothes hang just right. But it’s more than measurements; it’s about attitude, charisma, and the ability to sell a fantasy. Trends tweak the script—pale skin one decade, sun-kissed glow the next, or a sudden pivot to curvier bodies when inclusivity’s in vogue, as we have seen in recent years (up until the hush hush introduction of Hollywood's new best friend - Ozempic). Designers and brands dictate the ideal, often chasing novelty or nostalgia, while influencers and social media now nudge the needle toward diversity. Beauty in the culture isn’t static—it’s a curated mirror of the moment.

Beyond aesthetics, models often influence trends, represent brand identity, and connect with consumers emotionally, making them key players in marketing and cultural storytelling. It’s a gig that blends physical presence with adaptability—the human hangers with personality.

There are particular adjectives tossed around in the fashion offices of the major cities and design hubs - Anna Wintour in the documentary ‘The September Issue’ is quoted as saying;

‘I’m looking for something that feels fresh, that feels new, that feels like it’s going to make people stop and think‘

Anna refers to the spark that stops a scroll or turns heads on the runway—it’s the unexpected twist that defies the predictable. It might be a model with a striking, unconventional look—think bold features, a buzzcut, or a gap-toothed grin that screams personality over perfection. Or it’s in the clothes: avant-garde cuts, clashing textures, or a backstory that vibes with the zeitgeist, like sustainable fabrics or cultural mashups. Interesting thrives on edge—think gender-bending silhouettes or a vibe that’s more art than wearable. It’s what makes editors whisper, buyers bet, and TikTok explode; a mix of daring and relevance that keeps the industry from snoozing.

editors note

(Perhaps controversial but true to the opinion i have held for years now - is Anna really applying this ‘fresh’ and ‘new’ quality to Vogue currently? I think not and has not been for many years now. Compare the covers of Vogue China, Mexico, Russia or Arabia to American vogue - it really highlights the lack of creativity on the Atlantic covers. I’d include British Vogue in this too. Celebrity covers are great here and there, but American Vogue now focuses purely on whatever celebrity has the best publicist or is the most trendy that month, never giving the model talent pool the recognition they deserve anymore. Never producing new and interesting ‘fresh’ faces. Her tenure should surely, suuuurely be coming to a close soon - we need someone new and fresh.)

Modelling demands a unique blend of traits. Those cut out for the job often possess resilience, adaptability, and confidence (think Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell, the iconic Amazonian-height darlings of the 90s). The gig isn’t just about looks—it’s about handling rejection, long hours, and constant scrutiny without crumbling. People who thrive here are disciplined, able to maintain their physical and mental health under pressure, and comfortable taking direction while still bringing personality to the table. Charisma helps; a blank slate with a spark can outshine a perfect face that’s stiff or unmemorable. Patience is key too—shoots can drag, and success often takes time. A long time. In a space where time is quintessentially sparing.

The industry, though, has its own checklist in terms of pure looks. Historically, it’s leaned toward tall, slim figures—5’9” and up for women, 6’0” for men, with sample sizes (O or 4) ruling the runway. Youth reigns supreme; most models start in their teens, though as time is passing and society is changing, age diversity is ever so slightly creeping in (possibly more for socio-political checkmarks though). Agencies scout for “marketable” looks, which can mean anything from classic beauty to quirky, standout features, depending on trends. Versatility’s a bonus—someone who can pull off high fashion, commercial ads, or both. Increasingly, diversity in race, gender, and body type is prized, but it’s still a game of who fits the client’s vision (again, i pessimistically point back to the idea that this may be more for scoring socio-political points as opposed to a real demand for this diversity). Connections and a strong social media presence don’t hurt either; the industry loves a pre-packaged following. In short, modelling suits the tough-skinned and magnetic, but the industry often cherry-picks based on height, vibe, and what’s selling right now.

Kirstin Bolt from Marilyn Model Agency was quoted in a 2019 ‘Who What Wear’ article as saying;

I like a girl who has personality—someone that can look me in the eye. They have to be genuine, too. I love it when a girl sees modelling as [more than just a job] and as an actual creative outlet—those are the girls that really keep me interested.’

Re-affirming the attitude displayed publicly by Anna Wintour of that constant drive and need to find the newest, freshest, most stand-out face in an unbelievably competitive industry striving for as close to perfection as possible.

So where do they source these creatures of beauty?

Scouts look just like you and me - chameleon-ing themselves into bustling city streets, airport lounges, shopping centres and event crowds, searching over the top of their newspapers for the next best thing in fashion. Many of the big agencies social media scout too - particularly places like Storm and IMG, who focus a lot on the influencer sphere, combining high fashion and editorial magazine models with the biggest profiles to boost business. It is to be recognised that social media is in itself a ginormous economy, and to ignore the importance of considering these seemingly fly trivial numbers would be, in a sense, bad business.

But modelling scouts and contractors more often than not scour impoverished regions, particularly in third-world countries, to discover fresh talent—a practice driven by both opportunity and economics. Scouts target these areas through grassroots methods: street casting in bustling markets, rural villages, or urban slums, where they look for untouched raw beauty in places most in their Western homes would never se or visit. Some host open calls or workshops in low-income communities, partnering with local organisations to draw in hopefuls (more on this later). In places like Brazil’s favelas or Kenya’s townships, they’ll even tap local fixers—people with community ties—to unearth hidden gems who’d never otherwise get seen.

The “why” is layered. Poverty-stricken regions often teem with untapped beauty—distinct looks shaped by diverse genetics, unpolished by Western standards, which high fashion craves for its next big thing. These models come cheap, too; agencies can sign them at low rates, promising a rags-to-riches story that’s as marketable as their faces. Desperation plays a role—kids from poor backgrounds are more likely to leap at the chance, no questions asked, giving scouts leverage. Plus, there’s a narrative bonus: the industry loves a feel-good tale of “discovery” (think Adut Aketch or THE Iman) to gloss over its less savoury exploitative streaks.

It’s a calculated hunt—scouts bank on finding standout looks at bargain prices, while dangling a lifeline that, for some, actually pays off. However, this is sadly not the case for most.

In the mid-2000s, the modelling industry’s darker side came into sharp focus in the Balkan region, where young girls, often from impoverished backgrounds, were lured into exploitative schemes masquerading as legitimate opportunities. Around 2007, reports emerged of recruiters targeting vulnerable teens—some as young as 12 or 13—from countries like Bosnia, Serbia, and Albania. Promised fame and fortune, these girls were instead funnelled into a web of coercion and abuse, often under the guise of “modelling contracts.” Scouts, exploiting the region’s post-war economic instability, preyed on families desperate for a way out of poverty, offering vague deals that led to trafficking networks rather than catwalks.

A notable scandal from this period tied the Balkans to broader exploitation rings, with some girls trafficked abroad—to Western Europe or beyond—for sexual exploitation or forced labour, all under the pretext of fashion gigs. Investigations revealed how organized crime groups capitalized on lax oversight and the allure of glamour, ensnaring girls with fake agencies and doctored portfolios. Activists like Mara Radovanovic, who ran a women’s shelter in Bosnia, highlighted cases where local girls were groomed with drugs or threats, their dreams weaponized against them. By 2007, awareness was growing, but the response was sluggish—border guards and police were only beginning to crack down, and many victims slipped through the cracks.

“People are blinded by the glamour of the industry. People are not aware of the age of some of the people. Some of them are very young, working without chaperones, and sometimes working for free.”

- Sara Ziff, founder of Model Alliance.

The Balkan modelling scandal of that era laid bare a grim truth: the industry’s hunger for fresh faces often fed on the powerless, turning aspiration into a trap. It was a stark reminder that behind the gloss, exploitation thrived where desperation met opportunity.

To contrast this, we have seen a sharp and continuing rise in what we now identify as the ‘Nepo Baby’ in the modelling world. This identity stamp transcends modelling and is applicable to the children of any successful career man or woman following in their parent’s footsteps. These kids have a carved out section of their chosen industry reserved just for them, etched out by their famous and already well-established parents, who have often been models themselves, or at the very least revered for their beauty on Hollywood big screens. Whether it be the son of a banker stepping foot into a company partner position at the dawn of adulthood, a young starlet starring front-and-centre of a big Hollywood film as their breakout role - whatever Brooklyn Beckham does - or Sunday Urban, landing the show opener role at Miu Miu’s Spring/Summer 2024 show in Paris; these doors had always been held open for them, sans much input or work experience.

The ‘model’ daughter of Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban sparked controversy last year at Paris Fashion Week; why on earth is a 16 year old, who had never done any professional modelling and was clearly there due to her nominative pre-disposition, taking the most prestigious role of the show (or any role in the show) from a career hungry, literally starving for work model? A rather poignant and valid question to ask, to be honest. Luckily for Sunday, most of the criticism was in fact directed at Miu Miu themselves, alongside her parents and casting directors, rather than her. Rightfully so. Her mother, 90s/00s dream girl Nicole Kidman was particularly criticised, for landing her daughter in a position that was subject to such harsh discourse. A position that her daughter, through no fault of the girls own, was totally undeserving of by any industry standard. Her walk was ridiculed - she walked like a 16 year old who had never modelled on a catwalk, let alone opened a major Fashion Week show… because that’s exactly who she was on that stage. A young girl who probably idolises the long-legged beauties trailing down the walkway in exquisite and exciting garments, who dreams of one day becoming them. She should never have been put in a position that would’ve been unattainable to any girl remotely similar to her, albeit lacking the Kidman/Urban name; a position that left her open to such cruel jokes and comments. We’ve all been 16 once. It’s harsh and cruel in school alone, in your own minefield of insecurity mentally, let alone on the world stage of one of the biggest events in fashion.

Other than stating the obvious pro of being a nepo baby (landing such high-class jobs in the first place), they also harbour a not-so-secret weapon, the insider know-how: how to pose, network, or dodge pitfalls. Brands love them too; a familiar lineage sells nostalgia and trust, blending legacy with fresh appeal for the consumers. For some, it’s a fast track to proving real talent, not just a free ride. Kaia Gerber, for example, was never subject to the harsh critique Sunday has experienced. Her debut catwalk was at Calvin Klein’s Spring/Summer 2018 show held in New York. It was met with a surprising lot of positive noise online, as the fresh new girl had clearly been trained and taking notes from her iconic mother, Cindy Crawford. There wasn’t much to criticise. The 6ft tall towering 16 year old, with her waifish frame and cheek bones that could cut glass, set perfectly on her youthful baby face, was the epitome of what a stereotypical runway model had always been. She looked as if she had been born for the job - she would have easily been scouted for the role of supermodel regardless of her mother’s establishment as a fashion icon. She fit the bill. A variation of the ‘fresh, new and striking’ beauty that Vogue, designers and directors adore. Her walk was that of a show-pony, strutting down the catwalk like she had 20 years of experience behind her. She neither opened nor closed the show - taking her already privileged place in the cast and blending in as best she could with the other girls. An acquiesce to the inevitable cruel press that would come with being the centre stage of a show on her first go at one.

The bad side of being a Nepo Baby in the industry… is there one? I believe so - media is harsh to everybody, but we can imagine that the needlessly bitchy nature of the dressing rooms backstage almost definitely rattle with whispers in all languages when a brand new Nepo girl is fast-forwarded past them to receive the best chair, the best hair and makeup and a front facing place in the lineup. Resentment festers. Hardworking outsiders—especially those clawing up from nothing—see it as unfair, and honestly, they’re not wrong. Nepotism models can snag spots over equally (or more) deserving talents who lack the Rolodex. Critics argue it stifles diversity, keeping the industry a cozy club of connected elites. And according to some Nepo’s themselves, the pressure is brutal—every move is judged as “handed to them,” so they’ve got to hustle twice as hard to shake the silver-spoon stigma. When they flop, the fall’s public and merciless.

“I consider myself one of the luckiest people on the planet to be able to live the life that I live. But I do think that it’s challenging for me a lot more than it’s not.”

- Kendall Jenner

It’s a double-edged sword: nepotism offers a golden ticket, but the spotlight burns hotter, and the crowd’s quick to boo.

The people who have the most close relationships and appreciation for the models are the designers themselves, often times almost ‘adopting’ the young girls. The relationship between models and designers is akin to a creative symbiosis, often teetering between professional and personal. Designers rely on models as living canvases, as bodies that bring their visions to life. Girls and women whose musing enables them to make or break a look or collection, watching how their creations move on the human body - their human clothes hangers. Take Naomi Campbell and her ‘Papa’ Azzedine Alaia; her strut and frame elevated his designs into iconic runway shows and collections that are still re-watched and re-worn nearly three decades later. It’s collaborative: designers sketch the art, but models animate it, adding attitude or emotion that fabric and images alone can’t convey.

Some bonds turn familial— like Naomi’s with Alaia, or Kate Moss to Alexander McQueen, where trust and loyalty blur into friendship. Kate and Lee McQueen had the mutual understandings of what it was like to be an ordinary Croydon native, thrust into the spotlight and into iconography on the big stage. From nobody’s to household names within a short few years.

“Papa was a genius, a master of his craft, but more than that, he was my family. He gave me confidence to be myself, to stand tall, and to never compromise on who I am.”

- Naomi Campbell on Azzedine Alaia

Not every model will have such experiences. In fact, most models during important slots of the fashion calendar are treated less than desirably by their employers. On runways, more often that not, shoes are too small, too big, too high, causing untold physical damage. Clothes are only at sample sizes - so either make yourself fit, or get out. Just like the clothes hangers the emulate, they can be swapped out when trends shift. Tensions flare too; a designer’s perfectionism might clash with a model’s exhaustion or ego, especially under runway crunch time. Power dynamics shape it. Designers hold the creative reins, but a supermodel’s star power can flip the script, demanding input or special treatment. For th3e girls that don’t hold the ‘super’ status, drugs and alcohol are often their only friends during these times. Chain smoking may seem Vogue and standard for the quintessential French chic of Paris Fashion Week, but really it is for appetite suppressant purposes. A bunch of often strung-out girls on their 30th show of the season makes for such stunning runway. Ironic isn’t it, that the girls most likely feeling their worst, are rewarded for looking their best.

The modelling industry is a tightrope—glamorous yet unforgiving, where one misstep can end a career. A viral slip—like Naomi Campbell’s infamous 1993 Vivienne Westwood fall—can be a quirky footnote for a legend, but for a newbie, it’s often a death knell. Designers and agencies don’t always forgive; a single flop can brand someone “unreliable,” and the phone stops ringing. It’s not just about the fall—it’s the unspoken rule: perfection or bust.

Exclusion runs deeper than the oceans in this industry. The industry’s obsessed with an elusive “look”—tall, thin, young, and often a narrow slice of beauty. Stray outside that box, and you’re side-lined, no matter your talent. Even insiders get burned; models who age out, gain a pound, or defy a trend can find themselves blacklisted overnight. It’s fickle—yesterday’s It Girl is today’s has-been if a designer’s whim or a casting director’s mood shifts. Stories abound of hopefuls axed for a scuff on the runway or a heel that didn’t click right, left to watch peers soar while they’re erased. It’s a world of whimsy and gatekeeping—where brilliance can lose to a bad fit, and second chances are rarer than a sample size that actually fits. For today’s world that screams for diversity and inclusion, the fashion industry has been put in an interesting position.

One of the arguably most successful businesses in the world is Victorias Secret. Their fashion show displaying lingerie and the famous ‘Angels’ used to bring in millions of viewers per year. Then something changed in the culture. A perpetual outrage at the lack of body diversity in their shows. In response - the show stopped running! Shut down for a few years and almost forgotten, apart from model enthusiasts re-blogging and reposting the iconic images and videos from the shows on their social media feeds. Let’s skip a couple of years. Society has dived head-first into the outrage culture, the ‘cancel’ culture, and the perhaps well-meaning effort to include a wider range of ‘looks’ and sizes. Yet, in the midst of all this, when Victoria’s Secret came out with a re-brand of its famous catwalk show, true to the times with its diverse models (fat, thin, black, white, disabled, abled)… and it was absolutely hated. Hated! ‘Bring back the angels’, people said! ‘The old show was so much better’; ‘What is Victoria’s Secret without models of unattainable beauty!’

You really couldn’t make it up. I was fascinated at the time. This massive crack in the soft shell of diversity that had began to form around the modelling world was glaringly obvious. People were more outraged by the perceived virtue signalling of inclusivity than they had been about the lack of inclusivity they raged about four years earlier.

Fickle, fickle world.

And so, back to regular scheduled programming. The angels became ‘hot’ again, Ozempic was on the horizon and Charli XCX’s Brat cocaine party was only a few years out. Equilibrium. Whilst the bulk now this story is about how ‘diversity’ in modelling is a very loose description of how people actually want the models to look, on the big stage and screen, the real talking point here is that the industry and the culture it provides to is so unbelievably indecisive and outrageous, that even being a ‘diverse’ labelled model would only have the shortest time in the limelight, at a time where society had been so demanding of them. So no matter what kind of model, what they look like or who they represent, the time frame of success remains extremely thin, just like the girls who always remained front and centre of the fashion weeks. How do you turn such fleeting success into financial stability?

Cindy Crawford took the most professional and practical approach to modelling, and was revered for having great business sense in such a lucrative career;

‘Models are like baseball players. We make a lot of money quickly, but all of a sudden we’re 30 years old, we don’t have a college education, we’re qualified for nothing, and we’re used to a very nice lifestyle. You have to be smart about setting yourself up for the future.”

- From ‘The Super Models’ 2023

Cindy was savvy from day one, seemingly having received great guidance alongside her natural intelligence and innovative nature, self-aware that the reverence for her beauty was on a time limit - she would one day no longer be ‘new’ and ‘fresh’. It is apparent in her NewGen model daughter’s work that Cindy has passed this knowledge onto Kaia. The 23 year old has a large following on her social media, and has turned her self-proclaimed ‘book worm’ personality into a full time side hustle. Her book club is in addition to her editorial work, which lasts substantially longer than runway. She has cut deals with some of the biggest names in the beauty business - the face Marc Jacob’s popular perfume ‘Daisy’ and its extensions; the face of YSL beauty since 2019 alongside other top models in the game; a footwear collection with Jimmy Choo; an Omega watches ambassador… the list continues. She is constantly staying up to date with what is relevant now.

In the modern age of fashion, post 2015 and the rise of Instagram and TikTok, models fortunately have other avenues of money-making, long past their expiry on the runway, which typically, is around 25. Business savvy, beautiful young women, they do seem to have more of a grip of control of their careers post-model frenzy. Most will start up aesthetically pleasing Instagram accounts, post cute, fun and relatable TikTok’s (how curated and ‘relatable’ to their real lives, we’re not sure) and often will venture into other online business, even if somewhat questionable. But what happens next, in the years coming with the development of AI and furthering technology?

Well, ladies and gentleman, that is next month’s talking piece.

See you there!