Curve ball: How the body positivity movement has changed what it means to be a model

Close your eyes for a moment, and picture a model. What did you see? Chances are you imagined a woman — just five per cent of models are men. Perhaps you visualised her strutting down a catwalk, or staring indifferently into a camera lens. Wherever she was, she probably had certain key features — like a slender, lithe, frame, impossibly long legs, and wrinkle-free skin. She’s imaginary, but she’s familiar, this svelte, perfect woman. Plastered across billboards, popping out from phone screens, adorning the covers of magazines, she is inescapable. But increasingly, she’s not alone. Instead, she is accompanied by other women — of all different shapes and sizes. Not everyone has embraced these models; some critics claim that they “glorify” unhealthy habits. But these naysayers misunderstand where the true health threat lies in the fashion industry — an industry that for years has idolised “slim” bodies above the mental health of its models and the consumers they inspire. Models with larger bodies aren’t new; throughout history, art and sculpture has featured voluptuous female figures. But in the 20th century, society’s obsession with ‘slimming’ pushed them to the margins: “Think thin!” became the mantra of generations of women. Yet today, some of fashion’s most famous models wear a size 20 or higher. In 2017, Ashley Graham became the first size 20 on the front cover of Vogue; in 2018, Tess Holiday became the first size 22 to feature as a Cosmopolitan cover girl. Such women are described as “curvy.” The term “plus-sized” is out of vogue — model Barbie Ferreira has slammed it for “othering” larger women in the profession. The catwalk trends have been replicated on the shelves: the last five years have seen multinational retailers like ASOS, Cotton On, Topshop, Next and Boohoo launch ranges for “curvier” or “fuller-figured” women. “It is important to have inclusive sizing and options available for all shapes,” a Cotton On spokesperson said of their new ‘Curve’ range. To model and inclusivity advocate Natalie Wakeling, mainstream embrace of larger women has been a long time coming. “Since I was a very young child, I never understood why sizing stopped at 12 or 14,” she said. “It would always be like, ‘sorry, that doesn’t go any larger.’ And then you’d be left wearing these clothes that were daggy, that were gross, that were terrible. “It was demeaning. Just because you were a bigger girl, the message was always, ‘We’re not even going to bother to design you something that fits’.” In 2000, Ms Wakeling made Australian modelling history when she graced the pages of Cosmopolitan Magazine in Australia’s first ever editorial shoot featuring a “Curvy” model. In 2006, she started her own clothes shop — Embody Women — dedicated to high quality inclusive fashion. “I think it’s so important for women to be able to see themselves up on the runway, and on the shelves,” she said. “I stock up to a size 26.” Not everyone welcomes larger-bodied models to the catwalk. In 2017, NSW President of the Australian Medical Association Brad Frankhum compared the use of larger-bodied models to letting a model walk down the runway smoking a cigarette. He warned of the "fine line" between confidence and the promotion of “unhealthy” habits. In the same year, Sydney’s Daily Telegraph columnist Soraiya Fuda argued that such models send a “dangerous” message. “Parading and glorifying size 20-somethings on any runway promotes an underlying and irresponsible message that doing nothing about your weight is OK,” she wrote, promising to be more “honest” with “fat” friends — for their “own good.” Big brands are not exempt from backlash. When Nike placed fuller-figured mannequins in its London store last year, UK columnist Tanya Gold described the mannequins as “heaving with fat”, writing: “She cannot run. She is, more likely, pre-diabetic and on her way to a hip replacement.” The comment sections of such columns are filled with far more colourful condemnations. These models are celebrated as body-positive role models, and criticised for normalising “irresponsible” health habits. Who is right? To justify their comments, critics of larger models cite health concerns. It is true that obesity does have associated health risks; it increases your risk of developing type two diabetes, high blood pressure, heart disease, strokes and certain types of cancer. But it is hard to argue that larger-bodied models are somehow dangerously encouraging ill-health. For a start, they make up a tiny minority of models worldwide. The average model is 171cm tall, and weighs 51kg — 10cm taller and 20kg lighter than the average Australian woman. A 2016 study of 3000 models revealed that 94 per cent were “underweight.” The researchers from beauty-industry group DreamModels warned that just 75 of the 3000 respondents had a “healthy” body mass index (BMI). According to Plus Model Magazine, the average fashion model weighed 8 per cent less than the average woman twenty years ago. Today, she weighs 23 per cent less. Despite the focus on curvy fashion models, most models are actually getting smaller. This is the real health concern. The modelling industry has no shortage of horror stories. Former models have spoken out about “starvation diets” and gruelling exercise regimens. In 2016, model Zuzanna Buchwald disclosed that her agents told her “to stop exercising and stop eating” to lose weight. In an emotional personal essay for the Daily Dot website, she warned that models were treated like “anonymous, interchangeable clothing hangers”. Her story is not unique. Though some models are naturally thin — Supermodel Giselle Bündchen said she found it “impossible” to put on weight in her teens — many more go to extreme lengths to prevent weight gain. In 2017, model Victoire Dauxerre revealed that she survived off three apples and a can of Pepsi Max a day. In 2018, Victoria’s Secret Angel Bridget Malcolm revealed how her experience with the brand contributed to debilitating body dysmorphia. The West Australian model wrote that she would “nearly be sick” with anxiety and worry if someone offered her “something unplanned” — like a piece of fruit — to eat. Other industry insiders have shared stories of 16-year-old girls eating cotton wool to stave off hunger, and abstain from water on the day of a show to prevent ‘bloating’. A 2017 study by Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health and North-eastern University revealed that 8 per cent of models turned to self-induced vomiting to prevent weight gain, while two per cent used IV drips in hospitals. Sixty two per cent of the models surveyed in this study reported having been asked to shed weight, while 54 per cent were told that they wouldn’t be able to get work unless they dropped some kilograms. And 21 per cent were told by their agency that they would be let go unless they lost weight. Despite a small number of bigger bodies on the runway, the fashion industry is still obsessed with thinness. It exports this obsession to consumers everywhere — with far-reaching consequences for mental health. “I think the sad reality is that more people probably have internalized weight stigma than not,” says Danni Rowlands, National Manager Prevention Services at Butterfly, an organisation providing support to those with eating disorders and body image issues. “And that comes from the society that we live in, a society that suggests that thin and muscular is the preferred and better body type. The further someone is from that (thin and muscular) shape or size, then the more dissatisfied they're likely to feel about their own body.” The statistics back this up — a shocking number of Australians are unhappy with how they look. According to Butterfly, body dissatisfaction is repeatedly ranked as one of the top issues for young Australians. Fifty per cent of pre-adolescent girls say that they dislike their appearance — with many beginning to diet before they turn nine. Around 15 per cent of Australian women will experience an eating disorder in their lifetime. Eating disorders are serious and complex mental illnesses, and there is no ‘straight line’ between any one cause and the scale of disordered eating. However, the fashion industry — along with many types of advertisement — contribute to negative body image by bombarding consumers with unrealistic images of so-called “perfect” bodies. “We now know unequivocally that the result of their (the fashion industry and advertisers) promotion of thin is having serious psychological and physical impacts on girls and women,” scholar Susie Orbach wrote in a 2004 journal article. Critics of larger models overstate the impact of plus-sized models in a world where thin is king. But they also fall victim to another myth — the idea that it’s impossible to be healthy at a bigger size. While being overweight does increase various health risks, critics are wrong to tar all larger-bodied individuals with the same brush. “There is this gross, gross misunderstanding that a person's health can be determined purely by their weight,” says Ms Rowlands. “We make these assumptions that just because somebody might be slim or muscular that they're really healthy, but ... who’s to say that somebody in a larger body isn’t actually engaging in healthy behaviours?” AMA WA president Dr Andrew Miller agrees that when it comes to health, a focus on physical appearance can be “reductive”. “If someone has a particularly high BMI, a GP might want to discuss with them,” he said. “But if you have a drug or alcohol dependency, or a mental health problem, or another issue, you would likely be in much more serious health strife than someone who has a higher BMI, but is otherwise doing well.” Everyone should strive for a healthier lifestyle. But the language of health should be treated with suspicion when it is used to police women’s bodies. Diet products have always promised consumers a “healthier” future. This is often at odds with the methods they suggest — like cutting out entire food groups, or eschewing solids. Preliminary research presented at the 2018 American Heart Association conference found that women who yo-yo diet are at higher risk of heart disease than women who don’t. So-called “miracle” diet pills like Merida, Ephedra and Aminorex have been pulled from the shelves for causing heart problems, strokes, and lung disorders. Diet products use the language of health, but sacrifice well-being at the altar of appearance. The same preoccupation with “beauty” — hidden in the language of “health” — is implicit in editorials criticising curvier models. Take, for example, the backlash to the Nike mannequins. When columnist Tanya Gold describes the mannequins as “gargantuan” and “heaving with fat,” her revulsion is evident. She claims to be motivated by a concern for health — but is she, really? Does she care about women of this size, or is she disgusted by them? Such self-righteousness is a common theme amongst critics of curvy models. A familiar idea recurs: people are ‘responsible’ for how they look. To be thin is to be self-disciplined, strong-willed, a ‘success’. To be ‘fat’ is to be weak-willed and lazy, a ‘failure’. But giving weight-loss a moral dimension is wrong — a person’s size is no indication of their character. It also ignores a physiological reality: body shape is often out of our control. Genetics play a huge role, as do biological factors like resting metabolic rate. Weight also has numerous socio-political dimensions. The ‘clean-eating’ and ‘wellness’ lifestyle doesn’t come cheap. As PhD candidate Annie Zimmerman wrote for the UK website Not Plant Based, “being healthy is a symbol of privilege; a thin, lycra-clad body holding a turmeric latte has become a uniform for the elite middle-class”. Clearly, size is complex. Curvy models ought to be celebrated — for defying the rigid parameters of what “beauty” should be. Criticisms of these models often seem like they are based in the aesthetic preference of the critic rather than any real health concern. The body positivity movement makes a seemingly moderate demand — that no one should be belittled on account of their size or shape. The furious reaction that curvy models often provoke reveals the dark heart of our conventional, beauty-obsessed culture, where such a demand is truly radical.

Curve ball: How the body positivity movement has changed what it means to be a model

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