some thoughts on the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show
time is a flat stomach
ICYMI: Nearly five years after it was unceremoniously canceled, the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show made a (questionably) triumphant return last night.
You may have seen the coverage online. Or, like me and other New Yorkers, you might have figured it out after googling something along the lines of:
“why-am-i-hearing-fireworks-in-brooklyn-october-15?”
Of course, Victoria’s worst-kept secret, over the years, was its penchant for glorifying thinness and its refusal to expand sizes. During my time as a fashion editor, I reported on the burgeoning “body positive” movement and profiled models like Ashley Graham who back in 2016 (the same year she nabbed her historic Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover) shared her dream of becoming a VS Angel on Instagram:
Still, the brand did not budge.
This attitude grew increasingly stale against the backdrop of what, at the time, felt like a palpable shift in the fashion industry. I was thrilled to see brands such as Rihanna’s Savage x Fenty emerge as fantastical (and hot!) antidotes to Victoria’s Secret, complete with inspiring runways that reflected its actually size-inclusive offerings.
The next few years saw dwindling sales for VS and a now infamous Vogue interview with then-CMO Ed Razek, where he scoffed at the idea of including transgender or plus-size women in the show. (He apologized and retired amid questions about then-CEO Les Wexner’s relationship to Jeffrey Epstein - yikes!) It was around this time, in 2018, that I declared:
I felt that whatever attempt VS might make to backpedal its increasingly unpopular (at the time) and outdated point of view about fashion and bodies was nothing more than lip service.
And it seemed that a lot of people felt the same way. This once iconic, scantily-clad spectacle vanished into THIN air for several years, while Savage x Fenty, alongside other more size-inclusive lingerie brands such as Thirdlove and Knix took its place in the limelight.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the state of fashion back then when, slowly but surely, designers started sprinkling in more diversity on their runways, and how, for a moment, it all felt so hopeful. I so badly wanted to believe that these small steps were having a lasting effect on both society, but perhaps more specifically on my own body image.
I'm nearly 36-years-old, and it's been ages since I first reported on the body positive movement. But I still fall prey to the insidious messages of thinness in our culture. Just this week, I felt the need to publicly declare to my friends and my TikTok followers that I have decided, once again, to try to like myself unconditionally.
Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
Big Groundhog Day energy, right?
Which all leads to the sad truth that I couldn't fully admit to myself during those years: the body positivity movement was a trend retailers clung to in an effort to drive sales.
And the booming explosions outside my window last night were a fitting sound effect to usher in that realization.
The excitement I once felt for the future of fashion now feels like little more than a distant memory, thanks to a few things that have happened in recent years.
They range in offensiveness, from the re-emerging popularity of low-rise jeans (blasphemy) to the onslaught of vlogging (TikToker Liv Schmidt, for example, became famous for her “what-I-eat-in-a-day- to-stay-skinny” videos).
Then, of course, there’s… the big O.
Not orgasm, and also not Oprah, though, actually, Oprah-adjacent – Ozempic.
Seemingly overnight, celebrities and influencers alike suddenly started slim down - waaaaay down. Some (including Ms. O herself) were open and honest about how, after years of struggling with weight, these drugs felt like a miracle. Others were – and are – more cagey and defensive.
And despite the logistical and moral issues surrounding semaglutides (it’s harder than ever for people who suffer from diabetes to get their hands on the meds, for example), the bottom line is that the messaging in media has rapidly reverted from "love the skin you’re in," to "love the skin you’re in, as long as its thin."
This year's Victoria's Secret show has admittedly evolved, at least somewhat. Graham made her long-awaited dream debut on the VS runway, alongside fashion week darling Paloma Elsesser (who made headlines in 2022 when she appeared on the cover of i-D magazine wearing a Miu Miu miniskirt in a size the brand doesn’t even carry).
Tyra Banks closed the show with her glorious curves on display (albeit decidedly more covered up than, say, the Hadid sisters) and sporting a massive afro.
It’s been a few years since I was steeped in the fashion industry’s successes and failures to meaningfully shift toward inclusivity, and the farther I get from it, the more I question what any of this is really for. Is it all for the sake of empowerment, or the sake of sales?
Sadly, I think we all know that the answer is NO (VICTORIA’S) SECRET – inclusivity only matters to brands when they can sell it. And once again, I’m not buying.