‘She was sitting at the kitchen table, eating raw cauliflower. For dinner.” It’s September 2024 in London and my friend is reflecting on her time sharing an apartment with fellow models in Paris the previous year. I am grimly amused, but unsurprised. This is the type of story models are always telling.

I would know, because I became a model at 21 – quite late, by industry standards – and have walked in several London shows, as well as fittings, showrooms, campaigns, editorials, lookbooks and e-commerce for brands such as Moncler, Lacoste and Toni & Guy. Since I started, I have tried to build a thick skin to protect myself against rejections from castings and call-backs, as well as the ubiquitous skinny body standard. But when I get selected for a show, there is always the underlying fear that perhaps I took it too far – that I lost too much weight again. Because an overwhelming proportion of models are, as they have always been, very thin.

I was scouted on a walk through Covent Garden in 2021, just after I had graduated from the University of Warwick. I made my debut at the subsequent London fashion week, at the Victoria Beckham show.

The expression “baptism of fire” doesn’t begin to cover it. I had done only a quick walking practice at my agency beforehand, not expecting anything to come from my first casting. Within a couple of hours, I was booked on the spot for three days of fittings in a room packed with stylists, creative directors, sewers and photographers, all running on the frenetic energy of fashion week. In the run-up to the show, I was working 13-hour days.

My agency steered me towards a high-fashion market, so I moved to Milan for a month, and then back to my home town of Paris, to pursue my career more seriously.

Over the past couple of years in the fashion industry, my weight has fluctuated a lot, but I have always remained, by non-fashion standards, slim. Even at my biggest, I was smaller than a UK size 8. High fashion loved me the most at my skinniest, when I was visibly very bony (it was obvious that I had a problematic BMI). During my debut season, I overheard a famous stylist talking about me (it is normal to be spoken about while you are in the room). “She’s too skinny to be used in the show, but she’s perfect for the fittings,” she said, voicing what I came to understand was the underlying mantra of the industry: the extremely skinny look is still valued – you just can’t make it obvious.

When I reached what was deemed a healthy size, it was my hips that became my achilles heel – and I am far from curvy. During a couture week fitting, I wasn’t able to fit the wedding gown – the prestigious highlight of the collection – over my hips. The gown was quickly taken away and handed to a 17-year-old model, whose narrow build didn’t fight the fabric. The irony? Couture is designed – and destined – for women with very big bank balances, not girls.

For models, conversation about weight and dieting is common. It’s a nonchalant, casual, day-to-day topic that comes up as easily as the weather. It’s not about sharing dieting tips, but rather anecdotes about a nasty casting, or a comment about skipping dessert because fashion week is not far off. One model recounted that she had cut out all sugar, carbs and junk food and had been intensively exercising for three months leading up to the shows. Other models asked me what my measurements were, followed by an encouraging: “That should be fine, don’t worry.” When I started modelling, I was struck by the candour of it, the shared reality of living with the pressure to be a certain size. I knew I had shared the same thoughts and concerns – and hadn’t missed a day at the gym all week.

I think it’s fair to say that models don’t intentionally promote or perpetuate the desire for a certain physique; instead, they comply with the “industry standard”, knowing that it’s a component of success, or at least of securing work. That industry standard varies, but tends to be around 34-24-34in (bust-waist-hips), or equivalent to a dress size 6. The need to be a certain size to book jobs can tip models’ behaviour into the unhealthy.

In 2023, I was in Madrid working a job. After lunch – a 4pm matcha – a model friend said she was not hungry for dinner. In any other circumstances, her behaviour would have been cause for concern. But here, there was no sense that she might be judged for skipping a meal, certainly not by me – I too have a complicated relationship with food.

Measurements remain a very real component of fashion week; up-to-date bikini pictures are still required by potential clients. It does vary a little by location. London displays more of a variety of models in casting queues – from size 2 to size 18. But the same cannot be said of Paris, and even less so Milan, where I was measured every time I went to my agency. I have spent hours in queues made up exclusively of ultra-thin models, to be measured at the door and asked to put on an unforgiving skintight bodysuit to ensure that nothing is concealed behind fabric. Every curve and dip of your body is exposed for evaluation.

There is a new narrative, however, which has its roots in the late 2010s, when Ashley Graham was on the cover of Vogue and catwalks showcased plus-sized bodies for the first time. In 2023, Paloma Elsesser won model of the year, highlighting the apparent acceptance and rise of plus-size models. The new narrative told us that strict ultra-skinny measurements, negative body image discourse and a lack of inclusivity were no longer a problem in fashion. It sounds like progress, but it is simply not true. It says it all that Elsesser, who was the only curvier model in the lineup of nominees, faced an immediate backlash about her weight on social media.

From my experience, the public celebration of body inclusivity feels performative. No matter how many shows use plus-size models, or how often magazines use larger models, the skinny body ideal remains ever-present. The wording might be more delicate – it’s no longer about “size 0” – and a few token moments have made it seem like things are shifting, but the skinny orthodoxy is still dominant, perhaps increasingly so.

The fashion-industry media observed a tangible decrease in body diversity at recent shows. Vogue Business noted that plus-size representation made up just 0.3% of the looks in autumn/winter 2025 shows, with 97.7% of the models being “straight-size”, the industry term for the skinny norm – equivalent to a dress size 4 or XS in the UK. This matches what I observed in casting queues last season.

The shift towards smaller silhouettes extended beyond catwalk models to the front row, coinciding with the rise of weight-loss drugs and signalling a broader cultural shift to thinness.

Comment sections on TikTok videos now border on obsessive when it comes to celebrities’ weight loss; the Wicked press tour was overshadowed by remarks about the cast’s noticeably slim silhouettes. Such widespread outrage at what is clearly a deeply personal subject reveals the hypocrisy surrounding women’s bodies. Which women are required to embody “healthiness” and which are meant to have the high-fashion body that society glamorises? Both of the main stars of Wicked, Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo, look the same size as many models I have worked with. There is a high-fashion blind spot that allows extreme thinness to go unchallenged, while the rest of society – even within the confines of Hollywood – is held to different standards.

A scroll through TikTok reveals an array of negative experiences from models that do conform to this type, with Bentley Mescall, for example, exposing the landscape in New York. She posts screenshots of messages from her agent: “Bread has to go, rice has to go, pasta has to go – this has to be a choice that you make.” Her experience is not an exception. It’s still the deeply entrenched reality of the modelling world, whatever the so-called plus-size revolution has told us.

On a month-long working trip to Greece last summer, my flatmate and fellow model was told by our agent that she would get more bookings if she lost a couple of centimetres off her hips. In Milan last year, a friend was shamed in a room full of agents for having gained slightly in size over the summer holidays. Another was sent home after a visit to her Milan-based agency during which she had her belly grabbed and shaken. A similar experience occurred in Japan, where the model was booked a ticket home on the spot. Each incident happened within the last two years and, for what it’s worth, all of these women are around a size 6.

To reiterate, the problem lies with the industry, not the models. Most models are professional, kind and compassionate individuals. Most of us are naturally slim and don’t follow a raw cauliflower diet.

“Agencies have a duty of care,” says Tom Quinn, the director of external affairs at the eating disorder charity Beat, who urges them “to stop encouraging models to adopt harmful behaviours and pressuring them to fit a certain body ideal”. A person’s appearance should never be prioritised over their mental and physical wellbeing, he says.

Luckily for me, the London-based agency that I have been with since I started out has shown concern for my welfare, even encouraging me to gain weight when I was excessively thin. But they are in a tricky position: they have to ensure models’ health isn’t compromised, but they must also please clients and book their talent. The reality is that fashion brands, particularly high-fashion ones, demand this body type.

Somewhere, amid the extreme demands and performative inclinations of the industry, there may be a middle ground where agencies do not have to protect models from toxic requirements, or coerce them into complying. Some brands have shown a genuine desire to hire healthy-looking models. The Vogue Business report pointed to Ester Manas, Rick Owens, Sunnei, Boss and Bach Mai as some of the fashion houses promoting a more comprehensive lineup this past season.

I also remember how delighted the editor of a French magazine was when she saw me with a “fuller shape” (size 8) after I had worked with them previously. She told me that she didn’t like working with super-skinny models, that it didn’t feel right. You do meet people within the industry who empathise with the strict requirements we have to adhere to and perpetuate; it’s just a question of normalising this concern at a wider industry level.

I look back to the modelling era of the 1990s with envy. Growing up, I remember being captivated by Cindy Crawford, who has said size 10 was normal for models at the time. It would be noteworthy to find a single size 10 model in most casting queues in the past decade.

Despite all of this, I do and will continue to work in high fashion. The profession, despite its challenges, has offered me amazing experiences and friendships. My trajectory has fostered connections and cultivated resilience. But the industry has a long way to go. Adding a few curvy models to catwalks isn’t nearly enough. I long for a day when my hips, and those of many different-sized women, fit into couture dresses – for the sake of the models, but also young women everywhere.

In the UK, Beat can be contacted on 0808-801-0677. In the US, help is available at nationaleatingdisorders.org or by calling ANAD’s eating disorders hotline at 800-375-7767. In Australia, the Butterfly Foundation is at 1800 33 4673. Other international helplines can be found at Eating Disorder Hope

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