Model mania: glp-1s fuel a return to runway skinny, triggering industry anxiety
The whispers started years ago, a furtive exchange of secrets amongst aspiring models: Adderall, starvation, even the unsettling practice of parasite ingestion. Now, a new, far more accessible tool – GLP-1 medications – is reshaping the industry, pushing models, agents, and designers back towards an unnervingly homogenous ideal of thinness, and sparking a quiet crisis.
A dangerous shortcut: the rise of glp-1s
Samantha Benjamin, once a rising star in the fashion world, now a social media manager in Los Angeles, describes the shift bluntly: "Girls are getting called fat. Nobody is mincing words." The industry’s long-standing obsession with size zero is being fueled by these medications, offering a seemingly easy route to the desired silhouette. As Vogue Business data confirms, mid- and plus-size representation on runways has plummeted to historic lows.
The scale of the problem
One in eight Americans is now taking a GLP-1, thanks to the FDA approvals of Wegovy and Foundayo. The ease of administration, even through pills, is reducing a key barrier for models seeking to meet increasingly demanding standards. But the rapid adoption comes with a dark side: a worrying trend of abuse, with one major model agent characterizing the situation as "almost like the new-millennia cocaine."
Lost momentum: a cycle of instability
The modeling industry has a history of volatile body standards, marked by tragic consequences like the 2006 and 2007 deaths of models linked to starvation. Reforms like BMI requirements and the 2017 ‘model charter’ aimed to address these issues. Yet, the return of extreme thinness, driven by GLP-1s, feels like a betrayal of the progress made during the body-positivity movement – a moment when models like Ashley Graham and Paloma Elsesser championed size inclusivity. Now, a uniformity is creeping back in, described by some as a "Gattaca" of talent, devoid of individuality.
Voices from the front lines
"I started to confirm a lot more work when I lost weight," admits model Brooks Nader, who has openly discussed her use of GLP-1s. “It was like, okay, I guess [the industry] likes me thinner.” Lottie Moss, Kate Moss’s younger sister, recounts a frightening ER visit related to Ozempic abuse, highlighting the risks involved. “You’re thinking, if celebrities are using it, it must be safe,” she says, noting the prevalence of online purchases. Curve model Grace Breuning observes a decline in bookings for larger sizes, stating, “I feel too big for this industry sometimes.”
Beyond the runway: a systemic issue
The underlying problem, according to industry analysts like Mina White, is not simply a demand for thinner models. “It’s the designers, the agents, the casting directors, dictating what’s acceptable,” she argues. Ashley Mears, a sociologist studying the industry, points out the cyclical nature of blame, with everyone seemingly shifting responsibility. “Everybody’s saying the market gets what it wants, but they are the market.” James Scully, a former casting director, emphasizes that the trend isn't driven by consumer demand but by the choices of those in power. “It has nothing to do with what a customer wants,” he insists.
A dangerous trend
Even designers like Lottie Moss’s Eckhaus Latta co-designer, Latta, acknowledge the challenge. “I’m a fat person. And I’m proud of it. But expecting my brand to make plus-size clothes is preposterous.” The reality is that sustainable business models don’t currently support a significant expansion into larger sizes. Ultimately, the industry's obsession with a singular ideal—a dangerously thin one—is not just impacting individual models, it’s eroding the diverse voices and perspectives that once defined the fashion world. It’s a bleak return to a bygone era, and a clear sign that the pursuit of beauty is increasingly detached from a healthy, inclusive reality.