NOTE: This article mentions sensitive topics that readers may find upsetting.
The ethereal Jasmine Tookes gracefully opened this year’s Victoria’s Secret fashion show, embellished in teardrop gems and cradling her nine-month baby bump. Her stunning silhouette, a clamshell nestling a pearl, represents a new age of Victoria’s Secret – the birth of a supposedly reimagined event. Following a six-year hiatus due to growing criticism and declining public intrigue, the legendary runway show returned to viewers in 2024. However, the 2024 edition of the VS fashion show faced brutal backlash and scrutiny from the media, as people exclaimed their exhaustion at witnessing the same ‘unrealistic’ and ‘stereotypical’ displays of beauty. This year, similar conversations have resumed.
In an evolving fashion culture, increasingly more representative of and inclusive of diverse body types, why has Victoria’s Secret taken so long to reimagine its brand? Can the unrealistic standards presented by VS in the early 2000s be reversed, or is it engraved in pop culture forever? Does the VS ‘Angel’ represent a toxicity which we are trying to grow past – an often unattainable physique for young women to pine over – or is it simply an iconic element of runway history, one that should be preserved?
1977 marked the beginning of Victoria’s Secret: a lingerie brand that would aim to empower the female body and sensuality. However, as the fashion world evolved, it became apparent that models, including VS Angels, were being used as vessels to promote toxic ‘trends’ in women’s bodies. We have witnessed women’s figures being awed at, then cast aside, when the shape of their hips or breasts no longer fit the idealised image of beauty, boosted by media outlets and fashion companies.
The term “heroin chic” became too well known in the early 2000s, promoting unhealthy eating and drug habits among young women, desperate to fit an image being shoved at them, whilst reading magazines at hair salons or relaxing to watch television. Women were told to be smaller, slighter, thinner. Until they weren’t. The commencement of the 2010s saw a major shift in the public perception of ‘pretty’.
The beauty standard rapidly shifted to becoming ‘bigger’, but ‘in all the right places’. BBLs, breast implants, lip fillers, cheek fillers, and Botox – cosmetic treatments praised by celebrities and reality television. Women were left in a beauty purgatory, unable to escape sneering comments, no matter what way they looked. When did the female identity become a project for people to customise as they wish? Who is promoting these fantastical standards for women to yearn over?
Big corporations are not, by any means, innocent. The female body has become a money-making machine, a capitalistic venture for esteemed fashion magazines like Vogue and Elle, as well as large fashion companies, including Victoria’s Secret. Despite their efforts today, we cannot deny that VS and likened companies have notoriously capitalised on the “tall, skinny, white” female body since the dawn of their establishment.
Founded by Roy Raymond and run for almost four decades by Les Wexner, Victoria’s Secret has always been a brand influenced by the male ideals of female beauty. Young and beautiful models were being relentlessly moulded into this ‘perfect’ female physique, which they harmed themselves to attain. A former VS Angel, Erin Heatherton, left modelling in 2013 after being repeatedly told to ‘lose weight’ by her superiors. The extreme requirements to be a ‘supermodel’ during the prime years of Victoria’s Secret often seem otherworldly to people today, as we witness drastic changes in the acceptance of normal, diverse bodies – but isn’t it naive to say that ‘skinniness’ is no longer being capitalised?
We’ve all heard of it: Ozempic. The mysterious drug whose name has buried itself into every realm of the internet. Originally designed as a medical aid for type 2 diabetes, Ozempic has somehow become the new “hot” drug, pushed into social media advertisements to influence women into medically morphing themselves into the so-called ‘perfect’ body. Candice Huffine, a plus-sized Victoria’s Secret model, spoke out in 2024 about receiving unsolicited recommendations of Ozempic by her doctor, showing how the drug is beginning to nestle its way into the modelling industry of the US.
It is strange how in over one-fifth of the states of America, access to female bodily autonomy is forbidden, despite the consequent negligence of health concerns, yet in the same nation, the misuse of weight loss medication is being promoted as a way to ‘get summer ready’, despite harmful physical and psychological effects. I believe it is being preached that women can only have control over their bodies if it will make them more appealing to the showrunners of the world. Although society has seen progress in body inclusivity, it is disheartening to witness women’s bodies being controlled by male-centered ideals of beauty, pushed by organisations that are meant to care for women. How do we disconnect from this misogynistic propaganda?
Social media is the most effective way of communicating with our generation – the individuals who may redefine the way in which society perceives women’s bodies. Social media can act as a method of spreading body positivity, a way to debunk myths regarding drugs like Ozempic and other GLP-1s, as well as harmful methods of weight loss. We have the power to transform the likes of Instagram and TikTok into safe spaces, as opposed to havens for bullies to spread hateful rhetoric.
In the past, Instagram and Facebook have regrettably encouraged young, impressionable people down dark paths regarding body image, especially at times following the annual VS fashion show. In 2019, a pro-anorexia Facebook group released a post claiming that Barbara Palvin, a new VS Angel at the time, was their first plus-sized model, despite her slim physique. This post gained an immense amount of popularity, for its clear judgment of the idea of a plus-sized model, but also for promoting body dysmorphia. Rumours sparked soon after, saying that the brand Victoria’s Secret itself categorised Palvin this way. Although this was proven false, many people today still classify the brand VS to be a promoter of body shaming. But the question is — is it the fashion show itself that induces body negativity, or is it the media’s response?
Following the 2025 runway this October 15th, multiple social media outlets, most notably TikTok, have been overwhelmed by reactions to supermodels like Bella Hadid. Posts like “I’m not eating for two weeks” and “I’m never skipping Pilates again” have been totally inescapable, despite people’s efforts to engage with the positive content surrounding the show. Comments like these perpetuate hateful messages that we, as the new generation, are so desperately trying to leave in the past.
The attention has been drawn away by the media, from the amazing inclusion of plus-sized models, models of colour, and transgender models, and back to the same ‘pro-skinny’ propaganda. Although many people, including myself, would consider Victoria’s Secret’s current approach to inclusivity and diversity surface-level and performative, deflecting from its long history of exclusion, it is still important to acknowledge the positive aspects of the ‘new VS era’. For example, the inclusion of female athletes on the runway, like Angel Reese, who were given the opportunity to feel sexy and confident in a world where they are masculinised by the media.
There are internal changes to be made in order to achieve full diversity within the company, but as viewers, we must simultaneously comment on the restrictive history of runway, whilst also celebrating the steps being taken to redefine the legacy of Victoria’s Secret and the way the world views modelling. We must begin to recognise that all women can be Angels.
