from ben

Ben Barry
National Post
Saturday, March 17, 2007

On this final day of L'Oreal Fashion Week, Canada's top models are strutting their stuff in Toronto. For some, this will have been their first chance to walk the runway. Others will be veterans of the global catwalk circuit. But they will all have one thing in common: Extreme, some would say freakish, thinness.

Models are the stars of every fashion week. Sure, designers create the outfits but the models bring those clothes to life. Their faces and bodies saturate our televisions, newspapers and computer screens. Models are the ones with glamour on tap, the kind of glamour we all supposedly want to taste.

For the past nine years -- since I was 15 years old -- I have attended countless fashion shows. I was initially an up-and-coming modeling agent sneaking into the shows through back doors. I eventually became established, and I was officially invited to sit among the fashion elite.

"Ben, you're so lucky," my friends bemoan. "Going to fashion shows, and meeting the models. It must all be so glamorous." They plead to be invited. Just to one show. Just to meet one model. Just to be glamorous, too.

That sad truth is that I have always found fashion modeling to be a tragic and demeaning experience.

In the days before a fashion week begins, models rush to meet with designers for castings. The designers flip through models' portfolio; ask them to walk the length of the room; have them try on articles of clothing; and of course, take their pictures. The models are in and out without saying anything more than "yes" and "thank you." When asked what these designers remember about the models, they respond, "her size." Physical attributes constitute the only job requirement.

Things start going wrong for many models right away. At one casting, "Ashley," 19 years old, size zero, 5'10", is asked to try on a pair of trousers. After a couple of minutes of struggling to close the top button, the designer marches over. "Your hips are too big, you need to make them smaller," he says in front of all the other models before shooing her out the door. Ashley leaves, humiliated and confused, wondering how she was supposed to alter the size of her hips.

The girls who do get booked for shows aren't allowed to leave their body stress behind them. Backstage is where things get really frightening.

At London Fashion Week 2007, I took it all in. One model, "Jennifer," was trying to close a zipper on her designer jacket. The designer stood before her, shaking his head. "You've gotten fat," he said to the 18 year old, size zero model. "I'll need to let this jacket out. It will ruin the cut. They're not made for big girls like you."

Jennifer turned red. She managed to hold back her tears as the designer made his adjustments, and everyone stopped to gawk.

On another occasion, I witnessed an equally thin model get even worse treatment when she couldn't fit into her size zero dress. The designer pointed to another model and proclaimed, "She'll wear the dress instead. Your stomach has gotten too big. Dismissed!" The girl tried to hide between the racks of clothing while she peeled off the tiny dress. She was later escorted out as once again everyone stared.

The situation is worse for mature models; we are talking anyone older than 20. Most begin their careers at a time when their body shape is still pre-pubescent. They get older, they develop curves and bye-bye sample sizes.

I met Rena, 22 years old, size two, backstage at London Fashion Week. She told me that this had to be her last season. "I can't handle it any more. Every time I do a show now, I get so anxious. There are so many teenage girls. I'm on Slim-Fast, but there's no way I can compete any longer." I offered her an apple. "No, thanks," she replied. "My agent said fruit causes bloating." I assured her that there is no fat in fruit but she didn't care.

Megan, 16 years old, put it this way: "No matter how skinny you are, you always think you can be skinner, and there are other girls that are going to be skinner than you." If the very women representing the beauty ideal feel excluded from it, how can anyone feel included?

Agents are always there to make sure a model's weight remains first and foremost in her mind. Rebecca, 18 years old, dropped by her agency before a casting to surprise her hard-working booker with a latte. Her kindness was repaid by her being unexpectedly weighed and measured in front of everyone who happened to be there.

Constant public humiliation -- whether at the casting, the fashion show or the agency -- is the norm in the so-called glamorous life of a model. Everyone in the fashion world, from the agents to the designers to the make-up artists, feels that they have a God-given right to comment on a model's appearance. And everyone is prepared to tell painfully thin models that they need to be thinner. Comments like these would amount to harassment in any other profession.

It is no wonder that many models develop eating disorders. No one values their thoughts, personalities or feelings. Everyone values them for their bodies alone. In time, models internalize the dangerous idea that they are worth what they look like.

I have met many models who had a passion for politics, or writing or basketball when they first started. Two or three years later, any other interests are squelched to make way for a deep and abiding obsession with weight and appearance. The sad irony is the qualities that make supermodels -- the ones who rise to the very top of the industry, exude energy, attitude and character with every strut and pose -- are progressively stripped away by the casting process when it comes to most girls.

The fashion industry claims that they are not to blame for any deaths by malnutrition. These are isolated incidents, they say. The ways models are treated and valued supposedly has nothing to do with these tragedies. I beg to differ. Just You Tube any episode of Top Model (either the Canadian or American version) and watch how girls are transformed in front of your eyes from multi-faceted, confident young women to weight-obsessed, insecure wrecks. The heartrending incidents are the result of working within an industry that objectifies women, which in turn teaches them to objectify themselves.

This must sound very hypocritical coming from a modeling agent. But I do things differently. My models span all ages, sizes, colours and abilities. They are accepted, promoted and hired based on their natural physical attributes. I don't represent any models full-time. They go to school, work as doctors and sales clerks, and run their own businesses. Modeling is something they do on the side for a few days every month -- a performance to which they bring their varied experiences to bear.

I don't expect our entire "glamorous" modeling industry to follow my example overnight. What can we do to protect the wellbeing of our Canadian models in the short term? L'Oreal Fashion Week needs to follow the lead of event organizers in Madrid and Milan by mandating medical tests for each model to ensure they are of healthy weight. Let them feel like they can get away with eating an apple now and then.

In the long run, we should go all the way and make true body diversity the fashion in Canada: models of all ages, sizes, colours and abilities. Body diversity on the catwalks might be more attainable than you think. The March, 2007, issue of Vogue, arguably the most powerful fashion player in the world, features size 12/14 Jennifer Hudson on its cover. If Vogue can do it, L'Oreal Fashion Week can give it a shot.

Such a strategy would draw international media attention to Toronto's catwalks, something missing from the Canadian shows right now. And for those worried about the bottom line, diversity would allow consumers to relate to the models, relate to the brand, and demonstrate that positive relationship through spending power. Most significantly, women reading magazines and watching fashion television who say, "I could never look like that," will be free to rediscover themselves.

Then, and only then, will modeling truly be a glamorous life.