The fashion industry is starving again. German Vogue editor Alexandra Bondi de Antoni (who has long suffered from an eating disorder) reflects on the return of extreme thinness in fashion, which no longer inspires comparisons but anger. This is her personal essay on body image, self-acceptance, and the fashion industry.
The teenage ideal of thinness: how a dangerous norm is formed
Long, lean limbs, well-defined collarbones and shoulder bones, sharp jaw lines, hips that don't touch. It's 2006. The star of the moment is the extremely slim model Agnes Deyn with a platinum pixie. The first season of Germany's Next Top Model is on the air. I'm 16 years old.
Advertising.
View this post on Instagram
I would eagerly flip through the fashion magazines my friend's mom gave me, looking at models, stars, and people from the fashion industry. I don't remember exactly when I stopped eating normally. But my daily diet quickly narrowed to a banana and a granola bar. Then another behavior began to develop – I would make myself vomit and refuse any attempts by my parents to treat my eating disorder. Being thin meant being “chic.” And that's exactly what I wanted to be.
View this post on Instagram
2018: Fashion, Success, and Old Injuries That Won't Go Away
Twelve years and two inpatient courses of therapy later, I find myself where I dreamed of being in my youth. I work in a senior position at VOGUE, attend fashion weeks and international fashion events. Although the period of conscious fasting and induced vomiting is behind me, I still often forget to eat. I proudly tell anyone who will listen that “I no longer have a body problem,” and it's a well-disguised self-deception that fits perfectly into a time when the fashion industry briefly became interested in body diversity.
But old beliefs are returning. My body is thin, but still “too much.” I feel ashamed when I see photos where my stomach doesn't look perfect. At shows, I automatically compare myself to the models on the catwalk. And when big luxury brands send me things for events, I don't fit into the tiny samples from the catwalk – and that brings back self-doubt.
View this post on Instagram
Awareness after thirty: how attitudes towards the body change
“Only now, in my forties, do I truly understand how disturbed my attitude towards food was,” says the author. It was a long and difficult process – learning to perceive my body as an instrument that carries me through life and allows me to feel joy, pain and pleasure. Today, looking at myself naked in the mirror, I see not only “flaws”: uneven skin, wrinkles, sagging. My body reflects the experiences I have had – pregnancy, chronic illnesses, life in general. I do not consider it beautiful or ugly. I am not without negative thoughts, but now I know how to stop them so that they do not fill my entire life, as before. I also understand: my value is not determined by weight.
The illusion of body diversity in the fashion industry
Even though the brief period of inclusivity in fashion, as highlighted by the VOGUE Business Size Inclusivity Report, seems to be over, I no longer feel the urge to “shrink myself” like I used to. But the reality remains stark: Of the 7,817 looks on 182 Fall/Winter 2026 runways, nearly 98% of the models were US sizes 0–4 (roughly European sizes 30–36). Less than 1% were categorized as plus-size (44+).
View this post on Instagram
Before, such numbers subconsciously forced me to exercise more or limit my food intake. Today, instead of shame, where it once was, anger and deep, heavy sadness appear. I look at models on the catwalks, stars on the red carpets, and bloggers in social media feeds – and I no longer feel any desire for it. I see women who are forced to function in a system that works against them.
Why fashion is afraid of the female body again
The renaissance of the cult of thinness is not just a fashion trend. It is a symptom of a system that fears the physical presence of women. In an increasingly conservative society, the greatest “luxury” for women is still simply to occupy space. A woman who occupies space is a woman who is out of control. And a woman who spends all her energy on counting calories and self-improvement has no resources to fight for her place, unite or protest. Women who starve themselves are women who are easy to control. And without this control mechanism, the patriarchal system will not survive.
View this post on Instagram
When health care turns into control
There is also a bitter irony in this topic: criticism of excessive thinness also often turns into an assessment of women's bodies. Even when it is presented as “health care”, the old system is at work here: the body becomes common property that can be evaluated and measured. This is called “concern trolling” – when instead of condemnation, feigned concern appears. But the essence remains the same: other people's bodies once again become objects of observation and control.
View this post on Instagram
Refusal of evaluation as a form of resistance
And the truth is that judging others (“too thin” or “too fat”) is easier than admitting: society does not accept a woman who takes up space. Perhaps the most radical fashion shift after years of formal “diversity” is a complete rejection of judging the weight of others and a true acceptance of one's own body. In a world that allows women to be only as “small” as possible, this becomes an act of resistance. When we stop giving power to other people's opinions, we become uncontrollable. And we can finally understand: we are enough exactly as we are. Not “too small”. But, most importantly, never “too big”.
Based on material from: Vogue.de