Photoshoots > 2019 > Glamour Digital Cover – September 2019

Seynabou Cissé, Iskra Lawrence, Alessandra Garcia Lorido, Yvonne Simone, and Solange van Doornare powerful, ambitious, and of course, beautiful. But unlike the group that inspired the original supermodel phenomenon of the 1980s and 90s, the new crop are all a size 12 and above. They represent Senegal, England, and the Oneida Nation. They’re immigrants and mixed race. They’re accidental activists and eating-disorder-awareness advocates. They have professional backgrounds in tech and health sciences. Together they’re ascending not just as curve models, but as supermodels for a new age. The New Supers, if you will.

I met these women on a 100-degree day this July in New York City’s Chinatown, a bustling, historic neighborhood where—appropriately—old meets new. It was one of the hottest days of the summer, yet all five arrived energized and ready to work. Each had agreed to pose for Glamour’s September cover, the marquee piece of a larger package which explores what it’s like to be a plus-size woman during this particular cultural moment.

If you’re not already familiar with their names, you’ve likely seen their faces: Garcia Lorido has walked the runway for Dolce & Gabbana, appeared in a campaign for fellow model Emily Ratajkowski’s body-conscious essentials line Inamorata, and is featured front and center in Gap’s fall 2019 denim commercials. Cissé landed a Sephora campaignand a spot on Christian Siriano’s runway. Simone went from America’s Next Top Model to Chromat’s New York Fashion Week show. Van Doorn has modeled Rihanna’s lingerie line, Savage x Fenty, and appeared in a lookbook for designer Tanya Taylor. And Lawrence, having been featured in several inclusive campaigns—including a key spot as one of AerieREAL’s Role Models—has used her platform to advocate for awareness around diversity in fashion.

None of the five necessarily knew that curve modeling would become their lane, but it’s a space where each found a home, one where they’d not only be accepted but be celebrated, though it wasn’t always a smooth road. Lawrence, for example, tells me how, having made it to the finals of a local Faces to Watch competition at 14 years old, she felt ridiculed for not fitting into sample sizes. At a gig, she says, another model pulled her aside and told her, “Oh, you know there’s something called plus-size modeling?” Until then, she didn’t. Same for Cissé, who says “I remember typing out to my friend, ‘Oh, wow, modeling is seeming more realistic because I’m in New York and opportunities are here, but I just have to get to a size four and then I’ll think about it.’ I didn’t know that curve modeling was a thing.”

It’s not just a thing: it’s a key part of the plus-size retail industry, which is estimated to be worth $21 billion today and projected to hit more than $100 billion during the next few years due to latent demand.

How did we get here? During the last five years, the body-positivity movement found its footing, and conversations about it have been catapulted into mainstream media and retail. It’s a movement that owes thanks to Instagram style titans and moguls in the making like Gabi Fresh and Nadia Aboulhosn, and rising social media stars like size-24 La’Shaunae Steward. Thanks to greater visibility through mainstream campaigns from Target, Calvin Klein, and JC Penney. Thanks to Dietland and Shrill, two popular TV shows that featured visibly plus-size leading actresses bringing the fat experience described by authors Sarai Walker and Lindy West to life. To vocal activists sick and tired of the mockery around fat bodies. Thanks to pioneering women of color, like designer Monif C, stylist Susan Moses, and editor Madeline Figueroa Jones, who have worked in this space for decades laying the groundwork for a broader movement. And in a way thanks to that Meisel cover, because now we all know Ashley Graham’s name, we’ve seen Tess Holliday grab magazine covers, and we’ve watched Precious Lee dominate the runway.

But for all the headline-winning successes, the I’m No Angel campaigns, and the calls for increasing visibility, many women have felt, justifiably, that body positivity is exclusionary, that it exists for white women to feel OK about their average bodies, that it’s bullshit. Body positivity, at its core, isn’t just about making people feel good about themselves (though that’s a great side effect, and hopefully one that extends to all bodies). It’s also not just about fashion or justabout having a positive self-image. Body positivity is about smashing stereotypes, it’s about recognizing the innate privilege some bodies hold, and it’s about challenging long-held beliefs about what’s considered beautiful while promoting real diversity and inclusion.

In many ways, though, fashion’s slow but steady adoption of body positivity has validated the cynics: If the Meisel cover was one of the first times body positivity made its way into a high-fashion cover, one of its implied truths was that curvy was okay as long as it was a very specific type of curvy—hourglass, flat stomach, thin face, and above all, white. “White plus bodies are much more acceptable,” says Cissé. “It always kills me when I’m at a job and I’m painfully aware that I’m the token person [of color] in the room. That’s always hard.”

“I’m a size 12,” says Garcia Lorido. “I don’t represent girls that are size 22. I don’t know what that feels like, and I shouldn’t be speaking for them. I shouldn’t be representing them. I can represent myself; if they relate, if they are inspired by me, then great.”

The next logical question: Why don’t as many opportunities exist for women over a certain size? Lots of explanations have been thrown around. Some brands might not have the capital to produce samples in extended sizing, while for others there’s an insistence that “aspirational” (read “smaller”) models are what sells. Some agencies might say clients don’t book larger models so it doesn’t make sense to rep them. Casting directors could argue that agencies aren’t representing or training larger models to compete. Each could be partially responsible for how pervasive an issue this continues to be, and it echoes much of the cultural attitude toward larger bodies, both in and outside of fashion. Without a clear party to be held accountable or take the initiative to continue the evolution of inclusivity, it’s challenging to enforce change.

Lawrence understands this well and thinks her light skin, blue eyes, and acceptable curves may have given her access—“I understand that I’m not a marginalized body,” she says. “I am an accepted body type and shape and my skin color. And I hope that sometimes people will just use me as a test because they want to go further.” Now that she’s among the most sought-after—and debated—curve models, she has the leverage to ask clients to push their boundaries a little further too. “I’m trying to open the door and trying to change the system,” she says. Not just for clients she works with, but in potential future projects of her own.