Once, says 80s model Eva, it was a poor girl’s path to stardom. Now a posh takeover has led to ... CAT WALK CLASS WAR!
CALL me a hopeless romantic but I love Cinderella. The tale of an impoverished, hardworking young girl plucked from obscurity for her charm and beauty tugs at my heartstrings.
It may be a fairy story, but I suspect it resonates so strongly because I saw it happen so often in my working life.
Time and again, beautiful young women from the humblest beginnings have been catapulted into a life beyond their wildest dreams. And they don’t owe their transformation to a boring Prince Charming: they owe it to their careers. Yes, I’m talking about modelling. A world where women as diverse as Twiggy and Kate Moss, Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell have been propelled to fame and riches. Not one of them was born with a single material advantage. All that marked them out was their beauty and drive. And that’s why it seems a pity that the fashion pages are suddenly filled with uppercrust models born into huge privilege.
Model Eva Herzigova said something similar earlier this month. And she should know. Eva, 45, was born in the Eastern Bloc to a secretary and an electrician. ‘In my time, models came from nowhere, when those Cinderella stories still happened,’ she said. ‘These very famous models have often grown up as little princesses, and they simply take advantage of the opportunities and benefits that open up to them.’
I suspect much of the blame lies with social media. Instead of scouring the High Street, scouts scroll through Instagram. If Mummy
and Daddy are already famous, a good-looking girl is more likely to get noticed. Her legions of well-connected followers will fuel publicity, making her easier to promote.
No wonder brands think they’re onto a winner with models such as Lady Amelia Windsor, Lady Mary Charteris and Lady Kitty Spencer.
I have nothing against these young women. But I worry their success comes at a cost for other girls and the industry.
When I started modelling in 1958, the glass ceiling was beginning to crack. Society models such as Fiona Campbell-Walker were giving way to solidly middle-class girls like me. My father was a doctor and I entered modelling by attending a course at the Lucie Clayton Charm Academy. I was then lucky enough to be spotted by celebrated photographer Norman Parkinson, after I was sent on a job as a stand-in.
I was a bag of nerves. But Norman took a shine to me because he noticed the stammer I was trying to hide. The photographs ended up in Vogue and my career took off. It was around this time that Twiggy exploded onto the scene.
She wasn’t just a quirky beauty. She had an exceptional drive and work ethic — inherited, I suspect, from her humble background. Born Lesley Hornby in Neasden, she was the daughter of a factory worker and a carpenter and was discovered when a fashion journalist spotted some photos of her in a hair salon.
Twiggy opened the floodgates. But sadly, I fear it’s no longer a level playing field.
Once every model agency was looking for the next Kate Moss. Now they are looking for the next Lady So-and-so. Of course, I don’t want these beautiful society women to be excluded. But I think it would be very sad if there’s no longer the same wonderful diversity.