The mannequins feature a mirrored surface on their heads, so viewers can quite literally see themselves in these body types. The exhibition seems deliberately representative of the truth of the human body, the art inspired by it, and the concept of art more broadly: There is not only one shape or look it takes, or must take. 

If the history of the red carpet or fashion runways is any indication, it’s unlikely that such a broad diversity of bodies will be visible at the gala. A recent Vogue Business Size Inclusivity Report showed a decline in plus sizes on the runways of Fashion Week presentations in four major cities, and only six per cent of models on the runway were Black in 2017, according to CUNY Academic Works. How fashion designers end up interpreting the theme should be examined afterwards with rigor. 

Designers will interpret the body as both architecture, sculpture, and anatomy. Strength will equate to form; silhouette will become volume; musculature and bones could become embellishments; the body will be a canvas upon which designers will paint their own interpretations of physique. Some will offer skin-tight, figure-hugging styles. Others are likely to enlarge the body’s proportions into an art form. I imagine that many of the looks will reflect what Vanessa Friedman wrote in The New York Times in January: “Fashion has begun exaggerating, or distorting, the female form like never before.” 

That’s not unusual in the history of art. Scholars believe that the Venus of Willendorf figurine, with its emphasized breasts and hips, relates to or represents a fertility deity. “Madonna with the Long Neck,” a painting by Parmigianino, gives the Virgin Mary an impossibly long neck and fingers, and a disproportionally large lower body, to suggest her otherworldliness. The painter Peter Paul Rubens depicted women who were extraordinarily voluptuous, curvaceous, and muscular—a fuller figure was a beauty standard of the era that suggested a woman’s wealth and health. Clothing such as corsets and hoop skirts once exaggerated women’s bodies, too.

In 2026, though, the tools to reconstruct and alter that canvas exist in a way they didn’t in the times of the Pre-Raphaelites or the Classical Greek sculptors. Think: Plastic surgery, other cosmetic procedures, weight-change medications, a laser-focused diet and exercise regimens. Some women have access to these things—not just clothing—that can also render the appearance of their body a little surreal. Custom gowns can create an illusion. If the canvas of the body has been surgically altered, shrunken, reshaped, rebuilt, restyled, and filtered, I have to wonder if this is an instance of putting a hat on a hat. 

It’s easy to forget that the gala is functionally about and for art, rather than a spectacle of wealth and celebrity imagecraft. Often, the red carpet spectacle tells a distinct story of the body: It is thin, white, wealthy, not aging, not disabled. I think the place where you’re more likely to see the true artistry and diversity of the human body will be on display within the exhibition inside the Costume Institute, where, on the mannequins inside, you can look at the reflection of yourself. 

If the Met’s theme teaches us anything, it’s that there is no one way for a body to show up in society and in culture today—just like no artwork or canvas is ever the same. People (especially women) can and should take it upon themselves to revel in their unique body types. I do this through strength training, which more women are doing than ever. So even if I don't see muscle-bound women on the red carpet, I have the ability to "shape my own canvas" how I like, and recognize the resultant sense of embodiment for myself.