From a young age, the media taught me being skinny and white was the key to success. Growing up as a black girl in a single-parent household in California in the aughts, I was surrounded by images of Lindsay Lohan, Lauren Conrad, and Paris Hilton, either shopping on Rodeo Drive or partying in tiny dresses in Los Angeles. Their shared physical attributes—blonde, white, and expensively lean—seemed to prove to girls my age that there was only one acceptable way to look.

As a fashion model, I am still seeing and experiencing elements of that narrative. There has been an erasure of “plus-size” models—an unforgiving term attributed to any model over a size US 4—on the runway. In 2025, the weight issues are louder than ever still. GLP-1 is becoming normalised in society at large, which has had the knock-on effect of squaring the fashion industry back towards skinny. Weight-loss drugs are unfortunately being used by some models who feel under pressure to stay small. I speak out gladly and honestly. My tall and skinny frame has opened many doors for me. It still does.

In popular culture today, the body conversation is complicated. We are in an era when Serena Williams is doing advertisements for GLP-1. But against the backdrop of Ozempic, the new-found enthusiasm for women’s sports is putting a focus on women’s physical power and athleticism. More women than ever are training to build muscle in the gym. Strength is unfortunately not something that the fashion industry values. I should know.

At 17 years old, I was on track to be an athlete. My dream was the Olympics. I was skilled in the high jump, which allowed me to pursue my higher education in Southern California. My college coach immediately wanted me to bulk up, especially in the legs and thighs areas. My quads, he said, were where all my power should come from during a jump. As a teenager, I felt that I wasn’t conventionally attractive; years of bullying meant I had focused on sports. When I was competing, it didn’t matter if I was dark skinned, or if I had a big forehead, or if my skin was breaking out, or if I had a Nigerian name. Sports liberated me. I learned my body was my vessel, and it was going to allow me opportunities.

The summer after my freshman year I got a DM on Instagram that completely changed my world. A modeling agency wanted to meet with me. My mom and I flew to Toronto for the meeting. Immediately, they told me my legs were too big. They “weren’t fashion,” they said. I had to choose between fashion and high jump. In modelling, and the wider entertainment industry, you’re either noticeably thin or noticeably not. My in-betweenness was simply not going to cut it. Not only that, they encouraged me to quit weights and strength training altogether, suggesting it was “not feminine.” They encouraged me to “lean out” by doing yoga, stretching, and pilates. Lean out is the polite industry code for ‘get skinny ASAP.’ 

This contrasts with the rising status of athleticism. Olympians are now being invited to runway shows; the New York Liberty mascot, Eleanor, sat front row at Off-White last week at New York Fashion Week. Team US gymnast Jordan Chiles walked on the runway at Kim Shui Spring/Summer 2024 last February. For professional models, having a muscular frame such as hers is out of the question. For a start, sample size simply wouldn’t fit. The model standard is waist 24” hips 35”—and anything outside of that is considered “out of shape.”

After a series of injuries, I unfortunately had to leave high jump behind. My experiences in the industry have been jarring. I was working during Milan Fashion Week while trying to process the grief of my sister’s death; there are times I have not abided by my model diet, only to be scolded by agents for no longer having a thigh gap. Every casting director has something to say about a model’s body. The fashion industry, especially modelling, is a women-dominated field, but the authority figures are white men. The male gaze reinforces that models are valued on their weight alone. Are we surprised that many models have a cigarette for dinner?

There was a time when the industry was more diverse. Paloma Elsesser and Precious Lee were dominating the runways; it felt like progress. The earliest references of the female body also gave glory to curvaceous silhouettes. Grecian marble sculptures and Renaissance artists considered their fuller framed subjects as goddesses. To be voluptuous was a symbol of utmost beauty—women’s bodies represented wealth, fertility, and health. Modern media is largely responsible for our current obsession. Women’s bodies should never be a trend.

I rebel in ways I can. I remember my body is a gift, so I eat to fuel it. Food is a huge part of culture, and I do not want to miss being a whole person because of this career. If I want a dessert I have it. When I am in France, I want bread and wine; when I am in Italy, I want pasta and pizza; when I am at home, I love to make soul food or Nigerian food from my childhood. If I am bloated, I say to myself, “I am a human.” When I need a reminder that my body is beautiful, I look at models like Imaan Hammam and Anok Yai. They are both healthy and gorgeous.

My body is different now than what it would have been if I had been able to pursue high jump as a career, but I still try to nourish it; to honor it in the ways that it deserves. Strength is a mindset, as well as a body type. I struggle with being a working cog in the wheel, but awareness is power.

I reconnected with my true rebellious spirit after deciding, at whim, to cut all my hair off. It was a reaction to the pressure I was under from my then-agency and clients—the type of thing people do after a relationship break-up—but for a model, an unsanctioned haircut could be career-ending. I looked in the mirror at my newly shorn locks, and decided then and there that I would stop abandoning myself. I moved back to California to salvage my mental health. I was dropped by my former agency for relocating, but oddly, facing the reality of the industry’s disposability didn’t knock my confidence. It had the reverse effect of strengthening me. I found my own freedom.

In California, I realized I was growing as a person at pace, like my hair. I had been operating from a place of insecurity, but my new hair made me remember who I was. I am quirky. I am a firm believer now that we shouldn’t have to abandon ourselves; we don’t need to do that for the things in life that are truly for us. It’s a compass check that I find helpful. Ironically, I have found more opportunities in work, and my career feels more aligned. I have slower moments, sure, but I spend time reflecting. I see life as a mirror. I am okay with failing; I am okay with rejection. I am no longer in a rush. I am finding joy in the journey.

I realized that I was not alone in my experience after reading books authored by Cameron Russell and Emily Ratajkowski. Both speak about the effects of the fashion industry and the media. I have since taken fashion off its pedestal, and accepted the reality of what it is. I lost a lot of respect for it, but I am not mourning. Through this industry, I have met passionate, powerful, and creative women who come from every corner of the world—they have left their homes to follow their dreams, build a future, and fight for their birthright of abundance. I have made priceless friendships and seen parts of the world I can only dream of.

I have become the person I was always supposed to be. I feel motivated and strong. I do not want to sell people a fantasy. I am not a perfect person; I am a real person. If that means calling out an industry that I remain a part of, and holding myself accountable by sharing intimate details of how I lost myself, and then found myself, along the way—so be it. It’s an act of resistance. It’s my version of strength.

My message to women is this: Always keep a part of yourself for yourself. Never give a person, a place, or a career your everything. I am still learning the art of self-preservation, but with it, women can conquer the world.