The fashion industry’s innate fickleness knows no bounds, choosing which body shapes, facial features, ethnicities, gender identities, and tokenised disabilities will be trending on a whim, season after season. Ageing, meanwhile, has remained decidedly out of style.
Despite appearances, the industry’s long-standing obsession with youth is not designed to target teenagers. Rather, it’s about appealing to the aspirations of wealthy, middle-aged customers, tapping into the longstanding marketing deception that to look good, you must look young.
Fashion, like all art forms, reflects society. Ageism remains extremely prevalent in the UK – in fact, the Centre for Ageing Better reports a higher proportion of British adults have experienced prejudice based on their age (26%) than on any other characteristic.
And while the antiquated defence that societal ageism is due to our fear of death might just pass as unsavoury when discussing an 80-something-year-old fronting a new campaign (something the fashion industry has no problem with, actually), it becomes significantly more dangerous when used to disregard the serious lack of opportunities available for creatives to pursue fulfilling careers.
Behind the scenes, the fashion industry looks increasingly unlike the vision of diversity and authenticity we see represented in the media.
In a seemingly positive shift, access to entry-level creative roles has been dramatically democratised in recent years, driving the median age of those working in industry down to its youngest in over a decade. With more routes and resources for aspiring artisans to get into fashion than ever before, the industry appears to have rejected its traditional markers of talent.
Like any other fast fashion trend, this ‘change’ reeks of style over substance. Behind the scenes, the fashion industry looks increasingly unlike the vision of diversity and authenticity we see represented in the media. Plagued by nepotism, inflated egos and insincerity, a recent survey by Vogue Business of over 600 industry members revealed fashion’s workforce continues to face unrelenting hours, intense pressure and toxic working environments steeped in competitive jealousy and thinly-veiled systemic discrimination.
Interested to understand how creatives can persist in an industry obsessed with youth, I spoke to industry members of all ages and across sectors about their visions for the future of fashion and their place within it.
Kathryn Hewitson launched her made-to-order label Pristine in 2019, having previously worked as Head of Design & Development at Rokit Originals. Utilising premium, ethically sourced materials, and drawing inspiration from the iconography of femininity spanning from delicate girliness to Hollywood glamour – Pristine is a brand that knows how to design for young people today. Unsurprisingly, its instantly-recognisable “sustainable smut” aesthetic has found an army of fans in Gen Z audiences on TikTok that have propelled the one-woman business to the For You pages of millions of prospective customers.
“Everything I’ve done so far has been very instinctive,” she explains. “For my first collection, I thought about designing all of these great basics, and doing it made-to-order so [customers] can buy it in whatever size and colour they want. It’ll be this really customisable, commercial thing,” she says. “Then I launched, and I was surprised that the pieces that sold by far the best were the ‘weirder ones’, the pieces I made because I love them and wanted to wear them personally. It was quite an empowering experience and a lesson to trust my instincts.”
Unfortunately for Hewitson, online virality hasn’t turned into long-term business stability, and she is quick to point out the financial difficulties faced by first-time brand owners. “I can’t afford for this to be like an expensive hobby, I just can’t,” she asserts. “I like to think [customers] can tell the brands that feel genuine versus the brands that are just leaning into a fleeting trend or moment. I hope that people can see how genuine what I’m doing is and can relate to that.”
The reality for incoming designers is often a lot of hype, and not a lot of orders or practical support with the essential skills that keep a brand in business. In many cases, they’ll debut to industry approval and Instagram acclaim alike, only to collapse under financial pressures and disappear entirely after only a few short seasons. Then, they’re blamed for being naive.
Aside from the graduate scene, there are several talent incubator programs and new-business bursaries available, yet these have age-related limitations. Perhaps the most prestigious, the international LVMH Prize awards its winner with a €400,000 grant and a tailored mentorship, but is open to designers aged 18 to 40 who have created at least two collections, while the British Fashion Council’s NEWGEN scheme, which recently received £2 million in funding from the UK Government, is only available to brands that have been actively trading for less than 3 years.
While new age-inclusive campaigns continue to drop, rumours swirl around London that major youth culture publications are bumping off their editors once they turn 30. With increasingly limited opportunities to access resources for late business bloomers, it begs the question: should only young people be purveyors of youth culture? And if the answer is yes, what does this mean for everyone else?
“It’s not just about young people, I find old people just as fascinating,” says Orsola De Castro, co-founder of Fashion Revolution. “I don’t think change necessarily comes from young people, but the older people should be working for and with the younger people.”
De Castro’s career trajectory is far from typical of those entering the industry today – she chose to have her first child at 18, feeling more comfortable in the world of her chosen motherhood than that of work, and fostered her creativity during this time as an act of self-care. “I fell in love with small things that nobody wanted and used them to make or transform my clothes. For me, mending and repairing my clothes was the first step towards mending and repairing the planet and reparations towards its people, so it was a philosophy of life,” she explains.
She doesn’t feel her age has played a factor in her work and credits her enduring presence at the forefront of the sustainability movement down to her patience. “I think vision is nothing else but thinking of something original or different and having the patience to wait until it happens,” she muses.
Of course, I am always concerned about career longevity because I work in fashion – this is an industry that eats you up and spits you out.
Orsola De Castro
This has not prevented De Castro from considering where her place in this industry’s future lies. “Of course, I am always concerned about career longevity because I work in fashion – this is an industry that eats you up and spits you out,” she says. “I don’t think people read me very well in this industry – I’ve always been kind in an industry that is unkind, I’ve been patient in an industry that is impatient, and so in a way, I’m less concerned about longevity in my career. I’m worried about the longevity of my thoughts and the principles that I and several other activists have been trying to push. That’s what needs to have longevity, not my career.”
Despite her expert insight, Orsola reveals that she’s still asked to work for free, even by organisations and brands with ample budgets – “Fashion doesn’t like to pay its practitioners and it’s something that everyone in fashion knows, so it’s not been an easy career and I have felt many times that it wouldn’t last long,” – and admits that she is currently in one of these periods. “I’m rethinking the entirety of my career and to be honest with you, because of all I’ve said and done antagonising mainstream fashion, I’m hardly in demand for my consultancy,” she laughs.
Her resilience shines through her responses, and although she’s quick to affirm that she’s lucky to have savings and a husband to support her, she knows the same cannot be said for most industry incomers. “I worry very much for younger generations taking steps in this industry because it doesn’t pay and it’s our fault. All we breed are designers, all we worship are designers and we’ve made no provisions of glamour or love for technicians. I want to see seamstress superstars, and for the paradigm to change in terms of who our heroes are and who ought to be worshipped,” she says.
It became clear to De Castro that if she didn’t look to the future, she’d get lost in the past. Since leaving the day-to-day runnings of Fashion Revolution last year, she has shifted her focus to nurture the existing landscape for emerging artisans. “I feel like I can provide so much support to young designers and I’m perhaps more successful, capable and excited looking at the dawn of something new rather than the sunset of something old,” she explains. “It is exciting when you see you’re touching younger generations because you know that you’re planting a seed. However, that seed can be planted anywhere – it’s not about youth.”
“This industry is obsessed with new faces, who’s debuting, what’s new and fresh. It does take a level of skill, and probably a level of luck too, to remain consistent within an industry that’s obsessed with newness,” says Georgia Moot, a model, writer, podcast host and presenter.
Moot grew up in a “political household” where conversations around diversity and marginalised identities were not only common, but encouraged. She was initially scouted in Topshop on Oxford Street at the age of 15, but held off until she was 19 and studying Media and Sociology at university. In her final year, she wrote her dissertation on diversity in the fashion industry after facing repeat experiences on-set with stylists who didn’t know how to work with her hair. “It made me feel like a burden and like I was being difficult,” she explains. “I knew I wasn’t being treated the same as other people with straight hair, and that was backed up by the other women of colour around me in the industry.”
“The more that I spoke to people in fashion, and the more I became a part of the community, made friends and worked with people, the more I realised that everyone with [a marginalised identity] has faced discrimination to some degree,” says Moot. “I thought it made sense to continue this discussion in whatever public forums I do, whether that’s writing, podcasting, or just chatting shit on the internet… it made a lot of sense to me.”
All we breed are designers, all we worship are designers and we’ve made no provisions of glamour or love for technicians. I want to see seamstress superstars, and for the paradigm to change in terms of who our heroes are and who ought to be worshipped,
Orsola De Castro
Hewitson, meanwhile, couldn’t connect with her studies. “I did well at high school because I was quite academic, but I always also hated being told what to do and I knew that in the real world, none of it was relevant,” she explains. “I think it came from a place of actually just like really caring about what I was doing.”
Instead, Hewitson attributes her greatest learning experiences to an internship she undertook in 2011 at Roksanda, and later during roles at Sibling and Ashley Williams. While internships remain controversial in the industry for their exploitation of the unpaid labour of predominantly young people, it’s clear that for Kathryn, this experience was essential. “At Roksanda, I was definitely the youngest person in the room,” she says. “I got on with her well which was a big confidence boost. Maybe she took a particular fondness for me because I was so young, but she took me under her wing and let me work on special projects.”
“If I could give it a massive compliment, I think community, guidance and advice are the backbone of the fashion industry,” Moot adds. “I’ve been so lucky to have so many experiences, across all areas of my work, where people have been willing to lend a hand and lend advice.”
However, Hewitson says not all teams are built equally, and with new appointments of 20-something-year-old creative directors – a routine move by CEOs hoping to inject a ‘fresh perspective’ into the next unassuming heritage house – management skills have been severely disregarded. “I think there’s something to be said about people being very young and get thrust into running a brand and don’t have enough life experience or enough of a perspective on anything other than themselves to be a good employer,” she says. “I know it’s hard, but you need a certain level of maturity to realise that the world doesn’t just revolve around you. If you’re going to employ someone, there’s a responsibility there for you to make sure that you’re being respectful to your team.”
For those who don’t benefit from existing industry connections, getting in early is the next best thing. Edward Enninful famously got his foot in the door modelling for i-D before becoming the magazine’s youngest-ever fashion director at the age of just 18, and later appointed the first Black, first male and first disabled Editor-in-Chief of British Vogue. While Enninful’s career is undoubtedly inspirational to a number of communities, it also serves as an example of the fashion industry at its best – making space for exceptional talent regardless of identity, education or previous experience. Enninful’s impact, meanwhile, was the product of his identity and how he could reflect this in his work.
“I’ve brought a lot of myself to my work, but I wish I’d done more sooner,” says GQ Contributing Editor and author Jack Guinness. Unlike most models, Guinness was scouted in his 20s after training as an actor. “I feel like it was great that I started a little bit later because I had my head screwed on,” he explains. “Instead of just going with the flow, I was very ambitious. I wanted to get immediately off New Faces onto the Mainboard, and then on to the Talent board. I think the mistake a lot of [male models] make is they start making quite good money early on and they think that’s going to last, they don’t have an exit strategy.”
“Multi-hyphenate” – a term referring to double-barrelled job titles – is painfully overused in creative sectors, but it’s become increasingly necessary for many working in the fashion industry to develop skills across multiple disciplines, particularly for freelancers. Guinness says the most successful models were ones who made friends with fashion buyers before starting their own brands, or became photographers and creative directors through their on-set experience: “You just have to have an eye on the ball – yes, this could be a long career, but do you necessarily want it to be? What other things can you pivot off into using the contacts you’ve made?”
He explains that through the connections he nurtured and thanks to the introduction of branded social media, he was commissioned to make a series of travel guides for GQ and started writing a column for Tatler. “I was looking for meaning in my career,” he says. “My whole career had been about selling things or selling myself, and my soul was burnt out. I realised I wanted to do something that didn’t centre myself. I also realised I had a lot of amazing contacts in the publishing industry and in the arts. I used the contacts I built up while I was being a selfish model and used those to actually create something with more meaning, something bigger than me.”
My whole career had been about selling things or selling myself, and my soul was burnt out. I realised I wanted to do something that didn’t centre myself.
Jack Guinness
In 2021, Guinness published The Queer Bible, a collection of essays on queer trailblazers through history penned by contemporary LGBTQ+ figures including Elton John, Munroe Bergdorf and Mae Martin. He was inspired to diversify the offerings of queer publishing – which had previously been oriented towards white, cisgender gay men –, recognising many of the communities he partied with in London’s queer nightlife scene weren’t represented in history.
“I started The Queer Bible because I didn’t know my own queer history. I grew up under Section 28, which was a Conservative policy that meant you couldn’t ‘promote’ homosexuality in schools – whatever that means – so I was completely cut off from my history. The most deliberately damaging thing straight white society can do to any marginalised community is to cut them off from their history,” he explains.
His continued advocacy work for queer communities led to his selection as one of fourteen members of the Mayor of London’s Diversity in the Public Realm Commission, a cohort working to improve diversity in the capital including statues, street names, memorials and building names.
“As a lifelong Londoner, working for the London Mayor has been one of the proudest experiences in my life,” he shares. “The project and Sadik Khan’s commitment is to make sure Londoners are accurately reflected in our landscape, in our public spaces, in our art, in our street names. For young people to see themselves reflected is such an empowering correction of the admission that we’ve seen in our spaces. One of the projects that I’m most proud of is the rainbow plaques that we’ve commissioned which mark spaces and places of historical importance to the queer community. I think back to little Jack walking along these streets and how he would have felt if he’d seen his community’s stories embedded in the framework of this city.”
Guinness’ career illustrates that cumulative knowledge gained from working in the fashion industry can have greater applications to influence positive social change. It also speaks to the need for a community-driven ethos while working in fashion long-term, and is an example of what success can look like when ego and personal aspirations aren’t the driving force.
De Castro, however, warns of the dangers posed if your career aspirations are too closely tied to purpose-driven systemic change. “After however many years believing that the sustainable movement was going to influence the mainstream, I think unfortunately the opposite has happened. We have been influenced by the mainstream, we are duplicating their models and somehow have absorbed their attitudes,” she explains. “I’d hoped that we would be influential to the present system and have a stab at changing it but it hasn’t happened so right now, I would say that mainstream fashion is killing activism and therefore it’s a very difficult time not to be swept away or even worse, be used as a vehicle for greenwashing.”
I don’t like to say I have trust in future generations, I prefer to say I work for future generations so that they can find it easier than we have to make the changes that are necessary.
Orsola De Castro
While she certainly isn’t denouncing her activism, De Castro is suggesting that if you’re mission-oriented in your work, don’t allow progress – or a lack of it – dictate your definition of success. Advocacy should not be at the expense of your well-being long term, and in an industry so relentlessly unchanging, committing yourself to smaller, more achievable acts of change and community service can offer a more fulfilling outcome.
She explains, “For me, removing myself from that trauma is going back to what happens inside my mind, the small solutions that I can do every day rather than being swept in a sea of inaccuracies and words used as weapons of mass information, which seems to be the overall message when you look online.”
“Activism is being seriously threatened and maimed by mainstream fashion and its reluctance to change. It’s like pulling teeth in the industry – it doesn’t want to change, and it’s too complicated for governments to change, yet there is a real sense that not enough is happening and not quickly enough,” De Castro declares. “Where do we see change? We see it in students, and people working for bigger companies in less influential roles, so it’s the lower end of the age and experience spectrums that are really pushing for it.”
She continues, “Unfortunately, we don’t have much time, but I am infinitely patient because the people I talked to about these topics 20 years ago are now higher up and have better opportunities to make those changes. I don’t like to say I have trust in future generations, I prefer to say I work for future generations so that they can find it easier than we have to make the changes that are necessary.”
Moot is equally wary of the supposed progress in the diversity sector that’s been quickly hailed as a success. “The industry has definitely diversified, which means there’s more opportunities, but the authenticity of this change is something that I question,” she says. “Sometimes people are given these opportunities and then they are discarded. Fashion has given itself a big pat on the back for being more diverse, but it’s not implementing this diversity on multiple levels of the industry to make sure it’s not just public-facing. Right now, it feels like virtue signalling.”
Fashion has given itself a big pat on the back for being more diverse, but it’s not implementing this diversity on multiple levels of the industry to make sure it’s not just public-facing.
Georgia Moot
Regaining control of her narrative in fashion media has become Moot’s goal. “So much of fashion, especially modelling, is not within your control and you don’t get creative input or direction. In the future, I’d love to do my own thing that will allow me to discuss diversity, mental health and intersectional feminism,” she says.
Ultimately, we can only hope that fashion’s youth obsession will become old-fashioned. Until then, the message is clear – to stay in fashion long-term you need to diversify your skillset, keep your ego in check, be unshakeably passionate yet patient, and serve your community, but not to your own detriment.
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