There wasn’t an ounce of fat in sight in the model lineup, and, immersed as I was in diet culture and the idea that thinness = everything, I felt increasingly worse about myself as I made the rounds, chatting to each model about their various and often extreme pre-show workout regime and restrictive eating plans. I spent the following week doing a juice ‘cleanse’ and pounding the treadmill whenever I got a spare minute.

Of course, Victoria’s Secret wasn’t responsible for my eating disorder – that was already well established by the time I even began watching the catwalks – nor is it solely responsible for the creation of a totally unachievable beauty standard. But for me, and for so many other women and impressionable young girls of my generation, it without doubt immensely fuelled the myth that to be attractive, desirable and even sexy, you needed to be thin.

Since its inception, the brand unapologetically leaned into their very narrow and impossibly flawless standard of beauty and made very few attempts to be inclusive – but against an increasingly diverse landscape (Savage x Fenty blew us away with their pioneering, incredibly inclusive catwalk show in 2018) there was a growing sense of discontent gaining traction online. The nail in Victoria’s Secret’s coffin, however, came in late 2018 when former chief marketing officer Ed Razek told Vogue magazine that the brand had no interest in casting plus or transgender models in their fashion show. ‘Shouldn’t you have transsexuals in the show? No. No, I don’t think we should,’ he said, using an outdated term for transgender people. He cited the reason for the lack of plus-size models in the show coming being that the show was meant to be a ‘fantasy’.

The reaction to Razek’s problematic remarks was strong and widespread, and the brand scrambled to redeem their reputation. Razek apologised and just months later, Victoria’s Secret hired its first transgender model, Valentina Sampaio, and cast its first ever curve model, Ali Tate Cutler. Despite being a step forward for the brand, the moves felt performative and weren’t enough to undo the damage caused: the same year, Razek resigned following public pressure and the famous lingerie show was cancelled.

Personally, I saw this as a win for our collective body image, and I definitely haven’t missed the annual event. But my interest was piqued in May of this year when the brand announced the return of the show with promising words: ‘We’ve read the comments and heard you. The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show is BACK and will reflect who we are today, plus everything you know and love – the glamour, runway, wings, musical entertainment, and more!’

The company was saying all the right things – and I was cautiously optimistic that it was going to use this opportunity to lean fully into inclusivity, both in body and gender diversity. It would’ve been a huge win for women the world over: seeing a host of truly diverse models showcased at such a famous global event that had previously played a part in contributing to our poor body image and self-esteem would be such a healing moment.

Fast-forward to October 2024 and on Tuesday night, Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show officially returned after a six-year hiatus at its flagship store in New York. So – what was the verdict? Did the brand deliver on its promises?

I really wanted this to have a happy ending and I wanted to be able to confirm that yes, the show was indeed the therapeutic moment those of us who grew up in the 1990s and 00s needed. But alas, last night’s show revealed the brand’s pledges to be nothing but a lot of lip service – particularly when it comes to body diversity.

Yes, the show featured two trans models, Valentina Sampaio and Alex Consani, disproving Razek’s remarks that there isn’t a place for transgender models as a Victoria’s Secret angel. But as I watched thin model after thin model appear on the runway, I realised that not much else has changed: the brand don’t seem to actually care about inclusivity.

There was a token attempt at showcasing body diversity with the inclusion of Ashley Graham and Paloma Elsesser, but both models are a very palatable take on ‘plus size’: more mid-size than plus and with a more conventionally attractive hourglass shape. What’s more, both models felt more covered up than their thinner counterparts: Paloma wore a dress and Ashley wore a corset under a lacy robe. Their outfits seemed in contrast to the midriff-baring string two-pieces worn by the other, straight-size women.

Paloma and Ashley aside, we were treated to a display of women who embody the same, very narrow lens of beauty that was so damaging to our formative minds. Tall, tanned, extremely lean, abs and zero cellulite, topped with Hollywood blow dries: it felt just like the old days of Victoria’s Secret.

Am I being too critical? Potentially, but I don’t think so. The comeback was a missed opportunity for the brand to put a wide and varied range of beauty and body types on display and in turn make women across the world feel seen, celebrated and welcomed in a space from which they have always been excluded.

We’ve moved on from the golden days of Victoria’s Secret, where only one kind of beauty was shown and revered: we want a world that celebrates a far more accurate cross-section of society; a world rich with diversity that allows everyone to feel included. Does Victoria’s Secret have a place in this world anymore? I’m not so sure.

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