‘It Felt Disposable’: Models (Aged 27 and 62) Discuss Botox, Weight Loss, Creativity, and the Impact of AI

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When we imagine models, they often appear as glamorous individuals who command high fees for their work. However, New York’s Daniel Maleka, 27, and London’s Dee O, 62, reveal that the reality is often a challenging quest for visibility.

The fashion industry is also rapidly evolving. Since O began her modeling career in 1983, the internet and social media have dramatically altered its dynamics. Currently, she’s adapting to trends such as:
AI models appearing in “VOGUE” and
the effects of GLP-1 weight loss drugs.
O and Maleka recently convened to reflect on their careers across different eras.

What’s your story?
D-O: I grew up in Birmingham, from a working-class Irish immigrant family. My boyfriend entered me in the “Face of 1983” contest without telling me. I was about 17 or 18 then. Out of the blue, Look Now magazine called, inviting me as a finalist in Birmingham. Though I didn’t win, the agency still wanted me to represent them, leading me to travel frequently from Birmingham and catch a bus from Victoria at 2 AM after a less than appetizing sandwich.




Composition: Christian Sinibaldi, The Guardian

Daniel Maleka: I was raised in New York by Guyanese-American parents and was inspired to model by watching America’s Next Top Model. Though my family urged me to focus on university first, I explored modeling a little during my teenage years. While studying public health at New York University and running track, a teammate who loved photography helped me take my first photos. As fashion week approached, we reached out to casting directors and designers via Instagram. I eventually signed with WeSpeak, a boutique agency founded by models.

How has your career evolved since then?
D-O:
At 29, I decided to step away from modeling for a regular job. I pursued education, but my daughter, now 27, inspired me to return to modeling, something I initially disliked. Five years later, I found my passion again and signed with Gray Agency, which offers a diverse range of models and continuing opportunities without the stress I once felt.

DM: After five years at WeSpeak, I felt I hadn’t reached my full potential, so I tried a more traditional agency for a year and a half. We clashed often, eventually parting ways. I found my way back to WeSpeak while scouting for a UK agent during a London show with a New York client. Many agencies don’t provide feedback, often leaving me to feel undervalued.




Danielle is wearing Christopher John Rogers’ Pre-Fall 2023 collection. Photo: Cesar Buitrago

Do: The situation is always murky! It’s challenging to navigate since I desire clarity, yet often, with competition being high, I wonder if I’m overlooked because there are countless others who resemble me.

Dee, how has modeling transformed since your initial days?
Do:
Back then, conversation was minimal. The agent handled all communications, often taking 20% commission. Models just needed to show up with looks. While there’s a surge of writers and stylists in the industry now, not all models fit the same mold. Leveraging platforms like social media is essential for job hunting today.

DM: I’ve cultivated a solid social media presence and experienced waves of viral moments during COVID-19. Much of my career has revolved around online networking and connections.

Does modeling affect how you perceive yourself?
DM:
Some shoots led me to question if others appreciated my looks. For a while, I struggled with my sense of beauty, which is quite a burden.

Do: It’s subtle but impactful. Prioritizing others’ needs and identity over our own can affect mental health significantly over time. When I began in the early 1980s, there was an evident class structure, making me feel like an outsider. There’s also the personal challenge of comparing oneself to other women.




Composition: Christian Sinibaldi, The Guardian

I think models are often seen and not heard, but does this lead to exploitation?
Do:
We witnessed predatory behaviors pre-MeToo in the ’80s. I was fortunate to have a strong voice, which made others wary of me. Yet, I recognized that social invitations might have led to more work, highlighting a power dynamic dominated by men, which made me feel expendable.

DM: I’ve always been progressive. At NYU, I collaborated with organizations on family planning and women’s rights. However, in that previous corporate environment, I often held back my opinions out of fear of agency rejection. Now, I advocate with the
Model Alliance, which fights for model rights. The
Fashion Worker Law passed in New York last year, enhancing protections. Despite this, I still see models being asked to sign contracts that exceed legal requirements, suggesting some continue to exploit the inexperience of newcomers.

Do: Absolutely, naivety, aspirations, and disillusionment.

DM: Joining the Model Alliance Worker Council comes with a warning: your agency could terminate you for being part of it. I had no idea such implications existed.

The Fashion Workers Act: What an impressive step forward!
Is progress occurring elsewhere?
Do:
There’s still a dominance of typical models in runway shows, often standing at 6 feet tall and size 8 or 6. Occasionally, I do see designers like
Ashish Gupta intentionally showcasing diverse models. His recent London Fashion Week show incorporated a troupe of dancers, a creative idea that excites me. It’s also gratifying to see growing awareness about ethical sourcing and environmental concerns in fashion, with greater salary attention for workers. I’m passionate about fashion and proudly represent vintage clothing.




JD Williams Dee model. Photo: JD Williams

DM: 2020 truly felt like a turning point in Black representation within modeling. After the Black Lives Matter protests, my bookings surged, creating a narrative of inclusivity. Now, however, it appears the trend is regressing, with fewer Black models in the spotlight. Additionally, I often find that stylists aren’t equipped to handle black hair, leading to detrimental outcomes, such as heat damage I experienced.

I’ve heard that models face pressure to remain thin. Have you experienced that?
Do:
I once knew a roommate who was an unhealthy size 12 in the UK (8 in the US). She lived on apples, battled rotting teeth, and suffered from bulimia, all in pursuit of agency approval for the desired height and size. Ultimately, she became sick and had to return home, a memory I’ll never forget.

DM: This issue has long affected model standards, and while I maintain a fit physique, I’ve gradually come to realize the pressures of being thinner. Initially, I was more muscular due to my athletics, but feedback like, “You need to change your dimensions,” during meetings hit me hard emotionally.

Do: Such standards have a profound impact on your mental state. Yet, we’re witnessing an emergence of diverse body shapes and sizes. Although it appears better than before, curvy models still face stereotypes, often expected to have hourglass figures.

With innovations like Botox and weight loss medications, have you noticed changes in the industry?
DM:
My peers who model plus sizes have expressed that these developments affect their runway bookings.


Do: On one job, they even taped my face to alter my skin. If my face isn’t good enough, why book someone older? These thoughts persist. I find myself torn about it; I have never undergone Botox or surgery, yet contemplate it. Models of my age at that shoot often shared similar feelings, emphasizing the contradictions we navigate.

Are you concerned about your images being used for deepfakes or AI training?
DM:
The Model Alliance included a clause in their legislation requiring written consent from models for such uses. There’s apprehension about the risk of my image being misused, especially with the vulnerability posed by sharing on platforms like Instagram.

Would you recommend modeling as a career?
DM:
Yes, it offers fulfillment and is often playful and fun, allowing you to embrace your inner child. However, if I had children, I’d prefer they start their modeling journey later, not at 15 or 16.

Do: I mirrored my parents’ approach with my daughter, insisting she finish college first. Nevertheless, her determination prevailed. I’m grateful for her resolve, especially as we now collaborate in the industry.




Photo: Christian Sinibaldi/Guardian

DM: I urge pursuing interests outside of modeling. After gaining recognition through TikTok, I perceived it as my sole identity for a while, which left me feeling disoriented.

Do: Traveling worldwide has been invaluable; even those experiences justify the journey. However, it’s critical to remember that success can vanish overnight.

Source: www.theguardian.com

‘It Felt Like Traveling Back in Time’: Afghans Share Their Relief as Internet Service is Restored

As the sun set on Wednesday, the streets surrounding Kabul, the Afghan capital, suddenly became bustling with activity.


With phones firmly pressed to their ears, Afghans spilled into the streets of Kabul, eager to see if others were online.

“Great news, the internet is back!” shouted a driver, as children received balloons and parents bought sweets to celebrate, gathering at nearby restaurants.

For 48 hours, the Afghan population had been cut off from mobile and internet services due to unexpected telecommunications shutdowns ordered by the authorities.

“It felt like we were transported back in time, contemplating sending letters to stay connected with family,” shared Mohammad Rafi, 33, a mobile phone store owner.

“The streets were deserted, resembling a holiday atmosphere, even during weekdays. But now, they’re lively again, even in the evening.”




Men attempt to connect their smart TV to the internet. Photo: Sayed Hassib/Reuters

Sohrab Ahmadi, a 26-year-old delivery driver, struggled for two days without being able to reach his clients through the app he relies on.

Now, bikes line the streets, picking up orders from restaurants adorned with bright neon signs and juice vendors playing music. “It feels like Eid al-Adah, like preparing for prayer,” he remarked.




The communications tower is slowly restoring its services after nearly three days offline. Photo: Samiullah Popal/EPA

The streets also saw a noticeable rise in the number of women facing severe limitations imposed by the Taliban regime, including a prohibition on education beyond primary school.

“I can’t describe how relieved I am. I’m finally able to breathe again,” said a young woman attending online classes, who requested anonymity. “These online lessons are our last hope.”

The UN has warned that the disruption in connectivity poses risks to economic stability, worsening one of the most dire humanitarian crises globally.

The Taliban government has yet to address the issue of the internet blackout.




An Afghan woman walks past a beauty salon in the capital. Photo: Ali Kara/Reuters

This suspension occurred shortly after the government announced plans to cut high-speed internet in certain regions to curb “immorality.”

Attaura Zaid, a spokesman for Balkh province, confirmed that the ban was initiated by Taliban shadow leader Hibatura Ahnzada.

During the Taliban’s initial rule from 1996 to 2001, the internet was still a relatively new and developing technology.




Kabul street vendors will communicate via phone once services resume. Photo: Sayed Hassib/Reuters

However, in recent years, the economy has increasingly depended on internet access. Even in rural areas, many Afghans utilize their mobile phones for business transactions.

“The world has moved forward. This isn’t like thirty years ago,” remarked Ghulam Rabbani, a mobile credit vendor who was surrounded by shops on Wednesday night. “We anticipated the internet’s return. The outage affected everyone, including the government.”

Source: www.theguardian.com

I Felt It Was My Destiny: Social Media Rumors Sparked Pregnancy Speculation, Leading to Unforeseen Consequences

I cannot recall the exact moment my TikTok feed presented me with a video of a woman cradling her stillborn baby, but I do remember the wave of emotion that hit me. Initially, it resembled the joyous clips of mothers holding their newborns, all wrapped up and snug in blankets, with mothers weeping—just like many in those postnatal clips. However, the true nature of the video became clear when I glanced at the caption: her baby was born at just 23 weeks. I was at 22 weeks pregnant. A mere coincidence.

My social media algorithms seemed to know about my pregnancy even before my family, friends, or doctor did. Within a day, my feed transformed. On both Instagram and TikTok, videos emerged featuring women documenting their journeys as if they were conducting pregnancy tests. I began to “like,” “save,” and “share” these posts, feeding the algorithm and indicating my interest, and it responded with more content. But it didn’t take long for the initial joy to be overtaken by dread.

The algorithm quickly adapted to my deepest fears related to pregnancy, introducing clips about miscarriage stories. In them, women shared their heartbreaking experiences after being told their babies had no heartbeat. Soon, posts detailing complications and horror stories started flooding my feed.

One night, after watching a woman document her painful birthing experience with a stillbirth, I uninstalled the app amidst tears. But I reinstalled it shortly after; work commitments and social habits dictated I should. I attempted to block unwanted content, but my efforts were mostly futile.

On TikTok alone, over 300,000 videos are tagged with “miscarriage,” and another 260,000 are linked under related terms. A specific video titled “Live footage of me finding out I had a miscarriage” has garnered almost 500,000 views, while fewer than 5 million have been dedicated to women giving birth to stillborns.

Had I encountered such content before pregnancy, I might have viewed the widespread sharing of these experiences as essential. I don’t believe individuals sharing these deeply personal moments are in the wrong; for some, these narratives could offer solace. Yet, amid the endless stream of anxiety-inducing content, I couldn’t shake the discomfort of the algorithm prioritizing such overwhelming themes.


“I ‘like,’ ‘save,’ and ‘share’ the content, feeding it into the system and prompting it to keep returning more”…Wheeler while pregnant. Photo by Kathryn Wheeler

When discussing this experience with others who were also pregnant at the same time, I found shared nods of understanding and similar narratives. They too recounted their personalized concoctions of fears, as their algorithms zeroed in on their unique anxieties. Our experiences felt radical as we were bombarded with such harrowing content, expanding the range of what is deemed normal concern. This is what pregnancy and motherhood are like in 2025.

“Some posts are supportive, but others are extreme and troubling. I don’t want to relive that,” remarks 8-month-pregnant Cerel Mukoko. Mukoko primarily engages with this content on Facebook and Instagram but deleted TikTok after becoming overwhelmed. “My eldest son is 4 years old, and during my pregnancy, I stumbled upon upsetting posts. They hit closer to home, and it seems to be spiraling out of control.” She adds that the disturbing graphics in this content are growing increasingly hard to cope with.

As a 35-year-old woman of color, Mukoko noticed specific portrayals of pregnant Black women in this content. A 2024 analysis of NHS data indicated that Black women faced up to six times the rate of severe complications compared to their white counterparts during childbirth. “This wasn’t my direct experience, but it certainly raises questions about my treatment and makes me feel more vigilant during appointments,” she states.

“They truly instill fear in us,” she observes. “You start to wonder: ‘Could this happen to me? Am I part of that unfortunate statistic?’ Given the complications I’ve experienced during this pregnancy, those intrusive thoughts can be quite consuming.”

For Dr. Alice Ashcroft, a 29-year-old researcher and consultant analyzing the impacts of identity, gender, language, and technology, this phenomenon began when she was expecting. “Seeing my pregnancy announcement was difficult.”

This onslaught didn’t cease once she was pregnant. “By the end of my pregnancy, around 36 weeks, I was facing stressful scans. I began noticing links shared by my midwife. I was fully aware that the cookies I’d created (my digital footprint) influenced this feed, which swayed towards apocalyptic themes and severe issues. Now with a 6-month-old, her experience continues to haunt her.

The ability of these algorithms to hone in on our most intimate fears is both unsettling and cruel. “For years, I’ve been convinced that social media reads my mind,” says 36-year-old Jade Asha, who welcomed her second child in January. “For me, it was primarily about body image. I’d see posts of women who were still gym-ready during their 9th month, which made me feel inadequate.”

Navigating motherhood has brought its own set of anxieties for Asha. “My feed is filled with posts stating that breastfeeding is the only valid option, and the comment sections are overloaded with opinions presented as facts.”

Dr. Christina Inge, a Harvard researcher specializing in tech ethics, isn’t surprised by these experiences. “Social media platforms are designed for engagement, and fear is a powerful motivator,” she observes. “Once the algorithm identifies someone who is pregnant or might be, it begins testing content similar to how it handles any user data.”


“For months after my pregnancy ended, my feed morphed into a new set of fears I could potentially face.” Photo: Christian Sinibaldi/Guardian

“This content is not a glitch; it’s about engagement, and engagement equals revenue,” Inge continues. “Fear-based content keeps users hooked, creating a sense of urgency to continue watching, even when it’s distressing. Despite the growing psychological toll, these platforms profit.”

The negative impact of social media on pregnant women has been a subject of extensive research. A systematic review examining social media use during pregnancy highlights both benefits and challenges. While it offers peer guidance and support, it also concludes that “issues such as misinformation, anxiety, and excessive use persist.” Dr. Nida Aftab, an obstetrician and the review’s author, emphasizes the critical role healthcare professionals should play in guiding women towards healthier digital habits.

Pregnant women may not only be uniquely vulnerable social media consumers, but studies show they often spend significantly more time online. A research article published in midwife last year indicated a marked increase in social media use during pregnancy, particularly peaking around week 20. Moreover, 10.5% of participants reported experiencing symptoms of social media addiction, as defined by the Bergen Social Media Addiction Scale.

In the broader context, Inge proposes several improvements. A redesigned approach could push platforms to feature positive, evidence-based content in sensitive areas like pregnancy and health. Increased transparency regarding what users are viewing (with options to adjust their feeds) could help minimize harm while empowering policymakers to establish stronger safeguards around sensitive subjects.

“It’s imperative users understand that feeds are algorithmic constructs rather than accurate portrayals of reality,” Inge asserts. “Pregnancy and early parent-child interactions should enjoy protective digital spaces, but they are frequently monetized and treated as discrete data points.”

For Ashcroft, resolving this dilemma is complex. “A primary challenge is that technological advancements are outpacing legislative measures,” she notes. “We wander into murky waters regarding responsibility. Ultimately, it may fall to governments to accurately regulate social media information, but that could come off as heavy-handed. While some platforms incorporate fact-checking through AI, these measures aren’t foolproof and may carry inherent biases.” She suggests using the “I’m not interested in this” feature may be beneficial, even if imperfect. “My foremost advice is to reduce social media consumption,” she concludes.

My baby arrived at the start of the year, and I finally had a moment to breathe as she emerged healthy. However, that relief was brief. In the months following my transition into motherhood, my feed shifted yet again, introducing new fears. Each time I logged onto Instagram, the suggested reels displayed titles like: Another baby falls victim to danger, accompanied by the text “This is not safe.” Soon after, there was a clip featuring a toddler with a LEGO in their mouth and a caption reading, “This could happen to your child if you don’t know how to respond.”

Will this content ultimately make me a superior, well-informed parent? Some might argue yes. But at what cost? Recent online safety legislation emphasizes the necessity for social responsibility to protect vulnerable populations in their online journeys. Yet, as long as the ceaseless threat of misfortune, despair, and misinformation assails the screens of new and expecting mothers, social media firms will profit from perpetuating fear while we continue to falter.

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Source: www.theguardian.com