It might appear ungrateful to air one’s laundry in the pages of WWD when a size-inclusive brand like ours, Ester Manas, has, from the start, benefited from spectacular support from the fashion industry: shortlisted for, and sometimes awarded, prestigious prizes; distributed in fabulous boutiques and department stores; exhibited in museums, and supported by the press at every turn. Yet it felt essential for us to take a moment to explain why we now view our industry with such critical eyes.
Over the last year, we have been absent from the runway at Paris Fashion Week as we focused on expanding our family, welcoming the arrival of our first child. During that time, we have watched with dismay as the industry’s embrace of size inclusivity appears to have all but disappeared.
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Attempts to welcome plus-size individuals into the exclusive world of luxury have always felt like they come with an expiration date attached, or with barely concealed caveats. As a result, body inclusivity has been treated as just another trend, on a par with “quiet luxury.” Therein lies the problem: to expect the human body to fit into a system largely run by men. It is aimed at women who try to maintain at least a cordial relationship with their bodies, despite constant societal pressures, and dealing with the natural change and transformation of their physical shell as they grow and mature.
The fashion industry’s reach is undeniable, powered by images, media access and aesthetic authority. Who could forget the iconic scene in “The Devil Wears Prada” where the character of Miranda Priestly explains why a mass-market sweater is cerulean blue? This diffuse influence shapes collective thinking and normalizes the idea that certain bodies, notably larger ones, do not belong.
Ester Manas Fall 2024 Ready-to-Wear Collection at Paris Fashion Week
You only need to look at the fatphobic comments on social media. At first, some appear merely clumsy or ignorant, rather than willfully cruel. But ignorance, repeated over time, becomes normalized oppression, generating real harm. This is exemplified by comments like, “We don’t make clothes in larger sizes because they cost more to manufacture,” or “If she weren’t so fat, she would fit into more clothes.”
The claim that plus-size clothing costs more is absurd: can anyone pinpoint the tipping point for so-called “cost-effective” sizing? It feels like the definition of plus-size is open to interpretation, making it impossible to present a counter-argument.
Suppose you run with the simplistic notion that larger clothes require more fabric. The reality of clothing manufacturing is that the cost of a garment also depends on labor, logistics, marketing, design, volumes, margin and country of manufacture. No garment is made without waste. Reducing this complexity to a couple of inches of fabric is ignoring the sophistication of the supply chain.
The second category of comments is a perfect example of the industry’s fallback position, which is to hold women responsible for their own lack of ambition. But for an industry that claims to sell dreams and desire, shaming women for their appearance is not clear-sighted, it is morally lazy. By refusing to do better, it denies access to millions of women.
Some brands invoke their “efforts” and retreat into a comfortable middle ground: “We tried.” But too often, these apparent efforts are little more than cynical attempts to check the inclusivity box without bearing the real cost.
You may rejoice at seeing plus-size talents or models on magazine covers, only to find out they are wearing custom pieces that will never be available in stores. Women who finally felt represented end up just hitting the same wall. These images create the illusion of inclusivity: cosmetic, staged and desperately empty.
Winners Louis-Gabriel Nouchi, Duran Lantink, Ester Manas and Balthazar Delepierre with ANDAM founder Nathalie Dufour, this year’s mentor Riccardo Bellini and French culture minister Rima Abdul Malak.
Tokenism becomes the norm: including a slightly different but still acceptable body type, often a U.S. size 6 to 8, is presented as progress. This sham diversity allows the industry to pat itself on the back while in reality, nothing has changed at all.
As a designer, I am astonished; as a woman and client, I feel shut out.
These mechanisms have come into even sharper focus since I’ve become a mother. After a year away from fashion weeks, it has become clearer than ever to me that this industry is ripe with contradictions.
Each house strives to produce ever more spectacular shows, recycling the same codes, colors and obsessions season after season. Standardization is the norm — except when it comes to larger bodies. Then, suddenly, nobody’s in a rush to copy anyone else.
This absence is no accident: it signals a structural refusal to recognize these bodies as legitimate, desirable and worthy of inclusion.
At Ester Manas, we feel the limitations of our commitment daily. Traditionally, a young brand goes through significant funding before trying to become profitable. Our approach has been the reverse: to create a desirable brand universe, a clearly identifiable look, and garments that sell, to then raise funds for further growth. Yet outdated biases mean we are hitting a glass ceiling in our trajectory. On a cynical level, we find ourselves wondering why an industry founded on capitalism appears incapable of recognizing the economic opportunity of servicing this client base, merely because of ingrained prejudice. Isn’t it time to grow on these issues?
Denying brands business opportunities on the grounds that they’re too niche or too militant is recycling an outdated argument that has already excluded entire segments of creative talent and customers in the past. As it struggles to overcome a crisis in public confidence, the fashion industry would do well to support brands like ours, which meet the challenges of authenticity, relevance and credibility through clear, uncompromising commitments. Perhaps that is the key to truly inclusive fashion.
Ester Manas is a Belgian fashion designer known for redefining contemporary womenswear through radical inclusivity and body-conscious design. A graduate of La Cambre in Brussels, she cofounded her namesake label, Ester Manas, with husband Balthazar Delepierre in 2019.
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