Heroine chic: A comeback we didn’t need

Heroin chic was a popular term in the 1990s that glamorized drug use and anorexia—essentially, a beauty standard built on frailty. Models like Kate Moss were at the center of this aesthetic, often described in interviews with words like “messy” or “disheveled,” reducing them to their thinness and edge. This trend was not only dehumanizing to the average body, but it also paved the way for early 2000s media to rip apart “plus-sized” women. Remember Bridget Jones? She was treated like a walking punchline simply for not being model-thin.

In a lot of ways, we should have seen this comeback coming. It started with the revival of the “Rockstar Girlfriend” and “Indie Sleaze” aesthetics: smudged eyeliner, baby tees, cheetah print, and a hot musical boyfriend to accessorize. These aesthetics evolved into a harsher ideal: sunken under-eyes, pouty lips, and visible rib cages. What really solidified this resurgence were two key cultural moments: the criticism of the 2023 Victoria’s Secret runway show and the Kardashians reversing their BBLs.

And it’s not just about looks. Along with this revival comes a disturbing re-glamorization of drugs like cocaine, now rebranded under TikTok’s “brat summer” aesthetic. While heroin chic and disordered lifestyles never fully disappeared, they’ve become palatable again under the guise of nostalgia.

It’s hard not to obsess over appearances when micro-influencers with petite frames and effortless style are gaining massive followings. Trends like Alix Earle’s “skinny jeans revival” show how quickly influencers can dictate what we wear and, by extension, how we perceive ourselves. Often, they push products or lifestyles that feel unattainable or unrealistic for the average person. We’re inundated with messages telling us what we should look like, wear, or do—most of it wrapped in a perfect, aesthetic package.

Tools like calorie-counting apps don’t help—they feed into these insecurities by quantifying everything we consume. What starts as a way to "stay on track" can quickly spiral into obsession, especially when the app rewards you for eating below a baseline calorie amount. These apps rarely account for your body’s actual needs, and they turn food into an enemy rather than the fuel you need to live.

But not all influencers are part of the problem. For example, Madeline Abeid creates content that focuses on strength and balance, like her pilates videos, without pushing unhealthy trends or unattainable standards. Her approach is about genuinely taking care of your body and celebrating its abilities—not tearing it down to fit a narrow ideal. We need more creators like her who focus on sustainable, empowering lifestyles rather than feeding the toxic cycle of insecurity.

I’ve battled eating disorders since I was 12 years old, and they’ve taken so much from me. No matter how much weight I’ve lost, it’s never gained me happiness. I’ve had moments where I crawled to the bathroom because I was too weak to stand, where I passed out at school, at work, and even at sports events. My teeth have suffered. My brain function has suffered. And looking back on this past summer—a season of great memories—I know it could have been even better if I had eaten fulfilling meals.

What finally snapped me out of it was reading about how eating disorders can affect fertility. I’m nowhere near ready to have kids, but the thought of losing that option scared me. Another turning point came when a friend pulled me aside and said something I’ll never forget: “You cannot live your best life if you die from starvation.”

I hope this sticks with you the way it stuck with me: You are eating food to have the energy to enjoy your life.

If I can’t fit into my favorite T-shirts anymore because I’ve gone up a size, I’ll take that as a trade-off for the memories I’ll make with friends and the energy I’ll have to live fully. Most media outlets want you to believe beauty comes from the numbers on a scale or the calorie counts in your meals, but that’s a lie. It’s a truth I struggle to believe, too, but I’m working on it—and that’s the best thing any of us can do.

I will forever be inspired by the aesthetics of the 90s and late 2010s, but that doesn’t mean I have to ruin my life chasing them. If you want to take risks and become the best version of yourself, don’t look to Kate Moss or the Kardashians for guidance. (I love the Kardashians for their entrepreneurship, but not their influence on beauty standards.) Instead, look inward. Focus on the positive traits that have built your community: your kindness, your wit, your resilience.

Challenge the status quo. Seek fashion inspiration from people who look like you. And if you can’t find anyone? Become the person someone else is searching for.