In a world that is undeniably grey, we must constantly face the drudgery of tiresomely arguing over topics that, more often than not, are highly nuanced, complex, and therefore likely misunderstood.
So here we go… Heroin Chic.
Certainly one of the more complex topics of debate which has recently resurfaced, given the major shift fashion is facing. From the major Ozempic explosion to the TikTok-born ‘succubus chic’ look that many are endorsing, it has all begun to look quite familiar and therefore placed under the infamous H-Chic resurgence umbrella.
However, this isn’t the 90’s, and that’s where the trouble lies. We are currently living in a climate that heavily subverts against inauthenticity, rebels against the patriarchal grip, and generally PC-heavy culture. And though these issues certainly need to be challenged, it feels we are slowly being left with less space for complexity, which is often intertwined with self- expression. And life is anything but simple.
So, here I thought I would share a brief history on the subject, both for the sake of context, but also to highlight how nuanced the debate truly is.
The ethos of heroin chic was born as a reactionary push-back to 80’s glam.
A time where the Amazonian-like supermodels were IT.
Models were typically tall, curvaceous, and fitted a more standardised beauty ideal (especially as far as the male gaze is concerned). The style of photography was highly stylised and airbrushed, and maximalism was everything.
As the 90’s loomed, minimalism replaced maximalism. In every sense.
Heroin chic became the means to describe said reactionary style (specifically of photography), which endorsed uniqueness, naturalism, and glamourised imperfectness.
Photographers such as Mario & Davide Sorrenti, Corinne Day, and Nan Goldin paved their way onto the fashion scene. Up-and-coming models like Jaime King, Kristen McMenamy, and Kate Moss slowly began to shift from the pages of alternative fashion magazines to catching the attention of fashion giants and becoming the faces for the likes of Calvin Klein and Versace.But slowly the haziness took over. An example of this is model Jaime King and photographer Davide Sorrenti.
The young couple at the time both played a significant role in the blueprint for what heroin chic became, and though it was reported that both had a habit of using, their notoriety at the time stemmed from their distinct creative contributions and roles in the industry.
Sorrenti passed away at the age of 20, however, he battled a rare blood disease, which was likely the reason for his premature passing, and though for some time King’s heroin use was reported, those on the scene, like Kate Moss, became roped into the narrative that thinness and a certain beauty ideal were to be conflated with hard drug use.
However, it was Moss’s distinctive waif look that led to her discovery at age 14 in the first place.
The ‘war on drugs’ campaign continued to be a topic at the forefront in the US, which is why Bill Clinton famously condemned the heroin chic movement to further encourage this political agenda, stating:
“The glorification of heroin is not creative, it’s destructive. It’s not beautiful, it is ugly. This is not about art, it’s about life and death.”
So, the all-encompassing term referencing drugs and glamour was pointed to as the catalyst for this movement, rather than a symptom of an overly complex period of change, not only in fashion, but generally.
I believe heroin chic’s ability to unmask the beauty in imperfection is the facet of significant importance that is often overlooked.
We often feel repelled by that which makes us uncomfortable.
But sometimes that which is born from discomfort is what forges change and beauty.
By Yasmin Aria Braganza, 2024