A Brief, Problematic, Sometimes Heartfelt History Of Fashion Reality TV

While the phrase “fashion reality television” might conjure up images of a pensive Tim Gunn or a passionate Tyra Banks, the DNA of Project Runway and America’s Next Top Model stretches back much further than the early 2000s.

Queen for a Day was an American 1945 radio show that transitioned to television in 1956. It was one of the first-ever daytime game shows. It starred former vaudeville musician and World’s Fair barker/ticket hustler (read: total 1950s celebrity) Jack Bailey as host.

The premise of the show was both simple and awful. In each episode, four women experiencing hardship were welcomed onto the soundstage and asked to share their harrowing stories with Bailey and the audience. Often, they shared tales about sick children and family members, poor living and working conditions, husbands away from home and being underfunded for medical treatment. It wasn’t uncommon for those women to share their personal difficulties through streams of tears.

Once every contestant had presented their case, the final winner would be determined by an audience “applause-o-meter”. Whichever contestant was deemed to have the hardest circumstances was sat on a grand throne, crowned and given flowers, while a long list of prizes was read out. Generally, this included aid that would help to alleviate their specific situation, as well as nifty household appliances, glamorous beauty products and an extravagant trip away. In many cases, the prize pack included fashionable clothing and accessories, presented by models, that could give the “queen’s spirits a lift”.

This early prototype of reality TV was a prescient precursor to the explosion of fashion-themed reality shows in the 2000s. Over those decades, modern and contemporary shows have explored a fashion focus, expanding to consider many different facets of the industry. The royal “style upgrade” lightly explored in Queen for a Day was remodelled into a retail-accessible transformation and makeover format with shows like What Not to Wear. America’s Next Top Model thrust aspiring models into an often bizarre and campy competition. Project Runway posed designers against each other in catwalk showdowns.

In the years of translating these three different fashion industry realms — personal consumer style, modelling and design — reality TV shows have captured some fascinating cultural perspectives about fashion. They were also incredibly influential in affecting cultural ideologies about bodies, fashion industries, style and design.

In dusting off the archives, we can unpick the cultural ideologies that were sewn into the fabric of these shows, and try to understand how our perspectives on fashion have shifted since the heyday of low-rise jeans.

Style lessons and makeovers

The first to adopt the makeover format was the 2001 BBC show What Not to Wear. It expanded existing segments of daytime talk shows, where an audience member might be transformed in about three minutes, to full-length stand-alone episodes.

Posh fashion journalists Trinny Woodall and Susannah Constantine would ambush a subject, who had been nominated by friends or family, and bring them along for semi-pompous “style lessons”. These lessons included an evaluation of the existing wardrobe (Trinny and Susannah would consider whether clothing was too “unflattering”, “tarty” or “masculine”); an assessment of the participant’s body shape and self-image (a sometimes-tender, sometimes-harsh consultation within a 360-degree mirror cabinet); teachings of style rules and what a more suitable wardrobe might look like (often expensive and traditionally feminine); and a final evaluation of what the contestant might have learned (as Trinny and Susannah spy on the participant’s solo shopping trip).

There were plenty of other shows that adopted the concept. Queer Eye (2003) saw a whole crew swoop in for a week-long makeover (for grooming, style, “culture”, food and interior design). How Do I Look? (2004) gave harsh wardrobe assessments and handed family and friends an opportunity to dress the “fashion victim”. Gok Wan wanted to build confidence through a makeover and catwalk in How to Look Good Naked (2006). Louise Roe of Plain Jane (2010) prepared younger women for a romantic confession to their secret crush. The peculiar Hotter Than My Daughter (2010) reprimanded mothers and daughters for dressing “age inappropriately”.

There were also other shows that took the makeover concept to the extreme. The aptly-named Extreme Makeover (2002) and The Swan (2004) both paired cosmetic surgeries with style lessons, with some participants receiving up to 18 procedures before their final reveal.

In depicting the makeover, these shows commented on bodies, style, fashion, confidence, gender expression and beauty standards. In the more tame examples, like What Not to Wear and How to Look Good Naked, style is portrayed as a tool for “flattering” the shape of bodies (apple, pear, hourglass etc.), “minimising” long-stigmatised attributes and maximising femininity and “sexiness”. In the more extreme examples, participants are humiliated and lectured for their fashion and beauty “failures” and pushed through an uncomfortable process of transformation.

Occasionally, there are some intimate moments between hosts and participants, with some genuinely heartwarming displays of confidence from makeov-ees. Unfortunately, clothing is consistently treated as a tool for concealing the appearance of bodies. Repeatedly, the shows encourage normative gender presentation, bending to conservative, upper-class tastes. The story of each episode suggests that the struggling participant has failed in their choices and that the richer and more glamorous stylist arrives, in the nick of time, to right their regression.

Makeover shows of the 2000s weren’t really treating fashion as a liberating tool, but a restrictive one. They encouraged leaning into the beauty standards of the day and ultimately perpetuated cultural ideas that tended to make so many people feel uncomfortable in their clothes or in “fashionable” spaces.

Model competitions

The show wasn’t exactly a rational, grounded representation of the modelling industry. Many of the catwalks were better suited for a Wipeout course than the high-fashion world. One had models time their walk to avoid huge, swinging pendulums, with several being hit and one tumbling off the runway. Another had them balancing on a seesawing runway, floating on a pool. Arguably, the most outrageous challenge required the models to walk inside plastic bubbles over water, where they all fell. The shoots weren’t much better. Over the years, contestants have lounged in a giant Greek salad bowl, floated in a wind tunnel, posed with bees and tarantulas, and played love interests to Fabio.

Generally, winners who muddled through the hilarity would be awarded a contract with a major model management company, a cash prize and a magazine photospread. The judging panel was filled with industry professionals, like photographers, models, runway coaches and fashion journalists, who accompanied Tyra in the decision-making process. Often, the panels were harsh and cruel, with insults thrown at the contestants.

The show was enduring, lasting 24 cycles and turning out pop culture moments that are still prominent in meme usage today. The franchise was also incredibly popular and was adapted internationally after the show’s success in the US. At least 50 countries produced their own version of the show, including New Zealand, where three seasons made it to air.

Though the show has been known for its sensationalised content and campy tone, ANTM has been increasingly criticised in recent years. As it has made its way on to streaming platforms in the 2020s, criticisms that were levelled all the way back in 2003 have risen again. There are numerous subjects that the critiques have focused on, including the offensive theming of photoshoots (for one, Jay Manuel told the models they were going to “switch” their “ethnicities”), the degrading discussion and specific representation of bodies (particularly from frequent guest judge Janice Dickinson) and the lack of care shown to the contestants (some of whom have come forward with horror stories since their experiences). Those qualities of ANTM have left some of the show’s creators in a bit of hot water, with Tyra apologising for certain insensitive incidents that audiences have criticised.

While the show was rife with issues, it did engage in a bit of demystification of the modelling industry. It was explicit in navigating beauty standards, showcased the production of commercial images and highlighted the dynamics of power. It presented fashion and beauty as constructed, exposing some of the messiness behind usually shiny images. While ANTM might not have been totally aware of these ideas, there’s something fascinating in how these concepts, once so invisible, were discussed so loudly on-screen.

Designer competitions

The show that gave Tim Gunn his TV debut (he would go on to host five reality shows), Project Runway, premiered in 2004. The show pit up-and-coming designers against each other and asked them to create a series of looks with a particular theme using restricted materials and time. For the grand finale, the final three contestants would compete for the title by designing a 12-look collection for New York Fashion Week. The winner would take home a huge cash prize to start their own design line and a feature spread in Marie Claire magazine. The show’s format was adapted internationally, with over 30 countries asking contestants to “make it work”. New Zealand eked out one season in 2018.

There have been a few other design shows released since 2004, that find their roots in Project Runway. Glam God shifted the focus to stylists in 2008, Heidi and Tim left the flagship show for their Amazon creation Making the Cut, and The Hype reimagines the concept for authentic streetwear fashion.

Similarly to ANTM, Project Runway was sensationalised, exploring briefs that were extreme and unconventional. Materials like seatbelts, burlap sacks, plants, edible food and apartment furnishings made their way into design challenges throughout the seasons, with designers producing the expected trainwrecks and unexpected masterpieces.

Early seasons of the competition revelled in the drama between contestants, the conflict between judges and designers and the missteps in the process of creation. While brief introductions of the designers were given, storylines tended to come from happenings in the workroom and on the runway. The editing would highlight fights over fabric, poor teamwork, disastrous construction errors, strange textile decisions and, when the designer overcame the challenge, the victory of a sharp, inventive look — think Sean Kelly’s colour-changing rain dress or Austin Scarlet’s light-up gown.

Occasionally, contestants would receive a rags-to-riches storyline, but interpersonal conflict and the drama of the design process made up the bulk of episode storylines. This meant that the characterisations of designers could be a little hollow, amplifying cattiness and sass that aligned with unproductive stereotypes of fashion industry ‘types’. However, especially in comparison to other fashion reality TV of the time, Project Runway tended to be more celebratory than derogatory towards the contestants.

In the show, fashion was largely interpreted in two ways: either it needed to be accessible and desirable for consumers to buy, or a feat of design genius that felt new and innovative. Though there could have been more complexity in this understanding of fashion and style, the show’s representation of design led to a more positive interpretation of fashion and style than the makeover or modelling show. It conveyed that clothing was a space for exploration and creativity — breaking normative ideals was shown to be not only okay but necessary.

There were, of course, some limiting comments and often judges were concerned with whether the designer’s work was “flattering” for the models. But, excitingly, Project Runway portrayed style as something that was negotiated and personal and a mode of expression. The way it played with fashion set the stage for shows rising to popularity today.

Where does fashion TV go now?

Over the last few years, YouTube and TikTok have erupted with “reaction” content of these shows.

Luke Meagher of HauteLeMode assesses the mini makeovers Say Yes to the Dress, photographer Jessica Kobeissi dissects the power dynamics of shoots on America’s Next Top Model and a range of TikTok users laugh and gasp at insults and remarks from judges and Tim Gunn on Project Runway.

These reactors tend to watch in shock and horror at the way bodies are talked about, at how contestants are treated or at the ideologies put forward by judges. As time capsules, the shows capture some of the ugly cultural ideas that were deeply normalised by influential figures in their time.

Now, fashion reality television seems to be entering a new era, that doesn’t have viewers gasping in the same way.

Queer Eye, rebooted by Netflix in 2018, has the attached tagline announcing that it’s “more than a makeover” and brings a clearer element of care to the experience. RuPaul’s Drag Race gave ANTM a major flip, celebrating drag performance with more agency and opportunities for clap backs granted to contestants. Next in Fashion really unpacks how the designers express their own creative identity through their work, with the relationships between the contestants represented as mainly supportive.

Though these shows aren’t perfect, contemporary reality television seems to be portraying fashion as more accessible, a reflection of identity and a site of celebration. It’s not just a tool for minimising or reshaping bodies, but an expression of identity and space with less rigid boundaries.

Tim Gunn, talking to the New York Times about Project Runway, said, “I never once dreamed there would be a Season 2. I thought Season 1 would be all about the sexual escapades of the designers, but we realised viewers enjoyed being voyeurs on the creative process.”

It seems that fashion reality television is leaning into this sentiment, moving away from exploitative viewing, and bringing viewers closer to the creativity and identity of people invested in fashion. While shows like Queer Eye, Drag Race and Next in Fashion aren’t without their critiques, there’s a higher duty of care for contestants and a higher demand for content that’s affirming for those who watch.

Looking back 70 years to Queen for a Day, the values of the moment can be shocking. Looking back to the 2000s, there are some ugly bits of fashion-related conversation that seek to exclude. This era of fashion reality television might be defined by a more inclusionary attitude to fashion, which respects the people who take part and watch.