Gone girls—the disappearance of the fashion muse

The history of fashion is, in so many ways, a history of its muses. The idea of the fashion muse has long been an essential part of the art—a living, breathing embodiment of a designer’s creative vision. Of course, there have been several standout moments from the briefest fashion partnerships where designers have dressed public figures and made fashion history. But muses were not mere models or celebrities; they were inspirations, collaborators and co-conspirators in the creation of iconic collections and defining eras.

THE LEGACY OF THE FASHION MUSE

The most legendary designer-muse partnership was quite possibly the one between Hubert de Givenchy and Audrey Hepburn, who gave us the black dress from Breakfast at Tiffany's, a look that will remain on moodboards for years to come, amongst other stellar outfits. Then there was costume designer Bob Mackie, the genius behind some of Cher's most standout, audacious looks—think: the sheer beaded gown that she wore to the 1974 Met Gala and the see-through gown in which she accepted her Oscar in 1988—that cemented Mackie's reputation as a fashion star. Jean Paul Gaultier and Madonna began with the now historic cone bra, one of the popstar's most memorable stage outfits from her Blonde Ambition tour.  

Closer to home, too, examples of successful designer-muse relationships abound. In the late 1980s and '90s, Mehr Jessia was the supermodel who brought Rohit Khosla’s avant-garde designs to life, heralding the era when modern Indian fashion came into its own. Malaika Arora was Wendell Rodricks’s muse, personifying the beloved late designer's leanings towards minimalism and resort wear. Arjun Rampal’s chiselled charm perfectly complemented Rohit Bal’s nature-inspired patterns and slick silhouettes. In the Bollywood-meets-couture world, Rani Mukherjee, Aishwarya Rai, Vidya Balan, and Deepika Padukone became synonymous with Sabyasachi Mukherjee's lavish designs during different spans of the designer's career even as Sonam Kapoor wore Anamika Khanna’s experimental drapes and innovative textures like no one before. These relationships weren’t transactional; they were symbiotic, a delicate interplay of artistry and individuality.

But fashion has always mirrored its times, and today’s landscape reflects a tide that has shifted dramatically. The rise of massy fast fashion, the relentless pace of production, and the democratising (and flattening) effect of social media have changed the role of the muse, rendering it near-obsolete.

In its traditional form, the muse was singular, personal, and iconic. Think of Amitabh Bachchan and Dimple Kapadia, who epitomised Abu Jani and Sandeep Khosla’s love for chikankari and zardozi. Or Ritu Kumar’s regal sarees, which found their perfect counterpart in Noyonika Chatterjee’s statuesque grace. These muses weren’t just models—they were storytellers who infused a designer’s creations with character and depth.

This legacy was built on exclusivity and intimacy. The muse as the designer’s collaborator became someone whose very presence could inspire sketches, collections, even eras. Urmila Matondkar’s glamorous Rangeela looks, curated by Manish Malhotra, redefined Bollywood fashion in the mid-90s. These were not just professional partnerships but creative symbioses that shaped how fashion was imagined and consumed.

A LOOK AT THE DECLINE

Fast forward to today, and the world looks very different. Global fast fashion giants like Zara and H&M churn out runway-inspired designs at breakneck speed, specifically to cater to a consumer base hungry for trends but uninterested in the time-effort investment, not to mention the artistry, that is the natural order of a designer-muse relationship. The emphasis is now on accessibility and volume rather than intimacy and vision.

Designers themselves are not immune to these pressures. With the expectation of producing multiple collections annually—resort, couture, ready-to-wear, and pre-fall, to name a few—the creative process has become a sprint. With these pressing crunches on their time, the idea of cultivating a singular muse feels almost indulgent, a relic of a slower, more romantic era.

And then there’s Instagram. Social media has democratised the idea of the muse, replacing the singular inspiration figure with a multitude of influencers, each with their curated aesthetics and millions of followers. Influencers have become the new intermediaries between designers and consumers, often acting as walking billboards for brands. While this shift has broadened representation and given rise to a more diverse fashion narrative, it has also diluted the mystique that once surrounded the muse.

Even celebrities, once untouchable and enigmatic, now exist in a state of constant visibility. Their lives, wardrobes, and endorsements are scrutinised and consumed in real-time, leaving little room for the aura of exclusivity that made them compelling as muses. This overexposure has, in more ways than one, turned people into commodities, their value measured in likes and impressions rather than allure and artistry.

FROM ICONS TO ARCHETYPES

Perhaps the most significant revision here is the evolution of the muse from icon to archetype. Where once a Mehr Jessia or Malaika Arora stood as a singular inspiration for an embodiment of a designer’s vision, today’s muses are often conceptual—the “millennial bride,” the “new-age feminist,” the “urban minimalist.” These archetypes are less about individuals and more about ideas, reflecting the changing priorities of fashion consumers (and designers) who seek representation and relatability over exclusivity.

Archetypes allow designers to tap into broader cultural movements. They’re more flexible, more scalable, and—crucially—more marketable in our world today that thrives on segmentation and data-driven strategies. But they also come with risks: the loss of individuality, the flattening of creative narratives, and the potential to reduce fashion to a series of tropes.

EXCEPTIONS TO THE RULE

Of course, despite it all, some persist. There are still designers who cling to the idea of the muse, adapting it to modern sensibilities. Deepika Padukone, for instance, continues to collaborate with Sabyasachi. Her timeless elegance aligns perfectly with his regal, vintage-inspired aesthetic. As does Sonam Kapoor's glamour with Anamika Khanna's technical prowess. Alessandro Michele’s Gucci era was deeply intertwined with Harry Styles, whose androgynous fashion became a canvas for Michele’s maximalist vision. Chanel’s Penélope Cruz is another iteration of the modern muse—not a collaborator in the traditional sense, but a symbol of the maison’s ethos in a world always in flux.

THE MUSE ENDURES

So, are muses truly obsolete? Not quite. The traditional notion of the muse may have evolved, but its essence—the spark of inspiration that drives creativity—remains. They come in more shapes now—an iconic partnership, a cultural archetype, or even a digital avatar (think: Lil Miquela, the world's first digitally created influencer, partnering with iconic houses like Givenchy and Chanel), but still, the muse continues to inspire.

The question isn’t whether muses are a thing of the past, but how they will shape the future. In a world where fashion is both democratised and hyper-commercialised, the muse’s role is to adapt—to reflect not just the vision of a designer but the values of an ever-changing audience. And in that evolution lies the enduring power of the fashion muse.

Lead image: Getty Images

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