While the fashion community may in theory support the causes surrounding the LGBTQIA+ community, the backing can come across as surface-level when acknowledging the lack of protection and harmful practices that are still rampant, especially within the modeling world. In plain sight young, often underage, models have been subjugated to the whims and seedy fancies of the powerful fashion elite without guidelines about what is inappropriate behavior. The public outcry of the #MeToo movement in 2018 allowed for recalibration within the modeling community and an opportunity to call out rampant abusers, but what about its not-so-distant sister, in the nightlife world? Not much focus has been on how nightlife contributes to sexual abuse but it is an unacknowledged asterisk that dictates that the lines between work and play blur, whether it’s coveted after-parties attended by teenagers or promoters who stalk model industries looking to recruit ‘hot girls’ for parties. Through the lens of queer club culture, boundaries can be even more muddled as consent is ignored in lieu of sexual expression. Model Jennie Runk gives a first-hand account of how she navigated unrestrained misogyny first in fashion at age 13, then as a young adult in nightlife, and how her queerness was hyper-sexualized in both industries.
I entered the modeling industry in 2002 as an impressionable queer child of 13 in a world where queer women in American media existed to serve the male gaze. A Google Image search of the word “lesbians” in 2008, aside from copious amounts of pornography made by and for men, would bring up various images of women making out in public while men watched, and advertisements featuring two thin, feminine women, posing sexually with each other. Meanwhile, a regular Google search would offer only a smattering of helpful articles written by the queer community, mixed in with even more blog posts questioning if lesbians were even real, or musing on what kind of hormonal imbalance they might have. The photoshoots I was booked on, even as a young teenager, prioritized looking sexy more often than not. I remember overhearing a conversation on one of my first editorial jobs, of people discussing if it was ok to put such a revealing, sexy dress on a 14-year-old. The consensus was that no one would know I was only 14, so it would be fine. How could I possibly find my sense of self in a world where women like me were consistently shown as sex objects and my worth was entirely dependent on the desirability of men?
Back then, my experience as an out queer woman living in Missouri made evident that men saw me a certain way. I was simultaneously feared and desired by them, and at times afraid for my own safety as a result. One night while I was in high school, I went on a date with another girl at the local bowling alley. While we were there, we noticed a group of teenage boys looking at us, talking to each other, and laughing. We ignored them, but as we left for the night, they followed us out through the parking lot, catcalling and harassing us. They hurled the word “dykes” at us, while in the very next breath, asked if we had any room in our car and if they could come with us.
By the time I finished high school and college and moved to New York full-time, I had an understanding that my queerness made me a male fantasy. Being a model from the age of 13 had taught me that male desirability was the number one thing to aspire for. So, when I inevitably entered the nightclub scene with other models and the promoters who got us into those exclusive nightclub doors, my latent feelings of internalized hyper-sexualization intensified.
I learned that I could use this thing about myself, that caused so much vitriol back home in Missouri, to amplify my worth in this new environment. Being the only queer model at the table in these clubs made me a queen. In a society where male attention is the most valuable form of currency, I relished holding more than my fair share to bargain with. The nightclub scene offered me not only a form of socialization but an escape from reality in the absolutely limitless bottles of alcohol. It gave me a pedestal on which to stand, with a sparkler in my hand, where I didn’t have to think about the bullying or harassment I’d been victim to before. I soon figured out that in this space, being a sexual fantasy could at least be fun.
But the more I allowed my desirability to equal my worth, the less I had to actually know or love myself as a person. It was easy to rely on being desirable to feel worthy, but it eventually led me to prioritize relationships with abusive partners over friendships with the people who actually cared about me. Over time, I became a sex object, and it was I, myself, who perpetuated that depiction of myself. I abandoned treating myself with respect, and I rotated through a revolving door of relationships with people who refused to treat me with respect as well. It finally dawned on me that something I was doing was not working, if I truly wanted to be happy.
I had to teach myself how to find my self-worth, without letting it depend on whether or not someone else wanted to have sex with me. It took a lot of support from friends and a good therapist, but I finally grew a confidence in myself that had nothing to do with sex. In the process, I learned more about my talents, my creativity, my hobbies, and my passions. Now, after building a modeling career that spans nearly two decades, I understand the power I hold as a member of the fashion industry. We shape the way our society sees certain people and what those people might think about themselves. While there have been huge improvements in having an accurate representation of the LGBTQIA+ community and of the over-sexualization of young women over the years, we must make a conscious effort to keep moving forward.
We must think about the imagery we put out into the world. Who is represented in this, and what will this imagery do for them? How will this imagery shape the way our society sees and treats the people depicted in this? How will it shape the way people like this person might see themselves? By doing that, we can build a better future.
