Between balancing a career in fashion and co-scripting major exhibitions like Vogue: Inventing the Runway, Olivia Singer has also taken on a new challenge: learning how to drive. “It is basically my full-time job,” she jokes. But beyond the driving lesions, the London-based editor and creative consultant, known for her signature jet-black monochromatic look and sunglasses, has spent her career navigating the intersections of fashion, feminism, and storytelling. Singer didn’t always envision a career in fashion. At the University of Manchester, she studied English Literature with a focus on feminism and critical theory, a path that led her to Paris in pursuit of a “utopian fantasy.” By day, she established initiatives focused on intersectional feminism, by night, she worked in a restaurant kitchen to make ends meet. But Paris wasn’t the dream she had imagined. Ultimately, she returned to London with a renewed love for the city, and it was there—after sneaking into a Meadham Kirchhoff show—that her fascination with fashions’ potential for subversion and self-expression sparked. That curiosity led her to AnOther Magazine, British Vogue, and i-D Magazine, where she went on to interview designers and athletes like Rei Kawakubo, Miuccia Prada, Grace Wales Bonner, and Serena Williams. Alongside her editorial work, Singer is a strong advocate for mentorship and has worked with organizations like Rubric and Mentoring Matters to help break down fashion’s barriers to entry. “Fashion can appear so closed off and difficult to navigate,” she says. “So what we wanted to do was democratize information sharing by arranging panels with people who could speak about their experiences in certain areas and then making those discussions available as resources for others.” Models.com spoke with Singer about her new role at British Vogue, the ever-changing landscape of fashion, and the importance of trusting your instincts.
You didn’t start off wanting to go into fashion — you studied English Literature with a focus on feminism and critical theory. How did that shape your perspective as you transitioned into writing on beauty, fashion, and eventually joining AnOther Magazine?
It allowed me to think about fashion and beauty in a broader context—how they reflect and interact with the world at large, particularly in relation to female identity, women, and women’s bodies. While I felt woefully underqualified—since I didn’t grow up reading fashion magazines or obsessing over archival designers—I didn’t have a list of models I loved or anything like that, which made me feel a little… not even insecure, but a bit “other” at the beginning of my career. That perspective, however, pushed me to view trends through a wider socio-political lens because that was the only framework I had. It also meant that when I started at AnOther, I was incredibly lucky to work with a team that was so open to teaching me and having conversations with me about the industry. I read everything I could get my hands on to try and catch up. I was in my mid-20s at the time, so I felt like I had gotten a late start, and I just absorbed everything I could. There was so much available online—I’d find a random collection I loved and then look up Tim Blanks’ review for Style.com, or what Jo-Ann Furniss or Suzy Menkes had written in The Herald Tribune. You could find it all if you searched for it. That’s how I became really interested in different writers and perspectives—because that’s how I learned about fashion. I read whatever I could find online since I didn’t have any money to pay for subscriptions; it was all just Googling.
I also read that you had a stint in Paris before you started working at AnOther. How was that?
Yes, pre-fashion. I hated it at the time. I was living there during a politically very conservative period. I had just finished university and had this utopian fantasy of moving to Paris, learning to speak French, and being able to read Hélène Cixous and Simone de Beauvoir in French. I set up some feminist collectives while I was there. I worked with others to establish initiatives focused on intersectional feminism—feminism that incorporated sex workers, women of color, and a more third-wave perspective, which had always felt most aligned with my views. It was during the time when France first banned the hijab, around 2010. We also organized the first SlutWalk in Paris, so it was a pivotal moment in feminist activism. It was really tough because there’s a very staunch feminist movement in France. Obviously, they have an incredible history of activism, but we would often come up against other movements that weren’t necessarily supportive of things like SlutWalk or particularly inclusive of different women’s realities and perspectives. That was difficult for me. More than that, I was young, and I’m from London, and to me, Paris didn’t have the same intersection of identities that London did. That’s not to say it’s true now, but at the time, that was my experience. Also, I had no money, so I worked in a kitchen for a year. I came back feeling like… I couldn’t speak enough French. I mean, I could speak enough to get a basic job, but I didn’t learn to read Hélène Cixous in French, so in that sense, it was a slightly failed mission. But it gave me a renewed love for London and everything I appreciate about this city. I’m very patriotic about London. Back then, I only knew it was Fashion Week in Paris because all the bars would be full, so you wouldn’t go out. I was never like, “Ooh, fashion.” I was more like, “Ugh.”
You once snuck into a Meadham Kirchhoff show, which sparked your curiosity about the intersection of fashion and feminism. Do you feel the industry today is embracing or distancing itself from political identities, and how does that resonate with you?
When fashion is at its best, it either reflects, challenges, or in some way engages with the world at large. The way we present ourselves—the way we choose to present ourselves and the way we’re perceived by the world—is inherently political. Fashion is at its most powerful when it is in dialogue with those issues. We’re in the most terrifying political climate I can conceive of, but I think there’s an unfair amount of pressure placed on designers to be solely responsible for engaging with political realities. Ultimately, it’s up to all of us to ensure that the work we do and the work we champion reflects a worldview we believe in. It feels unfair to place that entire burden on the creative director of a fashion house rather than acknowledging the responsibility of everyone else in the industry. I don’t feel like fashion is less politically engaged than it was. The industry is just bigger, with more eyes on it than ever before. There’s also more money at stake for certain people, which can complicate freedom of expression. But I think there’s a wealth of creatives trying to do what they can within their realm to make the world a better place. At the same time, this is a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately: What can I do? I work in an industry that isn’t exactly saving lives, so how can I create positive change within my sphere, within my network? Yes, there are certain institutional limitations, but rather than expecting every Autumn/Winter ‘25 collection to explicitly address horrific administrations, I think the real focus should be on actively working to create change within our own communities. That feels like something that might actually help someone. It’s so easy to feel powerless or like the problem is too big to affect real change, but finding ways to create impact within our immediate circles is more important than ever as a form of resistance. That means actively supporting DEI efforts across the board and advocating for every marginalized community.
You’ve been involved in the Rubric Initiative—can you share more about your role and its impact?
It evolved out of a series of conversations that Nell (Kalonji) and I had during the pandemic, after the murder of George Floyd. It was about seeing how I could support what Nell wanted to bring to life—working to establish a framework for information sharing, specifically as it related to supporting people of color in this industry. But it was also about addressing how opaque this industry can be. If you don’t have a family friend, an inroad, or someone to ask questions to, it can feel completely inaccessible. That’s always been such an issue—fashion can appear so closed off and difficult to navigate. So what we wanted to do was democratize information sharing by arranging panels with people who could speak about their experiences in certain areas and then making those discussions available as resources for others. For me, it was simply about supporting Nell in whatever way I could. I was used to bringing groups of people together through my job, so I helped in that way. Then I joined Mentoring Matters, which focuses on supporting a new generation of people who have historically been excluded or disenfranchised from this industry—sharing information, support, and knowledge as openly as possible. It’s been amazing to see how Laura Edwards (the founder) has built that into something truly sustainable. This industry has marginalized certain voices and perspectives, and as a white woman, I felt a responsibility to see if I could, in some small way, help redress that imbalance. What’s exciting is that so many people want to make this industry a better and fairer place. The challenge is working out the right framework—how to connect the people who want to help with the people who need support. That’s exactly what Laura and Nell are doing.
During your time at British Vogue, you interviewed a plethora of established and emerging designers, including Miuccia Prada, Grace Wales Bonner, Kim Jones, and Maximilian Davis. What lessons have you learned from working with such a diverse range of designers?
One of the reasons I love my job is that I’m really interested in people—I’m nosy, and I love people—and this industry is all about people. Something that never fails to amaze me is that I have the opportunity to ask people I respect any question I want. Whether it’s Rei Kawakubo, Mrs. Prada, or an emerging designer at the start of their career, it’s remarkable to me that I can just ask, and people are somewhat obligated to respond. When I started my career, I used to reply to journalists on Twitter who needed their interviews transcribed. I listened to hundreds of hours of one journalist’s recordings for a feature she was reporting for The New York Times. It wasn’t about fashion—it was actually about the Whakatiki mermaids. Through transcribing for people, I learned how to interview others, and I’ve always found that really interesting.When I’ve had interns or assistants, I always tell them, “If someone asks you to do transcriptions, take it as a gift.” You get to hear how different people conduct interviews, how they engage in a narrative that is both a conversation and serves the purpose of a feature. Doing those transcriptions really helped me.
Do you have any insights or moments from those interviews stuck with you throughout your career?
Being able to interview Rei Kawakubo was obviously my great dream because I’m such a massive fan of everything she does. It was the first Comme des Garçons feature ever published in British Vogue, so that was such an honor. I was so nervous. One of the things that has always interested me most about Rei is that she is the ultimate creative. Her work is unburdened by any constraints, norms, or protocols of the fashion industry—particularly in recent years with her “No Making Clothing” collections. The way she talks about creativity isn’t abstracted from the commercial realities of the industry; she very much sees the financial success of Comme des Garçons as what affords her the freedom to express herself in this way. That’s one of the things I find so interesting about Comme, Dover Street, and the whole model there. The way she spoke about how her employees need to grow as people—that being what pushes her to continue creating—was fascinating. She needed to keep putting something out so that Comme as a business could keep going, so that she could keep paying people and giving them raises. I thought that was such an interesting and human way to look at progress in this industry. I think it’s to the industry’s detriment when fashion is seen as pure creative expression—because at that point, it’s art, not fashion anymore. Fashion is an industry, and it’s about clothing. It’s about pieces that—usually—women buy to present themselves to the world. When it becomes too abstracted from that, it sort of loses its essence, which is about bodies, identity, and self-presentation. I found it so interesting that this woman, who is held up by all of us as the most creative, is deeply aware of the practical realities that allow for that freedom. It has also been an absolute privilege anytime I’ve spoken to Miuccia Prada—Mrs. Prada—because she is just so remarkably smart and informed about the world. She is incredibly thoughtful about her place within a broader sociopolitical and creative landscape in a way that fascinates me. But also, it was the coolest thing to be part of Grace Wales Bonner’s first Vogue feature or Samuel Ross’ feature in Vogue. That was equally as exciting. There are these incredible, esteemed creatives I’ve had the opportunity to speak with, but I’ve also attended every single one of Grace Wales Bonner’s shows and reviewed most of them. So I’ve been able to trace her trajectory over time. It’s cool in two different ways—you either get to follow someone’s journey and see their work evolve, or you have these singular moments of engagement with legends. Both are meaningful in their own ways.
Moving between publications often means adapting to new audiences and editorial styles. How has your writing evolved across your career, and what challenges have you encountered in those transitions?
I’ve been very fortunate in that the places I’ve worked have always asked me to be myself, so I haven’t had to contort into different spaces. At AnOther Magazine, I could write about Rick Owens all day, every day, and that was just so fabulous and amazing—it filled me with so much joy. I learned from Susannah Frankel while I was there, whom I have such great respect for. She was always super open and said, “Do your thing.” Then, when I moved to British Vogue under Edward Enninful, I was very open with him about my perspective on things, and he said, “Yeah, you do you.” I would check in every so often and ask, “Am I being too me?” because I wasn’t sure if I fit into what he might have expected from me. But I just didn’t know how to be anything other than myself, and he encouraged that. One of the most interesting things about working at Vogue was writing for a broad, mass audience. That magazine is delivered every month to a woman in the Midlands, so I had to consider that. At AnOther, I could assume everyone knew who Rei Kawakubo was, but at Vogue, they might not. It was exciting to figure out how to make the things I found interesting feel relevant to a Vogue audience. I also learned a lot about a broader array of brands—ones I wasn’t necessarily aesthetically inclined toward. But through learning about them and working with the people there, I found new things to be interested in within fashion. I really enjoyed that challenge. I always thought, if you could get a Mowalola handbag on a shopping page and someone buys it—that’s so cool. Then at i-D Magazine, it was incredible working with Alastair McKimm, who was really encouraging of me bringing my point of view to the table. It reflected the cultures and subcultures that I exist within, and that was really fun. I don’t think I ever intentionally changed. You can adjust your tone of voice for different publications by reading examples and adapting to their style, sure. But I don’t think my perspective ever shifted. I think a big part of that comes down to good luck—the people and places I worked at were very open, supportive, and encouraging.
During your time as Global Editorial Director of i-D Magazine, you explored diverse cultural hubs and interviewed Rei Kawakubo, Martine Rose, Headie One, and Skepta. How do you identify emerging subcultures or creatives that align with your vision?
I think it’s just instinct. I really do. There’s no science to it—it’s an instinctive feeling about what resonates with the team you’re working with, what people on a team are interested in, and what you feel naturally aligned toward. That’s what’s cool about magazines—they offer windows into the world through different teams’ perspectives. I don’t think there’s any more exact science than that. It’s just about recognizing things that have the right energy.
You hosted a mentoring session with Virgil Abloh called What It Means to Be Newsworthy. In it, you emphasized the importance of ‘finding your people and working with like-minded individuals.’ Did your relationship with him shape your approach to mentorship?
Virgil was the best in so many ways. He was an incredible creative, an incredible friend, and an incredible example of how open-minded and open-hearted you can be in this industry. One of the biggest things Virgil taught me—God, he taught me so much—was how to bring people in. I’ve never known anyone so relentlessly enthusiastic about meeting new people, discovering new projects, and inviting people into his world. He was constantly sharing information, knowledge, and opportunities with others. The number of lives he changed—just the ones I witnessed firsthand—is beyond comprehension. Beyond the immediate impact of his work, his broader cultural influence is vast and indelible. It’s so interesting how many people still mention that video to me. I still get DMs, emails, and comments about it. Just the other day, a photographer told me, “Oh, I remember watching that video you did with him.” It’s surreal because I was lucky to work with him a lot, lucky to be friends with him—but that video is one of the rare things my name is attached to. It’s such a tiny fraction of the countless things Virgil did, and yet, if I’m still getting messages about it, that’s just a glimpse of how many people he continues to inspire and the sheer magnitude of his legacy. Virgil’s impact was about sharing the cheat codes, he believed in opening things up, making sure young designers knew how to copyright their names, and offering both practical guidance and ideological openness. He was always hungry for knowledge—he wanted to understand everything and as soon as he learned something, he wanted to share that knowledge with others. Seeing the impact of that generosity on so many people is incredibly inspiring. He was so enthusiastic about Rubric—he even participated in one of our panel talks, which was beautiful. He truly believed in a new world order, but beyond that, he championed his community. He didn’t just succeed—he brought his people with him. I think one of the things fashion with a capital F struggled to understand about Virgil in the beginning was the authenticity of his relationships and community, and that’s something you can’t replicate. It depends on having people in those positions who genuinely want to uplift others. That’s what made him so inspiring to watch. He unlocked doors for everyone, especially for people of color and marginalized communities. But it wasn’t just about one group—it was about all sorts of people who had been excluded from mainstream spaces. If any of us can achieve even 1% of what he did, the world will be a better place.
“It depends on having people in those positions who genuinely want to uplift others. That’s what made him so inspiring to watch. He unlocked doors for everyone, especially for people of color and marginalized communities. But it wasn’t just about one group—it was about all sorts of people who had been excluded from mainstream spaces. If any of us can achieve even 1% of what he did, the world will be a better place.”
What are you most excited about in your new role as Contributing Editor at British Vogue?
There are so many people I love and respect who work at British Vogue. I’ve known Chioma (Nnadi) for a while, and I think she’s the most remarkable woman—her ability to uplift others with such grace is incredible. There are so many people in this industry—designers, writers—who I know have been empowered or shaped by their relationships with her. So I’m really excited to be part of her vision of lifting people up.There are also so many others on her team whom I just adore—as friends and as people I’ve worked with for a long time. So I’m really excited to be back working with them. Whatever capacity they need me in, I’m on board. I worked with Mark Guiducci, Chioma, and Laura (Ingham) on the Lightroom exhibition that opened at the end of last year, and I’m also part of some of the talks they’ll be doing with designers for that. It was such a fun project to work on, and bringing the Vogue perspective on fashion shows to life in that way—with such an amazing team—was incredible. And beyond that, there are just so many people I love who are part of British Vogue. I think the best thing you can do in this industry is work with people you love and trust, so I’m really excited for that.
Going back to the Lightroom exhibit that you co-scripted, can you speak more about that?
I worked with Mark Grimmer from Lightroom, Mark Guiducci, and, of course, the input of a wealth of Vogue editors, along with interviews from an incredible array of Vogue contributors. It was a really fun and interesting process—because it was all about being concise. But seeing it all come to life and being part of that journey was so rewarding.
As a creative consultant, how do you balance editorial work with brand collaborations, and what does that role entail for you?
Balance is something I’m still trying to figure out in my life generally—so we’ll see. But in terms of my work, I love working with brands because it allows me to see behind the curtain. You get to understand the inner workings of the industry in a way that you don’t from a purely editorial perspective—why a CMO makes a certain decision, why a merchandising team selects specific colorways for stores, or why a creative director makes particular choices in their shows. Being able to see that side of the industry is something you don’t necessarily have access to when working on the magazine side. I love knowing as much as I can about how things work, so gaining insight into decision-making processes across different spaces is fascinating to me—especially when it comes to commerciality, which is the bedrock of this industry. In terms of what my role looks like, it can range from creative editorial strategy—helping brands determine who they should collaborate with for projects—to straight-up writing and storytelling. What I love most is helping brands understand how to best communicate their stories, no matter the medium. That’s probably where I’m most useful—offering a fresh perspective, bringing people together, and helping creatives refine their messaging. I also love working with brands because it informs my editorial perspective. There’s been a lot of discourse in fashion, particularly over the past five years, as the industry has broadened its audience—which is exciting in so many ways. But one of the things that gets lost is a deeper understanding of the countless decisions involved in building a brand and amplifying its message. So working with brands has really shaped my understanding of the business realities behind this industry.You get to see a collection from inception to show to store, and that’s what fascinates me. Following the entire thread of a collection from start to finish is such a rare and valuable perspective.
Speaking of brands and creatives, are there any emerging brands or creatives that are on your radar right now?
I love Ponte. I remember meeting Harry Pontefract in a Central Saint Martins showroom, and ever since then, I’ve been obsessed with the weird magnetism of his perspective on things. It has this Sarah Lucas-y weirdness, but it’s also so beautiful and interesting. The stories behind his fabrics and the materials he uses—there’s so much depth to it. What Louther is doing is really fab, they just showed with Fashion East last season, and it felt like such a fresh take on London’s subcultures—something that’s been re-examined a gazillion times, but the way they constructed and formed these characters felt really invigorating. The craftsmanship was incredible, considering where they are in their careers, it was amazing. I’m completely besotted with L’Enchanteur. They make these pendants that I think are the most beautiful things I’ve seen in years. What they’re doing is incredible, it’s been really interesting to observe their growth from across the Atlantic. I also love what Torishéju is doing. She’s based in London but shows in Paris, and it’s been incredible to see the success of her shows there. The way she modernizes craft in her work is so beautiful. Similarly, Standing Ground in London—Michael’s use of couture techniques while making them feel fresh and modern is remarkable to see. It’s harder than it has ever been to be a young designer right now—it’s unbelievably tough. Wholesalers are in shambles. There’s a recession happening, even though nobody likes to talk about it. Brexit has been a disaster for every designer, especially young designers. The cost of living in the UK is crazy. But despite all that, it’s inspiring to see young creatives finding new ways to do things—leaning more into direct-to-consumer models and working closely with their communities to build direct relationships. That’s how they’re actually making money. People have also stopped showing every season, and I think that’s really interesting and positive. They’re reclaiming the means of communication that actually work for their business models instead of feeling obligated to fit into an arbitrary system. I don’t even know what that system is based on anymore. But finding ways to build a business that is actually sustainable? That’s inspiring. Even Olly Shinder did this great campaign recently—Ferdinando Verderi worked with him on it—which was so cool. You’d think, “Okay, a campaign—it’s going to cost like a billion pounds,” but actually, it was just pictures of Olly wearing his clothes in the changing room mirrors of different luxury stores in London. It was so funny and clever—a really interesting reflection on the duality of fashion between big and small brands, the hyperreality of the Instagram age, fit pics, all of it.
