From Diet Coke to Ozempic: same pressure, new packaging.

The Comeback of Heroin Chic: When Women’s Bodies Become Trends

In fashion, trends come and go – but disturbingly, so do body types. In the 90s, it wasn’t just clothes making headlines, it was a specific kind of body: dangerously thin, hollow-eyed, and glamorized under the label of “heroin chic.” The look, cemented by models like Kate Moss, came with a haunting motto: “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

In the 2010s, a new ideal took center stage. Enter the Kardashian era: curves, waist trainers, and an obsession with volume – on hips, lips, and butts. The hourglass figure was commodified, just as the ultra-thin look was before. Cosmetic surgeries soared. But women’s bodies still weren’t liberated – they were just expected to take up space in very specific, curated ways.

Now? We’re circling back. The 90s are trending again on TikTok and the runways, with them come low-rise jeans – and the same bodies that once wore them. The “thin is in” whisper has turned into a cultural shout. It’s not just nostalgia. It’s a revival.

This time, though, the diet isn't just cigarettes and Diet Coke. We’re talking protein goals, calorie deficits, #WhatIEatInADay, #SkinnyTok and an unspoken war on carbs. The obsession with “clean eating” and high-protein diets has become a cover for old-school restriction.

And then there's Ozempic. Originally developed for type 2 diabetes, the drug has made headlines – and infiltrated celebrity circles – as a “weight-loss hack.” The message is clear: you can achieve the impossible body, and now it’s easier than ever. But access isn’t equal. Ozempic and similar drugs are expensive, often off-label, and rarely accessible to the average person without connections or money. One barrier has been removed; another – one of class and privilege – has taken its place.

The underlying problem hasn’t changed. It’s not about thin vs. curvy. It’s about how women’s bodies are still being treated like trends, as if we can just cycle through them like denim styles or seasonal color palettes.

But bodies aren’t outfits. They aren’t eras. They aren’t aesthetics. They’re people.

The return of heroin chic isn’t just a fashion moment,  it’s a warning. Every time we allow bodies to be dictated by trends, we reinforce a culture that thrives on insecurity and control. Women’s bodies are not a canvas for whatever the fashion industry deems "in" this season.

Because if we don’t push back, the cycle won’t stop. Today it’s "heroin chic" again, tomorrow it might be something else, equally unattainable, equally damaging. The shapes may shift, the hashtags may change, but the message stays the same:

You are not enough as you are.

And that message sells. It sells skincare, shapewear, gym memberships, filters, surgeries, injections, supplements, meal plans, and entire industries built on the promise of "fixing" us. But the only thing truly broken is the system that profits off our dissatisfaction.

We owe it to ourselves and the next generation to unlearn the idea that beauty must be painful, or narrow, or algorithm-approved. To challenge media that polices our bodies while claiming to celebrate them. And to call out trends that are just old pressures in new packaging. Liberation isn’t found in swinging between extremes. It’s found in stepping off the carousel altogether.

Because your body is not a moment.
It’s not content.
It’s not a marketing tool.
It’s yours.

And that should never go out of style.

 by Luisa Gabriel 

Picture by Sebastian Reuter