WORDS Issy Thompson
Predictably, the long-legged, outspoken Amazonian, Cameron Russell, works from a crumbling office block in Brooklyn. In defiance of the allure of Manhattan with its bright lights and its billboards, Russell runs her collaborative magazine, Interrupt, from a dingy second-floor walk up. It is fitting that Russell — the Colombia-educated supermodel, Victoria’s Secret Angel and journalist — should work whilst rubbing shoulders with the gritty realities of the city. For reality, in essence, is her mission. Not content with the superficial world of high fashion, of which she is an integral part, Russell has publicly decried aesthetic elitism, and has audibly voiced her desire for change, her hopes for a society based upon equality rather than physical hierarchy.
It was her nine-minute TED talk that placed Russell in the spotlight. She took to the stage — the archetype of physical perfection — wearing a thigh-skimming dress and promptly changed into a peasant skirt and dowdy pumps, in a declaration that image is superficial, image is easily changed, and image is undeniably, and dangerously, powerful. “I am on this stage because I am a model,” she declared, a poignant look on her handsome face, “I am a model, because I am a pretty white woman.” Arguing that modelling is not an aspirational industry, speaking of how it shocks her that young girls would rather pose than become the next president, Russell branded her own profession as exclusive and exploitative. She projected a picture of her at sixteen, posing in a provocative manner with a male model, her lithe back suggestively arched — “I hadn’t even had a boyfriend then,” she noted. She moved onto another picture, in which again, she exudes sexuality — “I hadn’t even got my first period”, she told the audience.
She has built her reputation upon her rejection of the hierarchies of contemporary culture, but she still remains comfortably at the top, willing to expose the industry, but unwilling to give it up.
Russell’s TED talk has had over 5 million hits, and the enormity of its impact, the wealth of positivity it has received, inspired the birth of Interrupt. Based on an open letter Russell wrote, in which she asked “What would you do if you had access to the mass media?”, the magazine is her attempt to publish and project the multitude of voices that constitute reality. It rejects the inaccessible gloss of mainstream magazines, and runs features that are engaging and, crucially, tangible — real stories by real people.
Each issue of the magazine is themed, and based upon an open submission policy. “We put out an open call,” Hannah, the Arts Editor of Interrupt, told tn2, “Send in what you want to talk about…it’s all about opening it up to discussion.” So Russell believes in the power of dialogue, in creating a space where a cacophony of voices can blend and clash, where, as Hannah explained, “people can be heard”. Their issue on body image was extraordinarily powerful. They attempted to gauge how the widespread worship of tall, white women makes normal women feel about themselves. Paradoxically, it is Russell trying to find the true social impact that her career has on the lives of ordinary people. The results were shocking. One contributor asked a group of young girls from the ages of four to eleven years-old how they felt about their bodies. “It was crazy,” Hannah recalled, “it sky-rocketed all over Tumblr. It was a real eye-opener of how body image deeply affects girls at such a young age.”
Their next issue will be on DIY, a phenomenon that, according to Interrupt, is sweeping the Internet. “We have entered an age of instant gratification,” Hannah explained, “but people are starting to realise that they can make things at home.” It is all part of their democratic ethos — sharing, creating, trying to form something new. “It is just crazy how people will share,” they declare, “there is no limit on your age, race or sexuality. If you have an experience that you feel the world needs to know, then share it with us.”
Interrupt, then, is part of Russell’s search for reality, her foray into the anxiety of a real world that is disconnected from the airbrushed sphere of fashion. Yet there is one obstacle in the way of her desire to make a change. Her laudable intentions are undercut by the fact that she is still a practicing supermodel. She preaches equality, but practices what she deplores. She has built her reputation upon her rejection of the hierarchies of contemporary culture, but she still remains comfortably at the top, willing to expose the industry, but unwilling to give it up.
And she is even less willing to talk about this glaring contradiction. An email exchange with Russell is a frustrating experience. When pressed about the discrepancies in her ideology, the brainbox of the aesthetic elite is polite, unrelentingly measured, and does not want to talk. Her response is puzzling considering the questions levelled at her were focused on the issues of body image and physical exploitation, how she reconciles modelling with her lack of faith in it — fertile ground for Russell the renegade who appears to be so passionate about the pitfalls of genetic elitism and social inequality.
Russell is a complex figure. A champion of alternative forms of media, dedicated to articulating the voices of those whom society misrepresents, she is unwilling to confront or explain her contradictory ethos. Horrified by the notion that modelling is considered to be an aspirational career path by young girls, she was Elle’s cover-girl last month. She featured in an extended shoot, wrapped in layers of chiffon and silk, languishing in the desert in all her leggy glory. The shoot was accompanied by an interview, where Russell spoke of her lack of engagement with the fashion industry.
The benevolence of Russell’s intentions should not be underestimated, nor the positive impact that they have had. Yet it is hard for young girls to register her belief that fashion is superficial when she is staring at them from a billboard in Manhattan; beautiful, intelligent, resoundingly perfect. Russell’s TED talk was brave and resonant, and it takes a woman of a distinctly high calibre to admit that she is the winner of a genetic lottery, but the problem is, she still seems to be capitalising on it.
