BlackBook Magazine

The year is 1988. Kate Moss has just been discovered and will soon join the ranks of such supermodels as Cindy Crawford, Christy Turlington, and Linda Evangelista. Fashion, however neon-and-spandex laden it may be, is represented by uniquely beautiful women trained to strut, smile, and pose their hearts out. Magazine covers, drugstore makeup ads, couture ads, television commercials—the supermodel rules all. They represent and epitomize glamour and chic, and why not? It’s their job, after all.

While these women are not the first supermodels—just ask Janice Dickinson—theirs will later be referred to as “the era of the supermodel,” “the trinity,” “the union.” They are supermodels perfected, following in the stiletto-clad footsteps of Twiggy, Cheryl Tiegs, Beverly Johnson, and before them Lisa Fonssagrives. Moss will become revolutionary in no time, becoming the shortest model to do runway and the face of the heroin-chic movement that will make the 1990s as seedy-glam as any scene out of Warhol’s factory. Over the next two decades she will represent Calvin Klein, Chanel, Rimmel, Burberry, a top-shelf model representing top-shelf designers.

Flash forward to 2008. Moss, while still arguably the most stylish woman on the planet, has turned fashion designer for British discount chain TopShop. She has recently been replaced as the face of Coco Mademoiselle by Keira Knightley, an A-list actress, who will soon after be replaced (allegedly) by Emma Watson, a B-list actress known primarily for her role in the Harry Potter series. Meanwhile, the classic No. 5 has gone from ultimate status symbol to revered subject of 1960s pop art to a chance for the likes of Nicole Kidman and Audrey Tautou to extend their resumes.

Pick up any magazine. Who is that on the cover? Oh, right, she was in that shitty movie. Moving on. Um, is that Paris Hilton for Guess? She’s not a model. She doesn’t even really have a job. Well, enough of this, perhaps the real fashion world has gone electronic. Let’s see. Design your own “couture” dress online. Register to see Amy Winehouse for Fendi, and even Lindsay Lohan is designing leggings for Fred Segal. Half the stars of “The Hills” are now designing clothes that get sold at respectable stores like Intuition. Hair extensions by Jessica Simpson.

So where have all the models gone? Well, you can find a good number of them on reality television shows, from Tyra to Janice to Heidi Klum—even Twiggy did a stint on “Top Model.” And the new girls on the block, ethereal beauties like Gemma Ward and Agyness Deyn, are astonishingly anonymous by those outside the fashion world, mostly because the majority of commercial modeling is now reserved for singer-actress-self-promoter types who have “always dreamed of being a model and designer and perfumer… ” But don’t worry, because while the models are busy acting, a slew of actresses will be happy to sell you mascara in between episodes of “Project Runway.”

And the real designers? My guess is they’ve taken shelter under a rock somewhere—all right, probably a finely polished diamond—to lament the death of fashion and the fall of the supermodel. Where they used to find inspiration in beautiful women with natural style and a great ability to strut in six-inch heels, the greats are left with little to be inspired by. Marc Jacobs admitted quite readily that his demure, boxy fall collection is the result of lack of inspiration. So if you find haute couture cowering beneath some runway in its LBD, let it know the world has gone to hell in a hand basket designed by some eighteen-year-old singer-cum-actress-cum-model-cum-designer, and that what the world needs now is a hero, a superhero. Or at least a supermodel.