Upon the birth of the 90s lingerie rage, Victoria’s Secret reigned supreme as the pinnacle of femininity, fantasy, and desirability. The fashion empire built its brand on the unattainable perfection of the “Angels”—goddesses sculpted by rigorous exercise, restrictive diets, and an industry that thrived on an impossible beauty standard.
Matt Tyrnauer rigorously investigated the blazing, provocative story of the brand and its CEO, the mystifying billionaire Les Wexner. The Hulu documentary ‘Victoria’s Secret: Angels and Demons’ unpacks the hidden truths behind the brand’s rise and fall, exposing the destructive ways body image was manipulated in the 90s and 2000s. What began as a vision of sophisticated elegance rapidly distorted into a hyper-commercialized, exclusionary portrayal of beauty that left women feeling incomplete and imperfect.
The Original Vision and the Distorted Reality
Victoria’s Secret was founded in 1977 with a simple premise: to create a space where men could comfortably shop for lingerie for their partners. By the 90s, under the leadership of Les Wexner, the brand underwent a transformation that redefined the lingerie industry. The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show became a cultural phenomenon, featuring supermodels like Tyra Banks, Heidi Klum, and Gisele Bündchen, a few of the original Victoria’s Secret Angels. Strutting down the runway with sculpted abs and impossibly long legs, the models marketed an elite, untouchable femininity—a concept that appealed to both men and women. The Angel became the pinnacle of aspiration, representing not just physical perfection but a lifestyle of glamour, exclusivity, and seduction. But this rigid standard of beauty came at a cost. By promoting a distorted illusion of femininity and excluding diverse body types, the brand lost touch with the women they originally intended to support.
In Tyrnauer’s documentary, the truth tears through the dazzling fashion shows, revealing a deeper darkness beneath—one that glorified unattainable body ideals and contributed to widespread body dysmorphia, anxiety, depression, low self-worth, and ultimately, self-destruction. Women were bombarded with images of airbrushed perfection. With the rise of Photoshop and digital retouching, imperfections were erased with a click, cementing a beauty standard that few could ever hope to reach. Interviews revealed the toxic relationships between models, designers, and executives. Many of the Angels were suffering from eating disorders and unhealthy habits to maintain their positions within the brand’s empire. Furthermore, the women that offered alternative solutions for comfortable and practical lingerie were shut down by the dramatic high of the company’s ephemeral strategy of perfection and male gaze.
And to assure the chokehold on as many girls as possible, the “Pink” Era pivoted the brands focus to a new audience. In 2002, Pink was launched to teenage girls and college students. As body image concerns within the fashion industry grew, Pink’s casual lingerie and loungewear introduced a softer, more playful aesthetic. But this only led to more controversy. The premier fashion show used schoolgirl-inspired outfits, vibrant colors, and bubbly branding as a deliberate move to introduce lingerie to a younger demographic, sending the wrong messages to impressionable audiences. The sub-brand blurred the lines between adult sensuality and adolescent appeal. It hyper-sexualized young girls, especially given that many of the models wearing the playful lingerie were barely out of their teens themselves.
The first PINK fashion show was filled with over-the-top, borderline absurd outfits that left audiences amused… and unsettled. One of the looks featured a model strapped into an actual tricycle, transforming her into a living, walking (or rather, rolling) prop. Most of the other looks incorporated oversized plush accessories, pacifier motifs, and even pieces that resembled building blocks. One model sported a belt made entirely of stuffed animals, while another carried a giant rattle, blurring the line between playful and outright infantilizing. The rise of Pink coincided with an era of hypersexualized advertising, where teens were encouraged to aspire to the same beauty standards that had plagued adult women for decades. The messaging—through slogans like “Feeling Flirty” and “Dare to Bare”—pushed the idea that sex appeal was crucial, even for high school-aged consumers.
The fall and reckoning of Victoria’s Secret finally set in by the late 2010s. Cultural shifts and body-positive movements signaled the decline of their influence. There was severe backlash for the brand’s lack of inclusivity, unwillingness to adapt to changing beauty ideals, and association with figures like Jeffrey Epstein, who had close ties to Wexner. Brands like Savage X Fenty and Lane Bryant’s #ImNoAngel campaign stomped Victoria’s fantasy into the ground, championing diversity in body types, ethnicities, and gender representation, and forcing Victoria’s Secret to confront its outdated image. In recent years, the company has attempted to rebrand, ditching the Angels and embracing a wider range of models.
Victoria’s Secret, once an untouchable empire of glamour, now stands as a cautionary tale, serving as a reminder of how media and marketing shape body image perceptions—especially for young women. How much progress has truly been made in the fashion industry? Can a brand so deeply rooted in exclusivity truly change, or is it forever tainted by its past? The fall of Victoria’s Secret isn’t just about a brand—it’s about a cultural shift in how we define beauty, desirability, and self-worth.