Looking back now as someone who grew up watching meme clips from America’s Next Top Model, such as the iconic “I was rooting for you, we were all rooting for you, how dare you” line, I feel torn between nostalgia and discomfort.
At the time, Tyra Banks felt iconic, powerful, glamorous, and in control. She wasn’t just the host; she was the blueprint. Seeing a successful Black supermodel leading a prime-time show felt important, even if I didn’t yet have the language to explain why. The show framed itself as empowering: teaching girls to find their “smize,” own their uniqueness, and believe in their potential. As a teenager, that message landed. It felt like confidence-building disguised as entertainment.
But rewatching clips now, especially the moments that have resurfaced online, I see things differently. The dramatic makeovers that once felt exciting now feel coercive. Contestants crying as their hair was cut or dyed weren’t just being “dramatic”; they were young women losing control over their own image on national television. Photoshoots that required models to portray different races, or adopt exaggerated stereotypes, are jarring to revisit. Harsh critiques about weight, teeth, or body proportions ( delivered as “tough love” ) echo the kind of scrutiny that so many girls were already internalising from early 2000s tabloids and celebrity culture. What was framed as preparation for the “real world” of fashion often looked like humiliation packaged as growth.
And yet, it’s not simple. The show did offer representation that was rare at the time. It featured plus-size contestants competing seriously. It cast Isis King, one of the first openly transgender models on reality television, long before widespread conversations about gender identity were part of mainstream media. For many viewers, seeing women who didn’t fit a single mould of beauty was meaningful. It suggested that there were multiple ways to be striking, editorial, or high fashion, even if those definitions were still tightly controlled.
The problem, I think, is that empowerment and harm existed side by side. The show told us to love ourselves, but only after we were reshaped, rebranded, and judged. It preached individuality, yet consistently reinforced that certain proportions, bone structures, and “model looks” were superior. As a young viewer, I absorbed both messages without realising it. I practised my walk in the mirror, but I also became more aware of my “flaws.” I learned about confidence, but I also learned that confidence had to survive constant critique.
Revisiting America’s Next Top Model now feels like revisiting the era itself ( one steeped in diet culture, extreme makeovers) and a media landscape that thrived on tearing women down in the name of transformation. Tyra Banks was both a product of that time and a challenger of it. She broke barriers and, at the same time, upheld some of the very standards that limited so many women.
As someone looking back, I don’t see the show as purely empowering or purely damaging. I see it as complicated. It gave many girls visibility and possibilities. But it also normalised the idea that our worth could be measured, edited, and eliminated in weekly instalments. And perhaps the most telling sign of cultural progress is that we can now look at those episodes critically, recognising both the doors that were opened and the pressure that came with walking through them.