featured-image

Credit Tira Howard for SWAIA "I realised that after a lifetime of uncertainty, I’d finally found unconditional love for myself — something I hope today’s Native youth can feel from the very start," says Kate Nelson. Like many girls who came of age in the ’90s, I had aspirations of becoming a model. Thanks to the likes of Cindy Crawford , Christy Turlington and Kate Moss , it was the American dream du jour.

After all, their ivory-toned faces and wispy, lithe figures were seemingly everywhere, from countless catwalks to magazine covers to ad campaigns galore; they were impossible to ignore. The only problem? As an Alaska Native with olive skin, chubby cheeks and broad shoulders, I looked nothing like the supermodels of that era. Advertisement It didn’t help that I grew up in rural Minnesota surrounded by mostly blond-haired, blue-eyed kids of Scandinavian descent.



Back then, I didn’t understand that my yearning to approximate whiteness actually had very little to do with me and rather was the result of centuries of oppressive assimilation policies intended to make Indigenous people feel inadequate and othered. I couldn’t change my skin colour or my bone structure, but I could manipulate my body size. Thus began a decades-long battle with body dysmorphia and disordered eating in an ill-fated attempt to become something I’m not.

In my early 20s, I booked a couple of entry-level modelling gigs, but never made my way onto the runway. Even at my gauntest (read: unhea.

Back to Fashion Page