The YSL catwalk: it's not just women's fashion that has a problem with extreme thinness

Male models at Hedi Slimane's show for Yves Saint Laurent looked ill, tired - and unhealthily skinny.

Hedi Slimane has always liked to use thin male models. At Dior Homme, his skinny silhouette is credited with moving the men's fashion industry as a whole to narrower cuts, and he inspired Chanel's Karl Lagerfeld to lose 90lb - on a regime of Diet Coke - to fit into his clothes.

But his show yesterday for Yves Saint Laurent at Paris fashion week was exceptional, even by his standards. This photo sums it up:

(Photo from Style.com)

While this model might be totally healthy, he doesn't look it. The skinniness of his thighs is also an extremely unrealistic shape for the vast majority of men to aspire to.

Here are a couple of the other models (photos from Getty)

Just how thin are these men? Well, a New York Times story about the increasing thinness of male models gave the vital statistics of Stas Svetlichnyy, as 6ft tall and 145lb (10st 5lb), with a 28-inch waist. And that's his "top weight", apparently. 

This being fashion, the reviews of the YSL show barely mentioned the extreme thinness of the models. The Washington Post observed that:

The styles were also very young, with slim pickings for older men.                    

. . .  which is a bit of an understatement, as I can't imagine many men over 30 have this body shape naturally. The influential fashion industry site Women's Wear Daily made reference to the models' shape very briefly, saying:

The first rocker out — pale and gaunt — pointed his Adam’s apple at the photographers and strode out in a lean tuxedo and black shirt, as cocky as Mick Jagger.

This is fetishising thinness, and the appearance of illness, as just another quirky aesthetic choice. And it's not healthy.

(hat-tip to @isaacjlock for the original picture)

The YSL 2013 F/W men's fashion show. Photo: Getty

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism