The glitter returned to the runway. The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show 2025 made its long-awaited comeback on the night of October 22nd at the Brooklyn Navy Yard in New York, promising to usher in a “new era of sexy.” However, after years of scandals, a reputation crisis, and a stock market crash of over 30% in less than a year, the most iconic—and controversial—show in contemporary fashion faced a monumental task: reconnecting with an audience that is no longer the same as in its golden years.
And while there were feathers, wings, sequins, and pop stars, the result was, at best, ambiguous. What was meant to be a rebirth became a mirror of the cultural tensions running through feminism, the fashion industry, and the very concept of desire itself.
From TV Phenomenon to Symbol of Excess
To understand Victoria’s Secret’s current dilemma, we need to look back. Born in 1995 as a modest lingerie show, the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show transformed over the years into a global spectacle that fused fashion, eroticism, and pop culture. In the early 2000s, the event was a “ratings phenomenon” in its most-watched edition in 2001, it drew 12.4 million viewers to their television screens, according to Nielsen Media Research. Of those, nearly 70% were adult men—an unusual statistic for a program associated with a women’s brand.
For more than a decade, Victoria’s Secret’s “Angels”—Adriana Lima, Heidi Klum, Tyra Banks, Gisele Bündchen—represented an aspirational ideal of beauty and domesticated sensuality. Perfect bodies, bronzed skin, catalogue smiles, and impossible wings. It was a fantasy carefully packaged for mass consumption. But what worked in the era of television spectacle, with millions in ratings and a predominantly male audience, began to grate in a society increasingly aware of stereotypes and inequalities.
The Collapse of the Myth
By the late 2010s, the glass castle began to crack. Audiences were plummeting, and the cultural context had changed radically. In 2018, the company itself admitted that the show had “no material impact on sales.” A year later, it was officially cancelled. The causes were multiple: the lack of diversity among models, unfortunate comments by executives about the inclusion of trans women or plus-size models, and, as a final blow, the reputational damage stemming from founder Les Wexner’s relationship with Jeffrey Epstein.
But beyond the scandal, what really collapsed was a model of desire. In the midst of the body positive era and #MeToo, the unattainable beauty standard and sensuality designed for the male gaze became anachronistic. The fall of the Angels wasn’t just corporate—it was symbolic. Culture no longer recognized itself in them.
Five years after its cancellation and following a lukewarm return in 2024, Victoria’s Secret tried again. This year’s show aimed to present itself as a manifesto of diversity and inclusion. The runway featured models of different sizes, skin tones, and backgrounds. There was a trans model and a nine-months-pregnant model who, in a gesture loaded with symbolism, opened the show. Olympic gymnast Suni Lee and WNBA star Angel Reese also participated. The music was handled by an all-female line-up: Missy Elliott, Karol G, members of South Korean group TWICE, and singer Madison Beer.
At first glance, it seemed the brand had learned its lesson. And yet, something about the spectacle still smelled old.
The Comeback
The problem with the new Victoria’s Secret isn’t so much about image as it is about substance. Despite the stated intentions of CEO Hillary Super to redefine sensuality through a feminine lens, the show still had the same structure and essence: nearly naked women walking down a runway to pop music. The wings changed shape, the bodies were more diverse, but the message remained virtually unchanged. Victoria’s Secret’s “new sexy” looks too much like the old one.
On social media, opinions were diametrically opposed. While some applauded the inclusion and effort to update the format, others considered it a superficial strategy—more cosmetic than ideological. “Putting an athlete and a pregnant woman on stage doesn’t make the message empowering if the spectacle still revolves around the male gaze,” one user wrote on X (formerly Twitter). And that seems to be the core of the debate: Can a brand that built its empire on male desire reinvent itself as a symbol of female empowerment without betraying its commercial DNA?
A Mirage of Modernity
Victoria’s Secret’s strategy of coating its narrative with a “female empowerment” discourse seeks to reconnect with a market that values authenticity and representation. But the risk is evident: when empowerment becomes a marketing tool, it loses its transformative power. Today’s consumers, more informed and demanding, can tell the difference between a symbolic gesture and structural change.
Meanwhile, competitors like Savage x Fenty, founded by Rihanna, have achieved what Victoria’s Secret is still chasing: making diversity a real pillar and not just a stage prop. Rihanna’s brand doesn’t just show different bodies—it redefines what it means to be sexy in 2025: confidence, individuality, and authenticity, without needing to fit a mould.
Perhaps Victoria’s Secret’s problem isn’t that it can’t change, but that it doesn’t know how to do so without ceasing to be Victoria’s Secret. Its identity, built over decades on fantasy and spectacle, is difficult to reconcile with today’s sensibility, which seeks intimacy and truth. In its attempt to adapt, the 2025 show ends up trapped between two worlds: too progressive for the nostalgic, and too conservative for new generations.
Ultimately, the Brooklyn show wasn’t a total failure, but neither was it the rebirth the brand needed. It was a reminder that in the era of body positivity and transparency, golden wings are no longer enough. Sensuality has changed faces, and women—the real consumers—have too.
