A Promise of Inclusion at the Press Preview
When Anna Wintour addressed the press preview for the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s newest Costume Institute exhibition, she made a striking declaration. The show, she explained, was designed for “every body—nude bodies, classical bodies, corpulent bodies, and disabled bodies.” The room fell silent. For those of us who have spent years advocating for broader representation in fashion, those words carried immense weight. They also carried a specific, surprising word choice that would spark debate long after the preview ended.
The Met’s official press release had earlier promised that the exhibit would “illuminate the indivisible connection between clothing and the body.” That phrasing suggested a thoughtful, inclusive approach. Yet Wintour’s speech did not include the terms many in the size-diversity community have fought to normalize. She did not say “fat,” “plus-size,” “mid-size,” “body-diverse,” or “size-inclusive.” Instead, she chose “corpulent.”
For many listeners, that single word landed like a jarring note in an otherwise harmonious melody. It raised immediate questions about who gets to name our bodies and what those names reveal about the speaker’s comfort level.
The Problem with “Corpulent”
After the preview, I quickly searched for the definition of “corpulent.” Merriam-Webster offered a curt description: “having a large bulky body.” That felt clinical, distant, and oddly antiquated. Yet the museum’s plaque for the Corpulent Body section told a different story. It ran long, offering a dense academic explanation that referenced contemporary fat studies. It described how the corpulent body has been “simultaneously venerated and stigmatized” throughout history, serving as “a symbolic surface upon which societies inscribe anxieties concerning sexuality and reproduction as well as class, race, gender, and power.”
The plaque acknowledged that fat-studies scholars argue the real issue is not flesh itself but “the regulatory regimes that surveil, discipline, and normalize it.” That language felt sophisticated and self-aware. It also felt contradictory. Here was an institution calling out regulatory regimes while, in the same breath, choosing a word that the community it claimed to represent does not typically use for itself.
I have lived in a bigger body for my entire adult life. I have reported on the plus-size fashion industry for over a decade. In all that time, I have rarely heard someone describe themselves as “corpulent.” It is not how we talk about ourselves, each other, or our clothing. Our community has spent years fighting for inclusion using terms like “fat” (reclaimed as a neutral descriptor), “plus-size,” and “body-diverse.” We do not agree on every term—I personally dislike “curve” because it feels avoidant and pandering—but “corpulent” is not part of our vocabulary.
The museum’s avoidance of the words we have reclaimed felt like a linguistic slap in the face. It suggested that the institution was more comfortable using a detached, academic term than embracing the language of the people it sought to represent. That choice made the museum seem less like a neutral or supportive entity and more like yet another regulatory regime policing how bodies are described.
Why Language Matters More Than You Think
Some might dismiss this critique as overly granular. After all, the exhibit did include a section dedicated to larger bodies. But language is how we document our civilization. If people outside of a marginalized community are the ones writing the copy, that community is represented and remembered through an outsider’s biased lens. The words we choose shape how future generations understand our values and priorities.
This issue extends beyond size diversity. Wintour’s speech also referenced “nude bodies.” That phrase could have been stronger as “bodies of color” or “gender nonconforming bodies.” Refusing to authentically and specifically call out marginalized communities—especially while displaying their bodies for a ticketed price—can feel exploitative. It raises uncomfortable questions about who benefits from these representations and who gets to control the narrative.
A Glimmer of Hope Inside the Galleries
Despite my reservations about the language, I walked into the exhibit with an open mind. And once I started moving through the galleries, things began to look up. The entrance featured a Jacques Kaplan trompe l’oeil coat adorned with a painting of a voluptuous body. That piece set a tone of celebration rather than apology. Nearby, a Dior look custom-made for the singer Yseult appeared in the Classical section, signaling that larger bodies belong even in the most traditional fashion contexts.
Throughout the exhibit, I spotted works by designers known for challenging conventional silhouettes. Michaela Stark had two pieces on display. Marine Serre contributed a look near the end. Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, and Ann-Sofie Back all added volume to their designs, creating shapes that resist easy categorization. These designers have long pushed against the industry’s narrow definition of what a body should look like.
But the real moment of relief came when I walked into the Corpulent Body section. There, I let out my bated breath. In the area dedicated to size, I counted eight distinct looks. Designers included Michaela Stark, Sinead O’Dwyer, Karoline Vitto, Ester Manas, Di Petsa, Doublet, and Victoria’s Secret. The mannequins ranged in proportion and size, likely from a 12 to a 20. The top end was modeled after Charlie Reynolds, who has a 52-inch chest, 44-inch waist, and 48-inch hip.
This level of inclusion is a big win. To see eight looks on mannequins that actually represent a range of bigger bodies is rare in any museum context. It suggests that the curatorial team made a deliberate effort to go beyond tokenism. They did not just place one plus-size mannequin in a corner and call it done. They created a dedicated space where larger bodies could be seen and studied on their own terms.
What the Corpulent Body Section Got Right
The eight looks in the Corpulent Body section were not afterthoughts. They were curated with intention. Each piece highlighted how clothing interacts with volume, weight, and shape in ways that are both functional and artistic. The mannequins themselves were not standardized. Some had fuller hips, others broader shoulders, and still others rounder midsections. That variety matters because it acknowledges that “bigger body” is not a monolith.
The designers represented in this section are known for working with plus-size and fat bodies in their regular practices. Michaela Stark, for example, creates garments that celebrate the folds and curves of the body rather than trying to minimize them. Sinead O’Dwyer casts her pieces directly from real bodies, ensuring that the fit reflects actual human proportions rather than idealized measurements. Ester Manas uses draping techniques that accommodate a wide range of sizes without sacrificing design integrity.
Seeing these works in a major museum setting felt validating. It signaled that the fashion world is finally beginning to recognize that larger bodies deserve serious artistic consideration. It also provided a counterpoint to the linguistic misstep of the press preview. The physical objects in the gallery spoke louder than the words used to describe them.
The Missing Intersectionality
Despite the progress represented by the Corpulent Body section, the exhibit revealed a significant gap. The element that the museum missed for us is the intersection between bigger bodies and the exhibit’s other themes. The show includes sections on nude bodies, classical bodies, disabled bodies, and corpulent bodies, but these categories rarely overlap in the display.
The lack of intersection became obvious when I looked across the gallery. I spotted maternity looks and a wall of bodysuits in a range of skin tones—all displayed on thin mannequins. Here was a perfect opportunity to show how pregnancy changes the body and how clothing adapts to those changes. Yet the mannequins remained slender. Similarly, the bodysuits in various skin tones could have been shown on bodies of different sizes, demonstrating that skin color and body size are not independent variables.
One section did feature a pregnancy look photographed on AAPI gender nonconforming models. That was a step in the right direction. But it was an exception rather than the rule. The exhibit as a whole struggled to show how bigger bodies intersect with race, gender, and ability. A fat Black woman experiences the world differently than a thin Black woman. A fat transgender person faces unique challenges in finding clothing that fits both their body and their identity. A fat person with a disability navigates clothing options that are often designed for neither condition.
By treating each category as separate, the museum missed a chance to tell richer, more complex stories. It also risked reinforcing the idea that these identities are discrete rather than overlapping. In reality, most people exist at the intersection of multiple identities. The clothing they wear reflects that complexity.
What Intersectional Representation Would Look Like
Imagine a section of the exhibit where a plus-size mannequin wears a maternity dress, showing how pregnancy changes the silhouette. Or a display where a fat mannequin with a disability wears adaptive clothing that accommodates both body size and mobility needs. Or a grouping where the bodysuits in various skin tones appear on mannequins of different sizes, making the point that skin color and body size are independent but both matter.
These scenarios are not far-fetched. Designers like Ester Manas and Karoline Vitto already create pieces that work across sizes. Adaptive clothing brands are increasingly offering extended size ranges. The curatorial team could have drawn on these resources to create a more integrated vision. Instead, they chose to keep the categories separate, which made the exhibit feel less cohesive than it could have been.
This missed opportunity is particularly frustrating because the museum had the resources and expertise to do better. The Costume Institute has access to some of the most innovative designers in the world. It has a curatorial staff with deep knowledge of fashion history and theory. It has the budget to commission custom pieces and acquire rare garments. With all that at its disposal, the decision to silo body diversity rather than integrate it feels like a choice rather than an oversight.
The Broader Context of Body Diversity in Museums
The Met is not alone in grappling with how to represent body diversity. Museums across the world are wrestling with similar questions. The Victoria and Albert Museum in London has hosted exhibitions on fashion and identity that include plus-size mannequins. The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has displayed garments on mannequins of varying sizes. But these efforts remain the exception rather than the norm.
One challenge is the lack of standardized mannequin sizes. Most museums use mannequins that conform to a narrow range of measurements, typically around a size 4 to 6. Custom mannequins are expensive to produce, and many institutions lack the budget or expertise to create them. The Met’s decision to commission mannequins ranging from size 12 to 20 represents a significant investment. It also sets a precedent that other museums may follow.
Another challenge is the absence of scholarly literature on plus-size fashion history. Most fashion history texts focus on designers who catered to slender clients. The history of plus-size clothing is often treated as a footnote rather than a central thread. This gap means that curators have less material to draw on when planning exhibitions. They may need to rely on contemporary designers rather than historical examples, which can limit the scope of the show.
You may also enjoy reading: Free Template: 23 Smart Goal Examples for Work.
The Met’s exhibit does include some historical references, but the Corpulent Body section is overwhelmingly contemporary. That is not necessarily a bad thing, but it does mean that the exhibit tells a story about the present rather than a story about the past. Viewers may come away thinking that body diversity in fashion is a recent development rather than a long-standing concern.
How Museums Can Improve Body Diversity Representation
For museums that want to do better, the path forward involves several concrete steps. First, they should consult with community members from the bodies they seek to represent. This means not just inviting one or two plus-size advisors but building ongoing relationships with organizations that advocate for size diversity. These groups can provide feedback on language, mannequin selection, and curatorial choices.
Second, museums should invest in custom mannequins that reflect a range of body types. While this is expensive, it is a one-time cost that can be amortized across multiple exhibitions. A museum that owns mannequins in sizes 12, 16, and 20 can use them repeatedly, making the initial investment worthwhile.
Third, curators should seek out historical examples of plus-size fashion. There are plenty of garments from past centuries that were made for larger bodies. These pieces exist in private collections, vintage stores, and even other museums. Finding and displaying them would enrich the narrative and show that body diversity is not a new phenomenon.
Fourth, museums should integrate body diversity into all sections of an exhibition rather than isolating it in one dedicated area. This approach would reflect the reality that larger bodies exist in all contexts—classical, nude, disabled, and beyond. It would also prevent the “corpulent body” from being treated as a separate category that is somehow apart from the rest of fashion.
The Role of Language in Shaping Perception
Returning to the issue of language, it is worth considering why the Met chose “corpulent” over other terms. One possibility is that the curatorial team wanted to use a word that felt academic and neutral. “Corpulent” has a long history in art history and medical texts, which may have made it seem appropriate for a museum context. Another possibility is that the team wanted to avoid the political charge associated with words like “fat” or “plus-size.” These terms carry baggage that the museum may have wanted to sidestep.
But avoiding charged language does not make the representation neutral. It makes it distant. When a museum uses a word that the community does not use for itself, it signals that the institution is not fully in dialogue with that community. It suggests that the museum is speaking about rather than with the people it claims to represent.
The plaque in the Corpulent Body section did acknowledge that “fat” is a reclaimed term within fat studies. That acknowledgment was important, but it felt buried in a wall of academic prose. Most visitors will not read the entire plaque. They will see the word “corpulent” and move on. The museum missed a chance to use the language that would resonate most with its audience.
For comparison, consider how the museum handles other identity categories. When discussing race, the exhibit uses terms like “Black,” “Asian,” and “Latinx.” When discussing gender, it uses “nonbinary” and “transgender.” These terms reflect the language that the communities themselves have chosen. Why should size diversity be treated differently?
A Call for Authentic Language
If the Met wants to be a leader in body diversity representation, it needs to adopt the language that size-diverse communities actually use. That means using “fat” as a neutral descriptor, “plus-size” as a market category, and “body-diverse” as an umbrella term. It means avoiding euphemisms like “curve” and clinical terms like “corpulent” unless they are being quoted or critiqued.
It also means being specific about other marginalized identities. “Nude bodies” should become “bodies of color.” “Disabled bodies” should be accompanied by language that centers the experiences of disabled people rather than defining them by their conditions. These changes may seem small, but they matter. They signal that the museum is paying attention to the nuances of identity and representation.
The Exhibit’s Strengths and Weaknesses
To summarize, the Met exhibit makes important strides in body diversity while also falling short in key areas. The inclusion of eight looks on mannequins ranging from size 12 to 20 is a genuine achievement. The presence of designers like Michaela Stark, Sinead O’Dwyer, and Karoline Vitto shows that the curatorial team sought out artists who specialize in plus-size fashion. The academic framing of the corpulent body section, while linguistically problematic, does engage with fat studies scholarship in a serious way.
On the other hand, the language choices at the press preview and in the exhibit copy undermine the message of inclusion. The lack of intersectionality between bigger bodies and race, gender, and ability limits the exhibit’s impact. The decision to isolate the Corpulent Body section rather than integrate size diversity throughout the show reinforces the idea that larger bodies are a separate category rather than a normal variation.
The exhibit also misses an opportunity to address the practical challenges of plus-size fashion. Visitors see beautiful garments on mannequins, but they do not learn about the difficulties of finding well-made clothing in extended sizes. They do not hear about the higher prices, limited options, and poor fit that many plus-size shoppers face. Including that context would have made the exhibit more educational and more empowering.
What the Exhibit Teaches Us About Progress
Despite its flaws, the Met exhibit represents progress. Ten years ago, a major museum exhibition on fashion would not have included a section dedicated to larger bodies at all. The fact that the Met devoted an entire gallery to this topic, commissioned custom mannequins, and engaged with fat studies scholarship is a sign that the conversation is moving forward.
Progress, however, is not the same as arrival. The exhibit shows that institutions are still learning how to represent body diversity authentically. They are still making mistakes with language. They are still struggling to integrate intersectional perspectives. But they are trying, and that effort deserves recognition even as we push for more.
For those of us who live in bigger bodies, seeing ourselves represented in a museum setting is both validating and bittersweet. We celebrate the wins while noting the gaps. We appreciate the effort while demanding more. And we continue to advocate for a fashion world—and a museum world—that sees us fully, not as a category but as people.
