I hit puberty in the mid-90s, at the height of Nirvana and Calvin Klein’s heroin chic. This meant that my notion of ideal beauty was forged in the crucible of the grunge aesthetic as interpreted on runways and in magazines—listless, dead-eyed models who were underfed and underwhelmed. At 14, this is not a difficult look to emulate: bored and skinny are two traits that come pretty easily. But as I grew up and filled out, I had to confront the fact that my waifish days were behind me. I was never going to be five foot ten, and couldn’t expect to weigh 95 pounds under any reasonable circumstances. Not tall enough, not thin enough became an unwelcome subconscious refrain as the skeletal image of Kate Moss haunted me well into adulthood.
The result is a series of unsettling and startlingly poignant vignettes. The bright lights and tight focus show Von Habsburg-Lothringen’s subjects no mercy. Flawed bodies and the ravages of age are on full display. Further, all of her models are masked, their faces covered with smooth, almost featureless latex reminiscent of Michael Myers from Halloween. The masks have a dehumanizing effect on their wearer, paradoxically compelling the viewer to search for any perceptible elements of humanity with a greater sense of urgency. (Funny enough, the same thing happens with Michael Myers in the films: Just cry, damn it—she’s your sister!) The masks leave only the eyes visible, which I found to be one of the artist’s most ingenious touches. Her subjects are all at the wrong end of the desirability spectrum, victims of society’s ever-wandering eye—but Von Habsburg-Lothringen is forcing us to look right at them. It reminds us that culture demands that we, especially women, do everything in our power to be looked at until we’re deemed no longer fit to be seen.
