English Version | The revolution will be corseted

The tools of female oppression are diverse— some are even wearable. The corset, for instance, has long symbolized this subjugation, with women pressured to contort their bodies into unnatural shapes. But, like anything in fashion, the tides change. Michaela Stark is leafing the conversation that subverts corsetry into defining pieces of empowerment. Her creations contort the Machiavellian connotations of the garment. Corsets are now used to highlight belly fat, cellulite on the hips, stretch marks on the legs. The Australian artist is leading a peculiar revolution. 

Her pieces question, and often break, the mold of what is allowed to be considered beautiful. But the artist, or rather designer, doesn't just limit herself to the world of art. Stark is in the process of establishing a true empire. Stark's impact reaches beyond the realm of art. She is building an empire. This year alone, she has performed at Tate Britain and Fondazione Sozzani and collaborated with icons like Beyoncé. With a haute couture and ready-to-wear line, Panty, she’s also set to become one of the most compelling designers of our time. In an interview with Vogue Portugal, Stark reflects on her career, the glass ceilings she continues to encounter, and her greatest inspirations.

You're a big lover of fashion. Where did that love come from? 
I’m not entirely sure where it came from. I know my journey into fashion, so maybe I’ll start with that, and then we can get to the core of where that love originated. I’ve always loved playing dress-up since I was a kid. We had a family dress-up box under our house with everything from doctors' scrubs to a wedding dress from a random family member from the '80s to fairy wings, and everything in between. I loved the ability to imagine myself as different characters or alter egos through dress. I grew up in Brisbane, Australia, on a road where you couldn’t really drive through, so it was a very small, safe community. I was able to run around wearing nothing but a tutu all summer, feeling free and unjudged in that small, tiny neighborhood. Experiences like that led me to love dressing up and the expression you can have through fashion. Throughout my childhood, I thought I was going to be an actress—I was super into acting. I did theater plays and acting classes after school and on weekends. When I was about 15, I started taking fashion classes. There’s a similarity between theater and fashion, and maybe you can see that reflected in my work. It can be quite theatrical at times, especially in the fashion editorials I do, it’s all about the wig, the bald cap, the corset, the makeup, the nails—everything.

That theatrical quality comes through in your work. It’s almost like a character study. You eventually left Australia to study in Milan, did that move affect your perspective on fashion?
I loved being in Milan and learning about fashion. It was my first real exposure to the European fashion industry, and it was incredibly eye-opening. I learned so much about tailoring and draped my first corset in Milan... However, I developed a bit of a love-hate relationship with it. I loved the people, the techniques, and learning about Italian history. Being from Australia, which doesn’t have as rich a history in fashion as Europe, it was a big change. In Australia, fashion isn’t taken as seriously—it’s more basic, though interesting people are doing amazing things with clothes and self-expression. But as an industry, it’s still in its early stages compared to Europe. In that sense, I’m really lucky to have studied in Australia and Brisbane, where there’s no strict history of fashion, so there aren’t as many rules. It was very freeing. The focus at my university was on making sure every stitch was perfect, but in terms of design, there was a lot of freedom because we weren’t bound by tradition. When I went to Italy, I felt a huge shift. It was hard to design things that my lecturers considered actual fashion rather than costume or drag. They had strict rules about what fashion was and wasn’t, which came from their deep-rooted traditions.

You have such a couturier’s point of view. What motivated you to start your ready-to-wear label Panty?
It’s something I always had in the back of my mind, but it’s only recently that I’ve started to appreciate commercial fashion. In university, I was adamant that I would never be a commercial fashion designer, despite my love for fashion. I have always seen fashion as a means of self-expression, both for the wearer and the designer. I was inspired by designers like John Galliano, Lee McQueen, and Martin Margiela, who created conceptual, sometimes unwearable clothes. I used to find commercial fashion boring, but now I’m interested in how people might style and wear my clothes. I want them to engage with my work, and that’s something I’m starting to explore more. Before, my work was so personal that I would even hesitate to lend out pieces for shoots unless I was on set. But that’s changing. I’m getting more comfortable with the idea of people wearing and interpreting my work. I think I’m just ready for fresh inspiration and to challenge myself in new ways. I’m still passionate about theatrical fashion, but now I want to explore commercial fashion and see how it fits into my work.

You’ve mentioned some iconic designers like Galliano and McQueen, you share a city with them now that you live in London. How has living in the city influenced your fashion vision?
Living in London has been incredible for nurturing my vision. The fashion scene here, especially within the queer community, is so vibrant and welcoming. When I first moved here, I quickly found myself surrounded by people who viewed fashion in such a fun, expressive way. In London, no idea is too crazy; instead, people encourage you to go even further. This has been a huge shift for me compared to my experiences in Milan and Paris, where the fashion scenes felt more rigid and bound by unspoken rules.

What differences did you notice between living and working in London, Paris, and Milan?
Each city has its vibe. In Paris, for example, there are a lot of unspoken cultural rules, especially around clothing. I found myself getting caught out as a foreigner because I was unaware of these norms. For instance, wearing certain outfits could lead to unwanted attention or harassment, which was really jarring. It made me more cautious about what I wore. In contrast, London feels much freer, and that safety and openness allow me to be more experimental with my fashion. It’s a big part of why I find the London fashion scene so inspiring and why it’s altered my perception of fashion.

Do you encounter resistance within the fashion industry because you push boundaries, especially regarding what bodies and shapes are considered beautiful? Do you feel there’s a glass ceiling in that sense?
Definitely. I’ve been on sets where I’ve cast all the models, and then a fashion editor comes in and says, "Oh no, that’s too much," or "That goes too far." For instance, I once had a fashion editor say in the vicinity of a model that she couldn’t be on the cover because her hair was "too ethnic." And this was for a major magazine. It’s frustrating because, from the outside, it might seem like the fashion world has made strides in diversity—like using and celebrating Black models—but the reality is that the industry often pushes back against true diversity.

How do you navigate being able to resist within the industry?
It’s tricky. In the beginning, I used to fight a lot, but I realized that fighting back often just closes doors for you. So, it becomes a delicate balancing act—figuring out how much you can push each time without shutting down opportunities for yourself. If you close all the doors, it’s tough to make any real change. Over time, I’ve learned to play the game a bit more, to push where I can while still maintaining enough control to keep advancing and pushing for change.

That makes perfect sense. You can't change the machine from the outside, right?
Exactly. That’s why I’ve been so firm in defining myself as a fashion designer, not just an artist. I feel like I’m clearly an artist, but I need to be within the fashion industry to create change.

How do you navigate those labels?
I guess I’d define myself as a designer, though I’m not entirely sure. Everything has felt so natural so far, but I’ve always been adamant about being a fashion designer or at least working within the fashion industry. This is where my roots are—I’ve studied fashion, lived in fashion capitals like Paris, Milan, and London, and worked as a seamstress and intern for various brands. Now, I have my own fashion lines, and most of my inspiration comes from clothing and fashion, even though I’m influenced by certain artists. The art I create is often within the context of fashion magazines or editorials, and I believe fashion has a unique power to effect large-scale change. Fashion has historically had this push and pull with culture and society, influencing and being influenced by what’s happening politically and culturally. For example, look at the 90s, with the heroin chic movement, Kate Moss, and Victoria’s Secret show—these are prime examples of how fashion infiltrates culture and shapes how people see themselves. This influence is especially strong among queer people and younger generations who look to fashion as a form of self-expression. I haven’t seen the same level of cultural impact from the art industry in the 21st century.

Do you think there’s a divide between how the art industry views fashion and vice versa?
Absolutely. I often get told by people in the art world that I shouldn’t "degrade" myself to being a fashion designer, that I’m an artist. But that’s not the compliment they think it is. There’s a perception in the art industry that fashion is somehow lesser, but I don’t think the fashion industry looks down on art in the same way. For me, fashion is where my DNA lies—it’s what I know, and it’s where I believe real change can happen.

I recently did a performance at the Tate Gallery to close the John Singer Sargent fashion exhibition. My approach to creating art is that I don’t try to think of too deep a concept before I start because I don’t want to get bound by it—I want to feel how I’m feeling in the moment. So, my concept was simple. But I went to a dinner party and I mentioned that I might be doing something at the Tate for the John Singer Sargent exhibition, and someone said, "It’s such a shame they downgraded his work to fashion. It’s such a disrespect to him." I snapped back, saying that fashion is so culturally significant, and it’s not a downgrade for an artist to be associated with it. When I finally saw the exhibition myself, I came away seeing John Singer Sargent as almost a painterly version of a fashion photographer. Fashion photographers, especially the creative ones, are often still labeled as commercial because they work in fashion, even though they’re clearly artists. It’s odd because art can be commercial too, so why is fashion seen as just about commerciality? There are so many amazing people in fashion who are undeniably artists, not just designers. But, just as not everyone in fashion is an artist, not everyone in the art world is one either.

It’s almost like fashion has a stronger, more immediate impact on society and culture than art does.
Fashion hits a nerve because it’s so connected to how people present themselves and how they’re perceived by society. There is definitely a hierarchy where art is seen as more elevated, but I think that has a lot to do with gender dynamics. Art is often seen as a male-dominated field, while fashion, despite being centered around women, is still dominated by famous male designers. Historically, before Charles Frederick Worth, fashion was very much in the hands of women—they designed their clothes and took them to a seamstress, who was usually a woman, to be made. But seamstresses were unnamed, unlike tailors, who were often men and held in higher regard. Even now, in a female-centric industry like fashion, most of the famous names are men. It’s fascinating because fashion has always been a space where queer people can express themselves and push boundaries, but there’s still so much patriarchy involved. However, it’s not necessarily straight men who dominate—it’s often gay men. There aren’t many industries where gay men are at the top, but fashion is one of them.

You've had your share of trouble with social media, being mass reported, and having your Instagram and TikTok accounts deleted multiple times. What’s your relationship with social media like now?
I have such a love-hate relationship with social media. On the one hand, it's been amazing for me. It’s how I got noticed and connected with so many like-minded artists worldwide. Social media opens doors for people who weren’t born into the industry, letting them connect with others based on a shared aesthetic or vision. It’s led to incredible opportunities, not just for collaboration but also for forming genuine friendships. I’ve met people online who have become close friends, and we’ve built real-life connections too. But on the flip side, social media isn’t as fun as it used to be. I’ve been shadowbanned for about three years, had my Instagram deleted three times, and had countless posts removed. That feels more traumatic than receiving hate comments because it’s like the platform is siding with the haters by silencing my voice. It’s frustrating, especially when I know I’m following the rules. Instagram’s guidelines are incredibly specific—for example, you can cup your breasts, but if your fingers are bent, it’s considered sexual. Yet, I've had posts taken down while hateful comments, even threats, are deemed acceptable by Instagram. It feels like a violation because it’s not just about losing a post—it’s about losing my ability to express myself. 

You've shared some incredible experiences, from working with Beyoncé to founding your direct-to-consumer brand. Looking back, what has been the highlight of your career so far?
It's tough to pinpoint just one because there have been so many highs. As my career has progressed, my understanding of what's achievable has grown too. For example, when I first moved to London at 20, even the smallest accomplishments felt like major victories. That initial excitement, like participating in my first Fashion Week as an intern and seeing a piece I sewed featured in British Vogue, was such a big moment. I remember writing home to my family about it with so much enthusiasm. Now, even though I’ve had bigger achievements, like working with Beyoncé, the feeling of that early excitement is still something I cherish. Working with Beyoncé was a surreal experience. It all happened so quickly—I was suddenly in her and Jay Z’s hotel room on one of my first days on the job, draping a Versace robe on my assistant, who happened to be a friend from university. I remember Beyoncé moving so quietly, like a ghost, and at one point, she gently touched my assistant’s hood, and we were both in awe. That project led to working on the European leg of her On the Run II tour, and I’ll never forget being in the crowd in London when she released the "APESHIT" video. Seeing my creations on the screen while surrounded by so many people was a huge moment. It made me realize the potential to impact culture and create meaningful art. Being in the room while Beyoncé discussed the video's significance with the director gave me a glimpse into how deeply personal conversations can translate into something that resonates with millions. That experience was a defining moment in my career, showing me how art can create real change.

It's amazing that you speak about your accomplishments not just as milestones for your résumé, but as experiences that truly shaped your perspective on the impact of your work. Achievements are more than just titles or things to post on social media. They’re about how they alter your understanding of what’s possible. Do you have any particular references in art or history that inspire your work?
Definitely. I draw a lot from various artistic references, though I wouldn’t say I have a deep knowledge of fashion history compared to some. It’s almost a running joke among my friends, but my focus has always been on something different. Not knowing all the details of fashion history has, in a way, freed me from being tempted to copy others. Instead, I draw inspiration from the attitude of people who are unapologetic in their expression, whether it’s through their sexuality, the way they dress, or how they’re perceived. Fashion for me is about pushing boundaries, but in a way that still resonates with people. I often reference accepted fashion aesthetics because there’s a certain magic in fashion editorials. I criticize the industry because I love it so much, and I’ve found my identity through it. But I’ve also felt like an outsider, which has fueled my desire to challenge its unspoken rules. When I design, I try to create something beautiful and delicate that aligns with established notions of beauty, but I tweak it just enough to push boundaries and provoke thought.

Do you have any muses when it comes to your work?
I’m more inspired by an attitude or a feeling rather than a specific person. I think of women who are unapologetic in their self-expression, who push the boundaries in fashion even if they’re ridiculed for it. It’s that boldness that inspires me, especially when I’m feeling insecure about my own choices.

Translated from the original on "The Big Book of Trends" issue, published September 2024. Full credits and stories in the print issue.