‘I don’t think I’m, like, ‘model-y modeler,’ ” says Agyness Deyn, who is, according to the people who decide these things, the fashion industry’s next great supermodel, rightful heir to Kate Moss’ legacy of off-kilter British looks, punk-rock attitude, and iconoclastic personal style. “It’s funny, ’cause I always think, like – I pretend to be a model. I know that sounds really weird. I am a model.”
Indeed. Since her debut at New York’s Fashion Week in the fall of 2006, East Village transplant Deyn (pronounced “Dean”) has starred in campaigns for Armani, Hugo Boss and Mulberry. She has just been signed to revive the deeply un-hip Reebok line. Deyn has also unseated Moss – to the great glee of the British tabs, who chronicle what Deyn says is a non-existent rivalry – as both the face of Burberry and as Tatler’s Best Dressed Woman.
Her mannequins – and they are hers, sculpted by one of England’s legendary mannequin-makers when Deyn was a struggling model of 19 – display looks at Zara and Anna Sui shops. She was featured on the May 2007 cover of Vogue as one of the few breakout models of the year, dubbed “The Model” in last September’s Vanity Fair, and has been approached by British chain New Look to design her own line. She was named “Model of the Year” at the 2007 British Fashion Awards. The May issue of the cool-kid UK style bible i-D is thoroughly Deyn-themed, featuring six different covers of Deyn by six different photographers.
“This is the first time in our 28-year-history that we’ve dedicated the whole issue to one person,” says i-D editor Ben Reardon. Like nearly everyone who works in – or just loves – fashion, Reardon is fascinated by Deyn’s stylistic alchemy; she can fuse, say, elements of ska, mod, punk rock and 1950s-prom into one cohesive look. “We have stories on her suspenders, her jeans, the New Look range. We have a 2,000-word story on her hair – what products does she use, her inspirations. We dissect what it means to be Agyness.”
And just what does it mean to be Agyness?
“She represents something that’s quintessentially British,” Reardon says. “British models tend to be a bit rougher. They go out with boys in bands and go to the parties and shows.” (Deyn’s boyfriend of four years is Josh Hubbard of the UK band the Paddingtons.) “But she’s more than just a model. She has great taste.” Reardon pauses for a breath. “She’s not the most beautiful girl. You’re not intimidated to be in her presence. But she’s next in line.”
“There’s no one else out there who looks like her,” says designer Anna Sui. “She personifies joie de vivre. She can reflect what the designer wants but give it her own personality.”
Aside from her striking look – the buzz-shorn, bleached-blond hair, heavy dark brows, and androgynous frame (reminiscent to many of ’80s supermodel Jenny Howarth) – Deyn has that ephemeral trait that makes a mere model a supermodel: An individuality that works, weirdly, in concert with the clothes, never against them. And, like Moss – the 5-7 waif whose alien beauty demolished the glamazon supermodels of the late 1980s – Deyn, too, looks refreshingly modern after a slew of interchangeable Russian models, who followed the slew of interchangeable Brazilians.
Deyn agrees that she is “not as beautiful as the girls before” – but believes her personality and style make up for it. “I kind of stand out,” she says simply. One of her first agents in London told her to grow her hair and soften her look to book more commercial work. Deyn’s response: “But I’m not commercial!” She left.
“She’s not pretentious,” says New York artist Billy Sullivan, who shot an ’80s-themed fashion story with Deyn for her i-D issue. He met her at a dinner in the West Village just three months ago. “She’s open to anything. She doesn’t prejudge who you are or if you’re worth her time. She lets you become her friend.”
Since relocating from London to New York’s East Village in the summer of 2006, Deyn has seemingly befriended everyone south of 14th Street. She prefers local dive bars to the Beatrice Inn, rock shows to dinner parties, riding her bicycle to taking a cab, Trash and Vaudeville (“my favorite store on the planet”) to Barneys Co-op. She lives in a modest railroad apartment on the second floor of a walk-up, a tidy, rock ‘n’ roll-meets-art deco space, furnished with hipster-glam pieces she found at the Hell’s Kitchen and 26th St. flea markets (“These chairs were $150! That dresser was only $200!”). There is no sink in the bathroom. She uses the awkward space dividing the kitchen from the living area as a walk-in closet. It’s fair to say her collection of vintage and designer pieces is overwhelming. “It’s f – – – in’ mental!” Deyn exclaims. “I don’t know where to put all this s – – -.”
Deyn grew up in Manchester, England, sandwiched between an older brother (now a commercial pilot) and a younger sister (an installation and graffiti artist). She has a working-class accent that sounds like a softer Scottish brogue, and she comes across as perpetually amused.
Her parents divorced when she was a kid; her mother is a nurse specializing in alternative therapies like Reiki. “I got tuned when I was 14,” Deyn says. She was always into rock ‘n’ roll and fashion, dyeing her hair red as a teenager, pasting pictures of the Clash and Debbie Harry on her bedroom walls, studying magazines like The Face and Marmalade. She went through a period of dressing only in gray, which may have meant she was depressed, but she’s not really sure. After finishing Catholic school at 18, she moved to London and hoped to go to drama school, but got spotted by a modeling agent instead.
Deyn says she has always been lucky: On the recommendation of a friend, she walked into DNA Models in New York City – which doesn’t take walk-ins – and was signed on the spot. “This was a girl that was informed as far as style was concerned,” says her agent, Louie Chaban. “She had the blond hair, the Clash T-shirt, the Doc Martens. She just looked like she knew something.”
Before that, Deyn was squatting in Paris for three months; a fellow squatter befriended her.
He turned out to be designer Hedi Slimane, and it was at his birthday party that she met her boyfriend. Her childhood best friend is UK fashion phenom Henry Holland. Right after moving to New York, on a whim, Deyn MySpaced designer Jeremy Scott and asked if she could walk in his show. He said sure. Perhaps most impressively, she found her newly renovated East Village apartment online, only two days into her search.
This all hews fairly close to the creation myth of Agyness Deyn, supermodel and ambassador of British youth culture circa 2008. Despite having made a noble effort, there is not much in the way of scandal that the UK press has been able to unearth about Deyn, aside from her real name (Laura Hollins) and her real age (25).
She enjoys smoking and drinking, but she has never been shot stumbling out of a nightclub. She says this is a testament to her working-class heartiness. “I suppose, being Northern and English, you drink quite a lot, so I kind of get drunk, but I never get to that point where I’m not gonna be able to walk.” She laughs. “Sometimes I do.” Aside from the occasional pizza-and-beer binge, these are her worst vices.
“She is unjaded and not cynical, and that really helped her,” says her agent Chaban, who thinks Deyn will have the kind of lasting impact on fashion that models like Twiggy and Moss have had. “In ‘model world,’ you can be the most beautiful girl, but 90 percent of it is personality. You can have a quirky girl and a conventional-looking girl, but one can be a model and one can’t. I think the quirky one wins in the end.”