NEPO BABIES ARE IN FASHION: THE END OF MERITOCRACY IN THE INDUSTRY?

The fashion industry is undergoing a quiet transformation. The children of celebrities dominate runways, displacing models who made it on their own merit.

In an industry that speaks so much about diversity and inclusion, few contradictions are as blatant as the omnipresence of nepo babies. These celebrity offspring dominate campaigns, runways, and magazine covers as if their presence were synonymous with merit. The logic surrounding them is not based on talent, effort, or training, but on the media genetics they inherit. In an era where lineage replaces résumés, a last name is worth more than a portfolio.

The phenomenon is not new, but it is more shameless than ever. Unlike previous generations, where some figures avoided mentioning their heritage to earn a name of their own, today the family connection is celebrated as a brand asset. The implicit message is unsettling: being born in the right cradle opens doors that talent alone cannot touch. What does this say about real opportunities in the industry?

Fashion has always been a social mirror. And what it reflects today is a recycled elite that perpetuates its dominance from cradle to feed. Beauty, so coveted and carefully constructed, is legitimized by proximity to celebrities, not necessarily by preparation or vocation. The runway becomes an extension of the family photo album, where familiar faces sell more than actual skills. Influence replaces impact.

Models like Kaia Gerber, daughter of Cindy Crawford, and Kendall Jenner, from the Kardashian-Jenner clan, don’t just inherit fame, they inherit established platforms. While other young women struggle to afford a photo book or a plane ticket to a casting, they debut with Chanel or Versace. This inequality is not only evident, it is systematic. And yet, their narratives attempt to disguise privilege with stories of effort.

Lily-Rose Depp’s insistence that having "a foot in the door" doesn’t guarantee success was met with skepticism. Not because her work is being dismissed, but because it ignores the structural dimension of access. The reaction of models like Anok Yai, daughter of Sudanese refugees, exposed a painful divide. “If you knew the hell we went through just to be in the same room you were born into,” she wrote. For many, meritocracy is just a myth.

Brands’ fascination with nepo babies is no accident, it is deeply strategic. These faces, already recognizable by their lineage, bring in millions of followers and guarantee instant visibility. Fashion houses don’t just sell clothes, they sell aspiration. And nothing is more aspirational than the life of a celebrity’s child: luxurious, beautiful, and seemingly effortless. Every click, every like, is symbolic capital.

Recent cases confirm this. Maya Wigram, daughter of designer Phoebe Philo, was chosen to close Burberry’s show. She had no professional trajectory or portfolio, but she had an inherited narrative that generated interest. The same happened with Scarlet Stallone, Deva Cassel, Iris Law, and Lila Moss. In every case, the last name comes before the merit. The brand is not looking for the best model, it is looking for the most familiar face.

The algorithm confirms it: inherited celebrity generates more traffic than authenticity. As casting director James Scully said, nepo babies attract attention “regardless of height or how well they walk.” In a system governed by virality, technical standards are lowered in favor of media impact. So what is left for the rest of the models? Where does hard work fit in this equation?

Even when some heiresses have notable qualities, the system delegitimizes them through context. Gigi Hadid or Kaia Gerber, with obvious aptitude, are never disconnected from their lineage. Even if they were good without it, the last name will always weigh more than their book. It is the dilemma of those born with an advantage: even if you run faster, everyone will notice your golden sneakers before your speed.

Generation Z, raised among influencers and digital celebrities, has normalized this symbiosis between fame and aesthetics. In their imagination, there is no contradiction between being famous for being someone’s child and walking for Prada. What was once a stigma is now social capital. The last name is a personal brand. Validation doesn’t come from effort, but from media pedigree. The public doesn’t admire the rise, it admires the bloodline.

And yet, the discomfort grows. Critical voices are also growing louder. Models like Vittoria Ceretti have denounced the trivialization of effort. “You can cry on your dad’s couch in your Malibu villa, but don’t compare your story to ours,” she wrote. There is an emotional and economic gap that cannot be hidden by speeches of false humility. Luxury is more than clothes, it is access and protection.

The contradiction deepens when we talk about inclusion. Campaigns celebrate diverse bodies but still privilege identical origins. Stories of overcoming adversity seem like a secondary narrative compared to the magnetism of a last name. Can an industry be truly inclusive if it keeps orbiting around the same families? How many real opportunities are left for those who come from below?

The phenomenon is not limited to fashion. Many nepo babies use the runway as a springboard into acting, music, or design. They walk to gain visibility and then cross into Hollywood, with the same last name as a passport. Lily-Rose Depp, Rafferty Law, Amelia Gray, and Eve Jobs follow the same path. The runway is not a destination, but an inherited platform for visibility.

In this context, the debate about nepotism is no longer just ethical, it is structural. It is not about blaming children for the privileges of their parents, but about pointing to a system that continues to reward last names over capabilities. The problem is not that nepo babies exist, it’s that they dominate the landscape without real counterbalance. If everything is about influence, what happens to effort?

Fashion, in its obsession with status, risks losing authenticity. And in that loss, the talent that doesn’t have a famous last name or family network gets pushed out. The challenge is to look beyond lineage and once again value what has always been the heart of this industry: the ability to make the extraordinary visible. Not because of the name you carry, but because of what you know how to do.