
In fashion, as in theater, you lend yourself to an idea, hit your mark, and become someone else for a little while. If you’re good, the illusion sells. Then the character fades—and you do it again.

For Kiki Willems, this surrender began at 18, when Hedi Slimane plucked her from relative obscurity in Maastricht, a sleepy border town on the edge of the Netherlands. One minute, she was a fitting model for Saint Laurent’s Spring/Summer 2015 collection; the next, she was opening the show. With her gaunt frame, angular features, and blunt-cut dusty red hair, Willems quickly emerged as a rock-and-roll ingénue for the era. She became a brand exclusive for the next two seasons, securing her status as one of Slimane’s muses at the height of his reign as creative director. Fashion, in those years, was averse to polish. Brands wanted bandmates over beauty queens. Willems’ appearance and air of studied detachment set her apart from the high-gloss bombshells and the rising tide of influencer faces. By the late 2010s, she was a fixture on Tumblr, where Slimane’s Saint Laurent aesthetic was canon. But Willems didn’t sell relatability or aspiration. She was the It girl’s foil.

Nearly a decade later, the Dutch model has walked for all the big houses—Dior, Prada, Hermès, Versace, Chanel, Chloe, Balenciaga, and Alexander McQueen—starred in campaigns for Marc Jacobs, Loewe, Bottega Veneta, and Calvin Klein; and been lensed by some of fashion’s most exacting photographers. It’s a résumé that could justify a little ego. But on the phone, speaking from her flat in East London, where she has lived for 4 years, Willems is anything but aloof. She laughs heartily, listens intently, and speaks with a grounded curiosity that disarms—asking how I like New York when I ask how she feels about London. “The best part is that nobody cares how you dress here,” she eventually answers. “I could walk around in pajamas and Crocs and nobody would bat an eye. In New York, people care a little too much about how you dress.”


When it comes to the moment she first felt like she’d “made it,” Willems cites Raf Simons' Calvin Klein Spring/Summer 2017 underwear campaign in which a kiss with her partner Jonas Glöer was displayed high above New York’s Houston Street. “I always saw that billboard and thought, ‘If you’re there, you’ve done it,’” she recalls. Yet, the image, shot by Willy Vanderperre during Simons’ brief but celebrated tenure at the label, felt more personal than routine. “I’ve known Willy for years now,” she says of the Belgian photographer. “We speak in our mother tongues whenever we're on set together." It's an ease shaped by years of working together. "I see a very vulnerable version of myself in his photos," Willems says. "Not just the model, but who I am as a person.”

With most shoots, this intimacy isn’t the case. “A photographer will say, ‘Be yourself,’ but they usually have an idea of me in mind,” Willems says, admitting she’s almost too shy to pose for a camera without slipping into a role. “I always ask myself who the woman is: how she moves, how her face settles when no one’s watching.” Sometimes, the role is high drama, nowhere more so than on set with Steven Meisel. “There’s barely any small talk. You sit there bare-faced,” she says. “Then he starts directing and suddenly there’s a flurry of hands around you. Extensions go in, nails get painted, all while you’re holding your pose. You walk out like, ‘What just happened?’ But it’s always incredible.”

Growing up, the stage held Willems’ imagination long before fashion. “I’ve always been interested in how other people live, what they go through, and acting felt like a way to explore that,” she says. After finishing high school at just 15, Willems was rejected from Maastricht Academy of Dramatic Arts for lacking life experience. “Of course I was a kid back then,” she says, having found the verdict ludicrous at the time. “Now I know that you’ve got to live a bit first.” Lately, she’s returned to acting, attending classes in London and wrapping her first short film playing the frontwoman of a metal band. Even in modeling, Willems remains character-centric. For Family Style, she found inspiration in Nicole Kidman’s portrayal of Romy in last year’s Babygirl: “sexy, inappropriate, a little bit cuckoo.”

But Willems has had more than just a good run; she’s endured in an industry rarely generous to longevity. “I tell a girl I’m 28 backstage and they gasp,” she says. “Some shows, I don’t know anyone anymore.” Early on, Willems was frequently asked about life after modeling. The question, once a source of anxiety, now guides her choices. Her real pride isn’t in campaigns or covers anyway. She recalls how at the funerals of her grandparents, who recently passed away within weeks of each other, no one discussed their jobs. “People shared stories about how they made other people feel,” Willems tells me. “And that’s what matters most to me, how I make people feel—not the billboards.”
