When I first heard about the Brandy Melville documentary, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Like many people my age, I’d seen the brand’s omnipresence on Instagram and TikTok, and I had friends who swore by their trendy, minimalist pieces. I even have a few pieces myself. Brandy Melville’s aesthetic had become synonymous with a certain vision, defined by soft fabrics, muted colours, and a curated image of youthful idealism. But watching the documentary entirely shifted my perception of the brand. It exposed a calculated strategy rooted not just in fashion but in exclusion, elitism, and opacity. What seemed like an innocent, carefree aesthetic on the surface unraveled into something much more problematic.

One of the most striking revelations was how deliberate the brand’s exclusivity is. Their “one-size-fits-all” policy, often criticised for its obvious limitation to a very narrow range of body types, was revealed in the documentary to be not just a flaw but a key element of their branding. This strategy goes far beyond sizing; it informs every aspect of their operations, from their marketing campaigns to the models they select for their stores. Brandy Melville has curated an aesthetic that caters to a specific demographic: slim, white, and conventionally attractive young women. It’s not just about clothing—it’s about constructing a vision of exclusivity and desirability that marginalises the majority. By doing so, the brand implicitly sends the message that if you don’t fit their mould, you simply don’t belong.

Perhaps the most jarring parts of the documentary were the testimonies from former employees, who shed light on the toxic workplace culture underpinning the brand’s operations. The accounts described a system in which beauty was prioritised over merit, where meeting unattainable standards of appearance often took precedence over actual work ethic or contributions. This culture felt more like a hierarchical social club than a professional environment, creating a breeding ground for exploitation and insecurity. One former employee’s recollection of how managers would openly favour staff members who fit the brand’s aesthetic over others was particularly troubling. It painted a picture of a workplace that thrives on superficiality, leaving little room for diversity or individuality.

The documentary also raised critical questions about the brand’s production processes—or rather, the lack of transparency surrounding them. While the fashion industry as a whole grapples with increasing demands for sustainability, ethical labour practices, and supply chain accountability, Brandy Melville seems resistant to addressing these issues. The film highlighted how little is known about where and how their garments are produced. Are their materials sourced sustainably? Are their workers paid fair wages and treated ethically? The brand’s silence on these questions is deafening. In an era where transparency is becoming a non-negotiable aspect of business, their opacity feels not only outdated but deeply irresponsible.

What stayed with me most after watching the documentary was how much it made me reconsider the brands we admire and the images they project. Brandy Melville’s outward simplicity—a hallmark of their visual identity—belies a complex and often troubling reality behind the scenes. The sleek marketing campaigns and aspirational social media posts are carefully designed to obscure deeper issues, from exploitative labour practices to harmful beauty standards. It’s a stark reminder that what we see on the surface often doesn’t align with the truth. Brands wield immense power in shaping cultural norms, and with that power comes the responsibility to operate with integrity. Yet, as Brandy Melville’s case shows, some brands seem content to leverage exclusivity and obscurity for profit, leaving questions of ethics and inclusivity by the wayside.

The documentary forced me to think more critically about the choices I make as a consumer and the broader implications of supporting certain brands. It’s easy to be drawn in by the allure of an Instagram-worthy aesthetic, but it’s crucial to ask: at what cost? Behind the minimalist designs and carefully curated imagery, there can lie practices and values that are anything but aspirational. For all the emphasis Brandy Melville places on being part of a certain “cool” crowd, the true cost of their success—borne by their employees, their consumers, and potentially their supply chain workers—is anything but fashionable. Watching the documentary was an eye-opener, not just about this particular brand but about the larger dynamics of the fashion industry. It reaffirmed the importance of questioning, researching, and holding brands accountable for their practices. Sometimes, the reality behind the image is far less appealing than the image itself, and recognising this is the first step toward meaningful change.