Camille Charrière has just returned from fashion month. A scroll through her Instagram sees her front row at Saint Laurent, brushing shoulders with Angelina Jolie and featured on the cover of The Times. Recent media attention has centered on her hit Mango collection and the naked dress movement which she has been crowned the face of – both career highlights for any influencer. But to exclusively typecast her as an “it girl” (of which there is little doubt she is) attaches a level of impermanence to Camille’s position in fashion, one that has commanded authority and influence in the industry for the last decade.

“I began blogging during my lunch hour”, Camille concedes. Having completed her bilingual law degree in Paris (she ranked first in her cohort) and deferred her training contract at Clifford Chance, she made the logical decision to follow her Oxford boyfriend across the Channel. Her original plan was to work in finance for a year before returning to France. It was during this brief and brutal stint in the corporate world that she turned to fashion.

“At the time I was blogging, it was very much looked down upon. It still is the kind of lowest of the low in the ecosystem of fashion.” Besides landing a job at the luxury e-commerce brand Net-a-Porter, Camille’s foray into blogging came at the brink of fashion’s digital revolution. As brands struggled to keep up with shifting consumer trends, influencers offered a meaningful account of fashion in a way that was inaccessible to commercial businesses. “The interesting thing about influencer culture is that it’s very much a first-person perspective. You’re talking about things from a subjective point of view, which is at first what has really appealed to the masses.” If the 1990s and early 2000s were the age of the supermodel – aloof, mystical, unattainable – the 2010s marked the democratisation of the industry, opening the gates for newcomers to join.

“Even though brands now have to use [influencers], they’re still very scathing when they do it”

It is this non-traditional pathway into fashion that has invited criticism toward figures like Camille even from within her own industry. “Even though brands now have to use [influencers], they’re still very scathing when they do it. And they make us feel that way”. This subject felt more pertinent in light of the Gucci autumn/winter 2023 show. Fashion critics were quick to point out that “the influencers had their own pit” at Gucci. Some even poked fun at the “posse of influencers … literally dressed as clowns in pierrot diamond patterns from the last Gucci collection”.

As Camille is a member of the “influencer pit”, we asked her what she made of the media frenzy. “I thought that was disrespectful. I felt it was gratuitous and insulting, but I wasn’t offended. I’m so used to people looking down on me. I mean: I write, I’ve had podcasts, I’ve hosted a TV show for Canal+. I’ve interviewed most designers and have been doing this for over 10 years.” Camille explains: “most of the people in the pit were columnists.” Though Friedman’s comments doesn’t surprise her, “what was really nice was the reaction of her community. There was a real spirit where everyone stood up for themselves.”

Does this mark the decline (or even death) of fashion criticism? Camille thinks otherwise: “There’s room for it. I love understanding what designers have to say and why they’ve it that way”. But she is also conscious that critics tend to “over-intellectualise fashion” when, in fact, designers are fundamentally at the helm of a business. Their creative pursuits are tempered with a responsibility to guarantee profit margins for investors and employers, shifting the emphasis from show reviews to consumer engagement.

“Shows have become opportunities for brands to create awareness in the wider community”, Camille explains. It has become “an advertising campaign” with the power to concretise a brand image or skyrocket sales.

While most of us go on social media to take a break from our lives, for Camille the curation of her identity on these platforms is her brand. It requires a vulnerability that must be exhausting. “You want to be on social media because you’ve become addicted to it.” Camille reveals: “It’s like being addicted to the slot machines.” She explains her ADHD contributes to this oversharing, but “ultimately, that’s coming at a huge cost because you are then giving yourself to a part of your audience who feel entitled to that side of you.”

“I get more upset when someone tells me to stick to fashion or not write about feminism just because I’ve shown my knickers once in an outfit”

The business of social media has gone beyond connecting with an audience, it relies on the commodification of a personality. Camille is aware of this: “The way we’re using our vulnerabilities at the moment, as the main currency, is such an immense trade-off from mental health and for the way that we build ourselves as people.”

Marketing oneself is part of the job, but social media still provides an incredible opportunity. “I had more to gain than to lose by sharing. I also really believe in connection. Telling our stories is ultimately what makes us human and makes us feel like we connect and empathise.”

We asked what facing constant online criticism is like? Camille explained it is not the controversy but the mysoginistic denigration that is worse. “I get more upset when someone tells me to stick to fashion or not write about feminism just because I’ve shown my knickers once in an outfit.” It is clear the multi-hyphenate doesn’t want to be pigeonholed by what she has worn, or any kind of aesthetic.

With an upcoming book in the works, the stakes are high for Camille to prove her detractors wrong. “I keep telling myself I’ve done it before. I wrote two dissertations over the summer, so I can do this.” And if her track record is anything to go by, we concur.