For the timeless and the effortless
In the Cab With
Anita Bitton
A Conversation on Taking Opportunities, Authenticity, Representing Communities, and Being Culturally Driven
June 28 2025, by Bart Kooi
Known for launching iconic faces and redefining the standards of beauty, she has worked with legendary photographers like Irving Penn and Steven Meisel, contributing to leading publications including Harper’s Bazaar, Perfect Magazine, and Document Journal. Whether building something new or evolving a legacy, Anita Bitton approaches casting as a cultural force, always searching for what’s next and what’s different.
In this week’s article, In the Cab With Anita Bitton, she reflects: “It’s about introducing a new voice, a new idea, and challenging what the idea of beauty is.”
As a young girl, you were scouted as a model by Barbara Hulanicki for her label. Did this first exposure to fashion spark the excitement you still feel for the industry today?
I was very young, like 10, 11. I was born in South London. My mom was the drunk Irish lady, and my dad—who was from Morocco—wasn't very present. From my earliest memories as a child, I always felt out of place; I always felt like my clothes didn't quite fit right. You know when you go to the beach and you've got sand in your sandwiches? I just felt like my life was one big sand-in-my-sandwich.
Modeling? I had never thought about it. I had read these magazines, so I was familiar with models, but I didn't fully understand it. I did know it was attention, and I craved attention as a child.
I did some shoots and I enjoyed it. What I found in fashion immediately was that anything goes. You get there, and you're like: “Oh, that’s fun. There's free food, there are lots of people, and chaos.” There was just this community. It sparked an interest because I realized this was the world outside of my world that I was looking for.
So it was more the sense of community you found than the fashion itself?
I knew it gave access. I knew it was special, and I knew that they liked me. I wasn't there with high hopes of being a model. I was like: “Oh, this looks like a way out of my current situation.”
When you were 16, you had to do a work placement for school, and you walked into i-D Magazine?
I was 16, but it wasn’t that simple. I wanted to be a journalist and was desperate to get into The Guardian or The Times — one of the broadsheet newspapers. I didn’t have the necessary credentials, and honestly, I didn't know where to start.
I’d always been a fan of i-D. I was at the magazine store one day and saw the address printed inside. I’d met a few photographers and their assistants by then, and everyone seemed calm. So I thought: “They’re cool, I’m cool, let’s do this.”
I showed up and said, “I’m here for an internship.” Paul Hunwick was tucked behind the door and just went, “Great, find a seat.” So I moved in and started working.
What did you do at first?
I was the assistant; I did everything from emptying ashtrays to making coffee. Then Edward Enninful got promoted, and I decided I’d be his assistant - although I'm not sure if that was his plan. I tidied his desk, stapled invites into his diary, steamed clothes, you name it, no job was too small. I did that on and off for years. It was an incredible time.
So you found your place?
Yes. It was an opportunity I didn’t know existed. I showed up and made it work. Had I not been flexible, had I refused to empty ashtrays or do the basics, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.
i-D wasn’t just fashion — it was culture. It was underground, cutting-edge, and culturally relevant. I-D was showcasing street culture. And it was thanks to the people there, Edward Enninful, Trish Jones, Terry Jones, and Paul Hunwick. I looked up to them; they were all just these extraordinary, creative beings.
I didn’t come with a skill. I said, “I’ll make coffee, I’ll do whatever.” And what they gave me was an opportunity. I didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be; I just knew I needed to find my people. That’s where it all began.
Seizing opportunity has been a recurring theme in your career.
I talk about i-D as a milestone, but I wasn’t doing anything significant there. I was lucky to be on the masthead, but I wasn’t writing features or doing fashion stories. I was assisting with steaming clothes, handling returns, and picking up and dropping off at PRs. But it showed me what was possible. It introduced me to a level of talent that I aspired to.
In those early days, did you feel uncertain about your direction? Or did you trust the process?
I grew up with very low expectations, but I had huge ambitions. Irish Anne (my birth mother) worked in a launderette in South-West London. I didn’t know how, but I was sure I’d be Editor-in-Chief of British Vogue. There was no room for doubt because no one around me doubted themselves.
We just did things. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. There was more room to make mistakes, thank God, or I never would’ve made it.
That “just do it” attitude also led you into your career as an agent and casting director, right?
Yes. I met Alana Varel, who went on to become a hugely successful men’s agent and founded Starworks, the first agency in fashion to commit solely to the idea of celebrity. I cold-called her and left a message saying I was looking for work. She was about to move to NEXT Models in New York and said, “They need an assistant, I think you’d be perfect.”
A few weeks later, I met with them and got the job. I was the assistant, and to be honest, I was a lousy assistant. But I made lifelong friends — people like Calvin Wilson (who works with me at The Establishment), Alexis Borges (who is my lifelong confidante). That job changed my life.
And your first casting job came from a friend who wasn’t even in fashion?
Yes, Greg Kadel was at school studying to become a marine biologist at the time and wanted to start shooting. I said, “Great, you shoot, I’ll find the models.” He had this amazing loft, and let me set up a little office there. I had a landline, a proper metal desk, and it felt real. I ran my operations from his studio, and the rest was history.
I’d worked at magazines, at agencies, with new faces and supermodels, and now I was in a loft in New York, taking Polaroids of people in bras for a bra client, Triumph. It was hilarious, honest work, and it taught me a great deal.
That’s when I started asking myself: Why am I doing this? What do I love about it? What am I trying to say? As I built my eye and grew more confident in the craft, things started to come together.
It was a mix of being in the right place at the right time and being open to opportunities. Open to learning, to change, to doing the work. And that’s what’s carried me through every phase since.
It’s funny — in your youth, you often felt like you were in the wrong place. And now, it seems like everything has reversed.
Yes, but not without a lot of high highs and very low lows. There were significant mistakes and questionable choices. But even then, I always had this voice in my head saying, “Ha! I’m getting there.” There was never a moment of absolute despair; I just kept going.
I was ambitious in a way that I’m not sure is as possible for young people now. The world’s different. In the job I do today, many people are involved, and the industry is far more competitive and saturated. I believe that what has helped me get this far is having a clear vision. Not everyone approaches the work in the same way, or with the same values. I think that’s what’s set me apart.
You’ve said the foundation of casting, for you, is helping someone be the best version of themselves. Is that what defines your approach?
It’s funny — “authenticity” is thrown around so much now, it’s become a marketing term. When I was a teenager, I had no idea what “being yourself” even meant. Like, what do you mean, be myself? I thought I had to be bright, tall, pretty, and impressive, all these things at once.
To me, being authentic isn’t about a slogan or a campaign line. It’s about creating space for someone to feel seen, supported, and believed in. If you give a person comfort, if you speak to them, if they think that you’re in their corner, that’s when they’re able to be who they are.
So yes, I talk about authenticity. Not the version that has been commercialized. I mean something much simpler and more human.
Popular is usually the least interesting. I'm always watching the moment and instinctively trying to flip it. “Hemlines are up? Let’s take them down.” It’s not about being contrary just to be different; it’s about disrupting comfort. I’m very comfortable being uncomfortable. When things feel too smooth, too easy, I start asking: “What’s missing? What aren’t we seeing?”
Maybe that comes from growing up in chaos, or perhaps it’s just the way I’m wired (or maybe a result of both), always pushing, questioning, challenging the pace. But that instinct doesn’t always serve me. Sometimes, the lesson is to slow down. That’s why I have a team. As an adult, I’ve learned I’m a great team player.
I love working with young people. I find it exciting when someone disagrees with me, not because I want to debate, but because I want to understand their point of view. Disagreement is a space for growth. If everyone sees things the same way, there’s no movement. No evolution.
We do what we know. In life, in work, in everything.
Growing up in South London shaped my sense of reality. And now, being in America, I’m deeply aware of my privilege, just by where I stand in the world. I’ve been fortunate. So I try to use that awareness and ask: What difference can I make, even on a small scale?
I’m not a doctor, and I’m not saving lives in the ER, but there are still meaningful ways to help, to make a difference, even in our corner of the world. It’s about being purposeful in what you do.
But casting doesn’t always feel so “small” — it’s grown into a powerful part of fashion. Do you think of the weight of that?
[pauses]
I think some casting directors do believe they’re reinventing the wheel. Maybe some of them are. For me, the most meaningful work happens in partnership.
What matters most to me is being there for the designer, for the creative director, the person carrying the full weight of a brand. My job is to help amplify their vision, not to put the spotlight on myself. The pressure is to make them look their best, to build something lasting alongside them.
Yes, the role has become more 360. But I never forget who the most critical person in the room is. By leading in this way, there's so much more room to be creative and take risks.
You’re more of a facilitator.
Exactly. There’s more to casting than just showing up with 20 ideas. I’m here to support someone else’s vision, to move them in directions they never thought of, whether that’s the designer, the creative director, the photographer, or the stylist.
My opinions matter, but ultimately, I’m there to serve the project and the people leading it. If something doesn’t land, sure, I might lose the job. But I’m not the one in the spotlight taking the hits. My name’s not front and center, and that’s actually where I feel I do my best work.
There’s a particular strength in being the one behind the scenes, helping to hold everything together.
We live in a world where we have access to everyone, everywhere. That kind of access comes with responsibility, to culture, to music, to the things that move us forward as humans.
For me, casting doesn’t start with what’s popular, or even with what I want to see. It begins with discomfort. I ask myself: Where are we most uncomfortable? Where do we need to start?. Culture has always emerged from the margins. It’s not about co-opting voices or communities, but about doing the work—research, outreach—to connect with people and give space to their presence.
Take Marc Jacobs, for example — there has always been a need to represent the queer community. I think of when we brought in Ethan James Green. At the time, he was modeling and just starting to shoot his friends, brilliant, beautiful people like Dara Allen and Tuna Bird. We asked him to assist us with our work on a major campaign being shot by David Sims. Ethan ended up in the images too, but that move came from trusting something real and letting that shape the storytelling.
We once cast Amanda Gorman before the world knew her name, in a Helmut Lang campaign. That’s the job, not just to reflect what is, but to help imagine what could be. Sometimes people ask me, How did you even find that person? How did you know?. I want to be part of work that defines a singular voice.
That’s the power of casting, creating a moment where someone, somewhere, sees themselves for the first time and says: That’s me. When that happens, you know you’ve done something that matters.
It’s simply your inner excitement to notice undiscovered communities — it’s part of who you are.
It’s about introducing a new voice, a new idea. Giving the world something unexpected to look at — something that challenges what we’ve been told beauty is. That’s always been the drive. Lately, I’ve found the runways a little underwhelming, to be honest. And that’s not me being negative — it’s just that, even in the pursuit of diversity, fashion is falling short.
For me, the work is about leaving something behind that I can be proud of. And even when I do, I immediately start thinking, What could we have done better?. The day I feel satisfied might be the day I walk away. Okay, I did it. I’m done. Goodbye.
It’s been decades of lessons, of stretching and refining. Even now, I’ll stop and think: How lucky are we to be moving through this industry, one that so many people find impossible to access because they don’t know how it works?
The truth is, I didn’t know either. I just showed up. I was curious, I listened, I learned, and somehow I found my place. I feel incredibly blessed — and as long as there’s more to say, more to see, more to push — I’ll keep going. Until I finally feel satisfied •
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
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