Once Hailed as the ‘Most Iconic Supermodel,’ Here’s How Twiggy Looks in Her 70s

This English fashion icon, who set trends in the 1960s with her distinctive look and became a symbol of the era, remains as elegant as ever in her 70s. Today, fans are still in awe of her as she shows that true fashion never fades with age.

On September 19, 1949, this model, actress, and producer was born. By the time the ’60s rolled by, she was ready to revolutionize the fashion industry with her distinctive look and instantly recognizable style.

Her slim figure, pixie haircut, and striking eyes made her a global sensation and a symbol of a new era in modeling. Decades later, her influence still resonates in the fashion world, and fans are excited about how she has carried her iconic image into her 70s, maintaining the charm and elegance that first captivated the world.

Far from slowing down, she remains active in her personal and professional life, embracing her age gracefully. The star often engages in various pursuits, including appearances on television, fashion collaborations, and public speaking.

In September 2023, she collaborated with Vogue to recreate her Bert Stern original Vogue shoot from 1967. Despite her age, she flawlessly nailed the look as she noted, ” Everything came full circle for me in that moment.”

Fans immediately took to the comments section to share their thoughts. One wrote, “The most iconic of all the supermodels.” Another fan went down memory lane, writing, “I remember I was in 12th grade and did lower lash draw in and my sister got the short twiggy hair cut. You look amazing still. ”

As she maintains a vibrant lifestyle, her passion for fashion and zest for life remains as strong as ever. Fans are also excited about her journey through the decades, which showcases a fascinating evolution of style that began in the vibrant 1960s.

A Look Back: From the ’60s to Now
The model burst onto the fashion scene in the 1960s, becoming the face of a new era with her slim figure, short blonde hair, big eyes, and androgynous style.

Discovered as a teenager, she quickly became an international sensation, embodying the youthful spirit of the decade. Her unique look broke the mold of traditional beauty standards, making her a trailblazer and a cultural icon.

1960s: The Rise of a Supermodel
In the 1960s, her boyish figure, dramatic eyelashes, and pixie haircut set her apart from the curvier models of the time. She became the embodiment of the “mod” look.

Her influence extended beyond modeling; She became a symbol of the changing attitudes toward women’s fashion, representing freedom and youth.

1970s: Expanding Horizons
As the 1970s rolled in, she transitioned from modeling to acting and singing, showcasing her versatility. She embraced the era’s trends and showcased a softer, more natural look.

Her style evolved to reflect the laid-back vibe of the decade while still maintaining her unique edge. By 1977, her career flourished as an actress.

She became known as a Broadway star, and her family and personal life also thrived. It was that year that she married American actor Michael Whitney.

1980s: Family Life and More
The star and her husband welcomed a daughter. Sadly, by April 1983, when their daughter was four, the couple had become estranged. In September of that year, she lost her husband as he collapsed in a Manhattan restaurant due to a heart attack.

At the time of his death, she was going on stage to perform her hit musical “My One and Only,” and was not told the sad news until she finished her set.

Despite her loss, the model and actress’s fashion sense also matured. She adopted more classic and sophisticated styles while reflecting the decade’s trends.

I Didn’t Tell My Husband’s Family I Speak Their Language, and It Helped Me Uncover a Shocking Secret about My Child…

I thought I knew everything about my husband—until I overheard a conversation between his mother and sister that shattered my world. When Peter finally revealed the secret he had been hiding about our first child, everything I believed in crumbled, leaving me questioning our entire relationship.

Peter and I had been married for three years. Our relationship had begun during a magical summer, where everything seemed to fall into place effortlessly. He was exactly what I’d been searching for—smart, funny, and kind. When we found out I was pregnant with our first child just months after getting together, it felt like fate.

Now, we were expecting our second child, and on the surface, our life seemed perfect. But things were not as they appeared.

I’m American, and Peter is German. In the early days, the cultural differences felt exciting. When Peter’s job relocated us to Germany, we moved there with our first child, thinking it would be a fresh start. But the transition wasn’t as smooth as I had hoped.

Germany was beautiful, and Peter was overjoyed to return home. But I struggled to adjust. I missed my family and friends, and Peter’s parents, Ingrid and Klaus, were cordial but distant. They didn’t speak much English, but I understood more German than they realized.

At first, I didn’t mind the language barrier. I thought it would help me learn and integrate better. But soon, I began to overhear unsettling comments.

Peter’s family visited often, especially his mother and sister, Klara. They would sit in the living room, chatting in German while I stayed busy in the kitchen or looking after our child. They seemed to forget that I could understand them.

“That dress doesn’t suit her at all,” Ingrid remarked one day, not bothering to lower her voice.

Klara smirked and added, “She’s gained so much weight with this pregnancy.”

I glanced down at my growing belly, feeling their words sting. I was pregnant, yes, but their judgment cut deep. Still, I remained silent. I didn’t want to confront them—at least not yet. I wanted to see just how far they would go.

One afternoon, though, I overheard something far more hurtful.

“She looks exhausted,” Ingrid said as she poured tea. “I wonder how she’ll manage with two kids.”

Klara leaned in and whispered, “I’m still not convinced that first baby is even Peter’s. He doesn’t look anything like him.”

I froze. They were talking about our son.

Ingrid sighed. “That red hair… it’s definitely not from our side of the family.”

Klara chuckled, “Maybe she hasn’t been completely honest with Peter.”

They both laughed softly, unaware that I had heard every word. I stood there, paralyzed. How could they even suggest something like that? I wanted to confront them, but I stayed silent, my hands trembling.

After the birth of our second baby, the tension only grew. Ingrid and Klara visited, bringing forced smiles and congratulations, but I could feel something was off. Their whispers and glances made it clear they were hiding something.

As I sat feeding the baby one afternoon, I overheard them talking in hushed tones.

“She still doesn’t know, does she?” Ingrid asked.

Klara laughed. “Of course not. Peter never told her the truth about their first baby.”

My heart stopped. What truth? What were they talking about? I felt my pulse race as panic washed over me. I had to know what they meant.

That night, I confronted Peter. I called him into the kitchen, my voice barely steady.

“Peter,” I whispered, “what haven’t you told me about our first baby?”

He froze, his face turning pale. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sat down and buried his face in his hands.

“There’s something you don’t know,” he said, guilt written all over his face. “When you were pregnant with our first… my family pressured me to take a paternity test.”

I stared at him, struggling to comprehend his words. “A paternity test? Why would you need to do that?”

“They didn’t believe the baby was mine,” Peter explained, his voice breaking. “They thought the timing was too close to when you ended your previous relationship.”

My head spun. “So you took the test? Without telling me?”

Peter stood, his hands trembling. “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you! I never doubted you. But my family wouldn’t let it go. They kept pushing me, and I didn’t know how to make them stop.”

“And what did the test say?” I demanded, my voice rising in panic.

Peter hesitated, his eyes filled with regret. “It said… I wasn’t the father.”

The room felt like it was collapsing around me. “What?” I whispered, barely able to breathe. “How could that be?”

Peter moved closer, desperate to explain. “I know you didn’t cheat on me. I know the baby is mine in every way that matters. But the test came back negative. My family didn’t believe me when I told them it had to be wrong.”

I stepped back, shaking. “So you’ve known this for years and never told me? How could you keep something like this from me, Peter?”

Peter’s face crumpled. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I knew it didn’t change anything for me. The test didn’t matter. I wanted to protect you from the pain and confusion. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Tears streamed down my face. “You should’ve trusted me,” I said, my voice trembling. “We’ve been raising him together, and you’ve been his father. We could’ve handled this together, but instead, you lied to me.”

Peter reached for my hands, but I pulled away. “I know,” he whispered. “I was scared. I didn’t want you to think I doubted you.”

I needed air. I walked outside into the cool night, hoping it would calm the storm raging inside me. How could he have kept this from me? How could he have known and said nothing?

For a few moments, I stared up at the stars, trying to make sense of it all. Despite everything, I knew Peter wasn’t a bad person. His family had pressured him, and he had made a terrible mistake. But he had always stayed by my side, and by our son’s side. He had lied, but out of fear, not malice.

After wiping away my tears, I knew I had to go back inside. We couldn’t leave things unresolved.

When I returned to the kitchen, Peter was sitting at the table, his face buried in his hands. He looked up when he heard me, his eyes red and swollen.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

It would take time for me to heal from this, but I knew we couldn’t throw away everything we’d built. We had a family, and despite the hurt, I still loved him.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said softly. “Together.”

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