“I always felt I had to be grateful that I had somewhere to
threat of violence. Despite the difficult
circumstances, life in the camp taught
Akech the power of gratitude. “When
you live in that type of condition, you
just try to make the most of life because
you know that tomorrow is not prom-
ised,” she says. “I always felt like I had to
be grateful for whatever little food I ate
that day or that I had somewhere to
sleep because I knew that there were
kids who didn’t.” She’s 19 now and
speaks with an Australian accent
because that’s where she and her family
ended up after they got out of the camp.
They moved to Adelaide, where they
have several extended family members.
After they left Kenya, one of Akech’s
first big dreams came true: to get an
education. She spent a year learning
English at a special school filled with ref-
ugee children from all over the world.
She loved the experience. After master-
ing English, she switched schools multi-
ple times as her family moved around to
different suburbs. Not all of the lessons
she learned were the stuff of dreams. “I
was bullied by the popular girls about
my skin tone, my hair, and especially my
gap [teeth], which I’ve grown to love,”
says Akech. “I’m not gonna lie—that
made me feel a little insecure, then an ‘I
don’t care’ mindset kind of kicked in for
me, and I told myself I was beautiful.”
She makes it sound simple, but it’s no
easy feat, especially at an impres-
sionable age, to figure out how to appre-
ciate your own beauty in a society filledwith messages that say you fall way out-
side the standards. She didn’t know it at
the time, but the cruel children she
encountered at school helped her culti-
vate exactly what she needed to make it
in the modeling world: an unshakable
belief in herself.
Akech says that a light bulb went off
when, at 12 years old, she walked in a
fashion show put on by her auntie, a for-
mer model and a clothing designer.
“From the minute I stepped onto the
runway, I was like, ‘This is what I want to
d o ,’” she says. The only problem: Her
mother, Mary, wasn’t having it.
Eventually, Mary gave her persistent
daughter the green light to pursue mod-
eling when she was 14. “She didn’t think
it was going to turn into anything, so she
let me do it,” says Akech.
Akech got signed to an agency at 15,
and not long after that, she made her
debut at Australian fashion week in
Sydney in 2016. Her breakout moment
came in September 2017, when she was
cast in a Saint Laurent show in Paris, ulti-
mately signing a three-season exclusive
with the brand. It was a life-changing
opportunity that she came close to
missing. About 18 months into her mod-
eling career, Akech offered to quit the
business to protect her mother from the
harsh criticism she was receiving from
family members who thought Akech
was wasting her time. But on this occa-
sion, her mom encouraged her to con-
tinue. Success came quickly. In three
short years, Akech has already graced
the covers of Korean, Australian, and
British Vogues, she’s walked the runways
for big fashion houses like Prada,
Versace, and Chanel (including Karl
Lagerfeld’s last show this past season),
and she has landed fashion campaigns
for designers like Valentino and Fendi.
“Now I just sit back and smile. I love
proving people wrong so much,” she
says. Not that she’s in this for revenge;
Akech loves her work. “I get excitement
and joy from modeling. It doesn’t feel
like a job. It just makes me happy.”
And the fashion world seems quite
happy to have her in it, as is evident
from her jam-packed work schedule and
the coveted Model of the Year title (an
award bestowed by an elite group of
industry insiders polled by models.com)
she nabbed in December. The modeling
business is more competitive than ever,
but there’s clearly something special
about Akech that sets her apart. As
British Vogue editor in chief EdwardIf I were her, I would be so annoyed
right now. That’s what I think, watch-
ing Adut Akech as preparations for her
Allure cover shoot get underway very
early one morning inside a sprawling
studio space in New York City. She sits
in the hair and makeup area, wearing a
white bathrobe; the manicurist is filing
her nails while the hairstylist is busy
shaping her Afro into a Grace Jones–
inspired fade. The clippers are buzzing,
and onlookers are hovering nearby. I’m
standing in front of Akech, but I can’t
see her face because it’s covered by
a sheet mask. But that spectacularly
sculpted face is animated, and she’s
chatting with me as if this were a per-
fectly normal way to have an intimate
conversation. She’s only just begun an
11-hour day of shooting, but complain-
ing isn’t Akech’s thing, even when she
has every right to gripe. A bit of stress
on set and a reporter grilling her during
every break isn’t enough to faze her.
Her marathon schedule can be rough,
but she’s had harder days than this.
Akech has the kind of origin story
that’s just begging to be turned into a
made-for-Netflix biopic. She was born in
South Sudan, but she spent her early
years in a refugee camp in Kenya, where
she lived until she was eight years old
with her mother and her siblings.
Although she was young, she remem-
bers a lot about what was going on
around her—the hunger, the fear, and
the constant moving to escape the