How The Muse went from Being Mysterious to Being the Main Focus

Words: Allegra Handelsman

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She is the epitome of allure and enigma, envied by some, desired by others. Mythologised by the Greeks and Romans, immortalised in paintings, poems, and songs, and idolised by those who create them. She is the muse.

When most people think about muses in modern culture, they look to the women of the 1960s and 70s – a time that felt like a golden age of inspiration. It was an era that valued creative brilliance, which was often thought to be inspired by the women behind some of the most iconic artists of the time. These muses were not only seen as otherworldly figures – but vessels for genius rather than creators in their own right. From Edie Sedgwick in Warhol’s Factory, to Pattie Boyd, who inspired songs by both George Harrison and Eric Clapton in one of music’s greatest love triangles, to Jane Birkin’s long-term artistic and romantic partnership with Serge Gainsbourg – these women helped shape their culture, yet were rarely seen as its creators. 

Despite the frequency with which their lives were documented by the men around them, what many of these women shared was a sense of mystique. While many were talented artists themselves – Birkin, most notably, was an accomplished actor and singer, with roles in Blow-Up (1966) and La Piscine (1969) – they were most often presented to the public through someone else’s lens. Their stories were filtered through the gaze of the men who admired, adored, and sexualised them, leaving their true voices hidden below layers of projection.
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During my teen years – when I was obsessed with a number of these women – I naively dreamed of being the inspiration behind someone else’s art, the muse to some great artist. What I didn’t realise at the time was that I’d simply be a channel for someone else’s vision, with little control over how I was depicted. If I wanted to see art that truly represented me, I’d have to create it myself.

“If I wanted to see art that truly represented me, I’d have to create it myself.”

Even so, I don’t think I was alone in that teenage fantasy. So many young women grow up surrounded by stories that teach us to fantasise the role of a muse not the maker – to dream of being admired, rather than creative. But is this idea of the misunderstood, mysterious muse even possible to achieve in our current digital age, a time defined by self-authorship, social media, and carefully curated personal brands? Today, mystery has become one of the rarest traits in the public eye. Celebrity culture is driven by constant self-exposure, where every moment is documented, shared, and monetised. In this climate, the allure of elusiveness feels almost impossible to maintain.

While it is easy to dismiss this as an unfortunate byproduct of our hyper-connected culture – to romanticise a past where people were less visible and less glued to their screens – in doing so, we fail to consider a key nuance, around how the advancement of technology has coincided with significant strides in women’s liberation.

Social media platforms, for example, have become powerful tools for female creatives to share their work without reliance on previously male dominated creative spaces. And while I don’t think constant overexposure or the pressure of relentless self-documentation is healthy, it allows figures who might once have found themselves relegated to “muse” to have a new kind of creative agency – the power and autonomy to shape how their own ideas are expressed, represented and shared with the world. 

When we look at the “muses” of today – the inspirations behind contemporary art, music, or fashion, such as  Zendaya, Julia Fox, Emma Corrin, Hunter Schafer, Ayo Edebiri, Chloe Sevigny, Jennie Kim and Lily Rose-Depp, to name a few – this role often feels secondary: we don’t see them as “muses” first and foremostly. The most impactful muses, who shape our culture today, are better known for their own accomplishments, with creative talents that inspire others with their work as well as their beauty.

When today's modern muses work with other artists, it often feels more like a collaboration than simply serving as a medium for someone else’s creativity. The relationship between stylist and talent, for example, has now evolved into a means of authentic self-expression, where the talent has creative control, and – with help of their stylist – can speak boldly through their clothing. From Zendaya’s long-standing partnership with Law Roach, to Dara Allen’s work with Hunter Schafer and Danielle Goldberg’s styling of Ayo Edebiri, these relationships function as creative dialogues rather than one-sided projections.

“When today's modern muses work with other artists, it often feels more like a collaboration than simply serving as a medium for someone else’s creativity.”

Both parties contribute vision and expression, allowing their individual artistic voices to be seen through the styling. When British GQ questioned Dara about her work with Hunter Schafer, she described the actors “obsessive understanding about art and fashion and culture,” noting that they “can talk really deeply about it.” It’s this depth and reciprocity that turns these dynamics into a means of visual storytelling.

This type of creative exchange also brings new dimensions to the role of the muse, particularly when it comes to sexuality. Many mid-century muses were defined by an overt sexualisation, depicted by artists who framed them through the lens of the hetrosexual male gaze. Today, however, when similar dynamics surface – such as the one between Kanye West and his wife Bianca Censori – they are often met with criticism. When Censori appeared nearly nude on the 2025 Grammys red carpet alongside West, for example, the moment sparked significant backlash. Many saw this as a performative stunt that objectified Censort rather than empowering her, highlighting how supposed “artist/muse” relationships feel increasingly out of step with contemporary values.

In contrast, many of the artists working with muses today are queer, and their collaborations tend to subvert or reject that traditional dynamic. While queer artistry has always played a significant role in shaping culture – and the artist-muse relationship – there’s been a noticeable shift in the power balance of these relationships. This model, which often involved a heterosexual male artist and his female lover-muse, with the muse serving more as a medium than collaborator, feel increasingly outdated. And in its place a new dynamic has emerged: one defined by broader representation, shared artistic vision, and a recognition of muses as creative visionaries in their own right.