Beri Smither came up in fashion’s wildest decade and made quiet look loud. She walked for Gianni Versace, posed for Newton, Meisel, and Avedon, and fronted Vogue covers with a stare that could stop traffic—but never screamed. Refined but raw, cool but never cold, Beri was the blueprint before TikTok knew what that meant. Her face defined the '90s, but her mind has always been somewhere deeper—watching, thinking, resisting the industry's need to package women into neat little boxes. As fashion keeps recycling the past, it's time the next generation met one of its originals. In this rare conversation, Beri opens up about the chaos, the calm, and staying sharp in a world that wants you blurry.
What we want to talk about is where your career started, how you got into this, and how it's evolved over the years. A story of resilience and your durability throughout the years as a model. Let’s start with how it all began for you.
As a teen girl, I loved glam and beauty and shiny lips and makeup. I was that classic suburban girl who had supermodels on her wall—Christy Turlington, Renee Simonsen, Cindy Crawford. My peers would say, “I think you could model.” So I gave it a shot. I went to an agency in Portland, Oregon—well, I grew up in Salem, but Portland was the closest city with agencies. They were like, “Sure, we could do something.” I worked locally for four months, got my book together with test shoots. Then what happens is larger markets come and scout in smaller ones. For me, that was Paris. An agent came and was very interested. Six months later, I was 17 on a plane to Paris. I lived there for two years and launched my career in a bigger way.
What was that like—going from Oregon to Paris?
It was everything I wanted. I really wanted to be in a big city. The language barrier was challenging, though—it leaves you feeling alone and isolated, especially when you're that age and need connection. No one would speak to you in English and you don’t understand anything. You're wondering, “Why is this three-hour lunch happening and I don’t understand anyone?” Oh—I'm in Paris. I did my best to learn what I could. Eventually, I moved to New York and got scooped up by Michael Flutie, and things really took off from there.
Was New York the big turning point, or would you say Paris changed your life?
Paris helped me build a great book—a modeling portfolio. That was our business card. We’d send it to clients to show our range: beauty, fashion, body, face. Paris gave me the opportunity to shoot editorials for so many magazines: French Elle, Spanish Vogue, Marie Claire. Coming to the U.S. with that was really helpful. And then Michael opened doors for me—working with Patrick Demarchelier, Peter Lindbergh, and other big photographers.
Do you have a favorite shoot from that time?
One of my all-time favorites was a Bonnie and Clyde story for Harper’s Bazaar U.S., shot in the Mojave Desert with Peter Lindbergh. It was so fun—I got to act like Bonnie in the pictures, and Fred Ward played Clyde. It felt like acting.
What was it like working with Peter?
Amazing. He’s a people’s photographer. He wanted the essence of the person. He appreciated fashion and art, but he went further—his images jump off the page. It’s kind of Avedon-esque—you want to walk into them. If he sensed something fake coming off you, he’d stop and start talking to bring you back into a real moment.
What year did you come to New York?
1992.
That’s such an amazing time—New York in the early '90s. What do you remember from then?
The city was great. No social media, no Google, no texting. We had phones and beepers—yes, even models had beepers. New York constantly evolves, but the '90s were special. It was post-Giuliani, the city had cleaned up. Less red-light district, more touristy.
And you weren’t just in New York—you were in the center of fashion. What was that like?
It was really fun. The biggest difference is social media and the internet. In the '90s, your only platform was walking through the door and getting the job. Now it’s about what you post, your followers. It’s more accessible now, but back then it felt more prestigious. There were fewer people working—it was a small percentage. Now it’s opened up, which is great.
Right. Back then Vogue was the platform, the curator. Now everyone’s their own platform.
Absolutely. And you’re right—Vogue is still the main platform to me. But one big difference is that in the '90s, the photographer was king. They had influence on casting, creative, everything. Now it’s more client-driven.
How has that transition been for you?
By the grace of God, I’m still a working model—over 30 years now. I’ve had to ebb and flow with the times, but thankfully there’s still demand for my look, age, and personality.
This is where that story of resilience shines. What have been some struggles that pushed you to grow?
Body shape and size. I’ve been everything from a 4 to a 12/14. I’ve struggled with food, body image, dieting, exercising—wondering what I need to be to be liked. But today I’m in a peaceful place with it. It doesn’t rule me anymore. I’m not making decisions based on “will I fit the clothes?” I’ve had to be upfront with my agents about my size. I’ve found peace through time, help, and spiritual growth.
And aging?
I embrace age. We age gradually, just enough for our minds to handle. And the industry becoming more inclusive has helped. I often work alongside models of all shapes and sizes now, which is a relief.
What helped you reach this place?
Time, trial and error, and a big shift about six years ago. I sought outside help—therapy, spiritual guidance, people who had overcome similar struggles. I see these challenges as spiritual, and I’ve learned to seek strength beyond myself.
What’s a piece of advice that stuck with you?
Michael Flutie told me: “Own the room.” That means drop the insecurity, be confident, and connect with people. Don’t shrink into the corner—lean in, contribute, be present.
Was it hard to flip that mindset?
Not when I’m supported. I’ve been lucky to have mentors and I’ve been willing to ask for help. You can’t do life in a vacuum.
If you were giving advice to new talent today, what would you say?
Be confident with your representation. Trust them. They’re your first support system. And once you’re earning, invest your money wisely. Sometimes it comes fast and goes faster.
After 30 years, have you thought about what you might’ve done if not modeling?
I would’ve loved to be a singer. But—I don’t sing. I’m just so moved by music and voices that give you chills. It’s such a powerful, emotional outlet. I wonder what it feels like to hit a note and just belt. I’ll never know, but I admire it deeply.
Any favorite artists?
I’m kind of a '90s baby—Radiohead, Portishead, Nirvana. But I like everything: rock, R&B, alternative, classical, even some country.
Music scores our lives. Like a film.
Exactly. It shapes your mood. It’s therapy.
So how would you define strength?
Strength is showing up. Saying yes, even when you’re scared. Being a woman of my word. It’s also knowing myself, accepting myself, and having courage. I love the phrase: “Fear is courage with legs.” That’s strength. Vulnerability is strength, too.
That makes me think of modeling—there’s vulnerability in front of the camera. How do you tap into that?
I walk onto a set knowing it’s not about me—it’s about giving them what they need. I become an actress. I learned by being on set, watching others, seeing how they transform. It’s about being vulnerable while still holding yourself together.
Did you ever work with any of the models you had on your wall?
Yes—Christy Turlington. One of my first jobs in Milan was with her and Patrick Demarchelier. I’d just come from Oregon—it was surreal.