I Asked Victoria’s Secret to Let Me Walk
Because I stand for every woman who faces cancer and still dares to feel beautiful.
Last week, I did something bold.
I reached out to Victoria’s Secret and offered myself to walk in this year’s Fashion Show.
I don’t know exactly where the courage came from but I did it.
The only things we regret in life are the chances we don’t take.
So I asked myself, “What do I have to lose?” and went for it. I searched LinkedIn for email addresses and sent this open letter to anyone I could find at the company.
Dear Victoria’s Secret Team,
Over the past few years, I’ve watched your brand’s beautiful transformation — a true commitment to diversity and inclusion. I’ve seen women of every size, ethnicity, gender, and age represented in your campaigns and shows. When I saw the announcement that the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was returning this year, I felt something powerful: I should be there too.
Inclusivity means making your audience feel seen. And here’s the truth — 1 in 3 women will face cancer in their lifetime. 1 in 8 will face breast cancer. Thousands will face ovarian cancer.
I am one of them.
Since my diagnosis last year, I’ve become a voice for countless women. They write to me daily — women in treatment, survivors, mothers, even children fighting cancer — telling me that seeing me share my journey, appearing without a wig on national television, and embracing my scars gives them hope.
I know firsthand how much we all need someone to look up to when we feel broken. I learned that long ago, when I got sober 12 years ago — we heal by seeing proof that thriving is possible.
On October 14th, I celebrate one year since my first chemotherapy session. On October 15th, your show returns — during Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
Life doesn’t script moments this aligned by accident.
I’m not the youngest, curviest, or fittest. But I am strong, brave, and alive — and I’m still damn sexy. I wear my scars proudly and rock my newly grown hair with pride.
Having me on that runway wouldn’t just be a personal dream fulfilled; it would send a message to millions of women:
“Life goes on in the face of adversity. You are not less of a woman. You are whole. You are sexy. You are unstoppable.”
I’m living proof of that.
Thank you for considering me — not just for myself, but for every woman who needs to see hope and strength reflected back at her.
With love and courage,
Bianca Balti
I was returning from Fashion Week, after working every day on selected projects, when I saw an Instagram post announcing that the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was coming back.
The photo stopped me in my tracks: a lineup of stunning women, all so different from one another.
I walked that same runway exactly 20 years ago, in 2005, when I stepped out of a giant Christmas box alongside Gisele Bündchen, Adriana Lima, Alessandra Ambrosio, and the rest of the original Angels. Back then, beauty standards were very white, very skinny, very young.
Today, the industry has evolved and Victoria’s Secret has too.
As I write this, I’m watching Precious Lee, the queen herself, announce that she’ll be walking this year’s show. She becomes emotional as she talks about what it means to her, as a Black woman, to be seen. “Representation is not optional,” she says. It’s about her ancestors and everyone who looks like her.
Those words hit me deeply. Representation isn’t optional for me either and it’s not just about me.
Victoria’s Secret now describes itself as “purpose-driven, inclusive, authentic, and inspiring.”
Last year’s show embodied that. Two trans women, three plus-size powerhouses — Ashley Graham, Paloma Elsesser, Devyn Garcia — and an age range that stretched from 22-year-old Lila Moss to 56-year-old Carla Bruni.
So a thought lit up in my mind:
I should be walking this year too.
Not (only) because I’m beautiful but because I represent the millions of women who have, have had, or will have cancer. I want to show them that a diagnosis is not the end of beauty, or confidence, or sensuality. That scars don’t erase who we are. That life after cancer can still be bold, sexy, and full.
I’ve learned that we can’t just wish for things, we have to act.
So I wrote the letter and sent it.
When I co-hosted a TV show this winter, I did it bald. And the response was overwhelming.
Children sent me drawings. Women messaged to say they finally felt brave enough to go without a wig. Others told me that when they were diagnosed, they remembered my smile on that stage and felt less afraid.
In 21 years as a model, I’ve been part of an industry that often defined beauty narrowly. I was a muse for that version of beauty: white, thin, young. But I never understood the power of representation until I got cancer.
When I lost my hair and gained scars, I refused to be sidelined. I was still Bianca. I was still worthy of being seen.
Now, hundreds of women reach out to thank me for speaking about my journey because it helps them feel less alone, and stronger in their fight.
So when I looked at that lineup — six women, three of color, one trans, one plus size, three over forty — I realized something simple and powerful:
I should be there too.
1 in 8 women will face breast cancer.
Every year, 25,000 new cases of ovarian cancer are diagnosed.
It sometimes feels like everyone I know has been touched by it, directly or through someone they love.
Nobody is immune.
On Wednesday, October 15th, Victoria’s Secret returns to the runway.
October 14th marks exactly one year since I started chemotherapy.
And October 15th happens to be BRA Day, Breast Reconstruction Awareness Day.
The coincidence felt like fate; even the acronym, BRA, made me smile.
Something that holds, supports, protects, and lifts just like the women I want to represent.
No cancer patient is trying only to survive.
We’re trying to thrive.
Thriving means joy, confidence, intimacy, and the courage to look in the mirror and see not just scars, but strength.
Reconstruction in any form isn’t about vanity. It’s about identity. It’s about feeling like yourself again. Because we’re not truly healed until we can feel beautiful again, whatever “beautiful” means to each of us.
In 2022 I had a prophylactic mastectomy, after discovering I carry the BRCA1 gene, a mutation that greatly increases the risk of breast cancer
I was terrified. I didn’t know what removing my breast tissue would mean for my appearance or my career. But I had to do it anyway. My aunt had died young from metastatic breast cancer, and I wanted to live. More than that — I wanted to set an example for my daughters, who might one day face the same decision.
It was only when I met Dr. Downey at Providence St. Joseph, the reconstructive surgeon who operated alongside my general surgeon, that I found peace. She was responsible for making my body healthy, yes, but also whole.
That’s how vital reconstruction is.
We don’t just want to survive; we want to keep feeling confident, feminine, and alive in our bodies.
That’s why BRA Day matters so much.
Victoria’s Secret replied kindly: “Thank you so much, but it doesn’t work this year.”
And that’s okay. The show was already cast.
I made this bold move because ever since I got sick, I’ve felt a responsibility to bring hope not just to women with cancer, but to everyone learning to live again after hardship.
I tried. It didn’t happen. But I have no regrets.
Cancer taught me that life is too short not to try and that trying never kills you.
If you, like me, won’t be walking the VS runway tomorrow October 15th (lol), consider tuning into one of the many Breast Reconstruction Awareness Day events happening around the world.
From the events across the U.S. listed on the Plastic Surgery Foundation website, to the Beautiful After Breast Cancer Foundation webinar, and the YouTube livestream by SICPRE in Italy — there are many opportunities to learn, connect, and be reminded that beauty and healing come in many forms.
And to Victoria’s Secret — please don’t worry, I didn’t take it personally.
Before cancer, I didn’t realize how many women were going through it either.
But it’s never too late.
The numbers are growing every year, and the women you sell to are the same women being diagnosed with gynecological cancers.
We are your audience. We are your customers. We are your sisters, mothers, and daughters.
And we would be so proud to see ourselves represented — bold, beautiful, and alive.
C’è qualcosa di molto bello e molto prezioso che lascia questa merda di malattia, io sono all’inizio della cura ma già lo sento . Il coraggio!! Di vivere ! Che non è semplicemente alzarsi dal letto e assolvere ai doveri e divertirsi e tutto il resto , ma entrare nelle cose, sentirle sulla pelle, metterci dentro l’anima, senza paura!!!!! Grande Bianca, immensa la tua anima coraggiosa 🦋
Dopo che ci diagnosticano un tumore, dopo che, come a me, mi dicono: “proviamo ad aprire ma non siamo certi che servirà a salvarle la vita” dopo che le chemioterapie e le radioterapie ci devastano fisicamente e mentalmente, dopo che ci vengono asportate le parti che nella comune definizione rappresentano l’essere una donna, non si ha più paura di nulla. Ne di chiedere, ne di mostrarsi per quello che siamo, ne di incassare dei no. Perché abbiamo attraversato il peggio che ci potesse capitare e abbiamo davanti a noi solo l’infinito! Evviva te, evviva ognuna di noi che i no ricevuti li trasforma in diamanti!