Jay Manuel at 53: The 'Top Model' Icon Sets the Record Straight

When Jay Manuel first stepped onto the set of "America's Next Top Model" in 2003, he was already an established force in fashion. The queer stylist and makeup artist had built his reputation working with powerhouse publications like Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, bringing an eye for artistry and an uncompromising standard for excellence. For 18 cycles, he became one of the show's most recognizable fixtures—a mentor figure whose critiques could make or break a contestant's confidence, and whose creative vision helped shape what America saw as "model material. "

But at 53, Manuel is no longer staying silent about what really happened behind the scenes of one of reality television's most influential shows. In a recent interview, he has set the record straight on his departure, revealing a narrative far more complex than the public was ever led to believe.

For years, Manuel carried a burden that few in the industry understand: the inability to speak publicly about his own experience. When his contract ended after cycle 18, he was bound by non-disclosure agreements that prevented him from discussing his departure or the circumstances surrounding it. What made this silence even more painful was the way his exit was handled—through planted leaks rather than transparent communication with the public who had watched him for nearly a decade.

This experience speaks to a broader issue within entertainment: the silencing of workers, particularly those from marginalized communities, who are forced to choose between their livelihoods and their voices. For LGBTQ+ professionals in an industry that has historically been both creatively dependent on queer talent while simultaneously excluding queer people from positions of real power, this dynamic is especially insidious.

Manuel's decision to leave "America's Next Top Model"wasn't made in a vacuum. According to his account, his contract was actually completed after cycle 8, at which point he felt he had accomplished what he set out to do. However, he was pressured to return for cycle 9, with implicit threats that refusing would damage his future prospects in the industry.

"It was presented to my lawyer at the time from the studio: well if I didn't come back I would be putting them in a difficult position because they couldn't cast someone to replace me, and it was intimated that I wouldn't work for the studio again," Manuel recounted.

What he discovered upon his return was a fundamentally altered work environment. The early days of the show—when Manuel, photographer Nigel Barker, and Tyra Banks formed a tight creative triumvirate—had given way to what many describe as "too many cooks in the kitchen." As the show's cultural footprint expanded, so did the number of producers, executives, and decision-makers, diluting the creative control that had originally drawn Manuel to the project.

More troublingly, Manuel found himself increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of certain shoots and creative choices. His role had evolved from pure creative direction to something more nebulous and less fulfilling. The toxic environment that would later become the subject of widespread industry discussion—with former contestants and staff members coming forward with allegations of inappropriate behavior and insensitivity—was already becoming apparent to those working behind the scenes.

At some point during his tenure, Tyra Banks allegedly behaved inappropriately toward Manuel, an incident she later acknowledged and apologized for. However, as Manuel explains, that apology, while important, did not resolve the deeper systemic issues that had developed on set.

"She later admitted she behaved inappropriately but. .. that changed things and she did apologize but then there were other things, a lot of things that contributed to kind of the shift and there was a shift in culture behind the scenes and it was not a great work environment," Manuel reflected.

This dynamic—where an individual apology becomes a band-aid for systemic dysfunction—is one that many LGBTQ+ workers recognize. In industries where power dynamics are already skewed, and where marginalized employees fear retaliation, a single apology often obscures rather than addresses the root problems.

"When your colleagues treat you that way and then you can't say anything illegally and then there's this leak and you can't talk about that it's leaked and that you actually left the show, it really puts you in a very. .. it's really sad after doing 18 seasons of the show and working together like that and building the show initially, you know, as a small group, it's hard when you're treated that way," Manuel said.

The experience left him in an impossible position: watching his professional legacy be rewritten by others while being contractually prohibited from correcting the record. This is a form of institutional silencing that disproportionately affects workers without significant personal wealth or alternative income streams—a reality that many in the LGBTQ+ community, who have historically faced employment discrimination, understand intimately.

Today, as more former contestants and staff members have come forward with their own accounts of "America's Next Top Model's" toxic environment, Manuel's willingness to speak openly about his experience feels particularly significant. He is not simply airing grievances; he is contextualizing his departure within a larger pattern of dysfunction that the industry has been slow to acknowledge.

For LGBTQ+ audiences, Manuel's story carries additional weight. As a queer man who built a career in an industry that has long been dependent on queer creativity while marginalizing queer leadership, his experience reflects a broader pattern: being valued for one's talent and aesthetic vision while simultaneously being rendered powerless in institutional decision-making. His willingness to break his silence—to refuse the role of the complicit insider—represents a form of resistance.

At 53, Manuel remains a figure of influence in fashion and entertainment, his legacy as a creative force undeniable. But his current openness about his departure from "America's Next Top Model"suggests something equally important: the recognition that silence, even when legally mandated, comes at a cost. By speaking his truth now, he is reclaiming his narrative and, in doing so, contributing to a broader cultural reckoning about power, accountability, and the treatment of workers in the entertainment industry—particularly those from marginalized communities whose voices have historically been easiest to suppress.