The 1980s “Kibbe System” Blew Up Because of Social Media. What Do People Make of the New Book?

A few years ago, I became fascinated with figuring out my Kibbe type. It started as idle curiosity, a casual glance into the ever-expanding world of aesthetic classification, but quickly turned into a puzzle that refused to be solved.

For the uninitiated, a “Kibbe type” refers to the style system developed by image consultant David Kibbe, first introduced in his 1987 book Metamorphosis. A former actor, Kibbe rejected the era’s rigid beauty standards in favor of a more holistic approach—one that considered not just body shape but movement, proportion, and overall essence. His philosophy, which emphasized working with one’s natural lines rather than against them, continues to resonate decades later.

At first, I thought I might be a Romantic, having read that they appeared soft and fleshy no matter how thin they were—a description that resonated with how I saw my own body. But I soon discovered that Romantics were strictly capped at 5’5”, and alas, I am 5’7”. For a while, I wavered between Soft Natural and Soft Dramatic, drawn to the celebrity examples of the former (Scarlett Johansson, Kim Kardashian, Jennifer Lopez), yet knowing my height made the latter more likely. An AI program told me I was likely a Soft Classic—curvy, yes, but only moderately so—but although the smooth, flowing lines recommended for that type aligned with my wardrobe, my height once again disqualified me.

This kind of endless self-examination is central to Kibbe, with online forums filled with women posting full-length photos—faces obscured—searching for confirmation of whether they have “Kibbe curve” or simply “conventional curve,” vertical or width, sharpness or softness.

Kibbe’s Metamorphosis categorizes 13 body types along a yin-yang continuum, assigning each an “image identity” meant to guide personal style. Each type comes with a set of recommendations—silhouettes, fabrics, and styling choices designed to highlight an individual’s natural essence. In recent years, the system has seen a resurgence, fueled by social media communities on TikTok, Reddit, and YouTube—alongside other style frameworks like Kitchener essences and seasonal color analysis.

Part of the system’s appeal, explains fashion designer and style blogger Gabrielle Arruda, who has written extensively about Kibbe, lies in the multiple ways you can engage with it. “There’s a ‘junk food’ side to it and a whole meal side to it,” she says. “You can analyze celebrity ‘types’ on TikTok or do an online quiz and get a quick answer. If you find your type, and it resonates, there’s a sense of gratification and connection in that.” But beyond the surface-level fun, she says, the system offers a deeper approach—one that helps people understand which lines and fabrics best suit their bodies and why.

Unlike the “fruit system” of body typing, Kibbe insists that no one shape is better than another: Dramatics and Flamboyant Naturals are statuesque model types, Romantics are curvy and feminine, Gamines are chic and petite, and Classics are balanced and symmetrical. Kibbe himself, now in his seventies, remains both the system’s prophet and its greatest mystery. He insists that he is not classifying body types at all, but something deeper—style identities, image archetypes. Yet even his most devoted followers struggle to articulate exactly what that means. The result is a framework that offers both the thrill of self-discovery and the frustration of an unsolvable puzzle.

For years, Metamorphosis existed as a kind of holy relic, long out of print, its wisdom scattered and reinterpreted across internet forums and TikTok explainers. Copies sold for hundreds of dollars, its scarcity only adding to its mythic appeal. Now, decades later, Kibbe has returned with a new book: The Power of Style, published in January. I was intrigued. Would this finally be the book that unlocked the mystery of my type?

But as I opened the book, I was struck by the sheer datedness of the images. A cream-color shirt dress with lace overlay and three-quarter-length sleeves that recalls a mother-of-the-bride outfit from decades past. A boxy black suit with bright green piping, presumably an attempt at power dressing, evokes the awkward suiting trends of the early ’90s—structured yet shapeless. A Soft Dramatic woman (tall and curvy) is dressed in an ill-fitting draped dress that obscures rather than enhances her silhouette, muting the dramatic, high-glamour lines Kibbe prescribes for the type.

It is not just that the looks aren’t to my personal tastes—it’s that they fail to translate Kibbe’s ideas into a contemporary context. The styling choices feel curiously removed from the present, clinging to an idea of elegance that no longer resonates. The result is less timeless than stagnant—an aesthetic frozen in time, with none of the adaptability that makes style truly enduring. On Reddit, where much of the Kibbe conversation has taken place, even devotees of the system cite the new book’s flaws. “I think a book on the power of style should at the very minimum contain good style,” one Redditor wrote. “And this is coming from someone who sincerely loves this system.”

Yet amid the backlash, there are defenders too. Some argue that Kibbe was never meant to be a modern stylist, that his system was about evoking a particular kind of Old Hollywood glamour, never about following contemporary fashion trends. “Not liking the new makeovers is one thing,” one commenter noted, “but I truly don’t understand why anyone familiar with David’s work would think he was going to style people like Instagram influencers.”

Arruda, who recently interviewed David Kibbe for her podcast Style POV, sees value in the new book. She notes that Metamorphosis was written in a different era, with limited fabric choices and access to styles. “Today, we have so much ability to try new clothes. If you want a specific thing, it’s one click away. That wasn’t true in the 1980s,” she explains. Rather than a strict set of rules, she believes The Power of Style emphasizes personal interpretation: “Each ID embodies a concept, and how you apply that concept should be highly personal. The value in the book isn’t in the images—it’s in looking at your body differently and understanding what works for you and what doesn’t.”

For those who connect with the book, this emphasis on self-reflection is where it succeeds. The exercises encourage readers to watch classic films, reflect on moments in their lives that made them feel awe, and examine their internalized biases about style and body shape. These practices have helped some gain a clearer understanding of their aesthetic—what they’re drawn to, what makes them feel most like themselves. Others have found value in sketching their own silhouette, a process that has helped them see their proportions more objectively and, for some, pinpoint their Kibbe type with greater clarity.

Kibbe’s system provided a framework, but it was the women who debated, reinterpreted, and applied it who made it relevant in the 2020s. They will be the ones to continue shaping it in the years to come. If anything, the book only confirms that the power of Kibbe’s ideas has never been in the system itself, but in the way that women are adapting it to suit their own evolving sense of style.