Thoughts sparked by the exhibition Fashion & Interiors. A Gendered Affair at MoMu Antwerp
Thinking of fashion almost equates with thinking of shopping. Whether in a physical store or online from the comfort of one’s own home, there’s always a certain interior setting involved. Already in that sense, fashion and interiors are closely intertwined, yet there’s still so much more to uncover within this relationship. Walls to dismantle, thresholds to cross.
“Her sphere is within the household, which she could ‘beautify’, and of which she should be the ‘chief ornament’.”
Words courtesy of Thorsten Veblen in 1899, the same economist and sociologist who coined the theory of ‘conspicuous consumption’, in short, people’s engagement in buying and using luxury goods to display their wealth and social prestige. At one point, women themselves became the pinnacle of this phenomenon. Majestically blending into one with the curtains, wallpapers, and furniture trimmings they were surrounded by, women became (or rather, were expected to become) visual reiterators of the home. They fulfilled the role of extension cord, so to speak, making sure things functioned properly and adequately to society’s standards. Being the family’s business card, women had to be lavishly decorated; a living portrait of prosperity and wealth. However, it was a delicate balance to strike, as women—supposed to be subordinate to their husbands—had to stand out without being too high-profile at the same time; in some cases, they were not far from resembling walking interior catalogues, evoking any fabrics, prints, or designs found around the home. Maison Margiela’s Artisanal SS14 collection features subtle nods to this idea: with a Mariano Fortuny fabric panel applied to a T-shirt dress, the concept of women as sample cards arises. And even earlier for FW06-07: a sofa imprinted top paired with a skirt made from red upholstery, featuring a tag with product details of the exact sofa as seen on the top. This, of course, is a rather demeaning perspective, but quite apt considering how roles were once divided. A silhouette by designer Dirk Van Saene equally plays on the idea of gender roles. Firstly, you notice the structured apron-like shape in what resembles a floral wallpaper design, which can seem quite stereotypical, only to then pick up on the second layer, consisting of khaki-colored overalls, recalling the (male-dominated) military sphere. Contrasting two opposite ends of the spectrum, Van Saene captures the binary thinking that long was the norm in a layered manner. A first corner of the veil of gender and interiors lifted.
Curtains—like veils—can shield us from unwanted gazes, both in our homes and in fitting rooms. Soft in their material, they are barriers of the finest kind. They can be just as much inviting as refusing, depending on who’s on the other side. When done well, they ought to be present yet subtle; in this way reminiscent of what was once expected of women: representative all the while subordinate. No matter how small a detail curtains may seem, it is small details like these that can make all the difference. At best, tailoring design with function. For example, dresses and skirts fitted with pockets, and, in the interior sphere, chairs equipped with small wheels. Making life that little bit easier.
How far does the interior concept stretch? Is it limited to the mere ‘public’ space of our homes, or is the more intimate sphere equally relevant? Margiela’s iconic duvet coat suggests the latter. Conceptually, duvets are particularly intriguing as a textile. Similar to nightwear, duvet covers are imbued with their wearers’ deepest dreams, thoughts, desires, emotions, etc. However, despite being the material with which we live in closest proximity most of our lifetime, as garments, they mostly remain uncredited for their emotional resilience. Both physically and mentally, they have our backs, making them by far one of our most intimate contacts. So, although Margiela’s ode to the duvet is generally interpreted as translating the concept of homely comfort to the wardrobe, a more poetic lens could add to the coat’s layeredness.
Apart from potential figurative layers, there are, of course, the literal ones. Between the outer layer and the body, the lining of clothing acts as a protective barrier, negotiating and aligning the outside world and the wearer’s inner world. The attention to detail spent on this extra layer can reveal a lot about the thought that has gone into a design. Without a lining there, one might (unconsciously) feel less protected and/or comforted. This testifies to the concept of clothes as the homes we carry with us, everywhere we go. And people often identify with their homes and interiors, taking their vision with them wherever they go, projecting it when entering new, unfamiliar places; and from the moment they notice something mildly familiar, are soothed by this feeling of ‘coming home’. People are easy to please in that sense, often reassured by a single ‘landmark’. The act of taking off one’s coat is intriguing within this context. Once at the stage of feeling somewhat at home, acclimatized and comfortable with the thought of staying for a while, one will be far more likely to shed this second skin. Almost literally, opening themselves up to others. In a runway setting, a similar event takes place. Of the silhouettes complemented with a jacket, the look usually changes not until the second half of the presentation, with models easing themselves into the framework, as it were, taking it off once they feel somewhat settled. The main reason for this swift transformation is probably a stage direction given by the designer; however, it could also be seen as a beautiful and telling metaphor for this sense of ‘homecoming’.
A plot twist in all this is vacations, and the role fashion has come to play in it over the years. Romanticizing the idea of going somewhere where nobody knows them and drawn in by the appeal of being able to channel an ‘inner other’, some people tend to curate a wardrobe only to be worn once arrived at their destination, where everything seems possible. The fashion industry tapped into this longing for the novel, offering special holiday lines such as Resort and Cruise Collections. One such brand with a longstanding tradition of this is Chanel; the aim being to create an all-encompassing experience people want to buy into. In a way, a Gesamtkunstwerk, or total work of art, between destination and attire, with the wearer’s body as common vessel.
Some of the most prominent proponents of the Gesamtkunstwerk in its more traditional sense were Maria Sèthe and Henry van de Velde, with the couple’s home ‘Villa Bloemenwerf’ (Uccle, Brussels) as the main sign. From the actual structure to minor details, the two of them designed and thought out everything, even down to Sèthe’s clothing. In light of the rationality van de Velde so upheld—in his eyes, the greatest good—this may seem somewhat counterintuitive. With clothes made after his designs (think, trims and collars featuring formal similarities to their homely surroundings), Sèthe at times coincided with the interior. Not he, but his wife was supposed to be in visual coherence with the home.
Reasoning from the same Gesamtkunstwerk mindset, the dust coats worn by Margiela’s in-house team can be considered another take on the pragmatism that was van de Velde’s; in this case, harmony found in the uniformity of the shade white, as regards both the coats and the surroundings. The eloquent power of Martin Margiela’s habitual use of white coverings in and of itself connects the two, fashion and interiors. Whether white cloth for covering objects (from garments to furnishings) or layers of white paint. But, whereas white paint is generally used to obtain a certain level of tabula rasa, with Margiela, the additional layer added another dimension rather than intentionally losing one. Visually, it strips things back as white paint on a wall would, but symbolically, objects such as a pair of denim trousers or Tabi shoes gain something. Covered in a layer of white paint meant to crack and gradually wear off, each pair would become even more unique as time passes. Irregularities as traces of time and wear, a technique that has stuck from the label’s formative days. In stark contrast to the craquelure of a painted white wall, which, seen as mere decay, will seldom be appreciated in this way, especially within the home, but even in public spaces.
In his FW18-19 collection for Calvin Klein, Raf Simons alluded to the American dream and its idiom of barns and fire stations. Public spaces like these, in some cases, fulfill a similar role to those of interiors. Places for public gathering, refuge, among others, can thus prove meaningful as a form of shelter. Under certain circumstances, even the mere open plain can provide a sense of freedom generally associated with the comfort of one’s home. In Western society, freedom is commonly measured by how covered up (or not) someone is allowed to be. Whereas, for some, covering up comes with a heightened sense of freedom. Venturing outside then comes with a freedom of movement which may be off-limits otherwise. The scope of sense of room and space thus expanded when covered up, which, from a Western perspective, can prove difficult to understand. However, it is ever so crucial to broaden our horizons and not just look at what we know and are familiar with. There are different realities, yet they are no less meaningful. This brings to mind Hussein Chalayan’s Chador collection from the late 90s. A collection presentation featuring six figures dressed in identical black chador cloaks, walking into a blank white setting. However, wrapped in the same material, the actual proportions differed, shrinking in length with the last model walking out fully naked. Standing in a line, this spectrum from Muslim dress to nudity caused shock among those present. Chalayan himself described it as a moment of collective awareness, something quite visceral in that it seemed to be a criticism when, in fact, it concerned a reframing of perspective. He raised the question of whether either end of the spectrum is more or less free than the other. Or are there also other factors at play, such as the interior (or exterior) setting concerned?
A completely other way in which the world of fashion and interiors collide is uncovered in an insight shared by Martin Margiela, putting an unexpected spin on how we see merchandising—a ubiquitous concept in today’s society, fashion being no exception. Shrouded in Margiela’s emblematic white cotton, the Maison’s Line 13 mini Emmanuelle chair (an archetype also known as a Peacock chair, originating from the Philippines) offered people the possibility to buy a piece of the Margiela world and take it home with them. Miniatures of things turning merch, turning a fetish, as Martin himself called it; the desire to own a piece of this universe, at last, fulfilled. He grasped people’s sense of ‘interior’ pride.
One more designer who, for his graduate collection in 1991, tapped into the inextricable link between fashion and interiors is Raf Simons, trained not as a fashion designer but as an industrial designer. Titled CORPO, Simons’ project explored the relationship between fashion and furniture design. With a lineup of seven ‘accessory cabinets’, as they are called, objects become bodies; the fabric overlay skin-like, granting the cabinets an interior and exterior, similarly to how clothes relate to the human body. A packaging, almost, to protect the inside structure. CORPO as a structural rethinking of product design; furniture as embodied, with both an inside and an outside. Quite the illustration of the potential value, importance, and meaning of the fabric we are brought up in, whether that’s the fabric we wear or the fabric we are surrounded by.
