
Is that him? – the question many guests were asking at last week’s private view of Maison Margiela’s work over the last 20 years. A near impossible question to answer as the Belgian iconoclast, known for his designs where the inner workings of a garment are as likely to be on the outside as hidden, is notoriously shy. Elusive even. Margiela never gave an interview or stood in front of a camera – he left the creative helm of the brand in 2008. The label lives on without him.
There have often been rumours that Margiela may not have been a man at all but rather a collective, a group of design talent that created ‘him’ as a name to design behind – a simulacrum of a real fashion person. It’s a bit like the pop group Gorillaz, but without knowing who the band members are at all.
The exhibition avoids a chronological approach. Rather, it groups clothes together around ideas or concepts. So there are flat garments that are only given shape when they’re worn, trompe l’oeil effects – garments printed with photos of themselves onto the fabric (a photograph of a shirt onto a shirt, for instance) and painted clothes. These feature white paint, a kind of signature of the brand, painted onto them. This desecration often happens to Margiela’s shoes too. Interiors of the company’s shops and much of the furniture inside is treated in the same way. Then it’s left. The decay of white paint is a conceptual device to show the demise of purity. Perhaps. Or maybe it’s an eco-point: look how grubby the city is!

According to the exhibition’s programme however, “the layer of white paint creates the illusion of a neutral canvas, as if the Maison wanted to establish its own tabula rasa with history,” a quote so full of itself I bet it can even self-email direct to Private Eye’s Pseud’s Corner. It also reveals how seriously this brand takes itself. These are high-concept clothes for creative folk who see themselves in equally conceptual terms. Sexy doesn’t come into it.
The most intriguing line produced by the Maison is the ‘Replicas’. They take an original vintage garment, copy it faithfully, insert a label stating the item’s style, provenance and original date and leave off the Maison Martin Margiela label. This is because the brand no longer sees itself as the garment’s ‘author’. So a replica of a doctor’s coat from the Spring Summer 2005 collection for instance says that it’s a copy of one from 1920 from France. This baffling conundrum of ‘authorship’ feels more like sub-plot of Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose than a commercially produced collection of clothing. It’s also pretty amusing.

“I spent a whole day with Margiela once,” said Sarah Mower, of Style.com looking out over the river on the terrace of Somerset House after the show. So he does exist then? “Oh yes, in fact Phoebe Philo at Celine has taken a number of his designers to work with her there since Margiela has now left his own label.” Which got me thinking. Could Phoebe Philo have been Martin Margiela all along? Now that really would be conceptual.






