It is the day after her Spring/Summer mens show that I meet Veronique Branquinho in her Paris showroom. I am early and she is having lunch with her team in a long black dress, talking and laughing. I make eye contact with her and she walks up to me, guessing that I am expecting her somehow. Veronique is tall, assertive and has an even stronger energy, while keeping some of the mystery and restraint that have made her clothes so intriguing. Branquinho is definitely not part of the confessional society, where intimate details and personal views are openly discussed and revealed to whoever wants to hear them. She seems wary of any media scrutiny and is quite secretive, often critical of their invasion of privacy and need for overexposure. Of course, this is somewhat contradictory, as being a designer is becoming an increasingly public job, but Veronique means what she says and hardly wants to attract attention. She just wants to continue with what she is doing and has no interest in stealing the limelight from her clothes.
Having had the opportunit y to showcase her work at the MoMu gallery in Antwerp this year does not seem to have changed that. In fact, the exhibition raised more questions around her creative process than it gave answers. Even though she is clearly drawn towards ambiguity and paradox, Branquinho is a natural born leader who has, nevertheless, softened her act in the past few years. Success happened while she was still young and keeping her sanity was always her worry. As I browse through the rails of her last collection, I am struck by how tender and light some of her mens clothes are. From transparent white mohair to pastel tones to lightweight jersey trousers, there is a sense that the passing of time has calmed her aesthetics and made her style more approachable. As I struggle setting up my recording equipment in the overheated space, I am beginning to panic and probably showing it. Veronique is a picture of quiet confidence, keeping her patience intact and kindly offering me some water.
How did the idea of a show at the MoMu come about? Did they approach you to do it? Yes, they asked me about a year ago and it came together with the editing of A Magazine. I thought it was great to have that kind of platform and it was also good timing for me, after ten years, to look back and see what I had done. It was a luxury, too, because in fashion you are always working on the next show or product and it was nice having some sort of a break. I was happy to do it and to see that this was my “luggage”, so to speak, and it also gave me the feeling that I could close a chapter in my life and move on to the next.
And how did it feel looking back at those ten years? What were your first thoughts? In a way, it was nice to rediscover the first things I had done. I also felt proud when I realised, because you tend to forget what you did as you are always working with time pressure. I never wanted to have a retrospective: it sounds so heavy and like the kind of thing you do when you are old, but it was a chance to show my world, which is not only about clothes, but much more. You know, I have spent my life doing this and it was nice to include music, art and theatre as well.
There was something mysterious about these rooms and how you used the space to showcase your clothes. Was that deliberate on your part? Yes, it was. In a way, these are the things that attract me in life. A lot of people are getting very lazy with the media and want everything served to them on a plate: with television, for instance, everything has to be explained all the time, giving all the references away and it is very much in your face. There is no subtlety there, but, as an individual, I want to have the freedom of interpretation, that is very important to me. I think mystery comes along with that, too.
There is always a feeling of ambiguity in your work. For instance, the concept of the Complice line was that of an interchangeable wardrobe that could work for both men and women. Yes, that is right, even though designing mens and womens collections is a completely different process for me. With the womens, it is always very personal and comes from a deep place, from my guts. It can be hard, too, but for men, it is much more playful and lighthearted in a way. It is not me. I guess maybe it is similar for men who design womens clothes, you always have this kind of fantasy. In a way, the mens collection is a projection for me of who my ideal man could be and how I think he could be sexy, it is another degree of design.
And is that different from the womens? Why? Well, designing womens is more existential (mutual laughter). It always feels like you are giving birth to a collection and this process implies constant questioning. With men, I am finding it simpler in a way. I can think of what I like or find attractive on a man, sometimes I will find a great fabric that I want to work with, but then I think that I could never imagine a man next to me wearing it. So, it really is like my ideal fantasy of a man, which is nice for me to create.
I guess that, with the womens collections, there is always an expectation that things should dramatically change every six months. What is your position towards that? I mean, your style has been fairly consistent over the years. Yes, it has. This is something really important for me and I think the exhibition made that more visible in a way. From the very beginning, I have been searching for timelessness, tradition and quality, which are really difficult words in fashion today. I like to think of my clothes as a union between ancient and contemporary worlds. The woman I dress now has not changed that much and the story is still the same, it has a universal ring to it. It is the same desires and the same anxieties, it is the same woman and she is the one I am working for. I do not like working with clichés and do not design “themed” collections, that is one of the reasons why I try to be consistent in my work.
Are tradition and quality harder to find now? Yes, such things are disappearing now and becomingharder to find. Manufacturers are closing down, too. We used to make our whole production in Belgium, but some suppliers have been out of business and we have had to move it elsewhere. All the tailoring and heavier, constructed pieces are still made in Belgium, though.
You were very young when you started out and gained international recognition almost instantly. People also associated you with a certain image and labelled you quickly. I am not sure what you mean here. What image are you talking about? Well, you had this dark, somber, “goth” image you probably grew tired of. Yes, that is true.
Was it scary being that successful so early in your life? Yes, it was scary. I was young, but already quite aware of the power of the media and I was very afraid of it. I started at the same time as Jeremy Scott and Olivier Theyskens who were all very hyped-up, which really frightened me. I knew I wanted to do this for a very long time and did not want to be a three seasons sensation I guess... That fear forced me to keep my distance in a way and maybe that was not always the easiest, most commercial choice, but in the long term, I think I am happy with it, being able to do my own thing and that I am respected for it. Fashion is so fast now. I do my thing, even if I know that it is for a selected, and perhaps smaller, audience.
And you are respected within the industry, too. Yes, I am, but not just by the press, also by the retailers. That is very important to me as the clothes need to sell, too.
Is that form of pragmatism a Belgian trait? I guess it is. I was always disturbed by this star system thing surrounding designers and did not like the curiosity people had about my private life, like people asking me what I liked to eat or what I did in my free time. It is not relevant, what I make is me. That is the main difference with big design houses, where it is more about marketing and trends and changing all the time. I cannot do this.