Rococo Reboot! When Elegance Meets Experimentation at Modemuseum Hasselt
I walked into Modemuseum Hasselt on a grey Thursday afternoon expecting a nice exhibition. I walked out two hours later with my entire understanding of fashion history rearranged. The Rococo Reboot show did something I had never experienced in a museum before. It placed original 18th-century garments directly alongside contemporary designs, face to face, separated by nothing but a few centimetres of glass and about 250 years of history. And instead of feeling like a gap, that distance felt like a conversation. A loud, joyful, slightly unhinged conversation between two eras that have far more in common than I ever imagined.
Pastel Bombs and Powdered Wigs
Let me set the scene. The first room was dimly lit, almost theatrical. A Rococo court gown from the mid-1700s stood in a glass case. Layers upon layers of silk taffeta in the softest blush pink, the bodice encrusted with hand-embroidered flowers so fine they looked painted. The panniers extended the hips to an almost absurd width. It was extravagant. It was ridiculous. It was absolutely magnificent. I stood there with my mouth slightly open, forgetting entirely that I was supposed to be taking notes for class.
And then I turned around. Directly behind me, a contemporary designer had created a response piece. A deconstructed jacket with exaggerated shoulder volumes, made entirely from recycled organza in that same blush palette. The ruffles were there, but raw-edged. The volume was there, but architectural rather than aristocratic. It was as if someone had taken the spirit of that 18th-century gown, stripped away the corsetry, and rebuilt it with a modern conscience. I felt a shiver run down my spine. This is what fashion dialogue looks like.
The Rococo masters were not afraid of joy, of excess, of making something purely because it was beautiful. And honestly, I think modern fashion could use a little more of that courage.
Playfulness as a Design Philosophy
What struck me most as I moved through the galleries was how deeply playful the Rococo period was. These were designers. And yes, I am calling them designers, even if the word did not exist yet. Who understood that fashion could be witty. A pair of silk shoes with hand-painted pastoral scenes on the heels. A waistcoat embroidered with tiny monkeys playing musical instruments. An entire robe a la francaise covered in cascading ribbons that served no structural purpose whatsoever. They were there purely for the drama. Purely for the delight. I loved every single one.
As a fashion student at HoGent, I sometimes feel pressure to justify every design choice with function or sustainability or market viability. And those things matter. They absolutely do. But standing in that museum, surrounded by two centuries of designers who celebrated beauty for its own sake, I felt permission to be bolder. To add that extra ruffle. To choose the more dramatic silhouette. To design something that makes someone gasp before they ask what it is made of. The Rococo makers understood something essential: fashion is emotion made tangible. It is supposed to make you feel something. If it does not, why bother?
I took the train home from Hasselt that evening with a sketchbook full of scribbles and a head full of ruffles. Somewhere between Hasselt and Gent, I started drawing a jacket. Wide shoulders, nipped waist, asymmetric ruffle cascading from collar to hem. It was impractical. It was theatrical. It was the most exciting thing I had designed in months. That is the gift Modemuseum Hasselt gave me: not a lesson in history, but a reminder that the past is not behind us. It is right here, woven into every silhouette we sketch, every fabric we choose, every moment we decide to make something beautiful simply because we can.