Meryll Rogge indulged in some nest-feathering when constructing the set of her biggest show to date, using vintage wallpapers from Priem, a landmark shop in Ghent, where she lives. The prettiness of these wall coverings contrasted with the recyclable cardboard seating, and was worlds away from the rawness of the work of Gordon Matta Clark—known for, among other things, cutting jokes in walls of old buildings—whose work framed Rogge’s thinking and informed the custom soundtrack, featuring construction sounds.
Rogge, who worked with Dries Van Noten and Marc Jacobs, founded her brand five years ago. Like all new ventures, it’s a work in progress. She’s been successful in developing an “off” aesthetic. Chex Rogge that combines elements of grandma/grandpa dressing with a messy but magical teenage bedroom vibe. All of this without ignoring the “wearability factor.” “We’re at the moment a team of only women, and we wear our clothes every day,” the designer stressed on a call.
The dishevelment of the models who moved within the unfinished space suggested less a walk of shame than a sleepover in a country house with stuffed closets that had been pillaged. Sailor pants were worn with flaps open to reveal check boxer bloomers; black ruffles added a graphic element to ’30s satin lingerie dresses. A grab bag of intriguing separates in riotous colors, the collection had something of a Marc by Marc Jacobs spirit. Getting things off and running was a tailored peplum and skirt set in royal purple worn with a sweatshirt/button-down shirt. The pumps incorporated details borrowed from the elasticized shoe covers. More sculptural were skirts with boutis-like quilting that were at the same time utilitarian. Rogge is a Woolmark Prize finalist, and she layered short wool tops layered over shirts and jackets, creating an almost doll-clothes feeling, the designer noted. Merino-backed Lurex sweaters were unexpectedly paired with luxe suede pieces.
The clothes that related most to the set featured prints and embroidery translated from wallpapers onto cloth, which were used on ruffled separates for men and women. An aqua skirt had a double-layered exposed seam down the front that peeled open, almost like wallpaper from a wall. Rogge stressed that she didn’t want to be too literal with the theme: “We’re in the real world and I don’t want to look like a house, either,” she joked. In the face of current events, home can feel like a refuge. Clothes are houses for our bodies, and this offering was for the adventurous decorator—but Rogge hoped to go beyond optics. “It’s important to carry on and to show diversity and to show that there’s freedom in thinking,” she said, “and that we need to keep our individuality and fight for it.”
