Through thoughtful scenography, archival depth, and a poetic approach to storytelling, The Antwerp Six exhibition invites visitors to actively engage with their legacy—rediscovering how six strikingly different talents collectively placed Antwerp on the global fashion map and continue to inspire new generations. The immaterial spirit and stories behind the work are made visible through the curators’ sensitive presentation. hube spoke with Geert Bruloot and Kaat Debo, who co-curated the exhibition alongside Romy Cockx, to get to know more about their approach and work process.
Geert Bruloot is one of Belgian fashion’s most quietly influential figures—a pioneering retailer, curator, and longtime champion of independent design. A close friend and collaborator of the Antwerp Six since their student days, Bruloot was instrumental in organizing their landmark 1986 presentation in London. Today, as guest curator of the major exhibition at MoMu – Fashion Museum Antwerp, he returns to help shape the definitive narrative of this defining chapter in fashion history.
In this conversation with hube, Bruloot reflects on the rebellious spirit that defined a generation of young Belgian creatives in the mid-1980s and discusses the challenges of translating the myth of the Antwerp Six into a tangible exhibition—balancing individual voices with a shared legacy. Beyond the past, Bruloot looks toward the future of fashion, questioning rigid gender norms and calling for a renewed sense of creative freedom in an age dominated by algorithms and constant documentation.
hube: The success of recognition of an artist is often associated not only with their work, but also with the context that surrounds it. Do you think the rebellious energy of the Antwerp Six was inherent to their personalities, or was it also a response to the cultural and educational environment in Antwerp at that time?
Geert Bruloot: Yes, of course it was. It was a period when we were no longer agreeing with the establishment in general. In 1986, the students tried to break with the past. They wanted a new, contemporary world, and over the ten following years, it slowly filtered through the arts, architecture, and music. These students knew what was happening in Paris and Milan; they admired Armani, Versace, and Mugler. But they also sensed that there was a new kind of fashion emerging for younger people—something less bourgeois. They wanted to be part of that movement and break with the rules and tradition in the fashion education at the academy and in the city itself. Of course, we were not London, or Paris, or New York, but this energy was everywhere—in the clubs with their new music, and in a new kind of public starting up in the art galleries, where they started presenting installations, performances, and so on. There were cafes where punk or pop groups came to perform. It started gradually, and that atmosphere inspired them the most.
It was a time of rebellion. We did not want to accept what was happening. It was also a period with a different information system. Now, all day and all night, we are informed about what happens in the world. Back then, we had to watch television, read newspapers, and travel. We wanted to control it by rebelling against it. That was the general mood among the young people here in Belgium—and perhaps in the Netherlands too. It had already begun with the hippies, punks, disco, and the gay liberation movement. For instance, sexual liberation was a very important issue in the 70s and 80s. That was one of the reasons behind the miniskirt—the contraceptive pill gave girls the freedom; they could show their legs again. We were living on the doorstep of the modernity that we know now—but we wanted change.
h: The Antwerp Six have influenced generations of designers. Do you see their legacy as a blueprint for rebellion, craftsmanship, or something more philosophical—an approach to questioning fashion itself?
GB: Yes, absolutely. What feels most relevant today is the need for authenticity. The Antwerp Six did things entirely on their own terms. They did not follow an existing system, nor did they try to fit into one. Each of them developed a very personal language and way of working. So their legacy is not a blueprint in the literal sense. It is not something to copy. It is more a way of thinking and an attitude. The idea that you have to find your own voice, question what exists, and define your own position rather than simply adapting to the system. That is the kind of inspiration we hope to pass on through the exhibition.
h: The Antwerp Six are often celebrated as a collective, yet each designer had a very distinct voice. In curating this exhibition, how did you navigate between their individual identities and the myth of the collective?
GB: That tension is at the heart of the exhibition. The Antwerp Six were never a collective in the strict sense, so we did not want to present them as one. From the beginning, the concept was very clear: to show six independent designers, each with their own world. Spatially, that meant giving each of them a distinct environment, with their own logic and rhythm.
At the same time, the exhibition acknowledges the historical moment that brought them together. We introduce that context at the beginning (with the timeline), and towards the end (with the invitations). So the narrative moves between separation and connection, rather than choosing one over the other.
h: Which designer challenged you the most, curatorial-wise?
GB: Each of them presented a different kind of challenge, precisely because they are so distinct. Marina Yee’s section was only difficult in the first days, because of all the “I got the last show, there is almost nothing”. But when I went to see her to talk about it, I immediately knew what to do. I said, “This is your world, and we will show your world.”
With Dirk Bikkembergs it was much more difficult. The question was very much how to present the work in relation to the body it was designed for. His work is deeply connected to movement, to masculinity, to a very physical presence. So the challenge was to translate that into an exhibition format without losing that essential relationship. How could we represent his clothes on window mannequins? It’s impossible, he doesn’t like it, and it doesn’t work. I had to convince both him and the museum to work only with the images that he shot—because the museum wants to show actual clothes, of course. But I said, “You will never capture this spirit of Bikkembergs this way. You will never be able to enter into the world of Bikkembergs. You’ll never be able to enter his world if we put the clothes on window mannequins.”
Dirk had an idea—he always has fantastic ideas, but much too grand to execute. We had one idea, then another; they all seemed impossible to Dirk, but he finally said, “Okay, do what you want.” I had this idea with the books, but I needed him to choose the images he’d like, reframe them for the screens, and add the years so that we can see that something that looks contemporary was actually created in 1989, for instance. I knew he could handle this remotely, as my partner had previously saved his archives. There were 3000 pieces, getting lost, and no museum was interested in archiving it, because it’s a costly thing. Working remotely—Cape Town to Rio—via iPad, Eddie and Dirk archived a large part of the collection and even recreated new silhouettes with it. They were archiving literally everything: the material, who made it, which model wore it on, what show it appeared on, the video of the show, the invitation, and much more. Then it was presented to famous museums around the world, which were happy to accept it because everything was ready to show. So I knew that Dirk was able to do this, and I let him do whatever he wanted—so he did. For me, it was very difficult to show the world of Bikkembergs without him being there and without showing the actual garments. But in the end, I think it worked.
h: At what point did the exhibition start to “take shape” for you—not just conceptually, but spatially? How long did the process take from the initial idea to the final installation? And did the project change significantly along the way?
GB: The process took about a year, and it was one of constant refinement. In a way, the exhibition already took shape from the very beginning, because the conceptual basis was very clear: to show six independent designers within a shared timeline. From there, it was about continuously fine-tuning—adjusting, rethinking, repositioning. Spatially, it became clearer over time how to articulate that balance between individuality and connection.
You continue to adjust and refine until the very last moment. In a sense, you only truly let it go at the end, when everything is installed.