INTRODUCTION
Rococo Reboot! – Fashion 1750-1830
Pastel shades, towering wigs, mirrored halls, lavish fabrics and extravagant costumes – these are familiar associations with the term rococo, fuelled by popular visual culture. Films and series such as Marie Antoinette and Bridgerton present a world of extravagance and visually stunning fashion, where historical accuracy is often set aside in favour of creative and artistic interpretation. But how do these romantic clichés relate to reality? Through a thematic journey, the exhibition Rococo Reboot! offers a fresh perspective on this period, with pieces from the collection of the Fashion Museum Hasselt dating from 1750 to 1830.
Objects from this early period are rare and mostly originate from the higher social classes, thus providing only a limited view of everyday life. A carefully curated selection of loans from STAM (the Ghent city museum), along with digitally and sensorially enhanced interpretations informed by historical research, enrich this picture. While popular imagery tends to focus on the luxurious exterior, Rococo Reboot! explores the less visible aspects of fashion, such as washing, dressing, hygiene, and underwear. These everyday rituals and intimate layers reveal how fashion functioned in daily life and how clothing shaped and influenced the body.
The exhibition places rococo within a broader historical context of fashion, showing how styles do not exist in isolation but constantly influence one another. Rococo Reboot! explores how elements from fashion between 1750 and 1830 continue to resonate in contemporary design, offering a fresh perspective on the tension between the lesser-known stories of daily reality and the dreamlike illusion rooted in a romanticised view of the 18th century.
Fashion of the late 18th and early 19th centuries is often associated with decadence and extravagance—an image heavily influenced by film and television. Popular costume dramas such as Marie Antoinette or Bridgerton present an exaggerated, romanticised vision of fashion in which historical accuracy is secondary to aesthetic appeal. Fashion historians critique these productions in online videos for mixing styles from different periods, thus distorting how people actually dressed between 1750 and 1830. For instance, angular 18th-century skirts are often confused with 19th-century circular crinolines, and corsets are shown together with towering wigs and clownish make-up.
At the same time, the fashion industry eagerly embraces these clichés. Designers such as John Galliano and Vivienne Westwood draw inspiration from iconic figures like Marie Antoinette. This results in spectacular runway shows that often reduce the complexity of historical dress to a visually striking and flamboyant spectacle. However, subtle and more accurate elements from the era also make their way into contemporary fashion—buckle shoes, richly embroidered silks, and pastoral prints, to name a few. As such, despite its frequent misrepresentation, the fashion of 1750 to 1830 remains a source of inspiration.
In the 18th century, clothing consisted of several, often opulent, layers, making dressing a complex and time-consuming process. This contrasts sharply with today’s fashion, which usually comprises a few minimal and functional layers: underwear, trousers and a top, or a one-piece dress, stockings, and shoes. Nowadays, getting dressed is a quick and simple act. Donning historical clothing ensembles, however, required time, effort, and care.
Museums generally attempt to reconstruct and present complete historical silhouettes as faithfully as possible. Yet the actual dressing process and its layering are often lost in the presentation. In the 18th and 19th centuries, both men’s and women’s clothing consisted of several separate pieces that together formed a whole. One example is the robe à la française from around 1750–1760, which is deconstructed here layer by layer. The dressing process for both men and women can also be followed in the video in this room.
It began with the chemise worn directly against the skin, followed by knee-length stockings tied with ribbons. Next came a plain petticoat, unseen by the public. The stays, an early form of the corset, were laced tightly with ribbons or cords. Pockets were tied at the hips—a precursor to the modern handbag. Then came the panniers, which gave the skirt its characteristic angular shape. A fichu was draped over the shoulders, followed by a richly decorated stomacher. The outer decorative petticoat was attached underneath the point of the stomacher. Finally, the gown was pinned and finished with a lace collar and engageantes (lace sleeve flounces). Help was often needed to put on shoes, as bending over was difficult once stays were tightened.
In the 18th and early 19th centuries, underwear played a crucial role in shaping the body according to prevailing beauty ideals. The stays—and later the corset—moulded the silhouette, much like modern shapewear, cosmetic procedures, or digital retouching do today. Although it is often thought that women were tightly laced and fainted from lack of air, the extent of body shaping was a personal choice. Both men and women wore stays, and some men continued wearing corsets well into the 19th century.
The evolution of the silhouette is evident when comparing stays from different periods: 18th-century stays produced a conical shape with broad hips, while early 19th-century ones created a flatter, elongated profile. Around 1825, sleeve padding heralded the return of voluminous silhouettes, as seen in leg-of-mutton sleeves. Not only underwear but also tailoring in jackets contributed to the desired shape, forcing the back into an upright posture.
Modern fashion is still shaped by beauty ideals, often influenced by celebrity culture and shifting preferences for (or rejection of) curves. While designers experiment with padding and volume, there is also a countercurrent—echoing the freedom of choice 18th-century women had—that favours clothing adapting to the body rather than shaping it to fit a predetermined ideal. This shows how the relationship between fashion and the body continues to evolve.
Hygiene is a relative concept, dependent on time, place, and social context. What one person considers ‘clean’, another might consider ‘dirty’. Today, daily bathing and regular washing of clothes is standard, despite its environmental impact.
In the 18th century, washing the body and clothing regularly was not common everywhere. Full-body immersion in water was even considered risky by some medical circles, particularly in France, due to fears that warm water would open the pores and increase the risk of infection. The English, however, viewed daily bathing as essential.
Textiles played a vital role in bodily hygiene. Underwear was designed to absorb sweat and dirt before it reached the outer layers. These outer garments, often lavishly decorated or made of delicate fabrics like silk, could not be washed daily. Stays and corsets were also worn over undergarments to avoid direct contact with the skin. Clean underwear was not exclusive to the elite; even less wealthy people typically owned at least two chemises, washed with soap made from animal fat and scented with herbs and dried flowers.
The delicate materials and forms of historical underwear continue to inspire contemporary designers who reinterpret these base layers into full silhouettes. The fine silk slip dress, in particular, has become a recurring object of reinterpretation throughout fashion history and remains a staple in the collections of designers like Elena Velez, Simone Rocha, and Meryll Rogge.
Although the exhibition spans a broader period (1750–1830), the title Rococo Reboot! is no coincidence. The term ‘rococo’ originates in the visual arts and refers to a playful, frivolous style that developed as a lighter counterpart to the baroque. In fashion, this style was particularly expressed between 1730 and 1760, although its development did not always run parallel to other art forms.
The exhibition begins in 1750, with voluminous women’s gowns and lavishly decorated men’s clothing. Rich embroidery in gold brocade and symmetrical patterns evoke the grandeur of the baroque. Only in the 1770s, with the arrival of Marie Antoinette at Versailles and the influence of her so-called “minister of fashion” Rose Bertin, does fashion adopt its distinctive rococo character, with smaller, asymmetrically placed floral motifs and playful details such as ruffles and towering hairstyles.
From the late 1780s onwards, the silhouette evolved into simpler lines under English influence, with the chemise à la reine, inspired by an undergarment. The French Revolution ushered in a more austere period, characterised by airy, nearly transparent gowns. With Joséphine de Beauharnais, Napoleon’s wife, opulence returned, with fashion bursting with cheerful feathers, symmetrical embellishments and lavish silver and gold thread.
In the 19th century, volume increased again, with leg-of-mutton sleeves, crinolines and lowered waistlines. The grandeur of 1830 reflects that of 1750, bringing the cycle full circle.
Without social media, fashion magazines and style icons were the ultimate sources of inspiration. As early as the 17th century, the French magazine Mercure Galant introduced a fashion column. In the 18th century, specialised fashion publications featuring detailed illustrations flourished like never before.
According to the 18th-century French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, women had an innate problem with consumption. The stereotype of the shopaholic woman dates back to this era, when caricatures were widely spread of bored men waiting as their wives lost themselves in indecisive shopping. Yet the complex, layered structure of clothing from this period tells a different story. Putting together an outfit required many steps and a lot of time. Clothing was not sold ready-to-wear in shops but had to be assembled — or even made — by the wearer, unless a tailor was involved. Women, and to a lesser extent men, needed material knowledge to choose quality fabrics. They had to understand how a fabric draped, how it caught the light, and whether colour and texture would withstand washing, in order to create an outfit that could last a lifetime — and be passed down through generations.
Furthermore, women’s economic agency was greater than often assumed today. Since the 16th century, married women had typically managed household finances. In the 18th century, women contributed to the public economy as wives, daughters, or sisters of merchants, and often inherited the business upon a male relative’s death. Women played a prominent role in the clothing industry and helped spread trends — as did the famous marchande de mode Rose Bertin at the French court, who amassed a fortune through her own business.
THE COLLECTION OF ANDREÏ IVANEANU
The collection of the Fashion Museum Hasselt, which now comprises over 19,000 pieces, has its roots in a deep love and keen interest in historical clothing. The foundation of the museum was laid with the acquisition of the Ivaneanu collection. Andreï Ivaneanu, a Romanian-Belgian theatrical costume designer, collected historical garments not only as a source of inspiration but also as research material for creating historically accurate costumes. Unlike many in his field, he did not alter the original garments, nor did he have them worn on stage. This makes his collection truly exceptional.
Many historical garments preserved today have been transformed over the years. Theatre companies frequently reused historical pieces for performances, modifying dresses to fit the body more closely, to speed up costume changes, or to modernise them according to contemporary tastes. In the process, many original details were lost, since costumes primarily had to make a visual impact.
Historical garments were also often reworked during costume balls and masquerade parties in the 19th and early 20th centuries to suit the fashion fantasies of the time. For this reason, fully intact dresses from earlier periods are extremely rare.
Ivaneanu’s foresight in preserving garments as historical artefacts, and not merely as stage props, proved invaluable to the development of the Fashion Museum Hasselt’s collection, which has been expanded over time through purchases and donations. By conserving, researching, and presenting these garments in their original state, we gain a deeper insight into the craftsmanship, materials, and design choices of the past.
“Today I received a new, beautiful coat with which I am extremely pleased. It is light in colour, with a pale green collar, made in the latest fashion. The colour of the coat is a personal choice, but green collars can be seen everywhere...” (Samuel Johnson, 1775)
Contemporary style icons and celebrities like Timothée Chalamet, Harry Styles, and A$AP Rocky show how men today take delight in fashion. This is not a new phenomenon, as Samuel Johnson’s quote from 1775 clearly illustrates.
In the second half of the 18th century, the macaronis came before them. This subculture of men had a taste for extravagant and playful fashion. Adorned with towering wigs, dressed in softly coloured suits with shiny trimmings and fragrant flower bunches on their lapels, they strolled through the city. The term ‘macaroni’ – originally a mocking nickname – referred to the lavish style and affected manner of speaking of these men, who were inspired by the Italians they encountered during their Grand Tour.
The dandy, born at the beginning of the 19th century after the turbulent revolutionary years, wore elegant and tightly fitted suits in a wide variety of colours and patterns. His inspiration also came from Southern Europe, particularly from classical antiquity statues that highlighted the body’s contours.
Macaronis and dandies came from various social backgrounds and often found creative ways to emulate the aristocratic lifestyle they admired — through forgeries, the second-hand market, or even theft.
Due to limited research on men’s fashion from 1750 to 1830, the persistent misconception remains that menswear before the French Revolution was highly extravagant and then faded into a palette of solely dark and sober tones. The garments presented here provide a more nuanced perspective.
Freedom of expression, including criticism, flourished during the Enlightenment—a period of moral, philosophical, and legal transformation. Although the printing press had existed since the 16th century, true press freedom only emerged over 200 years later. This sparked an explosion of writing and imagery. Political critiques appeared in pamphlets and newspapers, while satirical prints became a powerful tool for addressing societal and personal topics. They often functioned like gossip columns, exposing affairs and political scandals. Fashion was also a frequent target, with caricatures mocking extravagant trends such as high wigs, unnatural silhouettes, and heavily made-up men and women who challenged gender norms. Fashion told a story.
Appearance was considered a mirror of the soul: macaroni men—fashionable men with flamboyant style—were portrayed as vain, shallow, and unfit for ‘real’ work. Humorous analogies abounded. Women with political influence were also ruthlessly mocked, often through depictions of their clothing. These prints held up a mirror to society—sometimes humorous, sometimes biting. Much like the memes and online commentary of today, they show that fashion is not just about clothing, but also about power, identity, and status.
This room marks the grand finale of the exhibition, where the previously explored themes come together. It offers a unique insight into the daily dressing ritual of an 18th- or early 19th-century woman: from the earliest morning hours to the evening dance party.
She begins her day with a refreshing wash, followed by the time-consuming process of dressing, layer upon layer. Then she prepares to go outside. This often included a spritz of fragrance believed to protect her from the ever-present threat of deadly diseases such as the plague. Dressed in her finest outer garments, she heads to the latest teahouse in town, where she exchanges the latest gossip with friends and acquaintances. She then meets her family for a stroll in the park, and finally makes a stop at a shop selling luxurious trimmings. There she purchases ribbons, lace and bows that will help her shine at the festive ball that concludes the day.
We may never know exactly what a day between 1750 and 1830 looked like, but based on preserved garments, their origin, material condition and supporting source material, we can form a well-founded impression.
Dress codes largely dictated the rhythm of the day, especially for women. Some — particularly from wealthy circles — had specific garments for every time of day. Others adapted the same clothing depending on the hour. Even at home, a woman had to appear presentable in case an unexpected guest arrived — she was, after all, the face of the household. Outdoor clothing needed to protect her from the elements and conform to strict standards: exposed skin was only permitted in moderation. In the evening, things could be a bit more relaxed. The fichu that covered the neckline during the day could be removed to make the outfit suitable for the evening.
In the 18th century, getting dressed was a time-consuming process due to the many layers of clothing and strict etiquette. After washing the face and hands, dressing followed — often with the help of maids. For women and their entourage, this was a social affair.
Outerwear was determined by social class; dressing above one’s station risked ridicule. Although sumptuary laws were rarely enforced, social judgement remained harsh. Court dress was typically worn for lunch, while indoors a petticoat and simple jacket, such as a caraco, sufficed.
Make-up played an important role. In France, a light blush using rouge was fashionable; in England, make-up was usually reserved for formal occasions; while in Italy, pale skin and blond hair were preferred. Smallpox scars were concealed with black mouches (beauty patches), which sometimes also carried symbolic meaning.
Household manuals contained recipes for skincare and cosmetics, increasingly targeted at women as the 18th century progressed — unlike earlier centuries, when such products were marketed to both men and women. Pomanders, fragrant balls of herbs, were worn as protection against foul air, which, according to the miasma theory, spread disease.
In the 18th century, coffee and tea houses played an increasingly important role in urban social life. They blurred the lines between public and private spheres and became ideal places to read the newspaper, debate, and gossip. Politics and religion were the most discussed topics—often to the dismay of the authorities. In 1740, Roger North observed: “Not only sedition and treason, but also atheism, heresy, and blasphemy are openly taught in […] famous coffee houses.”
Other popular meeting spots at the time were pleasure gardens such as Ranelagh in London, the Lusthof in Rotterdam, and the Palais Royal in Paris. Here, people strolled about in fashionable déshabillé. These gardens reflected the globalisation of fashion, with fabrics and prints from distant lands—often obtained through colonial trade and slavery. Strolling became the ultimate way to display one’s status and taste.
In the 18th century, travelling market traders were gradually replaced by permanent shops in cities. The emerging shopping culture brought about a revolution in consumer behaviour. Shopkeepers presented fabrics in visually appealing ways, carefully draped to spark the imagination. Shop windows offered a form of semi-privacy: passers-by could admire the luxury without having to step inside. This marked the beginning of what we now call "window shopping."
The marchande de mode evolved from a shop title into a profession. These female fashion retailers were not tailors, but true sellers or style advisors who helped clients compose ensembles, often with refined decorations such as ribbons, bows, and lace. The marchande de mode therefore had a significant influence on fashion trends and the spread of styles. The relationship between shopkeeper and loyal customer could become quite intimate.
Status was increasingly determined not by noble lineage, but by wealth, possessions, and fashion awareness. Clothing became a powerful means of expressing one’s identity and signalling one’s place in the social hierarchy.
Balls continue to capture the imagination. In films and series, they often serve as the backdrop for dramatic twists: a hidden identity, a love confession, or a social scandal. Even today, parties stir emotions — even without a robe à la française.
In the 18th century, country dances such as the contradance, gavotte and allemande were widely popular. Dance evenings were not reserved for the nobility; in villages and towns, people from all classes came together. The dance floor was the place to show off — both in dancing skill and in clothing. In the evening, fichus and shawls were removed, revealing more of the body. Some outfits even made political statements, such as dresses with tassels to show support for Napoleonic troops.
At masquerade balls, imagination was given free rein: oriental styles, mythological figures, and Shakespearean characters were all popular choices. But every ball comes to an end. Time to go home, let your hair down, and slip into a nightgown.
In the 18th-century fashion world, tasks were strictly divided along gender lines. This division stemmed from the guild system. Until the French Revolution, only men could officially establish themselves as tailors (coupeurs), while women worked as seamstresses (couturières). Tailors, who cut expensive fabrics with technical precision, held higher status and received better pay. Seamstresses, by contrast, worked with uncut fabric they draped around the body—a technique still used in haute couture today.
Alongside these roles emerged a new kind of fashion professional: the marchande de mode. These women designed and sold fashionable accessories and luxurious dress embellishments. Their trade relied heavily on creativity and refinement, and they regarded their work as an artistic expression. Rose Bertin, dressmaker to Marie-Antoinette, is the most famous marchande de mode and had enormous influence.
Notably, female seamstresses in Paris founded their own guild as early as 1675, gradually gaining ground. In 1781, they obtained the exclusive right to produce women’s clothing. The techniques used in this period were carefully recorded in the famous Encyclopédie ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers (1751–1772) by Diderot and d’Alembert, which treated fashion and craft with the same seriousness as science and engineering.
In the 18th and 19th centuries, sewing was more than a practical activity; it created social and emotional bonds that encouraged women to share knowledge and experience. During communal sewing sessions, not only was work done together, but skills were passed on orally, and memories were exchanged. Writer Eliza Fowler Haywood described in A Present for a Servant-Maid (1743) how these moments were used to teach moral behaviour.
Sewing symbolised care — both for the household and for future generations. Practical garments such as socks, bonnets, and pockets were made for one another with care. For women like Barbara Johnson (1738–1825) and Laetitia Powell (1741–1801), who left behind a fabric sample book and a collection of miniature fashion dolls respectively, sewing was also a creative outlet; their lives were documented in fabric books and fashion albums. Johnson’s sample book was even continued by her nieces — a tangible form of intergenerational knowledge transfer. Although the 18th-century consumer revolution is often seen as the beginning of the loss of making knowledge, these examples show that skills and care practices lived on through clothing.
Sander Bos, artistic replica of an 18th-century men’s coat, 2025
For the Rococo Reboot! exhibition, a number of young Belgian designers reinterpreted historical garments in the form of immersive replicas. This replica is inspired by the shape of an 18th-century men’s coat. It wasn’t just women’s clothing that was physically restrictive—this was also the case in men’s fashion. The coat was tight-fitting and offered little freedom of movement. This replica highlights that restriction with adjustable ribbons that deform both the coat and the body, hindering movement. Experience for yourself what it feels like to be tightly wrapped up, sitting in a restrictive coat. Put on the creative replica by Sander Bos.
Instructions:
- Put on the coat and fasten it to your size with the buttons.
- Ask someone to pull the ribbons tighter for a snug fit.
- Try sitting down while wearing the coat.
How does it feel?
Jordy Arthur, artistic replica of 18th-century panniers, 2025
For the Rococo Reboot! exhibition, a number of young Belgian designers reinterpreted historical garments in the form of immersive replicas. This creative replica is inspired by panniers, which were part of the 18th-century female silhouette. Panniers are structures worn under skirts to extend the silhouette outwards at the sides, while the front and back remained relatively flat. They varied in size, from subtle everyday versions to extremely wide models. Due to the exaggerated shape they gave to the silhouette, they weren’t exactly conducive to ease of movement. This XL version plays on that sense of discomfort. Experience what it’s like to walk around in panniers. Put on the creative replica by Jordy Arthur.
Instructions:
- Put on the skirt and fasten it to your size with the press studs.
- Adjust the panniers so that they rest against the sides of your legs.
- Walk around and try sitting down with the panniers on.
How does it feel?
Anaïs Huyghe, artistic replica of 18th-century engageantes
For the Rococo Reboot! exhibition, a number of young Belgian designers reinterpreted historical garments in the form of immersive replicas. This artistic interpretation refers to the materials and shape of 18th-century engageantes—removable, often pleated or lacy sleeve ruffles worn at the ends of women’s gown sleeves. They usually consisted of multiple layers and served both as decoration and to protect the undersleeves from wear. Engageantes added an elegant and luxurious look and were often made from fine materials such as linen, batiste, or lace. This creative interpretation, a giant engageante, focuses on the sensory experience of materiality and luxury. Experience what it’s like to be completely enveloped by an engageante. Put on the creative replica by Anaïs Huyghe.
Instructions:
- Put on the engageante.
- Fasten it at the back with the buttons.
- Walk slowly and try sitting down while wearing the engageante.
How does it feel?