An in-depth conversation with Marina Yee, the Antwerp Six enigma

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The notion of the ‘Antwerp Six’ – Dries Van Noten, Ann Demeulemeester, Dirk Van Saene, Walter Van Beirendonck, Dirk Bikkembergs, and Yee – first emerged in 1981, during the designers’ time studying at the Royal Academy. However, it wasn’t until 1986, when the graduates embarked on a group trip to London to show their respective collections at the British Designer Show – a trade show at the Olympia in Kensington that preceded London Fashion Week – that the collective moniker began to appear.

Yee counts her first proper discovery as a couple of years prior to this, in 1984, when Sonja Noël, founder of Brussels’ iconic multi-label designer store STIJL, noticed and stocked her work. Yee became one of the defining designers of the emerging Belgian fashion scene – her early visions of reconstructed garments and repurposed vintage pieces putting her at the forefront of a generation of designers characterised by their non-conformist attitude. To this day, each of her creations has something distinctive about it, be it unexpected fabric combinations or architecturally constructed ensembles.

Despite her reputation as the quiet one of the group, she does not shy away from speaking honestly about the fashion industry. With a retrospective exhibition at the Brussels Fashion & Lace Museum celebrating 40-plus years of STIJL, and a career that is off to a fresh – or, according to the designer herself, first proper – start since her namesake label’s relaunch in 2018, now felt like the perfect time to sit down and speak with Yee about her career.

You first entered the Golden Spindle Contest in 1982. However, it wasn’t until 1984, when Sonia discovered your work, that things began to pick up. What did those in-between years look like?

Those first few years are a blur to me. So much was happening simultaneously. 1981 or 1985, it’s all a bit the same to me, even though it wasn’t, of course. The six of us were a group driven by ambition, seizing all opportunities that came our way. It might sound strange, but it wasn’t the most interesting of times, in the sense that we were just experimenting, getting in on all these amazing opportunities. What eventually became the ‘Antwerp Six’ was greater than the sum of its parts. Nothing ever happens in a vacuum.

We were the showpieces of the ‘Belgian Textile Plan’ launched in 1981, a federal plan of measures to help build the industry. Part of it entailed a promotional campaign by the Institute for Textile and Confectionery Belgium. The two main pillars of the ITCB were the magazine Mode, dit is Belgisch and the Golden Spindle Contest. One thing led to another, and we got caught up in something bigger before we knew it. We were attracting more and more publicity.

To be so in the crosshairs, all our time was spent keeping this momentum going. But this head-down dedication also meant lots passed us by because of how busy we were all the time. So, often I get things muddled up when those early years are concerned.

What was the impact of your encounter with Sonja, the founder of STIJL, at that momentous Golden Spindle Contest in 1984?

I was taken aback. After the show, she literally tapped me on the shoulder and, decisive as she is, insisted she wanted to sell the prototypes in her shop. It wasn’t even a question; she simply informed me. It immediately became clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was overwhelmed by it all, not fully knowing what she meant. Of course, I knew of her. STIJL stood out as a store. But it wasn’t until that moment in 1984 that we got acquainted. I’ll never forget it; it was such a quaint experience but also very telling of our connection. Even though we are completely different, somehow, she got me right away.

Another two years later, you were one of six Belgians to go to London and be part of what would be a momentous moment in fashion history. Next year marks 40 years of the renowned ‘Antwerp Six’. Looking back, how does it feel to know you were a part of such a big part of fashion history?

I’m still stunned, to be honest. But at the same time, I’m also not. We were a unique force, a real movement, so immersed in the moment that it flew by. Only in hindsight could we pause and reflect.

There have been other groups of young, emerging designers. But what set us apart was our unparalleled sense of symbiosis. One by one, talented designers, who then decided to join forces. All of us were focused on our individual practices, still second-guessing ourselves as up-and-coming designers. At the same time, we also pushed each other to go the extra mile. Our aesthetics might differ considerably, but we stimulated one another by wanting to measure up without any envy or tension.

We were tremendously strong compared to other (later) groups, forces to be reckoned with back then and still to this day. Respectable names, never mayflies. I do believe we’ve written history. We forever changed the outlook of Belgian fashion, a benchmark for what was to come, whether with or without our further involvement.

Are you still in contact with many of your fellow students?

I’m not one to keep in touch; I’m more of an Einzelgänger, more reserved, you could say. It’s always very cordial whenever we see each other, but we’re not close friends. Others, like Dries and Ann, are much closer. I’m quite the exception. Then again, I disappeared from the scene and the group for a prolonged period. And there was my move to Brussels at a certain point. These are all factors that play into it. But in the end, my personality is just different.

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What values are most important to you when you design?

Simplicity. Which proves to be more difficult than many assume. It requires you to strip things back. Compared to architecture, when it comes to clothing, there’s only a small surface to work with. Plus, it is an art form supposed to be worn, moving through space. Therefore, my approach to a garment is three-dimensional, a small surface with volumes. My main aim as a designer is to highlight one particular design element and give it my all, instead of trying to push five ideas onto a single silhouette. There can, of course, be more than one intervention, but those I consider secondary. Say I do something to the collar, then I might also add a pleating accent at the sleeve that brings everything together. However, it won’t demand full attention. To me, it’s about a sense of considered simplicity.

Often, this is a hurdle students have to overcome. Naturally, they want to display their all-encompassing skill set. However, what’s important for them is to recognise and acknowledge the value of a certain design or intervention. Better to create ten different silhouettes, each with its dedicated focus. Lavishly scattering can come back and bite you. It has to do with patience and learning along the way. But it’s also just a matter of aesthetic preferences. So, of course, students are free to work abundantly. My designs are always infused with a witty sense of humour. So, although my work might be perceived as minimalistic, it’s not a word I fully align with. But I’m not a loud designer, either. I like for the wearer to discover the garment for themself. I prefer a more mysterious approach, not so obvious.

Soon after launching your label ‘Marie’, you noticed the limitations of running a commercial-oriented brand. What was the main concern that made you decide on a smaller line?

To me, Marina Yee only came into being in recent years. What I previously did was prompted by insurmountable doubt, as I was still heavily unsure of who I was. It was merely half of my dares, more so feints. Marina Yee as a label existed, but not yet as a designer. My insecurity inhibited me from going all out. It took me a good while before I allowed myself to be okay with not being a fashion designer, period.

For a long time, I told myself I had to choose: either I was a fashion designer or an artist. For years, I existed in the form of a two-legged question mark. Haunted by this dilemma of what kind of artist I was, a dilemma that made me hyper-vigilant. Only recently have I come to terms with the fact that I can be both: an artist who also happens to create fashion, albeit from an artistic perspective. And, twenty-odd years later, I can say that I’m good at it too.

In 2018, you bit the bullet and relaunched your label. Did it have anything to do with the upsurge of repurposing at the time? Or was there some other final push?

It was completely fortuitous. If it hadn’t been for Japanese collectors Hideo and Yukiko Hasiura of LAILA TOKIO, there probably wouldn’t have been a second wind for Marina Yee. It took a long time before they tracked me down, as I was virtually unreachable, but they were persistent. Eventually, through the grapevine, they emailed me explaining they’d seen my work in a MoMu exhibition in Antwerp and wanted to work with me ever since. And that initiated the whole thing.

All I had were my ideas, my creativity, and my willpower. But there was no solid ground regarding finances, let alone strategy. I’m not naturally gifted for the business side of things. I needed someone who wholeheartedly believed in me and stood firm. Like with Sonja, I needed the encouragement, this invitation. Someone with blind faith in me and my work, faith I still lacked. But luckily, this has changed now. I have grown more confident, both as a designer and as a businesswoman.

Your main focus has always been sustainability. What is the reality of running a conscious brand within an industry mainly focused on consumption and commerce?

Where possible, yes. However, reality has taught me to be open-minded. Complete sustainability, however noble it may be, is nearly impossible. An all-or-nothing mindset won’t get you anywhere. I’ve trial-and-errored many organic fabrics, but I always found the quality was left to be desired. In a way, it felt like you had to compromise – either sustainability or aesthetics. Of course, things have evolved. But either way, it’s a hard existence. There’s a heightened awareness with people overall. They are more thoughtful when dealing with goods, whether food or fashion. But the constant debate can be tiring, and at times complicated.

As we speak, my hands are torn to shreds from cutting up old pairs of jeans into patchwork to incorporate into a line of bombers. The jackets are new – what you could call a mass-produced product. However, by adding the patchwork element, I turn them into one-of-a-kind pieces, this time through working with denim, an extremely time-consuming process. That is just one example of how I approach sustainability, which is more durable in the long run. For me, it’s about exploring the extent of my creativity.

Do you ever experience internal conflict when operating within an industry you know has numerous downfalls?

If I were to do so, I would waste precious time. So no, I don’t. Channelling my creativity, I try to do what lies within my abilities. I wouldn’t be content as a designer if I were to do something I don’t enjoy. And the world does not need an unhappy designer, or people in general, for that matter. When I get to create, I’m at my happiest. Uphold that and your principles and values will remain intact, that’s how I see it. No one is 100% blame-free. However, this does not alter the fact that I feel sorry the industry doesn’t do more. Take jeans, for example, one of the most polluting branches. It will take years before the consensus is to banish it, or at least take drastic, sustainable measures. So much of it has to do with money and business. And that’s something I have no control over.

Revolutions don’t happen overnight; they take time, especially when many parties are involved. So, best to be prepared to be in it for the long haul. Until recently, there wasn’t such a wide range of organic products in supermarkets, and now, look. We are moving in the right direction, slowly but surely. Of course, there’s always room for improvement, and an increased pace is desirable. But we shouldn’t forget to celebrate the small wins in between. Let it run its course, and I’m convinced we’ll be amazed at what is possible and achievable.

How important is the element of vintage clothing to your design process, as inspiration and as actual material to work with?

Tremendously important, as vintage is intertwined with memories and emotions. For poetic souls like myself, clothing and memories from childhood, when you were still carefree, are among the favourites.

Dealing with vintage is dealing with bygone times, sometimes even ones you did not live through yourself. I was born in 1958, so I never consciously experienced the 50s. Yet I cherish a profound liking for the fifties look, a sentiment of unknown and unprecedented nostalgia, almost. Unlike the 70s, when I was discovering my identity as a teenager, as someone who wanted to make art and fashion. Martin [Margiela] and I shared this 70s connotation.

At the end of last year, you were awarded the Jury Prize at the Belgian Fashion Awards. How did it feel getting this recognition after all these years?

Funny, in a way. Some friends said it was about time. But as mentioned, I’ve lived solitary, deliberately not looking for attention. I acquiesced in the thought that if it ever were to happen, it would in its own time. I never anticipated it. So, yes, I was quite surprised when I found out. Of course, pleasantly surprised. What moved me most was not so much the award itself as the reason the jury had chosen me. I specifically recall trend forecaster Li Edelkoort’s words, who mentioned that, instead of disappearing from the stage and vanishing into anonymity, I have been able to come back, and come back strong. How I stood my ground all these years was phenomenal to them. Only then did it dawn on me that I had indeed been brave.

I never truly stopped. I continued to draw, create, and experiment, even if it was for no one in particular. I got a lot out of it. It’s like a microbe you cannot shake. As a creative, it’s something you’re born with and which you have to express, whether publicly or not. Pursuing fame can be a choice, but it doesn’t have to be. Personally, it was far from my main goal. I want people to appreciate me for my designs, not for my cult status, so to speak. The ‘Antwerp Six’ brought me fame, yes. However, it was a group effort, not something I aspired to.

Belgian designers received national and international recognition, it just so happened I was one of them. And so, when Marina Yee was relaunched, curiosity was sparked as I was known as the one who got away, the enigma of the group. It opened doors. However, I still had to prove myself. Times had changed, so it remained to be seen how the collection would be received. Luckily, it sat well with people, even though it is much more subdued than I ever thought. I’m older now, more mature and have grown quieter in my designs – clothing you can wear. For example, something like what Walter [Van Beirendonck] creates is wasted on me. I admire him for it, but it’s not where my strength lies. Everyone in the group, and I’m not just saying this because they are my colleagues, has their uniqueness or something that sets them apart. As long as you don’t have that, you won’t be able to withstand the test of time. Ultimately, retailers are searching for this sense of substance, of meaning. And the same goes for the wearer.

What would you specifically say is your strong point? What sets you apart?

Creativity is so mysterious that I find it hard to pinpoint. Sometimes, all it takes is one movement, as if higher powers are in on it. I’m very intuitive, which perhaps is my strong point. I immediately see through people and situations. And maybe the same applies to the mystical creative process, so otherworldly and unfathomable, ingrained into the body through sheer experience. The remarkableness of it all still bewilders me. The intimate process between the artist and the work remains hidden; all you get to see is the final result.

I cannot describe it other than the anatomy of a creative body intuitively sensing what it needs to do. Muscle memory formed over the years, transmitting what the conscious mind hasn’t yet fully grasped. My hands, for example, often go their own way without me being aware of it. I confide in their capacity; they know what they’re doing. And I thank them; I express my gratitude out loud. I’m forever grateful for this marvellous gift of creation and the possibility to develop it, which isn’t a given. But you also have to be driven. Otherwise, all it will ever be is a casual hobby. Nothing wrong with that, but there’s a crucial difference. For me, it’s more of a life fulfilment. And I feel beyond happy to live this type of life. An unhappy existence was never an option. In that sense, I’ve reached my goal.

The retrospective exhibition of STIJL features the 1984 Golden Spindle coat, by which Sonja discovered your work. Is this piece still as relevant to your style nowadays as it was back then?

Absolutely. Despite what I previously said about not coming into my own until recently, this was one collection I did feel content with, regardless of any insecurities. You can tell it was already quite a subdued collection. All silhouettes consisted of just one fabric, in two colours. Other than that, I played with zippers and volumes. Nothing more. There was also a certain harshness to it, from the metal used for brooches, among other things. Still, when I feel like it, I make and incorporate objects. However, currently, all my time is spent on the upcycling component. There’s also always a subtle undertone of rebellion to each collection. Again, not too obvious; you need to be more familiar with my work to grasp it. A quick score is fairly easy. However, it requires time and skill to create the impression of well-considered simplicity, yet with a slight twist. To those who sense this layeredness, my collections will appeal. Although I wasn’t immediately sure what my ‘formula’ was, I sensed early on that simplicity, purity, and stripping things back somehow bore my signature.

What does it mean to you to see your current collections being sold at STIJL, the store that, in a way, kickstarted your career?

Incredible. The label is also stocked at Dover Street Market, but with Sonja, a dose of sentiment is involved. She backed me from the very beginning. She was the reassuring voice I needed, telling me, “I want your clothes, and I won’t take no for an answer”. It was indeed Sonja who kick-started my career. Of course, I made the collections, but I probably wouldn’t be where I am today without her unconditional support. It’s touching, thinking about it. We’ve always had a special connection. Not to say we’re the closest friends, but few words are needed between us. We sense one another. We saw our children grow up and regularly went on picnics. It wasn’t your typical designer-retailer relationship. Still, whenever I’m in Brussels or she is in Antwerp for business, we try to go for a coffee.

It means a lot knowing she fully supports me and my work. Naturally, she won’t just buy every single piece, and that’s perfectly fine. Ultimately, she knows her customers best. There’s no need for anyone to buy my clothes, only when they feel like it. The backstage story at the Golden Spindle Contest speaks volumes and still applies to this day. From the moment word got out on the European relaunch, she didn’t hesitate for a second to restock me. Without her even seeing anything, I could count on her trust. And I can say I haven’t yet betrayed it.

Your career has spanned many years, with some breaks in between. However, did you feel you could always fall back on a loyal clientele or following?

As mentioned, I’m not a big people person. Never as a child, but as an adult, I lived a life of recluse. This might sound harsh, but I don’t like people and social situations in general all that much. Community building these days is very much social media-focused. However, I feel no need for likes or approval. I’ve spent too many years of my life doubting myself. And I’m now finally at a place where I’m content with who I am, therefore I will have none of it. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t see how I could benefit from it, especially considering my deep-rooted insecurities of the past. As a 27-year-old today, I’d be too easy a target. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t look down on those who do use it. Marina Yee, as a label, is active on Instagram. However, I leave that to my studio and sales director, Raf [Adriaensens]. For which he has my full trust. Anything I need to know, I’ll hear one way or another.

You were affiliated with educational programs both in Ghent and The Hague. What did teaching mean to you? How important was it?

It’s been two years since I retired. Personally, passing on knowledge and reassuring students that there is no such thing as failure drove me as a teacher. Fashion design is a matter of trial and error, experience and training. Persistence is key if you want to succeed; instead of complaining or moaning, keep agile. Make things. I mostly helped the students identify certain feelings or ideas based on tips and tricks I gained from my experience in the field. Why did they like or dislike something, for example? Ultimately, I taught them to look at things differently. But equally, I helped them shape their sensational awareness. Pointing out the potential of intuition as a lead for creativity. Not only looking, but seeing. What a certain colour says, or why something feels a certain way. Through a playful approach – doing yoga, and sometimes even playing dress-up, to keep the students’ spirits high.

I thrived as a teacher and truly enjoyed myself. And in doing so, I believe I’m right to think I made a difference. It’s a rewarding job, especially with most students receptive to input and feedback. Even though I was quite strict. Either you were with us or not. A half-hearted attitude bothered me. However, the vast majority I always knew to enthuse. Plus, I’d try to anticipate and play on what they did or didn’t like. Always outside the box, even within the free-spirited context of an art school, I went the extra mile.

Has your role as a teacher and working with the upcoming generation over the years affected your design practice?

Not so much. Compared to my student days, students now seem less engaged. In a way, more neutral. At least, we seemed more passionate. Then again, it was still the very early years of fashion. Everything has become much more general and widespread these days. Nearly everything is handed to you on a silver platter if you want to. Today’s generation is oversaturated, which seems to have a knock-on effect on people’s curiosity and eagerness to learn. But that’s just how I feel it, of course.

General knowledge of fashion designers and artists, however, is deteriorating rapidly. Some seem stuck at the surface level. Fortunately, there are also plenty of dedicated students. But some seem more tame, satiated. Perhaps more spoiled than before, and not provoked or challenged the way we were. There wasn’t this sense of inertia back in the day. We still had to go to the library. With everything now readily available, people miss out on many valuable adventures.

Back in the day, when eco-consciousness wasn’t as established in fashion as perhaps it is now, who did you look up to or turn to for inspiration?

Andy Warhol and his studio, The Factory. The Wiener Werkstätte. Very early on, I was inspired by groups and collectives. So, being part of a group felt like a full-circle moment. I recognised and acknowledged the value of the collective as a concept. I was fascinated not only by this sense of group dynamic, but maybe even more so by the romance of artists coexisting. The very early years of Picasso, for example. Bygone times and eras spark my imagination. But equally more recent years, so long as it concerns people who instigated a movement of some sort. Figures such as Man Ray are fascinating to me. Actual fashion people, not as much. Of course, I knew of Coco Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent, but I never idolised them as others did. I was more intrigued by artists and artist groups, specifically how they lived and managed things. Again, this sort of nostalgia for times I wish I could have lived through. For one, I would have loved to be born a hippie. Unfortunately, I was a decade too young.

Looking back, is there a fond memory or highlight of your career thus far that immediately springs to mind?

You’ve caught me off guard here. There have been many memorable moments over the years. The Golden Spindle Contests left a deep impression: the six of us, collectively working on these shows as a group. Our trip to Japan, of course. Although it’s all-encompassing, being part of the group is probably most significant in my life, I’d say. Why exactly this has been so paramount remains to be answered. In hindsight, everything went fairly easily; we were dealt some good cards for some reason. We were a textbook example of ‘the right people, at the right time’. But it must be said, we were also very consistent, acting swiftly.

Not to diminish the fact that, especially in the beginning, it felt like a burden to me. I had a hard time coming to terms with it all. Ultimately, it is also the reason why I left and withdrew from the group. It was too much. Seeing what the others were capable of, I felt intimidated. They were too impressive as designers for my security to deal with. Of course, they weren’t so almighty, but the voices in my head made it seem that way. So, gripped by fear of failure – the result of traumas in my past – I told myself I couldn’t compete. It took years to unpick the root cause before I realised I have more to offer than I hold myself to. Blood, sweat, and tears it cost me. But I’m at a point where I can now finally recognise my capacities as a designer.

Any final words or thoughts you would like to share?

I’ve had my fair share of twists and turns along the way. I’ve been through a lot, both personally and professionally. But at the same time, those hiccups also enriched my life. Not that I wish it upon anyone, nor myself, to go through all that I’ve been through. However, all the hardship made me a more mature person. I felt for a long time as if I was failing at life. Now I can laugh about it, but I was close to tears back then. Part of it was due to my inner ambition. Others were featured on the cover of Vogue whilst I was stuck at home. To keep your spirits high and believe in yourself at a moment like that proves difficult. But now look at how far I’ve come. Some would say it took too long, but maybe it just had to be that way. I’m happy now, and even more so, genuinely proud of my journey. I pulled it off with persistence and a bit of luck, and it’s only just begun.