The role of the makeup artist and the fashion photographer is generally to glamorize, but that’s not really what you do. How do you see your roles?
To be honest I hardly ever buy magazines anymore. And when I do, everything looks the same. It used to be so clear who took the picture. Everyone had a stamp, a look. But now I think there’s a lot more pressure to do publicity, to be commercial. That’s one reason we did the book. If it can stimulate someone’s creativity, that would be the best thing for me.
They wanted to do the presentation in bed. So we started talking about the freshness and pinkness that skin has when you first wake up. When the girls arrived, we washed their faces really thoroughly with a brush and warm water and then we put on a nice moisturizer. Then they got into the beds. They felt so good that some of them fell asleep and didn’t wake up until people started arriving. It was the opposite of what we normally do. Instead of adding Coach Factory Outlet Store, we took everything off.
The 1980s were a time of general excess, especially in fashion. But the emergence of a band of Belgian designers dedicated to a radically deconstructed vision of dress signaled a mucking out its Augean stables. Out with pouf skirts, in with sweaters made of old socks! Abetting this brave new look were the makeup artist Inge Grognard and her photographer husband, Ronald Stoops. Working on magazine shoots and runway shows for Dries Van Noten, Dirk Bikkembergs, Walter Van Beirendonck, Dirk Van Saene and perhaps most famously, Martin Margiela, the couple created some of the most arresting images of the ’90s. The couple’s long-awaited first book Coach Factory Outlet Store, “Inge Grognard Ronald Stoops (Ludion),” out at the end of the month, gathers their favorite images in one coffee-table-ready volume. The Moment recently caught up with Grognard via phone from her home in Antwerp — Stoops and the designer An Vandervorst could be heard chatting in the background — to talk about how fashion has changed since the ’80s, her definition of beauty and the problem with red lipstick.
Loud laughing, loud talking, a lot of noise — that’s the way I am. So with Ronald and me, it’s not just that way when we work, it’s the way we live. But when we’re working on a project, we have people come over and we have discussions and drink wine and it can be very intense. But from that always comes something good. To outsiders, I think it can seem quite heavy and intense. But I like that tension. I find it very stimulating. When things are too quiet, I feel like I could fall asleep.
One of the designers you’ve collaborated with the most is Martin Margiela, whom you’ve known since you were 14 and he was 15. What was he like then?
Your book begins and ends with photos of screams — the first by a model, the last by a cat — which you note in the introduction is how you and Ronald communicate. How does that translate into the way you work?
The mask is the way most people think of makeup, and in a way I wanted to exaggerate that. I love the mystery of a mask. I have a story in mind when I’m working, based on my own experiences and emotions and things that have happened in my life, but that’s not necessarily what everyone will see. People always want to explain everything, but I want you to make up the story yourself. And, you know, a lot of times the person in the photo with the mask is me — people just don’t realize it.
A lot of the photos in the book feature masks. What does the mask symbolize to you?
He hasn’t changed a lot. I think he’s really the same person. I knew his niece and she introduced me to him. In our little town, the three of us were completely fascinated with fashion. Every penny we had, we spent on clothes. We spent hours at the secondhand markets.
Speaking of not wearing makeup, one of the presentations that you worked on that people still refer to is the spring/summer 1999 show for AF Vandervorst, in which the models wore no makeup at all.
What magazines do you read?
Beauty for me is more than glamour. It’s inside, it’s someone’s spirit. That’s what I want to show. On the outside, it’s the little mistakes or defaults that really make someone beautiful. The cliché of beauty — skinny and perfect — becomes boring for me very quickly. But I think we’re going back to a period when it’s O.K. to show some mistakes. At least I hope so.
Do you wear makeup yourself?
For me, that was a very creative, very experimental period. People were very open to newness, first with the Japanese designers and then with the Belgians. There was such freedom then Coach Factory Outlet Store, and so much time to develop ideas and brainstorm. It’s the one thing I really miss. I think it’s very difficult for young people now. You have to have something completely new every six months.
I do! But very little. I’m more interested in creams. I use some concealer to take the red out of the skin, put on a little mascara and color in the cheeks and that’s it. I used to wear lipstick, but I don’t anymore. I always wore red and with red you’re always thinking about it and it has to be perfect. It just became too much work.
You began your careers in the early ’80s, a time that a lot of people in fashion look back on now with more than a little wistfulness. How do you think the industry has changed since then?
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