Curating my Own Fashion Museum

25 February 2026, by Vanessa Howard

In this week's blog post, Costume Society member Vanessa Howard talks us through the process of curating her own fashion museum.

When I moved from the UK to France over eight years ago, I brought with me a vast collection of ladies’ vintage wear from my fashion boutique in Suffolk. At first, I imagined I’d sell these pieces at local markets, but, as things often do, plans changed. Instead, my partner and I opened a gîte, and the question of a unique selling point was quickly answered: our spare barn simply begged to become a vintage fashion museum.

Setting up the museum was resourceful and a little unconventional. We used glass panes that once served as secondary glazing, old wardrobes, a huge shelving unit from a brocante, and repurposed wooden decking from around the garden pool to transform the barn’s interior. With its rustic wooden rafters and repurposed décor, the space could not feel further from the polished galleries of the V&A—yet I proudly call it my own.

Our museum occupies a 12x6 metre room with generous height. After a lick of paint and new flooring, the collection began to take shape, growing and evolving ever since. My displays focus on British middle-class women’s fashion and accessories from the 20th century, though my time in France has certainly expanded it. The thrill of finding new treasures—whether at local brocantes, car boot sales, or even the odd eBay UK purchase shipped over by my obliging sister—means the collection is ever-changing. I look for pieces that add a fresh angle to my tour or spark interesting conversations.

Though our barn is full, I still curate each tour carefully. With so much on display, I could easily speak for hours, but I strive to select stories and items that engage all our gîte guests, men included. I’ve recently added two shelves of men’s fashion to help everyone feel represented.

Tours begin in the Edwardian era, enhanced by mannequins of the period—tiny waists always provoke fascination and discussion. From there, I highlight mourning attire, the invention of the sewing machine, and the tragic fate of bird populations sacrificed for stylish hats. We explore the hype of department stores and the dramatic rise of hemlines into the flapper period. I can’t resist giving special attention to Coco Chanel, an orphan who spent her early years not far from us.

The journey continues through the advent of perfume and cosmetics, expanding handbags, and innovations like the zip and manmade fabrics. I explain the CC41 mark, examining how wartime rationing shaped fashion and marvelling at women's resilience and ingenuity during these lean years. The 1950s give us an excuse to talk about gadgets and the emergence of the fashion boutique.

Each era has its characters—like the gentleman who recounted his first trip to Biba at 15, terrified but determined to leave with a signature carrier bag—and its stylistic quirks: changing silhouettes, shifting erogenous zones, or the glitz of the disco 70s. The 1980s’ nostalgia—especially shell suits—never fails to bring laughter or groans. We admire distinct fabric designers like Zandra Rhodes, gasp at my pair of Queen Victoria’s silk stockings, and finally, lament modern fashion: by the 2000s, many guests agree, much of the character and craftsmanship seem lost.

 

 

 

Curating in a barn does pose unique challenges. I try not to include pieces of exceptional rarity or value, since conditions aren’t as controlled as a museum; nonetheless, the steady temperature and limited light are kind on most fabrics, and delicate items (like my Edwardian blouse and Japanese slippers) which live behind glass. Dust is a relentless enemy—my secret weapon is a man’s shaving brush, perfect for gently cleaning seams and trims—and so are spiders, which require regular vacuuming, and the help of high-pitched deterrent devices keeps other unwanted creatures at bay.

Rather than keep a formal catalogue, I remember the provenance and stories of each piece in my head—for now. Someday, each item will need a new home, but that’s a decision for the future. I do however, maintain facts file onsite for visitors who wish to delve deeper into any of the topics we cover.

At heart, curating this museum is a labour of curiosity, creativity, and care. Each garment is more than just fabric on a hanger; it’s a portal to a bygone era, a tangible link to women’s lives, ambitions, and stories. I strive, through each display and every conversation, to make these histories feel vibrant and relevant—reminding visitors that fashion isn’t just about clothes, but about culture, ingenuity, and the momentum of change across generations.

On my to-do list is my mother’s beautiful 1950s wedding dress. It has languished unseen in a box for decades, but soon it will take pride of place—another chapter in our museum’s unfolding story.