Inge Grognard: the storyteller of makeup

Few artists have collaborated with as many of the 20th century’s great designers as Inge Grognard. Rising to prominence alongside the Antwerp Six, Grognard’s work as a makeup artist is rooted in subtlety, transforming the face into something altogether new. She has expressed a singular voice, bringing a dark romanticism to the forefront and shaping each look according to the person before her. From the bold irreverence of her early years to the nuanced care she brings to each collaboration today, Grognard balances the designer’s vision with her own, translating ideas through the quiet force of her hands.

In this interview, Grognard speaks with hube about the Antwerp years, the evolution of her own codes, and what it means to keep pushing for hope in an age of algorithmic beauty.

h: Your career began with the Antwerp Six and Martin Margiela. What was the energy in those rooms, and how did it teach you to see beauty differently?

IG: It started very slowly. I knew Martin even before the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp, and then, as everyone at the academy began making collections and doing photo shoots, I got involved. At the time, we didn’t question ourselves, it just happened naturally. Only years later did it become clear that what we were creating was different. In the beginning, you just try things, make mistakes, and eventually realize, “Okay, this isn’t what anyone else is doing.” There was no press, nobody writing about us, so we had the space to develop our own codes. The one thing that was clear from the start was that we didn’t want to repeat what was already done. We wanted to make a difference: in fashion, in hair, in makeup. That was especially true with Walter, and of course with Martin too. Many people didn’t understand us at first, but we went through all of that together.

h: What first drew you to makeup, not just as a tool for enhancement, but as a kind of artistic language?

IG: I was always interested in fashion, even when I was really young. I met Martin, who was also passionate about fashion, and knew I wanted to be a part of the industry too. I wanted to be the best in what I chose to do, but I knew I wasn’t good at making collections every six months; I didn’t have the patience for that. Maybe because I was always experimenting on myself, I chose makeup.

h: You’ve worked closely with Demna since his earliest experiments. What did you recognize in his vision that resonated with your own? And how has that creative intimacy evolved over time?

IG: Most of the people I work with, I’ve known for a long time. When Demna started his collection, he called me and asked if I was interested in doing the makeup for the lookbook, and I believed in him, liked him as a person. I came to Paris with my bag, I saw the clothes, and I was honest about them. I said, “I recognize pieces, but you did something else with them.” He made clothes in a way that made me want to buy fashion again. From there, it grew, and he took me with him to Balenciaga. We work easily together, and don’t need many words since our aesthetics mix well—mine from Belgium, quite dark, his from Georgia with Antwerp influence.

h: After decades of pushing boundaries, what still genuinely excites or surprises you? Where do you look now for that rare spark of friction or newness?

IG: Most of the time, I’m looking at horror movies, and plastic surgery techniques—they inspire me. When I do beauty on my own, there’s always a story I want to tell. That’s very Belgian. Many designers there, such as Walter and Martin, always told stories. There’s a lot of emotion in it too.

h: You’ve returned again and again to Maison Margiela through various eras. How do you maintain a living narrative in that collaboration?

IG: I didn’t return again and again. I did Martin, and now I do Maison Margiela with Glenn. In between was Galliano, which was totally different. With Glenn, I already worked for Diesel, so I understand his language. It’s always about collaboration, centering upon the story the designer wants to tell, with hair, makeup, and nails to complete the picture.

h: When creating a look, how do you balance the energy of the individual with the conceptual world of a collection? How does your own voice sneak through?

IG: The way I touch faces is my voice. I don’t do retro. I’m not interested in 50s, 60s, or 70s makeup. It’s been done and it’s boring. My makeup is always a little raw, with a sense of temporariness. I will never do the full American-style face with lips and lashes. That is my signature. Sometimes a designer comes with a strong idea, and I find a way to make it a little bit mine.

h: If you could work on any face, whose would it be, and what would you want to express through that encounter?

IG: Nobody, I’m not interested in a particular famous person. I’m interested in interesting people, whether it be new faces, older faces, or attitude. Famous people often already carry their own idea, and then you’re a slave to that.

h: In an era of digital manipulation and hyper-beauty, is there still such a thing as vulnerability in makeup?

IG: Yes, because the makeup I do still needs my hands. AI or digital manipulation can’t replace that.

h: Many of your most iconic looks seem to emerge from tension, between beauty and distortion, structure and decay. Is tension a necessary ingredient in your creative process?

IG: I’m fascinated by bloody things, but now I transform them into a kind of dark romanticism. It’s still gory, but more accessible. I ask myself, “How can I make this understandable without people saying, ‘Oh my God, I can’t look at that?’” It’s a question I didn’t ask before.

h:  Which emerging artists across any fields, whether visual arts, music, fashion, or beyond, are currently capturing your attention?

IG: I have my long-time favorites, such as Nick Cave, but I’m not the type of woman to be a “fan”. I enjoy good artists when I have the opportunity, but I don’t follow trends; even bad things can be inspiring.

h: Where do you see the future of makeup heading? And conversely, what do you think is worth holding onto?

IG: Difficult to say. For young people today, it’s hard to be really creative without a name. Art directors decide what they want, and you have to do it. Instagram and social media make things fast, but to be consistent over a long time, that’s the challenge. Like with designers, it’s not about one brilliant idea, but about going on for 10 or 20 years and still keeping attention. 

We are in a strange time. We must keep hope, but it’s not easy in the world we are living in… I fought for women’s rights in the 70s, and I see us going backwards. That scares me. But our job is to keep making dreams, to distract people from the ugliness. That’s what I tell my assistants: go on, make beautiful or interesting things. That’s the hope.