'She Loved Chickens!': Erdem's Loving Homage To Duchess Deborah

Fashion designer Erdem Moralıoğlu, (more commonly known by Erdem, after which he named his brand) wants you to know that the late Duchess Deborah of Devonshire loved chickens. And Elvis Presley. And Turnbull & Asser shirts: 'We have drawers and drawers and drawers of them, they were an absolute trademark of her style' Susie Stokoe (head of textiles at Chatsworth House) revealed while leading a private tour - joined by Erdem Himself - of the collaborative exhibition Imaginary Conversations, now open to the public at Chatsworth House.

Paying tribute to the late Duchess (affectionately known as 'Debo' to those who knew her best), Imaginary Conversations stands as so much more than just a love letter or a portrait of the late aristocrat. While striking a note of deference, the exhibition instead serves up a tapestry of intricately woven references, each nodding to a facet of Deborah's character Erdem felt destined to encapsulate within his own work, culminating in a fully realised S/S 24 collection. 'She was unwavering in her duty to the house and I wanted to immortalise that adventurous spirit that has kept Chatsworth alive for decades after it so nearly fell post World War ll', Erdem duly noted when we meet at the show's preview.

Set within the Regency Guest Bedrooms at Chatsworth, the five-room exhibition equally highlights Erdem's clear reverence for the late Duchess as it does the Canadian-British designer's own artistically-inspired dress interpretations, many of which are strategically placed side by against the Duchess' belongings in an attempt to bridge points of inspiration between the past and present. Although the showcase may be very much rooted in Deborah's life, it's also distinctly Erdem as chintz, flora and fauna come to life, as seen in the patterns of Erdem's S/S 24 'Hitchcock-inspired' silhouettes as well as the digitally-rendered copy of the original wallpaper that once hung for Mary Queen of Scots, now immortalised in the still-standing Dressing Room that's been temporarily remade into a makeshift designer's studio so visitors can be transported to a cutting room in Erdem's atelier. 'Everything here is exactly as it is in my own studio', Erdem assures. 'Even the rails!' Often, studio recreations in exhibitions can lead to nothing but disappointment or underwhelming feelings of dissatisfaction - not here. There are so many subtle and niche nods that you may as well be in Erdem's atelier with him. Even the garment dust bags used to house a collection once finished are included; a simple finishing touch that crystallises the notion that no details have been sparred in the making of this collection. 'There are layers in this house as there are layers embedded in my work'. Erdem confesses, before humbly thanking the star of the show: 'And truly, it's all thanks to Debo'.

As for unravelling such layers, arguably the most moving tribute of them all comes in the form of a skirt suit that's been crafted to intentionally look like it's seen better days but is now hanging on by a loose thread, (pardon the pun). The look is the first you see in the exhibition and while no lousy chicken prints or embroidered silks are in sight, it remains clear that - before Erdem even says anything - this marks the first of many subtle tributes to come that touch upon the Duchess' famously reported 'love of chickens'. 'The first outfit is a structured tweed suit nipped in at the waist', Erdem reveals, before earnestly adding: 'I love the idea of aesthetically conveying how it's very obviously been ravaged by chickens... which she had great passion for.' Sentimental as it is whimsical, there's a sense of indifference that cleverly radiates here, with the look in question armed with a sort of charm that's as magical as the exhibition's surroundings. 'I wanted to strike a perfect/imperfect balance', states Erdem, 'which feeds into that idea of make-do-and-mend, something that was very important to Duchess Deborah when she moved in. She never got rid of anything and despite most possessions having seen better days, she held onto them, which I love.'

Not only did she hold onto possessions that 'saw better days', she also jazzed up what already existed. 'When the occasion called, she looked to what she already had, dying shoes to match the evening dresses she was wearing to greet guests, no matter how famous or important', Erdem divulges, and although she certainly wasn't like everyone else (just look at the immense privilege that comes with holding a Duchess title), that didn't stop her partaking in certain rituals as to avoid frivolity. Everyone dyed clothes during the war to save money and - despite being a Duchess - Deborah did not exclude herself from this make-do-and-mend approach; a way of living that didn't just inspire Erdem but ended up saving the house as well as everything that came with it, especially those prized chickens. It was, after all, an intense love for farmyard animals that ended up fuelling the Duchess' one-woman mission to save Chatsworth from the perils knocking at its doorstep soon after World War II thanks to the simple but revolutionary realisation of installing a farm shop on the grounds. 'When she and her husband Andrew moved into the house, it was very much in decay', Stokoe discloses frankly. 'The war had just happened, it was a very difficult time. So many houses of this size and importance crumbled; so many were turned into boarding schools or chopped back, or even sold altogether. And then on the flip side of the coin you had Deborah, who not only held onto the house but the objects that came with it. All the house's trustees, charities and shops that continue today are because of her, it's her legacy'.

Akin to the National Trust role model, Deborah got to sprucing up the house within seconds of inheriting it, setting up the now-popular farm shop in 1977 - 'The first of its kind' Erdem jovially quips, and he's right: although commonplace now, it's hard to quantify just how unorthodox this approach was at the time, particularly when you consider its 'local and organic' roots decades before such terms fell into the zeitgeist. It's this staunch fact alone that points to Duchess Deborah as not just a shrewd businesswoman but a radical pioneer of her day, also proven in the duality of her character. 'She was as comfortable feeding the chickens as she was hosting presidents' Erdem lovingly reveals - patently delighting in the many contradictions of Duchess Debo, a woman driven by her head as well as her heart.

It's at the meeting point of all these collective characters and identities that Erdem's collection and subsequent exhibition unfolds, guided by the principle and desire to create for the kind of modern woman that's as versatile as she is unwavering in her commitment. 'I admire that want and desire to create something that lasts', Erdem tells me. 'Everything you see today at Chatsworth is because of her. It’s her legacy and that quality of something surviving even long after yourself, I found so inspiring... especially when compared to notions of dress and passing down beloved heirlooms. That quality of endurance is something that remains positively unmatched.'

Although it's made all too clear Duchess Deborah was a force not to be reckoned with during her time as head of the house, there's something sweet to be said about how - aside from her enormous privilege-turned-profit - she was just a girl (a Mitford, no less) born in the 1930s, equipped with everyday passions that extended beyond her love of chickens. 'Elvis was her other great passion', Erdem clarifies - before pointing to a pair of slippers owned by the Duchess with the Rock n' Roll singer's face on. These types of details continue to make themselves known throughout the show, realised in both the Duchess' belongings and Erdem's resulting collection. Amongst the chintz and florals and witty playful takes on Opera coats live reverent nods to the Duchess' aforementioned passions including a 1950s studded biker jacket complete with a leather fringe trim and paired with a fuchsia pink lace skirt and white shirt: if you're an older generation reading this, think along the lines of 50s Americana, Randal Kleiser's Grease or James Dean. If you identify as a Zillennial, there's only one reference for you: Billie Piper as Rose in that episode of Doctor Who, set during the the Queen's Coronation in 1953. Now picture these references on the runway, just with a neatly tied Erdem bow of elegance on top.

In addition to shredded skirts and biker jackets, you can also find more traditional modes of interpretation of Deborah's wardrobe. 'This is a couture dress she would have had made in the 1950s', states Erdem, while pointing to a neat and light-coloured gown. 'I love the idea of a beautiful bespoke couture dress, something that would have been inspired by Paris designs but made locally in the village, and that glowy taffeta contrasting her Elvis slippers. Of course, these objects are both from very different periods in her life and never would have been worn together but the spirit of that contrast is something once again that keeps appearing and I find it endlessly fascinating. For me, this room really gets to the depths of who she was as well as that steadfast make-do approach'. In short, it's not the contrast directly that Erdem finds himself enamoured with but instead, what that represents. To the average person, the upper class are seen as stiff and stilted (not entirely untrue) but by placing a garment that exaggerates or leans into this idea (the couture dress in this instance) with another object that represents normality (or obsessive teenage fandom in Debo’s case), a bridge is crossed. It’s about duality, a trait that exists within all of us but is revealed so outwardly in so few. What Erdem is really saying is: ‘yes, she was this, but she was also this. She was everything you imagined her to be but also nothing like what you thought’. You can own couture but also fall victim to your girlhood passions. You don’t have to decide, you can have it all. And Duchess Deborah of Devonshire did indeed, have it all.

Once at the end of the exhibition, you're met with a wall (although it reads as more of a shrine) where these passions are tied up and packaged into a curtesy of sorts, from Erdem with love, to the Duchess. 'We wanted to show the different sides of who she was' Erdem posits. 'As a sort of thanks for being so inspirational, to me and to many others'. Beneath said shrine of collages photos, references and various clippings (think of a young teenage girl stuck in a frenzy to record everything she can about her crush at the end of the school day) lies two glass cases containing a myriad of objects and possessions once belonging to the Duchess. 'We have a little chicken purse which was part of a larger chicken bag which sadly did not fit into the cabinet, her riding boots, a straw bag with her nickname Debo inscribed on it, her handkerchiefs, the list goes on', says Stokoe, pausing before she finishes, 'this room is the imaginary conversation'.