When the V&A East Storehouse opened in May 2025, I knew I wanted to visit. A friend even told me how much I would enjoy it. Set in Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, home of the London 2012 Games, it sits well outside the city center. What finally brought me there was a V&A textiles course. Our instructor shared how we could book a visit to see some of the embroidery she had shown us during the online course.
It was time to make it happen.
Browsing the museum’s online collection, I found it hard to narrow down what I wanted to see in person. Through its Order an Object service, pieces would be brought out of the archive for my own viewing. I chose several.
On the day, the building itself was more than a museum. It truly is a storehouse, home to more than 250,000 objects, from sculpture to textiles to decor. It offered a glimpse into the work of preservation, all that is done to keep these objects alive for us to enjoy and learn from.
I made my way to the Study Centre. After checking in, like every visitor, I was asked to wash and thoroughly dry my hands, slip on gloves and make sure my hair was out of the way.
The pieces I had ordered were laid flat on a table, each one resting on tissue. I was shown how to handle them and when to ask for help: turning a piece over takes both hands, and both of us. These objects are meant to last, and the protocols are there for a reason. I studied each one closely. How was it constructed? What details were included, or left out? What made it different?
The Versace dress, white silk from 1994, was everything I had hoped it would be. At the neckline, an embroidered lace yoke of flowers. Across the midriff, beaded smocking. Below, the pleats still fell with a fullness of their own. I spent time studying how the hems were finished around the pleats and the lining, how it all came together. I looked at it inside and out, down to the labels. I imagined the seamstresses who made it, and the woman who wore it: how it fit, how it moved with her.
Then the bras. The first, a cream silk brassiere from the 1930s, its maker unknown, could easily be overlooked. Its beauty was in the details: the clasps, the ties, the mother-of-pearl button that held it in place, the crossover front, and embroidered flowers set against a silk woven with flowers of its own. It was the lightest of the pieces, delicate in weight, but its lightness was not to be mistaken for simplicity.
I imagined the seamstresses who made it, and the woman who wore it.
The second, a bra by Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren from 1982, was a play of materials: satin, cotton and leather, side by side. As the V&A notes, it was “designed to be worn over a rough wool tunic top.” This was the fashion side of lingerie, unafraid of who or what it was. Nearly 50 years apart: one made to be hidden, the other made to be seen.
Being so close to these pieces was a highlight. It was also a lesson in how preserving the past helps shape the future. I look forward to returning.
— Aimée