Linda Muir and Robert Eggers resurrect the haunting world of Nosferatu, crafting costumes that blend historical authenticity with eerie, folkloric terror.

In Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu, costume designer Linda Muir conjures a world of beauty and decay, where every garment whispers secrets of the macabre. From Count Orlok’s imposing sheepskin cloak to the weathered, storied fabrics of the villagers, the costumes serve as vessels of narrative, grounding this tale in unsettling realism. Muir’s meticulous research into 16th-century Transylvanian attire brings a haunting authenticity to the screen, while the aging and distressing of these pieces reflect the horrors lurking in the shadows. In this interview, Muir discusses the folkloric roots of the vampire’s costumes, the craft of making the Nosferatu costumes appear both lived-in and lit by candlelight, and the delicate art of making terror feel tangible.

Spencer Williams: It’s so good to see you again so soon! I’m thrilled we get to catch up again, especially after chatting about The Witch and then running into you at that ghostly Nosferatu screening. How are you?

Linda Muir: I’m good. I’m relaxed. Look, we can make this a weekly thing, Spencer.

Spencer Williams: You don’t have to tell me twice! Well, let’s dive into the Nosferatu costumes. I know you’re such a detailed researcher. Let’s start from the beginning.

Before we get into the nuance of the film, I really want to talk about your collaboration with Robert Eggers. We just talked the other day about The Witch, so how did that first conversation between you and Robert go about Nosferatu? I mean, you’ve done witches, sea monsters, Draugr, Björk—and now, vampires. So how did that conversation start? Oh to be a fly on the wall.

Linda Muir: We always start with reading—it’s text-based. We began by reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula again, as well as every book I could get my hands on about the period and the locations. Researching this film was much more difficult—actually, a lot more difficult—when it came to the Romanian characters and locations. For instance, the inn and the particular people there.

We chose the Transylvanian county of Hunedoara to locate the inn, which brought very specific details—like headdresses, hand embroidery on the clothing, and even the types of shoes they would wear. All of this stems from the script. Then you start asking, “Okay, where is Thomas traveling to? Where does he go after he jumps out of the castle window, is washed downstream, and is found by the convent nuns? Where is that convent?”

Neither Robert nor I read or write Romanian, so researching those characters and places was challenging. That’s when we decided to reach out to historians or experts who could translate and provide insights. As prep went deeper, we had to produce costume pieces, so it became essential to understand exactly what was needed.

That always ties back to Robert. He has such a clear vision of how he wants to proceed. That’s rare and incredibly inspiring. He sets the bar very high, which motivates us to meet that standard. It’s challenging, but ultimately so rewarding.

Spencer Williams: I love this quote from Aaron Taylor-Johnson. He said, “Linda is the perfect person for Robert because she, too, has that extreme eye for detail and loves nothing more than diving into historical facts and research.”

Before we dive into the Nosferatu costumes, I want to ask about the town where much of the story takes place—the nightmare Ellen is living in. If I’m correct, it’s a fictional town, but it feels rooted in something familiar. Can you tell me about the setting and the research behind it?

Linda Muir: Yes, Robert set the contemporary portion of Nosferatu in the fictional town of Burg. We modeled it on Lübeck, which is in Germany. The secondary and tertiary locations in the story span regions with borders that shift depending on the historical period. The Germany of 1838, when Robert set the film, was part of the Hanseatic League. It had distinct military uniforms, hospital attire, and the attendants dealing with Knock (played by Simon McBurney).

Even for non-principal characters, we had to research costumes deeply. For menswear, I wanted a strong German influence. While we have beautiful French and English illustrations from the period, I worked hard to find German fashion plates. There was a specific magazine that had exactly what I needed. But since I don’t speak German, I was constantly reaching out for help to track down issues from the right months and years leading up to 1838. I even sought out a few issues beyond that date to ensure I didn’t include anything anachronistic.

The result is, hopefully, a distinctly German aesthetic. I also studied illustrations, paintings, and other sources. For example, the cattle herders wear a very specific German hat featured in a street scene. Adding enough small, authentic details collectively creates the overall look of the film.

With women’s wear, the style details are incredibly specific. 1838 falls into an odd little pocket of fashion history. For instance, the massive gigot sleeves of the early 1830s had been pared down. They were still large but less exaggerated, and the forearm style was transitioning toward the shapes seen in the 1840s and 1850s. Bonnet shapes changed as well, and we worked to avoid anything anachronistic.

For Anna’s costumes (played by Emma Corrin), I designed them to feel completely up-to-the-minute—like straight out of fashion plates. Everything was carefully accessorized. Designing and fitting the bonnets and headpieces was such a joy; they were truly heaven to work on. All the jewelry was created specifically for the characters, referencing historical styles.

_{Nosferatu Costumes – Courtesy of Linda Muir}

Shoes and boots were a learning curve. It was the beginning of more delicate footwear, which wasn’t the easiest to wear—very flat with no big heels. Researching everything, from undergarments to outerwear, was essential. Since we were aiming for such a specific look, we ended up making most of the costumes. Rentals just couldn’t meet the level of detail we needed.

Spencer Williams: Absolutely. Like you said, it’s such a unique era—it’s not Regency, it’s not Victorian. It’s an in-between period that rarely appears on screen, so you’re not going to find this at costume houses. You’re setting the standard for it.

Now, I want to talk about Lily-Rose Depp, who plays Ellen—the heart of the story. She endures such harrowing psychological and sexual terror throughout the film. Despite this, Lily-Rose mentioned that the costumes were a dream to wear. I’d love to hear about your approach to Ellen’s character. Her arc is so vivid, from bright colors to muted tones, and eventually, to wearing all black.

Linda Muir: Well, I think that Ellen’s character is quite unique to Robert’s vision for Nosferatu. In his interpretation, Ellen has a rich backstory—a connection from her childhood to this otherworldly figure, the vampire. It’s beautifully apparent that she comes from a family of wealth. Yet, when she marries Hutter (played by Nicholas Hoult), she embraces a simpler life, content without an array of elaborate clothing or assistance from maids. Thomas, on the other hand, is the one who desires those luxuries for her.

When it comes to costume plotting, I approach it with meticulous detail, often in close consultation with Robert. Since he wrote the script, many of his visuals are deeply embedded in either the text or his imagination.

Spencer Williams: That collaboration with Lily-Rose Depp, though—she wears some truly stunning pieces, even as her character endures harrowing experiences. Watching the film with costume designers and crew, we all laughed during the scene where the doctor suggests loosening or tightening her corset to help with her night terrors. It’s such an absurdly serious moment!

Linda Muir: Yes, I suppose that scene will strike a chord with people who know costumes! *laughs* Ellen’s costumes were designed to reflect her character—a young woman with taste and a sense of status but also someone who doesn’t mind repeating outfits. One detail I particularly loved, which didn’t really make it into the final cut, was the detachable sleeves of her dress.

In the period I researched, dresses often had detachable sleeves so they could be worn in different contexts, which made them more practical and cost-effective for the wearer. For instance, the dress Ellen wears when Hutter sends her that massive bouquet of lilacs has beautifully detailed long sleeves. Later, we see her at the Harding residence, grieving Thomas and retrieving her wedding dress from a chest. I included the detachable sleeves in that scene, hanging them over her dressing screen as a subtle, meaningful detail.

_{Nosferatu Costume Illustrations Courtesy of Linda Muir}

Ellen’s journey is deeply internal—she’s consumed by terror for Thomas and the events unfolding around her. As a result, she isn’t thinking about her appearance. She meets society’s bare minimum requirements for dressing.

One example of costume design serving the plot, as you mentioned, is Ellen’s corset. I came across a particular style called a fan-laced corset during my research, which I’ve also referred to as a “self-tying corset”—though it doesn’t actually tie itself! This type of corset can be tightened from the front, allowing the wearer to adjust it independently.

For Robert, this design was ideal. When Ellen is in the throes of her supernatural connection with Orlok, the men around her—Sivers and Harding—try to impose control by tightening her corset. Because of the fan-laced design, we can see her anguish and convulsions, as well as the men’s oppressive actions, without needing to obscure her face or body by laying her prone. This moment is a perfect example of how research and storytelling can come together harmoniously in costume to enhance a scene.

Spencer Williams: That’s extraordinary. And it’s one of my favorite parts of the entire film. Seeing the that corset consume her… bringing the audience in on the dizzying nature, it was quite a moment.

Now, something I’m particularly excited to talk about is, of course, Count Orlok, played by Bill Skarsgård, who is absolutely horrifying. Robert Eggers has said about Orlok: “The folk vampire is not a suave dinner-coat-wearing seducer, nor a sparkling, brooding hero. The folk vampire embodies disease, death, and sex in a base, brutal, and unforgiving way. This is the vampire I wanted to exhume for a modern audience.”

That really stood out to me because, you know, when we think about vampires, we often imagine something extravagant and romantic—like Eiko Ishioka’s stunning designs for Bram Stoker’s Dracula or anything from the Interview with the Vampire realm. But Orlok… he’s the complete opposite of that.

Linda Muir: Yes, completely.

Spencer Williams: He’s a guy who—well, he’s very real.

Linda Muir: It is. It’s a very different experience. The costuming is beautiful, of course, but Robert always emphasizes that there’s something far more terrifying about costumes when you can believe that they’re real. When you feel that people actually lived in these garments and walked around in them. That sense of authenticity really intensifies the horror.

For Orlok, our research focused on the look of a Transylvanian-slash-Hungarian count from around 1580. He’s a character who was young and vital 300 years before the events of the film. In the story, he obscures himself at first—hiding the truth of his decayed, rotting state. His cloak, or mente, plays a key role in this. It’s an outer garment that serves several purposes.

On one hand, it evokes the shape of Max Schreck’s iconic silhouette as a vampire in a cape. But this isn’t a shiny black satin cape—it’s something rooted in cultural reality. It has these exaggerated, super-long sleeves. As you saw, it’s worn more like a cloak than a traditional coat. That silhouette ties back to the period’s clothing traditions, including shepherds in the region.

The more I researched, the more I uncovered this fascinating reality: the shepherds’ sheepskin cloaks evolved into sheepskin coats with impossibly long sleeves, which were never meant to have arms through them. Instead, they served as presentational garments—a way of showcasing wealth or status. For the nobility, like the counts, you’d see incredible layers beneath: dolmans, sashes, metallic lace, ornate buttons—it’s all very grand and presentational.

Orlok, however, has reversed that entirely. He’s shrinking into his clothing, retreating into the layers as if to conceal his deteriorated state. Even his enormous kalpak hat—a piece that would have been worn differently by a younger man—is now part of his strategy to hide the grotesque reality of being 300 years old.

Spencer Williams: Wow, I didn’t even think of that—he’s literally using his clothing as a shield, concealing himself. He’s the opposite of the glamorous vampires we’ve come to expect.

I have to ask you about the aging and distressing of the Nosferatu costumes. With The Witch, we talked about how much your costumes endure, but this film takes it to another level. There’s blood, feces, rats—your poor costumes go through so much. How did your team manage all of this?

Linda Muir: Oh, it was quite the process. Silvana Sacco, our lead textile artist, was phenomenal. She handled the aging, dyeing, and overall breakdown work with incredible care. We staged the breakdowns in layers, gradually bringing Orlok’s costumes to the state of decay you see in the film. It was meticulous work to create that visceral, textured sense of decrepitude.

Spencer Williams: In terms of the crowd scenes, where you have villagers or the townspeople, none of their clothing looks pristine—it all tells a story. Even with Hutter’s clothing, it’s clear that his wardrobe was deliberately limited to reflect what he could realistically carry while traveling. You see that thoughtfulness in the details, like how he might pack extra linen but only a couple of waistcoats. There’s such a beautiful balance in keeping everything true to the story.

Linda Muir: Yes, absolutely. And our on-set crew was phenomenal in maintaining that balance. They ensured everything looked exactly as it should for each moment in the film—whether that meant freshly disgusting or perfectly weathered. It wasn’t about making anything look “ironed” or polished, but rather ensuring the clothes appeared consistently lived-in, layered with the grime, sweat, and dirt of the story’s world.

The conditions on set made this a challenge. It was cold, wet, and often night. Costumes like Bill’s cloak were incredibly heavy. Yet, the team was always there, ready to lift the weight off between takes, cool the actors down, and then reset everything for the next shot. That’s one of the many reasons why I think the film is so beautiful—it’s not just about the costumes themselves, but also the incredible effort and artistry behind every stitch and every accessory.

There’s also a richness in the unseen clothing, like the attire of the Romanian villagers or the Roma people. For the Roma, we aimed for authenticity by reflecting how a nomadic group might accumulate and adapt pieces over time, rather than leaning into more modern, popularized interpretations. Hopefully, audiences find it beautiful not because the costumes are flashy or overly designed but because they serve the story and feel integral to the world.

Spencer Williams: That’s exactly it. The realism is what makes it so compelling and, honestly, even more horrifying. It’s a testament to your work with Robert that these folktales feel so visceral and real, even in their most terrifying moments. Another element I admire is how you’ve mastered designing costumes that look stunning in low light, essentially lit by candlelight. It’s such a unique challenge.

Linda Muir: Thank you, but that’s also a credit to Jarin Blaschke. He’s a magician with lighting. While Robert sets the aesthetic tone, Jarin establishes how to light the scenes, which often involves creative problem-solving with Craig Lathrop, our production designer. They storyboard and block scenes so meticulously that everything serves the narrative. The shots are economical yet visually striking, often conveying a lot of story in just one frame.

For us in costumes, that means figuring out how the garments will read in those low-light settings. It’s not something I’ve mastered on my own—it’s a collaborative effort with the entire team. And once they get into post-production, Louise Ford, Robert’s editor, brings it all together seamlessly. They make tweaks that can feel heartbreaking in the moment, but when you see the final product, it’s so powerful that it all feels worth it.

Spencer Williams: It’s extraordinary how everything aligns to create such a cohesive and haunting vision. I wish I had more time because I have about a million more questions! But this has been such a joy. Nosferatu costume designer Linda Muir, thank you so much for sharing your insights. I absolutely loved this film—it’s brilliant—and your costumes are phenomenal. I can’t wait for everyone to see it!

Linda Muir: Thank you so much, Spencer. It’s been a pleasure!

Nosferatu – Only in Theaters, December 25th. Click HERE for Tickets!