Search results for: canezou

Au courant? Un canezou

02 Wednesday Aug 2017

Posted by in Clothing, Living History, Research

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Collier de Lapis. Canezou a Manche[?]

This.

Because, August (or Aôut). The Salem Maritime Festival is nearly upon us, so there’s a flurry of bonnet and accessory and other making happening chez Calash as there usually is in summer. It’s one of my favorite things to do, and this year I was asked if the millinery setup could be more of a demonstration.

That’s a kind of relief, actually, as it allows me to bring bonnets from multiple years in a variety of levels of completion, which allows me the luxury of talking about evolving styles and a variety of construction methods. Whether or not I’ll manage a drawn bonnet is still up in the air; it’s a lot of hand sewing for someone with carpal tunnel.*

Because any trip to Salem affords me the opportunity to join the mercantile class, I like to take the opportunity to make something new and non-working class when I go up there. This year, I was taken with the canezou. What’s a milliner to do, but stay as up-to-date as possible? What the heck is a canezou?

Well….roughly, from the French and English costume history books, the canezou is a short, Spencer-like garment, often in white, lightweight cotton, worn over another garment. The canezou seen here clearly has sleeves, and the plate is dated 1811, giving the lie to the wikipedia’s assertion that it’s circa 1835. (The later evolutions have become more scarf or fichu-like, but are again worn over other gowns- though apparently it enjoys a brief time as the cambric blouse worn with a riding habit. And then there’s another definition, by another fashion historian, in which the canezou is described as being like a man’s shirt.

Well, that’s all cleared up then….

With this information in hand, and the fashion plate before me, I perused the contents of the Strategic Fabric Reserve, and lit upon those popular Ikea curtains which have appeared here before as a gown and as a petticoat and now as a canezou.

I modified a Spencer pattern for the base lining of white cotton, and then draped, stroke gathered, and stitched the curtain fabric to form the floofy bodice. The lace on the cap sleeves is reclaimed from a late 19th century negligee lurking in Drunk Tailor’s collection of usable old fabrics, while the lace at the bottom was reclaimed from an antique petticoat before I picked it up in Sturbridge, MA a few years ago.

To complete this, a bodiced petticoat with an embroidered hem (machine embroidered, of fabric I may have picked up from a remnant table in Pawtucket, RI), a pair of trimmed shoes, a necklace (here of sapphire blue stones, unless I can teach myself hand-knotting by Friday), and a bonnet of blue and white check silk that arrived just in time from India. Five new items in two or three weeks: the price of fashion is slightly mad.

*Hand-sewing everything has, at last, caught up with me. I find soaking my hands in cold water helpful, as well as sleeping in those super attractive hand braces. Imma need some surgery, but for now, braces, Aspercreme, and ice water must do.

A Dress for Red Hook

11 Tuesday Feb 2020

Posted by in Clothing, Events, Living History, Making Things

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Portrait of a Couple in the Country, Josef Reinhard, 1809

We recently returned from an event months in making, as all the best ones are, with many people making new clothes and venturing into a new era: the early Federal period. Initially, I expected to portray a widow, but ended up portraying a milliner suing for damages resulting from a breach of promise of marriage. This afforded Drunk Tailor an opportunity to be caddish and impatient, and gave me the chance to be aggrieved, which I do enjoy.

Because I initially thought I was portraying a widow, I checked through my stash for appropriate fabrics, and, finding only yardage already designated for future projects (coming in March! yay!), I ordered black gauze from Renaissance Fabrics. The local fabric store failed me, and somehow I got fixated on transparency and weight: I wanted a particular drape that a heavier stuff could not provide.

I looked at fashion plates of mourning wear but came across an 1809 painting by Swiss painter Josef Reinhard and fell in love. Still, here I was on the train tracks to mourning attire when I was portraying a forsaken milliner. Fortunately, the event organizers provided documentation from local newspapers, and a plausible case could be made for being in mourning for my recently deceased father– adding another layer of poignancy to my abandonment and financial precarity.

The gown I made is my third run at an early 19th-century surplice front.  The pattern I scaled up from An Agreeable Tyrant was a reasonable place to start, though my shape has changed somewhat in the nearly three years since I first started on that. In the end, I found that the shape of the lining or base of the canezou was a better starting point. Using that back and the general shape and grainline of the front, I re-draped the front bodice pieces to my current size, adjusting the line over the bust and adding an underbust dart, based on darts seen in period Spencers.

Fronts
and back

It took about three muslins before I had a bodice that fitted well; then it was on to the sleeve. Thankfully, that only took two muslins to rework the curve of the sleeve head and the shape of the underarm, and adjust the grainline to correct the drape of the arm.

I like the contrast between the white chemisette and the black gown

The surplice or cross-front gown appears in many images; it’s a comfortable form, and uses relatively little fabric to achieve the effect. It would also be a good form for nursing mothers, and while that was not a consideration for me, I do like the way the neckline can show off a chemisette.

I wore this over a pink wool petticoat and the white bodiced petticoat/gown that I wore under the canezou; I’d prefer a black petticoat but the one I is made for 1790s gowns and required shortening. In the future, I’ll make a black or grey silk taffeta to wear under this gown. But first I’ll need new linen petticoats since two have disappeared.

The hem edge, as always for me, was little uneven despite measuring carefully multiple times, but a ruffle solved that and added weight to the hem, helping the skirts hang and move better. The trim is based on a drawing in the Nantucket Historical Association collection and uses a quantity of black silk ribbon (which I can buy wholesale thank goodness!).

I’m generally pleased with this pattern and the finish of the gown. The lessons I’ve taken from this experience are about packing lists (and not putting the box of bonnet behind the door where it is invisible) and accessories. Once you have a pattern that really works for you– a well-fitted bodice or waistcoat, coat, and trousers– what you need to round out your look are accessories. Those are the pieces that can expand your wardrobe, dress it up or down, and generate multiple looks from just a few pieces. If that sounds like capsule wardrobes or fashion magazine advice, well, just because you saw it in Mademoiselle or Glamour doesn’t mean it isn’t useful advice.

Portrait of Sarah Comstock Coffin and Children, ca. 1815. Nantucket Historical Association, 1917.0034.001

Capote de Velour garnis en satin

27 Tuesday Nov 2018

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Costumes Parisiens, 1807

This plate has stuck with me for years: those mailbox shapes, in velour! In 1807, velour was not what we think of today (and I don’t mean Zapp Branigan). Valerie Cumming’s Dictionary of Fashion defines velour as “Wool or wool mixture cloth, soft and smooth with a closely-cut pile or nap resembling velvet.” Not having access to wool velour in the scrap bins at work, or in the fashion aisles at the local fabric store, I opted for velvet; the scrap bin provided pink silk taffeta, which I thought made a nice contrast to the texture and finish of the velvet. It is true that “velure” dates to the 17th century, and describes imitation velvet. The wool velour I’m familiar with from upholstery is too dense and heavy to drape well over a bonnet (it’s really made for sofas and armchairs), so erring on the hand of the fabric seemed a reasonable choice. Wool velour with silk satin would be an amazing textural contrast, but with this color combination, almost any fabrics will give a pleasant optical shock.

French 19th Century, Les Invisibles en tête-à-tête (Tête-à-Tête with Poke Bonnets), c. 1805, etching with publisher’s hand coloring in watercolor on pale green laid paper, Katharine Shepard Fund 2015.49.4

Shaping the brim was an exercise in paper and pasteboard, winging it a bit until I achieved a length and width that was mailbox-like but not too drainage tunnel. The cartoons of the period make clear that these are deep brimmed bonnets. I do like that the bonnet on the left is trimmed so like the ones in the fashion plate; the one at right is probably corded or reeded, judging by the ridges.

The trickiest bit was shaping the silk to the compound curve of the brim. Three patternings got me there– until I realized the silk needed body to hold up to binding, and took a short cut. Ask not of the sin of fusible interfacing, for I have learned my lesson. Yes, the silk piece shrank and no longer curved evenly from the front edge. Thank goodness Drunk Tailor was watching The Pacific, so any foul language I may have used was disguised by movie dialogue. The binding is bias-cut silk, easy enough. After the debacle of the Vandyke trim, I opted not to cut and bind the leaf shapes, but rather to cut the ovals with pinking shears and attach them along a silk band. Would I do it differently another time? Possibly, if only because I like to imagine the different ways an American milliner might interpret a French fashion plate.

Once I settled on making the bonnet, I decided it was time to finish a pink wool petticoat I started in 2015 after a trip to Mood. It’s a tropical weight Australian wool, according to its selvedge, and has a high-waisted bodice with a drawstring closure. I covered the bottom drawstring (and added some bling) with a black velvet belt closed with a period paste buckle. (Every now and then someone doesn’t know what they’ve got, and lets it go for a price I can afford.) On top, the gathered back cotton velveteen canezou/Spencer made for my first trip to Genesee. Having a wardrobe extensive enough to mix-and-match almost the way I do from my modern closet is pretty satisfying, if a little crowded.

This isn’t a bonnet for wearing while crossing a busy street, though it will successfully shelter the wearer and a cat from any sudden downpours, and one is unlikely to get sunburned wearing this. I didn’t find it distracting to wear– but I didn’t go far, and I had a companion. But what price fashion?

Milliner’s Shop Redux: A big, visual project

10 Thursday Aug 2017

Posted by in Clothing, History, Living History, Museums, Reenacting

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The complete ensemble, under supervision.

When I first moved to Providence, I lived in Fox Point, a slightly fringy-dingy neighborhood of Portuguese and Cape Verdean immigrants and their descendants that was cheap enough for students (and even today remains imperfectly gentrified: Providence, I love you dearly). As my then-boyfriend and I walked my dog, we passed a man whom I later came to know as the Block Captain, who remarked to my boyfriend, “Beeg wooman.” Any project I take on is, therefore, big, since I am nearly six feet tall.

Although I have schemes for a Big New Century Project (a complete 1585 ensemble), I’ll take a shortcut instead to my current enthusiasm and write about last weekend and the 1811 fashion plate reconstruction, which happily includes one of my favorite visual sources, early 19th century fashion plates — thanks to Scene in the Past’s albums and Ackemann’s Repository on the Internet Archive.

Display window
and counter

I’ve written about the canezou plate before, but not since I (mostly) completed it on the trip up to Salem. This 1811 plate appealed to me first because of the bonnet (checks!) and the necklace (lapis!), but then realized that the canezou and its petticoat were within my ability to complete.

The ensemble also seemed suitable for a summer day in Salem, which, while usually more humid than hot, calls for cool, lightweight, clothing that can withstand a potentially sweat-drenched day without melting.

Gentlemen lounging on the street

From start to finish was three weeks: canezou, bodiced petticoat, necklace, bonnet, and shoe trims, all a vernacular rendition of a high-fashion image, adapted to the materials at hand– though I did have to order bonnet taffeta from India, which arrived just in time– much faster than I could have expected in 1811 Salem!

Setting up the shop for the fourth time was as much fun as the first time, and a little easier, given the practice I’ve had. I shared the shop with a tailor, Mr. B, of hat-making renown which made for a nice contrast interpreting men’s and women’s fashions and purchasing habits.

Packing up hat stands, bonnets, accessories, and furniture and driving them 470 miles is a kind of madness, but interpreting women in business and early shopping is one of my favorite historical enterprises.

Sheer Madness

10 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by in Clothing, Events, Living History, Making Things, Reenacting

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Mercury is retrograde and the schedule is tight, even for me, as I made the plans I’ll put into action at the end of this week: a special event Thursday night at work, followed by mad packing and a drive pretty far into New York.

I did say sheer.

Yes: I am going to Genesee. It’s a long drive from here, so I’m happy to be picking up some friends in Albany (neither of whom live there) for company and some relief behind the wheel. Of course we’re taking our car: it’s the Quartermaster cart.

Since this is one of two occasions when I can portray someone in trade rather than in service (and a better trade than selling fruit on the street), I made a new gown. And a new Spencer. And a new reticule. And cut out a new coat for Mr S, with a newly (fingers crossed!) patterned collar, based on plates in Lapsley and Queen and images texted from a friend.

Yes, I am a little crazy, but it does make life interesting.*

Finished –even hemmed– days before the event!

The gown is made from fairly sheer block-printed Indian cotton found on eBay. The pattern is based on one in Nancy Bradfield’s Costume in Detail with a bib front and tucks in the center back. To help with measurements, I also referred to the bib-front dress in the back of Bradfield’s book, as patterned on the fabulous 19th US site, as well as Janet Arnold.

The first bib-front gown I made ended up a little slanted: your mileage may vary, but I find patterning on opioids is not recommended (I sewed while recovering from hip replacement surgery). This one seems a little better, though the fabric came in for some commentary when I was working on this in a room full of light infantry “men.” We devolved from “chicken on flower” to “Seagull on a bush” in describing this buta-like shape. I only bled a small amount on the tucks, despite texting while sewing.

Canezou de Velours, 1810

Inspired by this 1810 fashion plate, I made a black velvet Spencer as well. That’s finished, save for the buttonholes, though there will be no texting while button holing.

Men’s waistcoats often have cotton or linen at the CB neck.

It got pretty matchy-matchy when I did the lining.

You will note that the plate describes a “Canezou de Velours.” Canezou was new to me, and while I don’t trustthe internet too much, here we are with Larousse: Vieux. Corsage de femme en lingerie.

Huh. It seems to be a lightweight-bust length garment for women.

Here’s the OED:

Oxford English Dictionary

canezou canezouHist.

(ˈkanzu)
[Fr., of unknown origin.]
A woman’s blouse-like garment of muslin or cambric. Also attrib.
1827 Lady’s Mag. Sept. 510/2 A canezou spencer of embroidered muslin. Ibid. 511/1 Muslin canezous over high dresses. 1893 G. Hill Hist. Engl. Dress II. 241 A cambric canezou..with sleeves full to the elbow. 1898 Daily News 26 Sept. 6/4 When the Restoration came in 1815,..Fleur-de-lys appeared on everything… The canezou replaced the hideous spencer.

 

Ah, the hideous Spencer. I rather like them, myself.

 

*A very long time ago, I had a drawing teacher who said there is never an excuse for being bored. There is always something to do, to see, to observe. That was my first lesson in being present. Perhaps I take this statement a bit too literally.