Category Archives: material culture

Suffrage Wardrobe

13 Thursday Feb 2020

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The weekly newspaper of the Congressional Union and National Woman’s Party

2020 is the Centennial of the 19th Amendment granting women in the United States the right to vote. Oddly enough, I am currently on a contract with the National Woman’s Party, founded by Alice Paul and Lucy Burns as an offshoot of the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA), and originally called the Congressional Union. The split was largely over tactics and splits continued over the years, again, mostly about tactics and mission. (In the post-suffrage years, splits continued, largely over how to pass the Equal Rights Amendment.)

I’m waiting to find out if the site has been awarded a grant I applied for in December so that I can produce a collections open house and living history event in late April designed to explore the material culture of the NWP’s protests. On the off chance that I’ll get the grant, and on the basis of a life-long obsession with the 1910s formed when I watched Testament of Youth on Masterpiece Theatre and promptly demanded the book, I have begun to consider the component parts of a suffragist’s wardrobe. (You gotta have something to think about on the Metro.)

Capes in violet and yellow were part of the costumes worn in suffrage parades and pageants

Here’s the preliminary list:

Chemise
Drawers
Corset
Stockings
Petticoat
Corset cover
Skirt
Blouse
Jacket or sweater (we’ll be indoors)
Boots or shoes
Votes for Women button

I am incredibly lucky to have found (separately) a silk blouse and a wool skirt that both fit me! I also have a wool skirt that is too small, but could be patterned, and a cotton blouse, that could also be patterned. But given what I have to accomplish by the end of April, I think it’s most likely I’ll need to wear the antiques.

Stylish suffragists in the capitol for a meeting

What do I have to make, if I get this grant and decide to be one of the costumed interpreters?

At a minimum:

Chemise
Drawers
Corset

Now, I could opt for a union suit of the kind Our Girl History made, but I’m not super convinced by my abilities to sew knits. Before she posted the union suit, I was planning to use the Dreamstress’s guide to 1910s underwear.

The Suffragist was funded in part by ads.

I have the Scroop pattern, and if I finish my projects and I get the grant, I’ll dive into this decade sometime in March. It’s hard to say whether I’d like to get it or not: there is always the “Oh crap, now we have to pull off this project!” factor with any grant award. It’s daunting, but at the same time, once those projects are finished, thinking about the who, how, and where of the making of suffrage banners and capes is pretty appealing for a material culture person.

In the meantime, while I’m at work, inventory projects provide lots of exposure to inspiration.

Bonnet UnBoxing

24 Tuesday Dec 2019

Posted by in Clothing, History, material culture, Research

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I’m really looking forward to recreating this (and to making a custom stand for it). It reminds me of the lovely brown bonnet sold by Augusta Auctions ten years ago. Poking around in fashion plates, I’d be comfortable putting a date range of 1825-1835 on this, with a likely date of ca. 1828. The two-part construction, the exuberance of the caned brim, and the color suggest to me that this is pre-1837 (when the effects of the economic crash can be seen almost immediately in smaller sleeves and tighter bonnets). Still, combing through fashion plates is never dull and I look forward to learning more in the year ahead.

Lost Colonist

15 Friday Nov 2019

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

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I still have a copy (or two) somewhere in storage.

In which we experience a return to the costuming portion of this blog

When I was six, I had the coloring book paper dolls of Queen Elizabeth I and Henry VIII and His Wives. I probably requested (demanded) these after watching the BBC series The Six Wives of Henry VIII on Masterpiece Theatre. I recall being curling up in a chair under a quilt with my favorite stuffed dog as the drama played out on the television my grandmother had given us. Perhaps I had a fever: some of what I recall is a little hallucinatory, but I was thoroughly entranced. I have waited a long time to construct my own Tudor/Elizabethan wardrobe.

The annual Fort Dobbs Military TImeline event has recently featured a soldier of the second Roanoke expedition in his armor and helmet. In 2017, I thought hard about joining this enterprise and even bought wool for the effort–in fact, I got as far as cutting out a smock–but life intervened, and I taught workshops instead. This year, I had my chance: a free weekend, and just enough time (five weeks) to pull it all together. Reader: this is madness.

One source of inspiration: Color sketch of three London gentlewomen and a countrywoman come to market, from the manuscript Corte Beschryuinghe van Engheland, Schotland, ende Irland, c.1574. British Library

I flirted with long Tudor dresses. I flirted with a doublet. I knew that no matter what, I was building this on the foundation of a smock and kirtle (bodied petticoat) worn with stockings and shoes. Thanks to the Couture Courtesan and the Tudor Tailor, I knew bodies were not required for the class level and time period I was representing. (The fleshy cargo may have other needs, containment-wise). I knew I needed a partlet and ruff, and a coif, and I wanted a hat. All of this seemed achievable in five weeks. Mind you, in this same period, I also: started a business, started a short-term contract forensic collections management project, attended a workshop, draped and fitted clients, and dealt with a couple chronic health issues. It’s not a surprise, then, that I fell a little short of my goals.

Forthwith, the parts:

Smock

Two kinds of linen, and quite a different shape from an 18th century shift (though related)

I used the Elizabethan smock generator and, in 2017, pulled threads to get most of the shapes I needed. The very top of the smock is made of vintage linen that was lingering in Drunk Tailor’s stash, and I no longer recall where the body and sleeve linen came from. The instructions were just general enough that I was glad to have made several shifts and shirts already. It held up well, though Smock 2.0, should it occur, will likely be the one in the Tudor Tailor, just for varieties’ sake (and I now work with someone who does blackwork, so, you know, I could upgrade.)

Kirtle

Love the color, needs work
though I’m happy with the pocket slits

The kirtle needs some additional engineering to accommodate my corporeal presence in a way I like and that holds a more correct shape. I used buckram, pad stitching, and boning on the front but not only is the fit just enough off, I think that front-lacing is the way to madness for me. Off the fronts will come at some point in 2020, to be replaced with a new system. I’m very happy with the salmon-pink wool I found at Osgood’s in 2017, and luckily bought enough to be able to re-engineer the bodice in the same fabric.

The comforts of the colony and home, combined.

I was reasonably pleased working with the Tudor Tailor pattern, but despite previously fitting bodices and stays, there are things I would do differently. For one, I’d mock up the bodice in pasteboard instead of muslin to get a better sense of how the buckram and boning might behave. For another, I’d solicit much more assistance from another human to ensure my “handedness” didn’t alter fit, as I think it may have. More time and tweaks will definitely help.

Petticoat

This is almost “don’t ask” territory. I borrowed the notion of making and wearing a separate petticoat from the late Elizabethan woman’s doublet entry in The Tudor Tailor. I had this notion of a doublet and petticoat in black that I couldn’t quite shake, but I did not manage the doublet. The petticoat is made of plain weave black wool from the remnant table at Fabric Place Basement and probably set me back all of $12.

Basic. Gets the job done.

Drunk Tailor and I kicked the notion of authenticity versus warmth back and forth quite a bit until I convinced him that he did not want to hear me complaining of cold in Statesville. The waistband is shaped, but because these skirts are longer than my 18th-century petticoats, my yardage calculations were slightly off, and the front waistband is plain weave brown wool. You’ll never see it, so it really doesn’t matter.

And yes: it was a two-petticoat weekend.

Waistcoat

Monty approved quality
Scraps leftover

Dat wool tho…. I bought a yard each of the olive and madder plush wool from Burnley and Trowbridge after falling in love with both color and hand. I started with the madder, knowing it would contrast well with black wool tape.

Front
and side back

Cutting out was a challenge, but after looking at period manuals and spending some time with pieces and fabric, I managed a layout that got me all the pieces without piecing, and small bits of cabbage leftover: judiciously laid out, you can use $30/yard wool for your projects. The results justify the investment of money and time.

Tape!
sleeve linings to come.

I had to tweak the fit on the muslin twice, and I think it would benefit from another round of fitting, as the back is a little looser than I care for. The front fits well enough, though the gap was smaller on the first day before the kirtle had stretched. The struggle is real when you are containing a curvaceous figure. Boning is likely the answer (or at least it is when your mind is tuned to 18th-century aesthetics and means).

At the 18th century winter cabin, with the ersatz ruff and repurposed apron. Needs must.

That Crazy Coif

Scaled up from the Tudor Tailor, I know this pattern needs to be scaled down for my tiny skull. Will I make another? I might try another shape instead, this being exceedingly fiddly. By Sunday, I was pinning the two pieces to each other and the whole to my hair (which is how I keep 18th century caps in place).

Accessories

The absolutely swoony hat is by M. Brenckle, Hatter. I don’t know that I have fully figured out how to wear it with my questionable coif and hair, but it is without a doubt the jauntiest-yet-sober item I’ve ever worn on my head. That will help inspire me to re-do the coif and figure out what to do with my hair.

This view of the theoretical jacket reminds me of Lautrec.

Standing in for a ruff and partlet is a 19th-century chemisette made ages ago by Mimic of Modes. Desperate times call for desperate measures: Drunk Tailor tried to order me one but the Etsy seller went to ground, and his own project needed finishing so he couldn’t take on a ruff. With thorough instructions readily available and vintage linen to hand, a ruff seems like an achievable item, in time. (Yes, he finally got a new version of the document-based Carolina jacket finished!)

A Very Short List of Sources and Inspiration

Arnold, Janet. 1984. Patterns of fashion.

Arnold, Janet. 2014. Patterns of fashion 3, 3. Patterns of Fashion.

Mikhaila, Ninya, and Jane Malcolm-Davies. 2015. The Tudor tailor: reconstructing 16th-century dress. Hollywood, Calif: Costume and Fashion Press.

Couture Courtesan: Late 16th-Early 17th Century Waistcoat

Wasted Weeds

Bag and Baggage

29 Thursday Aug 2019

Posted by in Living History, material culture, Reenacting, Research

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Shopping with a basket at Fort Fred. (photo by Denise Wolff)

The subject of carrying things at living history events never seems fully resolved. There were the fireworks I like to call Basketgate, and in the four years since, more women have been carrying frails than firm-sided baskets. But here’s the thing: baskets were not used as purses. They were used for shopping, and for babies (thanks, Ruth!), not for toting about one’s personal effects. That’s what pockets were, and remain, for.

Pocket, silk on linen, ca. 1780. Martha Elizabeth Spach (probably). MESDA 2400.

18th century women were not cursed with the tiny pockets of today’s fashionable jeans. No, they had voluminous pockets capable of holding a vast array of items: pocket journals, purses (like our wallets), game tokens, an orange, keys, and almost anything else you can think of. The pocket shown in the image is 15″ long by 11″ wide, which is a fairly typical size, though some were even larger. When I made these, I described them as “large enough for a puppy,” and Facebook wouldn’t let me post them. There is now a full-length book on The Pocket and I look forward to reading it next year, when my ILL will finally request it ($50 being too dear for my budget). In the meantime, the Victoria and Albert Museum will get you started if pockets are new to you.

So, baskets for shopping and pockets for personal things. What else might you use to convey something from one place to another?

Paul Sandby RA, 1731–1809, British, London Cries: A Man with a Bundle, Old Clothes, undated, Watercolor on medium, cream, slightly textured laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

A wallet, of the kind reenactors call a “market wallet,” though that was not the period term. You can read about these in an article by Charles LeCount. The man in the watercolor has a very full wallet over his shoulder, demonstrating the larger end of the wallet spectrum.

And to carry your money in? A purse or pocketbook, sometimes in leather, sometimes in flame stitch, and sometimes in silk.

Leather…
flamestitch…
and silk

Which one you choose depends on who you portray, and where. Silk wallets or pocketbooks belong to a particular class and the ones in museum collections are often from France. Flamestitch wallets are reasonably common in North America among people with the time to make them. The really neat thing about these is that the patterns show regional differences, so you can tailor your choice to your place. (I lack the patience, skill, or time to really make headway on mine, but in addition to a wonderful custom pattern, I found kits here.) I have a leather one I love, made by this fellow craftsperson and friend.

Miser’s purse, early 1800s, maker unknown. Purchased 2002. CC BY-NC-ND 4.0. Te Papa (GH009865)

Your coins? A purse. (we call these miser’s purses, though long purse or ring purse might also be used. The forms originates in the 17th century, and although it is most popular in the 19th century, it does appear in the 18th century. It’s just not common, so no, not everyone should have one. A simple bag will do for those with coins they wish to keep wrangled.

Servant Returning from the Market, 1739, Jean-Baptiste-Simeon Chardin. Louvre Museum,
MI 720

A bag, a pillow case, or even a tied cloth, as seen in the painting by Chardin.

There are lots of options for carrying chattel, lumber, and personal items, and most leave your hands free. But for women, the first place to start is tie-on pockets, and for men, the pockets in your coat. After all, the pocket bags in a typical Henry Cooke frock coat will hold a six pack between them. 

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“Now Selling at Prime Cost”

28 Wednesday Aug 2019

Posted by in Clothing, Living History, material culture, Reenacting, Research

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Although I’ve portrayed a milliner before, the earliest iteration has been as a shopkeeper in August, 1804, so I thought it best to refresh my knowledge of what 18th century milliners advertised. (Deep dives into bonnets help me focus on bonnets, but necessarily what else was being sold.)

Pennsylvania [Philadelphia] Packet, January 15, 1772.


One of my favorite ads is from the January 15, 1772 Pennsylvania Packet. Mary Symonds of Philadelphia published an extensive list of goods, many of which will lead you down a rabbit hole. Three of the listings had particular appeal.

“Womens’ and childrens’ black and coloured silk, Dunstable and chip hats, and bonnets”

“Black and coloured silk” almost surely encompasses the range of colored silk bonnets seen in Boston advertisements, but what’s the difference between Dunstable and chip hats? Price, of course. What most of us think of, or call, “chip” hats should be called Dunstable or simply straw.

Silk covered chip hat, Snowshill Wade Costume Collection, NT 1349840
Detail, silk covered chip hat, Snowshill Wade Costume Collection, NT 1349840

Chip hats like the one above in the Snowshill Wade Costume Collection, were made of plaited (woven) thin strips of wood, more like flat baskets or chair seats.

Straw hat, Snowshill Wade Costume Collection, NT 1349843
Detail of straw hat, Snowshill Wade Costume Collection, NT 1349843

Straw hats, like the one above (also in the Snowshill Wade Costume Collection) are clearly finer than chip and do not need to be covered. The earliest description of the distinctions between hat types that I’ve found thus far is from 1815, in “An Encyclopæaedia of Domestic Economy, Comprising Such Subjects as are Most Immediately Connected with Housekeeping etc etc” which goes into some detail.


The most entertaining discussion I found was in  The Sessional Papers Printed By Order Of The House Of Lords, Or Presented By Royal Command, In The Session 4 And 5 Victoriae And The Session 5 Victoriae 1841. The recorded exchange resonates with current discussions of tariffs on imports, but the really revelatory bit is this:

Class distinctions expressed in materials and apparel are eternal.

“Tobines” were new to me (or at least forgotten) and have nothing at all to do with the bishop of Providence. Thankfully, Textiles in America has the answer: “A wide variety of dress materials from fine silks to silk and worsted, and linen and cotton combinations that have warp-float patterns of small flowers or intermittent stripes and dots.” (p 367). Once you’ve seen it, you realize you’ve seen it before.

Berch papers, Nordiska Museet.

“Childbed baskets” were also a new concept to me, but The Female Reader, Or, Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose and Verse; Selected from the Best Writers, … for the Improvement of Young Women illuminated the term; the current equivalent is a layette set that includes bedding, and goes beyond the crocheted sweater, cap and booties some of us came to fear receiving. (Mint green acrylic? really?)

It’s a wide range of goods for women to buy (including small accessories for the men and boys in their families), and somewhat beyond the bonnets-hats-jewelry-trimmings we typically associate with milliners. While I don’t have any plans to start manufacturing chip bonnets or making up childbed baskets, I am definitely intrigued by the possibility of expanding my “offerings.”