Tag Archives: 18th century clothes

Hobby Misogyny

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by in Living History, Reenacting, Research

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What do you see and remember at events? At every event I go to, I see a range of impressions, or historic expressions.

unknown artist, 18th century, The Encampment in the Museum Garden, 1783, Aquatint, hand-colored, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

unknown artist, 18th century, The Encampment in the Museum Garden, 1783, Aquatint, hand-colored, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

There are Good things: a chintz bedgown that’s actually becoming; a checked suit I wish the kid would wear; the Ugly Dog Coat Mr S wants, the umbrella I want to make just for its lines.

The Bad and the Ugly are present, too.

Drawstring shift necks, makeup, infernal bodices, Birkenstocks, sofa-size prints… “light” troops with dining flies, tables, and tin roasters. Stores tents packed with plastic packaging. White “trews” baggy as painters pants, breeches reaching below the knee, haversacks as man-purses, tube socks, sneakers, peacock feathers on women’s hats, girls with undressed hair and no caps.

What is the meaning of these bodices and tube socks: are they the disease, or a symptom? I think they’re a symptom, telling us about a deeper problem.

If “authenticity” is a journey and not a destination, everyone starts this journey at a different point, and some people are more sophisticated consumers of knowledge than others. Hard as it is to fathom, some people—even with decades of time in this— don’t know any better. I’ve encountered half-correctly dressed wives of men who’ve been to Battle Road who didn’t even know workshops are available to help them with stays and gowns. The ignorance is not always willful, even if it seems that way.

Why are some women such a mish-mash of reasonably accurate jacket with acceptable petticoat worn without stays, a drawstring shift, an OK cap, modern glasses, and a purse?

Paul Sandby RA, 1731–1809, British, Washerwomen, between 1790 and 1805, Graphite and brown wash on moderately thick, cream, rough laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Paul Sandby RA, 1731–1809, British, Washerwomen, between 1790 and 1805, Graphite and brown wash on moderately thick, cream, rough laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Do they not see the return on investment for stays and a gown and shoes and a cap and glasses and no makeup? Perhaps they don’t feel pretty when they venture out of their normal realm, and they’re only visiting, anyway. Is this the reason for the half-baked costume approach?

Or could it be that the unit commanders have set no standards for the women? That they don’t consider the women to really be unit members? Or that the women don’t consider themselves members? That they don’t matter the way the muskets do?

Could some women’s lack of authenticity—and by “authenticity” here I mean “period appropriate clothing”—be rooted in the phallocentric/musket-centric culture of the hobby? In some units, men and women seem to engage in parallel play, like toddlers, where the men field in the foreground, and the women cook in the background (women on the field is an issue I will not take up here). The men are in charge, making the decisions: the women, and what they wear, appear not to matter, and are nearly invisible. I think this is rooted in basic misogyny and the riptide of the hobby’s boys-club attitude.

If misogyny is part of why women perpetuate inauthentic impressions, then having women invested in their units and roles, with more research and more care, might be threatening to men who want weekends for themselves and their ‘war games.’ But I believe that without a significant investment by women, and by units in women’s roles, this hobby won’t survive, and it’ll be a lot less fun and educational for everyone.

That means, of course, that I think units will have to allow women a voice, and develop standards for women as well as men. Those units with the farthest to “travel,” authenticity-wise, will need to build up stores of wearable, authentic women’s clothing to loan, or include women’s workshops in their schedules. If they don’t want women and/or families participating, then that has to be clear, too, and women who do want to participate will have create their own civilian units. (I don’t have solutions for all of these issues.)

attributed to Hubert-François Gravelot, 1699–1773, French, active in Britain (1733–1745), Matrimonial Fisticuffs, with a Portrait of the Pugilist John Broughton, in the Background, undated, Watercolor, pen and black ink and graphite on medium, slightly textured, beige laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

attributed to Hubert-François Gravelot, 1699–1773, French, active in Britain (1733–1745), Matrimonial Fisticuffs, with a Portrait of the Pugilist John Broughton, in the Background, undated, Watercolor, pen and black ink and graphite on medium, slightly textured, beige laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

When the men around them don’t value or encourage their participation, and when units do not have men and women as equal members with clear standards for both, I think you end up with poor impressions—particularly women—and camps full of crap. These are symptoms of a larger problem of misogyny and silence.

Anthony Highmore, 1719–1799, British, Group of Three Ladies, undated, Watercolor, pen and brown ink, and graphite on medium, blued white, moderately textured laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Anthony Highmore, 1719–1799, British, Group of Three Ladies, undated, Watercolor, pen and brown ink, and graphite on medium, blued white, moderately textured laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

In recent years there have been calls for greater attention to standards for women by unit commanders. But I think that we should go further, and call for greater participation of women in real leadership roles in the hobby. That’s when you will see real change, not just in clothing, but in presentations.

And that is where I think the future of this hobby lies: in recognizing that living history events are mobile museums, not just mobile monuments.

To get more complete, inclusive and, I think, authentic, experiences will take more inclusive leadership structures, from unit memberships to the boards of umbrella organizations. That would be one small step towards bringing leadership and management into line with the modern world and current best practices in management for cultural and historic organizations. Because that is what the umbrella organizations have become. The boys’ historic shooting clubs have grown up, and it’s time to let the girls play for real, and to value women’s roles past and present.

Context is Critical

15 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Clothing, Events, Fail, Living History, Research

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Context: it’s everything, right? We so dislike our statements taken out of context. But what about our clothes? They make statements, too, and so do our accessories.

A friend noticed that market baskets were fairly prominent carriers used by reenactors portraying the Boston gentry greeting L’Hermione this past weekend, and asked, “What gives? Is there something I missed?”

There are two images that people often turn to in documenting these baskets:

The Farmer’s Return, by Zoffany

Johan Joseph Zoffany RA, 1733–1810, German, active in Britain (from 1760), David Garrick and Mary Bradshaw in David Garrick’s “The Farmer’s Return”, ca. 1762, Oil on canvas, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

and

The Harlot’s Progress, Plate 1

The Harlot's Progress, Plate 1. William Hogarth.

The Harlot’s Progress, Plate 1. William Hogarth.

In both of these, the context is working class and food-oriented. As my friend asked, “Are these floppy baskets for floppy birds?”

Two images from 1740 to 1760 aren’t a lot of documentation to go on for 1775-1783, so I checked the Rhode Island newspapers for 1770-1790, searching for “basket.” No mention in ads, but “baskets of grapes” appeared in stories, and a mention of Chinese dogs in cotton-lined baskets (apparently the “basket dog” is the 18th century equivalent of today’s purse dog).

As satisfying as basket-dogs might be, they’re not helpful in this instance.

The Yale Center for British Art helpfully adds keywords or tags to their catalog records, which allows one to look for “basket.” Aside from The Farmer’s Return, this ovoid, market-basket form isn’t really seen. What is seen?

For one thing, not many upper-class women carrying baskets, or any kind of burden or bundle. A woman carrying a kind of ovoid basket over her arm is shopping for food, not perambulating.

The upper class girl with her father has an open basket full of flowers (hint: probably symbolic) which appears to be made of what we lump into “wicker,” in an open design. (BTW, that’s not a pinner apron; zoom in and you will see shoulder straps. Fight at your leisure.)

Arthur Devis, 1712–1787, British, An Unknown Man with His Daughter, between 1746 and 1748, Oil on canvas, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

In the most class-appropriate image, The Virtuous Comforted by Sympathy, the workbasket at the woman’s feet is a tidy, round form with a lid, more similar to Nantucket baskets* than to market baskets. It really doesn’t look like the kind of thing you’d leave home with. It’s a sewing basket.

Edward Penny RA, 1714–1791, British, The Virtuous Comforted by Sympathy, 1774, Oil on canvas, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Edward Penny RA, 1714–1791, British, The Virtuous Comforted by Sympathy, 1774, Oil on canvas, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

On balance, I think it appears that public basket carrying is more suited to carrying foodstuffs than personal items, and that the most common use of baskets in this period is to collect and carry food, whether from a greengrocer, fish stall, or gathering apples— at least if you are trying to be quite precise in the use of documented accessories. If you’re using a market basket to carry food, you do so knowing that it’s only (thus far) documented to England, and that the handles must be woven and not leather riveted to the side.

The material from which the baskets are made is another question altogether, along with the proper woven form. As I noted to my friend, I don’t care that much. And why?

Balthazar Nebot, active 1730–1762, Spanish, active in Britain (from 1729), Fishmonger's stall, 1737, Oil on copper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Balthazar Nebot, active 1730–1762, Spanish, active in Britain (from 1729), Fishmonger’s stall, 1737, Oil on copper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Pockets, of course. My enormous pockets contain multitudes, sometimes even camera and water bottle along with wallet and phone, even if that much stuff distorts the line of my skirts somewhat. I can also fit my knitting in a pocket, and a slim, if dangerous novel (perhaps Moll Flanders). For carrying more than that, a wallet is probably best, or a cloth bag, or a portmanteau. But for a day in town, even if you’re a lady, you can carry quite as much in your pockets as I can as Bridget, though of course of a better quality.

* I am not advocating carrying Nantucket baskets, to be quite clear.

The Boarding Party, or, Trip to the Wrong Ship

12 Sunday Jul 2015

Posted by in Events, Fail, Living History, Reenacting, Snark

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Three gentlemen at the Providence Station

Three gentlemen at the Providence Station

L’Hermione, remember her? That French ship? We were asked back in January if we wanted to be part of a group of Citizens of Boston in 1780 who came out to greet L’Hermione when she arrived in port. Yesterday (July 11) was the day she finally came to town, and most of the Rhode Island contingent of our Massachusetts group went up on the MBTA to see her. The train was totally the way to go, though Mr Hiwell did consume three Diet Cokes before we even got to the ship. Turns out the Henry Cooke frock coat pattern pockets can each hold three cans– a full six pack per coat, should you care for such a thing.

Walk fast, it's the city!

Walk fast, it’s the city!

We got to Rowe’s Wharf in time for the national anthem– or, as we like to call it, The Anacreontic Song. There was much speechifying, and though we were not talking too much, water was required. Those pockets came in handy again, as did my own capacious pockets. Good thing, too: the line was long and the sun was hot. One woman offered to let us go ahead of her in line, but that seemed wrong: if you have to wait in line, you have to wait, and the rule we have absorbed is that the public comes before reenactors. But, since we’d been asked to come, we decided to check the situation, and went to inquire. The “bouncer” at the head of the line told us to come back later, so we decided it was time for some lunch.

Lead, follow, get out of the way, or take another photo of backs.

Lead, follow, get out of the way, or take another photo of backs.

By lunch, things were a little surreal as we sat at a table with people I never imagined sitting down with. No worries: it was all good, just a little weird that you have to leave Rhode Island to meet Rhode Islanders. The Young Mr inhaled his lunch, and probably made a lasting, if Hooverish, impression on our new acquaintances. The fact that the entire new contingent of the 10th Massachusetts sat on one side of the table, and that 80% of us were from RI, also made an impression. We are why you can’t have nice things.

Refreshed, we journeyed back to the ship, meeting more friends along the way. To be fair, Mr S and I had agreed beforehand that going up to Boston was as much about seeing our very dear and far-away friends as it was about the ship, and we were delighted to see every one of them. But at last, we thought, we can get on board.

Totally justified.

Totally justified.

No soap, as they say. The line was closing at 1:00 and we were too late to make it into the last crowd that would get on– it was the longest line I’d ever seen– and, even worse, many members of the public waited in the hot sun and failed to board. For us, five and a half months of anticipation were dashed in a moment.

But wait! Well found again, Mr and Mrs B and Baby B. Mr S was delighted to meet Georgiana (he has a thing for babies, and an uncanny ability to guess their ages, and to tease and delight them), whom he had very much wanted to see. L’Hermione was not the only tall ship in the sea: we considered the dry-docked USS Constitution, but chose the Sagres instead, as she is only in port for a few days. Off we went on another trek, waylaid often for photos. The Young Mr in particular kept getting stopped.

Gulliveresque, relly.

Gulliveresque, relly.

At least there was some shade here, and a bench. We took it in turns to go on the Sagres. Mr and Mrs B and I watched from the shore, and could see this happening. I don’t know how they trapped Mr S in this, but they did.

SagresSelfie

After an excursion to the ICA (which we are, as temporal performance art) for water, bathrooms, and some AC, the second shift got to visit the boat. We must have been cursed, because there was another line! At least this one moved, and however slowly and carefully in leather-soled shoes, we managed to go aboard.

Hey, it's got masts.

Hey, it’s got masts.

Mr B was right: oversized yacht. Still very happy to have gone on a ship and to have seen many interesting things, including a very specific kind of display.

Portugal. The Best Fish in the World.

Portugal. The Best Fish in the World.

Mmmm, fish. All the packages were, in fact, empty. At this point we decided it was time for ice cream, and headed back. The Rhode Island Party ended up back at South Station for frozen yogurt and a bit of a rest. I don’t normally wear heels– ever– so a day in 18th century women’s shoes was a pedal workout. (We considered renting bikes, because if you have to be anachronistic, you might as well go all the way.)

Mr Hiwell and I considered the day: it wasn’t bad. We didn’t even get close to achieving what we thought was our goal. But we made our own fun with wonderful friends, had an adventure, and went at least three places we did not expect to go and had not been  to before. All in all, success, even in failure to board.

If they sleep on the way home, it wasn't a bad day.

If they sleep on the way home, it wasn’t a bad day.

Frivolous Friday: “Sport Your Little Spencers”

05 Friday Jun 2015

Posted by in Frivolous Friday, Museums, Research

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Spencers. hand-colored etching published by S W Fores, 1796. British Museum, 1851,0901.782

Spencers. hand-colored etching published by S W Fores, 1796. British Museum, 1851,0901.782

Spencers were clearly the rage for well over a decade, turning up in satirical prints from at least 1796 (We’ll get to that satire soon). I was wrong when I questioned the Maine catalog record that called a man’s short coat a Spencer: there were Spencers for men.

Here, everyone is wearing a Spencer down to the monkey and the dogs. What I find particularly interesting is that the short Spencer jacket is worn over the men’s coats– this is an entirely new concept to me. Yet, here it is again, in the “Pupils of Nature” print.

Pupils of Nature.hand-colored etching published by S W Fores after Maria Caroline Temple, 1798. British Museum, 1867,0713.409

Pupils of Nature.hand-colored etching published by S W Fores after Maria Caroline Temple, 1798. British Museum, 1867,0713.409

Were Spencers were the 18th and early 19th century equivalent of Members Only or Barracuta jackets? (You will know a red Barracuta–even if you think you don’t.) Perhaps. They do seem to be a splashy unisex fad in the late 1790s that gives way to women’s wear, but that’s a thesis in need of more research than Frivolous Friday demands or permits.

Shark Tank

12 Tuesday May 2015

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

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I’ve been thinking a lot about Watson and the Shark, at least when I am not thinking about the Raft of the Medusa, make of that what you will.

Here’s why: Waistcoats. Shirts. Open Jackets.

Detail, Watson and the Shark. MFA Boston 89.481

Detail, Watson and the Shark. MFA Boston 89.481

As you would expect from recent reports, the Young Mr has outgrown almost everything he owns, with the exception of his shirt. I put a lot of time into that blue wool jacket, so I’m not ready to sell it on Etsy yet, but I do have to replace it. Sewing new things means I get a chance to look again at sources for inspiration, and to do better this time around.

Since we’re in summer, I’m thinking blue linen, since I have access to very local inspiration in the form of Oliver Hazard Perry’s short jacket. But for earlier ideas, there’s Copley. I particularly like the horizontal stripe on the waistcoat, and what seems to be a striped shirt. Striped shirt! How exciting is that?

I’m thinking striped trousers, based on a Massachusetts letter, but we’ll see how far I get with that. The final deciding factor in wearing, of course, could be striped trousers are better than no trousers.