Tag Archives: common dress

It Isn’t History Till it Hurts

02 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by in History, Living History, Museums

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End of the day, Sunday

End of the day, Sunday

That’s approximately what the costumed interpreters say their leader says.

Let me affirm for you that history does, in fact, hurt, when you are doing it right. That is to say, you will be bodily tired. You will be hungry. You will be cold. Your judgment will be impaired. Your world will shrink.

I have so many thoughts/ideas/inspirations/observations after another weekend at the farm that I do not quite know where to begin.

Yesterday, I made 290 candlewicks and draped them, with some help, over 50 sticks. My colleague and I managed to dip each stick of 6 wicks 2 or 3 times, though I had to trim the wicks after the first or second dip so they would match the depth of the kettle. Today, we got there late (thanks to my broken stay laces which had to be replaced…once replacements were found…annoying) so the fire was not hot, the wood not gathered, the tallow not melted—oh, it was not what this control freak wanted. I wanted to both make dinner and dip candles.

Well, we did manage both, in a way. Dinner was more of a snack of boiled chicken and root vegetables, followed by a snack of squash custard tart, and the candle dipping was managed only sporadically once the tallow was melted. First it was too cold, then too hot: it was a day of details. At some point I realized I was so tired that I could no longer think about a simple thing, and that what got in my way was simple lack of fluency. If I did this every day, I wouldn’t need to think about it. But I don’t. So while I can do these unfamiliar tasks, they are just a bit harder when I am cold, hungry, tired, or hurting.

Hot tip: sheepskin insoles. In wool stockings yesterday, my feet were freezing cold in the kitchen when I was not near the fire. With sheepskin insoles, my feet were warm today. Your mileage may vary, but well worth a try.

I Love a Man in a Uniform

27 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by in Clothing, History, Reenacting

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Maybe it’s about the musket?

But that’s not my man, that’s Brian. Nice uniform, though, right? Blue broadcloth with white facings and pewter buttons, a cap with a red cockade, fitted white overalls: what’s not to like? (Making one, that’s what, and one is in my future.)

After getting Mr S’s workman’s jacket to the brink of buttons and buttonholes, we looked at it and said, “It’s so…plain. Where are the contrast facings? The tape and the lace? Should it be so much, well, one color?” Peacocks suddenly made sense.

It’s not about the musket. It’s about the buttons. And the breeches.

I spend my 18th century time with men in uniforms, and I forget the role of line, fit, and color in determining style. I see it in paintings, and in lovely coats in museums, but one thing we don’t have a lot of are paintings of middling and lower men who look stylish. Of course not! They couldn’t afford paintings, and style–refinement at least–was associated with class and gentility. There was a coded language, and clothes said a lot about the wearer.

So what did uniforms say about men, and how much could civilians, especially women, read the symbols? Hessians, with their tall brass hats, and grenadiers, with bearskins, are dressed not just to impress, but to overwhelm, visually. At Fort Lee last year, my mother was distinctly impressed by, and a little frighted of, the Hessians and Jaegers: the uniforms worked as intended.

Facings and frocks: Rhode Island stands out

Light Infantry troops wanted to set themselves apart, and used their cut-down caps and short jackets to achieve immediate visual distinction.

Working men used what they had: checkered or printed handkerchiefs, patterned waistcoats, and better buttons were some of the ways they dressed up their clothes. I know brass buttons will be in my sewing box soon, the sooner the better, say the men I sew for.

The Wind From the Hudson

20 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by in Clothing, Events

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Looking East from Fort Lee Historic Park

The cold on the Palisades was not as bitter this past weekend as it was last year; there must have been at least an 8 degree (F) difference. There was a rumour of 37F/2C but I think it was about 45-50F (7-10C). Where there was sun, it was quite pleasant, as the wind was gentle.

So what did we wear? Mr S and the Young Mr had long underwear under their uniforms (white so it would not show under the overalls), and long stockings, too; the Young Mr has a wool waistcoat, and is still so wiggly that I don’t know how much he feels the cold yet.

Layers are your friend

I wore my 1780s wool jacket, two linen petticoats and a wool petticoat, my still-unfaced cloak, and wool stockings, and was comfortable enough at nooning to take off my cloak. It’s a long cloak, based on one in the collection at work, but blue broadcloth and not drab (the extant cloak is drab, but both drab or dun and blue appear in RI runaway ads).

So what’s the key to keeping warm? Then, as now, (or now dressing as then) it does seem to be layers. The wool petticoat makes an effective barrier against cold, and the wool jacket is warm. I tried patterning mitts, but my hands are so large relative to my wrists that I tore the muslins at the thumb or had very baggy wrists.

These chintz mitts from the Met (C.I.39.13.185a–d) seem to have a similar tendency to width at the wrist, and might work better than the pair I was following from Costume Close Up. It was late and I was tired, so a fresh start might work to keep my hands warm.

Post-war women with long sleeves would have been able to avoid that chill wind on the forearms, and I look forward to wearing my new long-sleeved wool dress.

Meet Cassandra

13 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by in Clothing, Making Things

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Cassandra’s my dress form, purchased on sale and with a free shipping coupon. If you don’t know the myth, Cassandra is the young woman with the gift of prophecy who was cursed by Apollo… so that no one believed her predictions. She is my measurements, but not quite my shape. Thanks to American Duchess for the “Bean Boob” idea, though my mother said, when we went shopping for her post-mastectomy prosthesis, “It feels like bags of lentils. If I’d known how much [the prosthesis] would cost, I’d have made my own bag of lentils.” My mother is a tiny blonde woman with a weakness for Airedale terriers and violent cartoons.

But Cassandra has proven very useful, dressed as she is in the newly chopped- and-dropped stays. She’s also sporting the bodice of what will be a bodiced petticoat, as soon as I can bring myself to cut into the beautiful wool, of which Burnley & Trowbridge has no more. I’ll want that wool petticoat for another weekend at Coggeshall Farm, coming up around the corner on December 1, and for which much must be sewn, including a long-sleeved wool dress based on Past Patterns’ Lewis and Clark dress.

I nearly got the bodice and sleeves all done on Monday, from cutting to sewing, while “watching” the original Swedish Wallander on Netflix. It’s more a process of reading than watching, with moments of clarity when I clearly recognize words. Thanks to my Dad for the connection with our Swedish roots…fish stew, Aquavit, and proper swearing.

By the time you set these sleevils the fourth or fifth time, they go pretty well. I have made this dress three times before, with two muslins along the way. The changes I made this time include cutting the sleeve as one piece and not three, lengthening the sleeves to the wrist, and adding a little over an inch to the bodice all the way around. Older ladies wore their waists lower than teenage girls, and though I like the way the L&C dress fits, I wanted a lower waist to suit my age, and the earlier year.

Stays, Nearly Mastered

10 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by in Clothing, Making Things

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That is to say, alterations are complete to the first pair of early 19th century stays, and now they work: I can sit down, and the dresses look the way they should. Click here for a Pinterest board of stays for visual references for mid- to late-18th and early 19th century stays.

The first pair of early 19th century stays I tried to make using Past Patterns’ Transition Stay pattern, all by hand. They were beautiful, but beyond redemption and failed to fit despite muslins and multiple alterations. The pattern is based on the  Connecticut Historical Society stays at left; search for 1963.42.4 in the CHS online catalog.

V&A, T.57-1948

I sent the sad remains of the transition stays to Johnston, and made a muslin from the Past Patterns’ Corded Stay pattern, which is very similar to these stays at the V&A. I do recommend using a sewing machine for speed, and a long hook for pulling the cording, though your mileage may vary.

While the finished stays looked good and appeared to fit, there were certain… idiosyncrasies… that concerned me. Among them was the tendency of the busk to pop up and attempt to greet my chin whenever I sat down. In general, even laced up snug, the garment seemed determined to ride up with wear.

So I tried them on again yesterday with a different, shorter busk slipped in between the the shift and the stays: the busk stayed put. While the stays were about 15″ long, my lap-to-bust length when seated is about 13″. So I undid the binding top and bottom, shortened the cup gussets, shortened the bottom edge, tacked it down, re-bound the stays, and, when Mr S got home,  handed him the busk to cut down.  I tried the whole contraption on again: Success! The busk stayed  down, the breasts stayed up, and we seem to have a winner. It was thanks to the Oregon Regency Society’s page on fitting stays that I reached the conclusion that I needed to reduce the gusset length. I knew from comparing my stays to my friend’s stays that I needed to reduce overall length, because she has to add at least 1.5 to 2 inches to patterns I use…and her stays were the same length as mine. So if they were the right length for her, they were wrong, so wrong, for me.

Next up: the red dress, no train.

Where did I screw up? Probably in not testing the muslin with a busk, and in not testing the muslin by sitting down with the busk. As long as I remained standing, the unaltered stays were fine. So, however you plan to wear your garment, test your muslin. We’re not dress forms: we move and lift, push and pull, crawl under and over things. You will need to test your muslin out by moving, not just standing in front of the mirror. This will be more challenging for some (Going to plow in stays? Maybe you need to push a chair around the house in a muslin) but at least sit down, bend over, and test a muslin the way you would a pair of jeans in a dressing room. If you do already, good for you! If not, you’ve been warned. Failure to squirm will eventually catch up with you.