Tag Archives: handsewn

Three Simple Tricks to Change Your (Sewing) Life…

05 Thursday Mar 2020

Posted by in Clothing, Living History, Making Things

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , ,

Practice will make you as happy as this cat.

Yesterday was #difference day in Pinsent Tailoring’s #modernlessmarch challenge, and while I’m not participating, finishing up a cap order yesterday got me thinking about what makes a difference in what I make.

I fished out the very first cap ever made, and here’s what’s made a difference:

1. Practice. Make more things. Make practice pieces. The more you sew, the better you get. That is the only way to get better.

As with writing, “butt in chair” is what will make a difference, and there is no short cut.  But the more you sew, the better you get.

Cap the First
Cap the Recent

2. Materials. Buy the best materials you can afford. This first cap was made of linen from JoAnn’s, while the most recent cap is made of linen cambric from Burley & Trowbridge.

Here’s silk
and here is linen

Selecting the right material for the task is critical, and higher quality materials will give you a better result. Silk and linen will give you very different results (yes, silk caps are a thing. They show up in inventories and ledgers in the Carolinas). Even poor and working-class women’s caps were made of finer materials than we can typically get today, so for caps, you are looking for a fabric that combines fineness of weave and thread with crispness.

Cap the First was made nine years ago, while Cap the Recent was finished this week. The first real cap breakthrough I had was in 2016, with the Cap of Floof, made with a finer material that allowed me to make smaller seams and successful whip gathers for what felt like the first time.

Floof!
and more Floof!

Lance needles: the best I’ve used.

3. Tools. The smaller the needle, the smaller the stitch. You want to use the smallest needle you can (different sizes are appropriate for different fabrics; thicker fabrics need longer needles). It can take time to get used to using a smaller needle, but the practice (see point 1) will pay off. Appropriate thread (finer for finer fabrics), a thimble, and sharp thread snips will make your work easier. A good iron is another necessity, and while you can substitute a rolled towel for some pressing forms, tailor’s hams and sleeve boards also make life easier and sewing smoother.

All of these things take resources, whether time or money, but the rewards are worth the investment.

Pink on My Brain

29 Thursday Nov 2018

Posted by in Making Things, material culture, Research

≈ Comments Off on Pink on My Brain

Tags

, , , , ,

I no longer remember where in the wilds of the interwebs I found this charming servant, but find her I did, three years ago. I probably came across her researching servants, and found her striking (since she is), so saved the image while moving on to Pyne or Krimmel for more geographically appropriate sources. Still, I’d picked up a remnant of brown and pink printed cotton at Genesee, and had a start to this ensemble.

A scrap of that print was in my pocket when my dear friend (formerly m’colleague) and I went took the train down to New York for a fabric spree. We went in late June (Genesee was early that year), trying to use up vacation time so we didn’t lose it before the end of the fiscal year– any year I didn’t have a hip replacement, I tended to lose a week of vacation so we were motivated to take time off.

I remember that my favorite dress demonstrated a peculiar friendliness, and required a safety pin for modesty’s sake. I remember m’colleague being overwhelmed in the crosswalks at Herald Square, and taking her hand to get her through the sea of bodies and cars. (She grew up in a very small town in northern Rhode Island, where apple orchards were within walking distance; I grew up on the north side of Chicago, taking the bus to the Loop.) But at Mood, I found the fabric that I knew would make the petticoat.

Pink tropical weight wool, don’t ask me how much a yard. I don’t remember, but it was certainly more than I’d paid for any fabric before, with the exception of silk dupioni I bought for a wedding dress. Madness, I thought– but beautiful madness. I started on the short gown (see above) with an extant European garment as inspiration (probably found through Sabine’s work); then I started on the petticoat.

And promptly dropped the project while I changed my life completely. The short gown I finished, and wore as a housekeeper for some Wednesday afternoon programs, but I never managed to get that petticoat finished– until this past week. The pink and black bonnet needed an ensemble, and half of it was present, in the form of the Spencer.

But what I wanted to do was to recreate that plate, short gown, cap, and all. I’m still short the black silk apron, and my cap will always be Anglo-American, but I got close enough to be satisfied that I reached the goal I set three years ago. What I did discover in trying to replicate this image was slightly unexpected, and entirely useful. Just as fashion images are exaggerated today, so too were they exaggerated in the past. M’lady in the image at top is elongated– I’m nearly six feet tall, and I cannot achieve her length. Granted, the waist on my short gown is lower than hers, but still: she’s drawn as if she has the proverbial “legs up to here.” What’s useful about this, and about trying to recreate images from the past, is that these exercises reveal some of the foibles and preferences of the past, which help us see past the filter of the present and get closer to understanding the past.

Capote de Velour garnis en satin

27 Tuesday Nov 2018

Posted by in Clothing, Making Things

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

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?

Go Big When You Go Home

13 Thursday Sep 2018

Posted by in 1830s, Clothing, Living History, Reenacting

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

heading north

A year after moving, Virginia feels like home, even as I continue to experience accent-based misunderstandings and yearn for different apples. But if home is where the heart is, my home is split between the place where my kid grew up and goes to college, and where I live now. After having all vacations cancelled (thanks, Fairfax County Jury System), we scheduled one for the end of the summer, a chance to visit friends, antique (and buy a new school wardrobe for a college sophomore).

You can never have enough eagles or feathers.

The trip hinged on the Militia Days event at Old Sturbridge Village, with Drunk Tailor mustering as a member of the Oxford Light Infantry or “Ollies.” The OLI has a ridiculously shiny and ornamented shako, which contributes to the appeal of the impression. The early Federal-era militia units certainly appeal to me, with gold buttons, chain, tassels, and plenty of eagles everywhere. There’s a lot of visual myth-making to unpack there, and the fact that the muster re-enacts a sham battle makes it ever so much more so wonderful and New England. This is meta-enacting (or re-re-enacting), and I am all for it.

A new time period meant a new dress. And a new bonnet. And new hair– that last complicated by the new summer haircut. (I had a wool gown from the Turkey Shoot several years ago, but wool in August at Sturbridge is possible but not recommended.) So, what to wear? I remembered some lightweight chintz gowns in the Kyoto Costume Institute collections, and happily there’s one on their website (my copy of the book is still in storage). While I prefer the audacity of many of the reproduction cotton prints, the hand of the quilting cottons is often heavier than I want, so I ordered a print from India– one that has been used for many other dresses in different time periods.

With the antique lace collar I did not use, and the cut steel buckle I did.
piped seams!

The pattern is a straight-up version of the Past Patterns Lowell Mill Operative’s gown. The first 1830 gown I made was from the State Historical Society of Wisconsin pattern, which did not fit as well over the collar bones; the Past Patterns neckline resolves well and fits like a dream– the only change I would make the next time around is to make the back pieces smaller. I had way more overlap than I really needed, but otherwise, I was lucky that this required no adjustments to fit pretty well. Every now and then, it’s nice to have a break from drafting my own patterns and fighting with fit.

Hair a la Titus and the Resting Bingley Face

15 Wednesday Aug 2018

Posted by in Clothing, Making Things, Research

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , ,

Reader, it is hot where I live. June, July, and August are tiresome months here, humid and warmer than what I became accustomed to in New England. After a year, I realized I’d had enough of trimming my hair myself. I texted a friend with good hair, and found someone to liberate my neck. Excellent, right? Well…it’s all good until you want to dress up.

Lady Russell’s headdress, Persuasion, 1995.

19th century history hair being somewhat mullet-like, my short in the back bob was not going to get the job done for last weekend’s Jane Austen Ball at Gadsby’s Tavern. What to do? Cap it, of course– there’s no way I could figure out how to tie a turban elegantly and reliably without giving up the hope of finishing some other projects I really want to finish this month. So, a cap/hat/sewn headdress. Aside from the examples seen in film adaptations of Jane Austen’s novels, what evidence is there for these concoctions?

ladies heads with various wraps and feathers

London Head Dresses, June 1804

woman in a gray tam o-shanter cap

Detail, Plate 11, April 1799 Journal des Luxus und der Moden.

Enough, it would seem, to be getting on with. In addition to the 1804 Ladies’ Head Dresses plate, there are plates in the Journal des Luxus und der Moden showing headdresses and wraps, as well as an image of a pelisse and matching tam-o-shanter-like hat. These are simple enough to make, and I managed one in less than 24 hours.

two couples in historical dress

I had no idea Drunk Tailor and I would color coordinate so well. Also, Dat Hat.

The fabric is left over from a gown I made to wear to a dance in Salem one spring, , but which happily coordinated well enough with the sari gown made for a photoshoot, and also worn to Salem for a dance. Briefly, the cap is made from scraps, ornamented with a two-layered rosette centered with a paste button, with the bulk of the caul gathered up and stitched down to hold the shape and embellished with three coordinating tassels looped onto a gold silk-wrapped cord. In the end, not too resting Bingley face, and a satisfactory cover for what I’ll call my hair a la Titus when I’m not in the current century. Drunk Tailor’s hat covered, somewhat, here.