My Collection, Inside Out: The 1874 Kate Pendergast Dress

Turning Coats and Staring at the Seams

The interiors of antique garments are somewhat of a mystery, yet the hidden innards of a piece are the secret behind its good looks. For the majority of the population (including me, often times), antique garment construction is an alien science.  Museums and auction houses take many beautiful pictures of the outside of garments, but there is nary a shot of the lining. No matter how enchanting the outside, the real magic is found on the inside.

I own a tiny, personal collection of antique and vintage garments dating from the mid-19th century to mid-20th century. They’ve opened up a whole new world to explore when it comes to understanding shape, fabric, and sewing techniques. I am by no means an expert on sewing, but being able to examine the inner workings of a dress is an enormous help in understanding the hows and whys of historical silhouettes.

Here, for example, is my New Year’s project, the Kate Pendergast Dress. This post is going to be a doozy because we’ve got a whole dress (bodice/skirt combo) to cover!


The Kate Pendergast Dress, circa 1874

Bust: 32.5 inches
Waist: 26 inches


Back of the Kate Pendergast Dress, circa 1874

This dress is made for tan silk as the main color. The brown is only slightly faded on the bodice, but is otherwise in immaculate condition!Fashion details (the stuff outside) include dark brown silk buttons, a lace collar and cuffs, and a slight “peplum” that flares out to cover the top of the skirt. The sleeves are classic mid-Victorian and cut with a slight curve (similar to an 18th century men’s waistcoat).


This is about as close as I could get to an accurate color portrayal. My camera drowned a while ago and has never been the same since. So the wild variance in color is due to the fact that I am using a zombie camera to take pictures…  

I do not have an 1870s bustle, so this dress is displayed over an improvised device made from a broomstick skirt and a 1970s couch pillow embroidered with frolicking kittens. The dress should flare more at the hem and is missing it signature element: the overskirt bustle. So, bear that in mind when checking out the shape.


The lace collar, like most, is only basted in place so it could be changed or washed.

Detail of the collar showing the pin-holes left behind from using a brooch to close the top of the bodice. Almost all Victorian ladies owned at least one small throat pin. (Here is a photograph of Princess Maria Antonietta modeling such a pin on her 1870s bodice.)
Since I took these pictures, I have repaired the broken, missing top button and sewn it back in place!


Side view: Kate Pendergast Dress, circa 1874

The dress is missing its overskirt. Since it is missing it’s overskirt, the skirt’s glazed cotton lining is revealed before even turning it inside out. It was quite common to save precious, expensive fashion fabric by leaving plain the portion of the underskirt usually covered by the bustle. I am currently working on finding a suitable silk or silk-like fabric in the right shade of brown to replace the MIA overskirt.


Gotta love $1.50 lace bargains!

However, I was fortunate enough to find some passable matching lace which, after a light dye bath, I can add to the edges of the (theoretical) overskirt to tie the look together!


Cotton Tape Label reading “Kate Pendergast 1874”

When I purchased this dress off of eBay, besides missing the overskirt, it was listed with minimal details and a note that it was “possibly 1880s” in style. I was so excited when I finally received it and discovered that the inside is labeled with the name Kate Pendergast and dated 1874! I do not know if this label is referring to the original owner or if it is a “stage label” for a theatrical production (it’s not unusual to find period pieces that have been used later for plays). I like to think that it is the former. This dress is very much 1870s in style: the underskirt still has lots of volume, the bodice shape is rounded with a short waist and the sleeves are shaped, but not tightly fitted. Before I show you more of the inside, here’s a brief comparison between fashions in 1874 and ten years later in 1884:

June fashions by The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine, circa 1874

This fashion plate is from the same year as the Kate dress! Notice how “fluffy” everything is. 1870s dresses fit more loosely, echoing the idea that they were once crinoline skirts that were gathered up at the back instead of poofed out all the way. They usually involve only 2 or 3 colors/patterns maximum. Fashion advice columns and magazines of the day frowned on the use of too many variances in color and texture, but encouraged ladies to use self and contrasted fabrics in a plethora of ingenious ways. If you love to color-coordinate, the 1870s is your era! Notice the rounded-yet-triangular shape of the waist and how it sits right in the middle of the torso, near most folks’ natural waists. The Kate dress would look very similar in shape to these idealized dresses if it still had its flouncy overskirt (I’m working on it, promise!).

Dinner Dresses, circa 1883-86

Shoot forward ten years, and you encounter the bustle again, but this time the emphasis is less on color and more on structure and texture. Trim explodes everywhere and color combinations, while not fully incongruous, are not as matchy-matchy as the 1870s. Instead of using the same fabrics to trim self-trim, fashionable ladies would use an material that coordinated with their color scheme. Asymmetry came into play as well, while 1870s gowns were usually more symmetrical. The biggest difference is fit. Notice how much tighter fitting the 1880s dress is. The smallest part of the waist is just above the hips instead of in the center of the torso. High, stiffened collars replaced the looser ruffle collars of the decade before. Instead of beginning at the direct back of the dress like a gathered train, the bustle in 1884 was specifically shaped into a shelf-like construction. Many 1870s gowns were actually re-fashioned into the newer shape since the yardage was already there. Because of this, it’s such a treat to find an 1870s gown in this condition without any major alterations!

Anyway, back to 1874 and its construction secrets!


Inside out: the front of the 1874 Kate Pendergast Dress

This shot shows the entire dress turned inside out. The whole piece is lined in that ubiquitous brown glazed cotton except for the bodice torso, which is made from solid brown broadcloth. The selvedge edges of the silk fashion fabric are turned inside. The bottom edge is faux-piped.


Inside front of the 1874 Dress Bodice

Notice the how little boning there is in this bodice compared to the 1890s red bodice. There are very few bones in this piece: only 4 total on the front, none on the back. The front is held tightly against the body by a panel of five hooks and eyes. This set-up allows for a little wiggle room when it comes to fitting the dress. It wouldn’t be too hard to add an extra half-inch or take it in a smidge without disrupting the outside too much. I love this closure because it is much easier to make and hook close than later full-length lining panels that became popular in the 1880s.


Inside back of the Kate Pendergast Dress, circa 1874

Here is the back of the dress, showing off the sheer amount of polished cotton that went into making this dress. It takes yards and yards of fabric to make a skirt like this. Making one out of all silk would be very expensive indeed! Instead, Victorian ladies saved money by using polished cotton, a cheap, sturdy alternative. Sadly, the chemical treatments on this glazed, polished cotton only made it sturdy for a while, but now the fabric has become very brittle and shreds similarly to weighted silk. Polished cotton, while common, wasn’t the only material available for lining. If you want to make a Victorian reproduction dress, I recommend forgoing the polished cotton and using broadcloth instead.


Inside left of the 1874 skirt

The skirt has a length of elastic wrapped around the back half in order to control the volume of the skirt and keep it from moving forward. It’s brittle and stretched out now, but it once would have helped further form the poof from underneath.


Along the back of the dress are six rings (one is missing). Those mysterious brass rings help hold and form the overskirt into the flouncy bustle shape and keep it from sliding around unattractively. Without them, the overskirt would just float over the underskirt, twisting, deflating, and generally being more of a nuisance than just a bustle alone. These rings were just method to help form the bustle. Other methods include using tapes or attaching it directly to the underskirt. You can see Jennifer Rosbrugh make a tape-gathered bustle in this fabulous YouTube video:

Besides the bustle rings, you can see that the bodice is  hand sewn except for the major shaping seams. All the finishing and most of the hem work was done by hand. Also, notice the remains of a black waistband tape on the bodice. When it was whole, it would have fit around the waist like a belt, but inside the dress rather than outside. The waistband tape kept the bodice from riding up.


The skirt closes in front, not in the rear. The dress has been let out slightly–almost invisibly–about one inch. The place this is most visible is the skirt. The button has been moved and an extra piece of cloth indelicately added to take the circumference from 24.5 inches to 25.5 inches. The button has also been replaced with a much later plastic button from the 1930s or 1940s. This button threw me for a loop because I am unsure if the alterations are period and someone just lost the original button, or if this dress was used as a costume and had to be let out to fit the wearer.

The skirt has another handy addition besides a confusing plastic button: a pocket!


A very deep pocket: 12 inches! I could smuggle a bottle of wine in that thing…


The surprise pocket yielded another surprise: the missing top button! This button is original, not a later addition. A very thoughtful person stashed the wayward button after the back had fallen apart.


The button’s back fabric shank had rotted out, so I replaced it by attaching a small piece of linen with some fabric-safe adhesive and sewed the button back into place.

For more information on the actual sewing techniques and practical applications for Historical costuming, I highly recommend visiting

Historical Sewing: 19th Century Costuming by Jennifer Rosbrugh

Her blog is full of Victorian sewing techniques, pattern advice, fitting tips, and historical fashion in general.

I have a few more Inside Outs planed for the future, including a Gibson Girl business suit, so check back in the near future!

Other Inside Out Posts


1890s Red Silk Bodice

9 thoughts on “My Collection, Inside Out: The 1874 Kate Pendergast Dress

  1. That was awesome. I love it when I see the insides of extant dresses: you see how the garment is constructed. People took alot of time into finishing seams and hems in that time. amazing work. Thanks for showing it.

  2. Your very interesting post reminded me of sewing lessons in primary school some 40 or so years ago now. The very strict rule was that the inside sewing of something had to be every bit as neat as the outside. I still do this. We had a truly evil sewing teacher, so no doubt that’s why this rule has become so ingrained for me!

  3. I’ve not been a fan of the bustle-era in the past. Now I know, all I need is support garments “embroidered with frolicking kittens.” But seriously, this is one of the few later century garments I would consider making to wear. Thank you for sharing it.
    Could you share more information on the bodice panels? As I focus primarily on the 40s to early 60s, I haven’t seen this commonly outside of linings or wrappers. I rather like the idea as you describe it.
    Warm Regards,

    1. I have noticed that only later 19th century pieces have the panel thing going on while earlier dresses close up directly with hooks and eyes, no separate lining or panels needed. The little panel version is an 1870s thing. It’s added to keep the buttons from pulling so the silhouette stays smooth. Later bodices, especially Edwardian ones with lots of added poof and beading on the bodice, sometimes have full-length, form-fitted linings that close with hooks separately from the fashion construction of the bodice (I have a suit dress with this construction that I want to post sometime in the next month). The lining and outer bodice are fully connected at the back while the front half of the lining is separate from the fashion fabric. The little panel on this dress is the beginning of this trend. The lining keeps the bodice tight to the body so it doesn’t shift around, ride up, or fall flat at the wrong moment! They are constructed kind of like those one-piece shirts that have a faux jacket or shrug attached half a shirt, so they seem like two pieces but work together as one.

  4. I’m with Anna – wow, this is complicated! One question: when did polished cotton start being made with chemicals? In the early 1860s and prior, polished cotton was by far the most common material for linings, and the polish was a permanent physical one created by literally polishing the material with heated rollers.

    1. The chemicals were added to some cottons to give them weight, just like silk, and extra shine. It helps with draping and became popular in the later 19th and early 20th century. Much polished cotton is merely flattened in rollers, but metallic salts were sometime added in to increase the feel and drape. Untreated rolled cotton usually lasts longer, but is still fairly fragile. This particular dress is made with slightly weighted polished cotton (also called glazed), so it shreds and powders in some places. I really hate working with the stuff, both from a sewing and conservation standpoint. It is difficult to sew because any holes your needle makes never “heal,” so when you remove stitches, it leaves a little trail of pinpricks down the line.

  5. Great post, thank you! It’s so interesting how these dresses were put together; my sewing skills are rather limited, so this gives me confidence, as well as a headache…haha! And I LOVE the “wine pocket”. I would’ve thought the same thing!

  6. Just found your blog and love it! I love sewing but nothing historical, just things for myself. It’s so interesting to see the inside of the jacket, you can learn so much by studying how things were put together. Lately I’ve been ripping apart old wool coats I had in my stash (to remake into vests and blankets) and I love seeing how they used interfacing and facings, seam tape etc.
    I like the princess seam on the back of this jacket btw and double darts in front, I love jackets!

  7. I love your “Inside Out” posts!!! I find it very valuable to be able to see common methods of garment construction used to obtain the proper shape and draping of history’s (usually) more complicated clothing.They serve as teaching tools for this amateur costumer! :) I look forward to more in the future, as you’ve mentioned….

    Oh, yes, and that was also very interesting about the polished cotton….

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