Full Belly Adjustment for a 3XL Gentleman: Altering a Vest Pattern for the Fuller Male Figure

FBAs for Everybody!

As a top-heavy woman, I often have to do major pattern alterations in order to get a garment to fit my bust correctly. In the lingo of the sewing world, this alteration is called an FBA or Full Bust Adjustment/Alteration:

From the NMSU Pattern Alteration Guide which you can download here (it’s been recently updated!)

An FBA involves slashing and spreading the tissue pattern to accommodate the excess width and length the extra curve of the beasts adds to the front of the pattern piece. At this point, it’s become second nature to me since it’s a needed adjustment on nearly every pattern.

My lovely husband, Christopher, puts up with me and my humongous stash of craft supplies; plus, he will often join me at costume events wearing whatever wacky get-up I concoct for him. Since he puts up with my shenanigans so well, when he found some curtains at the thrift shop and requested I make an 18th century waistcoat out of them, I wanted to make darn sure that I made it look the best it could!

I have made a few things for him before, including an 18th century suit, so I just re-used the same pattern since I knew how it worked and how it fit him. However, with much more practice and experience behind me, I now noticed some fit issues with the pattern. I knew from the previous years of working with the waistcoat pattern that the armholes were too small and neck too small, and now I noticed when we tried the waistcoat on from two years ago, it would hardly close in front even though it was gaping with extra fabric at the back….

Hmmmmm….sounds familiar……


“Make a face like mine! It’ll be cute!”
<Chris makes a grouchy face>
“Seriously?! You think I look like that?!”
<Chris makes this face>

Christopher is a big man. He’s 6′ 2″ and his chest is 54″ around (and his thighs are each the same size as my waist!). Christopher carries some excess weight in the front as many men do. His belly is about 52″ around which, according to the finished garment measurements printed on the tissue pattern, would mean that the waistcoat would be a tad too small, but he could close it if he sucked it in. While having a full belly and a tight waistcoat straining over it is perfectly period (perhaps even fashionable) in the early 18th century, it’s less than ideal from a comfort and craftsmanship standpoint:

Portrait of a Gentleman by Louis-Michel van Loo, circa 1734
Many portraits from the first half of the 18th century show men with full bellies and waistcoats in various states of unbuttoned-ness. It was quite fashionable to pose in a portrait like this, displaying a luxurious, studied nonchalance that being wealthy afforded you the time to practice.

Henry Burgum of Bristol by John Simmons, circa 1775
A very closely fitted waistcoat from later in the century. Tastes swung towards a more fitted, put-together look as the Industrial age rolled onto the scene. Mathematical precision, clean lines, and scholarly neatness were the new marks of the gentleman.

While a perfect fit wasn’t required by the period, as evidenced by his old waistcoat’s triangular gap at the front that tended to pop open unexpectedly and the excess fabric at the back, something really should be done to make the costuming experience more enjoyable for us both. Christopher’s full belly would require an adjustment similar to my Full Bust Adjustment, only his would be a Full Belly Adjustment!

When I searched online, there was lots of info about altering trouser patterns to accommodate a full belly, but nary a one for a shirt/vest (I even checked my Victorian Tailor book, but it was of no help, and my sewing books pretty much assumed you were fitting exclusively women. Bleh). I even searched for pregnant belly alterations since the shape is similar, but not much luck there either. I did, however, find three mentions of altering for a full belly: one on Male Pattern Boldness (showing a page from a book called Shirtmaking by David Coffin), a full belly adjustment on Get Creative geared toward women, and this one by Off the Cuff:

Since I was starting this waistcoat a mere 3 hours before the event, I decided to go with the simplest looking option of slicing and spreading the pattern. I pinned a piece of tissue into the gap of the old waistcoat over Christopher’s belly and used it to measure how much to spread the pattern open.  It’s the triangular piece of tissue to the right:


In this photo, the pattern piece in the photo isn’t spread enough yet. Heck, it’s a miracle I even remembered to take a photo of it at all considering what a mad rush I was in!

I ended up swinging not just the side, but also the front until it filled the full width of the fabric (which was 45″ wide folded in half) like this:


A very crude drawing of what I did. Sorry!
Yellow: Tissue pattern outlines
Orange: Fabric outline
Blue: Tissue pattern of the gap I needed to fill over Chris’s belly
Green: The pattern gap swung open to match the belly gap
Red: other pattern adjustments made to accommodate Chris’ large arms and neck (not related to the FBA)

A proper seamstress or tailor might tell me that swinging the front screws up the grainlines, but as far as I can tell, it worked just fine for a costume waistcoat to be worn maybe once a year. Simplicity 4923 has a slightly curved center front, just like real 18th century waistcoats:

Waistcoat, circa 1720

Waistcoat, circa 1770-80
Later-era waistcoats were shorter and often have a sharper curve to swoop back at the bottom, matching the cut of the coat.

The FBA I performed does increase the width of the bottom of the waistcoat, so it fits loosely over his hips. For the era I was dressing him for, the 1710s and most of the 18th century, having a wide flare over the hips was a design feature rather than a problem. However, if you desire a close fit that pulls back in under the stomach, you will likely need to add some darts just like you would for a lady’s FBA, just lower.

Waistcoat, circa 1740
This waistcoat bears evidence of a FBA! Waistcoats often were pre-embroidered or came with a pre-woven design that would be cut according to the new owner’s measurements. In this case, you can see the woven design ends before the side seam, which is wider and not as sharply angled. Since a gentlemen always wore a coat out in public, the bare edge of the waistcoat was covered. You can see another, later example of a pre-embroidered waistcoat that is larger than its decorative design here. Chris’s waistcoat ended up with a very similar shape. It is less dramatic than smaller waistcoats, but it functions much better!

 Here’s Chris’s final waistcoat fit. You’ll notice that it has no button holes. I had no time to add them since I started the waistcoat so close to the event (I was still sewing buttons on in the car), but, as you can see, I got the fit pretty spot on since the center front meets without needing to be held in place! Huzzah!


See the full outfit here: Georgian Picnic 2015

The Mysterious “19th Century” Velvet Sacque-Back Dress

NERD RAGE and a Happy New Year to You!

I hope everyone had a merry Christmas! Today’s New Year’s Eve, so I thought I’d share a pretty party dress with you–or at least a very unusual one!

I knew that they existed, but I never thought I’d find a extant silk velvet robe á la française– listed in the 19th century portion of the Met Museum’s archives of all places!


It actually dates to the early part of the 18th century (the Met says second half, but it just doesn’t look post-1750 to me).

Velvet Robe á la Française, 18th century (listed as late, probably early)

Back view of the Velvet Sacque Back with Glimpses of the Silver Cuff Trim and Lace

It’s worn through, but it must have really been grand back when it was new! I really wish there were close-ups of the silver trim on the cuffs and that the gown was displayed in the appropriate shape, but it may be to fragile to handle much. It almost looks like a man’s banyan as it hangs, but the sacque back and round hem (instead of having excess fabric on the sides to accommodate panniers) suggest that it’s an earlier dress. In fact, I don’t think it is a Francaise at all, at least when it was first sewn. The lines look much more like a Robe Battante, a style of loose dress popular during the 1730s. There are even paintings showing battantes made of velvet, like this one:

”Reading from Molière” by Jean François de Troy, circa 1728
For more info on battante and volante gowns, this post by Curse Words and Crinolines is a good one.

I have so many questions about this dress, but the online collections entry is severely lacking. That’s one of my main struggles with the Metropolitan Museum of Art: they have such interesting objects, but rarely write more than a cut and paste blurb about them, if at all!

PB Table Flip Gif


Anyway, I hope you guys all have a fabulous New Year! I’ve pledged to do more much more sewing. I’ve got a whole box full of brand new patterns and lots of Walmart value fabric that needs to be put to good use! I’m going to keep up my mission to continue making historical costuming more accessible for the average folks like me: more research, more tricks, more tutorials.

See you in 2014!

–> UPDATE! <—

This post inspired a new Pinterest board: Mishaps at the Museum!
Check it out and let me know on Facebook if you find any cringe-worthy museum records to add to it!

Silver & Gold: Adding Ribbon and a Rand to American Duchess Pompadours

You Spin Me White Rand, Baby, White Rand!

In my on-going Pompadour project, I had finished the first step– dyeing the shoes green— and was ready to decorate them! Even though American Duchess shoes can be painted in a variety of ways, I wanted to decorate my Pomps with a wide band of gilt ribbon characteristic of the early 18th century:

Shoes with Silk and Silver Gilt Trim, circa 1720-30

Not only that, I also wanted to add the distinctive white rand that marked high-quality shoes at the time:

Shoes with Silk and Gilt Trim, circa 1730-55
White rands around the toe of a shoe were in fashion from around 1680 to about 1760.

I was so excited the night I ordered my shoes that I stayed up appallingly late searching for just the right gilt trim! The gilt trim on extant shoes varies in width.  Some is so wide it covers the whole top of the shoe. Others have trim of more modest proportions.

Shoe with Silk and Gilt Trim, circa 1730-35
This shoe has exceptionally wide trim with an abstract and floral pattern.

I considered sari borders, modern “gold” ribbon, and metallic lace, but I settled on some antique woven gilt trim with a lovely grape-vine pattern that I found on eBay. The trim on extant shoes is wrapped and folded over the point of the toe before the upper is attached to the shoe. Since my Pompadours are already assembled (and I have no desire to take them apart!), I mimicked the effect by glueing the ribbon down using E600. I used my fingers to mold the ribbon over the toe as the glue stiffened, then used scissors to snip the excess off. The glue keeps the edges from unraveling.


It would be very unusual to find a richly-decorated shoe like this without the distinctive white rand! The new Pompadour 2.0 design has one built in, but my version doesn’t have one. In order to create the look of having a rand around the front half, I used some puffy fabric paint in matte white, which imitates the look of leather with surprising accuracy.


I applied the puff paint after applying gold trim in order to hide the raw end of the ribbon, so it would look like the ribbon was attached to the sole. Just like on extant shoes, my “rand” goes from latchet seam to latchet seam. To help hold the shoe steady, I flipped a glass upside down and put the shoe over the upturned end.


The puff paint wasn’t as puffy as I hoped, but it puffed enough to look passable since the rand spends most of its time nearest the floor. Plus, it looks super classy, puffy or not!


All that’s left to do now is apply ribbon to all the edges and seam lines of the shoes!


Part 1: How to Dye Your American Duchess Shoes with Rit

More Ways to Decorate American Duchess Shoes:

Painted Designs
Fabric Covered
Shoe Clips

My Rollercoaster Ride with Rit: Dyeing American Duchess Pompadour Shoes

Green with envy? These shoes are to dye for!

Sorry for the silence lately on the blog, but I’ve been too busy fawning over my new shoes to get any writing in until now!

I finally saved up enough money to buy a pair of American Duchess shoes! I had been salivating over the Pompadour since it came out in Summer/Fall 2012. I had just saved up enough money for an imperfect pair when Lauren announced that the Pompadour was going to undergo a re-design:


The American Duchess Pompadour

The American Duchess Pompadour 2.0

The new Pompadour design is shorter, rounder, features a different fabric pattern, and has a classy white rand (in the 17th and 18th century, a white line of leather “piping” around the toe called a rand was the sign of a well-made shoe). I was faced with a huge costuming dilemma: do I wait (im)patiently for the new Pompadour with its sexy white rand or do I spring for my already beloved sans-rand version with the fabulous long toe? I love the white rand and the new fabric pattern of Pompadour 2.0, but I fell in love with the original Pompadour because the shape was so extreme; it just looks antique! That “antique vibe” is hard to find in modern shoes. The banana-esque curve simply isn’t admired like it used to be:


Yellow Wool and Leather Shoe, circa 1720-30


Green Silk Satin Shoe, circa 1710

I was browsing the American Duchess site in the wee hours when suddenly the page refreshed and the old ivory Pompadours were magically– dare I say fatefully– on sale! I could have afforded a “perfect” pair, but thrift and a love of flawed things prompted me to stick to my original plan to buy an imperfect pair. Luckily, the very last pair of imperfect ivory Pompadours was my size!

Though shipping was quick (4 days over a weekend), I was a nervous, giddy wreck by the time the postman dropped off the box.



I kept them pristine in their box for a whole day, afraid of grubbing them up. These shoes, however, were not destined to remain creamy white for long! I longed for a pair of bright green shoes, specifically this shade of green:

Green Silk Shoe, circa 1730-55
This shoe is later in the century than the Pomadour by about 10 years. The shape is very close to the new Pompadour 2.0, but with latchet straps instead of ties.

I consulted Lauren’s guide to dyeing shoes and decided that though Rit dye was risky, it was the way to go. I’d dyed wedding gowns and fabric with Rit before, so I though I knew my way around the dye– this would be both a triumph and a pitfall. The following saga of shoe dyeing took place during three terrifying, triumphant days.


Also, just in case you are curious, here’s the “imperfection” in my shoes. It’s barely noticeable, but Lauren’s company has extremely high standards. If a shoe has the slightest blemish, into the imperfect pile it goes!

Day One: The Day of Terror


Between the bubbling brew and shoes sitting in my dishrack: oh, the looks the landlord gave me when she came up to check! You can see the ribbon ties drying on the rack beside the shoes. I dipped them into the dye as a test.

It’s important to wash your shoes before dyeing them. If any residue or grime is left, the dye will have trouble adhering to the fibers.


Carlsbad, NM is out in the middle of nowhere. The supply chain to any store, even Walmart, is wobbly at best, so I was limited to Kelly Green and Dark Green. When I first tested the dyes on a swatch, the dark green turned the fabric brown and the Kelly turned it cloudy-blue. Not a promising start. After years of sitting neglected, my art degree proved useful! Yellow dye to the rescue!

I was totally unscientific about my measurements, so I’m not much help if you were hoping for direct instructions. I do not know the exact fabric content of my Pompadours, but both Rit and American Duchess recommend a 1:1 ratio of vinegar and water to dye silk. I ended up diluting the dye with pure white vinegar (5% acidity) and only enough water to keep the pot from boiling dry. It made the whole house smell like pickles!

I averaged about 2 cups of vinegar to about 2-3 tablespoons of dye. It’s very important to shake the dye bottles really well before pouring them! The dye is usually very dark, so it can be hard to tell exactly what hue you will end up with just by staring at the liquid.  I had tested the dye mix on the the ribbon ties with deep teal results. I will admit that the boiling pot of brackish vinegar brewing on my stove made me nervous. With the precious, pure Pompadours gleaming like innocent white doves on the counter, I was just praying that my experimental dye job wouldn’t spoil their beauty forever!


The most terrifying moment of my life.



I used a synthetic bristle paintbrush to apply the dye right from the pot to the shoes. Rit dye must be applied hot; otherwise, it will just wash right off. I kept mine at a merry simmer the whole time since lots of heat is lost when you transfer your brush from the pot to the shoe. Rit usually dries much much lighter than what it appears when wet, so I was a little anxious when the dye batch turned out a little blue at first.


First dye bath next to an undyed Pompadour. Note that the leather heel and eyelets are not affected.

After the first layer dried, I rinsed off the shoe to see how well the dye took. When it dried, the dye turned out a very pale sage color, so I applied a second coat. By that time, it was late and I needed to get to bed, so I wouldn’t see the dried color until morning.

Day 2: Doomsday


Comparing the ribbon and shoe colors from the previous day. The ribbon dyed much darker than the shoes, even though they were only submerged in the dye for 10 seconds. The ribbons are very pretty and don’t have to match the shoe color, so I’m not concerned.

I saved the dye from the previous night so I would not have to risk mixing up a mismatched color. I added more vinegar and dye, trying to correct the blueness with some yellow.


This is right in the middle of applying the third coat. You can see the difference between the dried color on the back of the right shoe and the wet dye on the front. Also, I noticed that the fabric pattern runs up one shoe and down the other, which makes one shoe look lighter or darker than the other depending on the lighting. This is not a problem in “real life,” but it will make the shoes look unevenly matched in photographs.

The Pompadour’s fabric has silver undertones, so the previous day’s color dried to a silvery sage. For a mid-century impression, the light color would have worked beautifully. It was very pretty, but shoes from the late 17th century to early 18th century were often bolder, brighter, and more deeply colored.  I added a bit of the dark green to the pot for the fourth layer. I had faith that the smidge of dark green/brown would do the trick. Bad idea. When the shoes dried, they were the same sage color with a strange rusty tinge splotched unevenly over the surface. This simply would not do! I rinsed the shoes and left them to dry.

It rained merrily that night, a blessing in the drought-stricken desert! While the grass outside greened up, my green shoes were taking forever to dry. I ended up tossing the ruined batch of dye and waiting for the morrow to continue my adventure. I was worried that I would never reach the right color mix. I was melodramatic enough about it that Chris teased me for worrying more about shoes than sanity. I laughed manically in response and went to bed.

Day 3: The Triumphant Reckoning


The shoe on the right is how the dye from Day 2 turned out. It is obviously browned and splotchy. Not flattering at all. The shoe on the left is coated in the fresh batch of dye.

Day 3 dawned drier and brighter than the last, and I leaped/hobbled from my bed, thirsting for victory and caffeine. Chris was not yet awake, but my tenacity waits for no man! He awoke to the distinct scent of triumph, which smelled strongly of pickles and chai latte.

I started a fresh batch of dye. I had only about a cup and a half of vinegar left, so I got it boiling and added about 2 tablespoons of yellow dye and 3 tablespoons of green dye. It was thick. It was black. It was barely enough, but I eked two final coats out of it! I rinsed out the extra dye and set the Pompadours out to dry.


The Circle of Life: Return to the Dishrack! Even my chef towel is celebrating.

Lessons learned:
1. Keep the dye as hot as possible.
2. Keep dilution to a minimum, but don’t apply the dye in pure form (salt crystals will form).
3. Shake the bottles thoroughly.
4. Dark Green Rit dye does not work for shoes.
5. If at first you don’t succeed, try another layer.
6. Turn the shoes upside down when rinsing to avoid getting dye inside.
7. Vinegar. ALL the vinegar.
8. Use a fixative wash and/or Scotchgard to seal your hard work.

The Final Outcome:


When they finally dried, the color was still a little silvery, but it finally had depth! Even with two or more coats of dye, I don’t think I could get my shoes any darker, but they are very close to my target shoe color. For a home-brewed dye job, I am very pleased! If you want purer color without all the dramatics, consider a professional dye service. If you love adventure and the thrill of experimentation, dye your own. It’s worth it!

Want your own Olde-Style Pompadours before they run out forever? Buy them quick! The IvoryPompadours are on super sale and they are also available in beautiful Black!

Making an Early 18th Century Stomacher from an Old Pillowcase

HSF Challenge #9: Flora and Fauna

I know I said I wasn’t going to post Historical Sew Fortnightly challenges here, but I’m all about making historical costuming fun and easy and making a stomacher for an 18th century gown is a project even sewing-machine-phobic me completed with little fuss. First of all, here’s my final stomacher:


Early 18th Century style Stomacher, circa 2013

I based my stomacher’s look off of these examples I found online in the collections at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. The bright colors, especially the yellow binding on the second one, appealed to me. The 18th century was all about crazy color!


Embroidered Linen Stomacher, circa 1710

Stomacher, circa 1710-1720
This stomacher has matching tabs that were fashionable during the first decades of the 18th century.

Embroidered stomachers were very popular, especially during the early decades of the 1700s. I am no seamstress and definitely not a skilled embroiderer, but I found a simple, cost-effective solution– an old  crewel embroidered pillow case with a perfect Georgian-inspired motif!

Crewel Embroidered Pillow Case, circa 1975-ish

I’ve seen lots of crewelwork pillows in my time. They were really popular as a homemade or kit craft in the 1970s. If cutting into a pillow makes you queezy, there are also lots of crewel fabric samples available online, but be prepared to pay handsomely for them since most are designer and hand-embroidered. In my case, the crewel embroidery is wool thread on a cotton duck background.


There are a few bits of missing crewel here and there since the pillowcase has seen better days. I consider the missing bits an element of my “costume dirt:” little imperfections and wear that make an outfit look like real clothes I live in everyday. After all, if this was really 1710, I would be wearing this stomacher day to day, and it would get grimy, thin, and patchy just like my favorite 21st century t-shirts.

Most 18th century stomachers were linen or silk, but since wool and cotton are both natural fibers and would have been available, I feel no shame using them at all. I did however, use poly-cotton blend double-fold bias tape to bind it, but I’m ridiculously cheap and miserly. Poly-cotton is what WalMart had, so that’s what I used!


My goal was to include both of the large flowers in the stomacher design, which required cutting the stomacher a little longer than fashionable for the 18th century, but for an early impersonation (roughly 1710-ish), it’s a fine length, especially on a taller person. It works much better proportionally for my 5′ 9″ tall sister than it does for 5′ 6″ tall me! For a template, I used the “bodice” piece from the Simplicity Pirates of the Caribbean dress (Simplicity 4092), which I purchased for 99 cents at Hobby Lobby’s super-huge pattern sale! Huzzah!

The pattern’s thin tissue allowed me to see through to the design and position the flowers right where I wanted them. I then followed the pattern directions for boning the stomacher.*


* It is important to note here that I have never sewn boning channels directly into a lining before in my life (I’ve always used applied casings) and I hate sewing on the machine, so I am super proud of my hideously ugly results! I even added an extra two channels for more support since the pattern only called for 3. For bones, I used 1cm wide zip ties from Lowe’s Hardware store. Zip ties work wonders! I highly recommend them.



It’s “sew” much easier to do it by hand, but I was crunched for time. I was a foolish, lazy individual and didn’t start working on this challenge until the day before it was due. I only used the machine for the back of the stomacher since I knew it would be hideous, but since the machine stitching was the back, no one would see it when I had it on. So, congratulations! You are now privy to my machine-sewing secret! I am not sure if this information should be considered a privilege or a burden…

Stomachers from the 18th century could be boned or unboned. The modern pattern I used required boning to support and smooth the fabric since most modern women do not wear stays under their dresses. I boned mine because I’ve worked with period Victorian garments long enough to know a few extra bones here and there really improves the way a garment performs on the body.

I then loosely whipstitched the raw edges of the lining and the crewel embroidered fashion (top) layer together and bound the edges with double-fold bias tape in a really bright yellow. I used basic fell stitches to bind the bias tape to the front.


My handstitching is much better than my machine sewing, thank goodness!

I added four tabs to the sides by unfolding the half-fold of the bias tape and making loops. I must admit, I love the bright yellow. There are quite a few antique examples of stomachers with bright yellow binding, and it was what really inspired me to get moving on this project. Eventually, I plan to make an equally cheery yellow gown or petticoat to match.

Gown with Embroidered Stomacher, circa 1700-1729

CaptureI have some sunny yellow cotton in my stash that might make the perfect compliment to my flowery stomacher. I draped it over my dress form a tad and it looks like enough to make a dress. Now to find the time to sew it!

HSF Stats
The Challenge: #9 Flora and Fauna
Fabric: Cotton duck with wool crewel embroidery, cotton sheeting
Pattern: A stray bit of Simplicity 4092
Year: Early 18th century
Notions: Poly-cotton double-fold bias tape, cotton thread, zip ties
How historically accurate is it? 65%
Hours to complete: 3 hours
First worn: By Simplicity, my dress form.
Total cost: $24 for the fabrics, $2 for the bias tape, $6.75 for the zip ties (pack of 20) and $1.50 for the thread

Pompadours: New 17th-18th Century Shoes by American Duchess

If the shoe fits…

There they are!

Lauren at American Duchess has done it again! I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally get to see a finished prototype of this magical shoe! These shoes, aptly named Pompadours, are softened versions of the famously pointy (and abhorrently uncomfortable) court shoes of the late 17th and early 18th century like these:

Late 17th century shoes are famously skewed into a boat-shape, thrusting the foot up and forward with deep-set heels in a variety of colors and heights. American Duchess’s Pomadour, however, is designed with modern tastes in mind, providing less pinch and more width– all the better to tromp around in at rocky reenactments! If I had to pair them with any gown, it’d be this amazing construct that Doña Inés de Zúñiga, Condesa de Monterrey is modeling:

It’s so bold! So powerful! So Spanish! She’s even got a little golden pistol resting on her enormous skirt! With some fierce, black damask Popmadours, she’s be super fashion-forward (this painting is from 1660, a little too early for historical accuracy, so she’d be really fashion-forward) and oh-so-fabulous! The Pompadours are also going to be available in white, so if you prefer the light French silks to rich Spanish velvet, you’ve got options.

(But, seriously, the black damask looks amazing!)

Preorders will open Monday, May 14th, 2012…just in time for my birthday! As soon as preordering opens, you can reserve a pair of Pompadours at the discounted price of $115. Don’t wait too long because once preordering is over, the price jumps to $135!