The Genteel Fashionista’s Dialogue: A Humorous Timeline of Fashion

In the Classic Style of Historical Fashion Satire and in the Spirit of Congenial Camaraderie, I Present to You the Product of an Overly-Active Brain in the Form of a Fashion Timeline in which there is much Over-Generalization, a Single Expletive, and a Dearth of Illustrations:

THE GENTEEL FASHIONISTA’S DIALOGUE

The Genteel Fashionista Dialog

1770s – Let’s flaunt how wealthy we are with lots of delicate, expensive fabric and wall-like skirts so wide we need special doors, furniture, and houses built just to accommodate them! Pass the hair powder and Pomeranians!

1780s – Thanks to new technological advances and the start of the Industrial Revolution, I am enjoying my emerging merchant-class lifestyle! However, panniers get in the way when I try to navigate city living. High hats and hair, though, I can do. Also, I am strangely beguiled by these cork rumps….

1790s – The peasants are pissed. Maybe big hair, big hats, and big butts weren’t the way to go. Plus, there’s a bunch of cool Greco-Roman stuff in style. Let’s ditch ridged stays and huge skirts for the more refined Empire look…YIKES! A PIKE!

1800s – What a mess that was! Now that the bloodshed is over, I can safely wear white again. These fine, diaphanous fabrics are really expensive and the white makes my spendy imported shawls really pop! I feel on top of the world again!

1810s – Slim sleeves and silhouettes make me look like every other belle at the ball. Some fancy hem trims and puffier sleeves will make me stand out!

1820s – MORE TRIMS! MORE SLEEVES!
Also, maybe some petticoats to help show off ALL THESE HEM TRIMS better.

1830s – F*ck yeah, giant sleeves! Also, I’ve got a pretty hot bod. Those old Regency sacks hide all my hotness, so let’s go back to natural waistlines and open up the neckline for some shoulder action. I am ready for some romancin’!

1840s – Hmmm…maybe I went a little too crazy with the sleeves, low necklines, and bonnets the size of a serving platter. But I like having a waistline again. Let’s see just how much waistline we can get. Longer! I NEED LOOOOONGER!

1850s – Thanks to my corset, my waist is looking better than ever! However, I’m beginning to miss big sleeves. Every belle needs bell sleeves. I could layer them, like those exotic Asian pagoda roofs I saw in a book once. Speaking of roofs, these stacks of petticoats are getting tough to walk in. Maybe I need some rafters…

1856 – HELLO STEEL HOOPED CAGED CRINOLINE, MY NEW BEST FRIEND.

1860s – These hoops are awesome! Now I can display yards and yards of expensive fabric easily again and everyone has to clear the sidewalk to let me through, like Moses parting the sea. Bonus points for getting the sofa all to myself! Let’s see just how big these hoops can go.

1870s – I’ll admit that I might have gone overboard with the hoops, but now that I’ve turned them into a bustle, I can hug people again and the sidewalks of town are cleaner than ever! The sewing machine makes adding trims to my trim’s trim so easy, too!

1875 – The bustle’s poofs and swags are hiding my hot bod again. :(

1878 – This princess line gown shows off my naturally-enhanced-by-a-corset form perfectly. I’ll never hide my glorious bum under a bustle again! What a folly!

1882 – Well, a little padding back there couldn’t hurt…

1885 – HELLO BUSTLES, MY OLD FRIEND.
I’m sorry I ever doubted you!

1890s – Okay, I’ll admit that the bustle thing got out of hand, but I have learned the error of my ways. Let’s go back to the classic combo of tons of petticoats and huge sleeves.

1900s – I have given up big sleeves in favor of something new: tons of lace and s-bend corsets! They say a puffy breast makes my waist look tinier, but in reality, it makes me look like I am careening forward towards social, industrial, and technological progress, just like a new-fangled motorcar draped in an heirloom tablecloth!

1910s – Rushing towards progress is hard to do in full skirts. A slimmer skirt line is in order. Should I go hobble skirt to display my fashion prowess or skirt suit to further the march towards women’s independence? Either way, it will need more decorative buttons.

1920s – Corsets and curves have been incumbent for too long! I vote for President Bob Haircut and Senator Cloche! Drop waists from the ballot and pass the mascara! The world is ready to finally revel in the glory of my knees!

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Here is 160 years worth of fashion plates!
See if you can spot the trends:

1770s fashion plates

1780s fashion plates

1790s fashion plates

1800s fashion plates

1810s fashion plates

1820s fashion plates

1830s fashion plates

1840s fashion plates

1850s fashion plates

1860s fashion plates

1870s fashion plates

1880s fashion plates

1890s fashion plates

1900s fashion plates

1910s fashion plates

1920s fashion plates

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……

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“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:

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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:

FBA

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!

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See the full outfit here: Georgian Picnic 2015

Keeping Track of Time: Georgian Watch Chains, Equipages, Fobs, and Chatelaines

Timeless Tethers

“Portrait of King George III” by Thomas Gainsborough, circa 1781
I love this portrait of King George. He has such a poor reputation, but if you had undiagnosed porphyria in an era when bleeding was supposed to cure all ills, you’d have a pretty rough time, too. Anyway, I love this portrait of him. In fact, it’s one of my favorite 18th century male portraits because he’s so simply dressed, but he’s wearing every piece of a true gentleman’s wardrobe, including the elusive fashion garter, pinky ring, and watch chain!

Though the watch emerged as the premier toy of the nobility in the 16th and 17th century, in the 18th century, watches became an indispensable accessory. Not only were they tiny marvels and works of art, they also denoted fashionable scientific enlightenment– the transition from the ancient sundial to the mathematical precision of a rapidly industrializing society. Early watches were heavily ornate and often only had an hour hand. Thanks in large part to advances in enameling techniques, by the 18th century, decoration became more refined: smooth enamel scenes and repoussé cases contrasted beautifully with clean, white watch faces. Minute and second hands were introduced and complex calendar watches with multiple faces became popular.

Double-faced Calendar Watch with Enamel Painting, circa 1770-80
Early watches often only had an hour hand. By the 18th century, minute hands had become standard and second hands began to show up on fancier models.

Watch with Pearls (front and back), circa 1790-1800

18th century gentlemen wore watch chains attached their timepieces because they helped make it easy to check the time without having to root inelegantly in a tiny pocket. Watch chains were long enough to show from under the waistcoat:

Watch Chain, circa 1800

Portrait of John Adams” by William Winstanley, circa 1798

Today, we call these kinds of chains fobs. However, the word “fob” originally referred not to the chain itself, but to the small pocket in which valuables, like a watch, were kept. Breeches in the 18th and early 19th century had wide waistbands with small pockets fitted into them, a tradition continued by many modern pairs of jeans:

The etymology for the word:  fob (n.) 1653, “small pocket for valuables,” probably related to Low Ger. fobke “pocket,” High Ger. fuppe “pocket.”

Suit, circa 1765-75
If you look closely at the waistband of the breeches, you will see the welt of the fob/pocket opening (you may have to expand the picture). This suit is missing its waistcoat, which would cover the waistband and conceal the pocket. It’s easy to slip a watch into a tiny pocket, but getting it out can be much harder! A watch could be tucked into this pocket and the attached chain would hang out of the pocket making it easy to remove.

Trousers with fob (pocket), circa 1810-20
The waistcoats of the 19th century were much shorter, so accessing the fob pocket was much less difficult. The watch chains of the era were much shorter, though the Merveilleuses kept the tradition of displaying lots of small watch charms popular. By the Victorian era, watch chains had become much simpler and remained so throughout the era.

Modern pair of jeans with a small fob pocket inside the larger front pocket.

So in the 18th century, the fob was the pocket and the watch chain was what you attached your watch to. However, many museums, especially American museums, label them (and even some equipages/chatelaines) as fobs. The confusion may stem from the fact that many earlier 18th century men’s watch chains are not chains at all, but watch strings made of ribbons, tassels and other passementerie:

Fob Design, circa 1780
Watch strings were more common than chains because they were less expensive and hardier.

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Silk Watch Chain with Seal, circa 1770-90

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Woven Hair Watch Chain with Watch Key, circa 1780-1800

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Braided Silk Watch Chain with Watch Key, circa 1770-1790
The image is terrible quality, but I love the fly fringe. Fly fringe for all!

Watch chains held more than just the watch. Dangling from the ends, you’ll notice small trinkets. This little “charms” were actually necessary to conducting 18th century business and no gentleman of means would be caught without them. The two most common men’s accessories were the watch key and seal.

Watch Chain with Seal and Key, circa 1800

Citrine Seal, circa 1815
The seal was used for sealing letters. In an age where paper correspondence was the only means of long-distance communication, letters were part of everyday life. Our current mail system is very sterilized compared to mail systems of the past. Letters were not handled by machines, but by people, some of whom might take an interest in what your private letter contained. A wax seal provided both proof of the sender (to avoid forgeries), but also added a tamper-evident seal. It wasn’t a perfect system, but adding seals to documents was an important part of law and etiquette.

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Watch and Key, circa 1770, via the Met Museum
Watches often became separated from their keys over the years. Fortunately, unlike house keys, watch keys were fairly standardized, so you could buy another from a watch maker.

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Thomas Jefferson’s Watch Key honoring his late wife, Martha
Since pocket watches run on springs, it was important to keep your watch carefully wound in order for it to continue keeping time. Stem-wind pocket watches (the ones still in use today) were not invented until the 1840s. Instead, watches were wound with small watch keys. You’ll notice many pre-1850 watches have small holes in the face with a pin inside. This is where the watch key would be inserted to wind the watch. Pocket watches must be wound daily to keep functioning properly, so it makes sense to keep your key close at hand on your watch chain, just in case you notice your watch running down!

Aside from his watch and these small business implements, perhaps a few tassels for good fun, a man’s watch chain might include small trinkets, like a portrait miniature or a charm for military service. Women, however, often carried much more than these basic accessories on shorter, heavily decorated pieces of jewelry called an equipage (later called a chatelaine). Women did not wear breeches with fob pockets, so while men hid their watches in a fob pocket and let the watch chain hang from it, women wore their watches at the hanging end of their equipages in full view:

Ulrike Sophie, Duchess of Mecklenburg,” circa 1765
There are multiple versions of this portrait and this dress (it must have been a favorite of hers). If you look under her elbow, you can see she is wearing a lovely watch and equipage.

Chatelaine with Watch, circa 1760
The word “chatelaine” is, like “fob,” a 19th century term. Most museums will list equipages as chatelaines in their collections.

Back of the chatelaine showing the hook

Equipages pinned or clipped to the waistband of a woman’s petticoat since she didn’t have a fob pocket. Others were designed to be worn hooked over a sash, like those worn over zone-front gowns. The weren’t just for watches, but could also include a multitude of accessories, grooming tools, sewing implements, or small vials of perfume  and did not necessarily have to include a watch–some were more like suspended sewing kits–but for the sake of brevity, I’m going to focus only on chatelaines with watches:

Chatelaine with Watch, Key, and Antique Pendant, circa 1750
Equipages and watches in the first half of the 18th century were incredibly ornate like their 17th century ancestors. This particular equipage includes a unique accessory: a Renaissance pendant from the 1580s that was already over 150 years old when this equipage was constructed!

Chatelaine with étuis (small containers), circa 1755
The small rectangle container from the left dates to about 1730 and was used for snuff which both ladies and gentlemen indulged in.

Chatelaine with watch and charms, circa 1760-70
High-fashion equipages like this functioned as a charm bracelet of sorts for ladies of the court. They were almost completely decorative in nature and might not even have a working watch.

Chatelaine, circa 1775
This equipage has the classic watch-key-seal combination dressed up with gold and a plethora of gemstones!

(IMAGE COPYRIGHTED. PLEASE CLICK HERE TO VIEW IT ON THE ORIGINAL MUSEUM SITE)

Wedgewood Chatelaine, circa 1790
Suspended from chains attached to the hook are three trinkets: an undecorated carnelian fob; a v-shaped container, possibly for snuff; and a swivel mirror in a case with an engraved hammer and anvil, symbols of force and labor. The missing pendant was in all likelihood the watch key.
The museum lists this as a gentleman’s chatelaine, but it was probably for a lady since the watch is suspended at the end of the chain.

During the 1780s, it became fashionable for women to wear long watch chains similar to men’s chains. Pairs of watch chains like these were worn with the wildly popular zone front gown or riding habits inspired by the swooped-back cut of a man’s coat and waistcoat. Even though they look very similar to men’s watch chains at the time, they probably clipped or pinned to the petticoat like chatelaines. An article from the Museum of London speculates that ladies may have tucked the watch into their waistband, unless women began including fob pockets in their waistbands or bodices (I haven’t found any evidence of such practice, but if anyone else has, please link to it in the comments below). In all likelihood, the chains were meant to be a display of cutting-edge fashion prowess and wealth rather than functional watch chains:

“Queen Marie Antoinette of France and two of her Children Walking in The Park of Trianon” by Adolf Ulrik Wertmüller, circa 1785
Notice how her watch chains are full of charms, but not necessarily functional watch accessories. The ever-fabulous Aristocat made her own versions, this time including a watch, which you can see here.

Fashion Plate, circa 1787
Wealthy women of the 1780s were said to indulge in wearing two watches at once, a trend borrowed from (and subsequently abandoned by) gentlemen’s fashion. Many fashion plates of this trend show two chains of the same length, but with different configurations. Others, like this one, are perfectly matched and are only loosely “fob-like.”

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Fashion Plate, Mid 18th Century
Not all watches at the time were were real. Just as precious jewels were imitated, so were expensive watches! You could buy a case with a painted on dial if you wanted the look without the expense.

By the time the 1790s rolled around, the style of dress had completely changed. The heavily ornate gold equipages were replaced with longer watch chains for both sexes, though ladies’ watches generally remained daintier.

“The Five Positions of Dancing” Illustration, circa 1811
A charming print not just as a dancing reference, but also for all the wonderful watch chains!

Portrait of Pierre-Jean-George Cabanis

Detail of the “Portrait of Pierre-Jean-George Cabanis” by Merry-Joseph Blondel
His dress places this portrait close to his death in 1808. The thick, high cravat style (one of the signature marks of a dandy) was in vogue from about 1800-20, and large, showy watch accessories were favorite pieces of jewelry.

Merry-Joseph Blondel
Merry-Joseph Blondel

Men’s watch chains/fobs remained in fashion well into the 20th century, and ladies’ chatelaines remained popular through the 19th century until they were replaced with the lady’s handbag by the 1920s. However, wearing watches on a chain never left. Watch necklaces can still be found and were very popular during the mid-20th century, and continue to be worn today. Instead of watches, the smart phone has become the must-have accessory of the 2010s. Much like an equipage or watch string of old, they hold all of our tools in one place for us, complete with fancy cases, accessories, and charms.

For More Information on Georgian Watches, Accessories, and Fobs

On Wearing Two Watches by the Museum of London – Explores the late 18th century trend for wearing two watches at once by both men and women.

Equipages, Chatelaines, and Macaronis by the Museum of London – Explores ways ladies in the 1780s might have worn the double watch chains.

A Watch Fob for My Regency Gentleman by Romantic History – How to make a regency-style watch fob/chain.

My Mr. Knightly: Making Breeches by Tea in a Teacup – How to make historically appropriate breeches with Simplicity 4923 (including fob pocket) and a wonderful set of research links are included.

Cogs and Pieces: Antique Pocket Watches – An online collection of antique time pieces from the 18th century onward and all for sale.

How the Watch was Worn by Genevieve Cummins – A rather spendy book, but a thorough one! I don’t have the privilege of owning a copy, but it is considered the premiere guide to historical watch wearing.

Hat Trick: Turn a Placemat into an 18th Century Hat in Three Steps

Alternate Title:
Le Chapeau Rusé – Using Bad French to Disguise Excellent Hat Trickery

To complement my Robe pas Cher and to ensure that I was suitably dressed for an outdoor excursion, I needed a hat to wear for Georgian Picnic. In addition, I had sorely neglected the past, oh, ten or so Historical Sew Fortnightly challenges and I wanted a good stepping stone project to get back on track.

Enter Le Chapeau Rusé!

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I had plunged myself so deeply into making a suitable costume for Christopher that by the time I got around to my own costume, I was a little burnt out and very very far behind schedule. I managed to eek out a wearable muslin from my test pattern, but I always feel under-dressed without accessories, so I decided I needed a hat. I didn’t have time to order one and I had foolishly missed out on all the post-Halloween sale merchandise. However, there was no need to worry because I had long ago discovered this post about placemat hats by the Thread-Headed Snippet:

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With a title like that, how could I resist?

Inspired by Miss Snippet’s thrifty, simple solution to my problem, I set out to make my own version.

What follows is the three basic steps to making a super-cheap 18th century “Chapeau Rusé” out of an old placemat.

1. Pick a Proper Placemat

15 inches is a good, easy-to-find placemat size, but if you can find larger rounds, they’ll work as well. Hats were rather sizable during the 18th century, so don’t be shy!

If you can find genuine straw placemats, more power to you! Mine was a completely fake polypropylene straw placemat I found for $1 at Garden Ridge (the picture is the same brand on Amazon). Fake straw placemats have the advantage of being very springy and forgiving, but they are not historically accurate in the least. Real grass or straw mats are more period appropriate, but straw can be brittle and crack, so how you plan to wear the placemat/hat dictates which material is more suitable. While a natural, tawny straw color is a safe choice for both materials, almost any color of placemat will work as long as it matches your outfit (though I’d avoid brighter colors if you want an authentic look). Also, if it has bands of decorative braiding or a little extra color woven in, that’s perfectly fine for an 18th century hat.

2. Settle on a Shape

18th century hats for ladies come in many shapes and sizes, but the quintessential mid-century hat is the bergère, a wide brimmed hat with a low crown:

“Portrait of Eleanor Frances Dixie” by Henry Pickering, circa 1753

This is the type of hat the Thread Headed Snippet made her placemat into; it is also the shape I chose for Becky’s hat. Originally, I was planning on making another bergère hat for myself, but I was horrendously jealous of Christopher’s tricorne, so I decided to make a folded straw hat which, while more uncommon, was not unheard of:

“Portrait of a Lady in a Straw Hat” by by Christian Wilhelm Ernst Dietrich, mid-18th century

Another option is a giant D-shaped hat, like these:

“Portrait of Lady Elizabeth Foster” by Angelika Kauffmann, circa 1785

D shaped Hat

D-Shaped Dutch Straw Hat, 18th century

If you can find a big enough straw mat or if you want to make a smaller version, just carefully cut off one edge of your placemat and finish it with glue, or when you decorate your hat, place the “crown” closer to one edge.

If you were lucky enough to find a real straw mat, you can even reshape it to have a crown. My fake straw placemat, however, wasn’t malleable in the manner traditional straw is, but it folded beautifully. To figure out the shape I wanted, I held the folds in place with pins so I could adjust the placement and size as needed before I tacked everything into place with sturdy stitches. You will find that pliers are exceptionally helpful to get a needle through all that plastic!

Once you settled on a shape, add ties so your hat won’t fall off. Most 18th century straw hats had ribbon ties that were secured to the underside of hat near the place where the brim and the crown connect:

Hat Ribbons

Bergère Hat, 18th century

I used 48 inches of 7/8″ grosgrain ribbon for mine, but most ribbon between 1/2″ and 3″ wide will work:

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 For flat hats, the farther from the center of the hat you sew your ribbon, the more bowed downward and bonnet-shaped your hat will become. If you want the hat to lie fairly flat on your head, I recommend tacking the ribbon down 3-4 inches from the center on each side. Use pins to hold the ribbon in place before you sew it on so you can fiddle with how the hat will sit on your head.

3. Decorate!

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Real straw placemats pretty much become suitable hats the instant you apply the ribbon in Step 2, but without decorations, a synthetic straw placemat hat will look like you’re wearing..well..a placemat, so don’t be too miserly when it comes to trimming.  There are infinite ways to decorate your hat. Popular trims include:

Poufs of fabric or ribbon
Bows
Flowers and wheat
Feathers and plumes
Embroidery/appliques
Fabric and Coverings

I chose to use fabric scraps left over from my dress to create ruffled white trim and two types of bows from pinked purple fabric (I love saying “pinked purple” out loud, no matter how many weird looks it earns me!).

I used a large bow called a Double Ruffle to trim the back:

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I found the free tutorial on the wonderful Ribbon Retreat website which has plenty of other tutorials for different styles of bows. I was also inspired by the Flower Loop bow because it reminded me of 18th century cockades, so I made two for each side of my hat and put a silvery button in the center of each for a little textural contrast (all the fabric and ruffles gets a little too fluffy for me sometimes and I need to balance it out with a harder edge).

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To turn a placemat into a bergère, add a small circle of puffed ribbon to create the illusion of a minute crown. Otherwise, trim, trim, trim until you can’t see the straw anymore or leave it fairly plain with only a bit of ribbon or a light net veil— it’s up to you!

More 18th Century Lady’s Hat Resources

18th Century Women’s Hats” research collection at Larsdatter – Great for inspiring your creativity. This site is downright amazing!
How to make an 18th century hat. A tutorial in pictures.” by Dressed in Time – Sew your own hat from scratch.
An 18th Century Hat” by The Fashionable Past – How to cover a straw hat with pleated silk.
Tutorial: How to turn a straw sunhat into an 18th century bergére” by The Dreamstress – Exactly what the title says!
The Amazing Crafthat Pt. Deux : Finishing!” by American Duchess – How add a stylish, floppy fabric crown to a straw hat.

..and this.

HSF Stats

“Le Chapeau Rusé” – 18th Century Folded Straw Hat

The Challenge: #23 Gratitude
Fabric: White cotton and purple polysatin scraps
Pattern: None
Year: 1760-1780
Notions: Poly cotton thread, buttons, grosgrain ribbon, and I guess the placemat would count as a notion???
How historically accurate is it? 40% It is entirely handsewn and trimmed with appropriate trimmings inspired by extant examples, but it’s made from a faux straw (read: plastic) placemat.

I am grateful to: The Thread Headed Snippet for sharing her placemat hat (http://threadheaded.blogspot.com/2012/08/so-you-want-hat-but-you-have-will-power.html) and Ribbon Retreat for their free bow tutorials (http://www.theribbonretreat.com/Catalog/free-hairbow-instructions.aspx)

Hours to complete: 3 hours
First worn: In my bathroom for fitting, but officially at Georgian Picnic in the park
Total cost: $1 for the placemat, 50 cents for the buttons, $2.50 for the ribbon

I must disclaim that my French is limited to what I remember from an old library book I read in 6th grade and what Google translate can help me piece together. Many 18th century fashions came from France and thus had French names, so in that tradition, I decided to play around a bit with giving my cheeky 18th century creations equally cheeky French names (unless you are fluent in French; then you are council to all my poorly-translated secrets)!

How to Make Cheap and Easy Rococo Ruffled Self-Fabric Trim

No fancy equipment needed!

Ruffled fabric or ribbon trim is a hallmark of 18th century fashion. It was often made of the same fabric as the rest of the dress or in a contrasting color. The ruffles could be wide or thin, and were really popular from about 1770-1790.

Robe à la Polonaise with Self-Fabric Trim, circa 1775-80

What I love about self-trim is that it is perfect for using up scraps, and it’s really REALLY easy to do.

I had the toughest time finding a simple tutorial online to make a very basic ruffle trim. There are plenty of fancy folds and pleats you can do to dress up your trim, but I wanted something casual and quick. I found a tutorial by Gail on “Art, Beauty, and Well-Ordered Chaos” which was exceptionally simple and required no sewing machines, so I ran with it!

This is a modern pinking punch for leather. 18th century fabric pinking punches were similar. The Bluestocking costumer used one on her 18th century gown.

First, I cut strips of fabric using my pinking shears. Pinking in the 18th century was done with fancy punches that were hammered along the edge of the fabric, but modern pinking shears work just fine. Pinking makes a zig-zag edge that helps stop fraying, so you don’t have to finish the edges of your strips by sewing. As you work with it, the edges may fuzz a bit and get softer. Ribbons are also good for ruching because the edges are already finished. Polyester ribbon will give you lots of loft and natural ribbons will perform more like the 18th century originals.

The amount of fabric you’ll need will depend on the amount of trim you want to do and how deeply ruffled you make your trim. I ended up cutting strips 3-5 times longer than I wanted the finished trim to be.

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I had two projects requiring ruffled trim, so I will be switching between picture of the white and purple fabrics. However, the method stays the same. The white fabric I cut about 2 inches wide while the purple dress trim I cut 1 inch wide.

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The next step is to use a loose running stitch to pleat the trim. I recommend making the gathering stitches about 1/8 – 1/2 inch long depending on how tightly pleated you want your ruffle. Experiment until you find a ruffle you like! To better mimic box pleats, a looser gather is more appropriate. Do a row of five to seven stitches then gather and backstitch once to help hold your gathers in place. That little backstitch is the key to easy-peasy ruffled trim! If you just blast through in one straight running stitch without making the little backstitch every so often, it’s difficult to control the gathers. Thinner fabrics will gather much more tightly than thicker ones.
Repeat the process for the length of the trim.

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If you like super-fluffy ruffles, you can just apply your trim right after you finish ruching it. However, most extant garments have pleated trim that isn’t so fluffy. Setting the folds by ironing your ruffle really makes your trim look much more polished and period!

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Ironed trim on the left, un-ironed trim on the right.
Notice how the un-ironed trim is curled and doesn’t lay flat. Ironing the trim makes it lie much more elegantly.

The last step is to sew the trim onto whatever dress or hat needs it. As you sew down the center over your gathering stitches, the trim will fluff up a little and hide your stitches, especially if you hand-tack it down in the folds.

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Added bonus, it hides any little gaps around my hooks and eyes!

Here’s a neat trick! Ruffle a piece of pinked fabric about 24 inches long and 1.5 inches wide. You’ll end up with a ruched section about 6 inches long. Sew the two loose ends together into a wreath.

Voilà! You’ve just made a carnation!

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The top flower has been left “au natural” while the flower on the bottom has been ironed. These make great accents for hats or shoes.

Here’s the handy “cheat sheet” I made myself:

instructions

I mislabeled the stitch length. It should say 1/8″ to 1/2″.

The backstitch step was the piece of the puzzle I had been missing in all my other attempts. I found that if I do a small, sloppy little backstitch, it will hold the gathers but it won’t completely stop movement. With a little tugging, I can readjust my gathers as I go along if I need to.

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This is my “Faux Chapeau” decorated with some very tightly gathered trim.

With and Without: How Wearing a Corset Affects You and Your Clothes

How Wearing a Corset Affects You and Your Clothes

An Outdated, Incorrect Diagram of a Corset's Effect

We’ve all heard the horror stories and seen the illustrations of how our corsets supposedly squish our bodies, but what about the ways in which they affect our appearance?

A corset’s most obvious effect is the reduction of the waist. The amount of reduction today’s fetish corsets achieve (up to 10″) is actually far past the historical norm even if the proportions are not. For example, “The Corset: Questions of Pressure and Displacement,” a study preformed by Robert L. Dickinson for The New York Medical Journal in 1887, sought to calculate the force of the pressure exerted on the body by the average corset and that pressure’s effect on the health of the wearer. It is an excellent article with lots of numbers for those of you who, like me, like to know a bit more about the math and science side of history!

In his study, Dr. Robert Dickinson states that, “Six inches difference between the circumference of the waist over the corset and the waist with the corset removed is the greatest difference I have measured. Five and a half and five I have met with once each. The least difference is in those cases where the measurement with and without is the same. The average contraction of the 52 cases given in the table is 2½ inches. The maximum there is 4½ inches, the minimum 1 inch.”

Note that the doctor encountered cases in which the with and without corset measurements were the same. How can that be? If  you aren’t reducing your waist measurement, why bother wearing a corset at all?

Measurements without a corset (left): 36″ x 28″ x 35″
Measurements with a corset (right): 35″ x 28″ x 35″

The photo above shows me in the same dress without and with a corset. Notice how much more smoothly my dress fits with a corset and how the bust is higher and slightly reduced, yet my waist measurement remained constant. The corset not only adds its own thickness, but rounds out the waist, a subtle, yet important factor to consider.

The oval on the left is a cross section of a 36 inch waist without a corset and the one on the right is taken in 3 inches with a corset. The shapes are to scale (remember: slight math nerd).

For many people, the human body looks skinnier from a side angle than from the front. The corset draws in the sides of the body, thinning the front view while making the waist more circular and increasing the thickness of the body. So I look smaller from the front even though my actual size hasn’t changed.

So why did/do we wear corsets? The answer lies in that fact that corsets act as more than just a measurement reducer. In fact, there are other effects a corset has on the figure that are just as important as its waist reducing properties, especially when it comes to determining historical health and beauty ideals.

Before and After, Spencer Corset Ad from 1941
Pre-20th century ladies aren’t the only ones who benefit from steel and whalebone. Until the 1970s, girdles were still essential for girls to get the nip and lift they needed.

One of the major features of a corset aside from its reduction capabilities is its rigidity and support. Further into his report, Dr. Dickinson mentions that one of the participants in his study only wears a corset to go out and works without a corset at home. He notes that because of this, her abdominal muscles have remained strong while other ladies, whose muscles have the corset to do the work for them, have weak “paunchy” abs (which I have gained even without wearing a corset. *sigh*).

The nudes of the era that feature soft, doughy forms were appreciated because most of the women, once freed from their corsets, sprang back to their natural size, but with soft bellies and low, fleshy hips. Today we consider tight, toned bodies sensual and untoned bodies casual, quite the opposite of yesteryear. However, if we looked toned everyday in society and kept our natural jiggle hidden except in the most intimate of settings, our ideas of sensuality might also reverse.

“Nana” by Edouard Manet, 1887

In a world without underwires and Spanx, the female body would quickly succumb to gravity. One of the main functions of a corset is to support the breasts. If you are like me and have boobs much too large for your frame, you know the hazards of going braless: stretch marks, painful jiggle, and general sag. It’s not fun; it’s not pretty; and the darn things can get in your way! A corset holds them up and back, like a levee lest those girlies runneth over while you’re doing laundry, cooking, or being jolted around by a runaway quarterhorse. It also provides shape to the chest which is more telling of an era’s trends than the size of the waist reduction. Thus we get Regency’s high breasts; the Romantic period’s large, wide breasts; the soft, rounded Civil War breasts, the high mono-boob of the bustle era, and the pendulous pigeon-breasts of the Edwardian era. Most misconceptions about frumpy 19th century fashions come from trying to wear the styles without the right foundation garment. A late Victorian gown just isn’t the same without its corset companion.

Besides its effect on the natural state of the body, the corset had an equally vital role in fashion development. Without it, none of the fashionable trends we’ve come to love would be possible. Again in his report, Dr. Dickinson describes what happens when a woman tries to wear the popular fashions from 1887:

“In the woman who wears no corsets the many layers of bands about the waist on which heavy skirts drag are sufficient to cause considerable constriction” – Dr. Robert Dickinson

A corset is essential…ESSENTIAL…to wearing any period gown not only to achieve the desired silhouette, but because some historical dresses are HEAVY. I have a simple 1870s wool gown with no extra buttons, beading, or trims besides a plaid capelet. There are the obligatory bones inside the bodice to further support the shape and all told, the thing weighs 6 pounds 5 ounces. That’s without the cage, petticoat, slip, and underskirt. If it had all the bells and whistles of high fashion like draping fringe, bows, and miles of ruffles, the weight increases dramatically– up to 15 or 16 pounds! Other styles, like the mounds of petticoats from the 1850s, would actually bruise your hips from the weight. A corset offers protection from the weight of a gown in addition to giving the fabric the smooth support it needs to keep from straining and sagging.

Court Dress, circa 1775
 An 18th century silhouette relies on stays to give the torso a cone shape and to flatten the front of the bust upward.

The corset is undoubtedly one of the most intriguing pieces of clothing ever devised. It is both functional and fascinating, crossing the realm between necessity and vanity. The daily fashions of the 2010s rely on exercise, good genes, and diet to achieve our ideal body shape, but the corset still lingers in spite of the changing times. Will it ever leave us?  Well, with the ability to give me a neatly defined waist where otherwise I have none, I don’t think my spiral steels will be leaving my closet anytime soon!

Happy Costuming! :)

For even more information about corsets and how they physically affect your body, I highly recommend visiting Lucy’s Corsetry. She is considered one of the leading authorities on modern corsetry and discusses everything from medical issues and myths to making your own!

The Unbelievably Beautiful Tasha Tudor Costume Collection

The Tasha Tudor Collection on Whitaker Auctions

Sheer Cotton Dress, circa 1830

I consider myself a costumer collector, but my collection is nowhere near as awe-inspiring as the collection of Tasha Tudor, an illustrator and children’s book writer.

Her collection spanned all of the 19th century, especially the rare and wonderful fashions between 1830 and 1850. She collected not just gowns, but shoes, hats, undergarments, men’s clothes, children’s dresses, and more! The collection was put up for auction by the Charles A. Whitaker Auction Company in 2007, a year before the beloved author died. It’s truly a beautiful archive of all fashion types during the 1800s!

Here are some of my favorite pieces:

Printed & Voided Velvet Gown, circa 1850-1860
(UPDATE: This dress is actually just a short drive from my house now! it was purchased by the Texas Civil War Museum for the Judy Richey Dress Collection)

Bonnet, circa 1860-1870

Green Changeant Silk Dress, circa 1840

Man’s Cotton Banyan Coat, circa 1830

(This coat probably began it’s life in the mid-to-late 18th century and was refashioned later to suit new tastes in fit)

Mauveine Child’s Dress, circa 1850

Fritilaria Printed Wool Dress, circa 1830-1840

Deconstructed Plaid Silk Dress, circa 1860

Lady’s Chameleon Shoes, circa 1830-1850

(This style of slipper is called “Chameleon” because, like the color-changing lizard, they often had a removable fabric backing under the punched design that could be changed to could be to match any gown)

Pink Silk Brocade Dress & Petticoat, circa 1770 (redone 1780s)

Unusual Sheer Evening Dress, circa 1800-1820

Apron Front Gown, circa 1820

American Military Academy Uniform, circa 1860

Kashmiri Embroidered Cloak, circa 1800-1820

These are just a tiny sample of all the wonderful fashions! To view the entire 400+ piece auction archive, click here or on the picture below. There are beautiful changeable silk gowns, mauveine dresses, velvet Spencer jackets, and lovely examples of lady’s unmentionables to study!

Click the Image above to visit the auction catalogue. Enjoy!

Tasha Tudor, August 28, 1915 – June 18, 2008

Thank you, Ms. Tudor, for your wonderful collections, work, and life. You have touched many lives with your books and your spirit lives on through them. Thank you.