I just want to start this post by saying do as I say rather than do as I do. I am incredibly impatient as it seems so I decided to just screw everything and jump right in and wing it. But the correct way to do it would be to make yet another mockup (or fix the existing one, whatever works!) or, if you’re lucky enough and your mockup fit perfectly by now, you’re good to go and start sewing the corset.
In my last post I was describing issues I had where the corset fit me, but didn’t have that effect that Edwardian corsets usually do. So what I did now was, I reprinted the paper pattern and went up a size in the bust and hip area, leaving the waist as it was. I would much rather pad it and have the shape that I wanted than have it be closer in size to my actual body. I know it probably doesn’t make sense, but Edwardian corsets were kind of made with that logic. Edwardians knew that their body wasn’t perfectly hourglass shaped (or s-bend shaped) so they mainly focused on the waist and kept bust and hips to scale in proportion and padded out what needed to be padded. Like this, it gave the illusion of a tinier waist because the rest was simply bigger in comparison.
Long story short, I skipped the mockup this time as I, like I said, am a very impatient person and frankly could not be bothered to make that. Obviously, I’m only doing that when I’m making my own garments, I would never skip this when I’m making someone else’s. So I cut it out of my cream twill and am now fixing the markings (half of the pieces don’t have markings because I cut two panels at once if that makes sense?).
Then I stitched all the pieces together and inserted the front busk. I made sure to cut four panels of the busk panel and the back panel to be able to insert the busk and have some added support in the back.
Then it was time to secure the busk. I still cannot understand how people machine stitch busks. I tried it this time and, surprise, it didn’t work. I didn’t break the needle this time but the stitches were very uneven, so I ended up hand stitching it. My seams are somewhat uneven as well but that’s okay. I feel like the front is acceptable for my skill level but the back is very uneven, I don’t really know what happened there. I even used one of those rotary cutter spike thingies that mark your seams and maybe I used it wrong but I wasn’t really able to follow the markings as they disappeared after a few minutes.
Then I made the boning channels and started inserting the boning. For the first time I used synthetic whalebone and I’m genuinely surprised. It’s pretty similar in texture to zip ties but it’s slightly sturdier, though much easier to work with. I could easily cut it with my fabric scissors and sand it. I used water blocking tape to secure the edges so they weren’t as sharp and inserted them.
This is what it looks like now -
It’s still lacking a few boning channels for the spring steel boning but I forgot to add them as I don’t have it right now, I’m going to the fabric store tomorrow to get it. But overall, I’m super impressed with the shape and I really hope it fits now! It’s crazy to me how small the waist looks even though it’s not. I knew this in theory but it’s mindblowing seeing it with my own eyes.
I’m a big boob person and for me bras have always been very uncomfortable. They never support enough even with the metallic wire support as the elastic strap is not secure enough and that wire curve is also just uncomfortable. My shoulders are also always aching because of the pressure put on shoulders. But no bras is even more uncomfortable especially if I have to do anything else than sitting. Which is why I have been considering testing out historical options ever since I got into historical sewing.
When it comes to historical sewing (and to some extent sewing in general) I’m still a noob and so I have been quite intimidated by stays and corsets and I’ve figured I’ll start with medieval supportive garments, like kirtle, as they are much simpler. Then I saw the videowhere Morgan Donner made a bathhouse dress and I immediately wanted to test it out too.
Some history
Bathhouse dress is a garment that appears around 14th to 16th century in central Europe, mostly around Bohemia, Austria and German states and their vicinity. Perhaps the most famous finding of this garment is the Lengberg Castle Bra found in Austria.
It’s often called medieval bra because it has cups like bra. I think that’s somewhat misleading as it was a full dress and this is just fragments of the dress. There’s theory that there’s only this left because the larger continuous pieces of linen were cut off and used for some other garment. The dress was quite different from shift, the usual loose undergarment that would be used under supportive kirtle around most of Europe at the time. It was sleeveless and tailored with lacing, usually on the side. The reason it’s often called bathhouse dress is that there’s a lot of depictions of it in bathhouse use, especially in Bohemia, and these depictions are sometimes referred as Bohemian bathhouse babes.
All of these types of garments didn’t have cups like this example from 1389 Bohemia, and there were a lot of different designs. There’s different shaped bodices, some had waist seem, some didn’t. In German the garment with cups was called breastbag at the time. In the literary mentions there was often degrading tone when talking about it, and it seemed that the writers at least thought women who used breastbag were “showing off”. When have men not complained about women’s fashion in a patriarchal society? Perhaps with the other designs there wasn’t similar derision. The writings and some other depictions of the garment suggest that it was used more generally as an undergarment and not just for bathhouse. Which would make sense as it would seen uncharacteristic for Middle Ages to tailor a supporting garment (not cheep) just to use in bathhouses.
Here’s a potter wearing similar garment with different design from late 15th century Austria.
Another one from mid 15th century Austria of a woman putting clothes on and obviously wearing the dress as undergarment.
Here’s a German example from late 15th century of a woman wearing it as a nightgown, which shift was also used for.
The sewing part
If you want a tutorial, go and watch that Morgan Donner video linked in the beginning, I’m not a good source on sewing, especially historical.
I wanted to make my version of the dress fairly historical, but I wasn’t too concerned with making in exactly right as it’s purpose is for daily use and not historical costuming. I hand-sewed it with historical techniques though, but the patterning part was quite chaotic and I basically came up with it as I went so there ended up being some weirdness in finishings as I didn’t plan far enough.
So here’s how it turned out. I very intentionally made it much shorter than it should be. Most depictions have it reach half calf. I was making it for daily use and not historical costuming and I have a lot of knee length skirts, so I wanted it short enough for that. I actually made the bodice and skirt into separate pieces that are just loosely whipstitched together so I can use them both alone too, especially the bodice with trousers.
The shape of the bodice isn’t historical. The cleavage goes fairly high and is fairly straight in most of the historical examples (especially with the cups). Even the Lengberg bra originally had crochet covering the chest area. But again that wouldn’t have fitted so well with a lot of my modern clothing, and my purpose wasn’t historical recreation.
As I was talking about the pretty weird finishings, here you can see them. The result isn’t very neat, but it’s fine.
I have been wearing this now a couple of months and I’m in love with it. It’s much more supportive while being also so much more comfortable. The lacing on the side distributes the force around the waist, so it doesn’t put nearly as much pressure on my shoulders. It’s made entirely out of linen and is very nice against skin and as it doesn’t have any metallic wires it also doesn’t press anywhere. It also is just much more flattering than bras at least for me. It doesn’t work that well without the skirt, the waist starts wrinkling and moving up, but the skirt keeps it pretty straight. The bodice is also slightly too long and it doesn’t sit exactly on my waist, so it adds to the problem. It’s not a huge problem though, it’s just a bit annoying.
I’m planning to test out a version where I’ll reinforce the eyelets with synthetic baleen instead of cord and put baleen in the other side too and maybe in the center front so I could use it as a separate undergarment without the annoying wrinkling. I’m also planning on doing 16th century kirtle bodice or the full kirtle (or both maybe as separate but attachable pieces, like with the bathhouse dress) with either stiff interlining or boning and Regency short stays. I want to test out different types of supportive undergarments in my quest for better bra options. Maybe after I’ve done them I’m ready to try Victorian corset too.
‘La M. de la Corsets’: c. 1832 lithograph showing a dressmaker or tailoress and client. The undergarments depicted include sleeve-plumpers.
1830s Thursday: Big sleeves, and even bigger dreams for women’s rights.
The growing vulnerability of working women in industrial society provoked a forceful response. In 1825 hundreds of them went out on strike against New York City clothing houses. In 1831 these same women organized themselves into a mass-membership United Tailoresses’ Society. At a time when journeymen were still devoting their political efforts to a defense of artisanal prerogatives in the master’s shop, these “tailoresses” (the appellation itself testified to an advanced degree of industrial consciousness, excluding as it did the more traditional dressmaking of the “sempstress”) already understood that in a capitalist economy no aspect of the work relationship remained non-negotiable. […]
No one can help us but ourselves, Sarah Monroe, a leader of the United Tailoresses’ Society, declared. Tailoresses should consequently organize a trade union with a constitution, a plan of action, and a strike fund. Only then could we “come before the public in defense of our rights.” The Wollstonecraftian rhetoric was conscious. Lavinia Wright, the society’s secretary, argued that the tailoresses’ low wages and hard-pressed circumstances were a direct result of the way power was organized throughout society to ensure women’s subordination in all social relations.
— Michael Zakim, Ready-Made Democracy: A History of Men’s Dress in the American Republic, 1760-1860
I was disappointed in my search for pictures of Sarah Munroe, Lavinia Wright, or really anything to do with the United Tailoresses’ Society. One online article outright stated, “We know very little about this speaker, Sarah Monroe, other than that she was a garment worker and president of the newly formed United Tailoress Society – the first women-only union in the United States.”
I am in awe of this working-class woman, Sarah Monroe, who is quoted by Michael Zakim as saying in 1831:
It needs no small share of courage for us, who have been used to impositions and oppression from our youth up to the present day, to come before the public in defense of our rights; but, my friends, if it is unfashionable for the men to bear oppression in silence, why should it not also become unfashionable with the women?
‘The Tailor’s Shop’: 1838 lithograph by Carl Kunz and Johann Geiger
One of the most typical Romantic era fashion details I know of is the big, quadratic belt buckle women wore to emphasis their waist.
After some decades of a raised waistline and column-like silhouette, narrow waists once again came into fashion, helped by a new hourglass shaped corset that further underlined the shape. And the big buckle was the the finishing detail, the exclamation point. Here’s some examples.
“Portrait of a Woman”, 1831, by Miklós Barabas (unknown location)
“Portrait of Eleonore Thulstrup”, early 19th century, by Jacob Munch (Oslo Museum, OB.00484)
“Portrait of Christine Kemp Keilhau”, 1835, by Johan Görbitz (Oslo Museum, OB.00258)
Ribbon belt and golden buckle on a pigeon blue dress, 1830s (from Cora Ginsburg auctions)
Golden buckle, 1827 (private collection)
“Portrait of Juliane Elise Larpent”, 1827, by Aument (Linderud gård, Oslo). Here she is wearing the very buckle seen in photo 5.
Matching coat and dress, of coral silk with brown velvet piping, 1909.
The coat looks inspired by 18th century riding habits and military coats. The dress, on the other hand, looks more inspired by late Medieval and/or early Renaissance style. An eclectic style in total, and interestingly also a bit modern looking, some 110 years later.
The very surprising and brief return of the crinoline, 1920-30
A brief fashion was the return of the crinoline in the 1920s. In a period dominated by women abandoning their corsets and stiffened underskirts to instead don the tubular shapes, this is an example of different trends living side by side.
The 1910s also saw experiments with hip shapening, especially through Paul Poiret’s “Lamp Shade Tunic” (Sorbet) in 1913. But this was a part of his interest in theatrical “oriental” garments like the harem pants, turbans and Ballet Russe ensembles, and not necessarily something that widely caught on.
Many of the 1920s “crinoline” gowns were court gowns of different kinds, but with the amount in existence in museums around the world it appears the style was also adapted for non-court wear. It’s often referred to as “Robe de Style”.
Evening/court gown, ca. 1920, Boué Soeurs (with embroidery by Lesage). Kunstindustrimuseet/Design Museum Denmark, Copenhagen ( X).
Court presentation ensemble, 1928, The Metropolitan Museum of Arts, NYC (C.I.68.48a–e).
Evening gown, 1920s, The Metropolitan Museum of Arts, NYC ( X).
Court presentation ensemble, 1932-34 (?), Boué Soeurs. The Metropolitan Museum of Arts, NYC (2009.300.1251ab).
Evening/court gown, ca. 1920, Boué Soueurs. Worn by Countess Astrid Ahlefeldt-Laurvig. The skirt width indicates a stiffened underskirt would have been worn originally, and with it the dress would have been near identical to no. 3 and no. 8. Holbæk Museum, Denmark ( X).
Evening/court gown, 1925-28, Boué Soeurs. Palais Galliera, Paris ( X).
This is a modern dress with some vintage details. The length and flare of the skirt is reminiscent of the 1950s when a tiny waist and a large skirt were popular. The shirt-waist front bodice on a dress then coupled with a side opening was popular for much of the 20th century. It allowed for the kind of complex details you see here reminiscent of a shirt-waist or blouse–double-breasted button front, shaped neckline, and collar–without having to bring the buttons all the way down to the hemline. Instead, a snap placket in the side seam lets you pull the dress over your head. Here, a zipper is used instead.
Playing with stripes has always been popular as they are among the simplest patterns. By placing them on the bias and matching them for forming chevrons, you can create a playful and dynamic look as you see here. Imagine leaving the stripes all straight on a less-flared skirt and you can see that the entire dress would become much more sober in flavor.
Choosing stripes does mean more work matching the stripes. Careful cutting is key, and then basting and checking before final sewing is necessary. Still, I always enjoy bias chevron skirts in the summer as they seem to capture the spirit of the season.
Houndstooth is a little out of its wheelhouse on an evening gown, as it is a woven pattern best known in woolen tweeds for tailored suits and coats. Yet it makes for harmony as it becomes panels of glimmering pinwheels in this brocaded silk chiffon number. As the image indicates, it offers two kinds of flaring at the hemline, first circular flounces on the dress itself and then tiered circular hem flounces on the silk crepe underdress.
The ornate ornamentation on flat panels of the tubular silhouette was popular in 1920s, but these flounces shatter the tube and create poetry in motion. Imagine a woman wearing this as she spun across the dance floor, the metallic threads catching the light as they lifted and fell with her steps. These flounces with their rounded hemlines are the sophisticated version of our “handkerchief” hems which are usually only squares tilted to the bias which creates sharp corner. This makes them easier to make, but not as pretty when they move.
The reveal comes when you take off the bolero jacket and reveal the strapless dress beneath. Notice how the white, strapless version is clearly an important summer event. She has a flower corsage pinned to her belt and strappy, high heels. This fits with the fabric suggestion of taffeta, faille, or shantung which would have been made of silk. The blue and white version has straps and because it is gingham, it is not so daring in its appearance. Notice that the pink version has flat shoes too, an indication this might be a picnic or other low-key weekend event. This fits with the fabric suggestions of chambray, pique, seersucker or lightweight denim which would all be made of cotton.
This combination – bolero over revealing dress–was very common during the 1950s. It solved the problem of going out without revealing much until you got to your destination, or warming up when the evening turned cool. The bolero here is very simple. It has cut-on sleeves, little jaunty cuffs, a single buttons, and darts front and back to fit to the body. The dress is more complicated despite the “easy-to-sew” designation, as sign of a high level of home dressmaking skill at the time. Both the strapped and strapless version are supposed to be boned through the bodice, and both are trimmed with self-trim bias-cut fabric which is able to follow the curves of the neckline. The large pockets have fold-back flaps.
Of course, it was a look that was first popularized by Christian Dior in 1947, the New Look with soft shoulders, small waist, and long, luxurious flared skirts. The width of these skirts also indicates they were worn with a petticoat which fluffed out at the hemline. While lower calf lengths were the preference of Dior that year, the long skirts had crept up a inch by inch by the end of the 1950s. These fall a bit below the knee.
This “Sunback Dress” and bolero from Modern Knitting reflect the popular look of the late 1940s. Post-war American women embraced the New Look offered by Christian Dior in 1947 with fitted bodices and long, full skirts. The skirt on this dress is both gathered and pleated at the waist for fullness and then was knitted until it was 30 inches in length. This sundress also reflects the new prosperity and leisure that marked much of America in the era. Both garments were knitted of ¼ inch rayon or silk ribbon. Pretty fancy for a summertime dress, but pretty amazing to wear too, I would think. It would be cool to the touch and have the subtle glow which both kinds of ribbons can have. But it came at a cost.
They estimated that the price would be $50 in rayon ribbon which works out to over $580 today, or $60 in silk ribbon which is $799. This was unusually high for this magazine as the next page has a simple dress from a boucle wool fingering yarn which costs only $14.50 to make. The ribbon was wider and the knitting would have gone faster, so there was a time savings. But you can imagine that anyone embarking on this project would have had to think long and hard about how much wear they would get out of it to justify the cost.
Ribbon yarns are far more common now and made out of all kinds of fibers, but I suspect the silk ribbon version would remain the most luxurious and perhaps the most beautiful choice.
You see here Kirsty Dillon playing a policewoman WDC Stephens, recently made a detective, who is struggling with what to wear in 2009. One can see her problem might be endemic as female detectives were so rare in the UK police force that they were titled Woman Detective Constable while men were simply Detective Constable until 1999. This is her first day as a detective and she has on grey trousers and an unfortunate knit cardigan with ruffles at the hem and sleeves. She is pulling at it and pondering, and asks a colleague DC Jones (Detective Sargeant) played by Jason Hughes:
“Ben, what do you think? I mean, how plain are plain clothes supposed to be?”
He never gets to answer, but the idea that plain clothes, that is, not a uniform, need to be plain to the point of ugliness hangs in the air. As this episode proceeds, we see her character trying different looks, while DC Jones wears essentially the same suit and tie throughout. Which gives us an idea of the quandaries women have faced as they moved into new positions of authority with only men as sartorial role models. While she could certainly wear a suit, with trousers or with a skirt, a tie would have been considered odd so the male plain clothes uniform was not entirely suitable.
This was from Season 12, Episode 3 and called “Secrets and Spies.”
Perhaps because there was such a big shift of population out west during World War II, perhaps because of movies set in the old west from Hollywood, and perhaps because of new attention to leisure wear, this kind of simple, gathered blouse associated with the Southwest became a fashion trend during the 1940s. The fabric suggestions include gingham and calico which are simple fabrics often worn by very young women, as well as challis which would drape more easily, and just plain cotton. This re-issued vintage pattern comes in modern sizes.
Often paired with a full gathered skirt, or a tiered gathered skirt, which are another very simple kind of garment, this kind of blouse was very ease to make. The sleeves are raglan and the only tricky thing is threading the ribbon or elastic through the neckline and sleeve edges. At the same time this simple pattern allowed a girl or young women a lot of design possibilities: mixing or matching colors for the ribbon and lace trim, adding ribbons or braid along the the bodice and sleeves.
The blouse also allows for two very different looks. See how they offered the black and white sketch to make makes clear that the ribboned version offers both an everyday look and a flirtatious off-the-shoulder look for evening.
Were Fifties swimsuits glamorous or what? Yes, that is a white swim suit embroidered with gold lamé stems, and with gold lame straps. Another one with black lace overlay sprinkled with rhinestones, a more daring lingerie look. They really look more like something a chorus girl would dance in, but they were swimsuits.
True, it seems unlikely that gold lamé and rhinestones are really likely to survive a lot of time in the pool, but these were probably not made for meant for swimming laps. Can’t you image two women wearing them pool side, drinking tropical cocktails, looking flirty, and then announcing it was just too hot and dipping into the pool to cool off?
Augusta Auctions tells us the white one is made of a cotton/rubber/acetate blend and the black one, more vaguely, was synthetic. There are zippers along the center backs as designers did not have spandex to make them extra stretchy, so they needed some way to get you into a fitted garment. These suits cover far more than suits would later and were easier to wear as a result, but they do show off as much of the figure as anything that came later.
They were made by “Deweese Design, Swim & Sun Fashions Los Angeles California" according to the label. California had a post-war fashion cachet as the war industry had brought so many more people out west. Designers catered to the region’s longer seasons of sunshine which meant more people were spending time in outdoor living, including poolside. Postwar prosperity mean more people had the time and money to relax in the outdoors too. Yet, even sportswear, as you can see, could be fancy.
Square Sleeves and Round Yolk: The Music Class Blouse
This blouse at BurdaStyle is also dubbed Short Sleeve Blouse 01/2011 and comes as part of a collection called Music Class which has multiple vintage details on its blouses, jackets, and coats. This one in particular intrigued me. The original used loops for the buttons, but I decided to extend the front facings to center the buttons and use buttonholes. Other than that, I did no modifications.
While we don’t often see sleeve attached to blouses with square armholes, they can be found in patterns from the 1930s. We we find one here on a sleeve that flares over the top of the arm and narrows to nothing when it reaches the under arm. I attached the sleeve to the blouse on the vertical seam and then laid the sleeve over the blouse front along the horizontal seam, with seam allowance tucked under, and edge stitched it. Earlier pattern designers preferred laying a pattern piece (with seam allowances pressed under) on top of a another piece and edge stitched when they had a right of acute angle in a design.
Today, we are often told to reinforce the angle seam line with stitching, then clip to the inner corner and then sew the pieces together even as the seam allowance near the clip become TEENY TINY. This creates a far less stable seam and leads to errors during and unravelings after. Laying over was and is often wiser.
Another feature of this blouse is the fabric gathered to the yoke. We do sometimes see gatherings on blouses, especially to replace a dart with the fullness over the front bustline. But we don’t often see them on a rounded yoke to which both front and back and top sleeve edge is gathered. As you can see, you attach those pieces to one another, gather them along their edges and then attache them to the edges of the yoke.
This creates a very soft look around the shoulders, as you can see from their photo, so long as the fabric has a lot of drape. I am using a rayon challis, so it is working. Anything crisper and the sleeves would appear to be taking off in flight, rather than draping, and the whole might seem massive.
I will show you the finished product soon. Meanwhile, you can find this pattern for yourself here. This is PDF pattern that you need to print out, tape together, and add seam allowances and hems.
The aprons of earlier eras came out in an amazing assortment, various shapes, trims and edges. Lots of creativity was poured into designing and making them. Why? Because for most married women with children, aprons were their work wear because they were home women. Which meant they had to wear aprons everyday and who doesn’t enjoy some fashion variety? Here the variety is the color combinations and trims.
These aprons are from 1948. They all have some special feature, and the least detailed one is the one with stripes yet even then the stripes on the two pockets are cut exactly the same. No sloppy layout of the pattern pieces here. The red plaid has the most features, a pocket which matches the plaid lines of the apron, ruffles at the hem, and then baby rick rack as trimming at top, at hem, and on the pocket. They threw in the matching oven mitt padded with cotton batting and finished at the edges with double-fold bias tape. The other half apron takes a print and a solid to mix and puts the print for pockets and a band near the hemline. You can imagine a woman sorting through her box of cotton remnants looking for a nice color harmony to make this one.
Also notice how one model wears a navy dress and the other a blouse and skirt. There was no such thing as a t-shirt worn as outer clothing back then, and most women only wore pants for dirty work like gardening or painting, or for active sports. So the home woman would have been dressed in dress or skirt and blouse, and the apron would have served to keep her clean as well as cheerfully stylish.
I have blogged this dress before, but as I ironed it, I was thinking how much I admire the small prints on fabric of the past. The Dress Doctors always recommended them because they were easier to work with while dressmaking and they were not overwhelming to the average woman’s figure. This fabric was sold as a 1930s era reproduction.
See here how easy it was for me to match the print where the patch pocket was placed. There was almost no waste in cutting out the pocket either. Matching was otherwise a moot point where the ruffles at the neck and the tiers or flounce below and as a wrap, it made little sense to try to match along the opening edge.
Now if the flowers had been large, I would have had to think about where to place them so as to avoid the grotesque effect of two flowers over the breast or one landing at the crotch. And placing the pocket would have meant wasting fabric. I often am charmed with a print sold online, only to look at the photo with a ruler, realize the flowers are 3, 5 or even 7 inches across, and reject it.
I cannot decide if the textile designers like to work with larger prints, if large prints sell well because they look better on a small screen for web buyers, of if making smaller prints is more difficult in the manufacturing process. I do know that I will hold out for them.
You can find this pattern as a reproduction. It is a Hoover apron or bungalow dress, made famous during WWI when Herbert Hoover ran the government program on food conservation and the home economists designed an apron that wrapped and could be rewrapped when one surface became filthy. I know, kind of disgusting, but that was how it was made famous. Regardless of rewrapping, this makes for a nice summer robe, or even a casual daytime dress. Although wrapped dresses are not the most practical for wearing out of the house–fear the windy day–the length and amount of overlap makes it relatively secure.
Worn by Crown Prince Otto von Habsburg to his parents Charles I and IV and Zita of Bourbon-Parma‘s coronation as King and Queen of Hungary held in Budapest on December 30, 1916.
Worn by Emily Warren Roebling for her formal presentation to Queen Victoria in 1896, at the coronation of Tsar Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra Feodorovna that same year, and in her portrait by Charles-Émile-Auguste Carolus-Duran.
