Regency Hat

A little late in posting, I present to you my submission for HSF Challenge #8: By the Sea. I'm so caught up in finishing my Gibson Girl evening gown for this weekend that I've had very little time for other sewing. I struggled to come up with something that would meet the requirements of the challenge, but not take up too much of my valuable sewing time. Then I had a sudden inspiration: the silk I am using for the dress is a lovely blue-green that reminds me of the sea. I have plenty of extra fabric, so I decided to use some of it for a quick and easy seaside project.

I happened to read this lovely blog post on Austenprose after following a link posted to the HSF Facebook group, and decided that a Regency era hat would be just the thing. Fashionable headgear would have been de rigeur for any lady visiting a watering place such as Brighton. What else would she wear while strolling along the shore? Something jaunty and a bit sporty would suit the seaside mood perfectly. 

In my internet-surfing search for inspiration, I came upon this post by Catherine at Koshka the Cat detailing the construction of her adorable red silk capote. Scrounging about in my stash, I procured all the other necessary materials, then whipped up my own version. 

Without further ado, here it is, my sea-blue promenade capote:

The details:

The Challenge: #8 — By the Sea

Fabric: Blue-green silk taffeta leftover from my Gibson Girl dress

Pattern: This wonderful tutorial from Koshka the Cat

Year: 1790s-1810s

Notions: buckram, millinery wire, and cotton flannel interlining for brim; tarlatan interlining and cotton voile lining for crown; beautiful vintage ribbon, white and sheer with pale seafoam picot edge

How historically accurate is it? I must confess, I have not done extensive research for this project, so I cannot attest to its accuracy. I trust Catherine's accuracy standards, and Timely Tresses sells a pattern for a very similar hat, and I trust their research standards as well. My best guess is that this is fairly accurate. 

Hours to complete: 6 hours

First worn: Will be worn to some unknown, hopefully seaside, future Regency event

Total cost: I spent about $20 on the ribbon, everything else came from my stash

Gibson Girl Skirt

I finished the basic construction of the skirt for my Gibson Girl gown about two weeks ago, but I didn't get around to photographing it until today. Here it is in its un-trimmed state:

Front 

Side-back 

Back 

Laid flat — this shows how simple the shape of the skirt is. The only seam is at center back (top straight edge in this photo). Additional shaping is provided by one small dart on each side of the waist. 

Construction details:

First I made the foundation skirt, a free-hanging lining attached to the outside skirt only at the placket and waistband. It serves as a petticoat, providing shape and structure for the fullness of the skirt. I cut the foundation on the same pattern as my skirt, but made it about 1-1/2" shorter. As seen above, it is a partial circle skirt, cut so that the majority of the fullness falls in the back. Since the hemline is very curved, I used a 4" bias facing as a hem. I followed period examples and interlined the hem with a bias strip of tarlatan, a lightweight, open-weave cotton that is heavily sized. It is light but firm, and when cut on the bias, behaves much like modern horsehair braid, providing structure and body without stiffness or weight. I added a dust ruffle inside the skirt, to help the bottom stand out from the legs while wearing it. The ruffle is about 6" deep, pinked on both edges, and gathered over a thin cotton cord.

The outside skirt is cut to "dancing length", just skimming the tops of my feet. It is hemmed the same way as the foundation skirt, with a 3" bias facing (without interlining, however).

Here are detail shots of the hems:

Lining dust ruffle

Lining hem

Skirt hem

The skirt and foundation are joined at the placket, which consists of a 1" underlap of the outside fabric. The placket closes with snaps, which began to be used during this period. Since there is no pleating or fullness in the skirt where the placket is, I thought snaps would be best for keeping the opening concealed. Both skirt layers are attached to a 3/4" wide waistband made from the blue silk. The waistband closes with two hooks and eyes.

Skirt placket and waistband

Now the skirt just needs trimming! I will be adding a deep chiffon flounce, a band of beaded trimming, and some accents made from a deep pink silk.

The bodice for the dress is nearly finished as well. More details on that coming up soon!

Gibson Girl Bodice Base

It's time for a progress update on my Gibson Girl gown. I finished the bodice base about a week ago. It took forever! Sewing the bodice was quick and easy since I was good and made a proper mockup to adjust all the fitting issues beforehand, but I spent several days just on the finishing.

First I trimmed, clipped, and scalloped all the seam allowances. Then, I overcast them all by hand. I sewed boning casings to each seam, again by hand. To ensure that the bodice sits smoothly over the boning, I followed a process described in period dressmaking manuals. As I stitched the casings down to the seam allowances, I left extra ease in the tape for a few inches in either side of the waistline, where the body has the most inward curve. Then, when I inserted the boning, I stretched the bodice lengthwise, causing the boning to bow in slightly. If you don't follow this process, the bodice may crinkle slightly at the waist when worn. It is a simple but ingenious way to ensure a smooth fit.

Next, I finished the neckline with a cotton ribbon as a facing and ran a narrow ribbon through it to use as a drawstring to draw up the neckline as needed. I then applied bias facings to the armscyes and to the bottom edge, which I interlined with a bias strip of tarlatan to give it structure. Lastly, I made a waist stay out of petersham and tacked it onto the back seam allowances. I sewed the bodice seams by machine, but after that every step of the process was completed by hand. The only shortcut I took was to use hook-and-eye tape for the bodice closure, instead of sewing on individual hooks and eyes. It's not the prettiest finish, but at least I was able to use my machine!

Here's the completed bodice base:

On the dressform

Back view

Laid flat

Inside 

Armhole facing

Bottom Edge

Pretty soon I can start working on the parts people will actually see!!

I have made a lot of progress on the skirts (yes, there are two). As soon as the outer skirt hem is finished, I'll post some pictures.

Gibson Girl Hair Accessory

For Challenge #7 of the Historical Sew Fortnightly, I made a small and simple hair accessory to wear with my upcoming Gibson Girl evening gown. I have been hard at work sewing the dress and have made a lot of progress (I'll post some updates very soon). All the sewing time I've had lately has been dedicated to that epic undertaking, which is why I haven't been blogging much lately, and why I didn't complete a project for Challenge #6 (I have several striped garments in planning stages, but just didn't have time to work on any of them this month). Taking a break from garment construction to whip up this accessory was a welcome break.

The window of time I am focusing on for this project is the years right around the turn of the century, 1899 to about 1903. If you spend as much time looking at fashion plates from that period as I have, you will notice that the increasingly voluminous hairstyles are often accompanied by sprays of feathers, flowers, and/or perky ribbon bows.

Here are some examples:

1899

The lady on the right has a spray of black plumage on her head.

1900 

Get past her giant chest bow for a minute, and see the arrangement of ribbon loops in her hair.

1901

Her plumage is quite impressive.

1903 

I just love the jaunty black bow. 

And here's my version (modelled on my most recent attempt at giant Gibson Girl hair):

The ribbon bow, which seemed pretty big when I made it, is dwarfed in comparison with my bouffant updo.

A side view 

And the hair accessory on its own. 

Making it was more complicated than you might think. The feathers are small clusters of fronds that I stripped from an ostrich drab. I bound them together clump by clump, wrapping their bases in thread as I went. I then constructed the bow from black velvet ribbon, and attached the feather spray to the back of the bow. I didn't add anything to affix it to my hair, but simply anchored it in my bun with a long hairpin. 

The details:

The Challenge: #7 — Accessorize

Fabric: None

Pattern: None, just improvised

Year: ca 1900

Notions: 1 black ostrich drab, 1/2 yd. 2" wide black velvet ribbon, black polyester thread

How historically accurate is it? I don't have any historical examples to compare it with, but the techniques I used are compatible with period millinery. 

Hours to complete: 1 hour (not counting the updo!)

First worn: Will be worn April 27 at the Gaskell Ball

Total cost: about $6

Gibson Girl Gown Progress

This week I finally started my Gibson Girl ball gown!

After much study and deliberation, I have formulated a game plan. My vision for the dress is a bodice based loosely on this dress:

1898-1900 Jacques Doucet, Met Museum

I love the draped crossover bodice with chiffon peeking out at the neckline, and I'm really into the idea of shoulder drapery, though I will probably use more chiffon instead of flowers. 

I want my skirt to have a little more visual interest, so I'm thinking about a flounce and embellishment inspired by this dress:

1898-1900 House of Worth, Met Museum

Though I'm sure I won't have the patience to cover my flounce in spangles, I very much like the line of applique/embroidery where the flounce attaches to the skirt. 

To plan the actual construction of the dress, I have been consulting all my usual reference books and resources. In addition, I have found Cathy Hay's Worth Oak Leaf dress diary especially insightful. She faithfully recreated an incredible 1903 evening gown by the famous design house, right down to the insanely detailed embroidery. Here's the original dress:

1903 House of Worth

And yes, her version is about as jaw-droppingly beautiful as the original. While I have absolutely no intention of putting even a tiny fraction of the effort she did into the embellishment of my gown, I found her notes, photographs, and diagrams of the dress immensely helpful. Please go visit her site and enjoy it as much as I have. 

In addition to her dress diary, I have studied period patterns and dressmaking manuals, patterns taken from extant dresses, and photographs of dresses in museum collections. Based on these sources, I have identified a few nearly universal techniques for the construction of evening/ball gowns from this period: 

1. The bodice, rather than being flat-lined, is built over a separate silk lining, sometimes an off-white color, sometimes a shade to compliment the outer fabric. This bodice base is boned and has a petersham waist stay, and has its own closure in either the front or the back. 

An example:

1897 House of Worth, Met Museum

This photo is intended to show the stay tape and label, but it also shows inside of the bodice base. Notice all the vertical seams and the hand-finishing. Seam allowances are overcast, bone casings and stay are hand-stitched in place, and the bottom edge is finished with a facing or tape. You can see the outside fabric (actually a piece of ribbon in this case) peeking out from the bottom. It is clearly separate from the lining. 

2. The outer layers of the bodice are arranged and applied to this base. They have their own closure, either concealed in their drapery, or along one of the side seams. The careful placement of closures completely disguises the openings. 

The same bodice as above, but from the outside this time:

1897 House of Worth, Met Museum

It is clear that all the frill and frouf that constitutes the outside of the bodice is lightly applied to the exterior, and is not in any way structural. The boned lining provides all the structure, the rest is just decoration. This is true even of more solid-looking bodices, like the silver-blue Worth dress above. 

Here is its bodice laid flat:

1898-1900 Worth, Met Museum

If you look closely at the inside back edge, you'll see the outer fabric floating free from the lining, which has a drawstring at its upper edge (also a common feature). That back piece wraps across the back from the right hand side of the body to the left, where it fastens with hooks and eyes along the side seam (just visible in the full-length photo up above).

3. The skirt is usually separate from the bodice and has a free-hanging lining. This lining serves as a petticoat, with rows of ruffles to help fill out and support the bottom of the skirt. The skirts close at the center back. 

You can see the free-hanging skirt lining in this dress:

1899 House of Worth, Met Museum

Within the framework of these general guidelines, there is a huge amount of variation in the patterning, cut, layering, and ornamentation. The bodice linings are fairly standard, following the common bodice shapes of the 1890s, but the skirts can be cut in any number of ways. Most are gored, but the size, shape, and number of gores vary widely. Some skirts are cut with only a single front gore, paired with large circular-cut panels extending to the back. A very few skirts are cut in a single-piece, circle skirt layout, though the narrow width of period silks makes this an uncommon technique. The gored skirts tend to have some pleating or gathering where the back portions attach to the waistband, while the circular skirts tend to be fitted much more smoothly over the hips. 

I prefer this smooth-fitted approach, and also like the easiness of a circular skirt — fewer seams — so I plan to cut my skirt as one large circular shape. If you take a look at the diagram of the Worth dress by Cathy Hay, you will see the shape that I am using for my skirt. This is supported by a dress in Janet Arnold, as well as a few period patterns in The Voice of Fashion.  

I have decided to make my dress without a train, even though they were very popular in this period. Every extant dress I have seen has a long sweeping train, but I personally have no desire to experiment with dancing in one. I have seen written references to "dancing length" dresses, showing that at least some women thought about foregoing the fashionable trend in favor of practicality. But without having seen even one example of such a dress, I am doubtful as to the historical accuracy of my choice. Since I am wearing this to a ball where I will be dancing for hours, I have decided that I am willing to compromise historical accuracy in order to be able to dance without fear of me or anyone else stepping on my elegant train and tearing it to pieces. These are the choices we costumers must sometimes make. 

Here's a lovely painting showing ladies dancing in dresses that do not appear to have long trains:

The Ball, Victor Gabriel Gilbert

For my bodice base, I am using the basic 1890s bodice pattern from Period Costume for Stage and Screen (pg 146-7). I considered using the Truly Victorian 1892 Ball Gown Bodice, which would have given a similar shape (raising the bottom edge, and dropping the giant sleeves of course), but decided to save my money and just work with the pattern from the book. I was very lucky, the pattern required very little alteration once I scaled it up. 

While doing this research and planning my patterns, I was also collecting materials. I found a muted blue-green silk taffeta for the main body of the dress. To trim it, I decided on a pale pink silk chiffon for the drapery and skirt flounce, and a peachy rose silk taffeta for accents. For lining, I settled on a pale pink acetate taffeta; I would have bought silk, but couldn't justify the extra expense for something that no one will really see. It has a similar hand and body to silk, and it breathes. At $3/yard, I couldn't resist.

For embellishment, I bought a beaded trim in grey and silver that I thought was somewhat evocative of the cloud motifs on the blue Worth dress above. I also plan to accent the dress with black velvet. 

Here's a picture of all my materials together:
From left to right: pink acetate taffeta for my lining, blue-green silk taffeta for the body of the dress (shown with the grey and silver beaded trim for embellishing the skirt), peachy pink silk taffeta for an accent color, pale pink chiffon for the neckline/shoulders and the skirt flounce (shown with black velvet ribbon, which will get worked in somewhere)

I have already made mockups of my bodice base (from Jean Hunnisett) and my skirt pattern (from the Oak Leaf dress and a dress in Patterns of Fashion by Janet Arnold, pg 50-51). I cut out the bodice lining, the skirt lining, and outer skirt over the weekend, and will hopefully start sewing my dress this week!

I'll post an update once I have something worth seeing. 

Knitted Garters

The latest challenge in the Historical Sew Fortnightly, Challenge #5: Peasants and Pioneers, was somehow very difficult for me. I spent most of the fortnight wondering what on earth I could make that would fit the challenge and also be useful to me. I don't do any serious reenacting or living history; my historical dressing consists almost entirely of wearing ball gowns to local themed dances. The only real opportunity I have of dressing in simple everyday clothing is the Dickens Fair, and I just made myself a completely new ensemble for that last fall.

I wracked my brain for 12 of the 14 days, then woke up Saturday morning with a plan: I would make a small, simple knitted project. While knitting can be very complex and delicate, it can also be quite practical and workaday — perfect for the current challenge. Upperclass ladies of leisure might knit fancy silk purses, but every working class woman learned to knit as an economical way to provide her family with stockings and other useful articles. After a quick brainstorming/internet-surfing session, I decided to make knitted garters. They are a small, quick knit, can be worn with the fanciest of ball gowns, but would have been made by even the lowliest peasant girl in the 19th century as an opportunity of honing her knitting skills.

The first search hit on Google for "knitted garters" leads to this lovely post from the blog World Turn'd Upside Down, complete with a pattern and helpful interpretive drawings. The pattern was published in Godey's Lady's Book in 1862, but is similar in style to instructions found in the Workwoman's Guide and other earlier sources.

I present to you my peasant girl knitted garters:

The Challenge: #5 — Peasants and Pioneers

Fabric: None

Pattern: "A New Style of Garter" from Godey's Lady's Book 1862, as shared and explained on World Turn'd Upside Down

Year: 1862, but appropriate for any part of the mid-19th century

Notions: Fingering weight wool yarn from my stash (white and burgundy), size 1 knitting needles

How historically accurate is it? Very accurate. The materials are very close to what would have been used, and I followed the pattern exactly. The only part I'm not certain about is the needle size, but I think I was pretty close. 

Hours to complete: 5-6

First worn: Will be worn later this year

Total cost: Nothing — materials came entirely from my stash. 

Here they are tied. They're not holding anything up, as I don't have any period appropriate stockings to wear them with yet. 

I love any excuse to make a tassel. 

This is the drawing that accompanied the original pattern. I did pretty good, I think!

1830s-1840s Underpinnings

Here are my 1830s-1840s underpinnings, as worn last week with my blue late 1830s ball gown (seen hanging in the background of all these pictures). They were also worn in December with my brown wool Dickens Fair dress.

The finished effect:

Now let's break down what goes into giving me this silhouette.

First, a hand-sewn chemise made from diagrams and instructions in the Workwoman's Guide. It is a transitional style, bridging the gap between the squares-and-rectangles shifts of the early 19th century and the curved and gathered yoke chemises of the 1850s and 1860s. It is still cut entirely in rectangles and gores, but has full, gathered sleeves and a front flap to cover the top edge of the corset:

I wish I had pressed it before taking these pictures.

I based my chemise primarily on this historical example:

1830s National Trust Collections

Luckily for me, this chemise is documented in Costume in Detail (pg 173-4). It also has many traits in common with chemises in the plates for the Workwoman's Guide. Mine is hand-sewn from pima cotton broadcloth (though it should more properly be linen). I think it is beautiful, and it is perfectly comfortable to wear under my day dress, but I don't think I'll wear it again with a ball gown. It is very difficult to get it to sit right with a lower neckline, and when dancing the shoulders tend to fall down. They then bind and pinch and make my shoulder/upper arm very uncomfortable — not ideal for an evening of dancing. This doesn't happen when worn with a higher neckline, as the chemise can then sit properly up on my shoulders. 

Over the chemise, I wore my go-to mid-19th century corset, a heavily modified version of Simplicity 9769: 

It fits pretty well, is fairly comfortable, and gives a nice silhouette. However, I wish it had more hip flare (something my corsets pretty much always need). I also experience some lower back pain after a few hours of dancing in it, probably a consequence of not having enough room in the back hip area.  I think this summer I will make a replacement, maybe something with gussets and hip gores to allow for a curvier shape. 

Next I added a bustle pad:

I find that despite my natural rear padding, my skirts don't achieve the desired fluffy bell curve in the back without some additional padding. I initially tried a smaller round-ish pad, maybe 6-8" across and 5" or so deep. (I wore that bustle with my Dickens Fair dress.)  I found, however, that it didn't provide quite enough floof for my taste, and so made this larger, thicker bustle the morning of the ball. It extends all the way to my sides and is more tightly stuffed than my last bustle. In these pictures, it almost seems like too much bustle, but the wool batting inside compacted slightly as the night wore on, and I'm quite happy with the resulting shape. It is sewn from white linen, with cotton twill tape ties. 

Now for the petticoats: 

First is a simple base petticoat of two 45" panels of pima cotton broadcloth, hemmed to lower-calf length: 

The next layer is a corded petticoat:

I labored over this for months (all hand-sewn, remember), but I think it was well worth it. It is two 45" panels of plain cotton muslin with Sugar 'n' Cream cotton yarn for the cording. When I started, my plan was to fold up a deep hem, sandwiching rows of cording between the fabric layers, as shown in this tutorial by The Laced Angel. You can see that there are about 35 rows of cording at the hem of the petticoat done in this style. Those 35 rows took forever!! (Did I mention I was doing this by hand?) 

Miles and miles of cording!!

I decided to speed things up a bit by changing to another method of cording, the one demonstrated in this tutorial at Historically Dressed. Each row of cording is sewn into a small tuck in the fabric, wrapped tightly the same way you would make your own covered piping. With this style of cording, each tuck takes out a little bit of the petticoat's length, so remember to plan accordingly. Otherwise, you'll have to do what I did and add some extra fabric on top to make the petticoat long enough. This method went much faster and enabled me to actually finish the petticoat, instead of throwing it away from myself in frustration. I started by spacing my cords about 1/2" apart, but the spacing got wider as I went up the petticoat (and grew increasingly impatient to be finished with it). Luckily, that was a common look in period examples, like this one:

1830s Metropolitan Museum

As an additional FYI, I find that this second method of cording gives much more volume and support than the first method. They both stiffen the fabric considerably, especially with a good starching, but the tucked cording resists crumpling more than the sandwiched cording. 

On top of the corded petticoat is a plain petticoat with a deep hem and one 1/2" tuck (added to shorten the petticoat):

And one final petticoat, this time with a shallower hem and eight 1/2" tucks (it started with seven, as I prefer the aesthetic symmetry of odd numbers, but this petticoat also needed shortening):

These two outer petticoats are both made from two and a half panels of 45" pima cotton broadcloth, to a total circumference of ~110".

Look at that fluff!! Who needs hoop skirts anyway? I love the soft bell silhouette, and all those layers are wonderful to move and dance in. Instead of the pendulous swinging of a crinoline, you get a soft, rustling swirl of fabric. It's delightful.

So much floof!

The crucial step to ensure that you get the desired volume with petticoats alone is to starch the heck out of them. I use plain old cornstarch. The process in brief:

1. Make a solution of starch and water. It doesn't take much — 1/4 cup starch to a quart of water, dissolving the starch in a small amount of water first before adding the rest. 

2. Boil it for a minute or two until it thickens. 

3. Let it cool, and dilute it as necessary. 

4. Dunk the petticoats, then squeeze out the excess (I use a spin cycle in my washing machine). 

5. Hang to dry. 

6.When you're ready to press them, it's best to dampen them slightly first. This gives them a smooth glossy finish.  

Here's a great shot of my petticoats after starching (but before pressing): 

They are literally standing up on their own. 

(The cat is included for scale — no, he was just being nosey.)

Starching takes a long time, and must be repeated every time you wash the petticoats, but it is so worth it. Not only does it greatly enhance the floof factor, but it makes the fabric crisp and rustley — very satisfying.  

To see what these petticoats look like under dresses, visit these previous posts:

Late 1830s Ball Gown

1840s Day Dress