Well, sort of. The Young Mr sported a brand-new, all-hand-sewn frock coat and breeches, as well as brand new size 15 shoes (thank you, USPS Priority Mail and Robert Land’s stock of the raraavis size 15.) He was spotted in photos that were shared with me later, and there he is, front and center, in his new, blue wool broadcloth suit. (I do like the side eye Mr C is giving as he checks on the second row.)
When he was dressed on Saturday, the Young Mr had a real presence. There is something about a suit that changes a man– well, in this case, a boy into a man. On the ride home, he told his father, “Now that I’m growing up, it feels weird to call you mom and dad. I think I should call you by your first names.” (I’ll wait here while you finish laughing. Yes, it is funny. No, we did not laugh at him.)
It’s a curious idea to us now, marking transitions with clothes. For some, coming of age is marked with a car or at least a driver’s license. For others, it may be a first job, or apartment. But once, stages were marked in clothing, as boys moved from gowns to breeches, and later from dresses to short pants to long pants.
Our clothing is so much less formal, that we are less accustomed in most cases to seeing men in suits. Even as young as I was in those last “Mad Men” years, I remember more formal times, and shopping with my parents, seeing coats marked up in chalk and thread for my father, and the ranks of shirts and heavy-hangered trousers and coats at Brooks Brothers downtown in Chicago. (I went there once as a teenager with a friend to buy a present for her father; we were not warmly welcomed in our punk clothes, but the glass cases were unforgettable.)
For the Young Mr, that kind of formality is lost. There’s not much point in buying him a modern suit: he’s all t-shirts and hoodies and hand-me-downs from a friend at work he’s rapidly growing past. He’d never wear a suit, except as he steps into the past, and his fittings happen in private homes or workshops, and not in front of a three-panel mirror.
The Young Mr steps into the past to step into adulthood, and comes back to a present where he has many more years and rites of passage before he will truly be an adult.
I wrestle a lot with myself, which sounds much sexier and more athletic than it is, when it’s your patience and conscience. It’s a constant fight with my own brain and animal nature, like Snowy pondering a bone.
It’s hard to keep sewing for an ever-taller young man who refuses almost all attempts at fitting. (Especially when your calloused fingertips and split thumb keep catching on the silk buttonhole twist.)
It’s hard to have program ideas and then realize you will end up as the maid, serving a meal to a group including some people you might not like. (Don’t you think that must be a fairly authentic emotion, historically?)
It’s hard to put aside plans for your first pretty silk dress because someone doesn’t want to go where you want to go.
It’s hard to embrace the importance and meaning of interpreting the ordinary in a culture that celebrates the unique.
I come to that and stop: mission.
Watercolor by Thomas Rowlandson, 1785? Lewis Walpole LibraryDrawings R79 no. 7
You can take anything too far, of course, and an occasional silk gown and turn around a dance floor might make being the maid a little easier, but in the end I know that what’s important to me is representing the people who have been forgotten.
That same impulse may be part of what drives the splintering into ever-smaller groups with every-different coats, but walking the cat back also leads me to think that lace, tape, and shiny buttons may be part of the equation, too. Are those uniforms the gents’ equivalent to cross-barr’d silk sacques? As in any culture, it is easier to have your cake and eat it, too if you’re a guy.
For most of us women inhabiting the past, if we’re not baking cake, we’re serving it.
Playing the game at quadrille : from an original painting in Vauxhall Gardens. London : Robert Sayer, ca. 1750. Lewis Walpole Library, 750.00.00.14
It’s a funny thing to want a break from work you find important, but as with anything, variety and perspective are important.
She looks wistful, doesn’t she? The others are whist-full.
In a world of individualists, each trying to stand out, quotidian celebrities– cast a skeptical glance at your social media feed and tell me I’m wrong–our impulse may not be to inhabit the background. But most of us are the background. We’re large only in our own minds, stars of the movies of our lives that flicker past our eyelids. And that’s ok: that’s noble, even, to live a small, thoughtful life.
Silver Pocket Watch of Meriwether Lewis, 1936.30.5
Once upon a time, when I worked in Missouri, I was fortunate enough to spend a lot of quality time with some amazing artifacts.
Meriwether Lewis’s refracting telescope.
William Clark’s compass.
Meriwether Lewis’s pocket watch.
William Clark’s Account with John Griffin for thread, cloth and other articles including a hat for George and shoes for Mary. (July 1820, William Clark Papers, B13/F5, MHS)
Account of expenses in “horse keeping,” 1829- 1831. Request to Clark to pay to Mrs. Ingram, with request to serve as receipt. On same document: ADS Dashney to Major Graham, 26 June 1826. Order to pay William C. Wiggins. (1831 Dec 13, William Clark Papers, B14/F2, MHS).
There are letters to one of Clark’s sons, trying to get him to stay at West Point. There are bills for bolts and iron work for Clark’s house. Yes: there are amazing things in the collection as well, and historians of all kinds can do amazing work in the papers.
But they are ordinary. They are daily life played out in the first third of the nineteenth century in St. Louis, bills and accounts punctuated by letters from famous people and news of wars and explorers. But after processing the family’s collection, what struck me more than anything was how ordinary they were, how quotidian.
Meriwether Lewis in Indian dress. engraving after St. Memin, 1807.
Lewis was fabulous, interesting and mysterious. I don’t know what really happened on the Natchez Trace, but I know what happened in St. Louis. William Clark kept living, paying his bills and stumbling sometimes, refusing a role as territorial governor before accepting it. He got boring. And for that, I love him more than Lewis.
There’s real value in interpreting the everyday, ordinary people, in bringing work and working people to life in the past. I don’t always love repressing my ego, but I know that a nostalgic view of the past can be dangerous. I meant backwardly aspirational when I first wrote it, and I mean it now: most of us would not have been merchants wearing silks and velvets and superfine wools.
After wrestling with my ego and silk dress disappointment most of this afternoon*, I’ve found satisfaction in the thought of expanding my understanding of working class women. If really digging into interpreting the world of the marginal makes me uncomfortable, it must be worth doing, and doing well.
*Thankfully whilst performing useful tasks like running errands and thus wasting little real time on this nonsense.
Madora [sic] water color by Maria Caroline Temple ca 1800. Inscribed Maria C. Temple. delt.’ and ‘Vide “Young Philosopher.” British Museum 1869,0612.599
I was looking for images of maids in 1800, and came across this in the British Museum. Having no idea what Maria Temple meant by Vide Young Philosopher, I went searching. Turns out the answer is surprisingly easy: It’s a novel published in 1798 by Charlotte Smith. So it seems that what Maria Caroline Temple did was to draw a scene from a novel she’d read. I was delighted by this, as something I used to do a long time ago was to draw scenes from books I had read and loved.
With a publication date of 1798, I think we can feel pretty confident in the British Museum’s ca. 1800 date; what I was looking for was a non-satirical illustration of a maid in 1800: what did she wear, how did she comport herself? not because I haven’t been a maid in 1800 before, but because I need to be a better maid in 1800.
The things to love in this image, aside from the clothes, are the checked slipcover and window drape, the brass lock on the heavy wooden door, and the view through those wavy panes of glass. I don’t love the wallpaper, but I appreciate the evidence of it– but not as much as I appreciate the hint of drape matching that raucous slipcover.
Now I just need to hunt down an affordable copy of this clearly dramatic and romantic work of early fiction, and to find out exactly what books were being read in 1800 Rhode Island.
Edited to correct numerous typos and to add a bad sketch of the OSV apron. Don’t try to do research while conducting a small but energetic boy through a musket exhibit.
Two aprons, many questions, all of them excellent.
It’s really tough when an extant garment lacks provenance or even faux-venance, as in the “Revolutionary War” garments that turn out to be later. So, where do we look to figure things out when we a) like a garment a lot and don’t know if it’s right or b) are embarking on something a little new? And yes, in this case, we are talking bibbed aprons in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, in Rhode Island and in the Missouri Territory.
We start with questions:
1. What documentary sources can I find?
2. Is the form plausible for time period/area?
3. What is the typical fabric for the time period/area?
4. Is the item appropriate for my character/persona/impression?
Apron, checked with high waist, 1800-1820. Plain weave linen, probably Southeastern US. Colonial Williamsburg 1995-53
What documentary sources do we have?
OSV’s apron: I do my best work on the fly.
We have some extant garments, two with images.
1. Extant apron 26.39.4, Old Sturbridge Village
2. Extant smock ca. 1800, Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association 2000.01.869
3. Extant apron 18100-1820, 1995-33, Colonial Williamsburg (unstable links, search for accession number)
4. Apron 2005.24.4 at Historic New England has an intriguing description: A reddish brown linen apron with blue and white plaid. The apron is smock-like, with two holes for the arms and ties that extend from under the arms to the back. The bottom has a double hem. The neckline can be tightened or loosened with a blue and white string. What does that look like? Could it look like the Stonington plaid? It’s certainly a plausible New England weave 1810-1820.
5. Apron 1989.3, also at Historic New England, with a description similar to the CW high waisted apron:Cream & blue plaid linen; tucked at waist; no waistband; long cotton tape ties. (The tucked waist is similar to CW’s)
What else is out there? MHS’s database has an Apache error today, so not sure what aprons they have, though they’re exactly where we need to look for one instance. I’ve looked and failed to find aprons of this description in the following catalogs: Historic New Orleans, Chicago Historical Society, State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Connecticut Historical Society, the Met, MFA Boston, Maine Historical Society, New Hampshire Historical Society, Ohio Historical Society, Newport Historical Society and Little Compton (RI) Historical Society. I’m now really tired of interacting with Past Perfect software.
Is this form plausible?
We have 5 objects and one image, all found in a cursory afternoon. Me, I’m still liking this form for the first quarter of the nineteenth century in the United States. I think the form varies somewhat, as can be seen in the descriptions; the OSV apron is the outlier, with the other 4 extant garments seeming more smock-like.
From RIHS MSS 72, Preserved Pearce papers, Tailor’s and Tavern account books, 1778-1781.
Fabric type?
Neither the OSV apron nor the PVMA smock have much (any) provenance, but the fabric is very typical of New England from the Connecticut River to the coast; it appears in inventories from 1777, on home- bound volumes, extant aprons in Deerfield and and in sample books from 1815.
Blue and white check: I am comfortable saying that those two aprons are 1800-1820 New England based on form and fabric. I am delighted to have found it in the apron at Colonial Williamsburg, which is thought to be from the Southeastern United States. I think that expand the range down the eastern seaboard. With the evidence of the extant garments and fabrics typical in New England, I am still OK with this form of apron, even if my rendition of the OSV apron is rather poor, thank you for noticing.
But what about Missouri? What should you wear out there, on the banks of the Mississippi?
Creole woman and boy. Acc. # 1953.158.37. Watercolor and pencil on paper by Anna Maria von Phul, 1818. Missouri History Museum Collections. Von Phul 37
Enter Anna Maria Von Phul. She is a little sketchy on some details– these are watercolors, after all–but I think she would have made the apron blue if it was made of blue and white check. She has rendered some stripes (?) in the head scarf, so she does hint at some detail.
Because I know AMVP, I believe that she is documenting fashions pretty typical of the time and place. The ladies she portrays in St. Louis in 1818 are fashionably dressed and not behind the times for the year, even if we cannot see every detail of dress.
If I were to make the cognitive leap that women across what is now the eastern half-or-so of the United States wore bibbed-style smocks or aprons between 1810-1820, and made them up in the most common fabric of their area (cue blue and white checks for New England), I might step back from that link in Wm Booth’s catalog. If I were to copy this image’s apron, I think I would make it in plain, unbleached linen, based on how I read this color and shading.
Ideally, you would find bracketing aprons– that is, some a little earlier and some a little later– in a “typical” fabric. I didn’t find those animals in the Western Reserve or Louisiana Purchase Territory collections available online, but that only means I didn’t dig in hard enough.
I don’t think these utilitarian garments will turn up in shop records, and I don’t think we are likely to find detailed probate inventory descriptions– mostly it says “apron,” which is too general for our purposes. We won’t find runaway ads: it’s too late for those, and a little early for newspapers in the Territories, though it wouldn’t hurt to search online.
I think our best alternate documentary sources in this case will be in diaries (again, we may not get the specificity we want; Sylvia Lewis only makes Spencers differentiated by color, so we are ignorant of collar shape, trims, number of buttons, closures, etc.) and in watercolors and drawings, often amateur, of everyday life. After all, you can never have too many sources.
Is it appropriate?
Well…the evidence on the PVMA smock is of some use, though stains can be acquired in storage, too. The CW smock-apron is less used. I think this form in a checked or plain linen fabric would be best suited for everyday and working wear, cleaning, cooking, gardening, but not for serving at table (in a house that supported that), and not for dress or best, when white would have been what was wanted.
Well, sort of. The Young Mr sported a brand-new, all-hand-sewn frock coat and breeches, as well as brand new size 15 shoes (thank you, USPS Priority Mail and Robert Land’s stock of the rara avis size 15.) He was spotted in photos that were shared with me later, and there he is, front and center, in his new, blue wool broadcloth suit. (I do like the side eye Mr C is giving as he checks on the second row.)
Our clothing is so much less formal, that we are less accustomed in most cases to seeing men in suits. Even as young as I was in those last “Mad Men” years, I remember more formal times, and shopping with my parents, seeing coats marked up in chalk and thread for my father, and the ranks of shirts and heavy-hangered trousers and coats at Brooks Brothers downtown in Chicago. (I went there once as a teenager with a friend to buy a present for her father; we were not warmly welcomed in our punk clothes, but the glass cases were unforgettable.)
![Madora [sic] water color by Maria Caroline Temple ca 1800. Inscribed Maria C. Temple. delt.' and 'Vide "Young Philosopher." British Museum 1869,0612.599](https://kirstenhammerstrom.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/89c0c-an00291773_001_l.jpg?w=640&h=610)
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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