Authenticity: Sources I

There he goes!

You know this guy: the reluctant drummer and avid ensign who wants to be in uniform but struggles with the fact that he might be seen by someone. (14 is complicated.) I’ve been mulling over several upcoming events and the comments that swirl around on the Interwebs after any large event, and, as I often do, find my clarity in writing. That means you’ll have to wait till the end of this post or a series to get “answers,” or what pass for them.

One of the things I struggle with is that the kid is not a mannequin. He has stated quite plainly that he feels like I fuss too much over his appearance, when he has nothing to do at events, which leads him to believe that I am fussing over nothing. There’s some truth in that, right: while God and authenticity may be in the details, all is for nought if there’s nothing to do or interpret.

This means I cannot simply dress him up as I see fit, I have to negotiate with him, and keep on eye on what he’ll be doing. And I don’t have the time to make all the lovely things I’d like to make (or not all at once, anyway) so it’s a matter of choosing.

June 21, 1774 Connecticut Courant
Connecticut Courant, June 21, 1774

Let’s start with what the kid has already: the blue jacket, checked shirt, neck cloth, breeches, stockings and shoes. I went to the newspapers (the lower sorts’ Vogue) looking for examples of runaways, and found some good ones. On June 21, 1774, an ad was published in the Connecticut Courant for a boy who had run away in a “check linen shirt, pair of striped linen trousers, one pair brown plain cloth breeches…” but the Young Mr wants no part of striped linen trousers, and his breeches are linen, not wool.

Essex Gazette, January 10, 1775
Essex Gazette, January 10, 1775

On January 3, 1775, the Essex Gazette ran an ad for a boy in a “short blue jacket, snuff colored breeches and long trousers.” Now that’s more like it!

Long trousers sound good to the kid, more “normal” than breeches,  but there’s a jacket in there that would satisfy my stripey love. For the short run, even if I don’t get the trousers made up in the next couple of weeks, he’s reasonably well documented, or at least within the realm of plausible appearances, even if he should be in wool and not linen, and even if one of the best reasons for making trousers is to replace the poorly-fitted breeches.

Kids shouldn’t just get a pass for inauthentic clothing, and children in what are really costumes do make me crazy–probably because I’m hand-sewing clothing for a wily teenager to grow out of, and looking for sources to make sure the choices I make have some form of documentation.

…For the Approaching Summer

Summer is, of course, fully upon us and those of us on the eastern seaboard feel its oppressive and sticky heat. Ordinarily, my town isn’t terribly hot and cools off at night, but like everywhere else, this is not the case. Last weekend, I wore wool; technically a wool and cotton blend, but more problematically, burgundy in color. This is the price of gowns inspired by London watercolors.

Summer

This leads to constant questions: Aren’t you hot in those clothes? Aren’t you dying of the heat?

There is an underlying tone that suggests that perhaps the people of the 18th century didn’t know enough not to wear wool, or perhaps they only had winter clothes. I’ve heard “well, they didn’t know any better,” as if they never took their clothes off, and if only they had, 18th century men and women would have promptly abandoned their stays, gowns, waistcoats and breeches for tank tops, shorts, and wife beaters. Of course, history is not a Fiat commercial.

Well, what did “they” do?

Barbara Johnson's book, 1764.
Barbara Johnson’s book, 1764.

They took their trade to James Green and merchants like him who offered “Piece Goods of every kind … suitable for all Seasons, but more particularly for the approaching Summer.” (Boston Post Boy, August 8, 1763.)

And what would be suitable? Cottons, fine linens, light silks, in light colors.

Barbara Johnson chose floral prints on white backgrounds in July and August of 1764, both could be “suitable for summer.”

And as you probably know, the answer to “Aren’t you hot?” depends on who you are, but is often, “Not really. Once my shift/shirt is soaked with sweat, I’m pretty comfortable.” This is true as long as your shift/shirt is made of linen; cotton and cotton/linen blends don’t wick as well as linen.

Alterations in Force

Horrid Green Frock Coat at Birth

Remember this coat? I’ve been attempting to solve this coat for a while. While the Zombie Coat had to be put aside after the tail pleat debacle (what was I thinking? Sewing while tired means hems only, or simple straight seams), I finished up the Horrid Green Frock Coat. It is somewhat less horrid now. Mr S wore it yesterday to be a member of the Jackson’s militia impression of the 10th MA at Longfellow House in Cambridge.

The sleeves were removed and the seam taken in to remove excess material. Perhaps I could have slimmed it a bit more, but it needed to sit the armscye.

The shoulder seam (where back and front join) was also taken in and snugged up twice. The side seams were taken in a great deal from the armscye down, but not enough. To fix the remaining bagginess at the small of the back above Mr S’s hips, I will have to take more out of the front panel, “and work it into the side pleats.” (Easy enough for the Master to say, harder for my brain to figure out.)

Somewhat better, but two more seams to snug.

This is the closest photo to the one above. You can see that the line of the front has been changed and slimmed, and a collar added for stability and style in addition to those cuffs. I also changed the shape of the pocket flaps, and moved them to change the look of the front panels. They don’t have to match the pocket slits, as long as they don’t reveal the slits (one bag is madder linen, I ran out of large pieces of green), so I moved them to change the look of the front.

The mariner’s cuffs were fun. If the Zombie behaves decently this week, I’ll give him mariner’s cuffs on his too-short-blue-wool-sleeves. Well, I’ll probably give him mariner’s cuffs anyway, just so he can get the coat on and off.

On Brattle Street, Cambridge, while it was still “cool.”

And, finally, a full-length view of the coat. It takes more than webbing and belts to reshape a silhouette. It’s taken 13 months from first making that coat to get it to this point. Thanks to an expert’s chalk marks in February, transforming it into something at least wearable was possible, though at first sight, those chalk marks were devastating and overwhelming. It took overalls to get me to face this coat, so thank goodness for the horribleness of overalls.

In the Pink

Detail, back pleats
Detail, back pleats

I swear I try to be positive about the mistakes I make. But not only did I discover this morning that I had lost my struggle with spacial processing, now I have found clear imagery to show how I should have handled the pleats on the Zombie Coat. Live, learn, unstitch and restitch: that’s all I can do. Now I have only to decide whether to do the unstitching this weekend, or next week. It will have to be done: now I know the way I’ve done it is wrong, and the master’s eye will be on that mistake and then he will know, and I will know that he knows, and it will just go on from there to tired shame.

Man's wool  coat, 1770s. Meg Andrews.
Man’s wool coat, 1770s. Meg Andrews.

My favorite part of the description is this:

Either the coat was altered for another man or the wearer got fatter! … There is a half moon insertion under the arms… There’s no detail photo of that half-moon insertion, but I do so wish there was. The description notes additional changes: “If you look at one cuff you can see a lighter part of a button shape next to the seam. The cuffs have been removed and then added to the edge of the cuff to lengthen the sleeve.” At least we know garments in the past, even ones as lovely as this, were altered and changed.

Puckering on the Zombie Coat. It’s still a nice blue, and you know what? It fits me, so maybe he’ll lose it to his refugee mother.

I will probably be inserting shapes of various kinds into the Zombie Coat, since I do now have a diagnosis for this puckering at the shoulder blades. “Viewed from the back and sides, it appears that the sleeve is binding on the front of his shoulder, causing pulling across the back shoulders – the puckers are caused by the stretching of the fabric across the rounding of the back and shoulders. If you make the top of the upper sleeve wider, or raise the shoulder cap it will create more fullness over the top of the sleeve and reduce the binding that is translating down the sleeve and across the back.”

By the time I make the changes I need to, the Zombie Coat will have acquired its own pre-history.