Itching for Style

Dress Date: 1830s Culture: American Medium: wool Dimensions: Length at CB: 53 1/2 in. (135.9 cm) Credit Line: Gift of John Eastman and Gerard L. Eastman, 1976 Accession Number: 1976.209.2
Dress, 1830s. American, wool.
Gift of John Eastman and Gerard L. Eastman, 1976.209.2 Metropolitan Museum of Art

Wool. It’s a thing. This dress from the Met has many of the markers of everyday fashion– a vernacular form, if you will, of what Deliverance Mapes Waldo is wearing in this portrait

Deliverance Mapes Waldo and Her Son about 1830 Samuel Lovett Waldo (American, 1783–1861 American) DIMENSIONS 77.15 x 64.45 cm (30 3/8 x 25 3/8 in.) ACCESSION NUMBER 45.891 MFA Boston
Deliverance Mapes Waldo and Her Son, about 1830
Samuel Lovett Waldo. 45.891 MFA Boston

Of course, dating these things is never a science when they don’t come with a clearly labeled tag you can affirm with research. The extant garment first. The sleeves say 1820s, the waistline says 1830s. Could it be 1840s? Perhaps. Without provenance, it’s really hard to know.

Mrs Waldo’s sleeves are clearly 1830s sleeves: full on gigot, sloped shoulder. It’s the contrast between her sleeves and the Met’s dress that makes me question their date (along with the fashion plates we saw yesterday).

Here’s a wool gown from England, land of the fabulous wools.

Dress, England, Great Britain.  1836-1838. Printed wool, trimmed with printed wool, lined with cotton, hand-sewn Given by Mrs H. M. Shepherd, T.11-1935. Victoria & Albert Museum.
Dress, England, Great Britain. 1836-1838.
Printed wool, trimmed with printed wool, lined with cotton, hand-sewn
Given by Mrs H. M. Shepherd, T.11-1935. Victoria & Albert Museum.

Here the sleeves are starting to be narrowed at the shoulder, taming the gigot. That places this 1836 or later, which is helpful. The bodice style is still not the pleated or smocked front of the 1840s, so that’s another marker for mid-to-late 1830s.

What will I do? I don’t know. I’ve ordered two patterns (and one for a new chemise, sigh). The Past Patterns Lowell Mill Girl dress appears to make up quite nicely, but I also ordered the Wisconsin Historical Society pattern for comparison. (Hey, when you can’t examine originals, you have to use the patterns.) Fabric is always a question, but if I’m feeling plain wool, there’s always Burnley & Trowbridge’s “Virginia Cloth.” I’ve worked with it before, so I know how it handles, and while the color looks itchy, it’s actually pretty soft.

Gigot or Gigantic?

Carriage and Morning Dress, 1832. LAPL Fashion Plate Collection
Carriage and Morning Dress, 1832. LAPL Fashion Plate Collection

So, about that 1833 thing…

No, it’s not that I’m reconsidering. It is merely that as I consider the options, the fashion plates are a bit overwhelming. On the other hand, I am getting really good at recognizing the look of the 1830s in undated portraits. There’s an upside to everything.

Extant garments are fairly plentiful in the Usual Suspects’ Collections; there’s even a Tumblr. There’s a Tumblr for everything.

Woman's Green, Tan, Yellow and Blue Striped/Plaid Gown. OSV, 26.33.63
Woman’s Green, Tan, Yellow and Blue Striped/Plaid Gown. OSV, 26.33.63

Fortunately, there are some tamer garments out there, with sleeves less likely to result in flight in a high wind. Bonus: not floral, and not silk. Printed wool seems to have been fairly common, but the weight is just impossible to find. I did some looking in New York, but nothing convinced me with print or price.

This is a milita muster, so there will be time outside. I’m toying with a habit or Amazone (hard to resist a garment with that name) though the most I know about horses is that they have four legs. It’s tailoring that attracts me, not use. Also, wool. Mid-September might warrant wool, even if that’s hard to imagine today. (The downside, of course, is that there’s menswear to be made, too, so a simple dress is surely the best option.)

Sheer Madness

Mercury is retrograde and the schedule is tight, even for me, as I made the plans I’ll put into action at the end of this week: a special event Thursday night at work, followed by mad packing and a drive pretty far into New York.

I did say sheer.

Yes: I am going to Genesee. It’s a long drive from here, so I’m happy to be picking up some friends in Albany (neither of whom live there) for company and some relief behind the wheel. Of course we’re taking our car: it’s the Quartermaster cart.

Since this is one of two occasions when I can portray someone in trade rather than in service (and a better trade than selling fruit on the street), I made a new gown. And a new Spencer. And a new reticule. And cut out a new coat for Mr S, with a newly (fingers crossed!) patterned collar, based on plates in Lapsley and Queen and images texted from a friend.

Yes, I am a little crazy, but it does make life interesting.*

Finished –even hemmed– days before the event!

The gown is made from fairly sheer block-printed Indian cotton found on eBay. The pattern is based on one in Nancy Bradfield’s Costume in Detail with a bib front and tucks in the center back. To help with measurements, I also referred to the bib-front dress in the back of Bradfield’s book, as patterned on the fabulous 19th US site, as well as Janet Arnold.

The first bib-front gown I made ended up a little slanted: your mileage may vary, but I find patterning on opioids is not recommended (I sewed while recovering from hip replacement surgery). This one seems a little better, though the fabric came in for some commentary when I was working on this in a room full of light infantry “men.” We devolved from “chicken on flower” to “Seagull on a bush” in describing this buta-like shape. I only bled a small amount on the tucks, despite texting while sewing.

Canezou de Velours, 1810

Inspired by this 1810 fashion plate, I made a black velvet Spencer as well. That’s finished, save for the buttonholes, though there will be no texting while button holing.

Men’s waistcoats often have cotton or linen at the CB neck.

It got pretty matchy-matchy when I did the lining.

You will note that the plate describes a “Canezou de Velours.” Canezou was new to me, and while I don’t trustthe internet too much, here we are with Larousse: Vieux. Corsage de femme en lingerie.

Huh. It seems to be a lightweight-bust length garment for women.

Here’s the OED:

Oxford English Dictionary

canezou canezouHist.

(ˈkanzu)
[Fr., of unknown origin.]
A woman’s blouse-like garment of muslin or cambric. Also attrib.
1827 Lady’s Mag. Sept. 510/2 A canezou spencer of embroidered muslin. Ibid. 511/1 Muslin canezous over high dresses. 1893 G. Hill Hist. Engl. Dress II. 241 A cambric canezou..with sleeves full to the elbow. 1898 Daily News 26 Sept. 6/4 When the Restoration came in 1815,..Fleur-de-lys appeared on everything… The canezou replaced the hideous spencer.

 

Ah, the hideous Spencer. I rather like them, myself.

 

*A very long time ago, I had a drawing teacher who said there is never an excuse for being bored. There is always something to do, to see, to observe. That was my first lesson in being present. Perhaps I take this statement a bit too literally.

That Glint in Your Eye…

Winslow Homer, Snap the Whip. oil on canvas, 1872. Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Christian A. Zabriskie, 1950, 50.41

Have you ever wondered what your friends would have been like to play with as kids? Mr S likes to, but he does have long hours on the commuter trains to fill, and I think by now he’s counted all the Bigfoot shelters along the route twice.

Sometimes we imagine one of our friends as the dirty, shirtless boy who plays hard until dark, until he realized he’s actually cut you with the stick sword, and you have to go home to get the blood cleaned up.

Another one might really be into building, but likes the process more than the result. Expect frank critiques, and lots of small parts, which ends in satisfaction and cookies. Sadly, when you come back, the creation is disassembled into neatly sorted constituent parts.

There’s the one who you partner with on a science fair project: you do the three-fold display with little samples of something, captioned. Too bad that when you win second prize and ask to take the display you designed and created home, you get hit under the eye with a lunch box for your trouble.

The Children of Nathan Starr. Oil on canvas by Ambrose Andrews, 1835. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1987.404

Some friends are a little wilier: I don’t know how you get talked into licking something weird, but it can happen when you’re under ten. It’s not poisonous, but it is nasty. Sorry about that. Have some milk.

The bookish types aren’t all that safe either! Suddenly, on a windy day, you’re falling downstairs because Mary Poppins was far too convincing, and now Dad’s umbrella is ruined. Two strikes, and now your friend hears her mom calling her home? Pro tip: don’t play Wuthering Heights, Mill on the Floss, or Tess of the d’Urbervilles. Bonus note, and just trust me here: just leave the Brontes to Orson Welles.

Girl Skipping Rope. Tempera on board by Ben Shahn, 1943. MFA Boston,  1971.702
Girl Skipping Rope. Tempera on board by Ben Shahn, 1943. MFA Boston, 1971.702

Don’t get me wrong: I enjoyed all the games and stories we made up and played when I was kid with all kinds of friends, and I enjoy everything my friends and I do today. But sometimes I see the glint in a friend’s eye, and I know we are in for something I might wish my mom wouldn’t let me do.