We plan to start with the basic question: who are you? And what does that mean for what you wear? What visual and extant sources can inform your choices? From John Lewis Krimmel to Sophie Du Pont, images help paint a picture of a distinctive early American style.
Mrs Pabodie attempts to remember when she was born (1771). Photo by J. D. Kay
Collections from Rhode Island to New York contain examples of early garments that help us understand how people dressed in the early 19th century, as well as diaries that tell us how they lived. Fortune telling? Sewing for money? Bored with quilting? Church as a social experience? There’s much more to the early nineteenth century than Jane Austen. Come find out more this June.
If you are a historic costumer, living history interpreter or enactor and tell me you don’t have a problem with shoes, and I will laugh at you. Even if you don’t have way too many shoes, chances are good you look at them in museum collections, even if you don’t order them. Shoes are basic to any impression.
I have history with shoes, myself. Not only have my feet always been generously proportioned, but my Grandmother possessed a singular fondness for, and an expansive collection of, shoes.
Shoes. Slippers.
Pair of slippers. 1825-1849. Paul Hase, Paris. V&A 1153&A-1901
Call them what you will, when you hanker to dance, you need them. So, I find myself in the happily distracting position of needing (wanting) dance slippers for April. I thought my search might be fruitless, what with my pedal extremities, but reader: I was delighted and surprised.
Yes: they fit! Now the tricky bit is to dye and decorate these slippers to achieve maximum eye-watering potential. There’s a length of silk headed my way that should provide plenty of inspiration.
For tamer times, classic black will always do. Whilst replacing my worn-out sneakers, I came upon a pair of slippers that seemed ready for alteration, so I bought them as a backup, in case the Brontes didn’t fit.
They were inexpensive enough that I didn’t mind taking them apart for modifications.
A grosgrain rosette and ribbon ties later, these will do well enough to extend the life of my irreplaceable Robert Land slippers. I looked at shoes last night, and drew inspiration from some examples through the first half of the 19th century. With the pointy toe, these clearly skew first decade of the 19th century, which is just right for most of what I do. The Brontes will work for later impressions– and I have those as well. All in all, a pleasant mid-week distraction.
Pair of women’s shoes, 1801. Gift of Fred Taggart, 1986.31.1a-b. RIHSWomen’s slippers, 1790-1810. American. MFA Boston. 99.664.12a-bSlippers, 1835-1850. American, wool, silk. Metropolitan Museum of Art. 66-20-1a-b
It’s been one of those weeks, hasn’t it? Up and down, emotionally, as we all prepare for change. Whig or Tory, these are turbulent times.
I’ve been surprised by recent fabric arrivals in the mail, disappointed when I waited a day too long to register for a dance, and now I’m at loose ends. What comes next?
Last weekend I cut out a black wool Spencer to line in lettuce green silk because why not? And teeny tiny backstitches later, I have one sleeve finished. Focus is hard to come by of late.
I meant to join the Historical Sew Monthly to give my sewing life some structure, and I still can, though I cannot seem to settle down. Clearly, I have Firsts & Lasts that could be made (not always in the time remaining, mind you, so I would have to choose wisely).Re-Make, Re-Use, Re-Fashion? Probably much there as well– at least if one counts the quilted petticoat worn at Princeton, which was remade and altered from its original form.
Red. I do love red.
Delicious wool, tasty price.
July: Fashion Plate, could become the shawl gown I’ve dreamt of for years, since, as you can see above, I’ve found one that might work, lured by a fair price on a sizable piece of wool– but wherever shall I wear it? Why can I not get past utility? The Dreamstress’ Kashmiri shawl gown and her research are there to emulate, and explain.
Oh, I have projects and events to research and plan, housework to complete, and plans to execute. But they all seem abstract and unreal at the moment when we hang on the pivot point between the future and the past. It’s been a strange year in many ways and places, and constructive projects help focus.
Art Still Has Truth Take Refuge There
Long ago, in the first turbulent times I was old enough to understand, I lived in St. Louis. Then, as now, I think the Art Museum’s motto holds, and reminds those of us who work in or appreciate sometimes frivolous-seeming fields and hobbies that all our actions have meaning. I’ve thought for a long time about the utility of sewing historic clothing, cataloging objects, and running around recreating the past.
Getting outside one’s own experience is incredibly hard; it’s hard to have an open heart, and to encourage openness to others. But that’s one of the most important roles museums and libraries play: we help people develop imagination and empathy. I know it’s part of why I do the work I do. I like to think that ultimately, helping illuminate the complexity of the past will help us all understand the present and make a better future.
They may not be the most accurate <cough>machinestitchedoffabolt<cough> quilted petticoat and waistcoat, but they sure do make a difference.
These aren’t exactly base layers– a white wool flannel shift would not be amiss–but the quilted layers make a big difference to a day in the cold. When I added up the layers, I came to 8 without counting accessories like neck handkerchiefs and stockings:
Shift
Stays
Waistcoat
Lightweight Wool Petticoat
Heavy Wool Petticoat
Quilted Petticoat
Gown and Stomacher
Cloak
The underneaths. Photo thanks to Drunk Tailor.
The insides.
It isn’t always pretty, but in cold, wet weather, function trumps fashion (not that I’m not pretty pleased with this upholstery). The waistcoat ties on, so you have some adjustment should your weight or shape fluctuate. The petticoat, in this case, works like every other petticoat, with the sole exception of a short pocket slit on one side due to operator impatience (this was finished just a few days before it needed to be packed for Princeton).
Thanks to Drunk Tailor for more patience.
The quilted fabric (originally intended, I am sure, for a bedspread) is lined with a plain weave wool for extra insulation and body; the waist band is bound with wool tape, as is the hem. Down in the basement, there’s a camblet- wool batting- linen lining sandwich on a frame, ready for quilting, if I only I would drag it up stairs and start, and I know it would be both more insulating and more accurate.
Does it all fit? Well…pretty much! An open robe with stomacher makes it easier to fit all these layer underneath, and, happily, I don’t have the best sense of my own size, so my clothes tend to be a little bigger than they must be. Fortunately, historical clothing generally involves adjustable closures that make fluctuations and layering easy to accommodate.
After Anna B’s and Anna K’s comments on the overview of the event, I was reminded that these are the confessions of a known bonnet-wearer, and I will humiliate self for history, so in case you are wondering: no, I didn’t wear drawers of any kind, or leggings, or long underwear. A pair of silk stockings under a pair of wool stockings kept my lower extremities warm, but my nethers were sometimes chilly, in a highly specific, localized, but small way. I think this may be where the wool shift comes in– or one that fits a bit better than my current garment, which is a tad too large.
On the porch at Morven, a range of head coverings. Photo courtesy Matt White
When it comes to ears, you can see that we adopted a range of solutions. Ear-covering caps under bonnets, under straw hats, and under kerchiefs, were worn by some. At far left, my cap perched on top of my head, so I tied my bonnet on with a kerchief and pulled my hood over all of that. Mistress V (at far right) wore a cap, a kerchief and a hat (which was summarily removed in the afternoon, by Mistress S at her left). Mistress F, holding the cream colored blanket with a wide black stripe, wore a wool hood over a cap and under her straw hat. Wear enough layers– and the right layers, meaning mostly wool and silk– and you will be warm, perhaps even sweaty if you’re active. Still, I might trade in my “Hobo Woman of Princeton” look for a quilted silk hood if the right one came along.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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