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I will be constructing a circa 1869 visiting gown with a velvet jacket for outerwear.

For the gown, I have some green and gold plaid silk. It’s pretty exciting, and I have lots of it. I plan on making an impressive skirt without an apron, scalloped at the hem line with some pleating showing below the scallops on the base skirt underneath. The bodice for the dress I am thinking will be high necked, simple, well cut and possibly belted. I may use the plaid for accent pieces on the bodice, but otherwise the bodice will be made on green silk.

Fur trimmed coat. My intention is to keep it shorter in the front than this russet beauty.

The coat will be velvet and will have a bustle/pouf portion with some side panels. I purchased a set of wild Canadian mink cuffs with a thick matching collar to attach to the jacket. I may trim the jacket with silk ribbon or fringe.

The pièce de résistance will be the full plaid silk skirt, though I am thinking that the wild mink will be a show-stopper as well. Since two of the last three bustle gowns I made employed plaid, it would be safe to say I like plaid and bustles juxtaposed. Tissot would empathize with the bustle and plaid fascination, and all of the competing pattern and lines therein. Plaid is such hardworking stuff that provides humor and surprise, though very easy to work with because of the whole grid design. Perhaps Tissot would agree.

My goal for the next gown is to do a magnificent job with the tailoring. I was less enthusiastic about the tailoring of previous bustles. I am going to correct that this time around. I have some drawings and will be starting a mock up as soon as I dig out my bolt of muslin not in storage. Most of my patterns are indignantly stored away in a rubbermaid container in an unheated storage unit far away (poor patterns!), so I’ll drafting from scratch. Fun, fun, fun!

In case you missed this update, a new portrait of Jane Austen was just unearthed:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-16027710

Since, we’re on the subject and all that, here is a little poem (J.H. Gray, “The Girls that are Wanted,” 1880 circa) that I got on Facebook via Roba da Vittoriani (beautiful photo included, no clue how it relates):

The girls that are wanted are good girls

Good from the heart to the lips

Pure as the lily is white and pure

From its heart to its sweet leaf tips.

The girls that are wanted are girls with hearts

They are wanted for mothers and wives

Wanted to cradle in loving arms

The strongest and frailest lives.

The clever, the witty, the brilliant girl

There are few who can understand

But, oh! For the wise, loving home girls

There’s a constant, steady demand.

What strikes me the most about this poem is the last line: that the home-loving woman is in “steady demand.” One can recall my discussion in a previous post regarding the docility of Victorian era women. In the Victorian era, a woman’s career was at home as this was the way the economy was structured.

Now in this modern article it is stated that women are having a harder time getting back to work then men. Here, today, is an example of a situation in which there are probably many “witty” women who are not in demand, and who are finding themselves frustrated and anxious at home. They are potentially in circumstances where their male partners and friends are returning to work. Women of the US didn’t decide one day they wanted to return to being Victorian-style domestic goddesses, but cultural and economic pressures dictated that they may want to curb their “wit,” even if only for a limited duration.

Current unemployment statistics do not necessarily reveal how many women have decided to have a baby but not return to work. These numbers are harder to find (though I’m sure a clever statistician with the right statistics could deduce the extent of the phenomanon). The statistics in the above article may be a reflection of such a trend. I recall a slate article read not so long ago that was highly encouraging for new moms such as myself: here was a “mommy track” Harvard Law graduate – a witty and brilliant girl – who found herself with less of a career than she expected. Her brilliance and accomplishments were sidelined and her expensive degree became more of a status symbol than a source of income. Naturally, if she had a less illustrious education, her mommy track status would be on a significantly lower level, so it’s not entirely worthless. But expensive educations do cause debt. I am pretty sure she is in good and numerous company.

Should this current trend continue (and it may not), one can expect college degrees granted to women may decline, and enrollment in colleges could also suffer as a result. There would be less incentive for a middle class woman to gain a college degree, as men would be apprehensive about taking on their debt. The “wise, home-loving girl” would look far more attractive if it became the norm for women to not return to work.

I recall a Harvard historian who recently stated something to the effect that Regency England hardly expected Victorian prudery and structure to be right around the corner. All of those relatively liberated women in their high-waisted gowns expected that the Georgian public acceptance of lovers, illegitimate children, emancipated, intelligent women, and sheer ball gowns would not grind to a screeching halt when faced with an era headed by an 18-year-old inexperienced Queen.

In any case, our culture and resources will set the demand, and none of this changes my desire to make another bustle gown. I love visiting the past, but the present is always way more exciting because we don’t know where it will go.

In the previous post I discussed the fashion for using varied materials, texture, techniques and styles in Victorian construction, from clothes to architecture. As all styles, this preference didn’t come out of no where.

Great Exhbition: the world brought to London

As of late the Great Exhibition of 1851 has gathered much more attention than in previous decades. It was an amazing feat, a world wonder, and one can guess that it was so ignored for so long because of our recent bias against all things Victorian (again, until as of late). The Great Exhibition encapsulated the changing nature of the planet. Like it or not, the mighty British Empire spanned the globe and brought with it unprecedented cross-cultural contact. The technological and economic impact was huge.

Baghdad on the Hudson: Olana (1870)

In the 1990s, globalization was hailed as the savior of the world. Manufactured goods could be ordered and bought from afar and for cheap, forming fortunes for the investor, and providing the middle classes access to goods they would have otherwise been unable to acquire due to rarity or afford due to cost. The Victorian era was relatively similar, and this formed Victorian style as we know it: varied use of materials and rampant revivalism (such as the Egyptian revival and the polonaise). The bustle was a form for the display of new and varied available resources. Any fashion plate will show how the form provided such an effective surface for variation, while still keeping with what our genetic makeup would allow us to find attractive.

In any case, it’s ironic that the bustle is experiencing a revival in the mainstream when, in reality, our time period shares much more in common with the Belle Epoque (we share top heavy wealth distribution among other features). But I guess popular culture imagines the bustle to personify the entire Victorian era in general. If the Victorian era is imprinted on popular consciousness as being fantastic, filled vampires, romance, deviant sex and an alternate view on gender norms juxtaposed with the contrasting structure of Victorian society, then its resurgence in popularity may be better explained. In our time period of little subtlety – where it could be claimed that our social interactions rank low in imagination – the bustle era with its calling cards, segmented floor plans, flamboyant architecture, creative revivalism, clothes that require help to remove, and all those nooks and crannies could look as though it could hold a secret that could help us out in our quest for a quality life.

In summary, the bustle era with its structure and distance looks like the furthest point from a reality show. Never mind the rest.

Since it is late November, I will be making a winter weight gown. Here are the two ideas:

HUNTER GREEN VELVET

I have some silk non-Christmas-looking plaid that I could pair with Green silk velvet. This would be Holiday-ish, without looking like it stayed too long at the party come January. I am highly tempted by this option, as I already own half the materials.

NAVY BLUE MOIRE

This would certainly be more elegant, and I’m all about navy lately. Rayon moire can be uncomfortably stiff (though easy to work with), and silk moire is prohibitively expensive. If I can track down the latter it will be the star of the show, so my other material choices will be subtle, tone-on-tone or low contrast.

I’ll know soon enough which will be the chosen option.

One aspect of bustle gowns that make them so fun is the usage of a lot of different techniques and options in decoration. To not use enough of them you could arguably be accused of “modernizing” your gown – that is making it more palatable to 21st century tastes by streamlining it and removing the complexity. So here is a question in translation: does one make the gown pleasing by 21st century standards, or add the complexity and then risk criticism. When making drawings, one often wonders if a viewer will look at the gown and whisper that loathed phrase about the kitchen sink. This is a natural thought to a 2011 designer of a bustle gown.

Current designers are doing away with the complexity and trickiness that was fashionable a few years before for all that’s flow-y and drape-y. I am not unhappy about this move, and am affected by the morphic resonance. When approaching this next bustle, I feel compelled to be more thoughtful about the decorative and structural additions, making sure that they add something to the whole and the drape. But in this I am running the risk of deviating from authenticity and applying 2011 aethestic standards. Here are some random thoughts running through my brain as I plan:

  • Pleats: Contrary to intuition, they look divine in motion. Very few things can capture undulation like pleats at a full-bodied hem.  No point in pleating anything other than silk, light-weight cotton or linen, and don’t put it anywhere it won’t move if you want it to look good. To be entirely authentic, you could put them anywhere. But then you are taking the risk it will look stuffy to modern taste.
  • Ruching: Use with caution. Though ruching is great, it is currently a tad associated with grabby brides. Though this is probably a transient association, it does influence. I certainly want to avoid using it on a large scale to avoid modernity. One imagines the bridezilla stretching her hands across her waist saying “it makes me look so much thinner.” Hm.
  • Trims: Don’t use them unless they are an authentic material, or at least are a good-quality substitute. If you can’t afford silk fringe – or can’t find it – do some ruching, pleats, or clever usage of fabric. Simplicity is better than cheap trim.
  • Hems: early period and mid period bustles should have hems that move, or else they miss the mark in the romantic category. Late period bustles should move no where except the back  – and only if you have a train. Otherwise, one doesn’t really have a late period bustle.
  • Linings: No point in lining the WHOLE thing. This was a mistake I made in the last few dresses, when I was in love with the idea of lining the whole thing in silk. I’m over it now. Most dresses of he period were not completely lined.  Save yourself the trouble and the distraction and just do some facing.
  • If you are doing a high fashion bustle, mix up the fabrics. Our modern inclinations urge us to keep it simple with one type of fabric. The tastes of the time period were the opposite. Think of the architecture: exteriors could covered in gingerbread, shingles, clapboard, brick, iron, and half-timbering on one house. Upholstery would be patched together as well. It’s easy to get a little confused by the usage of multiple fabrics and textures, but it really has to be done. If you can’t find the fun in it, then you might want to try a dress from another period. To play a conservative route, one could use a silk and velvet in the same color, or the same colored silk with two different textures (My previous posts of the antique Victorian mid-bustle era gown I own showed lots of use of both matte and shiny silk satin. The pictures show how well this can look.), but the creation of depth and varying reflections of light and variations in tactility are absolute essentials for a fashionable Victorian bustle. Otherwise, you should just make a 1950s gown and save yourself all the trouble.

That’s all my thoughts for today.

Hi, guys. I’ve been gone for a while after a baby and a big move.

Winter will shortly fall on our heads like a sharp and brittle wind-blown icicle. As I currently live in a city, skiing opportunities will be scarce though the winter will be colder and darker. A project is needed.

When we left off I was about to start an Edwardian corset, and had all of the materials to complete said project. Now, though I live in a bigger city with greater resources, and I intend to allow the fabric to do the inspiring. Though I wouldn’t rule out an Edwardian, I feel as though a luscious silk velvet bustle beckons – one such as the ladies in my Victorian city neighborhood would have worn when these brick row houses, and copper clad mansions were new. ‘Tis the season for velvet, eh?!

Onto those sketches!

Green Man Baby

Baby needs a Halloween costume. If I didn’t make him one myself I surely wouldn’t be any kind of costumer.

I bought three shades of silk at Joanns – green, grey, and brown – and some silk leaves in matching colors. As the title suggests, baby will be a Green Man.

I have always loved Green Men. They are delights in churches: wise, earthy, mischievous, mysterious, and unspeaking. Wikipedia lists them as being symbols of rebirth. From my reading I gathered that they were the male forest deity with the powers that implies. A male forest deity would of course, entail rebirth, but also decay and regeneration in a good way. Such as in the tarot Death card, death and decay to him would be the beginning, not the end, and in that Christianity may have translated him into a rebirth image.

Why is baby a Green Man? Because he reminds me of how a Green Man would be: mysterious, jolly, though quick to anger, destructive and creative at once. It seems to me that a baby costume should be something foreign and human (so no spiders, pumpkins, or dinosaurs) since they are mysterious indeed. A wonderful book I read regarding baby cognition remarked that a 35-year-old has way more in common with another 35 year-old than he has with himself at age 8, and certainly at age 8 months. A baby is a constant development, their minds exchanging some powers in exchange for others, limiting itself so as to form a cohesive, functioning individual. None of us can stay children, and we certainly can’t stay babies.

The trick to the Green Man costume is how to fashion it so that there is not too much going on that could either get in the face or be ingested. I am fortunate in that my little guy is not very fond of sticking things in his mouth, which both benefits his hygiene and augurs future healthy eating habits. But it would be silly to chance it.

So, make a Baby Green Man without crowding the face. I will probably do something inspired by the image here.

In the summer of 1946, 1 year after the end of World War II, a small collection of islands known as the Bikini Atoll were the center of an impressive amount of media coverage. The US had collected a fleet of 68 captured and obsolete battleships, destroyers, air craft carriers, and transports left over from the war at this tiny Atoll in the mid Pacific to test the atomic bomb on naval targets. Among the tens of thousands of people awaiting in the boats surrounding the atoll for the bomb to be dropped were reporters sending news of the test back home.

At the same time, a swimsuit called the “atome” is in department stores, a name I am sure was meant to evoke associations with power and that which is of-the-moment. A French designer decides to entitle his own new number, touted at the smallest swimsuit, “the bikini” because it splits the atome, and is small but packs a lot of power.

So next time you think “bikini,” you can now think of 20 atomic tests, fish that emit x-rays, and the upending and annihilation of a 27,000 ton battleship.

I did end up going to the Sterling Renaissance Festival, but I did not make a costume for baby. It was really hot, and I either would have had to go the Viking route or nothing at all. But Mr. Baby hates hats. You can’t have a Viking baby without a horned helmet. But I got a good shot of the dress.

I didn’t do the hair or the ruff (photos of ruff in previous post), and instead wore a lovely scarlett velvet cap. Since baby was along, I wanted to be mobile. And I tied the chemise sleeves high for coolness. The chemise is 100% silk, and ties at neckline and wrists.

One of the original reasons why I made this gown was because my previous Elizabethans were much less mobile. I wanted something pretty that would allow for frolicing. Even with the bumroll the gown is quite frolic-able, and cool.

I intend to do a post later on the Sterling Faire, but I’m busy right now, so no can do.

My son is cuter than this Tudor Prince. Leave off his gold under sleeves and the outfit could be comfortable for our post-mini ice age era.

I am contemplating a little princeling costume for my baby son for the Renaissance Fair.
Perhaps I should go all out, dress my little lad in a soft silk gown with puffed shoulders or hanging sleeves, drape his stroller in brocade, and don the gown of the humble wetnurse. Or I can wear my latest Elizabethan – the gold venetian gown – which would make me quite happy (I only wore it once and it really looks good). But to make the picture whole, I would have to dress as the prince’s caretaker.

Since I discussed in the previous post how not-Renaissance Renaissance Fairs are, I could run with that and dress my lovable little boy in a Viking loin-cloth. It would be cool and breezy, and require almost no sewing. I have no pictures of Viking babies, but they couldn’t have been that complex. Who cares that the Vikings were something like half a millenia before queen Elizabeth? Don’t they sell dragons and pagan items at Renaissance Fairs, and people walk around at those places with battle axes anyway?

But Viking Baby would mean I would lose out on possibly the only opportunity I would ever have to make a 16th century princeling costume. He would make the perfect Tudor prince, withstanding the fact that he doesn’t have consumption.

One must also face the fact that eventually he will have opinions. Though I very much look forward to the day we will have stimulating conversations and he can voice his ideas aloud, one must consider the very high probability that he may not be into silk and brocade.

A remarkable number of the Tudors had ‘red-gold’ hair. Though the largest proportion of red hair in the world comes from Scotland, Ireland, and Teutonic countries, it can show up anywhere, so one has to assume the most probable source. We are dependent on descriptions of the day for the appearance of the Tudors (um, there were no cameras), and this leaves open the possibility for human error and bias.

The medieval standard for beauty was red-gold hair. Beauty in the Middle Ages was often equated with Northern European coloring. For example, Medieval depictions of the Queen of Sheba who is ‘black but comely’ portray her as black-skinned but golden haired in an attempt to reconcile both possibilities.

The Tudors were decendants of a rag tag group of upwardly mobile gentlemen who landed some high-born widows, or, in the case of the Beauforts, a hot lowly born widow of a knight. We don’t know what hair color, or even appearance, most of these jackpot-hitting upstarts had, but they must have been good looking according to the standards of the day.

It is pointless to go too far back in generations, since the further back you go, the less statisical significance an ancestor has on any given genes. For the sake of brevity, I will start with Elizabeth Woodville

ELIZABETH WOODVILLE

'Beautiful' Elizabeth Woodville

All Tudors after Henry VII are decendents of Elizabeth Woodville’s through her daughter Elizabeth of York. Elizabeth Woodville is “beautiful,” but not described otherwise, so we can assume she had very fair skin.

I have only seen reproductions of the Elizabeth Woodville portrait. Some of them show her with obviously red hair, others with more blonde.

Elizabeth Woodville and the Tudors had a similar origin: a widowed highly born Princess marries a lowly born gentleman in their service. Jacquetta of Luxembourg, half Italian and half French, married Sir Richard Woodville following the death of her first husband, the Duke of Bedford. That Sir Richard Woodville must have been dreamy can be surmised: he not only captured the hand of the Duchess, he also fathered at least 16 of her children, of which Elizabeth was the oldest and most famous.

ELIZABETH OF YORK

Woodville's red-headed daughter

Elizabeth of York was a red head according to the only known portrait of her. She was the daughter of Elizabeth Woodville and Edward IV, granddaughter of Jacquetta of Luxemborg on her mother’s side and Cecilly Neville (who’s mother was a Beaufort) on the other. Where the red head gene came from on her father’s side is anyone’s guess. He, himself was brown haired. He was English, with some Spanish and French blood, but primarily English. He and his wife were 2nd cousins.

Very, very little about Elizabeth of York is recorded: nothing about her education, opinions, political leanings or appearance. What can be ascertained by the later behavior of her children, she was regarded by her family and gave to them a family identity.

HENRY VIII GENERATION

Henry VIII’s generation was a mixed bag. Both Henry and Arthur had red hair. Margaret probably had genes for it, as Mary Stuart had auburn hair. Mary Tudor, however, was dark-haired later in life, though she may have been lighter earlier on. By the time she returned from France, she had dark hair as her marriage portrait to Charles Brandon testifies. I’ve often imagined that Henry VIII was attracted to Anne Boleyn because she reminded him of his headstrong, dark-haired, beautiful sister, Mary, of whom Henry was very fond. Anne, too, had a blonde sister, and though contemporaries are critical of her complexion and coloring, she probably wasn’t as dark as they supposed (some also claim she was covered in moles or witches spots and had 6 fingers).

Henry VII’s coloring is not described (correct me if I’m wrong on this, my books are currently all packed away in the attic), likely because it was unextraordinary, and because he was really a misery sort of person who was fond of dressing plainly in darker colors and wearing hats. He didn’t play up for pageantry or the cult of the icon. He was 1/4 Welsh, and his mother was a Beaufort, so both he and his spouse were decendants of Katherine Swynford. One could arguably make the claim that Katherine Swynford, or some Beaufort had red hair, since both the Stuarts and the Tudors have their genetic material. It can be guessed that Katherine de Valois probably did not have the possibility for red or blonde hair since none of her close relatives were redheads. Owain ap Meredudd ap Tewdwr is only known for being rash and without much sense, which proves nothing about his coloring.

My guess would lay with the Beauforts (who’s ancestors were John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford), and possibly with Owain ap Meredudd ap Tewdwr. A Lancastrian guess is a sound one, since the Tudors, the Stuarts, and Catherine of Aragon were all Lancastrians or Lancastrian Beauforts.

CATHERINE OF ARAGON

Catherine of Aragon was a remarkably beautiful princess by the standards of the day, despite her shortness. She had golden hair and fair skin, and was not at all dark such as movies like to show. Her appearance made her all the more pleasing to her father-in-law Henry VII. She was a legitimate decendant of John of Gaunt, the famous son of Edward III, whereas Henry VII was a product of John of Gaunt’s roll in the sack with Katherine Swynford. Catherine of Aragon was seen by the English people as being English in blood.

THE ELIZABETH GENERATION

James V, King of Scots, nephew of Henry VIII

Mary had red hair, which would stand to reason as she was the son of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon. She, like her mother, was considered a beauty as a child. As she grew older it turned more ashy, as did both of her parents. Unlike movie depictions, Mary was never ugly. She was a beautiful child. When she reached her thirties, some considered her ‘plain,’ but never ugly.

Edward VI hair was more blonde. Elizabeth was blond-red. What it would have become later, we will never know since it fell out by the age of 28 (see previous post). Frances and Eleanor Brandon, children of Mary Tudor, Henry VIII’s sister, where probably brown haired.

By the time of the Elizabeth generation, the Tudor hair color became more than just a sign of beauty or appearance. It was viewed as proof of legitimate Tudor decent. Commentary by visitors to court would be on the coloring of all of Henry VIII’s children. That Mary was born with red-gold hair is not such a surprise. But it must have been a great relief to black-haired Anne Boleyn that her only child – though a daughter – had the Tudor red-gold hair. And it was indeed noted. When Elizabeth’s paternity was questioned, her appearance cast aside any doubts.

Same applies to the Scottish monarchs. James V, son of Henry VIII’s sister Margaret, was born with red hair. When Henry excluded Margaret’s line from his will he did so under the supposition that Margaret’s children were not those of her husbands (though they were obviously Margarets!), but this was very probably false. Margaret’s first husband, James IV was not really of Scottish decent. His father was German and Danish, with some Beaufort ancestry (again).

BEYOND THE ELIZABETH GENERATION

A copy from a lost original of Elizabeth's coronation portrait, before she supposedly lost her hair

Jane Grey is mentioned as having auburn hair. Both of her parents would claim Elizabeth Woodville as an ancestor. Her father was a Grey, who were the product of Elizabeth Woodville’s first marriage, and her mother’s mother a Tudor. Her sister Catherine, I seem to remember, is described as a beauty. The only description of her youngest sister, Mary, is of her body: she may have been a dwarf, a hunchback, or possibly both.

Mary Stuart’s hair color is suspicious. Early accounts in France mention that her hair color was brown ‘almost grey.’ Some mention her has having auburn hair. Some even go so far as to claim she had golden hair. My guess is she dyed it at some point, and here is why. First, the variability. No one can make up their mind what color she was. Second, hair dying was very common in France. Queen Margot (Marguerite de Valois) would have been in the same generation and was famous for her hair dying. Third,  she may have gone grey early, as there is at least one description of her in her late teens as having ‘almost grey’ hair. Fourth, her hair, like Elizabeth’s became redder as she became older. Fifth, she suffered from hair loss. And sixth, she went to the execution as wearing a very red wig  – the one her decapitated royal head fell out of – so apparently she saw nothing wrong with it.

RED HAIR AND ENGLAND

Lettice Knollys, red-headed cousin to the queen on the Boleyn side and famous beauty

That red hair was popular in Elizabethan England is undeniable. But was it popular on the continent? Not so much. Perhaps that was because the English were attempting to emulate their monarchs. Perhaps it was because it was viewed as an English/Scottish phenomenan. The Hapsburgs had a large proportion of blondes, inherited, possibly from the same root that gave Catherine of Aragon her red-gold hair (which ironically may have been the same genes that gave the Tudors their red-gold hair as well, the Lancastrians. But that is speculation, and statistically hard to prove). The french didn’t have a blonde or red-head in the lot, and neither did they really care.

The Tudors, though their origins were Welsh, were not very Welsh at all. Henry VIII was 1/8 Welsh. That’s all. He was primarily English. That four of Henry VIII’s six wives were English and that his two foreign brides were either of partially English royal blood or blonde must mean something. The other candidate for Henry VIII’s hand after the death of Jane Seymour was Christina of Denmark (who famously said if she had two heads she would gladly give one to England.) who was very blonde, and also of Lancastrian decent. Henry VIII gave a lot of power to appearance, and probably so did his subjects.

Astonishingly enough, given that only 1 to 2% of the human population has red hair (statistics may have been different in the 16th century), by the time Elizabeth died, England had had a red-headed monarch (either king or queen) for 138 years!!!* Tudor era men were conditioned to find high status women as attractive, so it would stand to reason that red hair would be viewed as beautiful in England.

SO WHERE DID IT COME FROM

What all of the red and blonde-haired Tudors or Tudor brides have in common is decent from John of Gaunt. Very many of them were also Beaufort decendents via Katherine Swynford. So they were all distant cousins. But statistically, fair hair, or a low amount of eumelanin, would have slowly disappeared if not more introductions of phemelanin and low eumelanin capable genes. These introductions could have likely come from, say, Owain ap Maredudd ap Tewdwr, Elizabeth Woodville (via possibly her father?), and Anne Boleyn. So, it came from lots of places.

THE “GENE” FOR RED HAIR

Hair color is not a Mendelian gene. It is the result of numerous genes, some which impact others, effecting which are expressed and which are not. There is no such thing a ‘a red haired gene’ since red hair is the absense of eumelanin combined with the presence phemelanin, both of which are governed in turn by more than one gene. Therefore, a person from Spain or Africa or India or Polynesia can have the potential for red hair, but the expression of such would depend very highly on choice of mate and probability. The mutation that allowed for the production of the red color in hair is something like 40-50,000 years old (blue eyes, youngsters that they are, are only about 10,000 years old), so it is probably pretty widespread. Therefore, to have ‘red hair’ is commentary on appearance, not on genetics or ethnic decent.

*I didn’t count the reign of Richard III since we don’t know what hair color Anne Neville had (though some depictions DO show her with red hair).

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