Physical Culture

This is important stuff for a costumer – particularly a 19th and early 20th century one – to know.

Did you hate gym class? Did you find it a terrible, tyrannical thing? Well here is some academic logic behind those feelings.

Idealized Pre-Victorian Physical Activity: admired, naked, whimsical, pleasurable, free from negative judgement

The concept of the gymnasium and physical regime grew out of the 19th century. Prior to that time, the idea of attending a gym or doing exercises just for the sake of doing exercises would have been considered odd, unnecessary, and wasteful. People would stay in shape by hunting, riding, walking, dancing, whatever, but they did not have formalized activities specifically for the purpose of ’staying fit.’ In general, one was active to gain, achieve or make something more tangible, or done out of pleasure. Either you moved around or you were sick.

To notice a correlation between the corset and the rise of Physical culture would probably not make you unique. I’m sure it is somehow related. But I believe that both are symptoms of a greater movement, not causes.

For early modern women (prior to the 19th century for all of you non-history types) it was generally prized to be active. Though art at the time displayed women lounging, passive, docile, this was not the norm. She would ride, hunt, dance, walk briskly, be animated. Living a life of leisure, though ‘picturesque,’ was considered sinful, or indulgent, like heroine chic in the 1990s.

Physical activity would demonstrate a woman’s capacity to bear children, survive, and run a household. She didn’t go to the gym but would demonstrate her vitality through movement and dancing while staying within the confines of social acceptability. For example, court dancing evolved to function as an opportunity to display physical prowess while staying in the confines of court protocol. The first dances of the evening at any formal or semi-formal event, or pavanes, would be slow for the old, providing an opportunity to show of clothes, and allowing the older members of the party to retire early. Physical capability was political, not just personal. It was expected to be a continuous aspect of life.  To not move and be ill or infirm implied incapability, and possibly an impending death.

But that all changed in the 1800s. The need to segregate physical time from the rest of the day probably had a million causes. But here are some ideas:

1. Rise in the culture of privacy: Medieval buildings were communal. The public and private were considered one and the same, as it was the person who embodied the institution. Almost all activities performed by the upper classes were public, and floor plans and social patterns and rituals reflected this. In the 19th century, an almost neurotic or paranoid privacy culture developed. Floor plans became cut up into small rooms with designated purposes.

2. Rise in population: A denser population often results in more formalized rituals. People could afford less to gallivant around without care of harm caused to others. Also, with the fall of an official ruling caste, aka the nobility, physical harm to another person, where and how the physical harm was done, became less a subject of class and politics and more one of law and technicality.

3. The corset: I’m guessing the corset is more of a symptom of a cultural trend than a cause. But the corset does indeed make it difficult to be physically extroverted. At Hofburg Palace in Vienna, Empress Elisabeth, or Sisi, had one of the beautiful historic drawing rooms converted into a gymnasium. It didn’t look like a gym as we know it today, but more like a drawing room with all sorts of implements that look like they could be used in torture.

4. Darwinism: Mankind felt the belief to seperate himself from the beasts. His physical effort would be approved, and have basis, and his primal urges for physical activity (or whatever) were entirely under his control. It was an attempt to squelch the body, intution, and all matters that were associated with mortality and the beasts, so that superior humans together, working towards progress (Progressive Movement) could distance themselves from the apes and from Medieval hierarchy. Wild romps in the rough were not approved.

5. Departure of the personal from the institutional.

6. Work became more automated. Jobs were less physically demanding with machines doing much of the brute work. This applies also to transportation and work at home. Physical effort was sometimes considered brutish, unnecessary, lower class. Science and innovation sought to make it unnecessary.

1891, Physical Culture

Physical regimes varied in intensity and philosophy. Some claimed to be connected to ’science,’ some to religion, some to mysticism, some to magnetic forces of the earth. They had much in common with diet culture here in the U.S. in that exercise became something of a beast to be controlled, segmented from regular lifestyle. Physicality became medicinal, performed in the same way one takes vitamins at the same time every morning, not something done for pleasure, beauty, or expression or out of joy. To not segment it, and to behave otherwise was considered reckless… and uncontrolled.

Philosophically, the physical culture is strongly connected with the principle of elan vitale (Bergson). Though the term would not be coined until later, the principle of the ‘life force’ was one of the ancestors of socialist and nazi thought (they are cousins, but that doesn’t mean they are the same). One can recall Leni Riefenstahl’s images of happy, exercising Germans, all following a leader and doing it together. Or the marxist image of the proliteriat working happily in the field or a factory. There is little individualism, little spirit or will or preference or creativity, very Orwellian. But they are moving, exercising, following the leader, working towards progress and advancement, doing the motions… like everybody else. The image is convincing, particularly to a rattled culture.

Gender = Regime

19th Century physical culture was a bit less severe and political. But it wasn’t any less insane. Remember the movie the Road to Wellville? It’s not exaggerated. With socialism, doing push ups and windmills became political, when endorphines were associated with party affiliation.

The interest in Physical Culture resulted in lots of good things to be sure. It went hand in hand with a gazillion medical advancements. Treatment for injuries became researched as the body and origins of humanity was viewed in a scientific light. But taken to extremes, as it often was, it became comical and tyranical, like Chaplin in The Great Dictator.

So if you ever think your gym class teacher or aerobics instructor is something of a nazi or communist, you are almost right. They share numerous philosophical ancestors.

Lots of Antique Lace

Nine continuous yards of antique silk lace! Yes. Nine. And they are beautiful, thick with swags, blooms, ivy, and leaves. Don’t ask how I found them. I would have to kill you.

For the hem I found lots of new embroidered silk cutwork. It’s all nubby, silky, filled with texture and thick with work. I got it for a bargain price. For the collar I have a stunning pieces of chemical lace, complete with grapes, ivy, and such. I may use it on the sleeves instead.

In addition, I am accumulating some pieces that I will use for the sleeves, bustline, and so forth. I also have some antique Edwardian lace embroidered sleeves, which I will either use or frame, or stash away in some box, so it becomes one of those $20 bills you accidently leave in the pocket of some out of season clothes.

No fabric has been purchased yet, either for the corset or for the gown, though I have some ideas in mind. But I’m hoping to find something amazing – and cheap – abroad. I’m thinking the dress will be a lot of silk chiffon or satin cutwork with lace inserts.

The S-curve

    

 

 

 

 

S-curves exist in many places, both physically and abstractly

S-curves are on the brain. They come in lots of colors and sizes. They are marvelous things and here is why.

The birth of novelties is a chicken or the egg affair. They come from advances in technology which comes from desire which is a result of advances in technology and so on.

Let us take Patchouli for an example. Women of Europe would have tea and spices shipped from India arrive in patchouli leaves. Since these leaves were used as packing materials they were cheap and readily available. Rapidly, they became a cologne, proto-perfume component. Whether they associated the smell of patchouli with the smell of excitement and therefore decided to wear it, or whether patchouli smelled appealing in the first place is hard to know. But raw patchouli doesn’t really smell that good (in Hungary, for example, patchouli has evolved to means old, smelly perfume, not simply patchouli oil). Now, patchouli paired with other oils can be quite marvelous in a fresh, dirty sort of way, but perfumers didn’t start doing that until the 20th century. So why people used it so heavily in the 19th is a mystery.

Explanation via S-curve of the route (or root) of novelty

Novelties are like that. They take off from some unknown, unlikely source, become fascinations and obsessions, and are eventually institutionalized, until they become vestigial and are cast off. The S-curve on the left beautifully demonstrates this phenomenon

Think of the bustle, or panniers. They travelled down the S-curve. Both came from advances in research, greater availability in certain resources, and from some oddly creative, bored, mind with some connections. At first they were weird, then hot, then normal, then institutional and vestigial. Long after the floaty empire gowns were the norm, court apparel was still panniers. And the 2nd birth of the bustle in it’s hard form is an example of how they just couldn’t kick it long after people were thinking otherwise.

Thankfully for progress and survival, there is usually something to take the place of the last, something starting it’s own path down the S-curve. The curve below shows two s-curves, with the second being an ‘improvement’ on the first. How we measure ‘improvement’ is again an abstract and relative scale, but that’s too much to cover here.

Another S-curve replaces the old.

So, the S-curve can be an abstract thing, representing a motion, relationships, and ratios. Our lovely Edwardian S-curve, though not entirely, can be understood on a more physical level.

It is the S-curve (or S-bend) that makes the Edwardian silhouette both wonderful and weird, elegant, yet awkward… like patchouli. It stands out amongst all the others in history for its oddness. And here is where it came from:

Novelty starts it's path down the S-curve

Women wanted smaller waists, but the old, conventional hour glass corsets couldn’t do the job. They put a lot of strain on the hips, ribs, and so forth, and caused problems with breathing. They had to wrestle with the curves of the female figure, while leaving room for the cinched in body to go away from the waist. It was a hard think to do, to be sure.

What the ‘modern’ Edwardian corset did was flatten the bottom half of the torso against a flat busks. The pelvic portion of the torso has no where to go but back, and the breast portion of the torso, goes forward, both to balance and out of necessity. The lower spine was in a constant bend, resulting in thicker thighs, and wider derrieres. Waists could be cinched in further, though at the expense of an erect spine, and overdevelopment of the butt and thighs. But, for women of the time, that was a God-send.

Forcing the journey down the S-curve path. Here is an attempt to correct the spine in the confines of the S-curve.

Imagine Gertrude seeing another Lillian, fresh from Paris with her new Modern corset, her tiny waist cinched in, her clothes new and novel, her billowy ivory lace complimenting her skin tone, and her breathy movements and flushed cheeks personifying elegance. Lillian is beautiful, travels to Paris, had good clothes, looks good. She would want some of that, whatever small portion she could feasibly gain.

Saying that women were forced by men into an S-corset is the same as saying that all of those women who smoked in the 1950s were forced to do it to catch husbands and conform to social standards, or that all of the women who go to night clubs in 2009 wear scanty clothes because otherwise men would not look at them. Maybe partially, but come on. That’s not only overly simplistic, it’s also narrow minded.

Making an S-curve corset is one of those things you long for, yet fear. It’s a challenge, not just as far as sewing goes, but also psyhologically. One can recall our feminist women’s rights trailblazers lambasting the corset for its oppression, making it seem like a sin. They were doing what any good leader would do: pick a few specific enemies or rallying points, and attack them vigorously. This sets an example for the others, and boosts morale when a victory is achieved. One can’t blame them for that, or certainly for getting women the vote. But the truth is, the corset, in general had run its course.

Fortunately, for myself, my last project kind of covered what came before the S-curve. And most people know what came after. Corsets became lighter and lighter and eventually disappeared. Women wore no bra, both skirts and hair became short, smoking became rampant, busts nonexistent, and waists thick. Loved-ones exposed to the machine gun declared mechanization the victor. The fashionable woman was wasteful, childlike, fearless, frantic, fun-loving, spunky, providing a source of escape and distraction for men dealing with strong cultural and economic alteration. The economy soared, as men saw opportunity in the tear down that resulted from war in Europe and the income tax. Middle classes bought mass-produced items on credit, cottages on the shore, and cars in the midst of their short-skirted, consumeristic exuberance.

The S-curve corset, the last in a long-line of Queens, had no place in that world. It had reached the point of diminishing returns just in time for introduction of the income tax, in 1913.

The Irony of Modern Lace

First and foremost, not all lace is created equal. Secondly, and obviously, not all lace is created the same way.

Lace has not been in style for sometime. In the 1980s, it was regarded as fussy, silly, and anti-feminist. At best, it was bohemian chic. In the 1990s it fared even worse. With the rise of Seattle, lace was considered not only bourgeois, but also in very poor taste. Women who liked lace were weak, silly, fussy, and unadventurous.

It’s starting to make a comeback now, and that’s a good thing for all historical costumers. But the problem is, most milling techniques, and good lace manufacturies are out of business, having suffered from persecution in the previous generation.

Most of the lace one finds at generic fabric chain stores is synthetic (rayon or polyester) and cheap. Historical costumers who use this lace should do so with the same caution one uses when one considers whether to dry your hair while taking a bath: why, with all that risk, would you bother? It doesn’t look the same, feel the same, work the same, or move the same, and, it looks cheap, like something that would adorn those horrible tippy-toe small town dance school recital costumes where everyone gasps when four year old Brittany manages to turn in a circle sort of on time. We tolerate the lace on those costumes because it makes little Brittany feel special that she has lace. She doesn’t know the difference. We historical costumers should know better.

We have two choices, then. The first is to hunt down antique lace in large enough useable quantities. Often enough one is then required to base much of the design of the dress around the lace, but sometimes that’s not a bad thing. Our second choice is to fork over the cash and hunt out a high end factory that produces linen or silk lace, or high quality net embroidery. Prices are high, particularly if you chose white or ivory (due to all of those silly brides out there who will pay anything).

In any case, purchasing lace for a historical costume is best done after some research. Here are some types of lace that were used in pre-WWII clothing:

1. Crochet lace: not appropriate for evening wear. Usually made of cotton. In the past, crochet was not considered real lace because it was so easy to make in comparison to the higher end stuff.

Great photo from wikipedia on Bobbin lace making.

2. Bobbin lace: made of weaving threads together and holding them in place with pins until the structure is formed. This is an old method of manufacturing, and was considered easier than the cut work it began to replace. It was time consuming though. Bobbin lace made in 2009 is made by machine and usually with cheap, synthetic fabrics, unless you can find the old or good stuff.

4. Embroidery on Net: is considered lace as well. The good stuff was made of cotton, linen, or silk.

3. Needle Lace: The most elaborate of the laces. It is entirely hand done with needles, threads, and scissors. Expensive, time consuming.

1884 Chemical Lace

4. Chemical Lace (my current favorite)

Chemical lace is my latest love. It’s so exciting!

In 1884, a clever German man developed a process by which intricate lace patterns could be manufacturing without the pain: a base or ’sacrficial’ is treated with chemicals (now banned), then embroidered. The chemicals disintingrate the sacrifical fabric after the embroidery, and tah dah. You have chemical lace. Unlike embroidery on net, the net disappears, so the lace pattern is air-like, other-worldly. As a result, good quality chemical lace can be as intricate and lovely as needle lace, all thanks to that disintrigrating base. And, it’s still handmade, and affordable.

The manufacturing of chemical lace is now prohibited, primarily because the chemical treatment of the base fabric is not so friendly on the environment. But that doesn’t mean we can’t buy it now. To not do so would be a waste.

Also, we have all of our manufacturing of lace by machine now, and our standards are way lower. Women no longer purchase lace for its ethereal quality, softness, or intricacy. Ironically enough, they buy it to be feminine and old fashioned, on bras, lingerie, and quasi-romantic blouses, though the women of previous generations probably wouldn’t touch most of the stuff we buy. It misses the whole point of lace: to be soft, pretty, unique, fairy-like, manufactured by nuns (the best), poor mothers, or repentant fallen women (acceptable as a social statement). Not scratchy, cheap, lacking-precision, and mass-produced a million miles away by an oiled up machine. Of course, much of the Victorian lace was indeed machine made, but it was made well. People were better educated on fabric and fabric quality. It was apart of their education. I find it ironic that we have no problem banning beautiful chemical lace, but will turn a blind eye when we buy Brittany’s sequined neon green, tippy-toe tutu.

Now, you can’t make an Edwardian, Lucy Honeychurch gown without lace (unless you’re making a simple tailor made, but even those needed a collar). Lace was the favored weapon in the Edwardian tailor’s arsenal. Entire blouses and skirts would be made of different lace just sewn and pieces together. Manufacturing made it available, and made it pretty. Resources for good materials were still there, so the more lace, the better.

Naturally, the problem with buying old lace is that it is old. It won’t take wear as well, it will look old. When women wore their old gowns, they were new, and we want the dress to look like it did in 1907, not when it was dug up in 2009. You can’t just sew any old antique lace onto a new gown, with new silk, and expect it to look good and take wear. So buying antique lace for the purpose of using on a gown has it’s pitfalls to be sure. But, I would rather have old, grave-dug-up lace on my gown than that from Brittany’s recital costume, however much it may make her parents oh and ah.

A Wedding Dress for Lucy Honeychurch*

It has been decided that I will invest in a serger. It makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t have one before. Clearly I had misplaced economic priorities: though I bought very good quality fabrics and findings, I was using a cheap Kenmore machine I could not rely on to effectively sew straight simple seams, much less give lovely contrast stitching. I’m the same way with ski equipment. I prefer to know nothing about it, and would rather just enjoy the sport. But, eventually, I am forced to learn.

Lucy & George on their honeymoon... and Florence is in the distance.

I’m not sure what the next project will be and am waiting for inspiration. How about something more abstract, like a wedding dress for Lucy Honeychurch. It would fit well with my qualifications. Since E.M. Foresters book focused so much on the Italian Renaissance and the natural landscape, I could strive to gracefully blend these themes with the Edwardian S-curve. Wow. That does sound exciting.

I will be traveling soon, though, so the work will have to be done intermittenly. Perhaps I will find some further inspiration abroad… or some luscious fabric or lace.

I love how Lucy towards the end of the book is about to rush off to Athens and Constantinople. These would have been very sensory, carnal locales for an English woman who, not so long before had been planning to marry Mr. Vyse and settle into a London society, and a dimly lit stuffy quasi-Georgian row house. It’s funny to imagine how she would have fared there with her spinster companions in lively Istanbul. Would she have met another George? Been driven bonkers out of frustration of not having George? Would she have gravitated towards a Miss Lavish, to whom she may have revealed too much, and blamed others both for her unhappiness and for her indiscretion? Would she have spent the rest of her life revolving around her experiences with George? Maybe she might have met another Mr. Vyse, or re-engaged herself to Cecil when she returned to England, terrified of suffering a passive-aggressive, spinster life with nothing but memories and an occasional Miss Lavish like Charlotte? But she didn’t… she married George instead.

A wedding gown for Miss Honeychurch would use the pagan, classical and the Florentine Renaissance as an inspirations, I would imagine. Lush leaves, burgeoning blooms, violent angles and surging (no pun intended) repetition softened with the lightness of idealism and with chiffon, architectural motifs and lacey arabesques echoing bodily curves and primal urges, squeezing and molding themselves into the framework of human civilization and an S-corset.

Would she have worn all white, do you think? I don’t think so. Maybe an ivory with subtle colored gold or cameo-toned accents to reflect the flush of love and joie de vivre? No Victorian timidity, but of a Renaissance triumph, poured into an Edwardian Silhouette. How Vaughan Williams! And, I believe the author and Merchant Ivory would approve.

These are all things to think about.

P.S. For those who don’t know A Room with a View, here is a segment that sums up the philosophical message.  Yes, that is Helena Bonham Carter, Maggie Smith, and Judy Dench, among others.

*Lucy Honeychurch probably didn’t really have a wedding dress since Lucy and George eloped. But that’s irrelevant.

Comments on the Completed Polonaise

I need a new sewing machine. I paid $99 for mine ages ago, and it’s temperamental on a good day. I believe there is something wrong with the tension mechanism, since it doesn’t seem to adjust.

I had an idea for a flopsy garden hat for the walk in the park, as opposed to a rigid bonnet. It’s affixed to the head with hat pins. The purpose of the hat is to protect the wear from the sun in a time before sunglasses. And it works. Looking at the camera required me to tilt my head up, and then squint. I suppose that to shield the eyes from the sun, the head couldn’t be lifted too high.

The hat is made out of items I had left over from previous projects: buckram, cotton/linen, 20 gauge florist wire (millenary wire would have been better), an extra 1/2 yard of lilac silk I bought from Joann’s, some left over ivory silk from my Venetian Courtesan chemise (see previous post), and 2.5 yards of antique lace I purchased in the fall. I sewed the ivory silk into a lined strip, gathered it into pleats and hand sewed it onto the hat. The sash was made with the lilac silk as well, and I sewed that by hand due to machine problems. It turned out well, but not without anguish and stress.

I trimed the arms with another lined piece of plum sash, which was basted on the body side of the top of the arm wrist, then tied it on the outside. I basted the bow in place.

I sewed another lined sash to tie around the waist, and sewed some large eggplant-colored tassels on the end. I wish I had made the sash a little shorter, since the large sash bow interferes with the view of the lovely back. But if that was the only mistake made, I am happy with the results.

Here’s what made up the dress, corset, bustle, and underclothes not included:

• 11 yards of plum silk
• 4.5 yards purple plaid silk
• 5.5 yards of lilac silk
• 1.5 yards of canvas for interlinings and hat
• 10 spiral steel bones
• ~.25 yards buckram
• 30″ 20 gauge florist wire
• strip of ivory silk
• Silk flowers
• ~3 yards of various antique lace
• Various findings: lots of cotton tape, hooks and eyes, hook and eye tape, etc.

Despite wearing all of that equipment, it’s not hard to wear. It’s far lighter than the previous red and black gown, primarily because the red and black gown employed something like 7 or 8 yards of velvet. The bustle I made moved more gracefully with this gown than with the red and black gown due to the lighter weight. There was less pressure on the back to shift forward.

Again, the dress does not translate well to car travel. It took something like 4 trips in and out of the car. I heavily ironed the pleats, so they didn’t need too much convincing to fall back into line. The bottom hoop wires and the hat are the biggest detriments to getting in the car. Getting out is something of a relief.

Acctually, I hated to take the gown off. It was right and comfortable, something about creating the silhouette, about being so supported, boned, and in place. It wasn’t stuffy or rigid. It was wonderful and beautiful, creating through movement and gesture, ever conscious of silhouette, location, and spatial relationships. One was aware of the dress, of how it helped and beautified, and how it needed to be maintained and supported. In a sense, it was like dancing.

What the dress is in complete antithesis to is club bumping and grinding, loudness, garishness. Expression must be achieved where the body shows: the hands and wrists, the posture, the neck, possibly the breast. And it needs to be subtle, and one needs to pay attention. As Balzac proposed, the dress speaks for you, and you have to move to coordinate with it to make it work. One looks ridiculous in jagged aggressive movements in a bustle and corset, so the conversation is soft and smooth by requirement. In opposition to the 20th century heroine, one moves and expresses to accomodate [the dress and silhouette].

When the photos were taken, a passerby mentioned to her companion “And to think they had to wear that everyday.” Maybe one could think the same thing though in the present tense about lots of people walking around today in unflattering, unmoving jeans that betray awkward gaits, clothes without structure that offer no forgiveness, or of the flocks of sparse garments of cheap fabric that give away interest as quickly and readily as they advertise it. Just a thought.

 

Fearing overspecialization, I don’t think a next project will be of a bustle.

Purple Polonaise Photos

Here are the beautiful photos from Highland Park. One could not ask for a better backdrop than the voluptuously, lacy lilacs.

Little tassels…

I tied a sash around the waist, which was unnecessary. But I thought it jaunty, and have lost a few pounds unintentionally from when I did the bodice fitting. I never tight lace for fittings, so tying the corset looser was not an option. I hoped the sash would compensate for the looser fit, and it is pretty.

The photos were taken by the incomparable Annette Dragon. She does incredible work!

Polonaise has sleeves, almost

Dress Front with sleeves pinned on

The underskirt is 99% finished. Hah! All that remains are some extra hooks for closure. The back portion of the underskirt I trimmed differently then the front portion, which was common for the period. I was rather sick of rigid, straight up and down pleats, so I took a long piece of doubled over 16.5″ wide plum silk (8 inches when folded and turned), and pleated it in on itself  4 times every 8 inches. 8 seemed to be something of a magic number with the underskirt, because lots of things ended up being done in 8s. I don’t think there is any significance to this.

I have some sleeves, though they are not lined, sewed in, finished off, or decorated. They are pinned on for the photos. I used the plaid because I had a good amount of it left over and hated to waist it. It’s not one of those fabrics that you can coordinate with a lot of other things. It’s demanding stylistically, but wonderful, wonderful to work with. As far as fabric goes, I can safely say it’s the best I have worked with. It ranks a 10 in texture liveliness, personality, color, and ease to work with. I bought it on e-bay, and basically based the entire dress around it.

The sleeves are made in two pieces, so they have a slight natural bend at the end. I cut a big circle, then a hole in the middle, and ever so slightly gathered it into the bottom of the arms at the 4 cardinal points of the sleeve hole. I think I’ll sew plum pleating to the inside – if I have time – and I will trim where the circle meets the sleeve with a bow and such.

The side view looks so much better when worn, primarily because the dummy bends to the right and back, and because it has no derriere. Absolutely none.

I’m sewing some antique lace to the inside of the collar. It looks authentic because it is real antique, probably late 1800 lace. There was exactly the right amount.

The back bow will be basted, because there isn’t much on earth that looks more stupid than a screwed up out of place bow moving around a dress, or moving around anything for that matter.

This dress would not have been worn in high summer, but this time of year is perfect for it. It would have been a walking dress, worn to parks. I like to think it’s Parisian. Who else but a French woman would wear purple plaid silk?

I wish so much I could let everyone feel the dress! It feels fantastic with all of that silk, and the rustle is so inspiring! What the previous red and black bustle dress did for drama, this one does for texture and tactility. You just want to touch it!

She will embark on her maiden voyage in less than 48 hours… no more posts for a couple of days. Back to work.

Pregnancy, Survival and the Wasp Waist in the Belle Epoque

In general (though not only), popular attraction between members of the opposite sex can sometimes be based on what is viewed to be powerful and/or capable. In the 20th century, sociologist have often interpreted the corset and quest for the wasp waist as subjugation and subjugation by men. But, they failed to look at the social and economic alternatives given the economy and technology of the time.

Beating away the stork with 20 - 80 lbs per square inch of pressure.

On average, women in the 19th century had five children, and would have been pregnant at least that many times. Pregnancy was not only dangerous in the 19th century, it was also lonely and time consuming. There was no such thing as pregnancy chic. Modesty and propriety, as well as safety, demanded that a woman remained confined in the last months before the birth. Middle and Upper class women at least enjoyed the luxury of having aid in the raising of the child. Lower classes were not so lucky. Taking a quote from a 19th century working class woman who was the 7th of 14 children, her mother was “a perfect slave. Generally speaking she was either expecting a baby to be born, or had one at her breast.” Hardly sounds appealing.

The fertility rate among the middle and upper classes (in Britain at least) was on the decline from the 1840s through the end of the 19th century. There is at least one recent article out there (by Davies M: Corsets and Conception…) that claims that the corset is responsible for the decreased fertility from uterine and organ distortion. Suppose, though, that the corset was both a cause of decreased fertility, as well as an expression of the desire for it.

Even the Victorians had a grasp of what the corset would do to their reproductive and childbearing capabilities. Contemporary doctors determined that the corset produced anywhere between 20 and 80 lbs. of pressure per square inch on the female torso. Proto-gynecologists (all male), warned that women should not be made aware that the corset could curb the likelihood of pregnancy or else they would employ it for that purpose (which is sinful and controlling). Dr. Kellogg (of Road to Wellville fame) wrote that it was shameful for women to wear corsets during pregnancy. There was also talk, again by man, that the corset was often used to disguise pregnancy with the “insertion of busks” and that tight lacing would lead to an abortion of the unwelcome fetus.

Were women aware of the effects of the corset? Likely. They weren’t stupid, or at least any stupider than they are today. Logically, then, it would appear that corset-wearing was not done to please men.

A tight corset and small waist implied a lot of social power. Firstly, the woman didn’t need to make a living. In 1863, The Lady’s Friend, it was written that upper class women “are ladies not necessitated to earn a living, they can do without health or strength – a genteel beauty they must have.” A tight laced corset makes manual labor very difficult for many reasons, so a corseted waist and waist training implied that the woman did not schlep around kids, clean the house or do laundry. Secondly, the lady likely had a maid to tight lace her. Third, she was not pregnant. Pregnancy in unmarried women spelled in disaster. In married ones, it meant confinement, possibly death, and increased future expense.

Fourth is the hormonal aspect. A thick waist implies a large production of androgens (including testosterone). Androgens can have some beneficial effects on female bodies. They increase competitiveness, ability to handle stress, dominence, assertiveness, and willingness to take risks. These are great. But they are not attributes that would be popular for women to have in the Victorian economy. Imagine, for example, you are the mother mentioned above, having those 14 children, and you were responsible for providing for them financially through labor with Victorian standards of pay, and medical care. Not possible. Even without having to care for children, a woman’s ability to survive and thrive in the Victorian era would be better shown in social connections, not by her ability to run the decathalon or walk into a boardroom and take charge of subordinates. Sports lead to injuries that lead to infections or disfigurement. Boardrooms to possible exposure to the demi monde.

19th Century Prostitutes in a Police Station. For a woman to be associated with crime - either as victim or perpetrator - could ruin her prospects in the social and marriage market.

The small waist implies increased estrogen: docility, decreased ability to handle stress, and unwillingness to take risks. If a woman is established, risk-taking would be ill-advised. If she was economically stable and a good social and domestic manager, she would not have to demonstrate an ability to handle stress. The ever- so-gallant Victorian notion of “women and children first” likely had a hormonal component, not just a wardrobe one. For though the Victorians were not educated much in biology or aware of hormones, we know that hormones and the perception thereof, regardless of time period, have an effect.

Obviously, the Victorian world was more physically and medically dangerous. There were no antibiotics or aspirin, and doctors were just as likely to kill you as cure you. The first modern paid police department was not founded until the 1820s in London, and then in 1838 in Boston, and they had not yet acquired the 20th century respectability they would later gain. Those women who has dealings with police – either as victims or perpetrators – were thieves or prostitutes. A woman to be associated with the police and with crime would lose her value on the social and marriage market. Keeping the wife and children at home or amongst friends wasn’t a bad idea for so many reasons.

Women were also aware that pregnancy could kill you, and if it didn’t it would confine you to a room in your home. In such a case, inclinations towards docility sounds like a pretty good trait to have, beyond that it implies a lifestyle to maintain it, with servants, maids, carriages, and not too many pregnancies.

The whole point is – to use very 20th century jargon – the quickest route to social power in the 19th century for a woman was to have only the few children that were required… and to avoid manual labor and exposure to demi monde. If the quickest route to both get and show this type of success was a tight-laced corset, then so be it.

Central Panel finalized (and Garden Gnome)

Center panel

Not much action here as far as the dress goes. Lots of stuff to do. Time sensitive. Responsibilities.

But I have made the center panel. It’s not crazy exciting, but there’s a reason for that. I think the polonaise is way exciting by its own. One could have gone all out with the center bodice panel, just for the sake of going all out, and to show off. But, no. That was not done here. Restraint was used.

Why did I decide to construct it with a center panel? Doesn’t it make it more complex? Yes, it does. But it also leaves some room for fudging in case I gain or loose weight. I often imagine I may need to wear the dresses I make more than once, though it rarely happens. Yet, I am hopeful.

The center panel is interlined in heavy canvas. There are two 4 inch bones crossing the waist vertically. I also sewed a piece of cotton tape horizontally across the waist to reinforce it. Most of the brute force of holding the bodice on the body should be taken by the waist plackard (see previous post), but structural integrity is important, and, well, why not?

The center panel buttons on the inside with metal snaps. Hook and eyes could not have worked, because they would show. The snaps make the join flat, without leaving the gap between the base of the hook and the eye.

The center panel is lined in lilac silk. I pleated two pieces of a plum sash into the top side of the panel and tied them into a bow. I’ll iron the bow to be more flat and such later.

It’s hard for me to make the dress look good on the dummy. First, though its close, it’s not exactly my measurements. Second, it can not stand up straight.

To the right is the lovely back, all plaid and poufy.

I have some antique lace I will sew into the neckline, and the plan is to make a scarf that ties around the waist for yet another exciting bow.

The back half of the underskirt needs its pleats. I’m waiting to see how much plum I have left before I make them. The plan is to make the sleeves plum with some plaid trim. Almost all of the fashion plates I have seen using plaid fabric have the sleeve fabric contract from the bodice: either the bodice is solid and the sleeves plaid or vise versa. Again, there is also so much going on with the polonaise. It’s good to give the eye a break.

The dress will be photographed at the Lilac Festival here in Rochester, so it will have to be done soon. I’ll be making a hat, too.

Since I don’t have much else to show, I am posting a picture of my garden gnome. He’s really cute. One could stare at him for hours…

Polonaise comes together

Polonaise train with side panels attached

As mentioned in the previous post, the top panel is already attached. So the order of business for today was the assembly and insertion of the side panels and train. On the left is a photo of the train with the side panels attached. Isn’t it lovely how the lines on the plaid on the side panels line up with those on the train? It was all planned, you see.

Polonaise train after pleating

The next step was to pleat to top of the train. The next photo shows the pleated train.

Interior with all panels attached, and waist plackard sewn in.

Now we are ready to sew the thing in. I hand sewed it into the bodice, being careful to catch the interliner, but not the purple plaid while doing so. I was careful to cut the top of all of the panels on the edge of the fabric so it won’t fray. The Olive antique gown I posted previously uses the edge for the same purpose, so it’s authentic and not a cheap trick. Those clever Victorians!

I made two plackards to join the waist out of lilac silk, interlined in a very sturdy canvas. These are sewn onto the first interior bone. There is a long bone going down the front of the bodice opening, the same one that gave me nightmares when the angle of the opening was asymmetric. The lilac plackard is attached to the bone after that. To the right is a shot of the interior, all finished off, save the arms. My poor bodice is still armless.

Side view, all attached.

To the left is a side view with all panels happily nestled into the bodice. The long purple scarf-like thing is the untied sash. It will meet it’s mate towards the bottom of the top panel, and be tied in a bow. The top panel poufs need to be basted in place before the two sashes can reunite.

Believe it or not, I still haven’t entirely decided what to do with the front of the bodice. The plan is to have a buttoned in panel, to simulate an under bodice and give the appearace that the whole polonaise is like a jacket on top of a dress. I’m planning on still doing the whole faked bodice thing. It shouldn’t take long at all.

And the sleeves, I think they will be three quarter again. I did that last time, but they looked really good so why mess with something that works. I have a couple types of antique lace that I may sew in around the neckline and armholes. Oh, and I have a battenburg lace parasol with lilac embroidery. You can get anything on e-bay, it seems.

If there’s a lot of typos, I apologise. The household thimble has gone missing, so my fingertips have suffered. I have made the sacrifice of blood to the costuming gods.* May they now bless my endeavor!

It’s cold and wet here in Rochester, so all of you in warmer places be grateful.

 

*There really is no such thing as costuming gods, and sacrifices to them are not advised since they probably don’t exist.

Pouf sewn to bodice

Gathers and sash attachment shown here before the pouf panel is sewn into the bodice.

Back to the polonaise after a break. The bodice was just killing me. The front bottom angle was asymmetric, sharper on one side, more curved on the other.

It was such a stupid mistake, and since the boning was sewn in, I was faced with either leaving it or, potentially, cutting the whole side open to get at it’s guts. Try as I did to identify how I could have made a mistkae in cutting – and not caught it – I was distracted to the point of not seeing how I could easily solve it. Doubt-filled, I was afraid to grab the scissors and seam ripper, and irreversibly hack away.

In the end, it took about 20 minutes to fix the asymmetry, but, oh, those were a painful twenty minutes: forced to face both the mistake and the fear of a bigger one with scissors in hand. And the build up was long: about two weeks.

It’s all fixed now. Let’s never speak of it again.

I have sewn the pouf with sash into bodice by hand with straight stitches, and whipstitched the edges. I was careful to grab the interliner and not the bodice fabric. To the left is a photo of the pouf panel. It’s gathered at the top and at the top sides. The sash is tucked into the bottom top side gather and sewn in. The pouf panel is lined in lilac silk, and trimmed with gathered plum, that encases the edges entirely. Small tassels are sewn to the bottoms of the tips.

I can see why so many people who sew like to used plaid. It’s like drawing with graph paper – you always have a reference point for purposes of symmetry.

The sash is tied toward the bottom of the top, pouf panel.

Clearly bows are on the brain. To the right is bow one (more to come). The sash – mentioned previously as being sewn into the top side bottom gather – ties towards the bottom of the pouf panel. Though the pouf panel is sewn into the bodice, the panel has not yet been permanently poufed with stitching, and the bow done with the sash is a temporary one. Pardon it’s imperfection.

To the left is the side view. The side panels and train panel are not sewn in yet and are just pinned at this point. The photo was taken at night and is poor, but it looks fantastic (and admittedly complicated) live.

I really don’t have that much more to do now that I have reconciled the bodice asymmetry. Also, my garden is nearly fully mulched. So, without much further ado the dress should be up and running soon.