That is all.

I know a lot of seamstresses of various skill levels who hate doing zips, buttons, or sleeves, but those don’t fuss me.  What I really loathe, stuff-up all the time, and try to avoid, is gathering.

I did not enjoy making the skirt of this dress!

I know!  It seems so simple!  But my gathering lines are always breaking, and going wonky, and when I sew the gathered pieces together somehow I always get a big pleat caught up in the gathering.  It’s horrible and evil I tell you, evil.

That’s why I love corded gathering so much.  I was so, so excited when I discovered it.  It’s so much easier!

Wonderful, wonderful cord gathering

And my desire to avoid gathering is also why I am willing to pleat metres and metres of silk organza into tiny pin pleats by hand.  Anything is good as long as it means I don’t have to machine gather!

Itsy bitsy pin pleats

My very first garment that I learned to make was actually a gathered circle skirt with metres and metres of fabric cut into 8 quarters and gathered into the waistband.  It was so enormous!  And I had no problem with it, but ever since, I’ve loathed gathering.  I think I just overdid it the first time!

Funny isn’t it, what we don’t like doing, and find hard, and avoid?

So, what did you pick in the poll?  And why?  Have you always hated/been scared of it?  Or is it based on one particular time when the technique went horribly wrong?  Do you invent elaborate stratagems to get around doing it?  Or try to force yourself to do it in the hope you will get past the dislike?

This week lets go from dark and badass to light and sweet.  I find Regency frocks so appealing.  They are so simple and pure and youthful in their barely-adorned whiteness.  Of course the problem with Regency frocks is that they are often so similar, and simple and pure and unadorned, that they don’t make for a very interesting Rate the Dress.

I’ve tried to get around this by posting really unusual examples, or portraits with accessories, but sometimes you just want to show a simple dress.  So here is a Regency frock from the MFA Boston that hopefully is still a classic example of Regency fashion, without being too uninteresting.

White mull dress, early 19th century, American, MFA Boston

White mull dress, American, early 19th c, MFA Boston, 53.206

This white mull cotton evening dress from the early 19th century features a gathered bodice, short puffed sleeves, a narrow back with extra fullness in the train, a floor length hem perfect for dancing in, and for extra interest, a star motif worked in flat silver embroidery.

What do you think?  Does it make you yawn with disinterest?  Or swoon with its sweetness?  Or is it so saccharine that your teeth hurt? Or are you put off by how unflattering the shape can be on some figures?

Rate the Dress on a scale of 1 to 10.

My life is all about checking patterns and sizing, redrafting, and making sure I have the best possible technique figured out.

And I’m excited!

There are a few spaces left in the class, so if you know anyone in Wellington who might be interested – spread the word!

To inspire you, here is Madge Bellamy in her wedding lingerie in White Zombie:

Madge Bellamy in White Zombie

Awww!  Aren’t those tap pants adorable!

And here are some of the ones I’ve made:

Tap pants!

So whether you want to call them French knickers, cami-knickers, tap pants, or lingerie shorts, come and make them next Sunday!

On Monday the 11th of June I am donating my time as the featured speaker at Save the Children’s annual fundraiser – an afternoon tea at Premier House.

Yes, Premier House!

That’s the Prime Minister’s residence!  It’s like speaking at the White House or 10 Downing Street!  (well, the White House or 10 Downing St in a country with 4 million people, but still!)

I am, needless to say, looking forward to it.

As it is an afternoon tea, I’m going to speak on the fashions related to tea: the links between the tea trade and the trade in Eastern textiles, the introduction ‘afternoon tea’, and of course, tea gowns!

Tea gown of satin embroidered in colours. Tea gown of chiffon with lace front. 1899

The official invite says:

Join textile historian Leimomi Oakes for afternoon tea and an informative and amusing history of tea and the fashions that tea inspired.  The talk will cover the introduction of tea into Europe in the 17th century, the invention of ‘afternoon tea’ by Queen Victoria’s ladies in waiting in the 1840s, the late 19th century fad for tea and ‘tea gowns’, and the dying glory of tea gowns in the years between the World Wars.  Models in recreations of historical fashions will illustrate the talk.

If all goes well with my sewing, I’ll have two new outfits I (in progress, but not yet blogged about) included in the talk.  More excitement!

If you are in Wellington and interested in coming send me a note through the contact button at the top of the blog, and I’ll send you an official invitation.  Due to security at Premier House rsvps are essential.

I know about textiles from the ‘Dark Ages’ and Medieval period, but my knowledge of the clothing is pretty basic.

But now I have a reason to tackle the Middle Ages – specifically the early 14th century in England.  Think 1310-1330.  (Sorry, can’t tell you what the reason is yet).

Manuscript painting of Thomas of Lancaster (l.) with St. George, via Wikimedia Commons

I do know that sometimes the trick to knowledge is not actually knowing the stuff, but knowing where to find the information.  I have a lot of leads, but I also know that there are a lot more out there.

So, dear readers, who among you does late 13th and early 14th century costuming?  What are your favourite resources for that period?  Expand my knowledge!

Isabella landing in England with her son, the future Edward III in 1326. Miniature circa 1455. Via Wikimedia Commons

Update:  I’m mostly interested in men’s clothes – commoners, lower grades of knights, jesters, mercenaries, and maybe a nun or novitiate.  I’ll get to the fun upper class ladies later!

Algerian burnous from The Queen Magazine, August 30, 1873, via Koshka the Cat

It can also be spelled burnoose and bournouse.

The burnous was introduced to Western fashion through the Spahi, the French calvary troops of from Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco, whose uniforms included burnous.  The Spahi began in the 1830s, and saw extensive action throughout the 19th century.  This, combined with photographs of the Spahi troops in their burnous taken by Roger Fenton in the 1850s popularised their image in the West, and started the fashion for the cloaks.

Zouve & officer of the Spahi in a burnous, Roger Fenton, 1855

The Bridesmaid by George Baxter, Print, England, Britain, 1855, V&A

A 1859 fashion article describes burnouses:

These are made frequently in cachemire, in broad Algérienne stripes, or in light coloured cachemire, wadded and trimmed with plaid, and also in black silk trimmed with plaid, or plain velvet, plaited ribbon and silk, or handsome passementerie.  When trimmed with moire the lining should be of the same colour.

Burnous of white and green stripes with green velvet tassel and bonnet over green silk gown. 1850s

Throughout its history in Western fashion the burnous retained an exotic flavour, emphasised by the use of Eastern fabrics, the aforementioned “Algérienne stripes”, tassels, and Indian embroidery.

Child's cape. Twilled peacock blue woollen cloth, embroidered in cream silk thread, with a cream tassel on the hood; Anglo-Indian, 1860-70, V&A

The shape did alter with fashions.  Burnouses became shorter and less voluminous as the hoopskirt went out of fashion and the bustle came in in the 1870s.

Seaside burnouse, The Queen Magazine, August 30, 1873, via Koshka the Cat

The burnous saw a decline in popularity in the 1880s and 1890s, and the more fitted and structured silhouettes of fashion demanded more structured garments (such as the paletot).  It might have fallen out of fashion entirely were it not for the Aesthetic movement and the emphasis in aesthetic dress on ethnic inspiration and looser silhouettes.

Burnous by Liberty & Co. Ltd.,1905-1916, Wool and machine-embroidered trim, V&A

They remained popular in the early 20th century along with the overall fashion for exoticism.  Burnous cloaks were often patterned with ‘Eastern embroidery” to emphasise the exotic effect, though art nouveau inspired designs were also popular.

Liberty & Co. velvet burnous, c.1900. via Vintage Textile.com

Burnouses were mainly a Victorian and early 20th century garment, but they have made sporadic returns throughout the 20th century.  A 1937 fashion article describes:

…the new burnous cape, draping into a hooded swath at the back and tied at the front neckline by matching coloured silk cords…these burnous capes fall gracefully down the back, where they finish at half or full length

Sources:

Johnston, Lucy.  Nineteenth-Century Fashion in Detail.  London: V&A Publishig, 2005

O’Hara, Georgina, The Encyclopedia of Fashion: From 1840 to the 1980s.  London: Thames and Hudson Ltd.  1986

And oh my gosh, and I so excited.  I love this capelet.

The first version I made (shown here) is in silk velvet lined in silk twill – the trickiest, most evilest combination possible.  And even so, it whips up so easily and beautifully.

And it’s so versatile!  I wear it loose and stole-y, or tied in a bow in front.

In can also be wrapped around the neck and hooked, forming a very elegant scarf – perfect over a coat in winter, or for dressing up the ubiquitous (and, lets face it – just a little boring) merino tops of NZ winter wear.

The elegant part:

The gathered cape back.  It just looks so beautiful on, and so beautiful in movement and lifts the cape from a simple drape into a clever, cunning, sophisticated garment.  I love it!

The cape does other stuff too.  It hooks in back so that you can wear it as a front wrap (when I make it in jersey I’m going to make it tie-able)

So yeah, basically it’s just awesome.

And if you are in Wellington you can learn to make it right away, and if you aren’t in Wellington I’m working on getting a pattern up and available!

All of these photos were taken by the fabulous Mrs C at Made on Marion, where I’m teaching the class (and also beginning sewing and the tap pants class – aren’t the tap pants adorable?) and so much other fun stuff.  The cape is on display there at the moment, so I can’t wear it every single minute of the day right now.  Boo.

But I do have the other prototypes to wear and cuddle up in!  I’ll show you those soon.  And a few more detail and construction pictures of this capelet (so you can drool over the gold velvet as much as every other person has).

Just the facts, Ma’am:

Fabric: 2m of silk-rayon velvet in golden yellow for the outer, 1.5 m of silk twill for the lining (wider width = less fabric).

Pattern: Self-drafted based on the late 1930s cape-stole

Year: Late 1930s

Notions: None

Hours: 6.  Silk velvet takes a lot of basting!

Will you make this again? Yes! This cape only gets better – it can be worn in so many ways, goes from formal evening to super casual (I’m going to make it up in jersey!) and I love it.

Any changes? Nope.  It’s just perfect.  Though I am working on alternative versions.

Total cost: Somewhere around NZ$45 (US$35ish). The silk velvet was very pricey, so was the silk twill lining.

And the inside?: Well, it’s completely bag lined and technically reversible – so you can’t get any more perfect!

I’m feeling history deprived.  I’ve been doing too much hands-on stuff and not enough research.  So today’s Rate the Dress is all about me wanting to look stuff up.

Sigismund III Vasa, King of Poland, Grand Duke of Lithuania, and briefly King of Sweden, was one of Poland’s most controversial rulers.  On the one hand, his reign coincided with an period of wealth, power, and cultural influence for Poland and Lithuania, and on the other he has been accused of setting in motion a downward spiral in the region as he focused on trying to regain the throne of Sweden to the detriment of his Eastern European thrones.

Sigismund’s wardrobe may prove to be equally divisive.  He is wearing an outfit both outrageous and refined, mixing sever black, elaborate but subtle detailing, snow-leopard lining and a stiff lace ruff.  His outfit also a mix of cultures: a tall fez-like hat, a European ruff, a scimitar, and a doublet patterned in designs that look intriguingly like Chinese calligraphy.

Sigismund III Vasa by Martin Kober, circa 1590 via Wikimedia Commons

Does Sigismund’s outfit manage to balance all of its elements successfully, or, like the king himself, is it unable to maintain an equilibrium between the east and the west, between the last elements of the Medieval and the first elements of modernity?

Rate the dress on a scale of 1 to 10 (and be sure to comment on the post itself, not on the image if you click through for a larger view, because I won’t remember to see and count your votes if they aren’t linked directly to the post)

Street poses - with Clarissa just visible through the window

Bucolic bicycling

With Mandi just visible capturing them from the other direction

Checking the latest court goss

The 18th century French court was obsessed with glass - especially mirrors, but this would have to do!

All those clothes take a lot of washing

Giggle

Missed my first set of photographs?  They are here.