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Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection

Rate the Dress: Purple, purple, and more purple, 1850s

When we bought our lovely little cottage four years ago, the master bedroom was painted purple floor to ceiling. It was awful*. When I saw today’s Rate the Dress it instantly reminded me of our previously-purple bedroom: not because it is necessarily awful, even really the same colour, but because it is a lot of purple, and because friends said of our bedroom “that colour might be really nice in something else, but not as a bedroom.”**

Last week: a 1920s day dress in printed silk

It was very easy to tell what people would give as a rating for last week’s dress, depending on what words you used for it. Those who found it ‘subtle’ or ‘delicate’ or ‘refined’ rated it above an 8, those who felt it was ‘blah’ or ‘washed out’ or a ‘sack’ gave it significantly less.

side note: Catherine says it was a rice cake: healthful but not appealing. I happen to adore rice cakes. And a whole host of other very delicately flavoured foods with dry crunchy textures. My sister once tried a new cracker, said “Ugh, this tastes just like cardboard” and then handed the packet to me and said “Here, you’ll love them”. She was not wrongThey are now my favourite crackers – preferably eaten with goats cheese or avocade, which are also ‘you either love it or you don’t’ tastes. But also totally lovely plain. Taste is so subjective! As our rating is about to show…

The Total: 7.3 out of 10

Not a universal palette pleaser then!

This week: a shot purple dress and matching cape

Now that I’ve rather put you off the dress by comparing it to the extraordinarily terrible paint job our poor bedroom once suffered from, let me assure you that other than being a lot of the same general colour, this dress has nothing in common with the bedroom. It is, in fact, one of my favourite shades of purple!

Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection

As a fashion colour we usually associate purple hues with the end of the 1850s, and the invention of aniline dyes. However, fashion plates and news articles make it clear that the colour was already becoming popular before the discovery of mauvine: Perkin’s breakthrough just helped to extend the hues notability and longevity.

Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection
Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection

The specific dark lavender shade of this dress is absolutely typical of the shades of purple that were most fashionable in the 1850s, before mauvine took over. Queen Victoria wore a dress in a nearly identical shade of purple to her eldest daughters wedding in January 1858. There is no evidence that Victoria’s dress, like this gown, was ‘shot’ or changeable silk, but it was certainly a similar colour.

Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection
Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection

This dress, with it’s perky green trim, and Victoria’s similarly hued festive frock for her daughters wedding, are evidence that another prevailing fashion history myth, that all purple and lavender clothes were half-mourning, is just that: a myth.

Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection
Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection

Fashionable woman wore different shades of purple to various celebratory events throughout the 19th and into the early 20th century without any association with mourning. There were a number of things that signalled that a woman was in mourning, or half mourning, and they went well beyond setting aside an entire colour segment exclusively for half mourning.

Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection
Day dress and cape of shot silk, early 1850s, The John Bright Historic Costume Collection

So, it’s not a mourning dress, and it’s not necessarily awful at all! It is a fabric that rumples and shows every crease very easily, and age has not helped that, so please don’t mark it down for its current presentation.

What do you think of all the purpleness?

Rate the Dress on a Scale of 1 to 10

A reminder about rating — feel free to be critical if you don’t like a thing, but make sure that your comments aren’t actually insulting to those who do like a garment.  Our different tastes are what make Rate the Dress so interesting.  It’s no fun when a comment implies that anyone who doesn’t agree with it, or who would wear a garment, is totally lacking in taste.

(as usual, nothing more complicated than a .5.  I also hugely appreciate it if you only do one rating, and set it on a line at the very end of your comment, so I can find it!  And 0 is not on a scale of 1 to 10.  Thanks in advance!)

* So awful that the day we took ownership I sat in the car in front of the house waiting for the realtor to show up – with paint and rollers already in the backseat. I carried them in along with our new keys!

** It was a particularly unfortunate choice of purple as a floor to ceiling bedroom. I might have been more forgiving had it been the shade of this dress!

1760s Frou Frou Francaise thedreamstress.com

Making Engageantes from scalloped lace

In making my Frou Frou Francaise, I knew I wanted extremely lush, frilly, lace engageantes. It matches the overall aesthetic of the dress, and is by far the most common type of engageantes represented in artworks featuring francaise in the 1750s & 60s.

Engageantes in Art

There are exquisite lace examples like this:

Marquise de Caumont la Force (detail), 1767, François Hubert Drouais, Ball State University – Muncie, Indiana USA

And embroidered net examples like this:

Portrait of a Woman, Said to be Madame Charles Simon Favart (Marie Justine Benoîte Duronceray, 1727—1772) François Hubert Drouais (French, Paris 1727—1775 Paris), 1757, Oil on canvas, Metropolitan Museum of Art
Portrait of a Woman, said to be Madame Charles Simon Favart (Marie Justine Benoîte Duronceray, 1727—1772) François Hubert Drouais (French, Paris 1727—1775 Paris), 1757, Oil on canvas, Metropolitan Museum of Art

And generally just lots of lush froth like this:

An Unknown Lady at the Spinett, Johann Heinrich Tischbein d.Ä. (1753)

And this:

Allan Ramsay (1713—1784), Portrait of Horace Walpole’s Nieces- The Honorable Laura Keppel and Charlotte, Lady Huntingtower (detail), 1765

And this:

Allan Ramsay (1713—1784), Portrait of Horace Walpole's Nieces- The Honorable Laura Keppel and Charlotte, Lady Huntingtower (detail), 1765
Allan Ramsay (1713—1784), Portrait of Horace Walpole’s Nieces- The Honorable Laura Keppel and Charlotte, Lady Huntingtower (detail), 1765

And this:

Queen Charlotte by Zoffany, 1765
Queen Charlotte with her Two Eldest Sons, Johan Zoffany, 1765

And, of course, most of all, the glorious example of lace engageantes shown in the portrait of Queen Charlotte that was one of my original inspiration images for my francaise:

Allan Ramsay (1713—1784), Queen Charlotte (1744-1818) with her two eldest sons (detail), 1765, Windsor Castle
Allan Ramsay (1713—1784), Queen Charlotte (1744-1818) with her two eldest sons (detail), 1765, Windsor Castle
Allan Ramsay (1713—1784), Queen Charlotte (1744-1818) with her two eldest sons (detail), 1765, Windsor Castle

Finding suitable lace:

The first thing I was going to need to make really gorgeous, lush engageantes was gorgeous, lush lace.

Perfectly in time for my search for the ideal lace, silkworld.com.au began selling fabric retail, not just wholesale, and they offered me some lace to make something out of to help advertise their new retail line.

I was phenomenally excited by the offer and delighted to help, because SilkWorld is the only place in the Antipodes that sells silk tulle (aka, the holy grail of historical costuming) and its equally covetable cousin, cotton tulle, on a regular basis.

(I’m just popular enough to get a fair amount of offers of free products in exchange for blog and instagram posts, but I turn most of them down, because I’m not going to tell you about something unless I’m pretty excited about it.)

Knowing I was making engageantes, I chose this gorgeous lace in ivory.

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

It is nylon, but not at all scratchy and stiff, and the motifs and overall amount of motif and open space was the best match to my inspiration images.

The lace arrived, and it did not disappoint (neither did the silk tulle I also got, which is like unicorn dreams and angel kisses and was clearly woven by fairies – I can’t wait to use it)

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

So, now that I had wonderful lace to work with, how was I going to get a lace fabric with a straight scalloped edge to work as engageantes, which usually have curved edges?

Figuring out the Pattern

Some of the examples of frilly engagenates that I showed above are clearly embroidered net with edgings of straight lace attached, and it’s possible that other examples are cotton lawn with extremely lush whitework, like this example from the Met:

Engageantes, 18th century, European, cotton, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 34.143.14

Both of those construction styles allow the shaping of the engageante to be built into the construction: cut a straight edge to gather to the sleeve, and a scalloped or rounded edge to finish with whitework or a lace edging.

The lace edging method is similar to the type of engageante shown in the American Duchess 18th century book, which is what I used for my first attempt at sleeve ruffles for this francaise. Pretty, but not quite what I’m going for:

Frou Frou Francaise Sleeve thedreamstress.com

I want a fully lace engageante, which means working with lace with a straight scalloped edge – not something that can be cut to curve in along the scallops.

So, how to make that type of engageante?

In-period the lace would have made specifically for engageantes, with narrower ends, and wider centres, as surviving examples show:

Sleeve trimming (Engageantes), 18th century, Italian, Venice, Needle lace, L. 35 x W. 5 1:2 inches (88.9 x 14.0 cm), Metropolitan Museum of Art, 09.68.171
Sleeve trimming (Engageantes), 18th century, Italian, Venice, Needle lace, L. 35 x W. 5 1:2 inches (88.9 x 14.0 cm), Metropolitan Museum of Art, 09.68.171
Pair of Engageantes, France, circa 1765-1775 Costumes; Accessories Linen point d’Argentan needle lace 8 1:2 × 17 7:8 in. LACMA M.66.72a-b

But that isn’t possible with standard purchased lace, because the decorative scalloped border is along a straight edge.

To create the curve of engageantes, what I did is flip the standard engageante shape.

Here is a pattern for engageantes, from Janet Arnold’s Patterns of Fashion. The original is made in embroidered lawn:

Engageantes as seen in Janet Arnold's Patterns of Fashion

I traced off the basic shape (in blue) and then reduced the changes in height, to match what you see in extant examples, resulting in my pink pattern pieces.

I wanted a three-ruffle engageant, so I used my two pattern pieces to create a third piece, halfway between the two – I also extended the top ruffle’s circumference length by an inch, so all three ruffles were the same, as it made them much easier to work with.

This gave me a basic pattern template:

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

Then I flipped the template:

And cut my ruffles with the straight edge of my template/pattern along my scalloped lace border:

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

Cutting & Sewing:

I cut my bottom two ruffles with the extremely detailed, scalloped border, and my uppermost ruffle with the slightly simpler border on the other edge of the fabric – just to give a bit more dimensionality to the engageantes.

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

Then I stacked my three layers together:

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

And gathered along the curved edge:

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

I sewed the curved edge to a tape, and basted the tape into the sleeves of my francaise, so it’s easily removable for washing, or to put on another francaise.

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

And there are my engageantes!

1760s Frou Frou Francaise thedreamstress.com
Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com

I’m really happy with what an extravagant bit of froth they give at the ends of the sleeves. I could have made them even fuller – but they are rather glorious as they are.

1760s Frou Frou Francaise thedreamstress.com

The Challenge: #12 Neglected Challenge — re-doing #9 ‘Hands & Feet’. It seems only right to include this for that challenge, as I literally re-made the engageantes I did for it!

Fabric: 1.5m lace

Pattern: my own, as above

Year: ca. 1760

Notions: thread, cotton tape 

How historically accurate is it?: Nylon lace and a re-think of how to cut a pattern? Maybe 40% However, it’s as close as you’re going to get unless you are embroidering silk tulle or doing elaborate whitework on lawn.

Hours to complete: 2

First worn: for photos in early December

Total cost: Free, but only because I was given the lace (thank you silkworld.com.au!

Making lace engageantes thedreamstress.com
A velvet Regency bonnet thedreamstress.com

A Regency Bonnet

Just in time for the heat of the New Zealand summer, I’ve made a velvet winter bonnet.

A velvet Regency bonnet thedreamstress.com

The Wellington historical sewists and I had been working on 1790s-1810s garments all 2018, with the goal of each of us creating at least one full outfit.

For our Sew & Eat Historical Retreat we wanted to do a group sewing project. We decided on bonnets based on Lynne McMasters 1810s Regency bonnet pattern.

Regency bonnet making thedreamstress.com

We all went searching for fabric and inspiration. I decided I wanted a bonnet to wear with my 1813 Kashmiri dress, now that I have enough more of the fabric to make day sleeves and a spencer to wear over it.

And I could wear the bonnet when I wear the spencer (which doesn’t yet exist), over a plain white dress (which also doesn’t exist. I’m doing so well here…)

Costume Parisien 1810
Costume Parisien Bonnets 1811 Chapeaux de Virginie

I realised that if I made a bonnet with a shorter crown than that given in McMasters pattern, and a slight adjustment to the brim angle, I could wear the bonnet for 1790s as well, if I wasn’t being too specific about total accuracy. Most 1790s hat brims seem to angle off and end at the sides, rather than going all the way around the back of the brims, but there are a few plates, like this one, which appear to show a brim that extends around the back:

December 1799 Journal des Luxus und der Moden
December 1799 Journal des Luxus und der Moden

I settled on a dark brick red velvet to cover my bonnet, and black trimmings with a grey feather.

A velvet Regency bonnet thedreamstress.com

The Pattern:

The ‘Regency Bonnet Pattern’ was one of Lynn McMasters earlier patterns, dating back to 2013.

It’s obvious from the pattern how much McMasters knows her craft as a milliner, but the pattern itself is a little disorganised, and lacks clarity in places.

Some of the instructions are extraordinarily detailed. Other places are extremely brief – attaching the brim to the crown is covered by “sew the brim to the crown” (what stitch? Both pieces are fully finished, how do you do it without leaving marks on the outside? What happens to the tabs – how do you affix them to the interior?). Other spots are so wordy and convoluted that the four of us making hats (all with extensive sewing experience) each came to a different conclusion as to what we were meant to do.

Regency bonnet making thedreamstress.com

Many steps in the pattern give you multiple options of what to do: it’s nice to know there are many ways to achieve a reasonable end, but does make the pattern quite difficult to read.

But…despite a few rough spots, we all made successful hats (albeit by slightly different routes, depending on how we read the instructions)

A velvet Regency bonnet thedreamstress.com

I went off pattern in a number of spots, most notably cutting all my fabric on the straight grain rather than the bias because I didn’t have enough fabric, and that didn’t cause any problems.

There are a few spots that are a bit wibbly, especially on the inside, but hey, no one looks like the inside.

A velvet Regency bonnet thedreamstress.com

To celebrate our finished bonnets, we had a picnic and wore our regency dresses and the bonnets. It was too hot for spencers (I always seem to schedule picnics on wildly windy or unseasonably hot days), and none of us has made a chemisette yet, so we aren’t exactly properly attired – but we had cherries and strawberries and salmon rouleaux and marmalade cakes and fun.

Regency bonnet making thedreamstress.com

I went for a sort of 1790s look, because it matches better with no chemisttes and spencers.

A velvet Regency bonnet thedreamstress.com
A velvet Regency bonnet thedreamstress.com

And, although it was finished a teeny-tiny bit into 2019, this completes my 12 challenges for the Historical Sew Monthly 2018:

The Challenge:  #12 Neglected Challenge – re-doing #10 ‘Fabric Manipulation’, which I had a pretty lame entry for (a Regency petticoat with tucks round the hem, which I haven’t even blogged about yet…). There is a lot of amazing fabric manipulation involved in millinery: shaping the buckram, shaping the fabric around the buckram, pleating or gathering the brim lining…

Fabric:  .4m of velvet ($3, thrifted), .3m of silk habotai ($2, thrifted)

Pattern:  Lynn McMasters 1810s Regency Bonnet Pattern

Year:  ca. 1810

Notions:  1/2m buckram ($15), 3m millinery wire ($6) thread ($1), velvet ribbon ($10), a vintage feather ($3 – part of a bulk lot).

How historically accurate is it?:  I don’t know a huge amount about Regency millinery techniques, but I did use the machine for one step, and some modern glue (glues may have been used historically, but they would have been much harder to work with). Plus synthetic ribbon, and a questionable hem binding technique…. Maybe 40%

Hours to complete:  18ish. Hat’s take a long time!

First worn:  To a picnic, 5 January

Total cost:  NZ$40 or thereabouts. Whew. Hatmaking isn’t cheap!

A velvet Regency bonnet thedreamstress.com