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Bridesmaid dress, House of Worth (French, 1858—1956), silk with pearl trim, 1896, American, Metropolitan Museum of Art

The Historical Sew Monthly 2018: Inspiration for Challenge #7: Sleeves

The July Challenge in the Historical Sew Monthly 2018 is Sleeves, and I’m extremely excited to see what people do with it.  It’s such an easy challenge to interpret and fulfil, and there are so many possibilities.

Because it’s such an easy challenge to find a project for (just make anything with sleeves that are in some way interesting and significant!)  I’m just going to show you some of my favourite (or, in the case of late 16th century examples, least favourite) sleeves from throughout history.

And I mean it when I say throughout history, because the oldest known extant garment, this 5,000 year old tunic/shirt, has fascinating sleeves which have been purposefully pleated or ruched to give them shape and interest:

Pleated tunic, Ancient Egyptian. 1st dynasty, c. 3100-2890 BC. Werner Forman Archive/ University College London, Petrie Museum

Only 3,400 years later, this Coptic tunic from the same area of the world features quite simple sleeves, but beautifully decorated:

Coptic-Byzantine wool tunic, 6th century AD, Walters Art Museum

I love Medieval fitted sleeves, especially ones with lots of buttons.  If you’re trying to fit your own pair of 14th century sleeves, you may find my post showing how I fitted and patterned mine quite helpful.

Effigy of Katherine, Countess of Warwick, died 1369

The late Middle Ages are full of fantastic sleeves, with five different kinds of amazing sleeve-ness shown below, from enormous dagged houpeland sleeves, to very fitted short sleeves with falling tippets.

Full-bodied houppelandes with voluminous sleeves worn with elaborate headdresses are characteristic of the earlier 15th century. Detail from Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry

Houppelandes with voluminous sleeves, 1412-16, Detail from Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry

For early 16th century examples, I couldn’t go past an example of Northern German sleeves with their horizontal stripes, interesting slashing, and elongated cuffs.

Portrait of Catherine of Mecklenburg by Lucas Cranach the Elder, 1514

I adore the more restrained slashing and elaborate oversleeves with their tie embellishments on  Ã‰lisabeth de Valois’ dress.

Élisabeth de Valois, by Juan Pantoja de la Cruz, 1565

While they aren’t as extravagant as the more aristocratic high-fashion examples of the era, I really love the different kinds of sleeves shown on peasants in  Brueghel the Elder’s paintings:

Pieter Brueghel the Elder, the Dance, 1568

Halfway between the two, showing sleeves that are fashionable and practical, is Moroni’s tailor:

The Tailor, Giovanni Battista Moroni, ca 1570

And then, from those perfectly nice, elegant, totally practical sleeves, fashion moved into what I would argue were the ugliest sleeves ever devised: 1580s & 90s maggot grubblet sleeves:

Ball at the Court of Henry III of France, unknown artist, ca 1580, the Louvre (detail)

Everything about that guy in the centre who coyly turns to face us gives me the heebie jeebies.  I’m absolutely convinced that one day I’m going to glance at the painting and his limbs are going to wriggle off him and start crawling across the page.

These ones are less creepy, but have the distinction of managing to combine individual elements that are all phenomenally beautiful in their own right (that embroidery on the bodice and sleeves!) into an unabashedly unattractive whole.

Portrait of a Lady, attributed to William Segar, c. 1595

17th century sleeves are a huge improvement in my opinion, from the slim examples of the 1610s:

Marcus Gheeraerts the younger (Flemish artist, 1561-1635) Frances Howard, Countess of Hertford, 1611

To the soft, romantic puffed sleeves of the 1630s:

Queen Henrietta Maria, 1632, Anthony van Dyke

And the fanciful sleeves of the 1660s, like these ones, that look back to early 16th century slashing:

Caspar Netscher (circa 1639—1684), Lady at the Window, 1666, Von der Heydt-Museum

The 18th century did equally beautiful sleeves, like the ruffle trimmed lace sleeves seen on robe de cour, like the ones seen on the governess, and the wide sleeves of men’s justacorps:

Louis XIV and heirs with the royal governess, Formerly attributed to Nicolas de Largillière, now unknown, circa 1710

Or the ones on this Robe Volante, with pleating that equals the back pleats of the loose gown:

Robe Volante, 1720-1735, Musee Galliera de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

Robe Volante, 1720-1735, Musee Galliera de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

And the classic ruffle-trimmed 3/4 length sleeves that we know from so many mid-century Française and Anglaise, and early mid-century Mantua, like this one:

Mantua, English from French fabric, 1755-1760 from fabric woven between 1753-1755, Silk, silver-gilt thread, linen thread, silk thread, hand-sewn, V&A

The way the 18th century used stripe placement is so fascinating, and it’s particularly obvious on sleeves:

Portrait of a Young Woman Holding Two Roses. Agustín Esteve y Marques, ca. 1790

Early 19th century sleeves carried on construction and design traditions from the 18th century, but added in new inspiration and shapes, including sleeves which referenced classical drapery:

Elisabeth Alexandrovna Stroganoff countess Demidoff (1779-1818) by Robert Lefèvre, ca. 1805 Hermitage Museum St Petersburg

They also looked to the past, and to a variety of ‘exotic’ cultures for inspiration, as seen in these mameluke sleeves, which reference fashions seen in the Ottoman Empire (or at least claim to).

Robe de Cachemir with Mameluke sleeves, 1810

1820s sleeves are pretty much the last time men got to have fun with their sleeve fashions, with puffed sleeves that created an exaggerated, curvaceous silhouette.

Late Regency fashion plate, 1827

And women’s sleeves of the 1820s & 30s are famously inventive and whimsical (or, simply mad, depending on your perspective):

Dinner or reception dress, ca. 1837, American, silk, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 37.192

A whole variety of sleeve styles were fashionable in the 1860s, but I quite like the revival of the mameluke, particularly as a sheer blouse:

Frances Adeline ‘Fanny’ Seward by Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze

You can see almost every previous historical period referenced in late Victorian sleeves, like this pair, which use elements of both Renaissance and 18th century sleeve designs:

Reception dress, possibly American, about 1880, Silk velvet trimmed with silk satin and cotton machine lace, MFA Boston, 2007.501

Reception dress, possibly American, about 1880, Silk velvet trimmed with silk satin and cotton machine lace, MFA Boston, 2007.501

And I couldn’t possible do this post without an example of extremely puffed 1890s sleeves.  I think these might have been a bit much even for Anne:

Woman’s ensemble, 1894-96, Silk, Gift of the Manlove Family, FIDM, S2006.870.22AB

The early 20th century saw a whole range of sleeve innovations which are still being seen in modern fashion, including variations on cut-on sleeves, including kimono sleeves, and Magyar sleeves, like the ones shown here:

Suit, Josefine Hammarbæck (Oslo, Norway)- 1913, silk and cotton, Digitalt Museum

So, happy sleeve sewing!

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Dinner dress, ca. 1820, British, silk, cotton, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2009.300.3370

Rate the Dress: Chine for Dinner

My Rate the Dress choices have been all mixed up when it comes to themes lately: we had a ball, and than an evening in in a dressing gown, and now we’re having dinner, with an 1820s dress that is subdued from a distance, but interesting up close.  Can it keep up the string of 9+ ratings?  Let’s find out!

Last week:  An 1880s dressing gown

While you loved the embroidery and the overall review was extremely positive, the dressing gown’s silhouette came in for a bit of criticism, as did the cord belt.

Unfortunately for those who didn’t like it, I’m 90% sure the style of belt is accurate (and think there is a good chance the one shown is the original), based on images of similar robes in catalogues of the period.  I’ll have to do a bit of research and see if I can find the images I’m thinking of.

The Total: 9.4 out of 10

It’s nice to know a dressing gown can impress almost as much as a lovely ballgown!

(and I suspect many of us are more good-book-&-dressing-gown people than ballgown people most nights, so that’s quite fitting 😉 )

This week: A ca. 1820 dinner dress in chine silk

This ca. 1820 dinner dress seems quite subdued and dark when you see the overall image:

Up close, there is a lot of visual interest. The fabric is a mix of plain weave taffeta in blue, and satin weave chine in black with white, pink and green flowers:

Dinner dress, ca. 1820, British, silk, cotton, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2009.300.3370

The design details, while subtle and restrained in the dark fabric, make full use of the striped pattern, and keep the focus on the hands and torso: areas that would have been most in view at dinner.

Dinner dress, ca. 1820, British, silk, cotton, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2009.300.3370

Everything in the dress is equal parts fashion & practicality, from the padded hem, which would help keep the wearer from tangling it when she walked:

Dinner dress, ca. 1820, British, silk, cotton, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2009.300.3370

To the cuff trimmings, which would keep the trendy extra-long late 1810s sleeves from dragging in the dinner:

Dinner dress, ca. 1820, British, silk, cotton, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2009.300.3370

It definitely wasn’t intended to be a showstopper dress, but a quietly elegant staple that would see a woman happily through a few seasons of suppers.

Dinner dress, ca. 1820, British, silk, cotton, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2009.300.3370

As an example of this, what do you think?  The perfect late Regency little black dress?  Or still a bit blah?

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. However 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!  Thanks in advance!)

Theresa with a Fichu at Old Government House Parramatta, thedreamstress.com

A new 18th century fichu – HSM 2018 #5

I always try to have a bit of handsewing on the go, so I have something to work on while sitting in a waiting room, or whenever else I have a tiny bit of down-time (an all too rare occurrence in my life at the moment, sadly).

My last handsewing project was another 18th c fichu – a twin to the one I made back in December, because it’s easier to cut a square and divide it into two triangles than to cut an individual triangle, so you might as well make fichu in pairs!

Theresa with a Fichu at Old Government House Parramatta, thedreamstress.com

I finished my fichu on the flight to Sydney, just in time for Theresa to wear it for my talk and our photoshoot at Old Government House in Parramatta, Sydney.

There isn’t a great deal to say about the fichu’s construction.*  I cut it at 80cm/31.5″ along the straight edges, which creates a 132cm/52″ angled edge.  The little slit in it is 12cm/4.5″ long.

A reproduction 18th century fichu, thedreamstress.com

The slit allows it to sit nicely and snugly against the back of the neck.

Theresa with a Fichu at Old Government House Parramatta, thedreamstress.com

The dimensions were based off of a few museum examples, and the width of my fabric.  It made sense to me to use a measurement that corresponded to a fabric width, which is, I’m sure, how historical fichu were sized.

The sizing sits very nicely around the neck and across the shoulders, and is long enough to just reach the waist in front, perfectly hiding any glimpses of blue stays under the ribbon ties of the pet-en-l’aire.

Theresa with a Fichu at Old Government House Parramatta, thedreamstress.com

The fichu is made of the same voile weight linen that I made the 1780s cap from the American Duchess book out of.

A reproduction 18th century fichu, thedreamstress.com

It’s hemmed with very, very tiny turned hems.

Theresa with a Fichu at Old Government House Parramatta, thedreamstress.com

Sadly, I got an ink stain on it while working on it, and my best efforts to remove the stain have not succeeded.  Luckily the stain doesn’t show when worn tucked in, and if I ever needed to do a lower class impression, a few marks would only add to the verisimilitude.**

It’s not a particularly exciting item, but it’s an excellent addition to my 18th century wardrobe, and is helping to create all the details that add up to an authentic impression.

A reproduction 18th century fichu, thedreamstress.com

And it perfectly qualifies for the Historical Sew Monthly 2018 Challenge #5: Specific to a Time (of Day or Year).  Fichu were worn primarily with daywear, to cover the neck and chest and protect them from the sun.  They were also, generally speaking, more informal wear.  Court dress, and other extremely formal garments, would be worn with an exposed chest and shoulders.

Theresa with a Fichu at Old Government House Parramatta, thedreamstress.com

What the item is: a 1780s fichu / neckerchief

Material:   linen voile

Pattern: based on extant exampels

Year: 1780 (but probably appropriate for most of the 2nd half of the 18th century)

Notions: silk thread

How historically accurate is it? I’m not so sure about my tiny pressed hems rather than true rolled hems, but it still can’t be very far off.

Hours to complete:  3 or so – lots of little stitches!

First worn: For photos at Old Government House, Parramatta, Sydney, 26 May.

Total cost: $10 or so based on the amount of fabric I used.

Theresa with a Fichu at Old Government House Parramatta, thedreamstress.com

* So yes, this post is really just an excuse to show off a bunch of photos of Theresa looking gorgeous 😉

** My current favourite word. Theresa was most impressed by how lightly and fluently it trips off my tongue 😛