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Tutorial: quick, easy, and tidy lace edgings (for historical undergarments and everything else)

Someone asked about  the finish of the lace edging on my Wearing History 1910s camisoles/corset covers, and I thought you might enjoy a tutorial.

I like this method because it is quick, easy, and provides a strong, neat, and tidy finish to necklines, armholes and hems.  And I’ve seen it used on at least one 1910s camisole, so it’s period accurate, even if it wasn’t the most commonly used finish.

Wearing History corset covers thedreamstress.com5

For the tutorial you will need:
  • Cotton beading lace (for a neckline) or broderie anglaise hem lace (for a hem).  You can use this method with  any lace with enough coverage to hide the raw edges (I’ve also used it for the tiny bobble lace around the armholes of the camisole above), but it’s easiest to start with a cotton lace.  It doesn’t work well with beading lace where the holes extend almost all the way to the edges of the lace.
  • A garment that needs its hem, armholes or neck finished with lace.

In this tutorial I am sewing beading lace around the neckline of the camisole shown above.

With this method, the lace will sit beyond/outside the edge of your neckline/armhole/hem, so cut them back the width of the lace minus 1/4″ to compensate for the added width of lace.

For a neckline with a button front, start by folding over the end of your beading lace between two beading holes, so that one beading hole sits over the one behind it.  This will leave a single beading hole at the end of your lace:

Easy lace edging thedreamstress.com01

If you are doing an armhole or a hem just place the cut end on the hem at your chosen point.

Place your lace on the WRONG side of your garment, so that the lace just covers the cut edge of your hem/neckhole/armhole.  Pin, or just hold as you sew if you have a lot of hand control:

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The edge of your lace should just peep out over the cut edge of your garment on the right side:

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Sewing from the right side, so that you can see both the cut edge of your garment, and the edge of the lace, sew in 1/8″ or less from the cut edge of the garment:

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Your stitching should safely catch the fabric of your garment, but should not sew in the beading holes of your lace.

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As you get to the end of the neckline, cut your lace off, and fold under the end as you did at the start, so that there is a tidy edge to the lace.

If you are sewing an armhole or a hem, fold under the end of the lace and lay it over the cut end you started with, to hide the cut end.

Here is  the sewn-on lace from the wrong  side of the garment (see how the stitching is just at the edge of the beading holes):

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And from the right side:

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Now you’re going to flip the lace up, so that it’s visible on the right side of the fabric, as shown in the lower hemline in this photo:

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I find I get better results finger pressing as I sew, rather than pressing it with an iron beforehand, but feel free to experiment to see what works best for you.

Now you’re going to sew from the right side, stitching  along the top of the lace, less than 1/8″ from the edge of the lace, so you just catch it:

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The two lines of stitching make a very secure attachment, and any frayed edges are hidden underneath the turned-over lace, making for a perfect finish on each side:

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And here is the done result, with the ribbon threaded through the beading:

Easy lace edging tutorial thedreamstress.com1

I’ve used the exact same technique to attach the trim around the armholes – there are lots of applications for this, and it’s so easy, and strong, and tidy!

Rate the Dress: Damask and lace for dinner, ca. 1886

Last week I showed you an evening gown worn my Marjorie Merriweather Post, in muted shades of blue and green.  Ratings were divided into those of you who thought it was the epitome of muted elegance, those of you who thought it pretty, but not a stand-out dress, and those of you who found all the soft half-tones too dull and drab, and gave it very poor ratings indeed (and one vote that I disqualified for not rating on a scale of 1 to 10, because that’s cheating 😉 ) .

I’m halfway through tallying the ratings, but it’s bedtime, so I’ll finish those up first thing tomorrow!

UPDATE: MMP’s 1910ish evening dress came out at 8.1 out of 10, which seems like the perfect rating for restrained rather than sensational  elegance.

This dinner dress from the Metropolitan Museum of Art features a design feature that has always been slightly problematic for you raters: a laced front bodice.

While you can choose to dislike the feature in and of itself, I am 99.8% sure that the original lacing cord has disappeared, and the one shown is a replacement, so please, dear readers, do not mark the dress down for the specific cord itself!

This dress features a classic 188os fabric: a sumptuous  brocaded silk in a rich colour,  with a large, striking  pattern with a single theme: this time of hollyhocks.  The rich persimmon orange tones of the dress are slightly unusual, but the overall tonality is absolutely typical of the period.

Also typical is the pairing of the heavy silk with a very light, delicate lace overlay.

The lace both hides a plain persimmon underskirt, and is hidden in turn by the brocaded overskirt, which features hem slits which allow the lace to reveal itself again.  The whole effect adds to the tension between the heavier and lighter fabrics, and to the slightly historically inspired feel of the dress.

At the back, the hollyhock fabric takes centre stage, mirroring itself at the centre back, and carefully arranged in the pleats of the train, so that a flower appears at each fold.

What do you think?  A masterful mix of fabric and usage of pattern?  Or a waste of good fabrics? Or are the fabrics themselves to blame for any fault in the dress?

Rate the Dress on a Scale of 1 to 10.

Not at all Slevils: Adventures in Medieval Sleeve Fitting

With surprisingly little faffing and no angst at all, my 1360s-70s gown now has sleeves!

Medieval sleeves have a reputation for being hard (I’ve heard them called slevils more than once) but sleeves are one of the things I’m really good at, so I wasn’t too worried about them.*  I think it’s because I’d sewn in a dozen sleeves and drafted at least two before I heard that sleeves are supposed to be awful.  I never had time to be scared!

But I’m a good little bloggy scholar, and I want my dress to help me get to historical accuracy, so I read pretty much all the medieval sleeve drafting posts on the internet, and got myself all psyched up to sew 14th century sleeves.

I started with the sleeve drafting tutorial at the Completely Dressed Anachronist.  Nice and clear, and I like the way she discusses the pitfalls of drafting methods.

By following it, I got this:

Fitting medieval sleeves 2 thedreamstress.com3

I cut it out in toile fabric, sewed it up, and it DID NOT WORK.  It was way too long, particularly in the upper half, and the armscye was ridiculously not-right.   Half of that I will cop as totally my fault, because I did the measurements on myself, and I’m pretty sure I did a really crappy job on them.  The other half is the limitations of any drafting system for a garment with a very fitted  armscye – the shape is just going to be so specific to the individual and the garment that it’s almost impossible to develop a formula for it.

But I didn’t loose heart!  Oh no!  I shortened the upper sleeve 2″, peered at the armscye while tugging and moving my arm, and drew a new armscye shape with a shallower top curve, and a narrower underarm dip:

Fitting medieval sleeves 2 thedreamstress.com5

I tried that as a toile, made a few tweaks to it, made another toile, the fit was perfect, so I re-drew my arm seam  on it based on the extremely helpful diagrams at By My Measure, and made a fourth toile.

I could bend my elbow:

Fitting medieval sleeves thedreamstress.com1

I could bend my elbow a  lot:

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(side note: I’ve moved the skirt gores back down again, versus their position in the last post, and look how much better than hang of the dress and the line over my hips is)

I could raise my arm:

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I was ready to cut sleeves!

For reference, here is my original drafted pattern on the left, and my final version with an altered line so the seam runs on the side of my arm so I can have sleeve buttons on the right (the final version has seam allowance added).  The final version looks a little weird, but that’s because arms and shoulders are weird.  They aren’t nice straight symmetrical tubes.

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And here are my sewn-in  sleeves:

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Success!

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I’m pretty pleased, though I may keep fussing with the pattern, as I think I could get it just a bit more perfect for my next version, but overall it does everything it should, and  Felicity likes the pattern, so it must be good:

Fitting medieval sleeves 2 thedreamstress.com2

Some final thoughts on sleeve fitting:

  • Toiles.  Lots of em.  Suck it up and just keep doing them, because that’s how you get things right.
  • Just keep looking at your toiles, analysing where there is pulling (too little fabric) or bagging (too much fabric) and adding or taking away until you get it just right.
  • Sleeve fitting is an art, not a science.
  • Arms and shoulders are not symmetrical, and not straight.  It’s better to have a funny looking pattern that fits right, than a tidy looking one that doesn’t.

* Don’t worry, there are plenty of sewing and other things I’m not remotely good at, so balance is achieved across the universe!