The Dreamstress

Latest Posts

The 1930s Bad Plaid Celebration Dress

Hurrah! I have made it through the Historical Sew Fortnightly! I’ve managed to make at least one item for all 26 challenges! Some were late, some took some time, but I did it!

And here, of course, is my item for Challenge #26: Celebration:

I’m calling it the ‘Bad Plaid’ dress, because the fabric is so awful it’s awesome, and because, well… I whinged about the pattern a lot as I sewed it up.

The pattern is Decades of Style #3007: The 1930s Button Dress.

Now, I’ll admit right away that half of the problems with the dress were my fault, at least in that I knew going in that the pattern wasn’t the most flattering style for my shape, and that I wasn’t using the best fabric for the pattern.

I’m small busted, with a largish-rectangular ribcage, a sway back, and a full bottom. I look great in empire waistlines, regular waistlines, and dropped waist – but the 1930s halfway-down-the-ribcage waistline? Not my friend. So that was the pattern problem.

And this dress needs a draping fabric – not a craft cotton (no matter how cute and reproduction 1930s the print, craft/quilting cottons are not accurate ’30s fabric!) to fall nicely.

But…I found this fabric on sale a year or more ago ($4pm thank you very much!) and I fell in love with it and immediately envisioned this dress made up in it, exactly as it is. And when a dress just comes to you, you have to go with it.

The initial planning came together perfectly – I bought all of the fabric that was left on the bolt (167cm worth at 112cm wide), and it turned out to be exactly enough, to the centimetre, to cut the dress out of, even matching the front plaid (though I didn’t manage to pattern match the back). I had the white chiffon (the nicest poly-chiffon I’ve ever encountered, by a mile) in stash from the $5-a-piece bin at Fabric Warehouse (and I still have more than a metre left). Plus, I turned out to have a 20cm scrap of a raspberry pink linen tucked in my pink bin, and since I NEVER buy raspberry pink, and it matched the stripes of the plaid perfectly, it seemed such a happy omen. I did spent the whole cutting-out process muttering “dash dot dot” to myself so that I remembered what size I was cutting, as the sizing wasn’t labelled on each pattern piece (scroll down three photos and you’ll see what I mean).

I feel I should point out that the dress is NOT cut on the bias – the fabric is a bias printed plaid. The pattern is also not intended to be cut on the bias, so the pattern illustration showing a bias tartan is a bit naughty (imho), as most people will assume the pattern is cut on the bias unless the read the fine print.

I altered the pattern slightly as I cut: I knew from friends who had made the dress that the back yoke-tie was extremely fiddly to construct, and that you ended up re-tying it every five minutes anyway, so I shortened it 10cm, with the intention of sewing it into a flat back-swag, rather than tying it into a bow. Much simpler!

And then things started to go just a wee bit wrong. First, I read the instructions for the pattern (I’m one of those sewing nerds who reads instructions end-to-end before even cutting the fabric) and was confused, and miffed. It turns out Decades of Style re-wrote the original vintage sewing instructions to use modern sewing techniques, instead of vintage techniques. The invisible zip called for in the pattern notions should have been a clue, but I hadn’t expected a complete re-write of the instructions.

Now, modern sewing methods are what most sewers are used to, and they are great when they make things simpler and easier. Sometimes though, vintage seamstresses used certain techniques for a reason, and that’s simply because they are more suited to the pattern, and easier to use. Replacing those techniques with modern ones is just silly (imho). Instead, I think patterns should teach people how to use the vintage techniques where they work better.

Case in point with this pattern: in every original 1930s pattern I’ve seen (a lot) the pattern calls for lapped seams to join the shaping and panelling of the garments. When you are working with the square corners where the bodice back joins the yoke, a lapped seam is going to be significantly easier to manipulate. #3007 had you join the panels with right-sides-together seams, which is tricky and annoying.

So, basically I (grumbled a lot and then) tossed the instructions and made the dress up as I would any 1930s dress. Easy-peasy. Except for the raspberry un-piping (there is no cord in it), which always adds a nice extra layer of fiddly. And there was some confusion figuring out what button placement went to what size, and which notch was for which size, because when they were really close together it was really hard to tell!

Seriously. Why couldn’t each dot be labelled with a size?

Then I actually got the dress sewn together and tried it on. I’d cut a size 36″ (I have a 37″ bust). It was too big. I took it in. I took it in some more. It ended up smaller than a size 34, and it’s still got more ease than I’d like in the bust. On the plus side, that means I managed skip the period-accurate lapped opening with domes and hooks that I was going to do: the frock just pulls on over my head.

Now, don’t get me wrong about the pattern. I found it frustrating and annoying, but on a different body type it would be quite flattering (rather than reasonably OK), and if historical accuracy isn’t your aim, the modern instead of historical instructions mostly won’t matter, and you might even prefer them (though lapped seams would make it easier, and I never did understand how they were telling me to put the sleeves together at the bottom 2cm).

My final alteration to the pattern was to skip the belt/sash detail. I’d already planned to turn the tie-belt into a flat buttoning sash (because really, all crisp and tailored in front and TWO bows in back makes no design sense, though it is period accurate). I made the belt up in both pink and white, and in both colours it just turned into two giant arrows pointing to “Stomach here!” and “Giant ribcage here!”. So I tried in plaid, and it just interrupted the pattern and looked stupid (even with a pink trim). So no belt.

For the photoshoot we went to the Sir Truby King gardens, which I don’t know how I’d never been to before. Brickwork! Arches! Cunning little winding stairs everywhere! I was in love! (and then I came home and read up on Sir Truby King, and was disturbed, and read some of his original writings, and was horrified. Plunket may be a wonderful organisation now, but it was founded on eugenics & ideas of race superiority and the premise that education for women should be avoided as educated women made bad mothers. SCARY!).

I wore the Shona of In the Heyday gift shoes, because I realised that while they have early 18th century potential, they also have definite 1930s vibes exactly as they are.

Also, how often do you get to wear white silk shoes with bows on the toe? Wearing them with the dress made it feel like a celebration, rather than “well, this is going to be an OK frock to wear when I just want to pull something loose over my head and feel reasonably polished” that it is going to be. When the ground was too rough I did take them off and skip around in little lace-up flats.

The Challenge: #26: Celebration

Fabric: 1.7m bias printed quilting/craft cotton ($4pm), 30cm poly chiffon ($1), raspberry linen (free)

Pattern: Decades of Style #3007 1930s button dress

Year: ca. 1935

Notions: 7 large raspberry pink buttons ($1.30 each), thread (stash), bias hem tape.

How historically accurate is it? The cut of the pattern is perfectly accurate, and I re-did the instructions to sew it in a period accurate manner, but my fabrics are completely inaccurate (ironically, the poly-chiffon is the only thing that might pass the ‘would a seamstress in period recognise this as a suitable fabric for this garment’ test), and after taking it in more than 2cm on each seam, I couldn’t do period accurate seam finishes like french seams (OK, I guess I could have pinked them or hand finished them) so I just overlocked the sucker. So 40% at best.

Hours to complete: 5

First worn: Sat Dec 14, for a Craft Crawl around the CBD with the girls from the Wellington Sewing Bloggers.

Total cost: $17.10 (and more than half of that was on buttons!)

And I’m done! (OK, actually, no, there are still a few things I want to finish!)

UPDATE: I’d like to add that despite my initial misgivings, I’ve ended up loving this dress, and I wore it as often as I could wash and dry it all summer. And I got tons of compliments every time I wore it.

The last princess of Hawaii

Published by The Dreamstress

I drove a friend to the airport today – she’ll be flying through Hawaii and stopping over for a few days. Rather than staying on Oahu or going to Maui or the Big Island, like most tourists, she’s going to Molokai and is even going to see my parents. I’m so jealous I could cry. I love Wellington, and I love my life, but I miss my islands desperately.

As I drove away from the airport, back to my little house to spend an afternoon baking, I thought of another island maid, torn between two cultures and dreadfully homesick for her own islands as she studied in a cold land halfway across the world. Ka’iulani, the last princess of Hawaii, also loved her temporary adopted homeland, but she must have missed her home as much as I do: missed the tradewinds, and the easy warmth of the people, missed the endless green lawns of her home, the soft sound of the waves hitting the shore.

But I’m getting ahead of myself just a little. This story starts much earlier.

Hawaii today is the 50th state of the USA, but in the 19th century, it was an independent kingdom, recognised by all the major powers in the Pacific arena. Staying independent in the face of the imperialist ambitions of major European and American powers had always been a delicate balancing act for Hawaii. England had Australia and New Zealand, Tokelau from 1877, and the Cook Islands from 1888. Germany had strong interests in Samoa, which would eventually lead to their annexation of Western Samoa as German Samoa in 1900. France had Tahiti. Spain had the Philippines. And America looked West covetously, and saw the deep waters of Pearl Harbour as the perfect stepping stone across the Pacific.

Hawaii retained its independency in the face of these stronger powers by playing them off each other, and getting all the major Pacific powers to agree that Hawaii remain independent. Still, safety was fragile. The US & UK almost ended up at war with Germany over a confrontation in Samoa in 1887, and any shift in the Pacific powers could destroy the truce over Hawaii.

Hawaii itself aligned most closely with Great Britain. Rather than blaming Great Britain for the Paulet Affair, when a British naval Captain occupied Hawaii for half a year, they credited Queen Victoria with restoring their independence. Queen Victoria had agreed to be godmother to a Hawaiian prince in the 1860s, and Hawaiian monarchs modeled themselves on their English counterparts. At one point Hawaii, fearing an American takeover even petitioned to become a British Protectorate and a member of the Commonwealth, as that was far preferable to being annexed by the US. Great Britain, fearing the repercussions (as they had agreed that Hawaii remain neutral and independent), refused.

To add to the delicate situation in Hawaii, the Hawaiian monarchy was in a literal decline. Monarchs died young, without children. When they did have children, those children died in infancy or childhood. The crown passed to cousins, and nephews, and finally became an elected issue – with candidates chosen from the few remaining descendants of Kamehameha I.

Thus, when Princess Victoria (named in honour of the British Queen and her role in the Paulet affair) Ka’iulani (the royal sacred one) daughter of a Hawaiian princess and a Scottish immigrant, was born in 1875, it was a cause for celebration throughout Hawaii. Her uncle KalÄkaua had become king the year before, and she would become second in line to the throne, after her aunt, Lili’u’okalani.

Ka’iulani had a happy childhood, despite personal tragedy (she lost her mother at 9), and growing problems in Hawaii. KalÄkaua tried to promote ‘Hawai’i for Hawaiians’, but numerous foreign interests, most notably American businessmen, resisted any attempts to limit their power. Over the course of the 19th century the common Hawaiian’s had lost most of their land. They had seen their language replaced by English as predominant language for government and business: severely limiting the ability of anyone who didn’t speak English to negotiate legal and business deals. And now foreign interests wanted to control the government itself.

Young Kaiulani (between the two kahili bearers) enjoy luau with friends at Ainahau. 1880s

In these times of unrest Ka’iulani was seen as a beacon of hope. She was intelligent, charming, a talented artist and musician, and astonishingly beautiful by any standard. She met painters and poets (Robert Louis Stevenson wrote a poem for her, calling her “bright of heart and fair of face”), and won over world leaders and the public alike.

Kaiulani, ca 1896

As Ka’iulani grew the question of her education arose. As the heir apparent, she needed to be fit to rule. Mills College in Oakland, California was considered, as Susan and Cyrus Mills had strong links to the Hawaiian monarchy and had run Punahou School in Hawaii. Hawaii was growing increasingly wary of the US, and Ka’iulani’s Scottish father favoured a UK education, so she was sent to England, to receive a private education there.

She set sail in 1889, for what was planned as a one-year trip. She would not see her islands again for 9 long years, until 1897, and by that time, they would be lost to her.

In 1891 KalÄkaua died, and Lili’u’okalani ascended to the throne. Foreign powers saw a woman ruler as weak and easily controlled, and moved in. The foreign press subjected the Queen to increasingly racist vitirol: cartoons depicted her as a monkey, or bare breasted in a grass skirt. She attempted to create a government of Hawaiians, for Hawaiians, and the American sugar planters and businessmen made their move and overthrew the government by force. Ka’iulani, exiled at the other end of the world, was desperate to be home. She was told that what she could do most to help was to stay in Europe and appeal to foreign powers for help.

She travelled: in England, in France, in other European countries, and finally to America, petitioning governments, meeting with dignitaries, appearing at functions. The newspaper reports that preceded her talked of ‘half castes’ and ‘dusky maidens’. Her grace and charm, her speeches in English, French, German, and very occasionally, Hawaiian, silenced them.

Kaiulani, photograph by Tynan Bros, ca. 1895

But the news got worse, not better, in every possible way. Stevenson died in Samoa. Ka’iulani’s beloved half sister, Annie Cleghorn, passed away. President Cleveland, who had been sympathetic to Hawaii’s plight, and distrustful of the businessmen and their claims, lost the election to the imperialist McKinley, who coveted Hawaii as a stepping-stone in the Pacific. And Kai’ulani’s health was failing. She suffered from migraines and other complains (possibly a thyroid disorder), and found it harder and harder to continue.

Finally, in 1897, she came home. She tried to rest. She tried to re-build a life that had been built on the premise that she would be Queen. She continued to work for independence for her country. She got engaged to Prince KawÄnanakoa, the highest ranked available Hawaiian Prince, in a move that was more about ensuring the monarchies future than romantic love. And she got more and more ill. In 1898 she caught a cold, and this turned into fever and pneumonia. In a healthy 23 year old, the cold would have been nothing, but Ka’iulani had lost the will to live. She declined all through the winter of 1898-99, and passed away in March 1899. Her father said it was fitting that since Hawai’i was lost, Ka’iulani was lost as well.

Princess Kaiulani (third from left) in mourning on the day of the flag of Hawaii was lowered down for the last time after the Annexation of Hawaii to the United States. 12 August 1898

Glimpses of the past

Published by The Dreamstress

Whenever I am down in Nelson I go shopping for old photographs. I don’t know why I can’t find an antique store near to me that carries them, but for some reason they don’t.

I collect old photographs as costume research, and as visual stories.

Usually I find a lot of sweet late Victorian and early 20th century images, but this time I managed to find a selection of 1860s-1880s photographs, which I’m quite excited about.

I particularly collect images of people in fancy dress, and women in work clothes, but I also have a keen interest in people in unattractive and ill-fitting clothes, as an illustration of the imperfections of the past. We tend to romanticise past fashions, and old clothes, and think of everyone as being glamorous and beautifully put together, in perfectly fitted clothes, and that simply wasn’t true.

Even taking into account that informal photography was quite rare, and most people would have chosen to be photographed in their best clothes, you get ensembles like this:

It’s terribly unflattering on her, the proportions are all wrong, the fit is terrible, and it’s quite rumpled. And I adore it! So much more interesting than a pretty dress. I almost wonder if she might be pregnant, given what’s happening with her stomach.

I estimate the dress at 1881-3. The photograph was taken by the Ewing Brothers, of Station Road, somewhere in the UK.

Going back in time a decade and a bit this middle aged woman of the mid 1860s is quite beautifully dressed, but her gown still demonstrates that even in period, unattractive hoopskirt bulge and hem collapse happened.

She was photographed by David Gay “Photographer to his late Royal Highness the Prince Consort” of 74 Cheapside London EC. Now that’s a good bit of history just on the back of the photograph!

More unattractive hoopskirt-ness in this lady here – the dress just lacks any sort of elegance. She seems to have a very tall, lanky build – quite awkward for this style. The chair is quite fetching though! And those are some sausage curls! I’m pretty sure they are a hairpiece, which was the main reason I picked up the photo.

It’s by “City of London Photographic Copying Company, 18 Queen Street, Cheapside”, which I presume means they weren’t the original photographers. Based on the hoop, I’d say late 1860s?

For more unlovely hoopskirts, I found this fantastic family group. Despite the petticoats she would have been wearing, there are clear hoop lines on the girl on the far right. And check out the wrinkles on her bodice, and the other young woman in the light dress. It’s really comforting to know fit wasn’t always perfect in period.

The father’s suit really intrigues me. It’s so dark and rich and almost looks velvet-y. And what are the knot motifs on his collar? Most fascinating!

The best thing about the photo though, is the young man standing at the back. It’s Heathcliff! I’ve always imagined him looking exactly like that!

Sadly there is no information on that photo. I’d date it to ca. 1863.

My final entry in the unattractive hoopskirt hall of fame is one without a hoopskirt at all – or with a very tiny hoop. It’s really nice to see a reasonably practical, restrained, sensible style captured in a photograph. And you can just see the line of her corset.

I’d date this to the late 1860s or early 1870s, though the ensemble lacks any of the fashionable extremes that help with dating. Sadly, there is no information at all about the photographer.

In total contrast to the restraint in the photo above is this fabulous frock. Check out the lace! Check out the ruffles! Check out that amazing trim! And the backdrop! It’s all so delicious!

I’m also in love with the wrinkles and creases at each seam in the skirt, despite the obvious cost of the outfit. It really demonstrates how hard ironing was at the time, both as you sewed, and after.

Our beauty was photographed by Arthur J Melhuish “Photographer Royal / By Special Appointment / International Exhibition 1862 / Dublin Exhibition 1865 / Portrait Painter & Photographer / 12 York Place / Portman Square / London W”. I date her to ca. 1870, and I think she’s just divine! I wonder, comparing her to photographs like this, if she might not be Princess Alexandra – she was a very popular subject for carte-de-visites at the time.

Another lady who I think is just divine in this late 1880s lass. Her outfit fits very well and is full of gorgeous details, though it’s not really to my taste (I dislike moire almost as much as I dislike fringe). I think the gathered/smocked V at the front of her skirt is fascinating. The crossover effect on the bodice is quite cunning, and the fact that you can see that it doesn’t fit perfectly at the neck where it attaches only makes it better. The collapse at the top of her corset is a good detail to notice as well.

The thing that most jumped out at me with this photo was her waist. Compare it to the size of her neck and head. See how her waist is 2x the size of her head? That’s a standard waist size today. She’s clearly corseted, but mostly to give her body a nice stiff foundation for the bodice to sit over. It really isn’t about waist reduction at all.

I do wonder who this woman was. I can’t quite make out what book she is reading. She’s got such a frank, interesting face, and strong, beautiful hands. I wonder if she was a bit liberal and artistic – the smocking, though seen in standard fashions, was particularly associated with the aesthetic movement.

I’ve got a few more photos to show you, but they are on a different theme, so I’ll leave them for now. I hope you’ve enjoyed the tour of my photo gallery!