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The HSF Challenge #16: Separates

Working in museums, one of the things we often talk about is the disparity in what ends up in a museum costume collection compared to what people actually wear.  Collections are full of wedding gowns and ballgowns: memories of the grandest moments of our lives.  On a day to day basis though, people wear much simpler clothes: practical, interchangeable items.  Today this is jeans and t-shirts, but throughout history even the wealthiest have worn simple separates for the less momentous occasions.

The Historical Sew Fortnightly Challenge #16 is all about Separates: items that can be paired with other pieces in your wardrobe to extend a look.

My favourite anecdote about separates involves Queen Victoria and her future daughter-in-law Alexandra.  On being introduced the Alexandra, the Queen noticed that she wore a skirt with one jacket one day, and the same skirt, with a different jacket, the next day.  Victoria was delighted.  To her, this indicated a frugal and practical nature: just the thing to balance the son that she and Albert had viewed as overly frivolous and wayward.  As it happened, Alexandra’s practicality in dress was just a sign or her family’s poverty.  Rather than stabilizing Edward, the Crown Prince, denied any real responsibility even after his marriage, became ever more frivolous and decadent, and Alexandra, abandoned as a wife, turned to fashion to distract herself, and could rarely be accused of frugality and practicality in dress in later decades.  Still, I love the idea of Queen Victoria being wooed by a little practical dress!

Here are a few of my favourite historical separates to get you inspired:

Gerard Ter Borch’s Dutch genre paintings of the mid 17th century are full of beautiful separates, with skirts and bodice paired in different combinations from painting to painting.  I particularly love this rose red bodice and the white satin skirt it is paired with:

Gerard ter Borch (1617—1681), The Concert, 1655, Gemäldegalerie

Gerard ter Borch (1617—1681), The Concert, 1655, Gemäldegalerie

And, of course, we all adore the pretty chocolatier and her charmingly un-matched jacket and skirt:

Jean-Étienne Liotard (1702—1789),La Belle Chocolatière (The Chocolate Girl), 1743 until 1745

Jean-Étienne Liotard (1702—1789), La Belle Chocolatière (The Chocolate Girl), 1743 until 1745

The later 18th century is a fantastic time for separates, and the ultimate might be the quilted petticoat, which, based on paintings, could be paired with just about anything, in this case, a caracao jacket:

Caraco circa 1780, quilted Petticoat circa 1770-1780, Mint Museum

Caraco circa 1780, quilted Petticoat circa 1770-1780, Mint Museum

Regency menswear is all about mixing and matching, with the 3 piece coordinating suit of the 18th century abandoned in favour of unmatched breeches, waistcoat and jacket:

Journal des Dames et des Modes, 1801

Journal des Dames et des Modes, 1801

I adore 1860s separates: the blouses and skirts are the earliest inklings of our modern T-shirts and jeans wardrobe.

Circa 1863, via US National Archives

Circa 1863, via US National Archives

The 19th century counterpart of Liotard’s La Belle Chocolatier is obviously Manet’s Suson at the Folies-Bergère.  I’ve made one version of this outfit, and while I’m still happy with it, I’ve learned a lot since I made it, and would love to have another go at her black jacket and steel blue skirt – and perhaps another skirt to go with it!

A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, Edouard Manet, 1882

A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, Edouard Manet, 1882

Going back to the idea of T-shirts, the 1890s saw the introduction of knit tops.  I want to learn to knit just so I can make something like this:

Burgundy wool sweater, mid-1890s. DAR

Burgundy wool sweater, mid-1890s. DAR

This 1930s outfit is a full ensemble, but it would be so easy to pair the individual pieces with different items, and so practical in the midst of the Great Depression.

Juvenile ensemble pour la rue. 1935

Juvenile ensemble pour la rue. 1935

And that’s really what this challenge is all about: practicality.  Extend your historical wardrobe with an item that turns something you have into a second outfit, which is exactly what our forbearers would have done, whether they were peasants to princesses.

The ‘Flora’s Secret’ ca. 1790 shoes

You may have guessed from Saturday’s post that I’m working on shoes.  It was the first time that I’ve really tried to remake a pair of modern shoes into historical shoes, and it was an interesting process.

The shoes started like this: cute, but a bit daft:

1790s inspired shoes - how they began

I wanted them to look like these type of shoes:

Slippers, 1790, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Slippers, 1790, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Mine don’t come as high up in the toe and around the foot, but there are example of shoes from the 1780s & ’90s that are cut lower over the toe and the sides of the foot:

1780 Leather Shoe, Museum of the City of New York

Shoe, leather, 1780s Museum of the City of New York

I liked the idea of being able to wear the shoes for anything from 1780 to 1800- more versatile.

To re-make mine, first I took off the silly trim and bow:

1790s inspired shoes - how they began thedreamstress.com

Then I cleaned the shoes.

How to clean fabric shoes thedreamstress.com

The next step was to re-paint the heel, to get rid of the anachronistic metallic teal leather colour.

ca. 1790 inspired shoes thedreamstress.com

I first painted the heels pale blue, but it turned out too blue:

ca. 1790 inspired shoes thedreamstress.com

I repainted the heels lavender, which I’m not much happier with.  I’ll repaint them again, attempting to match the colour of the ribbons I used, once I get the heel ends replaced – they are going to need it soon.

With the heels done, I hand-sewed 1cm wide rayon ribbons in pale blue to cover the centre back seams in my shoes:

ca. 1790 shoe remake thedreamstress.com

And sewed the same ribbons over the front-side seams:

ca. 1790 shoe remake thedreamstress.com

My front-side seams are placed a little further forward towards the toe than the seams on most period shoes, but it felt more accurate to actually cover the seams that were already in the shoe, than to fake a further back placement, and leave the original seam joins visible.

Shoes of spotted leather, 1790-1800 Whittaker Auctions

Shoes of spotted leather, 1790-1800 Whittaker Auctions

With the vertical ribbons in place, it was time to bind the edge of the shoe opening.  Argh.  What a major pain that was!  It took me almost four hours, and cost me two broken needles.  The leather lining was just too thick to go through easily.

ca. 1790 shoe remake thedreamstress.com

Finally I sewed the trim over the toe.  I couldn’t find a soft, narrow ribbon to match the shoes in order to replicate the effect on the Met shoes at the top of the post, and I didn’t like the look of a tassel on these shoes.  Finally I found this pair of charming slippers.  The box-pleated ribbon trim was just the thing

Shoes, 1790, Portugal, cream satin, trimmed with ribbon of green leather. Forefoot embroidered with sequins and chenille, forming floral motifs. Application of silk ribbon forming floral motifs. Museu Nacional do Traje e da Moda

Shoes, 1790, Portugal, cream satin, trimmed with ribbon of green leather. Forefoot embroidered with sequins and chenille, forming floral motifs. Application of silk ribbon forming floral motifs. Museu Nacional do Traje e da Moda

Four tries later (getting those box pleats even was a headdache, and then when I finally did I accidentally cut one too short and had to re-pleat a set), my shoes were done:

ca. 1790 shoe remake thedreamstress.com

Sure, they aren’t perfectly historical (the fabric is more than a bit anachronistic, and the lining is metallic teal), but they make me very happy, and give a reasonable overall 1790s look.

Also, look how perfectly they match my ‘Fur & Scales’ muff:

ca. 1790 shoe remake thedreamstress.com

Awww yeah!

The same ribbon I used for the bow on the muff just happened to work perfectly for the toe decoration on the shoes.  Happiness!

ca. 1790 shoe remake thedreamstress.com

The Challenge: Flora & Fauna

Fabric: One pair of modern kitten heels, fabric with leather linings (NZ$8)

Pattern: Inspiration taken from extent 1780s & 90s shoes

Year:   ca. 1790

Notions: 1m of 1cm wide pale blue rayon ribbon (50 NZcents), .5m of 2.5cm wide periwinkle blue rayon ribbon (25 NZcents), shoe paint (NZ$13, but I have enough left to paint 2 more pairs of shoes, or 9 more heels, so NZ$1.30)

How historically accurate is it? That’s a tricky one. I made a pair of modern kitten heels as accurate as you could, but there is only so much one can do, and the fabric is certainly a bit anachronistic. Say 35%

Hours to complete: 7. Way more than I anticipated! Mostly on binding the rim of the shoe, and re-pleating the trim

First worn: Not yet, but soon! These make me want to re-do my wardrobe in pastels so I can wear them with modern clothes too!

Total cost: NZ$10.05 more or less

Rate the dress: tan and red in 1875

Last week I showed you a flower-strewn frock by Jean-Phillipe Worth, one that might have been a little too frilly and feminine, but which most of you found fabulous.

While I don’t think Worth, original or JP, quite as infallible as some of you did, I wasn’t surprised that this frock received high accolades.  One of two of you flat-out hated the dress, and there were a few complaints about the symmetrical placement of motifs over the bust, the overall fussiness of the bust, and the colour of the creamy silk and blonde lace (I definitely don’t agree that the dress has faded over time – all the different layers of dark ivory matched too well, and were too true, for age to have changed them substantially), but the frock still managed an 8.7 out of 10.

Can this week match that?

This fortnight’s theme on the HSF is Literature, and I was rather at a loss as to how that could fit in with Rate the Dress.  In looking for inspiration, I found this afternoon dress  from the Museum of Fine Arts Boston.  The tan  silk is the colour of aged paper, and the red trim reminds me of the covers of so many books.  Just looking at it makes me want to curl up with a fine bit of literature.

Afternoon dress, about 1875, American (Boston, Massachusetts), Made by Miss M. T. Splain, MFA Boston

Afternoon dress, about 1875, American (Boston, Massachusetts), Made by Miss M. T. Splain, MFA Boston

The years have rather sadly crushed the dress, but hopefully you can imagine it in its original pristine condition, and judge it on that.

What do you think of that tan silk paired  dark red piping which highlights the square neck, the 18th century inspired sleeves, the pointed basque bodice, the ruffled hem, some rather random ruched areas, and the liberal scattering of bows?  Does it remind you of your favourite old book, or just look old and faded?

Rate the Dress on a Scale of 1 to 10