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We must go down to the sea again

I do hope everyone is planning something for the Historical Sew Fortnightly ‘By the Sea’ challenge!  There are so many gorgeous, fantastic nautically inspired garments to choose from.

According to the challenge guidelines, you can make anything that would have been worn by or on the sea (or river or lake), from ancient Roman ‘resort’ wear to Cleopatras frocks for barging down the Nile, to warm wool and furs to keep exploring Vikings warm, to all the more traditional nautical looks.

My favourite seaside looks tend to be a bit more modern and traditional and nautical.  Here are some that I love, and will get around to making…someday….

To start off, a Regency bathing costume may not be a very exciting garment in and of itself, but oh, what a fascinating scene it evokes!

'Sea Bathing' 1813 From "The costume of Yorkshire, illustrated by a series of forty engravings, being fac-similes of original drawings" NYPL

‘Sea Bathing’ 1813 From “The costume of Yorkshire, illustrated by a series of forty engravings, being fac-similes of original drawings” NYPL  Digital Collection

By the 1850s bathing costumes seemed to have developed into actual costumes: something a bit more defined than an all-enveloping shift.  This 1850s costume is pretty all-enveloping, but the buttons and bobbles and sleeve trims all lend it a certain nautical jauntiness.

Bathing dress. Sept. 1858. Harper's magazine, NYPL Digital Collection

Bathing dress. Sept. 1858. Harper’s magazine, NYPL Digital Collection

It may not be the ancient Romans that I mentioned before, but how fascinating and fetching is this Greek key adorned classically-inspired bathing ensemble?  Greek Keys were a very popular motif for bathing wear throughout the 19th century.

Bathing-dress ; Caps ; Shoes, etc. Aug.1870. From The Peterson magazine, NYPL Digital Collection

Bathing-dress ; Caps ; Shoes, etc. Aug.1870. From The Peterson magazine, NYPL Digital Collection

The reality, while still attractive in its own way, seems to have been less glamorous:

Bathing Ensemble, c. 1875, Wool, FIDM

Bathing Ensemble, c. 1875, Wool, FIDM

If you couldn’t be glamourous in the sea, at least you could be perfectly put together by the sea.  I love the crisp stripes on this bustle era seaside frock, especially with the darling matched parasol:

Fashions for the seaside, ca 1884

Fashions for the seaside, ca 1884

And as the perfect matching pair to it, a photograph of the ever-chic and stylish Princess Alexandra in a very similar ensemble:

Princess Alexandra in a sailor suit, 1880s

Princess Alexandra in a sailor suit, 1880s

As a reminder that not all nautical fashions need be blue and white, I love this 1903 take in red, pink and white.  I’ve actually seen a lot of examples of sailors suits and nautical fashions from the 1860s to the 1960s in shades of pink.  Such a lovely twist on the trope:

Summer frocks, 1903 Delineator

Summer frocks, 1903 Delineator

A slightly more unusual colour combination is green and white:

Woman on the beach, Maude Stumm, 1904 NYPL Digital Collection

Woman on the beach, Maude Stumm, 1904 NYPL Digital Collection

And one in red and white:

Bathing costume, ca. 1910

Bathing costume, ca. 1910

The 1930s were really when the beach and nautical fashions came into their own, starting with beach pyjamas in the late 1920s:

Beach pyjamas, ca 1930

Beach pyjamas, ca 1930

And moving on to proper (albeit still woollen) knitted swimwear:

Swimwear 1934, via Wearing History

Swimwear 1934, via Wearing History

And encompassing every possible variant on the sailor suit, including, out of my own stash, the darling Butterick 5654:

Butterick 5654, 1930s nautical inspired pattern

Butterick 5654, 1930s nautical inspired pattern

To finish it off, something fabulously bright: fish patterned coveralls by Jantzen.  Now that’s how to do a one piece!

Beachette, Jantzen  (American, founded 1910), 1938, silk, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Beachette, Jantzen (American, founded 1910), 1938, silk, Metropolitan Museum of Art

What do you think?  Do you long for olden days on the golden sands, or are you glad for the bitty bits of spandex we cover ourselves with these days?

Rate the Dress: A member of the wedding, 1896

Last week the reaction to Madame Bergeret’s pretty princess playing at peasant dress was generally enthusiastic, with most of you liking it for the sake of how much your 6 year old self would have loved it.  Some were uncomfortable with the idea of all that luxury pretending to be simplicity, especially considering the eventual consequences of that sort of deliberate blindness, bringing the rating down a notch to a rounded 8 out of 10.

This week I’m leaving the Historical Sew Fortnightly behind as inspiration, and taking inspiration from my own life.  Mr D and I spent the weekend at a wedding.  He was actually in the wedding party, and my job was to make sure the men looked perfect.  In between adjusting collars, putting in cufflinks (awesome cufflinks btw), and stabbing myself with buttonhole pins I thought about wedding fashions, and the whole tradition of wedding parties.

So, in the best tradition of wedding clothes, here is the most dreaded of wedding garments: the bridesmaid dress.  They never fit right, they never look good on your body shape, and the best you can hope is that the bride didn’t purposely pick something that looks dreadful on you.  However, one might hope this wouldn’t be the case if your bridesmaid dress was by the House of Worth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fit on this dress is clearly superb, but what about the rest of it?  Does it look like a colour to flatter?  Does the design say elegance and taste, or a spiteful bride?  As a bridesmaid in 1896, would you wince when you saw the dress, or hug the bride in delight?

Rate the Dress on a Scale of 1 to 10

The unseen accessory: my 1780 bum-rump

When I originally planned the ‘Accessorise’ challenge for the Historical Sew-Fortnightly I envisioned all the things that qualified for it as being things worn on the outside of an outfit: shoes, gloves, parasols, jewellery, headgear.

Then, when I planned a photoshoot with one fully accessorised outfit, I realised that sometimes an outfit doesn’t look right without an un-seen accessory.

Silk stockings, a bergere hat, a parasol and the right shoes all brought my pet-en-l’aire outfit together, but the ensemble just looked a little flat and deflated without one last accessory.

Enter my bum-rump.

ca. 1780 bum-rump

Yep.  Without it my ass just wouldn’t look big in this.

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

I based my bum-rump on Kendra’s excellent research into skirt supports in the late 18th century  and this caricature of the ‘Bum Shop’:

Bum rump, 1785, Lewis Walpole Library

Bum rump, 1785, Lewis Walpole Library

I went for the shape shown on the lady in the far right, only I assumed (this being a cartoon) that the original it was based on would be a bit more…restrained.

ca. 1780 bum-rump

I liked the shape of this bum-rump best of all the ones that Kendra trialled, and felt it worked best for the early 1780s silhouette I was going for, with fullness over the bum and hips.

ca. 1780 bum rump

My bum-rump is two layers of fabric cut in a crescent, and quilted together over two layers of wool batting (the only sort of batting I ever have in the house), with extra batting stuffed into each channel.

When the bum rump was all stuffed I bound the edges with bias tape.

ca. 1780 bum-rump

To give the bum rump a bit more ‘poof’ and to help shape it to my body more effectively I took two tuck pleats in the back of the bum rump.   They really help with the shaping.

ca. 1780 bum-rump

The bum-rump ended up doing an interesting and unexpected thing.  The front ends of the bum rump curve down, and the front ties want to tie quite low, which makes it ideal for tucking the fastening knot under the front of my stays, avoiding a lump at the centre front.  The dipping ends of the bum rump also eliminates fullness in the waist and stomach which you don’t want.  It’s so perfect, and such a naturally occurring thing, I almost wonder if period bum-rumps might have done the same thing.

ca. 1780 bum rump

To show how effective the bum-rump is, here is flat-bottomed Isabelle in stays:

ca. 1780 bum rump

And with a bum-rump added:

ca. 1780 bum rump

And with the petticoat over:

ca. 1780 bum rump

Yay!  Bum!

I’m happy to add that the bum rump was also extremely light and comfortable to wear.  I drove in it, and sat on the ground in it, and pranced around in it and three layers of petticoats for a couple of hours, and it was fantastic.  The bum rump actually helped to keep the petticoats away from my legs, so I wasn’t too hot and didn’t get tangled in my skirts.

Skirt supported by ca 1780 bum rump

The Challenge:  Accessorise

Fabric:  1/2 metre of thin but strong floral patterned upholstery cotton (the same fabric I used for my mistletoe panniers, so now I have coordinating 18th century skirt supports).

Pattern:  none, based on historical depictions and Kendra’s research

Year:  ca. 1780

Notions:  cotton thread, cotton twill tape, wool batting, cotton bias binding.

How historically accurate is it?  Not particularly.  I made this as a quick and dirty prototype of an idea, so I wasn’t aiming for perfect historical accuracy.  Now that I know it works, I’ll refine the construction techniques to match period items, and work on an accurate hand-sewn linen version.

Hours to complete:    35 minutes!  Best project ever!

First worn:  for a photoshoot with my 1780s pet-en-l’aire

Total cost:  I paid less than $4 for the mistletoe fabric, and made the panniers out of it, so we’ll say $1 for this project.  All the other bits were left over from other projects, so really $2 at the most in total.  Did I say best project ever?