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Accessorizing

The Accessorize challenge is coming up on the Historical Sew Fortnightly, and there is so much choice when it comes to what to make.  So many beautiful period accessories, so many periods!

These are just a few of the items that are at the top of my ‘need an excuse to make this’ list.

First off, every girl needs a beautiful fan.  I collect vintage fans – I should show you my collection.  I also aim to make fans.  I have hundreds I love, but one particular favourite is this spangled mid-19th century beauty.  It has Greek key motifs around the brim!

Fan, 1850—60, American (probably), silk, tortoiseshell, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Fan, 1850—60, American (probably), silk, tortoiseshell, Metropolitan Museum of Art

As you have probably realised, I’m a bit of a shoe aficionado, but there are certain pairs that just make my heart go pitter-patter with adoration. Like these:

Pair of unfinished women's shoes, Italian, 1605—10, MFA Boston

Pair of unfinished women’s shoes, Italian, 1605—10, MFA Boston

Oh happiness in shoe form!  I’ve looked into Regency sandals, but before these I hadn’t realised there might be early 17th century sandals.  I want to know more about them, and I want to make them, and I don’t think the latter is entirely beyond the scope of my skills.

I must have a thing for punched leather shoes in particular, because this 14th century pair also makes me swoon (and they would also be perfect for the Flora & Fauna challenge):

Leather shoe with punchwork and bird decoration, Dutch (Haarlem), c. 1300-1350

Leather shoe with punchwork and bird decoration, Dutch (Haarlem), c. 1300-1350

As a seamstress, I’m fascinated by historical work-bags.  I have this fantasy that one day I’ll have time to make myself one.  I particularly like Marie Kundegunde’s diamond patterned (or is it mesh?) workbag.  Her triple layer engageates are pretty divine as well – and technically they are an accessory too, since they would be pinned on and taken off.

Pietro Rotari (1707—1762) Portrait of Marie Kunigunde of Saxony (1740-1826), Abbess of Thorn and Essen, daughter of Augustus III of Poland, circa 1755

Pietro Rotari (1707—1762) Portrait of Marie Kunigunde of Saxony (1740-1826), Abbess of Thorn and Essen, daughter of Augustus III of Poland, circa 1755

I don’t usually care for fruit patterned 20th century items, because the ‘vintage cherries’ trope is so over-done, but 18th century strawberry shoes?  Squee!  I don’t know if I’d ever have the patience to do the needlework to make my own pair (is it queen stitch?) but the right strawberry patterned fabric perhaps?  Or painted?  Like the bird shoes, these would also be fabulous for the Flora and Fauna challenge.

Shoes worked with strawberries 1760-1770, Hampshire City Council museum

Shoes worked with strawberries 1760-1770, Hampshire City Council museum

These first-decade of the 19th century gloves just make me swoon with delight.  I want to figure out how to print on kid so I can make my own!  Or perhaps just draw them by hand?  The figures at the top are from a series of prints of Hunchbacks – not very PC!

Gloves, 1800—1810, Spanish, leather, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Gloves, 1800—1810, Spanish, leather, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Some accessories I just drool over and know I can’t every really have (like the gloves above), others are more direct inspiration.  I want to make this bonnet, and the whole outfit that would go with it.  Just need to find my own luscious emerald green velvet…

Bonnet, 1830's, Made of velvet, Kerry Taylor Auctions

Bonnet, late 1830s-early 1840s, silk velvet, Kerry Taylor Auctions

Even easier is this darling 1870’s straw top hat.  I’ve been remodelling a lot of modern straw hats lately, and it’s surprisingly easy (I’ll be doing a few tutorials).  The trimmings really make this one.

Hat, ca. 1879 American straw, silk, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Hat, ca. 1879 American straw, silk, Metropolitan Museum of Art

I also like accessories that could be worn with modern clothes.  This chic quilted shawl is like the 19th century version of my Capelet of Yay, and I bet I’d wear it just as much!

Quilted silk shawl, mid-19th century. Charleston Museum

Quilted silk shawl, mid-19th century. Charleston Museum

And finally, the award for the most fascinating and creepiest accessory ever goes to Bianca Anguisola, for her taxidermied/jewelled rodent/pig chatelaine.  Seriously, what is that thing?  And if I want one, is that wrong?

Sofonisba Anguissola (1530—1625), Portrait of Bianca Ponzoni Anguissola, the artist's mother, 1557

Sofonisba Anguissola (1530—1625), Portrait of Bianca Ponzoni Anguissola, the artist’s mother, 1557

 

Bathing beauties of 1906 from the Girls Own Paper

Are you thinking ahead to the ‘By the Sea’ challenge for the Historical Sew Fortnightly? I certainly am!

I’d love to make a full, ridiculous, Edwardian or Victorian bathing costume, or a Regency chemise for sea bathing at Bath or Brighton, but I feel I ought to make something late ’20s or early ’30s, because it’s been on my to-do list for over a year (for two Art Deco Weekends), and (more importantly) I already have the fabric.  So I should probably be good, and do that, and save the super silliness for later.

But, oh, the temptation!

My desire for silly turn-of-the-century bathers is further fueled by this delight from the collection of 1906 Girls Own Papers I just bought.  Look at these bathing belles:

What to wear by the sea, 1906, Girls Own Paper

How a girl should dress for the sea, 1906, Girl’s Own Paper

Aren’t those bathing frocks fabulous?  I’m particularly taken with the model who is bending over to adjust her hem.  I love the petal sleeves, and the simpler, shaped rather than gathered, skirt.  The spotty kerchief is pretty cute too.  And the images are fantastically detailed.  The lone maiden with her rope to cling on to, so that she can venture out into a rough sea more safely (growing up in Hawaii I was fascinated to read of people swimming with ropes – it’s such a foreign concept in the sheltered tropical waters I was used to).  The bathing carriages that persisted into the 20th century for the more modest bathers in the background of the larger image.  And the damsel in the light-coloured suit with her net.  What was she hoping to catch?

I’ve been reading Sarah Kennedy’s Vintage Swimwear:  A History of Twentieth-Century Fashions, and it’s driving me absolutely barmy. She identifies every single one of her early 20th century bathing images as showing ‘extreme’ or ‘immodest’ fashion, due to the leg exposure, or the arm exposure, or the lack of stockings.  If so, why only show these images?  How can it be a history if it only presents an extreme side of the story?  Some of the images show costumes every bit as covered up as the ones in the fashion sketch above, and since the Girl’s Own Paper was a very conservative, religious, moral publication, one can assume that the bathing costumes they suggest would be quite proper.  In addition, informal early 20th century beach photography (not the posed glamour shots she presents) show that most people actually wore far less to the beach than the glamour images.  Out of the city centers, and away from beaches with morality laws, men and women bathed together with bare feet, and in very simple garments.  Yes, there were beaches with morality laws, but the very fact that they were written about makes them the exception, not the rule.

And she goes on and on about the drowning deaths that were caused by the heavy bathing costumes, without being able to identify a single case.  Yes, early 20th century swimsuit reform campaigners cited them as a reason to ditch the heavy wool gowns, but early corset reformers cited all the deaths from corsets, and we haven’t been able to identify a single confirmed case of death-by-corsetry  (on the other hand, there are at least two cases in New Zealand alone where corsets saved women’s lives when they were shot at or stabbed).

Then she talks about the practice of bathing in chemises in Regency England being so enticing that it lead women to dampen their evening gowns to imitate the effect, and we know that dampened evening gowns was something that was done in only a few instances, by only the most fast and fashion forward of women.   To repeat it is as accurate as to suggest that all women in the 2000s wore nipple-revealing bustier cups which were ripped off on a regular basis, a la Janet Jackson, or that every woman with powdered hair in the 18th century had rats and mice living in her coiffure, just since one incident was reported, once.

I hate poor research when just a little critical thinking would present a much more accurate picture.

Right.  Rant over.

Let’s look at the pretty picture again, shall we?

How a girl should dress for the sea, 1906, Girl's Own Paper

How a girl should dress for the sea, 1906, Girl’s Own Paper

Ah, happiness returns.

Update:  And yet more happiness!  Look at this amazing image that a friend shared with me after reading this post (and is graciously allowing me to share with you).  She took it in Llanbadarn church yard in Wales.  Best memorial stone ever!

Llanbadarn church yard, image courtesy of LA

Rate the Dress: the Chocolate Girl of the 1740s

Last week there was no Rate the Dress, as I rated the Oscars, and the week before that we looked at the creme de la creme of elitist historical costuming: a precious metal trimmed suit worn to a royal wedding (which, despite the baggy britches, managed an 8.2 out of 10 – must be all that gilding and glitz!).

This week we’re on quite a different track.  The Historical Sew Fortnightly theme is Peasants & Pioneers, and we’re celebrating the lower classes, and their attire.  A very famous example is Liotard’s The Chocolate Girl, in mid-18th century servant or shopgirl attire.

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

Liotard’s server is clad for practicality, not aesthetic, in her voluminous apron and subdued jacket and skirt, but her frilly pink hat lends an air of rococo gaiety to the ensemble.  Or perhaps it detracts from the elegant simplicity.  What do you think?

Rate the Dress on a scale of 1 to 10