What happens when you’ve just made test versions of the Frances Rump pattern, and your friend comes over to check the fit of her Augusta Stays and get some advice on cutting her chemise neckline?
Silliness!
We put the stays on, discussed fit and alterations, and checked her shift neckline. And then as long as she had her stays on, we decided to try the rumps to see how they fit on her.
First she tried the little Frances (View B), and said “oooh, that’s nice!”
Then she tried the big Frances (View A), and said “oooh, that’s even nicer!”
This week’s Rate the Dress may be familiar to many of you. For others, it may be a happy (or, this being Rate the Dress, indifferent) introduction. Whichever the case, I hope you enjoy looking at it more closely!
There’s quite a lot that people agreed on about last week’s frock. You agreed the dress was indeed very historically-accurate-Bridgerton-esque. That it was most likely later than the date given by the family (which did mean it was exactly the right era to be worn by the sisters). You almost all thought the sleeves were very nice indeed. And that the hem treatment was clumsy and unrefined, but that the overall effect was deliciously sunny and happy.
In fact, this was one of the most concensus-y dresses we’ve had in a long time. There was two ratings for 10, and one for 6, but every other rating clusetered in the 7-9 range, with the vast majority at 8-8.5. Which means it should be no surprise that the final tally is…
The Total: 8.2 out of 10
A very cohesive rating.
This week: a 1770-80 française in green striped silk
I’ve had this dress on my ‘to feature on Rate the Dress’ list for a long time. Despite that, I really debated whether to feature this dress as a Rate the Dress. It’s so well known that it seems redundant to show it.
I finally decided to because it seems unfair not to showcase well known garments: after all, that removes so many of the most visually striking, well photographed dresses out there!
The française may have been on the decline, but this one still demonstrates up-to-the-minute design elements. Gone are the floating rococo ruffles, replaced by linear trim held down by multiple lines of stitching. Even the ‘fly fringing’ silk trim is features small, controlled repeats. The attached stomacher is also typical of this decade.
Interestingly, the striped silk fabric was imported from China. It’s a great illustration of how extensive the fabric trading networks were at the time, and how the fabrics being imported also reflected changing European tastes. Instead of the painted florals and exotic scenes that were only available in imported fabrics, these serene stripes could have been woven in Europe, but the fabric was still worth bringing in.
What do you think of this green française with its play on stripes? Is it the perfect example of late era française?
Rate the Dress on a Scale of 1 to 10
A reminder about rating — feel free to be critical if you don’t like a thing, but make sure that your comments aren’t actually insulting to those who do like a garment. Phrase criticism as your opinion, rather than a flat fact. Our different tastes are what make Rate the Dress so interesting. It’s no fun when a comment implies that anyone who doesn’t agree with it, or who would wear a garment, is totally lacking in taste.
As usual, nothing more complicated than a .5. I also hugely appreciate it if you only do one rating, and set it on a line at the very end of your comment.
Averil is a friend, and my local tester. I always like to have at least one tester who I know, so I can see the garment as they make it, and assess any fit issues and things that come up in person.
Plus, Averil helped test how accessible the Amalia Jacket pattern is to new historical sewist. She hasn’t been sewing for very long full stop, and I only tempted her to the dark and full-of-handsewing side at the end of 2019.
She took to it like a duck to water, and has since made a Fantail Skirt, a 1360s dress, and a full 18th century ensemble – fichu, Augusta Stays, shift, petticoat, apron, and then the Amalia jacket.
So she’s doing a great job of what’s possible as a new costumer with a little help and a lot of determination. And I think her Amalia Jacket is just gorgeous.
She managed to squeak the whole ensemble out of 4 yards of Colonial Williamsburg’s (possibly discontinued?) ‘Francis Open Floral’.
I’d bought for a specific project, and then decided wasn’t quite right for my project, so sold it to her. Selling it is change of mind I both really regret now that I see how beautiful her Amalia ensemble is, and really don’t regret now that I see how beautiful her Amalia ensemble is!
I helped Averil cut the jacket, because pattern layouts are my superpower. There was some rather elaborate wrangling that had to go in to this to jacket to get it and the petticoat out of only 4 yards of 44” / 112cm wide fabric – and the only place she had to piece was on the very bottom of the inside sleeves!
When we were done there was just enough fabric left for Nina to have a small square for the hussif she’s putting together. It’s turning into an ode to the local Amalia Jackets, because she’s also asked for a bit of mine!
Now that we’ve all admired how beautiful the outfit is, and how fabulous Averil looks in it and my 18th century brain hat (which I apparently forgot to ever write a post about!), let’s have some silliness…
Because silliness is one of the many things that makes Averil fabulous, and is part of why we love her so much!
Whether it’s chortling over how much the wind reveals the contours of your Francis Rump…
Or Averil doing a spot-on impression of me posing for photos, complete with running commentary about “first I shall point my toe and gesture elegantly with my hands, and now I’m going to inspect this leaf, and then I’ll just gaze wistfully into the distance while tilting my head to the left, and now I’ll try gazing wistfully into the distance while tilting my head to the right…”
Or me exacting my revenge by catching Averil and Kezia having a very excited conversation about how beautiful each other’s costumes are…
And how large kiwi eggs are:
(don’t ask me. I have no idea how they got from “oooh, your ruffles are amazing!’ to ‘and their eggs are this size and take up 1/3 of their body!” )
