The Dreamstress

This week we’re going from vibrant purple to restful green, and from a almost universally popular timeperiod, to one that’s a bit less of a guaranteed crowd pleaser. Can it score a hat-trick of 9.5+ ratings (without any hats involved)?

Last Week: a 1912 evening dress by Lucile

So many of you loved everything about this dress, and even those who didn’t rate it a perfect 10 only had the tiniest quibbles with its design: finding the colour not quite perfect, or the beads a bit clunky. Even so, it didn’t score a single rating under 8. A real crowd pleaser!

The Total: 9.6 out of 10

Just one point shy of the week before.

This week: an 1830s dress in morning glory patterned silk

Last week’s dress was an easy pick for popularity. Almost everyone loves the early 1910s!

The 1830s though? Up until quite recently they have been one of the least favourite decades for historical fashion. However, thanks to avid championing from rockstar costumers like American Duchess (and other talented costumers), the 1830s are seeing a definite rise in interest.

If you’re already an 1830s fan, will this week’s dress scratch your Romantic era itch? Or if you aren’t yet a convert, perhaps this will be the dress to bring you over to the bright-and-very-big-sleeved side? Or perhaps not…

This 1830s dress is made from pale green silk, with a jacquard woven damask pattern of morning glories.

It features the typical just-above-the-natural waistline of the 1830s, finished with a wide ribbon belt (possibly a styling addition by the museum, so you may choose not to put too much weight on it in your rating). It’s been paired with a delicately embroidered fichu: a common daytime accessory in fashion plates of the period.

The main area of design interest in the dress is that iconic feature of 1830s fashion: enormous gigot sleeves. These ones are gathered in to fit the armhole with narrow pleating, held in place with bands of ribbon arranged in poofs and secured with jaunty bows. Below the ribbon they fall in soft fullness, and are cut a little longer than the arm, so their extra length droops over the crisply pleated cuffs.

What do you think? Are you pro 1830s and think this one’s perfect? Or pr 1830s, but think you’ve seen much prettier examples? Or still not a huge fan, but can admire this as a lovely example of its type? Or just no-gigot no way?

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.

Update: Voting closed

After our discussions about makers & wearers with the last few dresses, I thought it might be interesting to see a dress where we know the wearer, and the designer, as well as a great deal about the actual makers of the dress.

Last Week: an 1880s velvet and satin frock

The brown velvet and satin dress was a smash hit, with a well-deserved round of applause for the maker. It lost a point here and there because of the bustle or the colour (and a couple of points for something that I think was a misunderstanding in construction 🙁 ), but overall you deemed it practically perfect in every way.

The Total: 9.7 out of 10

Fully three-quarters of the ratings for last week’s dress were perfect 10s!

This week: a 1912 evening dress by Lucile

I thought we needed a pop of colour after a few weeks of predominantly dark or white dresses, and this Lucile gown fit the bill perfectly, while also being a great example of a gown where the designer, makers, and wearers are all (more or less) known.

This very purple evening dress was designed by Lucile (Lady Duff-Gordon) for socialite Heather Firbank. Firbank was the daughter of a wealthy politician. She was in her early 20s when she commissioned this dress, and like much of her wardrobe it comes in a shade of purple to complement her name.

Firbank must have been a confident young woman: in addition to her distinct dress sense, she chose never to marry, at a time when that was an extremely unconventional choice for a woman.

Firbank commissioned her dress from an equally confident and distinctive woman. Lucile started making dresses when she needed to support herself and her daughter after divorcing her drunken, philandering first husband. Although she wasn’t a self made woman in the true sense (she came from the upper classes and had family support as she started out), she always approached Lucile Inc as a business which was intended to make money, rather than as a hobby.

As part of her businesslike approach to fashion, once Lucile got popular she didn’t design all her frocks: merely signed off on designs by assistants and sketch artists that fit her aesthetic. It’s possible this dress was one of those designs: a creation by an artist, perhaps with input from the client, that was merely looked over by the couturier at the end. Or perhaps it was entirely by Lucile!

The business and making end of Lucile’s couture house is well documented, so we have a good idea of the craftspeople behind the dresses. For a number of them, particularly the fitters and sketch artists, working for a house like Lucile was a launchpad to their own atelier. Even for the lowest thread sweeper, a position at a couture house was enviable: eminently respectable, well paid by the standards of the time, and one of the few places a woman could build a career.

Economic and social history aside, what do you think of the aesthetics of this dress?

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.