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A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

A red silk 1780s petticoat

I made a thing! Right now my life is a sea of toiles for the next Scroop + Virgil’s pattern, and it seems like I will never get to sew anything that isn’t calico (that’s muslin for those in the US).

So it’s doubly exciting to have taken a little time to make something not-toile, and in such scrumptious fabric too.

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

I have some 1780s sewing (to go over the Scroop & Virgil’s Augusta Stays of course!) planned for this year, and I looked at all my fabrics, and realised that what they all had in common was that they would look great with a red petticoat.

I had no suitable red in stash, but when I was shopping for fabrics for the Robin Dress samples I let myself linger in The Fabric Stores silk section (always a dangerous activity) and they had an amazing silk-cotton faille in bright red.

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

I wanted a dark red, but the fabric was so scrumptious, and such a perfect match to the weight and hand of one of the 18thc dresses I’ve been able to handle in person, that I couldn’t resist. And it was on sale…

I experimented with dyeing it a darker shade, but it changed the fabrics hand, so I decided bright red would do.

The petticoat wasn’t top of my to-do list, but just as I wrapped up the Robin Dress launch, and was feeling like I deserved a sewing treat, Burnley & Trowbridge launched their petticoat sew-along on YouTube. Kismet!

Now, confession time:

I don’t watch YouTube.

Not ever.

OK, not entirely true. I try. People rave about the YouTube costumers, and I’ve tried them. But even when I’ve met them and love them in person, I hate the YouTube format. I just turn into some horrible curmudgeon shouting “why did that take you 11 minutes to tell me! I could have read it in 37 seconds”, and “Oh my god, why are you being cutesy! You’re a professional adult” and “6 minutes of intro for 2 minutes of actual info!” and “Why do so many things pop up! Does every bit of information need an amusing arrow or caption to accompany it!?!” at the screen.

Videos just aren’t how I like to learn and relax. There’s so much noise in the world, and YouTube is just more noise which stresses my brain (I have exactly the same reaction to most podcasts).

So I keep reading blogs, because blogs make me happy and enthusiastic, and I like being a happy enthusiastic person, not the guy from Up at the start of the movie.

But, with the lockdown on, I guess I was getting so much silence that for once my brain had space to appreciate some extra talking. And I enjoyed the B&T series! (OK, I may have yelled at it for being cutesy at least once…). And it helped me to make what is definitely the prettiest petticoat I’ve ever constructed.

First I sewed the side seams. I happened to have exactly the right shade of red silk thread in stash. More kismet!

Then I hemmed. So much hemming…

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

Then I hemmed the pocket slits. Because of the width of my fabric they weren’t on seams, so I had to slash them into the fabric. I really don’t want them to rip out at the bottom, so I worked little reinforcing circles of buttonhole stitches.

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

I have zero evidence that these are accurate to the period (in fact, I’m pretty sure they aren’t) but they are pretty, and will do the job extremely well.

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

Then it was on to pleating. I took me 8 tries to get it just right…

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

I did two lines of diagonal basting to hold the pleats in place:

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

And then blanket stitched the top, because I love a good line of blanket stitching.

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

Then it was on to levelling the hem! The American Duchess Guide to 18th c Costuming has a great discussion on how to do this.

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

What I did is a little different to the AD book, because I levelled mine over a ‘croissant’ rump (like the ones shown on the woman on the far right or the kind just above the head of the man in the red jacket), rather than a split rump, although the general principal is exactly the same.

The Bum Shop, 1785. Lewis Walpole Library
The Bum Shop, 1785. Lewis Walpole Library

I levelled over a croissant rump because I want to wear it with a jacket that will sit best over a croissant rump, and if I’d levelled it over a split rump it would end up with a funny dip in the hem when worn with a croissant rump. If I do want to wear it over a split rump I’d be wearing it over an Italian gown, where the skirts of the gown will hide any irregularities in the back hem.

I hemmed it at 8.5″ off the ground on me, which is more in line with 1770s and early 1780s fashion than later 1780s fashion, when the skirts usually get longer (although there are some examples that still show exposed ankles I haven’t done a proper survey of what types of outfits show shorter skirts, and what types show longer)

If I want a longer skirt later, I may add a piece and hide it with a strip of contrast ribbon, similar to what is shown in this plate.

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

With the hem levelled, it was on to sewing on the waistband, with assistance from Miss Felicity:

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com
A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

Almost there…

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

And the final touch was hemming the tapes:

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

Done!

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com
A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

And, since it has pocket [slits] I had to make Gertrude stick her hands in them!

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com
A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

There’s even photos of me in it!

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com

Although with my frizzy hair and bare feet I do look more like a hobbit than an elegant 18th century lady…

And I’m submitting it for the Historical Sew Monthly 2020 Challenge #12: Community

What the item is: A petticoat  

How it fits the challenge:  The Burnley & Trowbridge sew-alongs are a wonderful example of the historical costuming community’s generosity, and they way costumers come together in times of stress to support each other. Angela has been a fabulous cheerleader and mentor, and I’m so grateful to be part of her community.

Material:  Ribbed silk cotton

Pattern: None, based primarily on the Burnley & Trowbridge petticoat sew-along, with reference to the AD 18th c Dressmaking book and period sources.

Year:  ca. 1780, but wearable for 1770-1790

Notions:  silk thread, linen tape  from Burnley & Trowbridge

How historically accurate is it?   The fabric is an excellent match to the weight and hand of an 18th c dress I’ve examined, but I haven’t been able to document examples with a silk cotton blend. Extant 18th c silks seem to be a slightly pinker red than this. The pocket-slit reinforcement was probably not used in the 18th c.

Hours to complete:  about 8

First worn:  Only for photos.  

Total cost:  About NZ$50

A red silk 1780s petticoat thedreamstress.com


Day dress, 1841-42, silk, metal, crinoline, FIDM Museum, 2010.5.23A-D

Rate the Dress: fun with stripes, 1840s style

This week’s Rate the Dress goes from bold, bright stripes, to soft, subtle stripes.

Last Week: a early-mid teens dress in bold stripes and bold cut

Last week’s rate the dress wasn’t very popular with some of you. Whether it was the fabrics, the cut, or the fichu-effect lace, almost everyone found something to criticise. Except for Sarah, holding the flag for a perfect 10!

Many of you also criticised the presentation, which isn’t one of the things that we take into account with Rate the Dress. Not every garment is robust enough to be steamed and pressed for presentation, and even when a garment is, a museum can’t always afford the time, money, and expert hours it takes to steam a garment, pad a mannequin, and create proper supports. If museums only shared photos of garments they had the resources to perfectly present, we’d have far fewer garments to admire and research.

The Total: 5.5 out of 10

So extremely high fashion 1913-1914ish was not your thing!

This week:  an early 1840s dress with blue stripes

One of my current costuming obsessions is late 1830s/early 1840s dresses with asymmetrical skirt trim. In searching for examples of this very specific style, I came across this dress.

It is not an example of the type: you can just, just see the edges of the matching stripe and circular rosettes decorating the other side around the far curve of the skirt.

Day dress, 1841-42, silk, metal, crinoline, FIDM Museum, 2010.5.23A-D
Day dress, 1841-42, silk, metal, crinoline, FIDM Museum, 2010.5.23A-D

Although it’s not the kind of dress I was looking for, it’s a fascinating dress in its own right, and the closer you look at it, the more interesting it is.

The ground fabric is actually moire, with tiny damask flowers. The blue stripes are satin, but with an additional tromp l’oeil trick that pumps up the sheen factor: the are woven from warp dyed threads that slide from pale blue to bright blue, creating the illusion of areas of high shine.

Day dress, 1841-42, silk, metal, crinoline, FIDM Museum, 2010.5.23A-D
Day dress, 1841-42, silk, metal, crinoline, FIDM Museum, 2010.5.23A-D

The lacing effect on the sleeves was a fashionable touch in the early 1840s. We looked at another early 1840s dress with laced and tasselled sleeves back in 2017.

What do you think of this dress which gets more detailed the closer you get to it?

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.

Dust coat, England or France, 1905-1908, Tussah silk, satin, floss silk, Victoria & Albert Museum, T.333-1987

Terminology: Tussah Silk

This post didn’t start out as a terminology post! I was going to show you more images from my Spring 1915 Standard Mail order catalogue – and thought I would do some terminology explorations along with it.

Spring Styles for 1915, thedreamstress.com

I started writing about the dresses and the terms mentioned, and the post got longer, and longer, and longer… So I’ve cut it apart, and will just focus on one term: tussah silk. It’s featured in my least favourite dress on the page: the brown floral number with the ruched midriff.

Spring Styles for 1915, thedreamstress.com

Tussah Silk (also  Tussar silk, Tushar silk, Tassar silk, Tusser silk or kosa silk)

Tussah silk comes from a variety of silkworms that eat oak leaves, and other leaves high in tannin, rather than mulberry leaves. The tannin in the leaves gives tussah silk its characteristic pale gold colour. The filaments of tussah silk are much thicker and stronger than standard silk, and are oval instead of round. Because the initial threads aren’t as fine, tussah silk cloth has a coarser hand than regular silk, and often has a slightly slub-y effect.

Tussah silkworms are significantly hardier than their delicate mulberry-fed cousins, and can survive much more easily in the wild. Due to the rougher texture of the silk, and the few wild populations of tussah silkworms that are harvested for silk, tussah silk is sometimes called ‘wild silk’, although the vast majority of it comes from farmed silkworms.

In 19th century fashion writing tussah often refers to the specific type of silk, and tussore to the slubbed look of the weave most associated with it: so tussah could be woven not in tussore style, or in tussore style.

To make this even more confusing, tussah silk fabric was sometimes called tussore linen, particularly in the 1870s, because its subtler sheen and slightly rough finish meant it was considered more suitable for the type of informal summer clothes that linen was made out of than the more formal styles of silk. Very annoyingly as a researcher, a rough calico was also sometimes called tussore cloth, as was a linen-cotton blend, and maybe hemp or piña cloth (the references to Indian pine are quite confusing), and linen in the specific golden shade characteristic of tussore silk. Today slubbed linen is also called tussore linen, and while some references are clearly one are the other (this one’s obviously silk, and I’m pretty sure this one’s linen, but maybe not?), many are not, and its impossible to tell if the fabric in question was a linen or a silk.

Tussah silk has been used in China, India and Southeast Asia for centuries. It begins to show up in Western fashion on a regular basis from the 1850s onwards, probably because of England’s increased control of India after the rebellion of 1857 and increased influence in China following the first & Second Opium War, and Japan’s forced opening up to the rest of the world.

This dress (possibly a wrapper) is one of the earliest examples I’m aware of a Western garment in tussah silk:

Dress in tussah silk, 1850s, Galleria del Costume di Palazzo Pitti
Dress in tussah silk, 1850s, Galleria del Costume di Palazzo Pitti

In the 1860s and 70s tussah was considered a luxury fibre, and was clearly singled out from standard silk. However, it was also an informal fibre: used for summer day wear, and accessories like parasols, and never for evening or formal wear.

Parasol, England, 1860s, Pleated tussar silk, steel, and painted wood, Given by the family of Major and Mrs. W. Mackay Mackenzie, T.206B-1915

After its initial novelty popularity wore off, the use of tussah was confined almost exclusively to sportwear.

This tennis dress is an excellent example of the use of tussah silk for sportswear. Elegant, casual, and supremely expensive, this outfit is the modern equivalent of designer yoga gear: it says without words that you can spend money on clothes to sweat in.

Tennis dress, womens, bodice and skirt, tussore silk, England, 1880-1890 Powerhouse Museum H6536
Tennis dress, womens, bodice and skirt, tussore silk, England, 1880-1890
Powerhouse Museum, H6536

Even when it was out of fashion elsewhere, tussah silk was widely used by the Arts & Crafts movement, the aesthetic dress movement and design houses like Liberty of London.

This dress by Raymond Duncan (brother of Isadora), is a later example of the link between alternative dress movements and tussah silk. It uses the natural golden colour,and slight slubs of tussah silk, to enhance the antique and bohemian aesthetic of his design. Duncan was an almost fanatical proponent of a return to Grecian styles. He believed they were healthier and more attractive than the fashions of the time.

Dress, Raymond-Duncan (American),  1920s, American, silk, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 990.152
Dress, Raymond-Duncan (American), 1920s, American, silk,
Metropolitan Museum of Art, 990.152
Dress, detail of tussah silk fabric, Raymond Duncan (American, San Francisco, California 1874—1966 Cavalaire), 1920s, American, silk, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 990.152
Dress, detail of tussah silk fabric, Raymond Duncan (American, San Francisco, California 1874—1966 Cavalaire), 1920s, American, silk, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 990.152

Having been relegated to very informal clothing & fringe fashion for a couple of decades, tussah returned to popularity at the end of the 19th century, as in this fashion article where the author gushes over the shades of tan it comes in, the delicate brocading (like the dress I dislike so much!), and its rescue from ‘homespun’! Another fashion writer compares it to pongee, and gives advice on how to trim it.

Although fashionable again, tussah silk was still primarily used as a linen alternative in the Edwardian era, as in this elegant dust coat.

Dust coat, England or France, 1905-1908, Tussah silk, satin, floss silk, Victoria & Albert Museum,  T.333-1987
Dust coat, England or France, 1905-1908, Tussah silk, satin, floss silk, Victoria & Albert Museum, T.333-1987

By the mid-teens, the era of my magazine, tussah silk had by and large lost its outsider status, and was being used for a wider range of garments, though still exclusively for daywear. Thanks to the influence of Poiret, the Ballet Russes etc, anything exotic was in.

Tussah continued to be a popular fabric into the 1920s. It fit in with the fashion for rough and textured fabrics, like roshanara. It had also lost its high price tag: tussah silk appears as a lining in a number of 20s garments that I’ve seen in museum collections, suggesting it was an affordable silk.

Tussah silk should not be confused with silk noil (the rough silk made from the short bits of leftover silk fibres) (looks pointedly at Understanding Textiles on this point), or raw silk (silk with the gum left on).

Some tussah silk is “ethical silk” “non-violent silk” or “Ahimsa silk“, in that the silkworms are not killed to create the silk, but that’s not traditionally part of the tussah silk process, and unless labelled as such tussah silk is unlikely to be “non-violent”.

Very annoyingly, I carefully packed the three pieces of tussah silk I own away at the bottom of a trunk in vacuum sealed bags just today! The next time I have cause to get in the bags I’ll photograph them for this post.

Sources:

  • Basu, Trailokya Nath. Tant-o-rang: A Book of Textile Technology. 1964
  • Cant, Jennifer and Fritz, Anne. Consumer Textiles. Melbourne: Oxford University Press. 1988.
  • Collier, Billie J. and Tortora, Phyllis G.. Understanding Textiles. 6th ed. Sydney: Prentice Hall. 2001.
  • O’Hara, Georgina, The Encyclopedia of Fashion: From 1840 to the 1980s.  London: Thames and Hudson Ltd.  1986
  • Phipps, Elena. Looking at Textiles: a Guide to Technical Terms. Los Angeles: Getty Museum. 2011
  • Pickens, Mary Brooks, A Dictionary of Costume and Fashion: Historical and Modern. Mineola New York: Dover Publications. 1985 (originally published as The Fashion Dictionary. New York: Funk & Wagnalls. 1957)