The Emerald Gown Steps Out: A Brief Tableau

I was one lucky skunk and got to go to a fantastic swing dance with the Husband last weekend:

It was awesome...so great, in fact, that I utterly failed to get pictures at the event.  

Fortunately, I made the Husband snap a few before we headed out the door, so you can see how the gown looks on a person.  On a me, to be precise:

A word of admission--the photos above were cropped. Here's how things actually went down:

Toddler: Hey, mom, nice dress.

Me: Thanks!

Toddler: Yay! Mommy likes her dress, too!  Maybe now she'll read me this book.

Me: Not yet, tiny person.

Toddler: But wait, the world pretty much revolves around me...

....

Uh-oh, Daddy's really dressed up, too...

Toddler: What the cheese, are you guys ditching me tonight?

Indeed, we were ditching The Toddler.  Fret not, she had a lovely evening with her favorite sitter.

All That Glitters: A 1930s Emerald Green Evening Gown

For the Historical Fortnightly All That Glitters Challenge:

 I had originally taken a somewhat broad approach to defining "All That Glitters" by drawing glittering out into shining...shimmering...silk! I had planned a 1930s silk evening gown with no glittery sparkle, per se, but plenty of silky shimmer.  I have a holiday swing dance to attend, and the thought of a shiny new dress was too tempting to pass up.  Plus it was my 30th birthday this month--what better gift than a shimmering 1930s something?

Then things took a slight turn, and my dress ended up with some glittery bling after all.

What the item is: 1930s evening gown with slightly shortened hem for maximum danceability

The Challenge: All That Glitters

Fabric: Emerald green silk charmeuse

Pattern: EvaDress E30 5918 :

Year: 1931

Notions: Thread and, afterthought, a paste buckle (more on that below)

How historically accurate is it? Eh...decent? The fabric and pattern are correct, and I utilized techniques as specified by the (original) pattern instructions from cutting through seam finishing and hand-completed hems.

Hours to complete: 10 +

First worn: For a Snow Ball swing dance--tomorrow!

Total cost: Under $100--I splurged on silk and got a decent deal, but that stuff ain't cheap on a good day.

Felicity models the dress in initial completion:

So, how did it go together?  My favorite part was probably the gathered shoulder bit:

which is done pretty much first thing and gives such an exciting tease as to what the final piece will look like!  The instructions call for twisting the shoulder as well, but a) I was unclear on exactly what the instructions were saying to do and b) I really liked the soft drape of the shoulders as they stood, so I skipped this.

For the main body of the gown, the construction techniques rely on one big trick for impact--a lapped seam joining the unusually shaped bodice and skirt together.  Lapped seams are tricky, and silk charmeuse is tricky, and together they are...well, tricky.

Two rounds of basting (once to turn under the raw edge, the other to make an initial join) and veerrrrry slow and careful stitching yielded a lapped seam I was....ok with.  It's not perfect.  But it'll do.

The finish work is mainly by hand--the instructions, to my surprise, did not indicate to face the arm, neckline, or back, but to instead turn and hem, which I did.  I'm not fully convinced this was the best option, and if I every do a re-do on this pattern, I think I'll consider facing these edges, or at the least the neckline.

As to how well I like it...

I tried it on and was, well, blah about it.  It wasn't the dress--as far as it was *supposed* to look, it was near perfect.

It was me.

I am not the willowy-thin pixie of the pattern cover--and the bodice of the gown had an unfortunate tendency to just kind of hang off my bust and create a rather dumpy look on me.  I had taken in the seams from the muslin I'd made, but even when the gown fit properly, it still didn't really suit me.

I decided to play around with it a little, and attempt some waist definition.  I settled on a self-belt--I am unsure if this is correct to the period for an evening gown and this type of pattern or not, though other 1930s patterns I've made did include self-belts.

And I added a little crystal slide buckle to the belt--All That Glitters, indeed.

A note to those making this dress--the pattern as it stands will yield a dress that is short on an average-height woman.  I chose to keep the original length because I was making a dress to dance in, but if you want a traditional full-length evening gown, you will need to add a few inches to the hemline.

Dancing (and, hopefully, pictures!) tomorrow!

Up-cycled Stockings--The Kind to Hang By The Chimney With Care

Taking a short break from the historical--though not completely, since re-using old things is about as historical a practice as you can come up with--for a quick holiday craft tutorial.

I'd seen and coveted knit, especially cable-knit, stockings from various retailers but the prices were more than I wanted to pay for a holiday decoration.  Cue a trip to the thrift store, where the aisles of gently worn sweaters called my name.

Turns out, it's exceptionally easy to turn an old sweater into a nearly-new Christmas stocking.

First, the sweaters.  I selected three sweaters in cable knits I liked, all in shades of ivory.  We have a three-person family; I got three sweaters.  It's theoretically possible to get more than one stocking per sweater, especially if you can find large men's sweaters, but I didn't find any big ones in patterns and colors I liked. (Hint--if you like taupe and beige, there will be plenty of men's sweaters for you to play with.)

Then, the crafting begins!

I used a stocking I already had and liked the shape of to cut my sweaters.  Simple--I just laid the stocking over the sweater (just the sweater, as it was, no cutting, turning, or manipulation required) and cut around it, giving myself about a 3/4 inch seam allowance.

You get two pieces, like this:

I just pinned right sides together and stitched it up on the machine.

Turned right side out, it's a stocking!  I trimmed corners and any edges that looked bulky, but for the most part I left a very large seam allowance.  Knits tend to ravel and I didn't want to deal with a hole in my Christmas sock.

I finished the top of this simple stocking with a basic hem:

You can also make a simple cuff.  I left one stocking extra long, sewed it up as normal, then cut the excess from the top:

Pinned it inside and stitched:

\

Then folded it over the main part of the stocking:

One of my sweaters was a mock turtleneck, so I left the ribbed neck in place when I cut out the stocking:

And just folded it over to make a cuff.

All three stockings, ready for hanging!

Planning a Foray to the 1930s

Despite my usual historical focus firmly rooted in the late 18th century, I do enjoy a bit of time traveling now and again.

I've planned a couple of fancy holiday shindigs this year, and decided I'd very much like a new gown.  And there really isn't any point in ever making anything modern when one can dash off to another time period...is there?

There probably is.

At any rate, I finally settled on this 1931 pattern from EvaDress:

And took a bit of a risk on this very green silk:

Depending on which monitor, it varies from deep emerald to bright emerald green.  I'm hoping it's on the deeper side in person, but I'm all right with it either way.  I wanted a saturated jewel tone--though many 1930s evening gowns employ pastels and shades of white, they also can veer a touch toward the look of lingerie.  To modern eyes, bright or deep tones can counteract that effect.  In short, since I'm wearing this around modern people, not necessarily at historical events, I want to make sure the look says "eveningwear" not "nightgown."  

If all goes well, this will be my final entry into the Historical Sew Fortnightly 2014 and will be worn for a "Snow Ball" in December and a New Year's Eve fete at our house.

The AccountabilliBuddy Post: Winter Projects

Ah, that time of year when the leaves turn and the brisk fall breezes whip through the air...or it drops to single digits and dumps snow on you.

Whatever.

In either case, it's time to start thinking about winter projects.  If I wait until winter truly sets in, I get behind, waiting on supplies to arrive, or dip into Frosty Ennui in the wake of post-Christmas let-down.

So--the things I need to do and want to do:

1) Fix the sky blue gown.  I finally got the bodice fitted properly (which was a deceptively easy fix), but the hem is still my slapdash, make-it-work machined job and it's too long.  Re-hemming is on the docket.

2) Toddler dress.  I have the Larkin and Smith pattern and a stash of linen in various colors, and I'm looking forward to making something miniature.

3) I want to make a 1920s or 1930s evening gown because I very much want to host a Jazz Age Shindig at our house.  We'll see if either one happens.

4) And of course, all the Christmas crafts.  Don't be alarmed if this space is overtaken by Pinterest-inspired Christmas crap in the next few weeks.

5) In my dream world, I'd start on a riding habit.  We'll see, friends.  We'll see.

Ask me sometime around January how all this is going, mkay? 

Misogyny and Reenacting

Part of the Progressive Movement Discussion Broohahaha (spurred by this post, responded to in several venues including this one from Historically Speaking and this one from Kabinettskriege) has been the question of whether progressive reenactors and the progressive movement as a whole is sexist.  Some claim misogyny at the hands of progressive reenactors; others claim that progressives hold no more chauvinists in their ranks than any cross-section of the hobby and are in fact welcoming of female reenactors.

First, there is the issue of women feeling welcome to participate.  This has come under disagreement and discussion over the question of women-in-the-ranks.  There are those progressive groups that discourage women from dressing and acting as soldiers.  They would argue that this comes down to presentation, not chauvinism--that many women cannot effectively disguise themselves as men therefore cannot present an accurate portrayal.  After all, even the documented women who DID disguise themselves as men and soldier were able to do so because *no one figured out they were women.*  So the point is fair one--women who can't "hide" in men's clothes should, perhaps, not soldier.  However--are we going to turn away anyone with a physical appearance that didn't exist in a particular regiment for the purpose of authenticity?  Unless we're willing to refuse participation to those of Asian or African or American Indian descent who weren't present in certain units, or older individuals beyond the age range of the average soldier, I think we have a difficult question regarding women and correct visual impression on our hands.

In fact, many progressive women will set that limit for themselves--knowing that they can't effectively disguise themselves as men, whether due to body type or facial structure or what have you, they choose to avoid that particular avenue of participation.  That's, to me, progressive mindset and inclusiveness of women in action together--choosing the persona you can best achieve and pursuing it.

That said, refusal to permit women to "galtroop" is not a requisite of the progressive movement.  There are some progressives who are against it; others are fine provided that the woman hold herself to the same standards of accuracy and presentation as the men.  Excluding women from the ranks is not something the progressive movement as a whole agrees on, only some individuals with strong opinion.  And there are some mainstream individuals who discourage the practice, too.

What about the alternative--the choice most Revolutionary War female reenactors make, to portray the women involved in and affected by the conflict?  Seems to me that well-researched and well-portrayed female impressions are just as appreciated by the progressive community as the male.  Yes, I admit to seeing some "boys club" mentality from male progressives--but it's rarely "you're excluded" as much as it is "my area of study and interest doesn't really include women" and, well, once you get a nerd going on their area of interest, all else is forgotten.  Perhaps progressives would be wise to keep this unintended consequence in mind when discussing priorities and the big picture of our hobby--but women can also keep in mind that it's often unintentional and we should jump into the conversation and broaden it.

In fact, I have yet to see a progressive argue that women portraying women should not be included and encouraged, despite the fact that our numbers in camp are often ludicrously over-representative of historical norms.

I come back, ultimately, to the point that there are always a few jerks present in any sub-group, and reenacting is no different.  There are progressive reenactors who are jerks, and a few who are misogynist jerks.  Same with mainstream reenacting.  The truly insidious thing about reenactors perpetuating misogyny, however, is that when it happens, it's often under the guise of "historical accuracy."  And this may be why progressives are bearing the brunt of the misogyny accusations, whether fairly or not--the misogyny some women have experienced was in the guise of behaving "historically" and so it becomes tied to progressive reenacting.

I have watched men berate and belittle women at events, during and after public hours, claiming it was their "persona" and "part of the experience."  Now, if the women in question are fine with this kind of banter and play-acting, fine.  But BOTH PARTIES need to be in agreement that this is make-believe, and the women need to be respected as members of their unit beyond their (self-chosen) role as whipping girl.  Clear "enough is enough" rules should be in effect, and anyone should feel free to walk away from the game at any time.  There are times when this has not been the case.  I've been openly brushed off or ignored in situations where a man had decided that, since we would not have had an open conversation in the 18th century, he wouldn't have one with me.  (Never mind the fact that the reason for my approaching one such man involved official event business with which I had been tasked...)

Ultimately, there are certain men who do assert this version of "historical accuracy" whether others around them are interested in playing that version of accuracy out.  The version itself is honestly debatable given the many instructions on "courtesy" that include gentility toward women, but that's a different topic altogether and likely far more complicated than "this is right in all circumstances."  Individuals perpetuating this kind of behavior could be progressives researching and documenting their actions, or they could be repeating straight reenactorisms.

Even if we can prove beyond a doubt that men would have verbally abused women publicly at a given place and time, there are some things that we should consider carefully if we want to incorporate or not.  It may be "all pretend" but it's very easy for "pretend" words to start to carry a sharp edge.  It can begin to sow actual hierarchy and disrespect within a group if those participating are not very careful.  Again, it must be agreed upon by both parties, not imposed on anyone, and must have an "off switch." As a corollary, we know that corporal punishment for children was far more prevalent in the 18th century than today; we don't need to demand that parents adopt these modes of discipline with their children while at reenactment events.  Neither do we need to promote verbal abuse.  There are plenty of ways to display the social norms of the time that don't include that particular facet.

Less justifiable and, frankly, creepy have been sexual advances wrapped in the guise of "historical" conversation and not ended when the women in question politely requested that it stop, again under the excuse of "behaving" like a historical alpha male who would have, presumably, kept pressing.  Not acceptable.  At all.  We are a community here in the reenacting world, even if we have our neighborhoods of progressive, mainstream, somewhere in the middle.  Everyone should feel safe in our community.  Unwanted advances and unasked for verbal abuse, whether historically documentable or not, are unacceptable.

In the end, I've experienced far more camaraderie than misogyny, and neither progressive nor mainstream wings of the hobby is entirely guilty or entirely absolved.  It is a spot that either side could take the opportunity to "clean house" over--when you see something happening, address the issue.  Don't let the jerks speak for the hobby as a whole.

The More I Wear This Caraco...

...the more I love it.

Easy to wear, comfortable (really!) and such a happy pink.  Have I mentioned that I'm quite pleased that I chose Borderline Obnoxious Pink for this ensemble?  I am.

Photo taken by Earle Davidson at the Historic Locust Grove Market Fair last weekend.  We had a beautiful time--perfect weather, a wonderful meal on Saturday night, and evenings spent in the firelit kitchen and breezy front porch of the house.  Who could ask for anything more?

What's All This Hullabaloo About Progressive Reenacting?

The interwebs of reenactors veritably exploded in the past couple of days over this blog post about progressive reenacting.  Frankly, I'm unsurprised at the post itself or the reaction to it--trouble has, to my view, been brewing for quite some time and boils over on occasion over the divide, real or implied, between "progressives" and "mainstream" reenactors.  So I'm going to ramble about it.

For the uninitiated or blissfully unaware, progressive reenactors define themselves as engaging in a continual attempt to improve their impressions and, in some cases, the hobby as a whole, moving as close to 100% authenticity as humanly possible.  Mainstream reenactors are typically defined in contrast to progressives.

So what's the trouble?  In short--the two groups participate in the same hobby, go to the same events, and have the capacity to get in one another's hair.  Progressives are accused by mainstream reenactors of holding everyone to unattainable standards; mainstreams are accused by progressives of doing disrespect to the history they portray through shoddy impressions.  Both sides accuse the other of bullying.

And that's where the blog post cited above kicks off--the bullying.  I have to admit, I believe the author does ignore the bullying that comes from mainstream reenactors ("stitch-counting Nazi" is a term I've seen bandied about and it's not very nice, is it?), but he is correct that there is rudeness, bullying, and general negativity coming out of the progressive movement.  Further, I agree that, with some of the harsh words I've personally seen, it makes it hard for someone unfamiliar with progressive reenacting to get on board.  At the same time, self-defined progressives get frustrated with repeating the same research and information--information which is, once one had familiarized oneself with the period, kind of no-duh on occasion--and with fighting the same battles when people don't want to change.

Why is this such a problem?

First and foremost--the divide is not formally defined.  Anyone could see very quickly that the definition of "progressive" I gave above is fairly open.  Am I progressive if I meticulously research all my garments but machine sew inner seams?  Am I progressive if I am slowly replacing incorrect clothing with more accurate clothing?  Am I progressive if my final product is completely handsewn and researched correctly, but I use modern cleaning techniques? Am I progressive if my kit is perfect but I change after hours? To some, no.  To others, yes. So plenty of people self-define as progressive but are scoffed at for various infractions by the most scrupulous participants.

So, we have two sides, pursuing the same goal (historical education) per their own admission, with varying interpretations of how accurate is "acceptable," falling on a spectrum of authenticity, with no clear, delineated divide.  And unfortunately, the most extreme of both ends of the spectrum are often presented as representative rather than exceptional.

Is there any wonder there's friction?

I said we're all pursuing the same goal, despite nasties spewed by both sides (Progressive: Welcome to Ye Olde Tavern--this is a historical theme party, not education! Mainstream: All they care about is themselves--they're on an ego trip and don't care about actually educating anyone!  Me: I don't actually support either statement, they're just examples!).  The trouble, as I see it, comes in over the issue of balance.  As reenactors, we need to balance authenticity with safety and with inclusiveness/participation.

Typically, the balance of safety and authenticity is easier to strike and to understand.  As many arguments inevitably descend to, no, we don't use real ammunition and we don't get smallpox to add to the effect.  In more nuance, we use flashgaurds when it wouldn't have been done historically, our artillery fires at a lower rate than historically accurate, we wrap cannon rounds in aluminum foil rather than linen, and many groups "elevate" their muskets rather than firing straight downrange.  We do inauthentic things to stay safe.  Duh.

The balance of authenticity with participation and inclusiveness is more difficult.  We can all accept that there are some things we will compromise unequivocally on--people should not be kept out of the hobby based on race or physical disability that would not have been present in the period.  No one is (I hope) turning away an Asian-American participant because "people fighting in the American Revolution didn't look like you."  No one has given my friend with a hearing disability grief for wearing modern hearing aids.

There are some lines, however, that we can't quite agree on.  Women in the ranks, for instance--if a woman wants to field as a man, is that ok?  What if she does a good job hiding her feminine features, but can't do so perfectly?  Not ok to everyone. We seem to accept and move on from the fact that many units have far more women in camp than they would have historically.  Should we pare down the number of women in camp for the sake of authenticity?  And the question of the day--how to balance inclusiveness of those with less than 100% accurate standards, and do we attempt this balance at all?

The big fight I see right now between progressives and mainstream reenactors is over this issue.  The argument that some of the demands that total authenticity puts on reenactors are unaffordable comes up often.  Most of the time, this is a crap excuse--making clothing yourself from authentic materials using authentic methods is nearly always cheaper than purchasing not-quite-right stuff.  There are times, however, when this is not true--I just read a post on my Facebook progressive forum extolling the virtues of $500 bespoke handmade shoes in contrast to ready-made $100 ones with some inaccuracies due to modern production.  Demanding that reenactors must shell out five times as much for shoes?  As dedicated as I am to my impression, $500 for shoes is too steep for me when I can have serviceable shoes for a fifth of that (and use that extra $400 to fix my water heater).

But even if it costs the same or less to be 100% right, there are those who still can't "afford" to do so--they may not have the time or know-how.  Frankly, I love handsewing clothes.  Not everyone in the hobby does--and some people have even busier lives than I do.  Do we tell them, "Sorry, get out, the fact that you didn't have time to handsew your entire kit, including seams I don't even see, because you were too busy cooking dinner for your five kids and toting them to soccer practice and earning a living means you're just not dedicated enough"?  No.  That would be stupid.  Even stupider would be to insist that the kids have perfect kits instead of jumping for joy that they're present, learning, and engaged in history (and are the future generation of the hobby, for what it's worth).  Balance--that family has worth to the hobby that can't be quantified solely by flat-felled seams.

The fact that there are people who manage perfectly turned out kits despite the crunch of time and money doesn't mean that it is moot as a point of exclusion.  We have to remember that we all enjoy different elements of this hobby--and believe it or not, some people don't really like material culture research or handsewing.  Instead of telling them they're in the wrong hobby because those are the things we enjoy, maybe we could take note of what they do love--maybe it's learning about 18th century martial tactics or hearth cooking or--woohoo!--talking to the public.  Doesn't that add something valuable?  Isn't it making kind of an exclusive value judgement to say that what they love about the hobby is "wrong" while this other version of reenacting is "right?"  Deep breath--they could say the same thing about you.

Except I don't think anyone should be making these kinds of claims.

And I come back to bullying.  Nine times out of ten, the words exchanged between reenactors are kind.  When they aren't, it often seems to come down to valuing different things about the hobby. I believe in minimum standards; I believe they should be high enough to be properly representative but lower than a progressive ideal.  Balance.

And then I believe we should stay out of one another's hair and have fun.  Remember fun?  Fun is good.

Kumbaya.

Girls (and Boys) in White Dresses with Blue (and Pink and Green) Sashes

One of my planned winter projects is pretty small--or, at least, it's for a small-sized person.  Baby E has become Toddler E and she'll need at least one new dress for next year.

Small-sized persons may use less fabric, but in this case, they require just as much research!  One interesting trend in 18th century children's clothing is the preponderance of white.

Interesting because, well, it's interesting.  But also "interesting" (insert sarcastic air quotes here) because my parental instinct is to avoid putting my child in white. Ever.  Or off-white.  Or light grey.  Even pale pink, really.

Toddlers are messy creatures.

Then I thought a little more about this.  Sure, the thought of putting my two year old in white silk or other un-launderable fabrics still gives me hives.  But white cotton or linen is eminently launderable.  After all, we discuss all the time how linens--as in ladies' and men's underthings, shifts and shirts--were laundered frequently and their fabric (as well as construction) lent itself to this kind of sudsy abuse?

And thus I could justify, practically speaking, the idea of putting my toddler in a quite justifiable, authentically-speaking, historical dress.

Now...what to do, exactly?

Tons of images exist of littles in white:

The Blunt Children, 1766–1770, by Johann Zoffany Birmingham Museums Trust

http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/paintings/the-blunt-children-33324

Elizabeth Davers (1730–1800), Countess of Bristol, and Her Daughter Lady Louisa Theodosia Hervey (1770–1821), Later Countess of Liverpool by Antonio de Bittio, c.1773

http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/paintings/elizabeth-davers-17301800-countess-of-bristol-

and-her-dau172031 

Francis Graham by Tilly Kettle, c. 1774

Found on tidenstoej.natmus.dk

1775 Child's dress with green bows worn by Gustav of Sweden, via Royal Armoury Collection, Sweden.

Some are clearly silk (HIVES!I tell you) but others have the distinctive soft drape of a very fine linen or cotton.  Another element that I'm intrigued by is the sheer dual color effect.  Both the green-bowed extant dress and the portrait of Francis Graham show a white overdress with a colored layer showing, just barely, through the thin fabric.  Is this a petticoat?  Part of the dress itself, as a dual layer?  I want to know all the things.  Alas, I'm limited to images.

And of course the variations of the "white dress" raises some questions as to construction.  Check it out--the ivory silk piece (second from bottom) has a distinctive "gown" shape.  The Lady Harvey's little dress also has a distinctly fitted bodice--likely stiffened and/or boned.  The Swedish dress, as well as the clothing of Francis Graham, however, is cut with a non-stiffened rectangular (rather than shaped) bodice.  And the Blunt children--I can't quite tell.  A pair of merely well-fitted bodices or are they stiff?

What to do, what to do?  A little gown with a stiffened bodice?  Would this be appropriate in a washable fabric?  A dress with more "chemise" like features, and can--should?--this have the multi-layer effect with an additional color?

Much more research to do...fortunately, the subject matter is really, really cute.

When Does Historical Accuracy Matter?

I realize my post on the Outlander dress, and, in extension, authenticity in film costume as a whole may seem like fence-straddling.

I said I didn't think that the dress was an accurate representative of 18th century gownage.

I also said I thought that was ok and that the gown was beautiful.

What?  For most of my reenacting friends, authenticity is paramount.  Why bother doing anything, at all, if one can't do it right?

But just like creating accurate historical clothing, context is everything.  And I don't know if it's the crisp fall air fostering a "back to school" feeling or what, but in considering that context, I found myself practically writing a paper.

For those of us in educational pursuits, authenticity matters.  A lot.  This is because of our claims--we are claiming a position of authority and are representing the past as a vehicle for learning.  Reenactors claim a certain expertise in historical knowledge and most reenacting organizations claim that education is a primary goal.

Entertainment does not do this.  The concept of edutainement attempts to walk both sides of the line, and whether it's effective at either is another topic entirely.  Pure entertainment, however--and I'm considering anything, from highbrow to low, that doesn't claim education as a goal to be "pure" entertainment--doesn't wed itself to accuracy.  Instead, it aims to engage and entertain a contemporary audience and, in its best forms, to illustrate or comment on the "big questions" of humankind.

Throughout film history, costumes do a more accurate job commenting on aesthetic values of the time more than they do representing the past.  Outlander's costume designer, Terry Desbach, noted this in her comment to American Duchess' discussion of "the dress":

"Doing a period piece for television or film is especially challenging. There is much pressure placed on designers to make history “contemporary”. I am not even sure I understand the logic behind that premise. It defies the definition of history...
Any kind of structure that enlarges the hips, from panniers to bum rolls, were going to be an issue in an age [today] where ["ideal"]women’s hips are non existent. Fichus were also going to be a hill to climb as they cover the cleavage."

Glancing back over a century of 18th century costume in film, the goal of engaging a contemporary audience is quite apparent:

Orphans of the Storm, 1921

Drums Along the Mohawk, 1939

The Howards of Virginia, 1940

 The Scarlet Coat, 1955

Revolution, 1985

The Patriot, 2000

It's amazing how the "18th century" looks very different depending on the lens it's viewed through.  The aesthetic changes to speak to each audience.

While visuals--costume, hair and makeup, sets--are easy examples to use, storyline, character development, social mores, and cultural mannerisms are just as prone to re-honing for the purpose of engaging the audience.  Good entertainment is not always made of pure, unedited historical facts (though when it is--it's very good!).  In creating historically based characters, gaps exist that writers must fill--hopefully narrowing the gap with careful research, but likely extrapolating or even inventing in order to create a rounded character.  Same for plots--we may accept that gaps exist in the historical record, but audiences don't like holes in their storylines.

But doesn't accuracy still matter?  Instead of showing example of inaccurate portrayal in film as social commentary or fulfilling audience expectations, shouldn't I be arguing that it's just wrong and should be stopped or at least laughing at the inaccuracies?  

Well, no.  (Except the truly laughable.  Like 1955's hilarious boob-centered silhouette--I think Elizabeth Taylor wore that dress to the Oscars...)

I do acknowledge the inherent risk in presenting inaccuracies to the viewing public--people absorb, often not even consciously, what they see and hear and begin to build a picture of what is right based on those potentially inaccurate depictions.  Plenty of people have inaccurate understandings of plenty of historical contexts due in no small part to inaccurate film depictions.  (Corsets are torture and everyone wore white powdered wigs...right?)  But these people sought to be entertained by film, not educated.  If they sought education, they would look beyond film--and judging by the masses I encounter at many reenactment events, they do.  

Beyond entertainment alone, film is art, not pedantic academic research.  So is novel-writing.  They seek to do more than educate; they seek to edify, illuminate, and comment on the human condition, on the commonalities of life across cultures.  A "good movie" speaks to us.  A "good book" sticks with us and crops up from time to time to offer commentary as we live our lives or face difficult questions.  The goal was never complete authenticity, because the goal was to create something new.  Art is creation, not reproduction, and thereby not bound to the same rules as education is.

And to say that ALL creative work must adhere to a certain set of standards--the absolute highest stitch counting, hand-sewn, documentable standards--is to make a value judgment that I'm not prepared to make.  It says that authenticity matters MORE than aesthetic, MORE than literature, MORE than anything.  In film, novels, any form of fictionalized historical representation, I'm not prepared to believe that. Do I think some works could have done a better job striking a balance?  Of course.  Do I think some reenactors could do a better job situating their flawless material culture in a larger picture--a "narrative" if you will--to assist in audience understanding?  Yes.  (And plenty of reenactors could do a better job on authentic representation, too--myself included on some counts.  Working on it.  We all are.)

Perhaps an equally intriguing question is, "Why do we demand 'authenticity' out of creative fields when doing so merely opens a giant debate of 'how authentic is authentic enough?'"  I think much of the answer lies in the same impulse that drives us to buy the snacky granola bar that claims to be "All Natural" or "Healthy" despite what might be on the nutrition label.  There is an appeal to authenticity that drives us to seek it and drives producers and others to tout the value of their work based on it.  

In "When Fictionalized Fact Matter," author Susan Bordo notes that the allure of authenticity as selling point to an audience that she says has a hard time drawing the line between fact and film-created "texture" already.  She points out that Philippa Gregory, author of The Other Boleyn Girl, describes authenticity as a high priority for her and fervently defends the "bits" that she fills in to complete stories left incomplete by history alone--yet Bordo questions if this is in truth reflected in the novels themselves.  She notes as well the discrepancy between our interpretation of "high" and "low" representations--critics were quick to jump on the inaccuracies in The Tudors, but for the most part left similar inventions in literary writer Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall alone. This is a dangerous assumption, says Bordo:

Let's not imagine, however, that just because they belong to literature rather than pop culture, they are more historically accurate than the Anne and Cromwell of Thousand Days or The Tudors.

Is the inverse true as well--do film and written word alike seek the "authentic" moniker in order to appear more high-brow, to draw in a more sophisticated audience?  I think so.  But the irony is that the sophistication they seek should be able to tease invention from fact--yet they rely on audience inability to do so in "selling" their authenticity.

As a reference point, consider the openly inauthentic approach of 2006's Marie Antoinette.  Director Sofia Coppola never claimed historical authority, despite the often spot-on visual accuracy the film portrayed via costume design and its filming location in Versailles itself.  Instead, she left open the opportunity for artistically styled inaccuracy.  By not claiming accuracy as a goal, and by being open about the liberties she took with source material, Coppola in many ways absolved herself from criticism of the historical faux-facts and inauthentcities portrayed in the film:

"It is not a lesson of history. It is an interpretation documented, but carried by my desire for covering the subject differently."

Perhaps if we stop demanding authenticity of a medium that doesn't lend itself to it, fewer creators will claim authenticity that does not exist.

I'm not giving film or art or novels or, back to where we started, historical costuming a free pass, either.  If you're going to present historical fictions of any kind, I rather think they should at least be possible per the historic record, hopefully be highly plausible, and at best be documentable. Inauthenticies should ideally be openly discussed and even recognizable as such. Still, I do think that we need to stop judging art forms on the merits we hold educational forms to, and recognize that their value does not hinge on historical authenticity alone.

That said, it might be best not to watch any 18th century costume dramas with me...unless you like running commentary.

An Open Letter to Costume Designers for Screens Both Big and Small

I have enormous respect for what you do.

What you do is art.  Really.  Taking characters and plots and representing them in clothing is, in truth, creating wearable art and I applaud you for that.  You have technical understanding that is far beyond what I can even imagine.  Perhaps more than any other visual element of the screen, you capture characters and provide a visual touchstone for viewers.

But.

Costume designers of historical and historically-inspired film and television: Please stop claiming that what you're doing is research-based or "authentic" if it's really not.

It's ok.  Your job is to create costumes, not museum reproductions.  Your work is for film and television, for entertainment, not for living history museums and reenactors and other educational outlets.

I admit, this is the piece that set me off:

but even more than the costume itself, the interview from Yahoo.com and the claim that the piece "is based on lots and lots of research. We looked at a million pictures."

Outlander isn't intended to be a historically pristine piece of work--the premise alone veers it toward historical fantasy, and a lot of people are enjoying it for that.  And that's great.

But to give an interview discussing all the research you did--the "million" images you had pinned to your wall...well, I'm forced to ask...did you look at them?  I mean, really look?  Long enough to realize that no sleeves in 18th century gowns ever looked like they were ripped off of a gauze fairy dress (aside from, perhaps, "fancy dress" which is something very different from a wedding dress)?  Long enough to see that visible boning channels are rarely seen in 18th century outer garments, even though many do include boning?  Long enough to see how that boning is incorporated and what purpose it serves?  Long enough to understand how stomachers are typically constructed?  To see that, actually, sequins *could* have been used?

Apparently not.

And that's fine.  Really.  It's fine if you took inspiration from historical images and then said, "I'm not creating a reproduction here, I'm creating a costume."  Fine choice.  And I'd say that this costume does exactly what you wanted--it exudes a kind of roughspun opulence and I imagine that's precisely the aesthetic your viewership is enjoying in the show.

What's not fine is claiming a position of authority and discussing your "research" as though it yielded an example of correct 18th century clothing like this:

One example out of hundreds--as a comparison point.  This seems similar to the style the costume gown presented above appears to represent, which is why I chose it.

It did not.

It yielded a beautiful costume, a gown with elements of 17th century (the off-shoulder silhouette--I wonder if you encountered the fairly common portraits of individuals in older costume and attributed it to the wrong era?), 18th century (the embroidery, the "stomacher" and "open robe" effect), and Renaissance fantasy (those sleeves are truly beautiful!).

Here's the thing.  I don't make art.  I make researched clothing items for educational purposes.  I am, self-confessed here, boring.  But I don't claim that what I do is anything other than a handcraft, a historical presentation, and, on a good day, preserving a lifeway.  I don't claim that I'm making art.  So, maybe, let's each claim and be proud of what we do?  Leave historical representation to the anal retentive among us and stop making a claim that the art you produce is authentic recreation?

Unless you want to pursue historical authenticity.  Then please, dive in.  The waters are deep and, somehow, full of rabbit holes (when did rabbits learn to swim?).  The rewards are often evasive, as those who understand the effort you made to nail a few details are fewer than those who appreciate a beautiful costume.  And you have to give up some elements of creativity while embracing others--making glitter-thread out of mica is going to have to go by the wayside in favor of perfecting your spaced backstitch.  But I swear--it's fun.  It truly is.  And greatly rewarding in its own way.

I'm not going to claim that complete historical authenticity is the right path for every costume or every costumer.  That's not my place, nor do I truly believe it.  However, if you claim authenticity, produce it.  And if you don't produce it, don't claim it.

The Pink Caraco Steps Out

I had the plan to finish my pink caraco ensemble (caraco, white ruffled petticoat, and silk-covered hat) in time for our reenacting organization's biggest event this fall--a "birthday celebration" Grand Encampment.  Unfortunately, other people's mending needs (a pair of breeches with giant holes in the inseam and a completely destroyed shirt collar come to mind) precluded finishing the petticoat.  On the upside, I was able to borrow a similar white petticoat from my mother, which I had made as part of an ensemble for her years ago.

So the pink caraco stepped out for the first time on Sunday.

With all the photography that pours out of a weekend like this, I had expected that some of my friends would snap plenty of pictures of the group--and thereby of the outfit, too.  But we had barely any time to stop and take proper pictures, and so I had to content myself with waiting to see if any strangers happened to get a shot, post it to Facebook, and eventually make its way back to me via the magic of tagging (oh, technology!).

And this would be the first time I saw the full outfit--lacking a full-length mirror or any other nice homey touches in my tent (and having gotten dressed quite literally in bed as it was about 40 degrees when I woke up Sunday morning), I had no idea if the whole thing worked together.  As I'm sure you noticed from the dress form photos, it's a poor representation of what a garment will look like on a human body with proper underpinnings.

I'm lucky enough to have had two photos make their way to my viewing.  This is the first:

Ha! That's me in pink and white in the background.  The foreground are friends of mine from the artillery, lining up for opening formation.  It did give me a good enough view of the back to show me that I'm happy with the pleats in the skirts and the overall fit of the garment.

But then I found this one:

The Chicago Tribune posted some images from the event online, and of course they caught a shot of me screwing around with my fancy new walking stick and laughing my head off with a friend.  Despite the goofy expression on my face, I'm quite pleased with the overall ensemble!  The caraco fits as it should (fitted back and chest, arms aren't terribly tight and that's deliberate, full skirts over the hips and false rump).  And what a difference a false rump makes!  I can pick out exactly what needs to be fixed, too--addressing the closure and re-doing it with lacing will eliminate the bunching at the front (dressed in bed, remember?), and finishing out the trim will yield that final 18th century touch.  I also need to find a better way to tie my hat on so I don't end up with rumple-cap.

I'll add, because I think I'm allowed to brag--this was caught while I was walking to the "battle" field with the artillery, where I narrated the artillery demonstration.  I've done this before...but never for something in the neighborhood of a thousand people!  What I was proudest of, however, was that I was not at all nervous taking the microphone.  That's a pretty big accomplishment for me!

Oh, the challenges of historical clothing--actually seeing it on yourself can be difficult!

Faking 18th Century Pinking

In creating the Pink Caraco, I knew one thing for sure--I wanted pinked trim (yep, that's right--a Pinked Pink Caraco).  18th Century "pinking," like pinking today, means cutting a decorative edge into fabric.  Unlike modern seamstresses using pinking shears, however, 18th century seamstresses achieved the designs using a punch.

This makes for a look that's very different from a straight pinking-shear cut.

Detail of Robe a la Francaise from Met Museum, c 1760

Most punches are semi-circular in shape and have zig-zag shaped V's or scallops cut into the circle itself--so that the design produced by the punch is a scallop made out of mini scallops or zig-zags.

Using the punch involved a stable base and a mallet--one set the punch over the fabric and tapped the mallet on it to acheive the look.  Though I've heard that the fabric was folded to make one punch go through more than one layer of fabric, that doesn't appear to be the case for this woman, as illustrated by Diderot:

Quite the time-consuming process!

Of course, my first stop in trying to create pinked trim for myself was to try to find an antique punch.  These aren't that uncommon, and I quickly snagged one off ebay for about $12.  

Unfortunately, the piece is dull.  The edge actually appears to have been (unevenly) filed down, perhaps for leatherworking or another crafting process.  I'm still working on getting an edge put back on it, as our favorite sharpening service has been MIA at the farmer's market this month.

What to do in the meantime?

Unfortunately again, just waiting isn't an option.  The front of the caraco really does need that trim to "hide" the closure.  So I devised a stand-in that looks far closer to the original than a simple pinked edge.

You need:

Pins

Pinking Shears (SHARP ones that will cut through a few layers of fabric--paper craft scissors won't, ahem, cut it.)

Basically, use pinking shears to mimic the look of the punch by cutting even scallops.  To assist in making the scallops even, borrow a mindset from origami and fold the fabric before wielding your shears.  

I folded the fabric accordion-style to the width I wanted the scallop to be.  I only folded maybe 3-4 times so that the fabric wouldn't be too thick to cut easily, and pinned the layers into place.

I then folded the layers of folded fabric in half, and cut a gentle semi-circle using the pinking shears.

Ta-da!

Is it perfect?  Nope, far from it.  Once my poor pinking punch is put back into tip-top shape, I plan to redo the trim on my caraco (and then go about punching All The Things, as well).  After looking at dozens and dozens of trimmed caracos and gowns, however, I concluded that anything but pinked edges on trim was highly unusual, NOT trimming a caraco would highly unusual, and modern straight pinking is a poor substitute for the scallops.  (Note: I found exactly one straight zig-zag edges, as pinking shears would produce, on 8th century clothing while looking into this, and the design was shallower than modern shears and added holes and other elements.)  So--if you're looking for a suitable stand-in until a "real" pinking punch presents itself, or you're in a costuming milieu that does not demand complete authenticity, give Faux-Pinking a try!

Pink Caraco! (HSF #16)

Confession: I cheated slightly on this challenge. The guidelines indicated that one should select a term from the Historical Fashion and Textile Glossary on the Dreamstress's website.  I chose a term that was absent, but that I have been interested in, confused by, and ultimately felt deserved some vindication from terminology misuse, abuse, and un-use!  So I first dug into the term, then began working on the project itself.

Pictured with a white cotton voile petticoat and kercheif

The Challenge: #16 – Terminology

Term: Caraco (Discussed here!)

Fabric: Pink silk taffeta, white voile lining and trim

Pattern: Drafted from a mishmosh of sources, based on extants and images

Year: 1780 

Notions:  Pink silk thread, white cotton thread

How historically accurate is it?  Rather good.  I am sure there are some bloopers with how I did the pattern itself, as I didn't have the *exact* thing I wanted to recreate in a gridded or even sketched out version.  I goofed the closure, as I already discussed.  The fabric is correct to the period, and particularly correct for this garment, which is often described in plates as taffeta.  

It looks much less lumpy over stays

The trim imitates the pinked white linen or cotton trim on fashion plates, as well; I procured an antique pinking tool, but it was dull and I haven't had a chance to get it sharpened, so I faux-pinked the edges using my origami plus pinking shears method (patent pending...)

Originals and plates typically have trim like this running the entire perimeter of the garment, so once I get the real pinking in progress, I plan to re-do and complete the trim.

The back pleats create the characteristic shape and will look less flat and blah when worn over stays and a bum pad.  As is they kind of look deflated.  My dress form doesn't have enough junk in the trunk.

Finally, the caraco was completely handsewn with a combination of backstitch, running stitch, and whipstitch.  You can't see in this picture very well, but I'm very proud of the eensy, barely visible topstitching in the shoulder piece.

Another confession: I tacked a kerchief to the neckline.  My toddler loves nothing more than undressing me in public, and this will, I hope, foil her.

Hours to complete: A lot.  Twenty would be a conservative estimate.

First worn: Not worn yet!  I plan to wear it for a Ladies' Garden Stroll at a large reenactment in a couple of weeks.

Total Cost: The silk was $20 a yard, but I only used about a yard and change (I bought two yards...now I can make another pretty!)  I'll call it $25 for the silk, $15 for the cotton (which I already had, but that's roughly what it all would run you, $10 for notions (had to buy thread, and insisted on silk), so $55 at the end of the day.