Construction Notes:I

If you're just tuning in, I recently completed a new 1860s ballgown, made out of silk tartan I recovered by disassembling my 2012 silk tartan ballgown. The new version is a lot better! And not just because it has trim and closures.

look ma, no pins!

When I originally decided to embark on this project, I spent a long time looking for inspiration. My original plan was based on this extant dress, worn to a ball at Balmoral by the Princess of Wales in 1863:

Note that at some point in the 1930s it was re-fashioned for wear at a different ball at Balmoral (worn that time by Queen Alexandra) so I am unsure how much of the skirt situation is original vs. from the re-make.

But I've always hated that underskirt...tiny ruffles on 1860s dresses are just not my taste. So I set out to look for something more to my liking. This actually turned out to be tricky, because it turns out tiny ruffles/fussy details under overskirts were pretty popular (at least, on the fashion plates I could find). But then I found this teal and white dress and I loved it:

looking at it now, I realize I reversed the bodice sections...ooops. oh well, too late now!

So that was my new target. As I was short on silk, I spent a lot of time fiddling before I actually cut anything out. The underskirt was a good place to start: I used a historical trick and made the bottom half silk, and the top half (hidden by the overskirt) cotton. I had to piece a small portion of the silk, but now it's in the back and not noticeable when I wear it.

And then came the bodice. As I mentioned, this was the most complex 1860s bodice I had ever attempted, as it required a careful assembly order to ensue that the right things overlapped with each other. My original plan was to construct the entire bodice out of a medium-weight cotton (that petticoat fabric I mentioned) and then apply all of the silk onto the cotton base. This...did not work. Like, not at all, it was a huge disaster. Luckily, plan B went a bit better!

Plan B was that I assembled the bodice in stages. Stage 1: I cut out the top third of my usual 1860s bodice pattern in red silk, and flat lined that to the cotton lining that I had taken apart from plan A. (All of the red silk was pinked, as I knew a lot of edges would be raw.) 

Stage 2: I cut the bottom two-thirds of my usual 1860s bodice pattern in tartan silk, and then created a zig-zag edge by scaling down the triangle I used to cut the zig-zag edge on the tartan overskirt (which I had done first--I used the zags I cut out for the sleeves and shoulder points). I then bound the zig-zag top edge of the tartan bodice pieces with cotton. 

Stage 3: I flat lined the tartan bodice pieces to the cotton bodice pieces over the silk, leaving the zig-zag edge loose.

I pull my basting stitches after assembly, so I like to baste in crazy neon colors. This project got lime green!

Stage 4: I assembled the bodice as usual.

Stage 5: I cut (and pieced where needed) wide bias strips of red silk, which I folded in half to create mock pleats. I pinned these in place on my dress form, then took them off and replaced and stitched down each level 1 at a time so that the edges are all hidden in the overlaps. The final row of pleating mostly ends inside the tartan layer, which hides the ends (and is why I left the zig-zags loose earlier on).

That was the majority of the weird bodice construction. The little points around the armscye and the larger ones on the sleeve are just bag lined with cotton to create finished edges, since you can't see much under the ribbon (well, you can't now. I hadn't gotten sleeve trim on by the ball). The bodice is boned along the back, seams, and darts, and closes in back with hooks and bars.

The one true moment of panic came when I realized that 6 days before the ball I had not begun to attach trim. There are about 15 yards of pleated velvet ribbon on this thing...next time I try to finish planning a wedding and sew a new ballgown at the same time, someone hit me upside the head so I can't. But minus the sleeve trim, which went on afterwards, I got it pretty much done!

There are a couple of bodice things I'd like to fix, and I really need a bigger hoop, but really--I'm so happy with this project. Which is good, because that metre of tartan silk I bought to boost my scraps? It was the end of the factory's supply. There's just not much demand for it anymore, which is sad...and also means next time I'd need to have it custom woven, and that is way outside my budget. So this will have to be my one, well-loved tartan dress.

In which an old dress returns, much improved

My deep love of tartan fashion history began in college, when I spent a year at the University of Edinburgh (purportedly to do science, but in the end there was a lot of dancing, baking, tea, and tartan in there too). While I was there I picked up shifts as a nursery temp, and at the end of the year I was able to use some of my pence on a few metres of dress Stuart, the white-backed Stuart tartan colorway that I had fallen in love with while learning about Queen Victoria's own highland adventures.

Long story short, I wasn't a very good seamstress in college...and sewing in a dorm room didn't improve matters very much. It was a high-pressure project, what with it being a barely-enough-to-make-the-thing amount of very expensive silk. I was happy enough with it at the time, but it's always had issues and was never really a dress I loved the way I had wanted to when I was imagining it in my Edinburgh student flat. (If you're curious, I wore it in 2012 a few times that I blogged about.) So when my dance company started discussing the possibility of a Victoria and Albert 1860s dance weekend, I knew I wanted to re-make the dress into what I had originally hoped it would be.

While there is more trim to add (and some skirt trim to re-apply...a chair bit me at the ball!), I am finally in love with my tartan ballgown. This was the most complex bodice I have ever put together, but I'm really proud of where I've gotten in the last few years.

I am also immensely pleased with the re-make, re-use spirit of this dress. I would say in the end about 75% of the material I used was taken apart from a previous project: the silk tartan was of course my 2012 ballgown, and all of the cotton bits (lining, the top section and waistband of the underskirt) were once a petticoat I made, mis-pleated, and then never wore because it sat in a pile to someday be fixed. I did add 1 metre of new silk tartan (added as a panel to the skirt and also became the new bodice-the old bodice was cut up to make piping) and 2 yards (I think? I don't remember because I bought it several years ago...) of red silk for the underskirt and under-bodice.

To celebrate, here are some photos!

evidence that I do in fact dance in my ballgowns! this is from our performance of the Prince Imperial quadrille.

This ended up getting quite long, so...a whole lot of construction notes are coming up next. Stay tuned!

1830s for Christmas

Despite a crazy fall (shenanigans! upheaval! homework!), I really wanted to make a new dress for Fezziwig's Ball, our annual Dickensian extravaganza in Salem. I've had a particular image sitting on my inspiration pile for ages, for an obvious reason...

portrait by Alexandre-Jean Dubois-Drahonet

it basically fulfills all of my love of 19th century romanticized Scotland in one go, with the tartan sash and the thistle hair. I haven't been able to find much information about this portrait, but my best guess is that it was done between 1828-1831 (when Dubois-Drahonet died).

It's not a period I do, so I've never had an excuse to make an 1830s ensemble. Fezziwig's is really the only opportunity, because the dress code is just "the life of Dickens"--1830s fits the bill! So this year I decided that was going to be my one project. And I'm up and running! I am really pleased with how things are going so far.

For the actual project, I decided what I liked best about this portrait was the sheer over-layer, especially the sleeves. So I went looking for extent garments with similar features, and found a few that spoke to me:

1820s, Kent State collection

1829, Bath Fashion Museum

1830, FIT

1830s, Stete Hermitage Museum

1832, LACMA

I also found several descriptions of dresses from 1830-31 with "sheer net oversleeves," and so I decided to use bridal tulle to make the over-layer instead of something like sheer organza. I'm not sure this is really fine enough, but it looks good so far--light and floaty and almost invisible, so I'm happy with it.

I'm excited to share more progress on this project as construction continues!

200: A Tartan Timeline

This is my 200th blog post! Goodness!

the first outfit from my first post in 2011 (taken on campus at Sarah Lawrence)--and yep, it's plaid!

What better way to mark a milestone than by creating a post culminating all the research I've done over the last five years (good lord, it's 2016...I don't know how that happened) on the history of plaid in women's fashion?

So here I present a brief overview of the trials and trends of tartan (and other plaids) in women's fashion from 1816-2016. For more detail on any of these eras, you can click through the links to check out my individual posts on those topics...and there's more to come!

1810s
The vibrant tartans of the Scottish units bring plaid into fashion, from Britain to Paris. For those less affected by Waterloo, tartan's popularity still breaks in with accessories.

Parisian fashion plate depicting a Scottish soldier and a French girl in plaid, 1815

1820s
Romanticism takes off, including romantic views of the Scottish Highlands by Sir Walter Scott, and readers near and far are enchanted by bagpipes, heather-covered hills, haggis, and plaid. King George IV forever solidifies this as the "true" impression of Scotland with his visit in 1822, where he's greeted by the exact be-tartan-ed bagpipers he expected--a spectacle arranged in his honor. With Scotland's place as a truely romantic country, tartan by extension is a romantic pattern.

tartan dress and bonnet, Le Journal des Modes 1826

1830s
Romanticism in high form! The popularization of the idea of clans and special tartan meanings leads to a rise in publication of tartan swatch books, such as The Scottish Gael by James Logan in 1831--the first known publication of the Royal Stewart tartan (although it almost certainly existed long before that). A young Victoria foreshadows her own enchantment with the Highlands and all things tartan by adopting the trend for plaid.

silk tartan dress worn by HRM Victoria, 1835-7

1840s
Queen Victoria is on the throne, and is in love with all things Scottish and tartan. In 1848, the Queen and her consort, Prince Albert, purchased their own estate in the Scottish Highlands and set about manufacturing a romantic setting. Meanwhile, ongoing conflicts over land rights between large estates and crofters (beginning in the 18th century) place the Highlands at the center of a national debate on land reform. The Highland Clearances saw a huge migration of Highlanders seeking better fortunes, taking their traditions (including weaving plaid) with them. Scottish populations in Canada and America help to increase plaid's popularity across the Atlantic as those forced from their homes strive to preserve their culture.

A Highlander emigrating to Canada, R.R. Mclan, 1845

1850s
Victoria's beloved Balmoral castle is completed in 1853. To complete their vision, Albert designs a variety of tartans for use by the royal family and at the estate--the palace is decorated in multiple tartans--and the pair begin traditions of tartan-wearing in the British royal family that continue to the present day.

portrait of Queen Victoria in tartan sash, c.1850s

1860s
Balmorality (the popularity of tartan and "scottishness") is in full swing. Plaids are popular across America and Europe. The rise of chemical dyes during the mid-century further contributes to the craze by supplying endless combinations of insane colors that effectively display the magic of modern science.

plaid gown with day and evening bodices (day pictured), Germany 1866

1870s
Plaid is still highly popular, even as silhouettes change. Bright colors are especially popular, as well as the Queen's tartan, Royal Stewart. However, while plaid's popularity remains incredibly high in the fashionable scene, Highland immigrants to Canada and America begin to stop wearing tartan and the kilt as part of their daily ensembles.

plaid silk and silk velvet dress, 1878

1880s
A pattern well suited to draping, tailoring, and layering, plaid stays relatively popular in bustle fashions. It's notoriety has dropped from the mid-century peak, however.

Parisian fashion plate, 1881

1890s
Women's sports grow in popularity, and with them come smart sporting clothes. Plaid's association with menswear during this period and its traditional woolen composition makes tartan an ideal fit for sporting attire. Tartan ensembles for golf, skating, bicycling, and hiking take the stage.

bicycling ensemble in the Ladies Standard Magazine, June 1897

1900s
Plaid roots itself in tailored garments--especially woolens--in both menswear and womenswear, moving it towards a more masculine association than it had during its previous popularity in the mid-19th century. This is an important transitional period, setting the stage for tartan's use to represent the "new woman" from the 1890s through the 1910s.

street photograph capturing a woman in a plaid suit, London 1906

1910s
Plaid's use in sportswear and more "masculine" fashions leads to its use by satirists to represent the "new woman" and all that she represents, from greater independence, the battle for the right to vote, and work outside the home. Flora Drummond, known as "the General," a leader of the British women's suffrage movement and the WSPU, brought their militant form to Edinburgh in 1909. Her military march featured bagpipes and women dressed as famous Scottish women from history.

Flora Drummond, 1908

1920s
While plaid remains common for sports woolens, it is less popular in the delicate haute couture dresses frequented by flappers and vamps. One French designer, Jean Patou, seemed to favor it though. Their fashion plates and extant garments from the mid-20s bring a sporty and fun feeling to fashionable daywear.

plaid dress by Jean Patou, 1926

1930s
Tartan works equally well cut straight on the grain or on the bias, and playing with draping and changes in angle were in vogue. While not a particular trend, tartan is by now a staple of the fashionable wardrobe and appears in cottons, silks, and woolens in traditional and bias-cut designs.

a mix of plaids cut straight and on the bias

1940s
The fabric rationing of the war era leads to change in fashions for narrower garments. Now a classic print, tartan is perfect for closely tailored clothes that don't use much fabric. Additionally, knitting (both for the home front and the war effort) was quite popular during this period, and plaid patterns were just as lovely knitted into homemade sweaters and vests!

a tailored summer suit in "dress stewart" variation, Charm Magazine 1945

1950s
While Dior's "new look" opened the gates to a resurgence of full-skirted silhouettes, floral prints, and airy chiffons, plaid continues to pop up on fitted pencil dresses and circle skirts alike. Tartan is particularly prevalent on chic, mature dresses in darker, richer colors that emphasize a fashion-forward attitude--a departure from the better-remembered floral confections in baby shades with layers of petticoats.

plaid dress, 1950s

1960s
Pleated plaid goes back to its origins in the kilts and arisaids of the Scottish highlands, and pleating a length of tartan wool becomes a perfect mode for the new miniskirt. As rising hemlines raise eyebrows from the likes of Dior and Chanel, designer Mary Quant's short designs (which she named "mini" after her favorite car) help launch mini-skirts into fashion orbit. Initially a rebellious style, representing physical liberation, the miniskirt as a fashion trend took an incredibly traditional women's garment and reinvented it. And from the beginning, plaid was part of it, worn in mini-form by models like Jean Shrimpton and Twiggy, controversy and all.

plaid skirts and button-downs for Seventeen Magazine, c.1960s

1970s
Building on the youth and sub cultures begun in the 1950s-60s, the 1970s bring the birth of the punk scene, which uses music and fashion to challenge history, authority, and social attitudes. In the mid-70s, two members of the London punk scene open a record shop in Chelsea that becames a gathering place for British punk rockers. While it began life as a record shop the store went on to sell a variety of other items, including clothes that twisted British traditions and institutions to challenge and rebel. What better way then by including a very traditional symbol of rebellion against the English monarchy? (not to mention, they often used the royal family's personal sett.) Plaid is a popular, bold statement in many of these designs by the shop's co-owner, Vivienne Westwood. (Westwood's co-owner, Malcom McLaren, managed the Sex Pistols after the band formed out of the shop's clientele.)

Vivienne Westwood in plaid in London, 1970s

1980s
In perhaps a reclaiming of the pattern, "preppier" styles bring plaid back as the pattern of golfers, yacht owners, and royalty. In particular, Princess Diana wears several quite distinctive plaid ensembles throughout her marriage to Prince Charles. Her status as a fashion icon in Britain and America makes plaid a popular choice for girls in pearls.

Princess Diana disembarking the royal yacht in Aberdeen, 1985

1990s
Designers like Vivienne Westwood, Alexander McQueen, and Ellen von Unwerth bring bold, high-contrast plaids back to widespread popularity, including a return to setts based in reds, yellows, and blacks. Plus, the plaid mini! The movie "Clueless" premiers in 1995, introducing Cher Horowitz and her iconic yellow plaid mini-suit, which is amazing.

plaid suits in Clueless

2000s
Alexander McQueen, a designer and Scotsman, uses the traditional McQueen sett in many designs throughout his career--especially to call attention to and discuss Scotland's history as an occupied and disputed territory of England. His 2006-2007 fall/winter collection "Widows of Culloden" focuses on loss and what is left behind in conflict (the title references the Battle of Culloden, a key loss for the Jacobites), through an examination of how the victors (England) have adopted and commodified tartan throughout the decades. McQueen also wore a kilted ensemble in the McQueen tartan with Sarah Jessica Parker (in an outfit modified from the collection) to the Met Gala in 2006, causing quite a commotion.

McQueen with Parker at the Met, 2006

2010s
Which brings us to today. Plaid is back on the runways at New York Fashion Week from diverse designers. In their coverage, the New York Times declared that "gone are the days when plaid is just for grunge and rock and roll styles." But it has always been much more than that. A symbol of rebellion, of the fight for individual identity, a romantic idea, a classic style of the establishment. The fact that it can be--and has been--all of these things is why people (including me) are still writing about it. Plus, it creates pretty fantastic clothes.

Fall/Winter 2016 runway trends

For more plaid by yours truly:

How Tartan Became Your Favorite Plaid, at Pictorial

To Tweed or Not To Tweed: A Crash Course in Scottish Woolens

tartan in the wild

Excellent tartan sources:

Scottish Register of Tartans
From Tartan to Tartantry: Scottish Culture, History, and Myth. Ian Brown
Tartan: Romancing the Plaid. Jeffrey Banks
Tartan. Hugh Cheape
Costume of Scotland. John Dunbar
Tartan (Textiles That Changed the World). Jonathan Faiers

men's tartan tailcoat, 1820-1830

The New Woman and Plaid in the 20th Century

As soon as the weather gets a little warm, I feel obligated to go outside and enjoy it after the cold and dark of the winter (although I can't complain--Boston had a very mild winter this year!)...and I'm itching to go out for a bike ride. Instead, today I'm adding on to my series of tartan-related posts with a look at the last decade of the 19th century and the first two decades of the 20th. 

By the end of the 19th century, more women were joining the workforce, participating in sports (particularly new were bicycling and golf), attending college, and organizing to push for women's suffrage in force. With these changes came an pop culture "profile" for these active women invading previously-male domains: the "new woman." The term was used by supporters and detractors alike, but I particularly like this description from 1916 by anthropologist Elsie Clews Parsons: "the new woman means the woman not yet classified, perhaps not classifiable, the woman new not only to men, but to herself."

Cartoon in Puck: "The Bicycle--The Great Dress Reformer of the Nineteenth Century!"

The new woman needed attire appropriate for breaking down barriers, and looked to the tailored shirtwaists and jackets (and bloomers for sports) traditionally associated with men's clothes. These new ensembles included a variety of textiles and patterns: pinstripe, tweed, checks, and (of course) tartans were frequently included in both day and sportswear.

Golf suit with pleated tartan skirt, 1908 (DAR)

 Plaid in particular appears frequently in characterizations of the new woman, especially in anti-movement materials. In these images, plaid helps to show women "invading" or "encroaching" on the male sphere. Alternatively, supporting images show the new woman as a capable, competent mistress of her own destiny.

bicycle fashions, 1897 (notice the plain suit at far right)

vs. a cartoon of the "new woman"

stereoscope scene threatening a man chained to the laundry tub as his wife (suited in a plaid bicycle costume) scolds

Self-Portrait (As a New Woman), 1896, by Francis Benjamin Johnson (in a plaid shirtwaist)

golf fashions, early 1900s (plaid skirt!)

As objections to new roles for women pushed against the expansion of women's opportunities, there was pressure on those at the forefront of the women's suffrage movement to counter the stereotypical depictions of "new women" as ugly, bitter spinsters. Here plaid provided a perfect opportunity, as its previous popularity with Queen Victoria and the fashionable set during the mid-19th century offered a safely feminine pattern equally appropriate for more menswear-inspired ensembles.

a more traditionally feminine tartan ensemble from 1881

an elegant and fashionable silk dress, 1890s

plaid golf costume, 1898

sporting costumes with plaid skirts, 1899

Thus, plaid's popularity across men's and women's fashions secured the pattern's place in the new woman's wardrobe of the early 20th century. Whether marching for women's right to vote or exploring new horizons on a bicycle, plaid offered a stylish burst of color for kicking butt.

checked plaid suit, 1914 (DAR)

fashions for cycling, 1897

bathing costume, 1910s

day dress, 1910

sisters in plaid suits, via

tram conductors in Glasgow, 1918

More About the New Woman:
Suffrage at the Smithsonian
Fashioning the New Woman
Fashion and Feminism