Making a fabric-covered belt

My encounters with vintage fashion on my Edinburgh trip weren't just limited to the Biba exhibition; I came home with dresses from both Fantouche Vintage and Carnivàle Vintage. (I also came home with some more yarn from Kathy's Knits, and the wonderful Edinburgh Fabrics came up trumps with supplies for my 1915 ensemble, but those are posts for other weeks!)

Anyway, moving on. The dress from Carnivàle is a dressmaker-made cotton shirtwaist in a fabulous print. But like so many vintage dresses, it has lost the matching belt which once fitted through its belt carriers. It would definitely look better with a belt, so I set about making a replacement. I was never going to be able to match the greens or the gold in the print, so I went for a dark grey instead.

The fabric

Tasha Could Make That has this excellent video on making matching belts for dresses, but she uses a foundation of belting, which appears to be fabric-covered plastic strip sold in a roll. I've been unable to find anywhere in the UK which sells this, so have come up with an alternative approach, which I’ve now used several times. On the basis that I can't be the only person who needs to do this, I've attempted to write down my method in case it's helpful to anyone else. (Apologies for the fact that all the images will appear to be the wrong way round to most readers - because I'm left-handed I sew from left to right.)

Start off with your buckle. I was lucky to find this mottled green one in my buckle box, which was ideal for the dress. The belt width will be determined by the height of the hole inside the buckle, in this case just under 2.5cm. The belt needs to be wide enough to 'catch' on the buckle, otherwise it may slide open. Don't make the base too wide, however, as it will have fabric wrapped around it.

Having the perfect buckle was definitely a good start

Instead of belting, I use pelmet buckram (also called pelmet backing) for the belt base. This is a stiff woven fabric, 5-6"/12.5-15cm wide, and coated on both sides with heat-activated adhesive. It comes in rolls and is sold by the metre. Cut out a piece twice the width of the belt, and long enough to include both a wrap around the centre of the buckle and an overlap (don't use your dressmaking scissors to do this, the adhesive granules will do them no favours!). Fold it in half lengthways.

Folding counteracts its tendency to curl

You could attach the belt fabric directly to this, but I always make a base layer of plain, thinnish, cotton. This is cut slightly longer than the belt, and about 2.5 times the width. I also prefer to only have one layer of buckram around the buckle, so I cut off about 1"/2.5cm from one side.

Set up ready to start ironing

Wrap the cotton tightly over the unfolded edge, and iron it to melt the adhesive. Be careful not to let the iron touch the buckram at all, so don't go all the way up to the edge of the cotton.

Do this all the way along the belt

Then repeat with the other side.

Make sure the fabric is tightly wrapped

The belt will be very pliable when it's warm, but will turn rigid when it cools. I always leave mine on the ironing board until it's entirely cold, to make sure I end up with a flat belt.

Trim the end with the double thickness of buckram to a point. Cut a scrap of the outer fabric into a hexagon to fit the belt end, and sew it onto the wrong side of the belt (the side with the overlapped cotton).

This method avoids the bulk of lots of wrapped fabric

The outer fabric should also be cut slightly longer than the belt, and about 2.5 times the width. Trim one end to the point shape, fold the edges under, mitre the point, and sew the edges onto the scrap attached to the belt point. Then fold the fabric tightly round the belt and sew down the rest of the point.

Hopefully the picture makes it clearer

Work along the belt, pinning the fabric tightly and slip-stitching it into place.

The base fabric provides something to pin into

Belt covering completed

I tend to leave some fabric beyond the buckram at the buckle end. Fold the end of the belt round the buckle, and sew it down.

The buckle attached

Because I am a completist, I like to make a belt loop as well. These are fiddly, but I eventually worked out a method which works for me. Cut out a strip of fabric approx. 3.5 times the width of the desired loop, and long enough to go round two layers of the belt plus a decent seam allowance. Fold it lengthways to the width of the loop on one side, and a narrow seam allowance on the other side, and press. Then fold it lengthways again, and press firmly.

The green line marks the final fold, gauge shown for scale

Diagram of the folded fabric

Unfold the strip, wrap it round the two layers of belt, and pin the ends together. This should be snug, but not really tight. Make sure that the fold lines are aligned.

Pinned together

Remove the pinned strip from the belt, and sew along the pinned line. Do not cut the thread when finished.

Sewn together

Trim off the excess seam allowance, and finger press open.

Ready to fold up

You can now fold up the loop along the pressed lines, and slip stitch the edge into place.

Sewing it together

You now have a completed belt, with a matching belt loop.

All done

And here is the dress, worn with the belt. It's a bit short-waisted, even for me, and I don't normally show my knees, but I still really like it.

I think the grey works well

It's fun to make a shiny new garment from scratch, but there's a different, but equal (to my mind, at least), satisfaction to be gained from a project which enhances something already made but a little lacking.

Finally, I'm aware that this tutorial is a bit sketchy in places. As ever, if you get stuck trying to follow it, please get in touch and I'll do my best to help. Happy belt making!

The guilty secret

Only a short post this week, as I am not long back from my Edinburgh trip. Waiting for me when I got home was this new addition to my collection of dressmaking publications.

Simplicity Sewing Book, 1947

I must admit that this had caught my eye because of the illustration. It's very rare in my experience to see any publication about home sewing actually feature someone in the act of stitching on the cover. All my issues of Vogue Pattern Book have a cover of someone wearing a garment made from a Vogue pattern, but no indication of how it came into being. It's as if the clothes were made by mice in the night.

From The Tailor of Gloucester - this is not how the magic happens!

My next Simplicity Sewing Book is about a decade later.

From 1958

The only hint in the illustration that this might relate to sewing is the dress pattern the model holds. Upside down, and with part of the number obscured.

Close-up of the pattern

Thanks to the wonder that is CoPA, I was able to identify it as pattern number 1951, from 1957. It's not the dress that the model is wearing, and nowhere is there any indication of which (if any) Simplicity pattern was used for the red dress. I drew a complete blank however, trying to identify the pattern on the cover of the 1947 issue.

Whereas that issue was purely instructional, this one includes a few advertisements.

Back cover advertisement

Jump forward two decades, and things are more whimsical. There's sewing equipment, but it's used as jewellery and hat trimming only.

From 1975

The back cover ad is one of a series which also appeared in Vogue Pattern Book. It's for Trylko, the new synthetic sister thread to Sylko.

Because heaven forbid you should have skills

The implication is that making your own clothes is something you want to keep quiet about. In fact, the copy even goes so far as to say, "So no one will ever know you can make a suit like this" (my emphasis), as though even possessing the ability to do this was questionable, let alone using it. It's true that there was a certain negativity about hand-made clothes by this time (even though dressmaking was still taught as a useful skill in schools), but it seems odd to see it reinforced in a publication aimed at sewists. It's hard to imagine publications for any other hobby (especially male ones?) being so furtive about the very thing they are trying to sell.

The Biba Story

Very last-minute (it closed today), but I finally got to see The Biba Story: 1964–1975. I missed it when it was at the Fashion and Textile Museum in London, but it was then on tour to the Dovecot Studios in Edinburgh. I can travel again now, and I need very little inducement to visit my birthplace!

Exhibition poster

As with exhibitions at the FTM, very little was behind glass.

Beautifully laid out

The exhibition began with Barbara Hulanicki's first career as a fashion illustrator – she claimed that it was sketching pieces at collection launches which first made her realise how much couture was out of step with youth culture. Along with her husband she launched Biba's Postal Boutique, a small mail-order business, in 1963. One of her designs, for a pink gingham dress and headscarf, appeared in a newspaper feature in summer 1964.

Reproduction of the dress, and the newspaper feature

Its huge success, receiving around 17,000 orders, prompted her to open her first shop in Abingdon Road in Kensington a few months later. Biba clothes were always sold at low price points, but behind this was a keen business sense; for example Abingdon Road and all the subsequent Biba shops opened in the autumn because the price and profit margins on winter coats were much higher than on dresses.

Coat sold in the Abingdon Road shop

Items were produced in very short runs, with new stock appearing almost daily. In 1966 Biba moved to larger premises in Kensington Church Street.

Clothes sold in the Church Street shop

Biba started producing mail-order catalogues in 1968. Carefully designed to fit through letterboxes without getting damaged, and photographed by the likes of Helmut Newton and Sarah Moon, the catalogues brought the Biba experience to customers unable to travel to London,

Biba catalogues (angled to reduce reflections)

Some of the clothes featured in the catalogues

In 1969 Biba moved again, this time to considerably larger premises but still in Kensington. The new store had separate departments for furnishing, accessories and cosmetics as well as clothing. It also had specially designed interiors.

Clothes sold in Kensington High Street shop

Not sure why some displays included vintage workboxes, but I liked it

As ever, prices were kept low by whatever means were available. Although designed (and worn) as evening wear, this garment was sold as a dressing gown because nightwear was subject to a lower rate of tax than daywear!

Very glamorous dressing gown

The Kensington High Street Biba became one of the most profitable stores, per square metre, in the world. Presumably this was what drove the decision to go even bigger. In 1973 Big Biba opened in the former Derry and Toms department store, also on Kensington High Street.

Clothes from Big Biba

The seven-storey building was so large that a Biba newspaper was created to guide shoppers around the premises.

The Biba newspaper

As with the previous store, the interiors had been designed to reflect the full Biba experience.

Hulanicki in the original Derry and Toms

The women's fashion floor

Display in the cosmetics department

Each floor had a separate theme, and as well as selling goods there was also a roof garden and the Rainbow Room restaurant which seated 500.

The Rainbow Room restaurant

Big Biba only lasted two years. The exhibition doesn't go into detail about why it failed, but a Scottish lady I got chatting to at the exhibition offered her own opinion. As a young teenager, she had been desperate to visit Biba, and on a family trip to London persuaded her parents to take her. The only thing she could afford was a small pack of playing cards, but she bought them, "just to get a Biba bag". She also said that her father had commented on how few people were actually buying anything. Perhaps if you make shopping theatre, you have to ensure that people come for more than just the performance.

Biba playing cards

I was too young for either, but I've always felt that I would have been a Biba girl rather than Mary Quant, and this exhibition confirmed that. I could have happily worn most of the clothes on show, but it will be no great surprise that one of my favourites was this 1940s-inspired dress.

It even has a side zip (yes, I checked!)

One this which really struck me though was how much Biba foreshadowed the current fast fashion model. Barbara Hulanicki made cheap, on-trend, clothes to be 'worn now', in limited size ranges to keep costs down. Due to initial difficulties sourcing materials, designs were limited to 500 copies in any one fabric. With the exception of the catalogue clothes, this restriction remained in place, generating a desire among customers not to miss out. Hulanicki was even quoted as saying, "Take it or leave it, but if you wait it won't be here when you come back".

The big difference though is in the quality and detailing. Obviously many of the items in the exhibition were cherished pieces and well cared for by their owners, but the fact remains that they have lasted over 50 years. This cotton chiffon dress has French seams, a narrow edging around the neck, and rouleau ties at the cuffs – all time-consuming construction details in a tricky fabric.

So many fiddly details

Finally, the Dovecot Studio is actually a tapestry weaving studio with exhibition space. In a lovely tie-in between these two elements, one of the tapestry trainees made this piece specially for the exhibition.

Biba logo tapestry

A new resource

It's amazing what you find when you have a clear out. This time my discovery was digital rather than physical. My laptop was getting a bit creaky, and I realised that this was hardly surprising as it's over a decade old. So it seemed wise to get a replacement before it died on me, potentially taking everything with it. In the process of identifying what was worth transferring from old to new, I came across a bookmark referencing Le Petit Echo de la Mode.

Masthead

This was a French publication, described in the English translation of its Wikipedia entry as "a weekly family newspaper, practical, mainly intended for women, . . . with a very low selling price". It ran from 1879 to 1983, selling over one million copies a week at its height. The bookmark was for the collection of issues held in Gallica, the digital library of the National Library of France (BnF).

Although I had saved this, I had forgotten all about it. So I investigated, and found an absolute treasure trove. There are issues for 48 separate years, including a complete run from 1888 to 1932. It's free to use, and open access. Plus, it's a reflection of what the majority of women would be wearing rather than high fashion. So of course, given my project to make a complete 1915 ensemble, I had a look at some issues from that year.

My very rusty Higher French is not equal to the task of translating large amounts of text, but it's clear that each issue contains the same three fashion-related items. First, there is the Revue de la Mode, written by the editor-in-chief 'Baroness de Clessy' (actually Claire de Penanster, wife of the proprietor Charles de Penanster). This always includes an illustration of several outfits, along with detailed descriptions, and sometimes the prices of the patterns used to make them.

25 April issue

Then there is a separate full-page or sometimes double-page fashion feature.

2 May issue

Finally, amid the advertisements for toothpaste, hair improvers, dubious medications etc., is this week's free pattern offer. The reader can claim one of the three by sending off a stamp and the coupon at the bottom of the page. Judging from the number of page scans with a bottom section missing, this was a popular feature.

2 May issue

The patterns were available in four sizes; bust 92cm, 100cm, 108cm and 116cm (36" – 46"), and readers were reminded that each pattern must only be used by one person.

24 October issue

Some issues also include a needlework feature.

25 April issue

Amid all the fashion however, it's impossible to miss the fact that France is a nation at war. And, unlike Britain, it is a war on their own soil. For two-thirds of the year, the cover illustrations regularly include wounded soldiers - albeit nothing too severe; crutches and a heavily bandaged foot appear often.

2 May issue

20 June issue

Family scenes also have war references.

21 March issue

From September onwards however, once the war was into its second year, the cover illustrations revert, mostly, to those of a family and fashion publication.

24 October issue

What could not be ignored though was the scale of bereavement, an area in which women bore the brunt. Mourning wear appears regularly.

25 April issue

Sometimes it takes centre stage, as with this cover.

17 October issue

On other occasions it is more subtle, such as this somewhat incongruous image of a widow sitting amid an otherwise cheery beach scene.

20 June issue

In Britain, the old rules for mourning wear eased slightly as the war dragged on; the sheer number of casualties meant that almost everyone would be perpetually wearing black otherwise. It will be interesting to spend some time looking at later issues, to see if a similar pattern emerges in France. And I'm sure there will be lots of other reasons to consult these magazines as well.