That awkward moment . . .

. . . when you realise that you have spent so much time in the Victoria and Albert Museum's costume court that you can recognise a new addition when you see it.

I was there recently, doing some research for a project I am planning for next year, and as I strolled out I spotted this dress and thought, "Ooh, that's new". The accession date of 2018 confirmed this.

Eyecatching!

Just to put this into context: I live 200 miles from London, which is actually the closest I have ever lived to the capital. Although I go to visit exhibitions etc, it's only a couple of times a year. That I know the V&A's costume collection so well is testament to the many, many hours of 'misspent' youth (and middle age) devoted to gawping at historical costume.

And this one is well worth gawping at. The label describes it as having been made in the Netherlands in the 1770s, from English copper-plate printed cotton. Despite my best efforts leaning against the case, it wasn't possible to see the front.

The best I could manage

Fortunately, the dress is on the V&A website: you can find the details, and more photographs, here.

Front view, image © Victorian and Albert Museum, London

The fabric itself is amazing. At first glance it just looks like alternating 'stripes' of broad and narrow motifs. On closer inspection it becomes obvious how much variety there is.

Different motif designs, I think I got them all

As they appear in the fabric

Clearly whoever made this dress was a skilled dressmaker, as they made excellent use of the print.

Bodice back

Strips of the wider motifs are used around the neckline

Piecing around the shoulder

The centre back 'stripe' is a striking feature

Clever use of the design on the cuff to mimic trimming

Different elements on the front and back of the cuff, but carefully matched

Whether by accident or design, the wider motifs barely show in the gathers at the top

Finally, if this dress inspires any visitors to have a go themselves, the museum bookshop has just what they need.

The American Duchess Guide to 18th Century Dressmaking

Now all that is needed is for Ikea to use this fabric design for a range of bedding!

Saying 'thank you' with sewing

Readers who have stuck with this blog through the long process of my Masters dissertation (thank you!) will have seen references to the Dissertation Police. These are the two friends who kept me going while I wrote it, using a judiciously applied mix of encouragement, nagging, mild threats, cups of tea, and occasional alcohol. Some time ago I promised that I would make something for each of them as a thank you once I had completed, and the first of these makes is now done.

F loves teddy bears, and has asked me to help her to make one herself, which is going to be a learning curve for both of us. However she is busy at work until Christmas, so this is a project for next year. D meanwhile asked for a dressing gown.

For the pattern I settled on Vogue 8964 - partly because I like Vogue patterns and have had good results with them, but also because the dressing gown is lined. D lives in a cold Victorian house which is even colder than my cold partly-Victorian house, so an extra layer seemed like a good idea. He also dislikes synthetic fabrics, so my plan was to make it up in some sort of thick cottons. However, it was only when I had actually arrived in the fabric shop that I realised that I had forgotten to ask him what colour he wanted! Proof of how rarely I sew for other people. The reply to my hastily-sent text was "claret". I found some cotton remnants which fitted the bill, plus a roll of plain thick cotton twill. The colour was listed as 'burgundy', but I decided that this was one occasion when I could safely mix my drinks!

The pattern and the fabrics

My plan was to use the twill as the main fabric, the more subdued remnant on the left as the lining, and the brightly coloured remnant for the cuffs, revers, and pocket tops. I did worry that D might think the second remnant was a bit much, but fortunately he loved it.

The dressing gown comes in two lengths. Vogue patterns are always too long on me, but D was happy to go with the longer length, to make the end result as warm as possible. I also thought that the sleeves might be a bit too long, but again D saw the idea of extra coverage as a bonus.

The thickness of the cotton twill provided certain challenges. Making the belt loops by sewing them right sides together and turning them through proved impossible, so I folded the raw edges in and in effect top-stitched them. Similarly folding the fabric twice for the hem was not going to work, so I turned it up once, and enclosed the raw edge in bias binding.

Belt loop

Hem

The twill also proved a nightmare to press. The slightest touch of an iron was enough to create a shiny patch, so I needed my press cloth at all times. Pressing the seams open also left a mark on the right side, so I improvised a seam stick from a length of dowel wrapped in a piece of cotton - the curved shape means that the iron only presses against the centre section.

The pattern was straightforward to put together, but when it came to attaching the facing/lining to the main garment I realized that there was no allowance made for turn of cloth. Vogue Patterns, I expected better of you (although to be fair, the pattern is intended for thinner fabrics). This was easy to improvise by pinning the facing slightly inside the main piece.

DIY turn of cloth

The pattern does however include instructions to attach the lining at the top and bottom of the sleeve seam with French tacks - a nice couture touch.

French tacks secure the lining to the main part of the garment

None of the issues encountered were really problematic though, and I was very pleased with the end result.

Showing the lining, and the fabric-conserving facing

It was only when I came to photograph it that I realised something. Vogue 8964 is a decidedly modern pattern.

The pattern envelope

However, with the choice of colours and the contrast sections, I had produced something more like view A of this pattern (albeit minus the breast pocket).

Vogue 8753, circa 1940

Spot the similarity

It's as if I just can't stop myself from sewing vintage styles!

Because the dressing gown was finished earlier in the week it meant that I was, finally, able to participate in a Sewcialists theme month challenge, namely November's Giving Challenge. I've watched previous challenges come and go but been too busy to take part, so it was great to have both the time to do it and the perfect project.

Also on the giving theme, I decided that the Stashometer wasn't going to turn to the positive in the space of a month without help, so I had a destash. A bit of a cheat I know, but desperate times require desperate measures. Several lengths of fabric that I knew that I would never use except for mock-ups (which seemed a waste as they were perfectly good fabric, just no longer part of my sewing plans) were donated to charity. Hopefully they will be just what someone else wanted.

It's green - woohoo!

Making a modern hussif - part 1

This project has been on my 'to do' list for several months, but the impetus to get on with it came from finishing the University Centre Shrewsbury banner. When I delivered the banner to the campus I thought that I had best take a small emergency sewing kit along as well, just in case any last-minute fixes were required. They weren't, but as I hunted round for something suitable in which to carry pins, needles, thread and scissors I thought, "I really need to make that hussif".

Make a what? A hussif, or housewife, is a small, portable, roll-up sewing kit, as explained in this article by The Dreamstress. They were often carried by men who were away from home for long periods, such as sailors or soldiers, to enable them to carry out repairs to their clothing.

Women used hussifs as well. I first came across them at the Wedding Gown in a Weekend event in June, where all the mantua-makers who were involved in making the dress had their own. In this photo of Peryn Westerhof Nyman at work on the back of the dress her hussif is in front of her, there is another one between the two reels of linen thread to her right; and a third one rolled up on the table by the window.

Hussifs galore!

All of these were of course historically accurate to the eighteenth century. There are lots of Victorian and more modern designs out there as well, and numerous tutorials on how to make your own, such as this one.

Hussif by Julia's Place

The great thing about a hussif though is that there is no right or wrong; you can make whatever design, to whatever size, suits your requirements. I've seen examples with loops for silk skeins for embroiderers, and others with rotary cutter pockets for quilters.

My thimble dates from 1905, and my original idea was to make a hussif decorated with Art Nouveau embroidery to complement it. Thinking about it was as far as I had got until the Shrewsbury trip, when something rare happened - realism set in! It dawned on me that if I wanted a hussif to actually use, at some time within the next decade, then I would have to scale back my plans.

As I was going to Shrewsbury anyway, it seemed only sensible to pop into Watson and Thornton while I was there, and buy some fabric (because obviously I had nothing suitable at home!).

My fabric choices from the Tilda Candy Bloom collection

The dark fabric is for the outer layer, and the lighter ones for the inside. On the train journey home I made a list of what I would want the hussif to contain. I came up with: pincushion and pins, needles, scissors, thimble, tape measure, seam ripper (because, realism) and a pocket for threads. Plus a few more pockets for the things I'd forgotten to add to the list.

When I got home I laid out these tools on an A2 sheet of paper. Once I had some idea of the arrangement I wanted, I drew out the various pockets and other elements, and added seam allowances. The end result was longer than the paper, so I had to draw it in two parts. Because the drawing is in pencil it doesn't photograph well, but here goes.

Click to enlarge for a (slightly) clearer image

The lining is to be a little smaller all round than the outer layer, so that some of the dark fabric shows on the inside. I cut out both the outer and inner pieces from a stashed piece of plain white cotton, somewhere between a craft weight and duck or twill. These pieces were cut to the finished sizes, with no seam allowance. Then I cut the outer shape, with a 1" /2.5cm allowance all round, from the dark fabric. This was folded around the white cotton outer piece, and the corners mitred. To get the curved end smooth I cut a template from scrap card, gathered the blue fabric over it, pressed it, and then removed the card. The raw edges of the blue fabric were then stitched down onto the white, taking care that the stitches didn't come through to the right side.

The completed outer layer

So progress is being made, but what about the Stashometer? It's not looking good. I guessed (correctly) that the hussif would require the full width of the fabric, so bought fat quarters of the light fabrics, and half a metre of the dark.

Oh. Dear.

I may have to sew non-stop from now until the end of the year to fix this!

More costume goodness at the Walker Art Gallery

An English lady's wardrobe is not the only costume exhibition currently on display at the Walker. The Design Gallery on the ground floor often has a small costume display, and at present it is showing Dressed to Impress: Fashion in the 18th Century.

Part of the display

The 13 costumes on display belonged to 'the middling sort', those who were neither poor nor extremely wealthy. Because they are all displayed in glass cases, reflections were a problem when trying to take photographs. The men's dark suits proved particularly tricky, but I was able to photograph some of the waistcoats

Silk satin waistcoat, 1760-80

The displays are arranged so that it is possible to see the backs of most garments.

Back view of the waistcoat

One of the display cases . . .

. . . and the other

Among the menswear on display is this early example of 'shapewear'. For those men who lacked the requisite shapely calf, help was at hand in the form of padded stockings. These were worn with a pair of ordinary silk stockings over the top, and are displayed here with the left stocking inside out to show the wool padding.

Silk stockings with wool padding, 1775-1800

My interest however was in the women's wear. This dress, seen in the centre of the second display case, is made from a stunning silk brocade woven with flowers in the centre of plain silk medallions, with textured fabric around them. The maker clearly wasn't sure what to do with the pleated trim around the waist when it reached the back pleats, so it rather peters out.

Open gown and matching petticoat, 1760-65

Side view

The odd trim finish at the back

This costume spans a number of decades. The brocade dates from 1736-38, the gown was made around 1770-80, and the quilted petticoat 1750-80.

Keeping fabric for decades is clearly not a new thing!

Piecing at the top of the skirt

This gown had been altered in the nineteenth century for fancy dress wear.

Silk brocade sack-back gown and petticoat, 1765-70

Side views

Fortunately, the trim remains unaltered.

Sleeve detail

Sleeve and bodice

The family that originally owned this dress believed that it had been a wedding dress, but it may just have been a 'best' dress.

Silk satin damask open gown, 1750-70

I had great fun playing 'spot the piecing' around the exhibition. Some examples required close inspection, but some made it easy. I don't know enough about eighteenth century dress to know whether this join was just careful use of fabric, or remodelling when pointed bodice fronts became fashionable - all suggestions gratefully received.

Using just the spotted part of the fabric makes the join less obvious

I loved the jaunty quilting design on the petticoat.

Silk and wool quilted petticoat, 1750-1800

Another example of an open gown with a quilted petticoat had the skirt arranged in a polonaise. The green silk brocade was my favourite fabric in the exhibition, but the costume was nigh-on impossible to photograph without reflections.

Silk brocade open gown 1770-80

Another exuberant silk and wool quilted petticoat, 1750-1800

Annoying reflection on the polonaise

The best view was from the back, framed by two other gowns

Dressed to Impress runs until spring 2020, and is free to visit. Alternatively, all the costumes are featured in this book about National Museums Liverpool's eighteenth century costume collection.