Sempstress

This one is only semi historically accurate. The peril of doing
work for other people, especially on commission, is that you have to make some
concessions to their preferences and desires. In this case, the subject wasn’t
really sure he was comfortable wearing tights, and wanted “real pants”. C’est
la vie, n’est-ce pas? The doublet is documentable. The biggest glaring inaccuracy
with it is that the buttons down the front aren’t as close together as they
ought to be for the period. There are portrait and surviving examples of doublets
done with a different color at the shoulders than on the lower part of the front.
The smaller area of contrast at the back of the shoulders is an idea copied
from a women’s spanish surcoat shown in Janet Arnold’s Patterns of Fashion.
The shoulder bits are quilted. (My poor little Brother machine dealt with this
much better than I had expected.) You cannot see this, because the cloak is
in the way, but the doublet actually uses a period pattern with a seam that
runs from the back of the armscye to a point on the waist right between the
center back and the side seam, on either side of the back. This seam and the
curve of the front edges were the primary means of contouring the doublet to
its wearer. All of the doublet/sleeves, the cape, the hat, and the front yoke/collar
and wrist bands of the shirt are lined.

This is supposed to be in a gold-ticked black upholstery
velvet, accented in green velvet and plain gold cord. The digital camera used
to take the picture seems to have felt it would look better in maroon and green.
Technology is a little wacky sometimes. The cape and pants are mostly black
denim. In period, they would likely have been wool, as cotton was prohibitively
expensive and the climate in england was rather chilly and damp, but in the
here and now, cotton is cheap and summer is hot. The cap is corduroy. The feather
is actually a small ostrich plume, with small bundles of peacock drabs sewn
to it’s spine. The ends of the feathers are covered with a gold filigree cone.

This is the most recent stage in the evolution of my Elizabethan
(not so) little red dress. The bodice, sleeves, chemise, forepart and hat have
been completely redone, but the partlet remains the same and the skirt has undergone
only minor changes since last year. The skirt has been
flatlined in a black brocade, re-mounted on a new waistband, and I’ve run a
small, antique gold soutache braid down each side of the two lines of trim at
the front split. It is about 2″ longer than last year because of the difference
between the way it was hemmed (a standard skirt hem), and the way it is now
finished (with the piping sandwiched between the skirt and the flatlining).
It is not visible in this picture, but the skirt is piped down both front edges
and all round the bottom with matte gold cord.

The new bodice was made using the pattern for a French Cut Bodice
from Janet Arnold’s Patterns of Fashion 1. I used my corset to size the pattern.
Since the french cut bodice is cut on the bias, it is meant to stretch a bit
to fit the wearer exactly, so I made the bodice the exact same girth as the
corset pattern. Normally, I would add about an inch to insure that there was
a little leeway once the bodice was finished. The bodice fastening was experimental
(it was the night before faire opened and I did not have time to sew down 4
dozen eyelets). I sewed two small grosgrain ribbons (one down each side of the
front) with groups of three stitches every 3/4 inch. I threaded the lace ribbon
through between the stitches. It worked fairly well, as quick and dirty fastenings
go, but there was a bit of a wobble in the front of the bodice where the ribbon
on one side was not an even distance from the edge the whole way down. I will
be fixing that. If you find yourself using this trick, you should make sure
to sew the ribbon to the outside edge of the line of boning that supports the
edge of the closure. This will ensure that you do not see a wobble like mine,
because the stress will be evened out by the boning. (Who knew?) This is not
documentably period, but it seems right somehow. The bodice itself is modeled
after a portrait
from 1569, but the basic style was popular for some time after this. The
french cut bodice is also seen in the Phoenix Portrait (Queen Elizabeth).

The sleeves
are of a type called hanging sleeves, for reasons that should be obvious. They
are just there for show, and are not really designed to ever be worn as “real”
sleeves. (It gets hot during faire season in the midwest!) They open in the
front and have a seam in the back as well. This is a period pattern. I will
detail it in the Sleeves section of this web page, whenever I get that finished.
There is a line of metallic gold piping down each side of the center split,
and another line of metallic gold and maroon trim about a quarter inch from
the split on either side. Between the trim and the piping is a pattern of alternating
buttons and pairs of pearls (which can be seen near the cuff in both pictures,
and in detail here. None
of the buttons are functional. Buttons were used a lot for purely decorative
reasons in period. The sleeves close at the top and bottom with sets of hooks
and eyes.

The forepart is made of a beautiful off white brocade with an
ecclesiastical pattern. I
chose this because it was the most period brocade I could find that could be
worn on its own, but would also take readily to embellishment. In period, it
would probably have carried with it a risk of being accused of Catholicism.
My eventual plan is to run a line of pearls couched with gold thread around
the outsides of the crosses, and do some additional beadwork in the celtic patterns
between the ovals. There are two lines of a black trim with gold and silver
roses woven into it at the bottom of the forepart. Trimming a forepart in this
manner is very period. The trim is probably not, but it is close enough and
it was on clearance. This is always an important concern, right?

The Chemise has a rounded neckline that can be seen a bit under
the partlet (especially right by the straps of the bodice). There is a line
of the eyelet trim that you can lace ribbon through around the neckline so that
it can be raised or lowered if I need to wear the chemise with a bodice that
is cut differently. There are six bands of the same stuff around the
sleeves
to allow them to be gathered down, as they are in these pictures. Each of these
bands, as well as the neck band, is threaded with black grosgrained ribbon and
terminated with an aiglette. There is a decorated band over the first pair of
bands on each sleeve that you can see in these pictures as well. The eventual
plan is that each sleeve will have three bands, with poofs in between them.
The bands are removable, so I will be able to make more and interchange them.
The ones in this picture are decorated
with pearls couched in gold, as well as small “flowers” made of red beads with
pearl centers.

The hat is an Italien Bonnet, with the brim shaped as the brims
of Tall Hats normally are. It is worn over a formed caul. There is some period
iconographic evidence of cauls that held a shape of their own. They were also
used by Jean Hunnisett in Elizabeth R. I saw them there and decided I had to
have one. This one is a first
attempt. It is made of felt that was sized with glue and formed over a mold
(a spherical cake pan, actually), then covered with thin batting, then with
black satin. The network of trim was added, followed by the rows of gold cord
at the edge. It is held in place by four silver hairpins with little pearls
in them. (It is a good jewelry year for costumers!). The problem is that I simply
have too much hair, and the form got squashed a bit before I got the edge wired,
and it didn’t really stay put on my head too well. I’m working on a new one.

I am also wearing two
purses. The small rectangular one on my forepart is modeled after a design
for a needle purse, from Herbert Norris’ Tudor Style and Fashion book. The velvet
case slides up the cords to reveal a bifold wallet. In period, this wallet would
have had leaves for holding needles. I added pockets to hold business cards,
ID, and plastic instead. The other purse is a small pouch with a drawstring
top covered by a circular flap. It is edged in marabou. (For some odd reason,
I just didn’t have any ermine lying about.) The decoration is actually a broach
that was added at the last minute.

This rightmost thumbnail up top is an image from late in the
season. New additions include the ruff, a new hat, gloves, my first attempt
at making a fan, bodice skirting, the partially visible embellished band at
the bottom of the skirt, and about fifty thousand beads (most pre-strung, mercifully).

This is one of my most valuable costumes – the one that can
stand up to rain, mud, and the washing machine. The whole project started off
with a bad weather forecast, a terrifying vision of what rain would do to my
noble costume (I had been told I couldn’t prewash the fabric I had used for
that one, so I didn’t – now I know better!), 7 yards of $2/yard medium weight
cotton, a bottle of green dye, and the remains of an old leather coat, and was
completed in a week of after-work sewing. All things considered, it’s not half
bad. The idea was to make a costume that was quite firmly middle class. The
only pretensions involved are the scant use of black trim, and the feathers
in the hat.

The cotton was originally a color that could be accurately called,
‘camel spit khaki’, so it got dumped in the wash machine with a bottle of Rit
and came out a rather pleasant green. The trim on the bodice and down the front
of the skirt is dark brown leather, with flanged cording on either side. Around
the bottom of the skirt, I used a matching brown rayon blend with the same cord
treatment. (I ran out of coat.) The trim is sewn into the seams wherever is
is at an edge, and the rest of it is treated as an applique – there is a line
of stitching in the ditch between the cord and the leather holding everything
in place. When I originally drew it out, I had planned on running black soutache
braid back and forth over the leather, securing it in the cord, to form a latticework
surface texture, but I haven’t actually gotten to that yet. The bodice is front
opening, but it is cut on the straight of the grain in a more english fashion
than my noble gown. There is a shaping seam that runs from the armscye to back
waist on either side of the back. This is very period. I have piped it. This
is a little more questionable. The skirt ties down the front with about 7 sets
of ribbons. If you secure a skirt this way, you must wear petticoats.

The chemise opens down the front to create the effect of a partlet.
The ‘partlet’ is made of two pieces of wide eyelet skirt edging. This is as
close as you will ever see me get to the ‘flat white partlet’ school of thought.
The neck and cuffs are edged with box pleated eyelet lace with a strong triangular
trim. I used eyelet for both the partlet and the trim because I thought it looked
a bit like white work with pulled thread embroidery.

The hat is a rataffia model that assured me it could be bent,
folded, packed, or stomped on without coming to any harm. What the tag did not
say was that it starts to curl miserably when wet. Not a good feature in a rain
hat! The feathers are attached to a small piece of plastic canvas, which is
in turn pinned to the hat where I turned the brim up. I’m also wearing two pouches
– one is one of my needlepurse credit card holders done in brown leather. The
other is made from a pouch I found at a garage sale. It originally had a large
bronze setting for a stone that had long since vanished on top. I replaced this
with a little carved wood circle from Michael’s, and added a tassel to the bottom.
I wear very little jewelry with this costume – a silver broach at the top of
the bodice, my Friend of Faire pin, and the ring and necklace that I wear every
day.

This
is a German noble costume, as worn by my sister. (This is her best, “Someone
wants to take another picture of me?!” face. It was late.)

The entire overdress is made with under three yards of 60″ fabric.
I hadn’t realized how little there was on the bolt until after I had finished
the bodice. The skirt arcs up at the front to expose the underskirt, which is
slightly off-white satin with a 6″ band of gold taffeta around the bottom. (I
have found that gold taffeta goes very well with the color of the dust at Bristol.)
The skirt is edged in a heavy matte gold cording and flatlined in maroon satin
for a contrast where it pleats on the fall. The bodice laces at the front under
the bustline, which is a common german fashion that I have run across. The sleeves
are paned. Each pane is cut as two pieces (top and bottom), which are sewn together
with flanged cording at the seam. This serves two functions. The cording makes
the edge look nicer, but it also gives the panes the body they need so that
they don’t droop. The original design called for slashed satin sleeves for the
lower arm, but it was well over 95 the weekend this was worn. The chemise is
edged in gold lace at the top and on the cuffs. It is made of a light cotton
with designs woven into it.

The hat is much more reminiscent of the standard issue ‘Henry
VII hat’ than any true german headdress, but I have only ever found one german
woman’s hat that I would even consider asking someone to wear in public. They
are not generally a pretty sight. The hat is made of black satin, piped in silver
tissue lame (which I will never use again – it’s a pain), and stretched over
a form made of sheets of plastic foam. The tabs are then stitched together at
their corners, so that they whole thing is pulled up around the cutouts. The
inside of the brim is lined with marabou feathers, and topped with one great
huge gold feather. The great thing about german costumes is their absolutely
unabashed use of big Ostrich plumes. Trying to curl large feathers in a house
with two cats, however, is a very dangerous occupation.