1780s Stays: the Making Of

As promised, here is the blog post on the making of my new 1780s linen stays. I began draping the pattern on April 3, and finished building the final stays this past Tuesday, June 9th. A loose estimate suggests that I spent over 300 hours on these stays, including sourcing fabric, dyeing fabric, patterning, and stitching, but not including research. Next time it won't take quite so long, since I have the pattern and have now gone through the staymaking process twice.

My mannequin at school (alas, now dismantled and in another province; RIP) was perfectly padded out to my figure, and was one of my favourite things ever. I had made so many things from it over the two years I had it that I knew exactly what to expect from it (eg, it has narrower shoulders than I do) and how patterns made from it will fit me, and this allowed me to alter the draped pattern into an historical silhouette (eg, raised bustline, molded waist) without messing with the mannequin itself. Thus, I was able to drape my stays pattern directly on "my body," rather than starting with someone else's draft.

For those who have not draped foundation garments before, I will write a detailed description of how I went about it. I highly recommend it, if you think it's something you want to try!

I started by pulling up photos of a number of extant museum garments on my phone and arraying my Norah Waugh and Jill Salen books around me on the table, and with these as references I simply drew my pattern lines on the mannequin. You will note a number of guidelines in these photos, and for those who have not draped in the past I will identify some of them: in blue I have my natural waist, a high v-back neckline (my 1770s caraco), a much lower v-back (left over as reference from the drape of my regency gown), and a raised bustline for historical garments. In green are the stays lines, a number of lines left over from my regency ball gown bodice (again, as reference, as I know where those lines sit on my body in the final garment), a raised bustline reference right at center front, and a lowered waistline.

I used a heavy cotton twill to trace off the pattern, rather than regular factory cotton, because this allowed me to ensure the smooth lines and relatively flat pieces necessary for stays (factory cotton is somewhat prone to molding and stretching to curves on the mannequin, which boned linen buckram will not do!).

I cut out 4 of every pattern piece and sandwiched two pieces of posterboard between two layers of twill to make my mockup. I stitched in one cable tie per panel, and used lacing strips to try it on and fit it. You can see this mockup beside the finished stays above. This method worked very well, and was a lot faster than stitching all the boning channels into a fabric mockup and trying to do it the traditional way! With the mockup finished, I made the relevant alterations to the pattern and traced it out into a final version.

(Needless to say, I would request that no one use this pattern without my permission)

You'll notice that I put tons of balance marks, or notches, into my patterns. I find that this is very simple to do as you drape a pattern, and makes a huge difference when you're trying to match floppy bias edges, so I try to put in as many as is reasonable.

I cut the pieces out of a double layer of outer linen and a structural layer of linen buckram. I had dyed the outer linen a sort of tea brown using quebracho, a natural bark dye. It's hard to judge what colour quebracho is going to dye, and based on my last batch I had hoped for it to be a bit more pink, but the colour it turned is a good 18thC stays colour so I'll live with it. =)

With the pieces cut and all layers sandwiched together, I drew out all the boning channels on the back of each buckram piece and pinned the lines through to the right side of the dyed linen. Then, piece by piece, I began backstitching the boning channels using white linen thread. It took me nine days to do the ten pattern pieces.

I actually had the double of each of these done too, but they didn't fit in the instagram photo. =P

Now, normally this would be the point at which the bones would be inserted, while each piece is still separate from the others. However, this would mean that the pieces would be rigid and uncooperative as I tried to butt-and-whip them together along the seams. Since I have tendonitis in one of my wrists (the left one - my fabric-wrangling hand, not my stitching hand, from exactly these sorts of things), I decided that it would be wiser to whip the seams together first and bone them afterwards.

I then put in the eyelets (or rather, most of the eyelets, as I decided later on to add more in the front so that I could ladder-lace instead of spiral lace - more on that later) and began to insert bones. I was using 1/4" halved round reed from Burnley and Trowbridge. I had planned to soak or steam it to make it cooperate, but in the end all I had to do was slide two into each channel at one time and all but the most sharply curved evened each other out.

I did find the reed somewhat brittle and I broke a few, but once they were all inserted they seemed sturdy enough. That said, I would recommend reed for projects where the bones are close enough together to support each other; bones which sit more than an inch apart from others are prone to snapping.

After the bones were in, I covered the seams with 1/4" plain weave linen tape, also from B&T, which I had dyed dark blue in a vat of natural indigo. I ladder-stitched it down using silk thread dyed in the same vat.

Now, I should add in a note here about the indigo seam coverings. By rights they should be white or tan, since these stays are intended to be worn in Virginia. In Europe, seam coverings were all sorts of fun colours - for instance, this pair from the V&A:

You can kind of see the blue silk tapes here; if you go to the link above and zoom in it's easier to see.

Or this pair, allegedly from France although I can't find the institution:

But in America, seam coverings don't seem to have been quite as changeable. There's this pair from Vermont, which has indigo and white seam coverings, but since the outer fabric of the stays is indigo as well it's quite a different situation and therefore not evidence for my use of indigo.

I really like how the indigo looks, so I'm going to keep it for now. But if it looks like it might be problematic in Williamsburg this summer, I may just cover the indigo tapes with white ones and then take them off again later.

But back to the story.

Staring at the boned and taped stays, I realized that while I had set up the center front eyelets for spiral lacing, most of the originals had ladder lacing - and I liked the look of the latter (haha pun) much better. To my own chagrin and despair, the part of my brain that is relentlessly perfectionist decided that I was going to add 14 more eyelets, and there was nothing I could do but comply. Thus, the front went from this...

...To this

Much better. Although I didn't stick with the blue ribbon in the end. It just didn't quite match.

Now it was time for binding. I had ivory pigskin left over from my first set of stays, and as it turned out I had *just* enough to do everything I wanted to on this pair. I used ~1" strips to bind the edges, sewing them first upside-down on the front of the stays and then pulling them to the back. The main thought in my head as I did this was "Whyyyyyyy did I put 8 tabs per side on these things?????"

As seen on extant stays where the binding has come off, the edges of the stays are whip-stitched first for stability, and then the binding is stitched 1/8" from the edge. I stitched the binding on using backstitch, but on each corner of my tabs I put a single whipstitch to hold the bones there in place, as they liked to swing out sideways from the tapered tabs.

At this point I also switched to the ivory ribbon, which is more correct for America (again, in Europe you find coloured silk ribbons in front, but America seems to have largely kept to white and ivory).

I next added the eyelet guards to the back lacing, to avoid wear on the eyelets from tightening the stays, and armpit guards to avoid sweat damage (important when I'll be wearing them daily in July and August with no air conditioning!), both using the same pigskin as for the binding. The eyelet guards are simply a matter of winding a 1/4" strip of leather twice through each eyelet so that it protects about 2/3 of the whipstitches where the lace is prone to rubbing. The armpit guards get stretched over the binding from front point to back point, stitched close up to the binding, and then tacked down at the bottom edge between the bones.

Please excuse the awful lighting on this one; it was very late at night.

 Finally it was time to line them. Each tab must be lined separately (straps get lined separately, too, if you have them), and then the main body of the stays gets lined in a single piece. This method is seen on almost every pair of extant stays, because it allows the main lining to be taken out to be washed without removing all the tab linings, which are fiddly and take forever to stitch in. Mine took about 4 days, because I was working extra shifts at my jobs and was having trouble finding time/motivating myself to stitch endless tabs when I got home.

You'll notice in this photo of the inside that all the seam allowances have been tacked down using large whip stitches; this happens before you butt and whip the main pieces together if you've boned the pieces first, and after the stays are boned if you're doing it in the same slightly rearranged order as I did. Additionally, you can see here that my outer linen doesn't extend all the way under the eyelets as it should. I thought I'd left enough excess when I cut the pieces out, but I was wrong. =( Luckily, the buckram is strong enough to make up for this blunder.

After the tabs were lined, I lined the main body of the stays, and put the ivory ribbon back in, and they were done!

You'll notice that these stays have no straps. I was considering adding the tape straps that criss-cross in the back and get hooked at the front waist, but to be honest I don't think I need them. I find that my stays ride up and need help staying down, rather than getting pushed down and needing assistance to stay up (largely, I think, because I have a smaller bust and thus have nothing to put weight on the top of the stays). There are many extant examples which seem to have no straps and to never have had any straps, and thus I feel justified in leaving them off. They give me headaches and inevitably show at the neckline of my jackets, anyways, so why bother?

For a photodump of photos of the finished stays, go to my last blog post, here. I'm hoping to do a photoshoot soon to get some better shots; my cellphone selfies don't really do it justice. But you get the idea. =)

Thanks so much for reading! I hope that this was helpful in some way to somebody. If you have any questions about my construction methods, research, material sources, or anything else, please do not hesitate to ask and I'll do my best to answer!

HSF 5: Practicality, or, The Stays are Finally Done

Yaaaayyyy! Stays are done.

I made these for my two month internship in Colonial Williamsburg, so they needed to be comfortable, light, and cool: thus, perfect for the Practicality challenge (although they're slightly late - I ended up working two jobs and these took a back seat. whoops). I made them of linen and reed to keep them light and August-proof, and kept them as skeletal as possible. They also needed to be as accurate as I could make them (both for my own satisfaction and to wear them as an interpreter), and I therefore used period techniques and all hand-construction. The result is an incredibly comfortable pair of stays - I honestly forgot that I was wearing them for a while this afternoon! Very pleased with how these turned out.

I will write up a whole making-of post soon, but for now I'm just going to photodump. So let it commence.


Just the facts:

The Challenge: May - Practicality

Fabric: all 100% linen. I dyed the outside stuff with quebracho (a natural bark dye), the inner layer is linen buckram, and the lining is just a plain bleached linen. It is sewn with linen thread, and the seam tapes are indigo-dyed linen. So basically they're made of linen, with some leather, reed, and blood thrown in for good measure.

Pattern: I draped it on my mannequin based on extant examples, and then cleaned up the resulting pattern with reference to various drafts made from museum pairs (Norah Waugh, Jill Salen, etc). After a mockup I made a final draft, which will now be my working stays pattern from which to draft future pairs. I highly recommend doing this if you have a mannequin on hand. And posterboard is great for stays mockups - flexible enough for the curves, and if you stitch in one cable tie per panel it holds shape perfectly.

Year: about 1780-85.

Notions: 1/4" reed boning (2 per channel); linen plain-weave 1/4" tape, which I dumped in an indigo vat, to cover the seams (and the same, undyed, for lacing the back); ivory silk ribbon for the front; pigskin for the binding, armpit guards, and eyelet guards.

How historically accurate is it? I am tempted to say that these are as accurate as I can possibly get right now, but I will lower the rating to about 95% because the indigo tapes on otherwise very plain stays are plausible but not directly documentable, and should probably have been white. I do have some evidence for them; just not tons.

Hours to complete: including sourcing fabric, dyeing fabric, and hand-stitching, well over 300.

First worn: just now, for photos.

Total cost: not that much, actually. All the linen was stash fabric except for the buckram, and I only needed a yard for that. Reed boning isn't too expensive, the pigskin was leftover from my last pair of stays, and the silk ribbon came to about $3. The dyes cost a bit, but I had to buy them for a class anyways. Altogether this probably ran me around $50 in new materials. Not sure what the stashed bits cost anymore.

I love how swoopy they turned out!

This is as close as I can get to a back view; sorry. =P

After only a couple of hours of wear, they already have some shape-memory.

The bustline is cut quite low, as seen in a few period examples. I wasn't sure how this would work with my small bust, but it seems to have actually turned out really well.

Please excuse the horrible quality of these selfies. When I can find someone to take proper photos for me, I will!

A more complete blog post will be coming soon, as I have waaaaaay too many construction photos for these. =D

HSF March: Stashbusting - 18th Century Knitted Mitts

This one was actually done about two weeks ago - well inside the challenge deadline - but I was so preoccupied with getting the corset done that I never took photos or posted about it.

For March's challenge, stashbusting, I decided to finally make the 18th century mitts I'd been planning for so long. I do still plan to make bias-cut silk ones with embroidered finger-triangles, but for now I just needed something to cover my arms with the short-sleeved jackets. (On a side note: there's a weird rumor floating around the non-costuming part of the internet that mitts were for propriety, like covering Victorian ankles. I don't even know where to start with that one.)

ta-da

 Anyways, a couple of years ago my mom gave me a beautiful ivory cashmere sweater that had some holes in it because she thought I might be able to use the lace edging. I do plan to use that, too, but my first thought was actually that I could use the sleeves to make mitts.

There are many 18th century and early 19th century examples of knitted mitts, both in advertisements and in the form of extant examples:

1787, made of knitted linen thread.
http://web.archive.org/web/20080226054038/http:/www.antique-lace.com/date1/2432/2432.htm

Late 18th or early 19th century, French, silk knit
http://www.mfa.org/collections/object/pair-of-mitts-46496

Advertisements list wool, silk, and linen as possible materials for knitted mitts, and women might either purchase fine pairs or knit their own. Homemade knitted mitts were knit in the round, but my research suggests that some examples made for sale were frame-knit and seamed. Additionally, some retailers advertised that they specialized in turning old stockings (presumably those with worn-out heels and toes) into mitts (I have since lost the advertisement proclaiming this, but I have been informed by others that a reference to the same may be found in Linda Baumgarten's What Clothes Reveal, 2012. As I do not own this book, I cannot confirm whether this is true, nor provide a proper reference).

My own mitts are hand-stitched together from pieces cut from the original cashmere sleeves, and the edges are whip-bound in silk floss. Cashmere, although available by the 18th century in the form of 'Kashmir' shawls, would not have been made into mitts. Additonally, mine are a bit workaday and cobbled-together for such a fine material (as compared with, for instance, the pink silk ones above). But they're shockingly warm for such a flimsy thing, and they look right, so for now they'll do.

The Challenge: March - Stashbusting
Fabric: frameknit cashmere sweater, silk floss (both from my stash)
Pattern: my arm
Year: late 18th century (early 19th century versions don't often have the finger triangles)
Notions: none
How historically accurate is it? Eh, maybe 65-70%? I'm reasonably sure that frame-knit mitts of fine cream or ivory wool are period, and extant examples show edges occasionally bound in silk. However, mine are made of cashmere, which was not yet available in this form, and my silk edging isn't quite the same as that seen on extant mitts.
Hours to complete: 4 or 5, with the edge-whipping and blocking
First worn: around my house when I'm cold
Total cost: $0, right now. A few years ago the silk floss cost about $25, and I have no idea what my mom paid for the sweater originally.

A couple more photos:

So there you have it! Somehow I managed to be late on this, even though I finished it over my March Break vacation. Sigh. And now I'm plunging into my 1770s stays, which I highly doubt will be done by the April challenge due date. Oh well. =)

Blue 1876 Corset Finished

Well, the corset is finally finished. A month after the February challenge due date, but oh well.
I'll probably post another entry about the mockup process later, but for now:

The Challenge: February - Blue
Fabric: Cotton herringbone coutil, factory cotton (lining), cotton twill (boning channels), silk taffeta
Pattern: this one, from the De Gracieuse archives
Year: 1876
Notions: Flat steel boning, a few cable ties, steel busk and grommets, white silk embroidery floss
How historically accurate is it? 85%? There are a few plastic bones where flexibility was needed, and the original likely contained whalebone rather than steel, which, although period-correct, is not really ideal for the curves of this shape. Additionally, because I had to use black coutil, I had to line it in factory cotton, which I have never seen in an original.
Hours to complete: Too many.
First worn: Today, for photos, in my living room
Total cost: About $30 for the bones and busk, and $15 for the silk.

Here, at the Museum of London, is my inspiration corset (there is a whole post about this further back, including a description of the changes I made to the pattern and my reasons for using an 1850s inspiration with an 1850s pattern).

And here is my corset:

Please ignore both the Frankenlacing and my slightly odd posture in this photo;
I had limited time to get in place before the camera timer finished. =P

      

     

I forgot to measure my waist while it was on this morning, so I have no measurements for you. Woops. But here's a comparison with my 1890s corset, which has an outside waist measurement of about 24" and an inner measurement of 23", with my natural waist being 26".

As you can see, my ribs are far less swoopy in this corset than in my red corset: a conscious choice. The next project I have in mind for this corset is an 1840s gown, and I wanted to see if I could get the very long, straight torso that I see in fashion plates. I don't know if I'll repeat the experiment; I like having more breathing room. But I actually find the lower waist more comfortable, so the next corset will likely combine the blue corset's lower waist (especially in back) and added hip flare with the red corset's wider ribs.

Corset try-on, and TV show musings

Half-done the flossing (well, maybe more like 2/3...woops. Meant to do a fitting before this). Before I finish flossing and binding it and go past the point of no return, I wanted to do a quick try-on to make sure that everything was as it should be.

It fits great, and so far it's very comfortable! There's about a 4" lacing gap in back, which is fine - it's the end of the day, and I can usually lace down about 1" further if I do it in the morning, and lacing gaps tend to shrink as a corset gets broken in. So as long as I remember to put it on periodically and mold the fibers by wearing it for an hour or two, it will fit better and better.

My main concern was that the only available busk was about 1" longer than I'd have strictly preferred, and I was worried that it would be uncomfortable to sit. But all is good!

You'll have to excuse the awful selfies; there was no one else home to take photos. =P Thank goodness for split busks! I had to put in two laces to get it wide enough to do myself, though. >.>

I forgot to measure the waist when it was on, so the final reduction measurement will have to wait. Probably around 3-4" on the outside.

Anyways, more flossing tomorrow and then binding, and it's done!

The Lowlands of Holland: A new recording of an 18th century song

Alongside being a costumer, I am a singer. And my favourite thing, of course, is period music. =) Folk songs, especially. I particularly like the pithy political ones (Cam Ye O'er Frae France is my all-time favourite at the moment) and laments about drowned lovers, press-gangs, ghost ships, faeries, and all things sad and creepy. The Lowlands of Holland, known originally as "The Sorrowfull Lover's Regrate" or "The Maid's Lament for Her Lost Love," combines a bit of the political with a lot of the sad lament, and appeals to my Dutch heritage, so I was eager to find the original lyrics and record it.

You can find this and other songs on my bandcamp page, which I try to update whenever I have time to record things. I have no accompaniment or fancy recording equipment here in Halifax so this one's just a capella and untweaked, but hopefully people will enjoy it. I'm going to embed the song here so that you can listen as you read more about the song, if you so wish. It's quite long. It's worth listening to the end (or jumping to the end...), though, as it ends quite amusingly with a heartfelt prayer followed by the charmingly blunt "...I have no more to say."


For quite a while I've been looking around for an original publication of the lyrics to The Lowlands of Holland. In this particular pamphlet, from 1776, the song was titled "The Sorrowfull Lover's Regrate, or The Low-lands of Holland," and it can be found in the Edinburgh library. My university, thankfully, gives me access to their 18th century collections online, and I was able to get a facsimile of the original page.

(Let me know if you want a higher-res version)

Alas, the 1760 garland version referenced by early 20th century collectors is still nowhere to be found online, and of course earlier oral traditions, perhaps dating to the Anglo-Dutch Naval Wars of the 1670s (hinted at in alternative verses describing Holland as cold and full of money - European Holland - instead of warm and full of sugar cane - Surinam, Brazil, or some other part of New Holland), are now thoroughly lost.

Many versions hint more strongly at the presence of a press-gang to force the young husband off to sea, and place the events more firmly within the context of a war. Yet this late-18th century version still provides a window into the lot of seafarers and their families, as well as British views of Holland's New-World territories as merely an extension of itself. The strong connection drawn here between Holland and its colonial territories (to the point where only the presence of sugar cane tells the listener that 'the Lowlands of Holland' are not Holland itself) is particularly interesting in light of the fact that Britain was, at that moment, losing a large chunk of its own territory in North America, and could no longer draw that strong connection between itself and the arms of its own empire. Yet the verses concerning Holland's strength on the sea and its expansive ambitions also illustrates strongly that Britain was much more concerned with the encroachments of other empires in Jamaica and the Caribbean than it was with the departing Americans.

Hope you enjoyed it! My bandcamp page has a few other recordings on it (some medieval music, and one of my own compositions), and I'll be adding more to it as I find time to record things. I'll try to post here when I do.

Corset progress and some natural dyeing

Well, I'm about 3 weeks late on HSF February: Blue, but I'm still plugging away. Here's what the corset looks like now (although I've actually finished removing all that white basting since taking the photo).

This is the first photo I've managed to take which is actually true to the fabric colour; all the others have turned out either way too navy or way too purple. It matches my inspiration corset very well. I'm hoping to finish the boning channels tonight, set grommets in tomorrow, and then do the bindings and the flossing later this week. That might be a bit of a pipe dream, though. We'll see how it goes.

In other news, dye class has finally turned its attention to natural dyes, and I've managed to wrangle an 18th century-colour-recreation element into the fairly strict parameters of the final project. In the mean time I've been sneaking little bundles of merino embroidery/lace-weight yarn into each of the class sample dye baths, to build up my library of natural-dyed embroidery flosses.

Clockwise from top left: onion skins, tea bags (very high concentration), cutch, lac, quebracho, orange marigold flowers.

I'm now collecting images on pinterest of embroidered petticoats, quilted petticoats, jumps, and aprons. I think I'm going to dye some combination of silk yardage and flosses in order to make a couple of petticoat projects. The only problem is that all the silk petticoats are embroidered in silk floss (of course), and only linen petticoats seem to get wool crewelwork - and this seem to be with fairly chunky yarns. My merino floss is a very thin, light 2-ply, with a fair bit of sheen, and actually resembles my spun silk yarn more than the wool embroidery flosses I'm seeing. I may end up dyeing both the merino and the spun silk (filament silk is better, but I can't afford it), and making several petticoats. So far, the plan is:

- Weld over-dyed with indigo for some emerald green silk yardage, to be used for a quilted petticoat based the one in Dalhousie's collection (which is currently my blog background image)
- Unknown dyestuffs for some "London Red" silk yardage, to be used as ribbons/puffs on caps, bonnets, and sundry accessories
- A selection of period colours in both wool and silk flosses, in order to embroider a petticoat/several petticoats/jumps/an apron/whatever I end up with enough floss of the correct fiber type to make.

Anyways, things to think about. If anyone has two cents to add about 18th century embroidery in wool or silk, natural dyestuffs, fun things to embroider (things which will be seen, preferably - I'm not embroidering pockets and under-petticoats until the outer stuff is entirely encrusted in polychrome wonder), or other embroidery/dyeing-related advice, I welcome your input!