Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown, Part 3: Fashion Documentation

I have a very early Edwardian dress that I've been examining since 2024. Based on stylistic elements, it was most likely made between 1900-1902. In two 2024 posts, we took a highly detailed tour of its cut and construction. If you haven't already, do read Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown, Part 1: Intro and Shirtwaist Construction, and Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown: Part 2, the Skirt.

This post is all about documenting the fashion to put the dress into context.

To repeat, I believe that this summer dress was made between 1900 and 1902, possibly but not likely 1903. The long-waisted, willowy, sinuous look in a soft and flowing fabric puts it for sure after 1897, when fashion moved from stiff or crisp fabrics to all fabrics soft and flowing, and after 1898 and even 1899, when residual shoulder puffs could be seen in the sleeves. By 1900 sleeves were skin tight, as were bodices, and skirts clung like any mermaid dress. Dresses loosened ever so slightly in 1901; and by 1902 fashion was on its way to piling on the fabric in every looser sleeves, ever blousier fronts, and skirts with ever more fabric until the willowy cut was no more. My dress is of the earlier fashion. 

Around mid-1900 the truly pigeon-breast bodice front made its appearance, after several years of playing with bloused fronts, and this dress, as you can tell, has the modest blousing of the turn of the century. The waistline shifted around September 1900, according to magazines of the day, such as The Delineator and Wiener Mode, such that the bodice and skirt were cut lower in front than in back, a feature The Delineator called "the dip". These lines followed the new straight-front corset, which makes the lower abdomen flat and pushes the hips backwards and therefore up a little.

Then there is the lovely flowing shape of the skirt, in full flower, which flows over the ground at the feet, even in the front, and in this dress, continues into a short train in the back. At the time this was called a “sweep” length, as opposed to a “round”, even-around-the-bottom length, or a short instep length. Each length was suited for different activities. A writer of the time compared the skirt shape to the calyx of a bell-shaped flower. We had moved into a whole different look than just a few short years before.

Putting the Dress in Context: What the Media and Fashion Industry Said

So, shall we put this dress in a fashion context? This will be a long post, I warn you, because I am including some of the scads of research I’ve put together over the years about this era, along with examples of dress features that were recommended by the media and by advertising.

The Ladies Home Journal (hereinafter LHJ) recommended just such light, flowey fabric for summer wear, prioritizing the color white: “(w)hite holds first rank this summer, as it did last, for children, young girls and young women and for older ones also when combined with black”, wrote Emma M. Hooper in her May 1901 column “To Dress Well on a Small Income” (p.32).

She had this to say about the overall cut: 

LHJ May 1901, p. 32

I love Mrs. Hooper's direction for remembering to wear a tiny bustle, at this point often just a pad for everyday wear. It really gives the silhouette oomph.

Further, “The All-White Gown”, an article in the same issue, p. 30, suggests that an unlined gown is an especially good idea because it may easily be washed. My dress is certainly unlined. No drop skirt, no lining for the bodice.

Here is how such a dress, which is often referred to as a gown in this magazine, tends to look. Note the slender, clinging cut at the hip, the skirt opening into a trumpet or upside-down flower shape at the feet, and so long that the fabric puddles on the ground. Also the narrow sleeves and the “pointed”, dropped front of the bodice or shirtwaist at the waistline. It is hard to tell, but the neckline includes a very high collar — that is not an open neck.

LHJ, May 1901, p30

Here are two unlined gowns from the May 1901 Delineator, p. 706, described as “Shirtwaist or House Toilettes”. Note that neither is especially frilly: there is no party at the bottom hem frilling, for instance, and the young lady on the right sports a mannish, probably stiff collar and bow tie. The dress on the left would be perfect for house wear in which someone might come to sit on the front porch or to share an afternoon: the model is wearing a long necklace and her dress has lace; her added velvet ribbon neckwear, was very popular—1901 was mad, mad!—for narrow black velvet ribbons, but more in another post sometime: I even have a darling pink shirtwaist whose lace has been interlaced with it. You'll meet it later in this post.

The unlined gown, or “shirtwaist toilette”, also featured in other seasons. Here is a model from The Delineator, February 1901, picture on p. 196, text p. 208. 

Belts

The model in the LHJ 1901 illustration wears the recommended belt. Narrow belts, often with buckles or its ends crossed in front, were quite fashionable in this year, although the fabric “dip belts” could come in wider widths, some even cummerbund size. They could be separate accessories or made of fabric and slip-stitched on to the garment:

LHJ May 1901, p. 30

Here’s an ad from The Dry Goods Review (Canada), Spring 1901 collected issues, p. 211, on the Internet Archive:

While we are on belts—and no, my dress did not come with one—The Dry Goods Review has what amounts to an extended ad, or puff piece, for a crossed belt with a loop near one end through which the other is inserted. From The Dry Goods Review (Canada), Spring 1901 collected issues, p. 92:

Now you know a bit more about a few, though not all, early Edwardian belt options. I rather like the cross-front option and would choose that one, although women of larger size were often advised to avoid belts. (Certainly wish I had citations for that, but cannot put my hands on them.) I haven’t mentioned, on purpose, the wider “Marie Antoinette girdles”, which, except for the front dip, look like their 1890s predecessors, and which recall the sashes worn in the 1780s, such as with chemise dresses. There is much to figure out about them and on which occasions, and with what cuts of gown, they were worn with. Nor have I mentioned wearing a ribbon sash, although that was very popular.

Tucks

Here is another example of a spring/summer gown, this one from the Austrian magazine Wiener Mode, on its cover for June 1901. A similar line, but with very high-fashion bracelet-length sleeves, rather dressy. American magazines like The Delineator would wait to recommend shorter sleeves widely until about 1902 or so. Do you notice that the gown has a good deal in common with the gown in my collection? Mine has those sleeves and the abundance of narrow vertical tucks.

Wiener Mode cover, June 1901

The Dry Goods Review (Canadian) wrote that vertical tucks were in fashion in its Spring 1901 collected volume of issue (Internet Archive), p. 46:

You will find tucks wide and narrow throughout fashion plates and fashion advice during 1901 and later. They rapidly become a prominent Edwardian theme, in the way that self trim (ruffles and bias bands) is a prevalent theme during the 1870s, and asymmetric draping is in the 1880s. Trims like all of these are more or less present in lots of fashion eras, but they do break out all over every once in a while :}

“Waists”, an Earlier Term for Bodice, and their Pouching

Let’s talk bodice features, or as I’ll call them, “waist” features. “Waist” referred to either a lined bodice or, you guessed it, a shirtwaist, often written “shirt waist”. Back in the aughts, my first readings of fashion columns were really confused, as I thought the writers were referring to just the waistline. No, they’re referring to the bodice. Early shirtwaists were masculine, with high stock collars attached often with buttons, just like men’s, to the shirtwaist’s band collar, and buttoned in front. 

By 1900 and 1901, writers and manufacturers and retailers and people at large could refer to a back-buttoning, lacy, unlined waist as a shirtwaist, too, and sometimes even shirtwaists were lined. The lining was usually tight and boned, and often featured a waist stay, being direct descendants of 1890s bodices. This way the fashion fabric could be draped and gathered, then sewn into position. Whether time has obscured some details or whether people threw around design terminology they way they threw around Madame de Pompadour’s and Marie Antoinette's names, I haven’t a clue.

To make things more of a mess, the word “blouse” is increasingly common, and pretty generally refers to those waists which are blousy—those that have that pigeon-front effect, what The Delineator called the “Juno bust” during the very early years of the century. Why not just say “mature” or “the girls have moved south” and be done with it, but it’s much more chic and nicer euphemistically to refer to famous French women and goddesses.

Pouching of the bodice had been increasingly popular in the late 1890s, so that is not a surefire sign of a mid-1900 and into the ‘00’s date, though you can see minute changes in how it is handled, from an extension of the gathered top-to-bottom front plastron, to fullness confined to the lower part of the bust…the pigeon-front look. 

However, the pouching, when accompanied by a pouch position lower in front and rising towards the back of the shirtwaist/waist, what The Delineator called the “Marie Antoinette dip” in mid-1900, signals a date after the 1890s. This gown has that effect, and features the very early Edwardian long, low waist, pouching confined just to the center front, and especially the little band at the high waistline in back with two eyelet holes for affixing tiny hooks from the skirt to hold the set of the skirt in back and to keep it from gaping away from the bodice. 

The waistline slowly rises during the ‘00 and pouching is less confined to center front. The allover pouching is especially likely to happen with shirtwaists that don’t control the pouch with tuck-in peplum or sewn-down gathering and instead rely on tapes that are attached at the sides and tie in front. The Delineator talks about this as a benefit in its June 1900 dressmaker advice column, although it nearly assures that the wearer must adjust her shirtwaist several times a day as the pouching pulls and migrates. Not so different, really, from blouses the rest of the 20th century into now, which will un-tuck after any reaching or deep leaning, the silly things.

The Cut of the "Waist"

How about the cut of the waist? The divided front is very popular into 1901, though it fades afterwards. In many cases, this cut mimics the uber-popular bolero or Eton jacket, with each side looking a bit jacketish, while the center front mimics a blouse underneath. This was a fashion theme from the mid-1870s on, that of creating some sort of contrast in the center of the bodice: a plastron. By the 1890s plastrons tended to be poofy with stirring or gathering top and bottom. Some were removable and could be used on different outfits.

My dress has a plastron, although it’s built into the waist and not separate. The vertically tucked side fronts appear jacket-ish, edged with applied flat lace. In the center, the eyelet fabric of the plastron is a pretty contrast, without it shouting at the viewer.

Here are several similar effects. First, the LHJ May 1901, p. 30 dress pictured earlier has this effect and the article copy says it’s meant to feel like a jacket and under-vest. 

Here below is another example from The Delineator, a color plate from May 1901; look at the model wearing blue.

Yet another is illustrated in The Dry Goods Review, Spring 1901. I have included the entire page so that you can understand how these were conceived and marketed by readymade clothing manufacturers. (Do you see the little comment in black over the picture? The magazine's owner, evidently a store buyer or owner, wanted to make an order.)

Sleeves

Let’s talk sleeves, because they are such obvious markers during the Edwardian period. Sleeves we’ve seen so far are quite narrow, but they aren’t skin tight they way they tended to be in 1899 or 1900. Here’s a sample, from Vogue, May 3, 1900. Three of the models sport sleeves as tight as possible, while another features very slightly “fuller” sleeves, if you can call them so, and the first sprouting of a bishop cut.

Vogue is not alone in showing this—it’s all over, whatever the illustrator or photographer. I recommend looking at Les Modes photographs.

By 1901 sleeves are a little less tight and probably a good bit more comfortable, especially on humid days. They’ll keep getting bigger in different spots for a few more years.

So, my dress is right on trend as regards sleeve tightness in 1901, and we even see the same sleeve-end frill design as in the Wiener Mode illustration. And of course, my dress, with its train, is not appropriate for working or chores.

About that bracelet length, though: it only appears on rather elegant “toilettes”, to use a Delineator term for an outfit. The dresses may be of cotton, but they’re for gatherings and parties, not the street. In some American magazines, anything other than full-length sleeves was not considered appropriate for daytime, until about 1902. Am I thinking Ladies Home Journal?

Here’s Vogue again, in April 1901, with a very tight sleeve and a delightful lettuce frill, perhaps made by cutting a circle of fabric in a spiral and then hemming the length and attaching it in closely set rows so that it fluffs.

Shorter sleeve acceptability changes in 1902, when The Delineator and all kinds of magazines make a point of illustrating elbow sleeves. As The Delineator’s Paris columnist noted in July 1902, p. 53, in America elbow-length sleeves are “correct” for the street and other situations, but necks are high, while in France, sleeves remain long.

Necklines and Collars

We haven’t mentioned necklines and collars yet. A neckline at the throat and standing collars had been standard, if not absolutely required, for daytime dress since the 1880s and for the early Edwardian period they remain so. Some shirtwaists were made with already-attached high collars made of self fabric, especially the lacy kind; the more masculine styles made use of the separate, heavily starched collars men wore, either strictly plain or with often self-colored embroidery or a touch of lace. The dress or shirtwaist neckline would have a simple neckband and the stiff collar would sit over it.

In other cases, women made pretty, tight standing separate collars, as they had been doing in the 1890s, or found gorgeous ones made of all different kinds of laces. Such collars tended to come in high and very high—to the top of the throat. They were usually set inside with narrow vertical bones or wavy wires to hold them up, with hooks and bars in back to close them. The collars could be worn with several dresses. This is probably the situation with my dress, for there is the little plain band collar. The woman wearing the dress would not have worn that alone. The outfit would have looked unfinished. The collar, like the belt, has gone missing, alas.

Here is LHJ in May 1901 talking about how to make collars in the p.32 article titled “To Dress Well on a Small Income”.

The Delineator calls them "stocks" in August 1901 and discusses at length how to make unlined ones on pp 194-195. Here is a portion of the information.

Here is an example of a low, attached collar on a c1901-1903 fancy unlined shirtwaist in my collection. The copious use of black narrow velvet ribbon and even the little compound bow, now somewhat droopy, that was so popular in 1901 tempt me to date it to that year, but one cannot be sure. The shirtwaist is dressmaker or homemade, and very nicely, too, but there is no label. Oh, and no, the shirtwaist was not cut from a dress. Often they were left unhemmed. That wasn't necessarily laziness. Tucked under a skirt, who wanted to see the outline of a hem on a skirt so closely fitted at the top?

Here's a closer look at the tiny compound ribbon. An example of that compound bow illustrated in Delineator. I believe a similar effect appears on a young lady modeling a score of them on a dressy toilette in Les Modes, May 1901.

By 1902 the “Dutch” jewel neckline sans high collar and shorter sleeves arrive as a much cooler summer option; see The Delineator in June, 1902, for example, but these necklines have lacy effects, and our dress’ little band collar is not the same thing.

Skirts

Many skirts were trained at this time, for house wear in non-work situations, for afternoon promenades or carriage rides, get-togethers, events such as races or expositions, or even dressy street wear, so the train doesn’t date the outfit. A street outfit or working outfit, by contrast, had a "round" hem (no train), whether that almost puddled the floor, brushed the shoe or boot tops, or hiked up a bit for rainy days or sports.

Trains appeared from the end of the 1890s until almost mid-19-aughts, in a way they hadn't been since the later 1870s. Commentary on trailing skirts appeared in a New Zealand paper in January 1901, it was called “The Trail of the Skirt: Expert Opinions in Favor of Trailing Fashions”. Here is a portion, showing that some trailing skirts were designed to be held when walking. I have cited this snippet before, but its discussion of the different types of gowns and their skirt lengths is helpful.

We talked of the skirt's cut and how it reflected the current fashion for puddling, trailing skirts so much in the posts Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown: Part 2, the Skirt, and in A Construction Tour of Four Antique Edwardian Skirts in My Collection, that I won't repeat all that evidence here. 

What to Wear Under the Dress? A Colored "Slip"

Naturally, white could be worn under a translucent dress, but so could a colored slip. We read of these often, but the slips are not common in antique dress shops.  In "Mrs. Ralston Answers", the advice column in LHJ, she recommends colored slips as still being in fashion in 1902. She suggests a two-piece slip. My dress, being perhaps a little more opaque than some summer dresses, probably didn't have one, but then, I haven't tested a color under it.

Well, I hope by this point you have a fair sense of the fashion and construction behind this lovely, simple summer gown currently in my keeping. It was a joy, if a prolonged effort, to put it into context.

An Edwardian and ‘20s Afternoon Tea at the Kentucky Castle, With a Nod to a Beloved Show

Readying for afternoon tea in the ballroom of the Kentucky Castle

Several weeks ago, one of my dearest friends, Polly Singer, hosted an Edwardian-to-1920s afternoon tea in the ballroom of the Kentucky Castle. In the room’s glorious light, made all the richer by the gold and sparkle of its trim and chandeliers, and after the initial chatter had died down, we all stood, raised our 50-some flutes of champagne, and Polly welcomed everyone and the afternoon with a toast. The entire event thereafter was like that, sparkly and bubbly and effervescent.

The Castle serves afternoon tea in courses, and its standards are very high, so that our teacups were looked after well—no cold or empty cups here—and the savories and scones and sweets followed one another without hurry, but without awkward waits. Meanwhile, Polly made a series of presentations timed to allow everyone to socialize and enjoy the afternoon. She introduced us to the intricacies of teatime and etiquette from the late Edwardian era through the 1920s. She brought it to life by referencing bits of what so many of us remember from the Downton Abbey TV show, and it was so neat to see how everyone enjoyed it to the full. Downton is part of our common culture, so Polly stirred aha moments when she explained how etiquette and social mores were reflected in some of the show’s more well-known scenes, and how both shifted over the decades.*

During afternoon tea, one of Polly’s presentations

I’d brought a few antique Edwardian objects to show and talk about, and so went from table to table when the moments seemed right, with a circa 1909-12 taffeta day dress, and the scrumptious Edwardian ostrich and silk boa I wore, a necklace, and original photo postcards with people from the the very early 1910s. 

Talking with guests about the circa 1909-12 dress, which I think is of Nearsilk, a rayon.
Sigh, the end of my own undersleeve shows. It needs to be mounted, along with the lace collar, to an under waist (blouse).

You know how people love to touch and examine things, and to ask what they want to about them. It was great fun to give them the chance to do so, and to let the things they touched bring another time to understandable life. None of the things I brought were delicate, of course, except the boa—which people only stroked. Learning goes both ways, too, as one of the guests, and I smile as I write this, had brought a gorgeous beaded purse passed down through her family. The beads were minute and it draped and glided through your hands almost like water. How great to talk with her about it and family memories.

The picture postcards. Postcards were really popular and you could have pictures taken and then made into postcards to send or to keep as souvenirs.

Lingering, pictures, and “until next time!”

Afterwards we retired to the Castle’s dark-painted and cozy snuggery and sat next to a window overlooking the garden and the Bluegrass behind it, to talk about the afternoon and rest over a drink made with citrus and Highclere Castle gin, very good, and most welcome.

This was my second time helping Polly with one of her events and it’s so enjoyable, even if there is a great deal of planning involved. I spent from November right to the night before researching dress and hair in the U.S. and England circa 1911-13, making the dress, finding accessories, and setting up the props to show.

Channeling a 1912 matron

More about the dress in another post. Like most of my costumes—and a lot of you costumers out there may smile in recognition—the dress is at 1.0 stage. There is no under waist with the lace collar and under sleeves sewn to it, so they have minds of their own to the detriment of an entirely pulled-together presence. The dress is missing almost all of its trim, which is supposed to consist of cuffs with self buttons and loops, and buttons added to the applied panel down the front. The little antique crochet bauble at the waist and its black velvet bow were pinned on last moment, in desperation. I left the gloves behind. And the hat’s feathers need a steam. Still, it’s one of the prettiest and most comfortable outfits I’ve worn. The silk crepe is perfect for the era, the color like wine with the sun shining through it, and appropriate for my age.

And that beaver hat and boa! Both are originals, the fruit of 3 months of almost obsessive hunting and research on exactly what style would be right. They’re both jewels in the crown of the Edwardian collection gathered over decades.

The chapeau of dreams

If you would like to know more about Polly Singer, her events and her looseleaf teas, and her hats (!!), please see https://pollysinger.com/ and her Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/pollysingerhatsandtea. She always has something nifty going on or in the works. You may also recognize her from blog posts past, as we’ve been friends for decades now.

The Kentucky Castle is at https://www.facebook.com/thekentuckycastle/. It’s a boutique hotel and a local treasure.

Posts ahead, but they may be slow to arrive

That afternoon is a wonderful memory, but life isn’t especially easy right now. Family, work, flu season, et cetera: am finding that I’ll need fortitude and creativity and a great measure of prayer in the months ahead. 

There may not be much energy to sew, either. However, at odd moments I can write, and there is the precis for this ensemble to write up, and several others from 2-3 years ago, for Pete’s sake, and of course finishing the 1901-03 antique Edwardian lingerie dress’ documentation that I keep avoiding because it’s so detailed. Writing is a special escape, and rewarding if what is written helps other costumers and people interested in costume and dress history.

In the meantime, God bless.

Oh, and Mrs. C., if you read this, Google hasn’t let me comment on your blog. If there is a way to reach you, please let me know, or scribble to a frolic thru time historic dress all one word at gmail.

* The Kentucky Castle asked Polly to present on the subject, and references to the TV show were used as examples.

 

Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown: Part 2, the Skirt

In July I introduced you to a circa 1900-1903 Edwardian summer gown. After looking at the dress as a whole, we had a deep, detailed look at the shirtwaist portion of its construction, for this gown was unlined and its bodice not built on a fitted foundation. This time, we are going to examine the skirt in just as much detail. Are you ready?

The dress as a whole is shown above. It has been set over a corset cover and a single trained petticoat, but there is no corset as I have none that fit. Had there been one, the dress would sit differently, with a slightly enhanced dip in the front to emphasize the bodice pouch, and a higher set to the back of the skirt, with again, an enhanced roundness there, especially if a hip pad were worn. Do watch the Sew Through Time YouTube video called  “Getting dressed: 1903 summer vs winter” to see how this is achieved, layer by layer, although note that the video author does not purposely dip the skirt in front.

Exploring the Skirt

You can tell from the photos above that the skirt is smooth across the front and then gathered tightly in back, with a center back closure. 

You will also notice that it has a very tall flounce, which is higher in the back than in the front, an elegant look which elongates the line of the dress and accentuates the train in back.

Finally, you will see from the above as well as photos below that the skirt is trained. In some Edwardian evening wear, the trains are very long, but this is a day dress, and the train is shorter—daywear with a train was popular from the end of the 1890s through the into 1905 or so, unless the skirt was for working or sports, or for a rainy day, in which case it was fashionable to wear a skirt, often wool, above the ankle!

A Trumpet Effect, without a Trumpet Cut

Ideally, the skirt will puddle around the front of the feet, too, as if the wearer were a mature tree rooted to the ground, or as if the bottom of the skirt was the bell of a trumpet. How to get this shape?

You might think that the skirt pattern itself would be cut such that each piece curved outwards on both sides to create a curved flare towards the bottom of the skirt. In the case of heavier winter skirts, this was a popular cut. 

Another popular way to achieve the flare was to apply one or more circular flounces to a straight-gored skirt. A circular flounce is cut such that both top and bottom are cut on a curve, with the bottom length being longer than the top. The tighter the curve, the more pronounced the flare.

The circular flounce can be applied to a full length skirt so that the base skirt can be frilled with a dust ruffle, and the flounce sit outside. One or more flounces could be stacked this way. Or, a single circular flounce could be attached to a a shorter main skirt, one only about 2/3 of the length needed.

In the case of this dress, the main skirt’s gores are straight. The flounce is very slightly circular, but it is made by cutting several widths. Each width is wider than the gore it goes with, and each one is set in tiny, not quite even pleats onto its gore. The flounce is so long that the pleats fade out by the bottom and the fabric fans out. The fanning is strengthened by three tiny horizontal tucks taken in the flounce plus an applied frill. Add in the excessive length and you have the trumpet effect.

We will address in part 3 how people were advised to walk (!) with a skirt that long.

Cut and Measurements

Rather than attempt to draw the cut myself, I found an existing diagram of the basic skirt design in a January 1901 issue of Vogue magazine, then a rather new magazine heavily focused on fashion and striving to be both au courant and still court an reader on a budget. Here is the cut for an evening gown, on page xii, near the back of the issue. The pattern pieces marked with the blue arrows are the ones we’re interested in. They show the basic cut of my dress’s skirt fairly well. If you want to know how the gown is constructed, the article that goes along with the pattern describes it well. The magazine included a pattern about every other issue, for a year or two. Oh, how I love them!

Here is the skirt laid flat and turned inside out. You can see the bottom of the flounce serving as the skirt’s hem. Frills are mounted to the outside of it, and the flounce has three tucks above that.

The skirt is cut so that the waistline dips in front, because the front and side front pieces are not cut straight across the top. The cut is in line with that of the shirtwaist, which has a lower front point and a very high back. The straight-fronted corset almost surely worn with the dress would encourage the low position in front, while the higher back of the skirt and the upwardly canted back of the corset would help the skirt sit higher there.

You can see clearly here how the asymmetric tall flounce is lowest at center front and very soon thereafter starts to rise on each side.

The main skirt is made of the same tucked cotton lawn as the shirtwaist, while the flounce is made of smooth lawn. The band between skirt and flounce is where the lace used to trim the shirtwaist has been applied to the outside of the skirt to cover the join.

The back of the skirt, shown below, shows that the angle that the flounce rises in the back is gentler, and that the center back placket closure is not that long relative to the skirt’s back length.

Now, for my skirt’s measurements. Because the garment is delicate, I haven’t poked and prodded it much; measures are approximate.

The waist is 24 3/4” around.

The skirt is cut in 5 gores: 1 front, 2 side, 2 back with the center of the back on a seam, which therefore is necessarily on the bias.

Here are the dimensions of the main, tucked portion of the skirt, without the flounce added:

• The front gore: cut straight of grain at the center. 4” wide at waistline and 12 1/2” wide at the bottom. Gore is 29” long at center front, outer seams are 28 1/2” long. There is a barely discernible curve to the bottom.
• The two side gores: cut straight of grain on the front-facing seam, which is 28 1/2” long. Back-facing seam is 26” long. Width 4” across the top and 11” along the bottom.
• The back gores, which are of indeterminate width because they are gathered so closely that I cannot ascertain whether the pieces are as wide at the top as the bottom: 
• The right side: 6” across the top, stroke-gathered for 1 1/2” from the closure edge, 26 1/2” wide at the bottom. Front facing seam is cut on the straight of grain and is of course 26” long, but so is the back, center seam. The back center line of each of these gores is on the bias. Because the fashion fabric is tucked, the center back forms upward-pointed chevrons, a pleasing and elongating effect.
• The left side: 7” across the top, stroke-gathered for 1 1/2” to seam with the under-placket. Extends 1 1/4” further for under-placket.
• Closure is 10” long.
• Added together, the circumference of the main, tucked portion of the skirt is 87 1/2 inches.

Then there is the flounce. It too is in pieces, but their seams do not match up with those of the main skirt. Instead, they are arranged such that there is an unbroken length across the front, and another across the back, with a piece to either side. While I am not entirely certain, I believe that the flounce pieces are circular-cut. The illustration below shows a skirt with the circular-cut flounces. You can see the curved flounce pieces laid out in the schematic to the right of the illustration. Because the skirt also is trained, at the back the flounce pieces are taller than they are at the other end so that the flounce is longer there. My skirt’s flounce is like that.

Vogue, June 13, 1901, p. Xii

Here are the approximate locations of the four pieces that compose the flounce and their dimensions.

• Piece spreading from right side of front to left side of front: 24” wide at top, 42” wide at bottom. Very lightly gathered across top.
• Side piece: left side of front to well in back: 24” wide at top, 42” wide at bottom. Very lightly gathered across top.
• Center back piece: 15” wide at top, 45” wide at bottom. Medium-gathered at top, except for about 3/4” to each side of center back, which is stroke-gathered.
• Side piece: almost center back to right side of front: 24” wide at top, 42” wide at bottom. Lightly gathered across top.
• Flounce heights as measured at seams:
• Center back flounce seam length: about 23”.
• Side flounce seam length: about 21”.
• Front-ish flounce seam length: about 14”.

Skirt Seams and Hem

The lawn of which the outfit is made is fairly closely woven and doesn’t fray that much. 

Waistband, Back Gathers and Skirt Placket

Whereas the front of the skirt is laid flat into the waistband, the back of the skirt is stroke-gathered tightly into the self-fabric waistband. The back panel of the skirt is actually very wide in order for there to be fabric enough to gather this tightly.

Stroked gathers are set so close together that there is no space allowed between them; they are nudged up together by hand with the blunt end of a needle—to my knowledge a machine cannot create them. Years ago I wrote a tutorial on how to create stroked gathers in a mid-19th century petticoat; you see them commonly in very fine antique lingerie and on garments such as 18th century men’s shirts.

It is the luxurious fullness of the back of the skirt and its extra long flounce that creates the fullness of the train. The skirt has such a small waistband that it doesn’t close on the mannequin. Imagine how full that center back fall of skirt into train would be if it actually closed!

Here is how the skirt closure would look if the skirt were properly closed.

This skirt placket only consists of an under-placket. The top part of the placket, which would often be a smooth band of fabric on the inside of the skirt closing edge that would meet up with the under-placket, doesn’t exist. The gathered fabric on the waistband just closes over the under-placket and that’s it. 

The under-placket is wide and is simply doubled fabric, with the selvage at the inner edge so that there is no need for a hem. The placket width ensures that the skirt will not gape open. Interestingly, the under-placket is barely sewn to the back of the skirt fabric at the placket bottom, as you can see in the photo below.

Here is the back side of the under-placket so that you can see its construction.

Here also is the underside skirt closure that closes over the under-placket. You can see that the waistband was fiddled with a bit.

You can also see on this and the previous image how the waistband was constructed. It’s nothing unusual. The long strip of fabric which makes up the waistband was laid along the outside of the skirt’s gathered waist edge (and under-placket) and sewn, though I don’t know whether by machine or by hand. Then the other long edge was flipped to the inside, the raw edge turned under, and hand-sewn closed, probably with spaced backstitch.

Note the two sturdy brass eyes and matching hooks sewn onto the narrow waistband with rough stitches. The brass will not rust, obviously. 

Skirt Hangers on the Waistband

The skirt has two “handles” or hanging loops on the inside of the waistband, one on each side, to use to hang the skirt from a hook or perhaps an early hanger. The handles are nothing more than self fabric in a long strip, all raw edges turned in and folded in half lengthwise, then sewn by machine for the length, and hand stitched in place.

Horizontal Tucks and Frills at Skirt Bottom

The skirt’s bottom is nicely frilly and fluffy, as are so many lightweight, summery outfits of the early Edwardian period. Let’s have a look.

Here is a photo of the bottom of the skirt flounce, showing its three tucks and a frill, with annotations showing how each part of it was constructed. Of special interest to people wanting to create elegant Edwardian dress frills:

• Place your frill so that the top of it falls beneath the cover of a tuck. It looks neater that way.
• Notice how narrow the gathers are, and that not every bit of fabric is gathered. This makes the frill quite delicate and not so frilly that it stands out in waves. These days most people take rather large gathers, nipping up, say, a quarter of an inch. I would not expect that this frill is quite 2x the circumference of the skirt bottom, though I haven’t measured. However, the tiny gathers are close enough for a delicately frilly effect.

Here below is an excruciatingly close-up photo of the frill and how it’s sewn down. My eyes aren’t that good anymore, but I know that the allowance for the frill was turned over, and a fine gathering thread was, I think, used to make the equally fine gathers. Then the gathered frill would have been pinned just underneath the third tuck (which would have been pressed or pinned up to get it out of the way) and the frill sewn on from the top and right over the gathering thread. Thinking I can detect the gathering thread every so often, but might be wrong. In any case, in some places so little fabric was gathered that the result is almost flat. Afterwards, the third tuck would have been lightly pressed down over the frill header to hide the latter.

Here below you can see how the frill allowance is raw at the edge…it doesn’t show and won’t get wear as it’s sandwiched up against the skirt.

Here is the back of the skirt. You can see that the hem is quite deep and goes right up to the last line of stitching that marks the third tuck.

Last comment on the photo of the hem above. The person doing the hem was working fast, and the fabric wandered a little the machine stitched. Also, the stitch length is short — it would need to be on fabric as fine as this.

Goodness, that was a lot, wasn’t it? There is a surprisingly large amount of information that you can collect from a close look at an extant gown like this one. Not being lined, the workings are there for you to discover. I hope that you have learned something useful that you can take into your own Edwardian sewing adventures, or into whatever realm it’s needed.

Next time, placing the dress — both skirt and bodice — into the context of the fashions of the day using lots of photos and documentation, and looking a bit at just a few of the accessories that would have accompanied it.

The Autumn of the Twins’ Senior Year and College Applications

Since I last published a post in July, our family has been very busy with the whole applying to college/university process and we are not done yet, and won’t know where the boys will attend until some time next spring. I wrote, over the last 10 minutes, a description of the costs and the amount of work involved, but deleted it. I will only say that everyone is and has been pulling together, for many years already, but it will be a humungous, long row to get them safely through, and by the time they graduate, I will be viewing the shady side of my sixties. Meantime, am valuing all the moments that we have together while our boys are still kids. Poignant? And then some.

Antique Edwardian 1900-1903 Summer Gown, Part 1: Intro and Shirtwaist Construction

It took years, yet I finally found an extant early Edwardian summer gown (which we would call colloquially an Edwardian dress) that meets all of the criteria I’ve long been looking for: cotton, unlined, trained, and puddling around the feet along the front and sides. Oh, and that was within budget for purchase. Hence the years’ wait.

In this post, part 1, we will look at the gown at large and learn how the bodice was constructed. Part 2 will focus on the skirt; part 3 will explore how the gown fits into what I believe is its time period, via magazine, newspaper, and retailers publications. I thought that people might enjoy seeing a full gown like this in the closest detail possible.

Here is a short video that helps show what the gown is like in in a room.

The wearer would have sported a tall collar, probably of matching lace or eyelet: it has gone missing. She would also have worn a belt, perhaps a shaped fabric belt slightly ruched and dipped in front to follow the fashionable elongated line. Or, especially in 1901 or 2, the belt could have been a narrow velvet closing in front with a pretty buckle, all again dipped. Or a narrow sash with very long tails, tied in side front or back. Black would have been especially chic in 1901, but soft colors would also be popular, in softer tones than the super-brights of most of the 1890s. 

The photos above show the gown over a corset cover and a petticoat of roughly the same length. I had a time settling it safely on the dress form, because the skirt is small…the form is set to a 24” waist, its smallest, and is still too big for the skirt. I have no straight-front corset small enough for the outfit, and hip pads would not have worked without the skirt fitting well. Anyway, I still hope you can imagine what it was like.

Here’s an idea of the ideal gown silhouette from this early part of the Edwardian period in a partial screen capture from The Ladies Home Journal. The models show that the amount of “puddling” (my own term for extra length at front and sides) and training in back varied, from a bare amount to the quite extravagant puddling seen on gowns in La Mode issues of this time. (You will need to look up the magazine: the hosts do not like people copying their pictures.) I usually find that except in high fashion, the bust and derrière positions illustrated in magazines and advertisements are a bit much, but it almost always has been so in that arena.

Both shirtwaist and skirt are entirely unlined, as we will find out in the part 3 post, some recommended unlined gowns, while others recommended gowns with “drop” skirt linings and lined bodices: there were lots of variations to fit occasion, personal preference, and purse.

The gown appears to be local dressmaker-made or homemade. MsTips on Etsy, who is located in Minnesota and from whom I purchased the gown, believes it probably hails from her area. There is no dressmaker label, but not all dressmakers seem to have added them. It combines machined seams with hand-tacking and finishing of closures and trim. The handwork appears to have been done rapidly and mostly with large stitches that no one would see. As such, when worn the gown would have been delicate and certainly not something to last more than a season, if that, without repair. The delicacy of many summer gowns was remarked on at the time. I see no signs of rips or worn fabric which most of my other pieces have, although the skirt was made very slightly smaller in a casual way that warms my heart. 

The gown is made of a tucked fine fabric, possibly lawn, probably bought as pre-tucked goods, with a tall plain lawn skirt flounce higher in back than in front to add grace to the line, lawn eyelet plastron in the center of the shirtwaist front and sleeve ruffles on the bracelet-length sleeves, and matching applied lace on both shirtwaist and skirt which looks like Schiffli to me. 

As you can see in the detail shot below of the lace as used throughout the gown, it is actually embroidery on an applied fabric backing, with portions, but not all, cut or perhaps chemically removed. It’s the manufacturing that makes me think it’s Schiffli, but I am not a lace expert. This lace is, however, not an expensive one. In the photo, the applied lace is only running stitched with large stitches down on one side to a separate bias band of fine fabric applied to the main body tucked fabric. The other side generally holds itself in position since the band is narrow. This has been done wherever the lace is used on the shirtwaist, to keep the regular fabric from showing through the lace, and making it stand out proud more.

While the gown is very pretty, high fashion gowns that we see in museums and occasionally for sale normally use far nicer lace, harder-to-produce trims such as minute contrasting edgings and finer construction. 

The fact that it’s white in color doesn’t mean it’s a wedding or reception gown: white gowns were widely worn and gowns like this one were perfect for summertime events, garden parties, evening informal gatherings, and even street wear, though a woman was expected to hold up a puddled and trained skirt to walk in it. We discussed walking in such skirts in the last post, “A Construction Tour of Four Antique Edwardian Skirts in My Collection”, but I cannot help including the following, which describes the proper look of the more narrow, tightly gored of these skirts, as well as what it is like to move in one:

“Skirts of light weight materials will be more troublesome than usual this summer. The fashionable outline for these garments is exactly that of a reversed lily. The calyx fits as tightly and closely as possible round the hips, and the petals swing out from just above the knees, swirling widely round the feet. This arrangement renders it very troublesome to hold up a skirt effectually; and yet it is impossible to walk in it without lifting it, except by a slow gliding movement, pushing the skirt before one’s feet, as it were. Besides the inconvenience of this sliding manner of progression, considerations of hygiene and cleanliness forbid trailing a wide skirt in the streets or public parks; only on a well-kept lawn or in the house can the newest cut of jupon be worn with any propriety and comfort sweeping its full width around the wearer.” (The Ely Miner. (Ely, Minn.), May 31, 1901: “A Tendency to Crinoline Effect in Light Weight Skirts”)

The Shirtwaist Bodice

Let’s look at the shirtwaist in more detail. This will be very picture-heavy, but I hope you will appreciate seeing construction details up close!

Here below is the shirtwaist only buttoned at the topmost button at the left shoulder. The opening follows the slanting line of the lace trim from collar to shirtwaist bottom. There are relatively few, and very small 4-hole buttons. This style of closure was common in the 1890s, and was still popular in the early Edwardian years.

Here’s the closure in more detail. As you can see, a separate strip of very fine and high-thread-count cotton fabric (lawn again?), folded in half lengthwise, all edges turned in and then sewn, has had sizeable buttonholes handmade in it. Then it has been only tacked in a few places to the inside edge of the left side front piece. It has not been sewn down in its entirety. The strip can’t be seen from outside, because the flat lace trim has been applied. On the outside of the plastron, little four-hole buttons have been sewn right at the edge. When closed, the buttons are invisible and the shirtwaist has no apparent closure, a neat effect.

Note how the front of the eyelet plastron is lightly gathered at the top into a band made of the same fabric as the buttonhole piece, and then gathered again at the bottom. The gathering creates the modest pigeon-front bust that hangs just a bit below the waistline, but the blousing effect can confined to the plastron, depending on how tightly the side fronts are closed. Tastes in blousing differed, as magazines and newspapers said. By 1903 the pouching was often more opulent; that’s one reason I think the gown dates to 1901 or possibly 1902.

One more shot of that buttonhole band, this time from the inside of the shirtwaist. I am showing it separated from the side-front piece base, which has had the fine selvage edge turned in. At this period selvages didn’t have fluffy edges with the weft threads sticking out, so dressmakers didn’t have to trim and hem them. Less time, less bulk.

Here’s the shirtwaist from the side, so you can see the pouching more easily. Note how the shirtwaist peplum is necessarily split at front and progressively becomes wider at the sides and back. Also note the gentle downward slope of the shirtwaist waistline towards the front. This is a sign of the dipped front that was so much a part of the elongated, pigeon-breast front that had become popular in mid-1900 with the advent of the straight-front corset.

Below the buttonhole strip, close to the bottom of the shirtwaist, each side front piece has a small, narrow twill tape. The wearer ties this to adjust the side pieces to close at the end of the visible sides, and just above the peplum. In this way the side fronts are pulled to fit, while not stressing the plastron. Clever, but it’s interesting: if the wearer leaned far over, the inside of the shirtwaist might possibly show. 

Here are the twill tapes from the inside of the shirtwaist. They are inside a casing and are carefully handsewn to the side seam, which can take the tugging of the tapes when they’re pulled. You can also see the French seam side seams here and how the band carries on all the way across the back of the shirtwaist and right over that seam, willy-nilly, to form the waistline. 

The side front and the back pieces of the shirtwaist include the peplum when cut out. The peplum is just delineated by the sewing of this casing-cum-band, made of nothing but a piece of that fabric with the long sides turned under, and a hole at each side seam for the twill tape. The dressmaker sewed the side pieces to the back piece first. Then they made the band, perhaps encasing the tape right away and gathering the center of the back just slightly for wearing ease, sewed it down, and then added the stitches to the tape. It surprises me that the tapes actually can be seen from the exterior, but there you are. Perhaps it means they are easier to replace if one comes loose.

Here’s the back of the shirtwaist.

The back is one piece…a true shirtwaist with no back seams…note the tiny short horizontal band outside above the peplum. We will discuss it in a bit.

Note how narrow the sleeves are, and the pretty bracelet length. We’ll explore that fashion in part 3 of these posts.

The sleeve ruffle, made of a fine eyelet that coordinates but isn’t the same as the plastron eyelet fabric, is very closely gathered to the end of the sleeve, and the join covered with the applied lace. The end of the sleeve is shorter in front than in back, which is elegant and slightly reminiscent of 18th century sleeve ruffles, though those ruffles themselves tended to actually be longer at the back of the elbow.

Here below is the inside of the sleeve, showing that after it was sewn into the armscye, the raw edge was neatly bound. Also, notice the little fabric bar sewn to the binding, with room for it to loop over a hook or peg or possibly a hanger with hooks (I haven’t explored hangers at all). The bar’s at the sleeve armscye bottom. Both armscyes have one so that the shirtwaist may be neatly hung up to air and to avoid needing a pressing.

You can see that the shirtwaist was worn; thankfully stains are minimal and the wearer may have used dress shields.

One more inside view, that of the sleeve end join between the sleeve proper and the ruffle. The sleeves were finely gathered, as we can tell from the large number and small size of the resulting gathers. They were attached to the sleeve ends, obviously, probably from the inside, but we don’t know for sure because the Schiffli lace trim covers the join on the outside, and under the trim is a band of fine fabric to keep the tucked fabric from showing between the open parts of the lace. On the inside, a band of the fine fabric made of a narrow long piece with the ends turned in covers the inside join to make it smooth. It’s machined on both sides. I don’t know if the outside band was placed first, but you can see the large stitches where the lace was tacked on above one of the rows of machine stitching.

Here is the back of the outside of the shirtwaist.

As with many shirtwaists of the time, the shoulder seam is towards the back of the shoulder, not right on top of it. Please, if you make a shirtwaist, remember this; it does affect the look when worn. The seams are all French and narrow.

Here is a closeup of the little applied, double or even triple-thick band that is sewn to the outside of the shirtwaist at the level of the waistline in the back, in the center. It’s sewn on three sides, with the bottom open. It has two eyelets in it that do NOT go all the way through to the shirtwaist fabrics. I submit that these were to hold little brass hooks, like the hooks from the brass hooks and eyes, which would have been sewn to the skirt. Thus the back of the skirt could be held upwards, which would help the dipped front look, and ensure that shirtwaist and skirt did not embarrassingly part ways to show underclothing. Both are pulled out of shape with use. However, I can find no hint to date of hooks on the skirt. Might a belt have been attached here? More study of the skirt band is in order.

Here is the inside of the shirtwaist opened up, showing the side of the center plastron that’s attached. It is not machine sewn to the right side front piece. Instead it is hand-sewn on with largish stitches. Was the maker in a hurry or was this done to keep the plastron hanging loosely and smoothly? What do you think? I think the latter, because one side looking firmer than the other would have somewhat spoiled the relaxed effect of the shirtwaist front.

Pay attention to the blousing at bottom: see how the outside is a bit pulled inside by the gathering? That helps it pouch properly on the outside.

Here’s a detail shot, below. Do you see how big the stitches are? Also, do you notice that the right side shirtwaist front piece is cut on the selvage, and the selvage turned well inwards for a wide seam allowance? 

Oh, and those large tacking stitches running down the inside next to the selvage: those are the stitches just tacking on the applied lace outside. Those are not painstakingly machine sewn on, so they do not suffer an obvious line of stitching or a mashing of the lace. So, makers: be light with attaching your flat-applied lace (except insertion lace, for obvious reasons) and it will look more natural. 

Finally, observe that the top of the plastron appears to be a long piece of that fine fabric used for the buttonhole piece, folded over and ends turned in, and machine stitched to the top of the plastron. This would need to take rubbing, so machine work makes sense. Here, as elsewhere, the stitching is adequately straight, but suffers a little from wandering. Quick professional work or semi-proficient home seamstress work? I have a contemporaneous silk gown and a slightly later linen suit; in both, the workmanship is more careful.

Here’s the bottom of the plastron, from the outside. It has been gathered into a narrow space. Note that the gathering is rapidly done. You can see that the plastron eyelet fabric is similar in weight to the tucked fabric. If you look at the size of my fingers where they are shown, you will see how finely woven these fabrics are. It would be difficult to find such excellent fabric, though I may have located some cotton mull,  known as some of the finest of all.

Here is the same gathered plastron bottom, from the inside. You can see that a scrap of that fine fabric has been placed over the gathering both long and short ends turned under, and handsewn down…the stitches are visible on the left. Was this there when the garment was created, or is it a fix? Cannot tell.

The loose edge of the plastron, with the buttons on the outside, is below. It appears that the plastron may have been cut on the selvage on this side, and the end folded over and turned in, providing a doubled edge for the buttons to be sewn to on the outside.

Here’s the inside of one of the front side pieces towards the bottom, where the interior band that marks the waistline and serves as a casing for the twill tape to tie the two front pieces together. As you can see, you can adjust how smooth or eased the two side front pieces are. Note the fairly wide self bias binding that encases the bottom of the shirtwaist pieces to neaten them up. The sewing appears to have been done from the outside and at points the seamstress missed sewing the edge on the backside and had to hem those parts. I sure understand that situation ;)

That finishes examining the shirtwaist. I am hopeful that those who like to make Edwardian clothing for whatever use, will find the details helpful to their sewing projects.

I’ve already prepared most of parts 2 and 3, so I sure hope it won’t take long to post them. You never know what life will throw at you, and our sons’ college application season is upon us!

Before you go, a little treat. 

A female Eastern swallowtail butterfly has been visiting our summer phlox for its nectar. We hope she find a mate and lays a brood of eggs in her preferred trees, tulip trees, bay magnolias, and lilacs.