Steampunk Black Dress: Building the Underskirt

Edited September 8, 2020

In the rush to get the steampunk dress ready for the Halloween tea, I neglected to share with you several aspects of its construction, most of it based on my extant 1870s dress, and/or on Harper's Bazar instructions. So here they are, after the fact, in the next few posts.

Let's talk about the underskirt. Watch out: this is an image-heavy post.

A Late 1860s Extant Dress as a Model

I used a late 1860s dress as a model for many construction decisions in this dress. Recently a dress historian and costumer, Cassidy of A Most Beguiling Accomplishment, analyzed the dress in detail in her video and post "Ca. 1866 Brown Gown - A Close-Up Look". I had sent the dress, along with many other antique garments, to her several years ago, believing she could analyze and conserve them better than I could. The analysis dates the dress to 1866-1867, probably altered for a first time in the early 1870s, and she walks viewers through a number of minute construction details and later alterations that I entirely missed, while confirming some of my findings. I hope you will view the video, because the construction certainly affects how the dress would look when worn.

The Underskirt Pattern and Seaming up the Pieces

The extant late 1860s dress that I used

as a model for construction methods.

This garment was straightforward: I used the TV201 pattern again, the same as for the petticoat, for the pattern pieces, except that I added a bit of a train...just adding some inches to the back piece. I did not, however, follow the Truly Victorian construction directions, but instead the construction of my extant dress. You'll see why in a bit.

The skirt is entirely lined in lightweight muslin. Why? Well, my extant dress is, and I wanted the solid effect that most non-summer 1870s skirts have. They drape crisply and a bit heavily. You can see that in the image of the extant dress here. That silk, by the way, is light as air, and backed by polished cotton and "book muslin" at the hem.

Had I been able to find polished cotton, it would have been great, because then I wouldn't worry it would cling to the petticoat. In the event, it didn't anyway, which is good. It would have been NOT good if the skirt had clung to the petticoat and crept out of alignment or pulled up or something.

After seaming up the skirt pieces, I overcast the seam allowances to finish them and keep them from fraying. In this skirt, the two allowances are placed together and overcast as one: the skirt is thick enough to do this without it showing on the right side.

The Placket

Next, the placket. It sits on the wearer's right side, just in front of the back piece. This makes the skirt a bit of a pain to put on, because the opening is so far back, but it's well hidden by the overskirt.

Each side of the placket opening was turned inwards into a hem, and the lining ditto: then the lining and fashion fabric were slip-stitched closed. Easy peasy.

How the 1870s extant skirt did the placket was a little different. Here below is the placket from the outside. See the big running stitches where the lining and the placket are sewn together. No slip stitches here.

On one side of the placket, the fashion fabric is brought inwards, and hemmed down. Note the tobacco-colored polished cotton lining. Pretty color, isn't it?

On the other side of the placket, the lining is brought out to the edge, turned in, and sewn together. Note the old repair at the bottom of the placket. This dress has layers and layers of repair; at one point it may have been used as a costume.

Skirt Hem and Facing

Then the bottom hem was completed. As with any mid-century skirt, the skirt is "balanced" so the hem is made even by adjusting the waist, not the bottom hem. This makes finishing the bottom hem infinitely easier.  You just turn it up and sew it. Plus you have the extra fabric handy in case you want to make the skirt longer in the future.

Harper's Bazar recommendas and my extant dress features a deep facing at the skirt hem. It makes the skirt hang better. I simply followed the extant dress as closely as I could. The skirt's fashion fabric was turned in about a half inch and pressed flat.

A wide facing -- about 9 inches -- was cut in black muslin, following the bottom of the pattern pieces, and seamed together.



Facing seamed up.

The facing was placed on the outside of the skirt, right side to right side, and sewn. Then the skirt was turned inside out, and the facing was turned inwards, and pressed so that the fashion fabric shows a little on the interior.This prevents the facing from ever showing on the outside of the skirt. Then the top of the facing was turned down into a hem and was slip-stitched to the skirt lining. This was kind of a pain, because sometimes the needle would go all the way through to the outside of the skirt, and I'd have to take it out, or hope that the trim would cover up the stitches that showed :)

Facing pinned in place.

Completed facing. (The black fabric showing on the ouside of the skirt is actually flounce trim.)

Skirt Waistband

Big fun, this part :} Really? Well, maybe. Depends on your point of view.

Let's look at the extant 1870s dress and see what it tells us. When I first bought the thing, I was a bit flummoxed, because it seemed to have a petersham waistband. You can see it clearly in this image below...the big ribbon-like band at the top of the photo.

It turns out that the original waistband was either worn out or fragile or didn't fit the new wearer, because the petersham waistband is a later addition, made in a hurry with a combination of machine and hand stitching.

The next picture might tell the story better. I've marked where the petersham band begins: we're looking at the inside of the skirt at the waistband level. The petersham band was sewn to the outside of the skirt. The original skirt features a wide-ish waistband. The skirt was leveled at the hem, probably while on the wearer, with the raw top edge turned inward and pulled down until at the floor level the skirt hem was positioned where it was wanted. The raw edges were loosely overcast to protect them from raveling. Then the skirt was pleated as needed until it fitted the wearer's waist, pinned in place, most likely. Then, probably while off the wearer, the waistband was whipped to the skirt with thick, strong thread. You can see all of this below, with my annotations.

The original skirt wasn't pleated all the way around, of course, since fashion required a nice flat front. Instead, a very few wide pleats were taken at front and sides, and then the back of the skirt, where all the fullness lies, was cartridge pleated, and then sort of whipped to the waistband so that the pleats would swing clear of the band and stand out in back, helping the bustle pouf. You can see that below. Note that the lining goes right up to the top of the skirt fabric! This gives the pleating more strength, of course, but also helps to make the pleats stand out more.

When the skirt was redone the seamstress just sewed the cartridge pleats flat.

The Truly Victorian pattern directions ask that the skirt pleating or gathering be fitted inside, encased, in the waistband, and this is easy to do, of course. Yet it makes for a thicker waistband, and forces the skirt fabric downwards. When you want a bustle pouf, you want that skirt going outwards at the first available opportunity, so cartridge pleating is a better bet for that effect.

Now, what did I do? What the extant skirt did. I just put a few fitting pleats at the sides and front, and then cartridge pleated the skirt in back until it fit tightly at the waist. This is key: you can make the cartridge pleats bigger or smaller, so do that part last: get the smooth parts in place first. I set each pleat while on my mannequin, pinning it in place. It's all eyeballed, not measured.

Memo to file: it took two tries to get a good fit. The first time round I box-pleated the back of the skirt, but didn't like the effect.

Then I whipped the skirt to a waistband. The waistband was made of a tube of both muslin lining and fashion fabric, sewn right sides to right sides, turned, and then one long edge topstitched so that the tube laid perfectly flat.

I made the waistband about two inches longer than needed, not being sure if I might need to make it bigger down the road. To wear the skirt, I just pinned the waistband ends together with straight pins, like an 18th century garment would be. That way the skirt will always fit pretty well, whether I lose weight or, please not, gain any.

So that's it for the underskirt construction. No one sees much of the underskirt when it's worn, so it's not that exciting a garment, but the shot below gives you an idea.

Next up, overskirt and trim notes. Then it's on to the small finishes that will make this a better dress, and lastly, better hair!

Steampunk Tea Part Two: Oh, Do We Have Bustle!

It's evening three after the steampunk tea, and outside the breeze is still blowing the last bits of Autumn off the record. Yet how can I complain of a little wind, when much of the East Coast is enduring a flooded, wind-wracked, nerve-wracked sort of hell? Most of the rest of the country is thinking of you all, and praying the storm just gets itself gone.

To Rebecca up in the D.C. area, we are so glad you all made it through neatly. To cheer you up even more, as promised here are the last of the pictures of the steampunk tea.

The edibles subtly convey our state's culture. Kentuckians are especially good at tea sandwich fillings: olive nut (which is what it says, whipped into cream cheese and sometimes mayonnaise, and herbs), ham salad (which is, you guessed it: like chicken salad but with finely chopped ham instead); Benedictine (cucumbers and cream, dyed green); chicken salad, pimento cheese, and numberless other variations. Our table was loaded with a goodly assortment, and rounded out by spinach and nutmeg tarts, tiny vanilla cakes, apple tart, and red velvet cake, as velvety and as deeply truly red as always, except for the popping white of the frosting.

Look at the massive wrinkles in the bodice! It fit well when I made it. There's an easy-but-annoying explanation for the iffy look: the corset underneath is upside down. However, at this juncture the bustle overskirt was sitting neatly, for I'd not sat down, nor been running about, as I'd do later. It is interesting to see how easily disarranged a dress can become, unless one takes careful steps to avoid that. More on that later.

And that durn hat! So it was askew right from the get go. What shall I claim as excuse? Why, the truth. I dressed before we set up the tea things, and was in a dreadful hurry -- hence the corset/bodice mess. I looked at the immense chignon hairpiece I'd made, thought of how I'd be contorting myself into frustration to attach its minute combs to the back of my skull, and discarded it. Next went the gloves, simply forgotten. The proper belt buckle was waved off as just too much effort too. Noting the minutes ticking, I flopped the hat atop the head, rummaged in the too-dark travel bag for three vicious hat pins, and finding them, hesitatingly punched them through the hat, heedless of the handsome lace, and into my hair, praying quietly that I wouldn't graze the skin, and thanking Heaven for a current tetanus shot. I wonder how many women have contracted lockjaw from contaminated hat pins in the head?

One of the party's conceits was that I'd greet everyone as they stepped off the airship, thank them for flying the Concord, and wave them into the house. In the event, only a few passengers were treated to the schtick; ah well, it's so hard not to say "Oh, hellllllo! So good to see you; I've been missing you", and offer to take their platters for them...

Our partygoers, before we tucked into afternoon tea. [Durn hat.]

Rebecca, we decided on a buffet: no formal tea seating this time, but we did balance our cups and plates without spills, so you will be proud of us. Shall I whisper that in an attempted sniff Julia plopped the lid from the lavender "elixir of life" bottle into her tea, to the sound of snorts and hoots?

Leaden outdoors as it was, with spots of rain, we went outdoors anyway for playacting and to bat at a very special pinata.

Herewith, proof that Jenni and I really were after bustles worthy of balancing a dinner plate.
I could have carried a small cat, or even a small child, back there, had the steels been more numerous... [Yes, those are stewardessian golden wings on that hat.]

Pinata. What did you think it might represent, other than an airship? Jenni built it, Rebecca. It was neat. It was well built.

Hanging it from the pergola was simplicity.

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

Whack, whack!

Double-whack!

 

Whomp. The ordinarily tough tobacco stick broke in half, then in thirds.

A tree limb was substituted. Whack!

And so it went, rounds and rounds, and the pinata held and held, until finally enough of it opened up to let fall some candy, and we called it a success.

(Video courtesy Jenni of Living With Jane)

Our teahouse proprietress Polly called us back in.

Not before I requested a back view of the dress, never having seen it, and not being able to turn myself around fast enough to catch a view.

Oh vanity, thy name is Woman. The first sight of the result had me sigh in frustration. The afternoon had not been over-kind to the overskirt. It had lost its symmetry, and the rosette at the waistline went off center. A second look many hours later brings more charitable thoughts; I look probably as real as most women do after some exercise in a big poufy complex outfit.

Here's that rosette. It was a duck to make and I'll do more of them with pleasure. It's a close cousin to one in Harper's Bazar.

Then it was back inside for charades and a last cup tea and a nibble. The afternoon's light faded, we wished friends goodbye, and multiple hands helped Polly wash up and put everything to rights. In some ways such traditional work is as fun as a party. More time for conversation, for breathing deep, for slowing down, and Monday morning quarterbacking the event.

Oh dear, I'd write more, but small Christopher is inconsolable in his bed. He has had five days of fever, on and off and tonight he is flushed and damp. Noah has had six. We thought they were well Sunday but that was either the boys' ruse to get to see their grandparents, or perhaps Fate's poor sense of humor, for here we are again....  Tomorrow promises another doctor's visit.

It all started a week ago Monday, after I had been sick that weekend. Both boys have missed school and all of us have missed sleep. My face shows the puffiness of sleeplessness in the tea pictures. I am so glad not to have missed that tea: what a relaxing moment of fun and sanity!

Oh, dear boy, do stop crying. I've been in to comfort you three times already...no, your voice is too pitiful, here I come...

So ciao, everyone. [Oh, he has stopped the wails. Probably fallen asleep mid-sniff.]

Next up, more tidbits on the dress construction (with views of my extant 1870s dress construction for comparison), and notes on what is left to be done. Wait, it's not done? No, it's not. Critical eyes will note that the skirt flounce lacks a finish, there are no bias folds covering the trim stitching -- an almost de riguer element of early 1870s trims -- there should be rosettes at the front overskirt "wings" and at the overskirt belt, and at the neckline lace is simply tacked in to the bodice lining. Many women would have worn an ornate jabot or equally ornate and removable lace collar.

Goodnight!



 

The Steampunk Tea, Part One

Natalie cannot hit an airship pinata to save her life.
After a few good whacks at thin air, her hat
slips askew.

My dearest Ladies and Gentlemen,

You are most cordially invited to Afternoon Tea at Rose Cottage Teahouse, Proprietress Mrs. Polly, on Sunday, the twenty-eighth of October. Rose Cottage is acclaimed for the taste and beauty of its Furnishings, its genial garden Setting, and applauded for the excellence of its fine Edibles and exotic Teas, not only within Scotia, the gentle nation in which it comfortably resides, but also so far as the lands of Lexington, Winchester, Richmond, and points farther afield.

We take the liberty of hoping that you will choose to honor us with your presence, and to afford your extra pleasure, will be pleased to carry you thither, and home again, in the famed and well-appointed airship Concord. Arrival and docking promptly at 4:30 post meridian. Our pilot does beg that any weapons shall be securely sheathed or holstered, and wishes to favor the ladies with the gentle word that hats should be well pinned and skirts perhaps weighted, to avert the possibility of any unfortunate accidents which might otherwise occur.

The favor of a reply is earnestly requested.

Ever your most sincere servant,

Mrs. Natalie

Stewardess, the Concord

 

Just hours ago the airship Concord docked at the Famous Kelly Avenue Teahouse, Rose Cottage, disgorging a set of friends, ready for a delightful afternoon.  Polly, our proprietress, and I, the Concord stewardess dispensing tea and sympathy, were joined by warrioresses, Mary Poppins (soaring in on her own umbrella), and an intrepid time traveler carrying the elixir of eternal life, trying to escape the clutches, teeth and net of a bounty hunter.

The menu of attractions:

• afternoon tea, in three courses
• "Guess what I am thinking of", a parlor game
• charades -- miming common proverbs
• an airship pinata!

Here you must know that this party was also in honor of our friend, now departed for northerner climes. Rebecca, we missed you very much, and dedicate the following glimpses, in this post and the next, of the afternoon to you.

"Not the net, dear sir, not the net!" cries Jenni, as the bounty hunter threatens vile capture, and the despoiling of the elixir of eternal life. Did you know that eternal life smells like lavender? Really, it does; one sniff of the precious oil is divine.



In which our proprietress displays her hat, and, sylph-like, blends with her tree. Oh roses, thou late bloomers, show thy faces bravely next days, for the forcasters have predicted snow by Wednesday.

We had finished off the airship pinata, the candy all spilling to earth, and decided to pose all disheveled. My hat's even further askew, and the bodice all rucked up from batting at the pinata with a tobacco stick. What? You think that's some sort of cigarette, eh? Ah, friend, but we're in Kentucky. Tobacco sticks are about four feet long, of good tough wood roughly cut, and spiked at one end, and are endlessly useful, not just for propping up tobacco plants, but for staking anything...or hitting anything. Awful handy, they are.

Jenni (right) and I (left)

At parties I am a dreadful photographer, so that's quite literally all I have. Soon as compatriots send me the goods, Rebecca, I will post more!

Oh, and yes, the dress performed wonderfully, although I was not happy about the bodice fit. I appear to have lost weight, was often standing slightly hunched over, making the bodice wrinkle, didn't employ side bust pads, and so on. So different an effect than during the multiple fittings! 

It's comfortable to wear, however. A bustle is not as big as a crinoline skirt, so I had no fear of knocking over small tables. Plus, it collapses neatly when one sits, spreading a pretty small sea of fabric about, but revealing nothing. Second thing, I only backed up onto my own train once, and didn't fall, and only one party-goer trod on it, and it didn't rip. That in itself marks success. Third, the stiff sleeve ruffles you see on 1870s dresses have an advantage over more fly-away 18th century or 1930s versions: they stay where you put them and do not drag in the soup. Had they been airier, I'd be daubed with Polly's excellent cream of tomato soup in the above photo.

Steampunk Black Dress: A Shrunken Sleeve Cuff

Sorry, Mrs. C.: you thought the gargantuan cuff mad and Victorian, and it was definitely Steampunkish, but I thought it might attack me, Zombie-like, so the lace went away. For this weekend's event it's better so, for I will be playing an airship stewardess. Later we can address a more proper lace effect, with better lace, better placed.

What we lack for this event:

• overskirt belt
• sewing bias folds above the skirt flounce
• tacking down the overskirt trim (the bias fold part of that will come later)
• lace at neckline
• airship insignia
• hat!

Steampunk Black Dress: A Gargantuan Sleeve Ruffle

 

Lord love a duck, what is that THING at the end of my so-elegant sleeve?

 

 

A sleeve ruffle, made smaller than the original, believe it or not. The lace is vintage cotton, so it rather passes the time test, although no, it's not the Brussels lace the October 24, 1868 Harper's Bazar suggested but, eh, I don't love it. It's gone beyond spiritedly poufy to frowsy. I am tucking it in until it's no more than a peep at the edges. Plus, the gathers are going to be ironed into place all the way to the ruffle edge, to tone them down. Bleh.

 



Steampunk Black Dress: Progress...

Creep under a rock, did I? No, just lots going on, and so working on this dress had to go into background mode. Nevertheless, except for the overskirt waistband, or belt, as it was known, and the interior cords that pull up the overskirt, the dress is functionally complete, and I am trimming it.

Here it is.

Being a night-time shot, the color is not the best, but can you see how it's getting there?

What we have is a scantly box-pleated flounce, and box-pleated sleeves sewn down in two parallel rows, to create a very 18th century look. I wanted puffings, thinking that the black cotton trim fabric would be thin enough, but it's just a tiny bit too stiff to puff nicely. Voile would have worked better for puffings.

Still to complete, if I have time before the event:

• overskirt trim: a single, narrow box-pleating*, with bias band and tiny header
• double box pleating above the skirt flounce
• bodice: single narrow box pleat with bias band and no header, and lace collar
• iron the thing!

*often referred to then as a plaiting

After the event this weekend, I promise construction posts. This has been a super learning experience in the ways of handling linings, draping, and trimming.

Meanwhile, I leave you with a taste of what we've been doing: riding trains with dear friends! Here, the boys with their Atlanta friends.

 

Steampunk Black Dress: Overskirt Sneak Peek

Today I took a few minutes to loosen up the shoulder muscles after hunching over a computer all day to...pin an overskirt toile.

Take number one: a bit blah.

Is anything more relaxing than sculpture that can be undone and moved around with the move of a pin? It's like working with clay -- so malleable. Good for the shoulders, good for the soul.

Here's take number two, a few hours later. In the lamplight it's a bit hard to see the effect: can you squint it out? I've curved up the front piece where it joins the side piece, taking an upward-facing pleat in the front piece.

Then I angled all the side piece pleats at the waist upwards and backwards. Mmm, I like that. Angling the waist pleats curves the two upper pleats between the front and side pieces into two swags that emphasize the pannier pouf and carry both the front and the side a bit to the back.

Finally I further emphasized the curving edge of the front piece: I will have to cut it to shape.

Take number 2: there we go!

Doesn't look like the overskirt you expected, does it? Well, I became bored with the apron overskirt look, and opted for a split pannier design instead. It was very popular in 1869-1870, and there are several Peterson's Magazine patterns for this sort of overskirt.

I've chosen a favorite, the Panier Over-Skirt from the January 1869 issue. You can get the plate, the pattern and the full directions from Google Books' copy of the magazine. (See the Full-Text Fashion Magazines page on this blog for a link.) La Couturiere Parisienne has it too, although only partial directions: the directions for handling the second figure are not included. By the way, the pattern is very, very clever in its use of pleating to create side pannier poufing. My changes just emphasize the poufiness.

We're going for overskirt worn bt the second figure, on the right. She's wearing a vee-neck bodice by the way; the overall X pattern created by the bodice and overskirt trim is handsome and slimming.

Changes to the pattern:

• making the back piece go the full breadth of my muslin;
• cutting all the pieces three inches longer;
• rounding off the front piece's bottom center edge and pleating it where it meets the bottom front of the side piece;
• folding the two lowest upward-facing pleats between the front and side pieces much deeper;
• pleating the side pieces, and angling them, to fit my waist better and to add some extra fluff;
• simulating interior cords by pinning up the back into two poufs, one below the other.

The result is such fun. It's got the 18th century pannier effect going at the sides, and some nice pouf at the back. Once the real fabric is used, and lined, the effect will be even nicer. Okay, crossing fingers that it will!

Ciao for now...

Sewing with Babies Blog Award

An award awaited a morning or two ago! Sarah of Romantic History sweetly presented me with the Sewing with Babies Award. It recognizes mothers who try (and now and then fail) to find time to create something beautiful and/or useful with needle and thread, between feedings, nappy changes, laundry, nursery rhymes, and baby kisses.

I had to laugh: sewing with and around small children has been a fact of life for five years now. Over time, how I manage sewing with children has changed as they have changed, and as I have changed.

Now it's my turn to pass on the blessing. Here's how it works:

• Post the text below, describing the award (you are of course welcome to use either of the images in this post on your own blog)
• Link back to the person who gave you the award.
• Describe what you do to make sewing possible, and still have a happy and content baby.
• Pass on the award to three (or more) sewing and blogging mothers of small children.

Having to wear bear caps. One's willing to be amused.
The other is patently over it.

Mixing Sewing and Needles and Pins with Small Children

How do I make sewing possible and still have happy children? Is it fair to write that they like what I have made for them to wear? You be the judge: the pictures on this page may tell the tale.

The honest answer is that sewing takes a very back seat. It's children husband and household and job first, hobby second.

Like women of all eras, what I like to do is often saved for the times when the children are asleep. However, I have to be careful: those hours need to be shared with my husband, too. Lately I've been sewing and watching football with him. That's pleasant companionship. Since he does not watch much television, however, and I hardly at all, that means that I have to watch my ps and qs, and refrain from "hobbying" more than one or two times weekly.

Not enjoying their cowboy duds.

Since the boys are in school now, there is sometimes and hour or two on a non-work weekday, too. That's a real treat, because then I can sit in the sunshine or near a bright window, and leave cares behind completely as the needs of the project get happy, fully absorbed attention.

Like Sarah, I am a firm believer in quiet time for children...and adults. In the mid-afternoon, when the body slows down a bit anyway, is a good moment for the boys to read or to play quietly in their rooms, to let their minds wander, perhaps to sleep. If I am not napping too, that's a perfect moment to pull out the needle.

Will my Tinkertoy sword fit in the sewing box?

There are moments, however, when I can haul out the sewing box and work with the boys. That little cloth-covered box has fascinated them since they could sit up. The eraser that's unaccountably always lived in it has teething marks, the first thimble was lost down a heating vent, the hooks and eyes are mixed up, all because the contents of that box have been toys.

When they were younger, I sewed with them to just be with them, and to teach them about simple things: how cloth folds, what a seam is, and what seams are on their own clothes, what buttons are for, why mama likes to make things, and why they might like to make things, too. They were bright-eyed with my movements and then with the bright objects, and we could have as much as a half hour of them playing and me doing some handwork, before their interest flagged and we needed to move on to something else. Not long, eh? Precious time, though, precious time, for us together and for that chance to create.

Now they find missing needles and pins for me. Not by sitting on them, or walking on them, I will point out, so far. Then I get a good lecture on being careful with my things; it's turn and turn about.

At age five, they play ship or shop or soldier or tree service outdoors and I can sit in a sunny spot and do handwork. The point is, I only do handwork with the boys. I need to keep an eye on them of course, and be ready to lay down the needle to play with them a few minutes, when asked, or to offer rescue or help -- or to scold or referee.  That's another reason, I suppose, why most of my garments are handsewn: hand-sewing requires a mimimum of space and materials, and it's portable. I can sew where they are, so that they are out of mischief, and we are in companionship. They like this, I know. They will come up, and fiddle with the objects that used to fascinate them, and ask me what I am working on and ask to hold it. When they are a little older, I will ask them to join me, so they can learn, if they like.

Sewing and children blend together. Each is precious, each has its time and place.

So, to whom should this award travel next?

• Living with Jane
  Dear friend Jenni and her little Autumn and my boys sometimes play together when we sew together; what could be happier than that?
• Sew 18th Century
  Introduced to her blog by At the Sign of the Golden Scissors, I was hooked immediately. Her little girl is so darn cute in her pudding cap :}
• Daze of Laur
  Laurie Tavan is well-known in the costuming community for the quality of her work, but for some reason I didn't discover her blog until recently. Her sense of humor when it comes to children is delicious. See for example "Further Assistance Not Required". Mothers of children and those owned by cats are likely to get a good low chuckle out of this one.

 This has been a joy to write. Happy fall, everyone!

Steampunk Black Dress: Houston, We Have a Bodice

Here it is. Unpressed, untrimmed, but functionally complete. The black bodice, which is really black and cream, and therefore in most lights looks gray.

The vee necked front, with three-quarter length sleeves.

Yes, yes, the neck is a little high. It has to support a standing pleated lace collar...

The back, showing how the coat-style sleeves curve towards the front, as if to shake hands or kiss.
My one concern: there is too much ease in that sleeve, so that I really had to do quite a bit of gathering. That should not be. Not at all. There should be a very little ease.

Oh deary dear. I am afraid I'll have to take these sleeves out and recut them with less of a sleeve head. I did choose the right size in Heather's pattern. Wonder why there is so much ease? Hmmm. Think I'll ask on the Truly Victorian site's bulletin board.

The combination of lining and interlining gives the entire bodice such structure. My 1850s bodice feels this way, and the 1870s bodice looks this way: although it lacks an interlining the polished cotton and taffeta are both crisp structurey sorts of fabric.

Peer closely at the image above. Do you see a cutting mistake? Do you? There is one...

Yes, I cut one side of the back on the wrong side of the fabric. It's hard to tell because the change is so minor, but there is a wrong side and a right side to the fabric. Oh well :}

Below, the inside. The bottom is faced with a bias strip, the neckline fashion fabric turned in and hemmed. As I'll tell you next post, that was the one step I believe another method would have looked better, although this one does the job.

Below, what we now call piping and was then called cording. It was a lot easier to do than I thought, although it took two extra steps.

That fabric is not nubby. It's perfectly smooth. What you see is a pattern of tiny triangles in black, woven in with the cream ground. It's beautiful fabric.

Oh, and the fashion gods must have thought me hubristic, because yes, the sleevils were a terrible plague. Again, later, after the pain is gone but the memory's fresh, I'll tell you all about facings, piping (cording), and the silly, silly, silly, silly sleeve mistakes that cost me time most unneccesarily.

Meanwhile, I have cut out the underskirt and will seam it up shortly. Then it's the overskirt, and lastly, the trim. If time grows short before the Halloween party, I can trim the dress conservatively and save the real frou-frou for later.
 

Steampunk Black Dress: Whee! Bodice Fits!

Serious concern about fit;
seriously silly picture.

Edited September 8, 2020

Wheeeee-ooooo! It fits with no tweaks needed. [Wipes brow before perspiration mars the bodice.] I was worried it might be too tight, or would gap above the bust, or there'd be some other awful problem. The worries were allayed. By plenty of grace and good fortune it worked out. I love Truly Victorian patterns.

When my arm isn't raised, the bodice is smooth across the front. There is the inevitable loose wrinkle at the underarm, courtesy the extra seam allowance I couldn't fold under enough for the second fitting as well, as the aging bust issue that padding will correct, but otherwise, to my eye it's nice.

I may raise the waistline a little bit, but not by much: left a last hook and eye undone in case shortening was needed.  Mmm, what do you think? Allowing for a 1/2" hem allowance, is the bodice short enough for the slightly raised 1870 waistline?

Yes, that's a vee neckline. I like it!

Sewing -- and Basting -- the Seams

Below we have all the pieces laid out. I had numbered each piece when I made the toile, so I'd lay it out correctly. Too often have I played the dork card and gotten pieces mixed up, so the one minute it took to label them saved me potentially hours.

Following Heather McNaughton's and Harper's Bazar directions, the backs were sewn together first, then each side back was sewn to the back. Curved seam...always fun. It helps to pin and baste carefully. Then each side to each side back. What about the fronts? Read on...

Detail of pinning. The red threads? That's the basting holding lining, interlining and fashion fabric together. The penciled lines? The seam lines. I drew them so I'd be sure to get the seams right, having a premonition that if I didn't nothing good would follow.

All machine sewing is done on this circa 1911 Willcox and Gibbs treadle below. The dear girl is pretty beat up, her gold trim paint worn off, drawers mended, wood trim missing, even a piece of her top broken off, but as my friend Johnny says, she sews a dream more than 100 years later, so the consistent use she's had means she is a peculiarly good machine.

How do you like the environs? That's the roughed-in master bath she sits in. I haven't the faintest clue where my poor girl goes when it's finished out. There's scarcely room for her anywhere.

After sewing all of the seams except the side to side front, it was time to baste the front-side seams and the shoulder seams. That way if I had goofed the front closure, I could adjust the front-side seams by moving the front piece. Remember, Heather says I am to leave that side piece's seam allowance alone.

Oh, day of reckoning. In the two images below, the side seams are basted...oops, no picture of the shoulder basting, but really, that's overkill.

Then the fitting. On with the corset. Do up the hooks and eyes with shaky fingers. Uh-oh, is it too tight? Oh dear, oh.....phewwwwwww. We're okay.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, is my pride in for a fall? Stern reminder to self: reign in any tendency towards hubris and retain proper humility after this lucky fit, or something horrible is likely to happen to the sleeves.



No, that's not a model pose. That's me thinking I needed to move to allow the camera
to see the entire bodice, not move the camera. Silly girl. Besides, what model would display
her double chin?



Yup, that's snug all right. It will stretch a bit.



The fit is good enough and the lining-interlining-fashion fabric combination sturdy enough that I shan't bone the bodice. I'll do the channels, of course, but no, no boning, not for now. (Fall 2020: I should have added the boning, and connected the bodice and skirt with a series of hooks and eyes, too. The bodice would have fit better and the connection with the skirt would keep the bodice from riding up. Live and learn...and take a lesson from it!)

Sneak Peek

Next up? Sleeves and finishing the neckline and the waistline in rapid, sensible period fashion...but without cording!  So sorry Harper's Bazar, but I shan't cord either neckline or waistline after all, just the armscyes.

Why? I have an 1869 silk dress in my collection. It was altered at least once during the nineteenth century, and appears to have been used as a costume later...that's where the hook and eye tape came from that you see in the second image below.

(Fall 2020 edit: Cassidy, a dress historian and costumer, now owns the dress. I sent it to her, along with a number of other garments from my collection, as she would be able to understand and share much more about their design and construction, and conserve them, far better than I could. Recently she analyzed the dress in a post titled Ca. 1866 Brown Gown - A Close-Up Look and video. I urge you to watch it, because she points out much that I entirely missed, while confirming some of what I found. Note that she dates the dress to 1866-1867. Am in agreement, having spent some of the summer reading Peterson's Magazines from 1866-1870. Finally, she plans to create a pattern from it at some point. Crossing fingers!)

In the first photo of the outside of the dress, we see thread in giant running stitch. What does it hold?

Turns out, it tacks the net lace collar into place. (By the way, that collar is a much later addition, I have learned) The collar is sandwiched between the lining and the fashion fabric. You can't see it from the outside because the collar covers the stitches.

So how are the insides finished? The fashion fabric raw edge was turned in, the lining was turned in, and the lining was hemmed to the turned in allowance of the fashion fabric. The stitches are tiny, but there aren't very many of them. No stitch shows on the outside of the dress. (Edit: Cassidy says the neckline treatment dates to a much later alteration. The original neckline would have been piped. Sigh. I should have piped mine. A pitfall of using an extant dress as a model, when you aren't aware of the effect of later alterations!)

Nota bene: more on that collar later. It's just a length of lace, whose ends have been trimmed and finished off...

Until next time, Ciao.