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.

Steampunk Black Dress Tutorial: Mid-Century Front Bodice Closure With Hidden Hooks and Eyes

Are you ready for me to show you a period method for making a well-fitting front closure with hooks and eyes, taken from a mid-19th-century dress in my collection? Sure you are! I have a circa 1850-60s green and wine colored stripe and floral silk dress in my collection that sets the eyes and hooks very much as the Harper's Bazar article article in Reconstruction Era Fashions (discussed in previous posts) directs.

Why am I doing the closure now? The Harper's Bazar article tells us that before sewing your bodice seams together, you finish the front closure. This seems counterintuitive, but if you finish it first, you can be surer of a nice gapless closure and can fix any fitting issues by testing the side seams before sewing them for good.

So, after cutting out my interlining and fashion fabric pieces, and basting them to the lining with red thread, I was ready for the front closure.

The TV 400 pattern gives you an inch hem allowance to create it. That's all you need. No extra underlap, no facing, nothing.

Attaching the Eyes

First thing you need to know is that the eyes go on the left front piece as you look at the front of the bodice.

Now, let's look at our extant dress. The image below shows the front of the bodice, laid horizontally on top of some muslin. The brass eyes are protruding from between the fashion fabric and the lining. The eyes are sandwiched in between the layers. They won't catch on anything, won't tilt forward or backward, and are unlikely to come off unless ripped by main force.

Below, the same brass eyes, seen from the lining side. Look carefully and you can see that the lining and fashion fabric are whip-stitched together. You can also see a few stitches at the eyes' bottoms where they are stitched to the inside of the lining. They are not stitched to the fashion fabric.

The eyes, seen end on. You can clearly see the black thread that was used to whip the fashion fabric and lining together. The eyes don't stick out very far, do they?

Now, let's see what I did.

Below, you see the front left piece, with lining upward, all basted. I folded under and pinned together the lining and interlining at the hemline in Heather's pattern...one inch in from the raw edge. I left the fashion fabric free, not pinned.

Next, I turned over the lining+interlining unit to the backside, and sewed on the eyes. The two little eyes are each couched down with thread all the way around the eye, not just with a few stitches, for sturdiness. So the bodice won't gap, just like on the original dress I spaced the eyes an inch apart.

To speed the work, after you sew the first eye down, you just carry the thread to the next eye, and sew that down, and so on until you need a new thread. Sandwiched in between the lining and fashion fabric, it won't get pulled.

This process took me an hour or so. With good music on it's not a problem: I listened to Claudio Monteverdi's 1610 vespers.

Next, I folded the fashion fabric hem allowance to the inside, and whipstitched everything together. In the image below I am folding the fashion fabric's raw edge to the wrong side, next to the lining, making sure that the fashion fabric projects just a tiny bit out.

Sadly, I don't have a picture of that at the moment.

Eyes done!

Attaching the Hooks

Let's look at the 1850s-1860s dress again, to see how the hooks were set. Again, very like how the Harper's Bazar article directs us.

In the first image, below, we we are looking at the lining of the hook side of the front closure, laid out horizontally.

The hooks are sewn down to the lining, without any stitches going out to the outside fashion fabric. The seamstress used thick thread, sewed the hooks down with lots of stitches, and carried the thread from hook to hook so she wouldn't have to tie off a thread and then start a new one each time. That line of thick backstitching above the hook? No idea what that's for right now. It doesn't show on the outside of the dress.

The hooks are set far back from the closure edge so that there's no chance that the closure will be seen.

By the way, aren't those hooks nice? Strong brass, and the shanks hammered a little flat. We don't have notions like that today, that I know of.

The seamstress or mantua maker included the selvage edge of the fashion fabric in her right front piece, a practical thing to do because once the hooks were sewn down, she could just turn the fashion fabric to the inside, right over the lining and not have to hem down the edge.

What's that double line of stiching just above the hooks? Well, it strengthens the closure. The stitching, in black thread, goes all the way through to the fashion fabric. The seamstress was very clever...you cannot see the stitching because it is set at the two edges of a stripe in the fabric.

The line of stitching closest to the end of the hooks is discontinuous: it stops at each hook and starts again after each hook. You know, then that these are very long hooks. The upper line of stitching is continuous.

The final step is to make a tiny hole with a stiletto -- between threads, not cutting them -- and poking the hooks up through the hole.

When closed, the hook side of the bodice overlaps the eye side and hides the join. In this case, the lap ends at dead center of the bodice, so that the closure line is in the center. You would have to do some measuring and careful fitting to make sure that you ended up with this effect: your eye side would have to go past the center front, while your hook side would have to end at center front.

However, if you are going to place non-functional buttons on top, as I am, then you allow the overlap to be off center, and sew the buttons on so that they line up at the center line.

A side note: the fabric on the 1850s-60s dress is amazing. It's very tightly woven and includes moire and jacquard patterning. It's also strong, dense, and supple. Amazing stuff.

Anyhow, on my bodice, here's what I did.

First, I trimmed off the outer edge of the closure edge to almost one inch in.

Next I laid down the front piece with the completed eyes on top of the front piece that gets the hooks. I matching up the bottoms and the closure point so that I could find exactly where to sew each hook. To mark the spot for each hook, I drew a little dot through each eye down onto lining side of the piece that gets the hooks.

Then I sewed down the hooks. Just as with the eyes, I pulled the fashion fabric away so that I was sewing only to the lining, and made sure to anchor them firmly, sewing not only through the little anchor eyes, but stitching over the shank several times too, so that it wouldn't want to pull up when tugged at.

Then I folded and pinned the outer edge of the fashion fabric right over the top of the hooks, allowing about 1/4" to project beyond the hooks. Then I turned a hem just at the bottom of the hooks. Below, the folding and pinning just beginning.

Then the closure was hemmed down. Yes, the hooks are under that fabric!  How do you get them out? I'll show you next image :}

The last step. I pushed the fashion fabric down until it was tight on at the top of the hooks and had a little excess, and then pushed and pressed with my fingers on the fabric over the top of each hook until it worked its way through the fabric. I have no stiletto, so had to do it that way.  The little excess of fabric is needed so that the hook comes through not at the very edge of the closure, but inward a little bit so that there's a lap to hide the hooks when the bodice is worn.

Once I finish the bodice, if it seems right I will also reinforce the hook side of the closure by hand-stitching  at the base of the hooks, as invisibly as possible...hopefully the buttons will obscure anything that shows.

Fitting

That's what's next.

Once you have set your hooks and eyes, you sew all the seams excepting the front to side front and the shoulder seams. Then you pin both those seams and try on the bodice. You want a snug fit. If your result is a little loose, either let out or take up the front piece's seam allowances at shoulder or side. Do not take up any of the back piece or the side piece. Once your fit is just right, then sew those last seams.

We'll check this out next time.

Listening to Time

Take a moment and listen to our clock mark the time with slow beats. It slows the heart rate, it talks not about hurry, but about peace.
 

Wishing you a slow, thoughtful, pleasant weekend.

Versatile Blogger Award

Goodness, it's nice to be appreciated. Thank you, Sabine, of Kleidung um 1800, for giving me the Vertsatile Blogger award. Thank you so very kindly.

I've waited several days to acknowledge the award because I've a bit of a problem, stemming from the award rules, below:

1. Thank and link back to the person who nominated you
2. Paste the award to your blog
3. Tell 7 thing about yourself
4. Nominate 15 other blogs

No. 1? Ah, courtesy. Happily complied with. Thank you, Sabine!
No. 2? Paste the award. Herewith, with gratitude:

No 3. Seven things about me? Erp. Ulp. Um. Really? That needed a few days, to get over the jitters. Writing about onesself is embarassing. Ah, see below...
N. 4. Nominate 15 blogs. Oop. Houston, we have a problem. I think that the blogs I follow most often all have won the award already, except perhaps a few. This part of the award rules, made to help spread the word about worthy blogs flying under the radar, have unearthed blogs across the globe, and this is a wonderful thing! All I have at the moment are a few that I hope and believe you'll find entertaining, useful reading,

• The Hectic Eclectic, of New Zealand. Mrs. C. is an experienced costumer and store owner. She writes in a refreshing style and invites us in to Wellington, and into her life, so that over time we get such a warm sense of her sensibility, her kind character, and her delightful city. Also her sense of humor. Have a gander at the URL she uses. Love it! If I could visit one truly far place in my lifetime, she's decided me on her own country.
• Living with Jane. Jenni, blog owner, is a dear friend of mine. She's only been costuming a few years, but her sense of fitting and draping are already so far beyond mine. That I admit freely, if wistfully. She's an artist and teacher, and her posts bring out her persistence and creativity. I enjoy following her muse.
• A Most Beguiling Accomplishment, by Cassidy. An historical costume professional, Cassidy's posts often find their way into my bookmarks, for she has a habit of sharing fresh new details. Chapeau a la Spa, a thrice-cocked black straw with multicolored ostrich plumes, circa 1779? Whew! She is also a super sharer: she takes patterns of historical clothing for us! Bless her.

Okay, those seven things about me. Sabine, I'll not be matching your humor, dear. I neither eat meat, fish, nor fennel. So what have you against fennel, eh?

1. I'm just shy of 50, and happy to be there. The fifties are confident. We're past the lamb phase. Now for structure and character!
2. My husband and I have twin boys. This blog plainly tells you that we're dotty about them.
3. Television and movies rarely interest me, with few exceptions: old movies, some British comedies, and the Bourne movies. Unh-hunh, it's true. Jason Bourne. Oh, and 007. Oh, and Run, Lola, Run. Go figure.
4. Languages and studying them. French, German, a smidge of Italian. Now Spanish, because the boys' school is Spanish immersion for half the day every day. Don't have much time for it right now, but declining verbs floats my boat!
5. I like American football, especially college ball, especially SEC, but NFL will do in a pinch. Have San Francisco and Detroit on right now. The strategy! The multitudinous factors affecting the game, the complexity! No other sports, except golf, tennis, and rowing, are in the same league. How's that for opinionated :}
6. I am a lapsed historian, having foregone a career in research and teaching, and what seemed, in graduate school, a pretty lonely life in the library stacks, for the right-now urgency and teamwork of public health. Going after the germs that contaminate our food, our hospitals, our communities, that try to cross borders on planes, trains, and automobiles, the emerging and zoonotic diseases that play Old Harry with our best laid plans and best medicines, that's the team I play on. I've got a small, part-time role, but it's a pleasure and honor to serve, and it stretches every skill I ever had.
7. Tea! Austrian pastries! Furbelows! Spode! Czech crystal! Old silver, coin silver, very old pewter, painted finishes, golden afternoons, old prints, hollows worn into stone steps. Trains on dresses, and trains on the track. Mist and evergreens. Lakes and sailing. Ithaca. Naps. and research and antiques and chateaux, and formal gardens and la dolce vita...

Steampunk Black Dress: Bodice Fitting

Before the fitting, on with the corset.

Last Saturday morning Jenni of Living With Jane and Laura came over for a quiet morning's chat and to fit the dress bodice.

The bodice pattern is Truly Victorian TV 400, the 1871 Day Bodice. Heather McNaughton, Truly Victorian's creator and pattern designer, developed a novel fitting system. One takes careful measurements of one's body, and then selects individual pattern pieces that best fit the measurements. Since I am fairly proportionally sized, and also 5'5" tall, all my pattern pieces are size E. That might not be the case for someone else: they might use pattern D for one piece, and pattern E for several others, etc. In this way there is less fitting needed.


The corset is by Kay Gnagey. I bought it before the twins were
born and at that point had a two-inch smaller waist. Now
the corset barely fits, hence the wide spring in the lacing.
I'd be happier with an even 2" top to bottom.
 

Fitting Notes

Not all fitting issues can be solved by a pattern (how many times have we heard that?), hence the need for fitting. Per Heather's admonition, we made all the fittings to the two front pieces, with the exception of making the side pieces just adjacent a little narrower.

We found that we had to reshape the darts into a fish shape, and take up a great deal of the front piece's shoulder line to smooth out the entire front and to avoid gapping when I leaned over. After all, I am a mature woman, and my chest lacks the roundness of a younger person; the allowance for roundness had to be taken up.

I am so fortunate Jenni lives nearby: she is a good fitter. It is SO nice to have help. Else I'd have been tweaking for weeks -- months, really -- as I had to for the Regency cross-front dress.



This picture is a howl! Christopher is so solemn, and I seem to be sensible that I am am wearing
what appear to be shoulder wings. Fly, fly away!

I was tempted to fit the bodice even more smoothly in front, except for Heather's admonition that it should fit snugly, but not tightly. When it comes to finishing the actual fronts, I will place the hooks and eyes such that a smoother result obtains.

Notice the hollows above the bust, next to the underarms. Ah, the effects of aging. Elizabeth Stewart Clark of The Sewing Academy has discussed that hollow many times on her forum, and teaches us how to deal with it in her sewing guide, The Dressmaker's Guide, Second Edition. Light padding! Yep, padding, no thicker than what one might find on this decade's typical bra, but placed a little higher. By the way, I've found her book invaluable over the years, not just for mid-century sewing, but for modern sewing. Her instructions are concise, crystalline, comforting; her discussion of bodice draping is one of the best around. Want to learn to swing a dart? That book will bond how it's done into your memory.



Geek  note: for better fitting, get your hair out of the way. No hair clip? Wind hair into a
chignon and stick a pencil through it. Geekalicious.

Back fit, above. Eep. There is a little more lumping near the top of the corset than I would like. If it doesn't pull out from the weight of the skirt, or the boning, well, I have some tweaking to do.  We didn't notice it at the time, worse luck. Remember, though, that one should not futz with this part of the pattern, according to Heather McNaughton. If the back doesn't fit, check your measurements again and select different pattern pieces.



Hello, says my sweet helper!

The side view always bothers my modern eye. The Victorians allowed, even celebrated, the little rounding of the abdomen below the waist and a woman's natural bustle was definitely celebrated :} Well, I certainly have one -- always have -- and have never been happy with that particular shape, but for this era, it's perfect. Still, it's so apparent some weight still needs to come off. Bit by bit. It was gone last fall, but recurrent illnesses over the last year allowed it to accumulate again, dadburn it!

You can see the hollowing above the bust and near the underam very clearly here.

Again, there's a wee wrinkling in the bodice, but when it's smoothed down with the hands, it goes away, and I believe that when the bodice and skirt are hook-and-eyed together, it will be pulled into straightness.

When I lean over, there is no gapping. That's important. The bodice fits like a sort of skin, as it should.

The bodice is long. I will trim it off to a slightly higher than natural round waist, per 1870.

Post Fitting Notes

We marked all the changes carefully while I was still wearing the toile. Later I darkened the markings, and evened them out, recut the edges of the toile pieces as needed to get rid of excess, and then made a master copy in Swedish tracing paper, complete with all markings. Because the left side doesn't quite match the right side -- one of my shoulders is a slightly different shape -- there are 8 pattern pieces for the bodice (excluding sleeves), not just four.

I am reusing the final toile as the lining. Here it is.

The seamlines are marked as solid lines. If the vertical seamlines connecting the pieces together appear to have a lot bigger seam allowance than Heather's 1/2", well, they do. That's because I am constructing the bodice according to directions from Harper's Bazar, circa 1868. The directions have you use lapped seams, which I am used to from Regency-era sewing, and into which bones are inserted. No need to create boning channels! Integral seam finishing! What's not to like?

I will be following these same directions for the rest of the bodice: for the piped armscyes and the cording at neckline and waistline, for the front closure, and so on. The directions are straightforward. The highly detailed article, which covers putting together bodices and skirts, is a gem, and is superbly illustrated with the original copperplate drawings from the magazine. It delves into minute detail: exactly how to construct plackets, fabrics to be used for linings, making and attaching shank buttons, stitches to use, cording and piping, seam allowances...

You can find the article in Frances Grimble's Reconstruction Era Fashions, a fantastic book I've had on my shelf for several years. Patterns for everything you need for 1868-69, and with a little tweaking, through maybe 1871.

Today I leave you with...

...the twins, driving Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, the marvelous Edwardian roadster that could float and fly. We're in the middle of it (we watch little bits at a time), and we're having such fun!