Category Archives: Fashion history

October 4, 2023 · 6:53 pm

A Book Review:  The Dress Diary of Mrs. Anne Sykes – Secrets from a Victorian Woman’s Wardrobe, by Kate Strasdin.

Every once in a while, I find myself having fallen under the spell of a particularly noteworthy and engaging book.  Such was my fate with this remarkable story of an Englishwoman (1816 -1890) and her journal of fabric swatches, saved from her own life and collected from family, friends, and acquaintances over the course of decades, beginning in September of 1838.  

This book was first published in England and then a few months later in the USA. My copy is the version published in England, the book jacket of which varies from the version published in the USA.

With over 1200 fabric entries, the diary – or journal – gradually revealed its secrets to the author, a fashion historian, who painstakingly transcribed the often sparse notations  accompanying each fabric sample, piecing together the fascinating  life and times of Anne Burton Sykes.  The research is meticulous, and the author, Kate Strasdin, shares her eureka moments which allowed her to expand not only Anne’s life, but those of her friends and family as well.  Written in an engaging style, this non-fiction book often reads like a novel, a wonderful story of love, friendship, adventure, and vibrant personalities.  

There is so much to learn here about Anne’s life in the larger context of world history and events, but it is the personal experiences and expressions which spoke so loudly to me.  Yes, there are many details which, by the nature of the journal, must be extrapolated and surmised, which the author is careful to note.  But the picture of Anne – and her husband Adam – which evolves is one of two very likeable people, engaged in their community, industrious and thoughtful, friendly and adventurous, and undoubtably well-dressed.  

The first entries in the journal, of Anne’s wedding attire, were actually placed and annotated by Adam.  He was the one to give Anne the journal on their wedding day.  He refers to her as “my charming Anne.” Not beautiful, not sweet, not dear, but “charming.”  That single selection of adjective spoke volumes to me about each of them.

She also must have been brave, enduring a four-month sea voyage from northern England to Singapore, where Adam’s business took them two years after their marriage.  There they built a life among other English-speaking neighbors and acquaintances, in the stifling heat and humidity of the south China sea.   After seven years in Singapore, they went on to Shanghai for two years (where the diary goes silent for the duration), and then back to England.

 Anne’s friendships with other women throughout her life are apparent in the swatches she receives from so many in her circle.  The exchange of gifts and tokens of friendship take form in dress-goods (cotton, wool, silk), ribbons, pieces of lace, and snippets of sashes. There appeared to be a remarkable camaraderie among all ages and between the sexes.  

The author has done a masterful job in deciphering the life and persona of Mrs. Anne Sykes through so many diverse fabric swatches.  Anne’s kindness, her circumspection, her devotion to family and friends, and her small place in history make for a wonderful, enlightening story.   I am very grateful to have had the opportunity to read and savor this book. 

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Filed under Book reviews, Fashion commentary, Fashion history, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric

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August 27, 2023 · 6:01 pm

A Tale of Two Dresses, Part 2

Whenever I am working with vintage fabric, it seems I either have more yardage than I need or, more frequently, less than I need.  I have learned over the years there is usually a way to work around having less fabric than I really need.  I just have to get creative.  And that’s what I did when I made this dress.

I quickly determined there was no way I could get the dress I wanted by placing the pattern on the lengthwise straight-of-grain.  The flare of the skirt, which I wanted to be mid-calf, precluded any notion of such a layout.  At 45” wide, I knew I could just get the dress length I wanted if I laid out the pattern on the cross-grain, from selvedge to selvedge.  Linen is a very stable fabric, so I was confident the cross-grain would work.  In addition, there were no directional limitations in the floral design of the fabric.  Barely fitting my pattern – from shoulder to hem – on the fabric from selvedge to selvedge, however, would leave no extra fabric to turn up for the hem – or even to face the hem.  I decided to worry about that later.  First I wanted to determine how I could get the four pieces for the dress and the two lengthened sleeves placed on the fabric, keeping in mind three important things:  1) although this was not a fabric to be matched per se, the all-over design of the fabric needed to be on the same plane in contiguous seams; 2) I wanted to space out the larger floral motifs so the dress would be balanced as best as possible (looking critically at the dress I made when I was 23, I clearly could have given this more thought!); and 3) I wanted to avoid large demonstrative blooms at the bust.  Then, and only then, would I worry about the hem.  

I transposed all the markings from my adjusted pattern onto the cotton batiste, then used those pieces as my pattern. I then basted the two layers together to be treated as one, before sewing any seams or darts.

Once I was happy with this placement, I had a eureka moment when I knew I could accomplish two things with a simple bias trim made from the yardage of deep pink linen which coordinated nicely with the floral.  1) I could preserve the full 45” of cross-grain length by applying bias trim to the hem edge instead of turning it under, and I could do the same with the sleeves.  And 2) the trim would add interest to the dress, just as I had vaguely imagined.  (A quick aside here – I have ample yardage of the solid deep pink linen to make a coordinating coat at some point. Every dress needs a coat, right?) 

I underlined this dress in a very lightweight, pre-washed, cotton batiste, then I lined it in Bemberg rayon.  Moygashel linen washes beautifully, as does Bemberg lining, which is why I chose Bemberg over silk for this dress. I eliminated the neckline facing, choosing instead to bring the lining up to the edge of the neckline seam, then under-stitching it to secure that edge in place.  

I chose to do a hand-picked, lapped zipper, an application which I think looks so lovely.  Interestingly, I hand-picked the zipper in the dress I made in 1973, although it is a centered application.  

And here is a back view of the 1973 dress. The zipper is metal, which certainly is a telltale sign of a vintage dress.

When it came time to apply the bias-cut trim to the hem and sleeves, I had to experiment around a bit.  I didn’t want it too wide, but it needed to be substantial enough to look like it was meant to be and not an afterthought or decision made in desperation!  I finally settled on an exposure of 1/2”.  

Now this is where it gets interesting.  A few weeks ago I saw a vintage dress on a Facebook/Meta post by Xtabay Vintage Clothing Boutique.  It is obviously Moygashel linen (I can tell by its weave and color), but what really caught my eye were the bias strips and low-profile bows adorning its sleeves.  I tucked this idea in the back of my mind for future consideration.  What I didn’t know was that the future was right around the corner!  Yes – I “borrowed” this idea and added a single bias-cut bow to each sleeve.  Somehow, it just seems to finish the dress.  

I never would have thought of adding a bow to each sleeve had I not seen this pretty vintage dress.

In this view, the princess seam which originates in a dart is visible. This is a nicely engineered, flattering pattern.

Well, you may have guessed by now the reason for making this dress this year.  I will wear it next week when my husband and I celebrate our 50th Wedding Anniversary.  I have changed a lot in those 50 years (and so has my husband!), but I still love pink in all its shades and I still love Moygashel linen (and I still love my husband, too!)  

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Filed under Bows as design feature, couture construction, Dressmaker details, Fashion history, hand-sewn zippers, Hems, Linen, Linings, Mid-Century style, Moygashel linen, Sleeves, Summer sewing, Uncategorized, underlinings, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1970s

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August 27, 2023 · 12:34 pm

A Tale of Two Dresses, Part 1

Where to begin with this story?  I have to go back 50 years – which sounds daunting and slightly surreal.  As a 23-year-old about to be married, I had already made my wedding gown that summer of 1973.  I still, however, needed a couple of dresses to take on our upcoming wedding trip in early September.  With that intention, I ventured into Stapler’s Fabric Store on Walnut Street in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (USA).  Stapler’s was one of the old, notable, family-owned purveyors of fine fabrics and dress goods, and I loved going in the store.  Most of the time I could only look and dream, so going in on a mission made this trip memorable.  

Stapler’s carried high end fabrics and that included the newest offerings of Moygashel Irish linen.  I have written several times about this storied brand of dressmaker linen, known for being wrinkle and crease resistant, known for its exquisite designs and colors, and highly sought after by women of good taste.  I can still feel the excitement I had that Summer day when I saw a quintessential floral Moygashel in vibrant pinks and greens and whites.  

I had already picked out a Very Easy, Very Vogue pattern (the pattern number is lost to the ages by now, as is the pattern itself) to make a long A-line dress with short cut-on sleeves and center front and center back seams.  I purchased the yardage I needed and made this dress:

Ankle-length dresses like this were very fashionable in 1973.

I loved it.  I felt beautiful in it, which has, over the years, become my litmus test for a successfully made garment.  Several years ago I included this dress in a post I titled “Shopping in My Cedar Closet.”  I posed a question to myself – should I take this dress apart and reuse the beautiful fabric – which I still loved – for something else?  By asking myself this question, I knew I had the answer.  Too many memories, too much of the younger me were in this dress for me to cut it apart.  I placed it back in the closet and vowed to keep it as is. 

A few years later a most amazing thing happened.  While searching for vintage Moygashel linen on eBay, I found an offering for a length of the same pink, green and white floral fabric I had purchased so many years ago.  The listing was for 2¼ yards of this 45”wide fabric.  I purchased it immediately, its new rendition to be determined. In my mental sewing calendar, however, I hoped to bring life to this fabric 50 years after I made my first dress from its twin.

The planning began in earnest earlier this year.  I had to decide exactly what silhouette dress I wanted my new dress to have.  With only a little over two yards, I knew my choices were somewhat limited.  And I also knew the fabric itself needed to be the star – with its demonstrative, large design, its medley of colors and its lustrous weave.  It took me a while to realize I had already determined the correct formula 50 years ago.  It needed to be another A-line dress, with some length to it.  This time, however, I would make it using the couture techniques I have learned since then.  

I also knew I wanted: a) longer sleeves, if possible, with the yardage I had; b) to underline and line this dress (but preserve its washability); and c) to add some minor embellishment in some way, perhaps buttons or trim of some sort.

I had these deep pink buttons, one design of which I thought might be a possibility … In the end, I decided they would not work.
And, I had two lengths of Moygashel linen from the 1970s in this deep pink, from which I could make trim, if needed. This proved to be essential to the success of my endeavor.

A suitable pattern happened to be one I had already used twice.  

The line drawing for the shorter length shows more detail as to the seaming and the darts. The description on the pattern envelope reads: “evening or street length, high shaped, slightly A-line dress has short sleeves and scoop neckline with or without slit at center front…”

I first used this pattern for this dress:

And then a year or two later, I used it for this dress:

Having a pattern which fits, with pleasing lines and a certain finesse to it, is worth its weight in gold.  Even better, the late 1960s’/early 1970s’ vintage aspect of this pattern made it a perfect fit with fabric from 1973.  The only question I had was a big one.  Did I have enough fabric to make a longer dress with longer sleeves?  The answer: No – and then Yes.

(The story continues in the next post…)

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Filed under Fashion history, Linen, Mid-Century style, Moygashel linen, Uncategorized, vintage buttons, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1970s

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May 15, 2023 · 8:53 pm

Upcoming!  A Major Fashion Exhibit at Winterthur Museum

Mark you calendars for a visit to Winterthur Museum in Winterthur Delaware, (USA) in the Fall of 2023.  Ann Lowe, American Couturier opens on September 9th and runs through January 7th, 2024. 

For those of you unfamiliar with Ann Lowe, she probably is best known as the designer of Jackie Kennedy’s wedding gown when she married John F. Kennedy in 1953 –  but Lowe is so much more than that.  For decades she was the designer of choice for “America’s most prominent debutantes, heiresses, actresses, and society brides.”  Despite designing couture-quality dresses and gowns for such an extensive and elite clientele, she remained virtually unknown in the public arena.  Even a feature in the Saturday Evening Post in 1964 calling Ann Lowe “Society’s Best-Kept Secret” failed to secure the recognition she deserved.  Recently, however, her place in the pantheon of American Fashion Designers has begun to be recognized, and this major exhibit of her work will undoubtably elevate Lowe to the pinnacle she so richly deserves.  

I share this short biographical blurb on promotional material from Winterthur Museum:  

Winterthur’s Exhibition will showcase approximately 40 of Lowe’s dresses and gowns, gathered together from museums and private collections across the country.  In addition there will be approximately 10 works by contemporary Black designers, influenced by the timeless style and legacy of Lowe’s volume of work.  

Here I share 4 images of dresses included in the Exhibition:

Printed Silk Ensemble, c. 1930s, Anonymous Gift to the Cincinnati Art Museum
Evening Dress, c. 1955, Silk Velvet, Lent by The Museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology, Gift of Eleanor Cates
Evening Dress, c. 1962-64, Made for Saks Fifth Avenue by Ann Lowe, Lent by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Mrs. Carll Tucker Jr.
Elizabeth Mance Concert Gown, c. 1966-67, From the collection of Elizabeth Mance deJonge.

Last Fall I had the privilege of visiting Winterthur’s Conservation Lab where several of Lowe’s dresses and gowns were being prepared for exhibit. Readily apparent in these pieces was the engineering skill of the designer – all those things going on inside the dress to perfect the fit and carriage of it for each client.  Although much of this inside story will obviously not be on display, each and every dress will surely tell its own story of beauty, quality and style.  

This Exhibition is guest-curated by Elizabeth Way, associate curator of costume at The Museum at FIT.  For more information, visit www.Winterthur.org.  

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Filed under couture construction, Fashion Exhibits, Fashion history, Uncategorized

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February 11, 2022 · 2:27 pm

A Very Pink Coat, Part 1

Some projects deserve more than one blog post and this pattern and coat fall into that category. 

I am making View A, although with the concealed (fly front) opening.
I purchased this cashmere and wool blend from Farmhouse Fabrics. It has a “brushed” surface, giving it a nap which provides a depth to the deep pink color. I have underlined all the components of the coat with silk organza. Basting holds the two fabrics together and also gives me my stitching lines and other pertinent information.

From the magical year of 1957 (I promise some time I will devote an entire post to the notable spot that the year 1957 occupies in the modern history of fashion), this coat pattern is in a class of its own.  Referred to as a “car coat” in two Vogue Pattern Book Magazine entries, it is a quintessential example of that genre.  Here’s why:

  1. It is a wonderful example of fashion following lifestyle.  The copyright date of 1957 puts it firmly in the early appearance of this form.  To wit, the entry for car coats in Fairchild’s Dictionary of Fashion reads:  “Sport or utility coat made hip-to-three-quarter length, which is comfortable for driving a car.  First became popular with the station-wagon set in suburbia in the 1950s and 1960s and has become a classic style since then.”  (ibid, p. 89)
  2. The flap pockets – three of them – are intentionally utilitarian, but also add a certain finesse to the coat.   Those flaps help protect the contents of the pocket – in the case of a car coat, obviously keys, perhaps gloves, or even a change purse. 
  3. The side slits give a bit of wiggle room to the area of the hips, for sliding in and out of car seats.  And the buttoned tabs at the wrists add to its aesthetic appeal.  No, they are not really necessary, but that is not what this coat was all about.  It was meant to be extremely functional, but smart looking.
  4. The concealed front in View B, commonly referred to as a fly front, steps the appearance of this coat up a notch.  Particularly notable is the arrowhead detail at the top of the topstitching on the front of the coat.  
  5. The busy mother and wife would have looked very “put-together” wearing this coat out and about.  Later versions of the car coat style included Benchwarmer, Duffel coat, Ranch coat, Mackinaw jacket, Stadium coat, and Toggle coat (according to Fairchild’s Dictionary of Fashion)  But this coat was a car coat, in its very pure early, but fashionable form.

This pattern is featured twice in the Vogue Pattern Book Magazine from August-September 1957.

Here is the longer version shown on page 22:

“The coat that goes over everything.” Here is an interesting observation which might not be readily apparent. When I was fitting my muslin (toile) for this coat, I initially thought the sleeves may be a bit too loose. You can see in this photo they are not slim on the model. But then I realized they have a bit more girth to them for a reason – to give the wearer comfort and unrestricted movement while driving. (And in 1957 there was a good chance she was driving a stick-shift car!) I kept them the way they are as I will appreciate being able to wear a heavy sweater under my coat.

And here on page 37 is a drawing (by illustrator Dilys Wall) of the coat in red with this description:  “A hounds-tooth-check car coat with three flap pockets, side-slit seams, and tab-button detail on the sleeves.  Designed in sizes 10 to 18.”  

Interestingly, also featured in this same magazine is this example of a child’s coat, also with a fly front.  This type of opening takes more skill – and time – to make.  I love the affirmation this item gives to the commitment and ability of the home-sewer in the 1950s.  

Because this coat has those extra details which put it a notch above ordinary, there is a lot of preparation work before seams can actually be sewn together.  The sleeve tabs, with their bound buttonholes must be complete before the sleeve seams can be sewn.  Additionally, the set-in pockets with their flaps present a considerable amount of prep work on the fronts of the coat.  Sounds like fun to me! More to come . . .

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Filed under car coats, Coats, Fashion commentary, Fashion history, Mid-Century style, Pattern Art, pockets, Uncategorized, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1950s, woolens

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December 7, 2021 · 4:53 pm

Wool Slacks

Or do you call them pants?  For some reason, I tend to think there are slight differences between pants and slacks.  But not so, according to Fairchild’s Dictionary.  Slacks are listed as “Synonym for pants. Term is usually applied to loose-cut casual pants, not part of a suit.  In the 1930s when women first began wearing pants for leisure activities, these garments were generally called slacks rather than pants.” (The Fairchild Dictionary of Fashion, by Charlotte Mankey Calasibetta and Phyliss  Tortora, Third Edition, Fairchild Publications, Inc, New York, New York, 2003, p. 359-360).  I find this interesting, and a little confusing. I have always thought of slacks as a bit more refined than just pants.  “Slacks and a sweater” conjures up a town-and-country-state of mind for me – rich wool, cable-knit sweater and a string of pearls or simple gold necklace.  Perfect for being comfortable but stylish.  Although it doesn’t really matter what one calls them – pants or slacks – I prefer “slacks” – especially when they are finished!  

This is the pattern I used for the slacks. Notice they are called slacks in the description! There are 8 shaping darts – four in the front and four in the back, and no pockets.

It took so many fittings during the process of making these slacks, and so many minor tweaks, so that when I finally took the last stitch, I was so relieved!  A lot of thought went into them which I will share here.

First of all, the vintage wool I was using (and from which my matching cape is being constructed) is – you guessed it – an uneven plaid.  Fortunately, the dominant colors in the plaid allowed me to “ignore” the uneven aspect and concentrate on what WAS even, if that makes sense.  

This photo from my last post shows the uneven aspect of the plaid. I planned the layout according the the brighter lavender stripe.

Then I had to determine where I wanted those lavender lines to hit my hips, and where I wanted them to run up and down the legs.  These considerations needed to accommodate where I wanted the pants-leg hems to fall in relation to the larger blocks of the plaid.  I generally like to have a hem fall somewhere mid-way between dominant horizontal lines.  I never want a dominant horizontal line to be right at the edge of a hem if I can avoid it. 

Here is the hem on one of the legs, to show where I wanted the lower edge to fall in relation to the plaid.
And here you can see how I placed the vertical stripes on the legs.

I underlined these slacks with silk organza, I lined them with silk crepe de chine (from Emma One Sock Fabrics).  I am lining the cape with matching color silk charmeuse, but I wanted a lighter weight lining for the slacks.  The only exception to this is the facing on the waistband, for which I used silk charmeuse.  The interior of the waistband may occasionally be against my bare skin, and silk charmeuse is just a bit more comfortable in areas which call for a snugger fit. 

I faced the waistband with silk charmeuse.

It was serendipitous that I had a wool sweater, purchased many years ago, which is a perfect complement to the darker purple/eggplant color in the plaid. 

It was quite chilly when I took these photos! Where’s my cape?

 Now I’m excited to make more progress on that cape, which has taken a backseat to holiday sewing and shopping.  It may, indeed, be after Christmas until the cape gets its debut, but life has its priorities, doesn’t it? 

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Filed under Fashion history, Hems, Linings, Slacks, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1950s

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February 10, 2021 · 4:26 pm

Diversions – in Print

Works of fiction which feature some aspect of sewing or fashion are often some of my favorite reading experiences.  While I do not necessarily seek them out, if I hear of such a novel, and it’s reviews are positive, then I will add it to my reading queue (similar to my sewing queue!) And sometimes, there is a surprise sewing element in a novel – those are the bonuses.

The last three novels I have read, in quick succession, were all very different, but each one used sewing and/or fashion as foundational premises either for the plot or for character development.  So, here are short reviews of each one, in the order in which I read them.

The first novel, Beneficence, by Meredith Hall, came to my attention by a review in The Wall Street Journal Weekend Edition back in the Fall.  The subtle role sewing plays in this novel makes it one of those bonus books. Some of the words used to describe this novel, and rightly so, have been “haunting,” luminous,” and “exquisite.”  It takes place in Maine (USA) and spans the years from the late 1940s to the early ‘60s. The story is about the Senter family, who owns a dairy farm, and the devastating tragedy which befalls the family of five.  Early in the book, one gets the sense of impending doom.  At this point, in no way did I have any inkling of the role sewing would have in the development of one of the main characters, Dodie, the daughter.  The masterful writing – eerily beautiful, and very affecting – is of such quality that it was only after I had finished the book did I realize how her sewing helped to define Dodie. The sewing references even hint at the blessings ahead for her in the reader’s mind at book’s end.  She is a mender, a creator, and a giver of things she has sewn.  She is wise beyond her years.  She is a character I will long remember.  The book is a masterpiece.  

One word of warning, however, is necessary for this book.  Parts of it are very difficult emotionally to read.  I cried a lot reading it, perhaps crying the most at the book’s end when grace and wisdom finally replace anguish for each of the Senters.  If you are feeling in any way fragile right now, then plan to read this book at another, more secure time.  

Feeling emotionally drained (but fulfilled) after reading Beneficence, I wanted something light-hearted and fun.  And like a blessing, this book came to me as a Christmas gift from my daughter, Susanna.  

This novel first appeared in 1993, and it has been recently re-released.

The Women in Black, by Madeline St. John, is set in the early 1950s in Sydney, Australia.  It follows four women (actually 3 women and one 16-year-old girl) who work at Goode’s Department Store in Fine Dresses and Model Dresses (Model Dresses being the most expensive.)  The time of year is December, when cocktail and party dress buying is at a frenzy!  Patty and Fay are in the fine dresses, Magda manages the Model Gowns, and Lisa is a temporary hire who helps out wherever she is needed.  In many ways, however, it is Lisa’s story.  Magda takes a loving interest in her, and when Lisa is exposed to the confectionary frocks in Model Gowns, she comes alive.  She particularly has her eye on one dress, which is called “Lisette.”  And when she finally has the opportunity to try the dress on, this is what transpires: 

“Lisette was, of course, everything which could have been dreamed; like all the great works of the French couture, it was designed to look beautiful not simply as a thing in itself, but as the clothing of a female form.  It took on then the property of vitality and movement, that is, of rhythm:  it became finally incarnate.  Lisa stood, overwhelmed, staring into the great cheval glass.   . . . The frock changed her absolutely; the revelation which had come upon her when she had first been shown the Model gowns was now complete.”  

What a fun book, written by someone (sadly now deceased) who understood the transformative power of dress and dresses.  Treat yourself and read this book!

Just the title of the third book I am sharing is intriquing enough to catch your attention.  

Based loosely on a true story, but definitely a work of fiction, The French Model, by Alexandra Joel,  is the story of a stunningly beautiful young Australian woman who makes her way to Paris and becomes a model in Christian Dior’s House in post-war France.  In leaving Australia, she is escaping not only from an unhappy marriage, but also from revelations about her past which make her question her identity and all those she has ever loved.  This book has it all:  mystery, espionage, love, fashion, friendship, sacrifice, sex, “very important person” sightings, political intrigue, history, and courage – all in a complex story line which will keep you on the edge of your seat.  The writing is lovely and descriptive, the main characters endearing.  Some of the story is a bit contrived – or unbelievable – but I was generally able to overlook those parts to enjoy the larger storyline.  And I loved the emphasis on the workings of the House of Christian Dior. Anyone who loves vintage fashion – or historical fiction set at the end of World War II – should find escaping into this story a happy place to be.  

One final observation about these three books.  The dust jackets are works of art.  Not unlike a perfectly fitted and flattering dress, each one is so perfectly evocative of what lies within, capturing the very essence of the books they adorn.  As I look again and again at each one, it takes me back to those stories, those places and those indelible characters which gave me so much reading pleasure.  

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Filed under Book reviews, Christian Dior, Fashion history, Mid-Century style, Uncategorized

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January 1, 2021 · 4:15 pm

A Fabric and Its Label

Find me a beautiful vintage fabric, accompanied by its original label, and I will tell its story. 

 
What started off as a simple eBay purchase evolved into something quite unexpected, with secrets and history to reveal. It is all about this piece of vintage Forstmann wool, purchased within the last two years.  

This wool is 56″ wide and I have 1 1/3 yards, just enough for either a skirt or a simple dress.

I was drawn to its vibrant plaid combination of red and green and black and white.  An extra bonus was its attached label and famous brand name.  I was familiar with Forstmann woolens from the time I was a child in the 1950s, and I was aware of its renowned quality.  But I was quite unprepared for the reality of my purchase.  

Immediately upon opening the package, I was struck with two things:  the saturation of the colors and the buttery softness and easy hand of the wool.  I was thrilled with my purchase, and carefully placed it away in my fabric closet, intending to think about it until I had a plan in place.   I would occasionally get it out to admire it, so I felt I was quite familiar with it.  However, it was not until this past Spring when I suddenly realized it was an uneven plaid.  Having just agonized over a dress made from an uneven Linton tweed plaid, and having by this time determined that I wanted to make a sheath dress from this wool, I had one of those dreaded “uh-oh” moments.  My plan seemed to be self-destructing.  An uneven plaid would not do for such a dress.

And then I did something I had yet to do – I opened out the full expanse of the yardage.  That was when I realized the brilliance of the woolen manufacturer.  The wool was loomed with a right and left side, with a center “panel,“ making it possible to have an even orientation of the plaid. Thus, I would be able to balance the plaid on the front and also on the back of the dress I hoped to make.

In the center of this photo is the center point of the wool, with half the width to one side and half to the outer side. Absolutely brilliant.
Here is a close-up, in which the lovely herringbone weave is also beautifully apparent.

With this exciting discovery, I then wanted to know more about when this fabric was manufactured.  I knew that Forstmann Woolen Company had advertised in Vogue Pattern Book Magazine in the 1950s and ‘60s, and I also knew Forstmann woolens were often the fabrics of choice for fashions displayed in the magazine.  A little bit of perusing and detective work helped me narrow down an approximate span of years for the production of my wool.

This full-page advertisement from the October/November 1953 Vogue Pattern Book Magazine features the label current at that time.  It is probably a precursor to the label I received with my wool.  

I love this ad for many reasons, but especially for the red coat. Isn’t it just so elegant?

I found no label pictured from 1955, but the cover from February/March features a suit made from Forstmann tweed:

This has to be one of my favorite magazine covers of the vintage Vogue Pattern Book Magazines I have.

The inside front cover from October/November 1959 is once again a full-page ad for Forstmann.  The label shown is similar to mine, but not exact. 

This label is another variation, without the descriptive phrase “100% Virgin Wool.” Again, this ad has beautiful depictions of wool, with Vogue patterns chosen for each of them.

It seems that by the second half of 1960, Forstmann Woolens had entered into a partnership with Stevens’ Fabrics.  

This ad was prominently placed on the inside front cover of the October/November 1960 edition of Vogue Pattern Book Magazine.

Proof of this partnership was quite apparent by the second half of 1962.  The label featured in this ad actually has Stevens Fabrics woven into the logo.  

From the August/September 1962 Vogue Pattern Book Magazine.

My best guess, from the above references, is that my piece of fabric was manufactured in the second half of the decade of the 1950s.  I have always considered that span of years as the golden age of American fashion.  My fortunate purchase reinforces the knowledge for me of the excellence of design, quality and craftsmanship available to the home sewing industry at that time.  Now – it is up to me to do justice to this piece of Forstmann wool. Amazingly, and with good fortune, the story of this fabric continues some 65 years after its manufacture. 

And here’s to a new year – 2021 – with its own secrets and stories to reveal. May they all be happy ones, waiting to be discovered and shared . . .

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Filed under fabric labels, Fashion history, Mid-Century style, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1950s, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1960s, woolens

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October 16, 2020 · 6:15 pm

A Fabric Story

Several years ago I found this fabric on the website of Britex Fabrics in San Francisco.  As I have always been intrigued with “alphabet” prints, and I love red, making this purchase was an easy decision.  

At first glance, it appears to be just that – an alphabet print.  But if you look closely, you start to realize that the letters represented are not all the alphabet.  In fact, only 7 letters of the alphabet are represented.  They are indeed only the letters in the surname of the manufacturer, Marcel Guillemin et Cie.  The manufacturer’s name is in the selvedge.  

I decided to buy two yards, thinking I would one day make a blouse.  A couple of years went by and I had occasion to visit Britex while on one of my trips to California.  By this time I had started making Classic French Jackets, and I was always on the lookout for potential lining fabrics for a future jacket.  To my great surprise, the bolt of this exact fabric was on the silk table, which gave me the opportunity to purchase another yard “just in case.”  (I’m not sure why I didn’t buy another two yards.)  This one-yard length joined its sibling in my fabric closet.  I thought about it a lot, and often got it out to admire it, still not committing to its actual use, however.  

Fast forward several years – to 2020, to be exact.  A plan started to form in my mind for this fabric.  And it all had to do with this blouse pattern from 1957.  I envisioned this blouse made into a dress, and that was that.  Decision made!

I used View B for a blouse several years ago, and have always loved it. Why not a dress?

Sitting in my sewing queue over the summer, this fabric kept talking to me.  Although at one time, most fabric manufacturers proudly included their name on the selvedge (and even sometimes provided labels), it is somewhat rare to find this selvedge notation now.  So, I wanted to know “Who is Marcel Guillemin?”  

I was able to find a little bit of information online, but only enough to raise more questions.  The most valuable information came from my personal “library” of fashion/fashion history books, which not only provide me with inspiration but also background information.  Although I still have many blanks to fill in, this is what I discovered – and what a surprise it has been!  

  1. Marcel Guillemin et Cie was a “wholesaler established in Paris in 1930; manufactured silk and synthetic fabrics; still active today.”  I found this entry in Balenciaga: Shaping Fashion, by Lesley Ellis Miller, V&A Publishing, London, 2007. 
  2.  The company provided “ribbons, silk and velvet” for Balenciaga (ibid) and silks for Christian Dior.  Each couturier had a list of textile purveyors whom they used for their creations, and it was exciting for me to find Marcel Guillemin among the listed.  Anyone who knows of the post-World War II efforts to revitalize the devastated fashion industry can appreciate what Guillemin and other textile concerns faced at that time. “The French luxury textile industry was a fragile one throughout the postwar period.  To assist manufacturers, the French government gave a subsidy to couture houses if they used 90 percent French textiles in a collection.”  Christian Dior: History and Modernity 1947-1957, by Alexandra Palmer, Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto, 2018., p. 69.
This well-known dress from the House of Christian Dior, 1947, was made in silk from Marcel Guillemin et Cie. (Ibid., p. 107)

3. The company also produced silk scarves. A number of silk scarves which I have found pictured online appear to be from the early years of the company.  But it also appears that Guillemin became known for its scarves at least through the 1960s.  

This advertisement from the 1950s with an illustration by Rene Gruau features “Les Echarpes de Marcel Guillemin”

A few vintage scarves with the Guillemin name printed on them are currently available for sale in various online shops and sites.  This one appeared in an Etsy shop a few weeks ago, and I was quick to purchase it. 

 The seller listed it as “probably 1980s,” but I believe it to be from the 1960s when Marcel Guillemin et Cie produced a number of scarves in bold geometric designs.  This one is quintessentially 1960s’ “flower power.”  And the silk is lustrous, of the best quality.  

When I found this scarf, I knew it would be perfect to pair with my recently completed linen dress.

The fabrics we use in our sewing is of such importance to a successful outcome.  I have treasured this opportunity to learn more about this fabric and the storied history of Marcel Guillemin et Cie. 

Of course, every story benefits from a happy ending.  I have still to finish writing – or should I say, sewing – the ending, but with any luck, it will be the successful completion of my red silk dress.  Stay tuned for the next chapter.

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May 22, 2020 · 4:50 pm

Dreaming in Color

Way back in January of this year – which seems like a lifetime ago now – making plans for my 2020 sewing was an exciting exercise.  I was eagerly looking forward to some upcoming events, including one in early May which was going to require at least two new dresses.  One of these dresses would be worn to a “fancy” evening.  In this casual world, what dressmaker does not relish the idea of making a dressy frock?  It was definitely going to be a fun trip and a varied multi-day event.

C         A        N        C        E        L        L        E       D

Needless to say, that trip and all its events were cancelled.  Other special occasions were also cancelled, along with many that were not so special.  I looked anew at my sewing plans.  I shifted some things around, eliminated others.  But I kept going back to the thought of that dressy dress.  The fabric was so cheerful, the colors so bright I could not abandon the idea of making it, even without an occasion for its wearing. So in early May I decided to go ahead with my original plans, albeit without a deadline.

I had purchased this silk charmeuse from Mendel Goldberg Fabrics in New York City several years ago.  It reminded me of fabric which one might see in a design by Christian Dior, due to its “Impressionistic” appearance.

The subtitle for this informative book is The Inspiration and Influence of Impressionism at the House of Dior.

When I unfolded the fabric to give it a press, I saw it was actually a Pierre Cardin design.  It struck me as somewhat unusual for Cardin, so of course I wanted to know if there had ever been any connection between the two couturiers or their fashion houses.  I went to my St. James Fashion Encyclopedia.  Well, yes, as a matter of fact there was:  “From his earliest work for the House of Dior up to the 1950s [my italics],Cardin displays an interest in the sculptural qualities of cut and construction that are still his trademarks in the 1990s.” (p. 87, The St. James Fashion Encyclopedia, Visible Ink Press, Detroit, Michigan, c1997.)

It may be a bit of a stretch to suppose this fabric does indeed have a Dior connection, but still, I wonder.  Could Cardin – now at his advanced age of 97 – and his fashion house still be influenced by those early days with Dior?  Of Dior’s style direction in the early 1950s, Christian Dior himself wrote ”…Colors were inspired by the pictures of the Impressionists and evoked the fields of flowers dear to Renoir and Van Gogh.”  (p. 5, Dior Impressions, Rizzoli International Publications, Inc., New York, New York, c2013.)  It is fascinating to ponder.

Now back to topic:  I started my dress.  I got the silk organza underlining marked and cut, I cut out the fashion fabric, I basted the two layers together, ready to start the actual construction.  Then I had a bad day.  It had nothing to do with my progress or the process, which was going along fine.  I just had this dismal feeling this was all for naught.  Why would I need such a lovely silk dress?  Where would I wear it?  Were all these hours I was spending in my sewing room just a waste of time? What purpose do all these pretty clothes serve without any social gatherings and occasions to which to wear them?  I think it is fair to say I was having a serious existential sewing crisis.  It was dispiriting and discouraging to say the least.  It made me question my otherwise passionate commitment to couture sewing.

That night I had a dream – in vivid color.  I saw myself in a fancy restaurant which was bustling with people – and I was wearing the very dress I had started – now completed and quite notable in its floral print of bright greens, and pinks and reds and purple.   I was seated at a table with three friends and we were lunching. (Not sure this dress is quite the thing I would wear to a midday lunch, but that’s dreams for you.)   The four of us were having the best time. We were laughing and totally engaged in our conversation and in our friendship. It was lovely and it was memorable.

And there was not a facemask in sight.

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Filed under Christian Dior, Fashion history, Formal or fancy dresses, Love of sewing, sewing in silk, silk, Uncategorized

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