Category Archives: Old Advertisements & Popular Culture

Remembering 11/11/18: Red Cross Patterns

The appalling carnage of World War I is often given in statistics; these Red Cross patterns and instructions for volunteers — making hospital gowns, bandages and wound dressings, surgical masks and gowns, etc. — also remind us (and those Red Cross volunteers) of the suffering it caused.

Women’s magazines like Delineator and Ladies’ Home Journal published government information as well as encouraging volunteer work. The patterns above are for operating room personnel.

A surgical gown for doctors and two kinds of pajamas for hospital patients. Delineator, Nov. 1917.Red Cross patterns were available for sewing groups or individual volunteer stitchers.

Operating room gear — like surgical gowns and sterile shoe covers — could be made using regulation Red Cross patterns. Pajamas for patients were also in demand. The “taped” pajama below opens so the injured soldier need not be moved for his wounds to be inspected and dressed.

Red Cross regulation “taped pajamas” for the wounded and socks for injured feet; Ladies Home Journal, Dec. 1917.

Making these garments must have reminded civilians that soldiers were receiving terrible injuries.

Women and children were encouraged to knit Red Cross regulation sweaters, socks, and even “helmets” that kept heads and faces warm.

“Knit Your Bit for the Navy” article, Delineator, August 1917. “Every man in the fleet must be kept warm if we are to win — will you help?”

Delineator, November 1917.

Red Cross volunteers also made:

Not just knitting: List from Ladies’ Home Journal, July 1917. The same information ran in several women’s magazines, but each magazine formatted it differently.

Many women imagined themselves doing “glamorous” war work, like nursing or ambulance driving. (They had no idea of the horror those women faced daily.)

However, “In war more men die from exposure and illness than from wounds. Every hour that you waste, you are throwing away the life of one of our soldiers.” “Don’t say you are too busy to knit — it isn’t true.”

Items to Knit for the Red Cross, LHJ, October 1917.

Initially, there was such an outpouring of knit garments — many totally unsuitable for the Front — that the Red Cross used women’s magazines to explain why regulation colors and instructions had to be imposed.

A poorly knitted or fitted sock could have a serious impact on a soldier. Blisters and foot infections sent many to the hospital. LHJ, Oct. 1917.

The front and back of a knitted “helmet.” LHJ, Oct. 1917.

More disturbing knitting supplied the operating room:

Knitted Wipe for Surgical Use, LHJ, July 1917.

Some volunteers chafed at the Red Cross rules, so regulations had to be explained and justified — repeatedly.

LHJ, October 1917. (Laparotomy is an abdominal surgery procedure.) Sterile dressings needed to be made in supervised rooms, not at home.

LHJ, October 1917. Even a loose thread could cause infection.

Children were also encouraged to knit for soldiers and sailors:

Article recruiting members of the Junior Red Cross, Delineator, November 1917. Even beginning knitters could manage to make mufflers and wristlets.

Junior Red Cross war work suggestions. Delineator, Dec. 1917. “Uncle Sam needs a million sweaters NOW. There are twenty-two million of you [children.] If you work, every soldier under the Stars and Stripes will have his sweater.”

The United States didn’t enter the war until April of 1917. French and British soldiers had been fighting the Germans since August of 1914, and supplies were being exhausted.

LHJ, August 1917.

LHJ, October 1917. All these “boxed” images are from the same article.

The Armistice treaty which concluded “the War to End All Wars” came into force at 11 a.m. Paris time on 11 November 1918 (“the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.”) — Wikipedia.

About 8,500,000 soldiers had died. Over 21 million were wounded.

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Filed under 1900s to 1920s, 1910s and WW I era, Accessory Patterns, Menswear, Musings, Nightclothes and Robes, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture, Uniforms and Work Clothes, World War I

Found Online, October 2018

Cover of Delineator magazine, June, 1914. The illustrator is Neysa McMein.

First, a new site for reading vintage magazines; next, a 1969 comic book about sewing classes for girls.

The Hathi Trust (working with Google) has been digitizing and posting vintage magazines, including Delineator, as soon as they fall out of copyright in the U.S.  The Hathi Trust is up to 1922 now. That’s the good news.

You can flip through the magazines (select the two page layout from the icons at the far right) until something catches your eye. You can download pages or more as Pdfs. Some pages are in color.

Niggling details: The quality of the scans is very variable, sometimes overexposed, sometimes with blurry text.

We can’t expect perfection on every page — I feel lucky the pages are there at all.

Bound copies of Delineator. The larger one is from 1920; the smaller format is from 1922. These are the bound magazines in my public library which I use for research.

Before 1921-22, Delineator was a large format magazine, 16 inches high, often with tiny, serif fonts that are hard to read even when I’m holding the original magazine in my hands, and even harder to photograph because the font is thin and low contrast.

I took this full page photo at a very high resolution from the March 1910 Delineator at my public library.This photo gives a fair idea of how hard to read the original is.

If you look at the same page on the Hathi Trust, at least you can magnify it greatly.

I sympathize with how challenging it is to get these resources online at all.

The Hathi Trust digitizes materials from the libraries of member universities. They are bound volumes, usually containing January through June or July through December, so they are cataloged as one book rather than six issues. You may need a little patience to find what you want, although the text of each volume is searchable, which is very convenient. In 1910, Delineator numbered all the pages in a volume sequentially, so that January began with page numbers in the single digits and June reached the 400s. That’s not hard to navigate.

By 1914, (I don’t have the intervening years yet) each issue began with page 1 — which means you have to search for February, March, April, etc., and the “go to page” function only works within one issue at a time — not the whole volume. Tip: just to the right of the “GO” button is an icon for “sections” of the volume. You can figure out when a new “section” begins — i.e., a new month.

Getting the right exposure for an entire page with images and text isn’t easy. Image from Hathi Trust and Google.

Two images of the same cape from Delineator, April 1920, from Hathi Trust and Google. I printed them, scanned them, and adjusted them.

I have successfully downloaded images from the Hathi trust site, printed them, scanned them and used them in this blog — and I now can search for patterns by number (the same pattern often appears more than once, illustrated in different views.) I used this search function for the capes I wrote about recently. I had only photographed the alternate view of cape 2319; I found the other views on Hathi Trust.

“How To” Lessons in Delineator:

Just in: Delineator ran a series of articles on dressmaking and millinery making. For example, in 1910, Delineator Vol. 75, page 241 (and following pages) illustrates and describes the steps for making a Spring hat — from the wire frame to the finished hat. Click here. (There are more milinery lessons in 1910.) A search of 1909 (Vol. 74) will turn up more hat-making instructions. Other issues simply describe the newest hats and show photographs of them…. Like these gravity defying hats from 1905, Vol. 66.

To find more, search for Delineator and the year (e.g. “Delineator 1907”;) then narrow the list by selecting “Journals” from the column at left.

I have been so absorbed in Delineator that I’ve just begun to see what other magazines are available.  Godey’s Lady Magazine for 1832 is there. Frank Leslie’s Ladies’ Magazine is there. Who knows what wonders you may find at Hathi Trust? I’ve added it to my sidebar list of Sites with Great Information,

Today’s second find is from a British site, The House of Mirelle, in Hull, England. It shares a glimpse of a comic book series aimed at teenaged girls in the sixties.

Bunty image from House of Mirelle article; image copyright D.C.Thompson. Please do not copy.

The 1969 Bunty Annual about Sewing Classes for Girls post will be nostalgic for some of us.

“The House of Mirelle was a high end fashion house that existed in the UK city of Hull between 1938 and 1978.” The website archives materials from these glory days of a thriving Hull city center.

Perfectionist sewing teachers probably caused a lot of tears over the years. San Francisco artist Dolores R. Gray has done a series of works using old sewing patterns and mannequins in remarkable ways. She told me there were uncut threads dangling from this one because, when she finished a dress she was really proud of, the only thing her teacher noticed was one uncut thread.

How perfect that the Bunty story was about a girl who really wanted to be an artist!

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Filed under 1900s to 1920s, 1910s and WW I era, 1920s, Hats, Musings, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture, Resources for Costumers, World War I

Chiquita Banana Costume, 1951

Butterick 5971 suggests making matching mother and daughter Chiquita Banana costumes. Butterick Fashion News flyer, December 1951.

This costume is nostalgic for me. I can still sing the first line of the Chiquita Banana song: “I’m Chiquita Banana and I’ve come to say….” But I had to look up what it was that she said!

You would be gathering and bias-tape-binding yards of ruffles if you opted for a “Chiquita” costume. The “banana” doesn’t seem to come into it.

Text for the Butterick pattern. It was not issued in time for Halloween, but I bet lots of amateur theatricals had “Latin” numbers.

Butterick apparently licensed the rights to call its costume pattern by this name, although it bore very little resemblance to the original, which had a bolero top with ruffled sleeves.

Alternate view and Chiquita brand logo, 1951. Chiquita’s was meant to suggest a basket of fruit — with her stem sticking up through the center.

The Chiquita company still uses a ruffle-clad woman in its logo.

The song first appeared as a radio advertisement in 1944 — and its purpose was to tell people how to recognize a ripe banana, and to remind them not to store bananas in the refrigerator.

“I’m Chiquita banana and I’ve come to say – Bananas have to ripen in a certain way – When they are fleck’d with brown and have a golden hue – Bananas taste the best and are best for you – You can put them in a salad – You can put them in a pie-aye – Any way you want to eat them – It’s impossible to beat them – But, bananas like the climate of the very, very tropical equator – So you should never put bananas in the refrigerator.” — Chiquita Company Jingle

By 1951, when this pattern was issued, people could see the animated commercial in movie theaters and on TV. The tune was embedded in my brain by the time I was six. The Chiquita Company says, “At its peak, the jingle was played 376 times a day on radio stations across the United States.”

Thanks to YouTube, you can watch the original animated Chiquita ad by clicking here.

Astonishingly, a version of the song with less obviously instructive lyrics became a huge hit, covered by many singers. Here is one such version. Inevitably, the song was linked to Carmen Miranda in the public mind. If you search for a Chiquita banana costume today, you’ll find lots of Carmen Miranda costumes instead. A documentary about her is called Carmen Miranda: Bananas Is My Business. [I just learned that she has been credited with popularizing platform shoes!]

Many internet sources say that Miranda wrote the ad jingle. She didn’t.

According to the Chiquita company’s Jingle page the original ad was the work of three men: “Chiquita Banana” (words and music by Garth Montgomery, Leonard Mackenzie, William Wirges) under license to Chiquita Brands L.L.C. © 1945 Shawnee Press Inc.

Sarah Skwire wrote delightfully on this topic, so I recommend you click here to read her essay on the wildly popular Chiquita Banana song. She is right about the wartime scarcity of bananas; I remember reading a memoir of British writer Evelyn Waugh in which his children watched him eat the first banana they had seen in years. They remembered it because he ate it in front of them and did not share even a bite.

has written about the commercial’s resultant “Latina” stereotyping in her essay “Miss Chiquita Banana: Here to Stay, for Better or Worse.”

All things considered — history-wise — I wouldn’t rush to make a nostalgic Chiquita Banana Halloween costume today — even though it does look much better in this red, yellow, and black version used on the pattern envelope.

Color image from A History of the Paper Pattern Industry by Joy Spanabel Emery. Please do not copy.

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Filed under 1940s-1950s, 1950s-1960s, Children's Vintage styles, Musings, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture, Vintage patterns

Fashions for Daytime, October 1928

“Clubwoman” in an ad for Quaker Oats cereal, October 1920.

You could make your own version of this coat with a Butterick pattern:

Butterick coat 2243 from Delineator, October 1928. Tweed with  a lynx collar is “the smartest sport coat.”

To wear under it, Butterick offered a range of classic Twenties’ dresses:

Left, a two-piece dress with a bi-color hip band, Butterick 2267. Right, a more complex cut, with pleats falling from a diagonal zig-zag; Butterick 2279.

The collar of the dress on the right becomes a loose scarf — a detail often seen on late Twenties’ dresses.

As usual, these dresses are pleated in front but plain in back. The skirt length is appreciably shorter in this ad:

An ad for Diamond Dyes suggests that your high-school or college-age daughter can wear dyed dresses instead of new ones. Delineator, October 1928.

The school girl’s two-piece dress is inches above the knee and has a dynamic Art Moderne repeated V in front, plus a pleated skirt.

The high-school girl’s skirt exposes her knees completely. 1928. Her belt is two-toned.

I was about to comment that the dress does not look “long out of style,” but dresses for girls were always shorter than dresses for women, so perhaps she did wear it when she was 13 or 14.

Although the picture isn’t really clear, this dress for young women has a vertical zig-zag button placket closing. Butterick 2258. The pleats are cleverly inserted into a point at front and side fronts.

Butterick 2275 is a typical, simple Twenties’ style. The surprise is the neckline, which ties in front and in back. Once again, the skirt part of the dress only has pleats on the front. If you look closely, you can see a vertical line of buttons at the side of the top, just at the hip. This allowed a pull-on dress to be fastened tightly at the hip.

Butterick 2281 and 2245 are day dresses in the normal range of women’s sizes. It looks like pleats were chic in the  Fall of 1928; they go all the way around in dress 2245, right. Delineator, October 1928, p. 121.

Prints and plaids for daytime. The pleats at left are top stitched, but would not be if the fabric was printed velvet. The dress on the right (2245) is probably waistless.

The next dress could be made for size 52:

Butterick 2283: all the interest is in the front.  The pleats are top stitched for several inches. This dress was recommended for large sized women — up to 52 inch bust.

The cuffs echo the band with decorative button at the point. There are no figure flattering diagonal lines in back, however. The two dresses below are also for larger-than-average sizes. Can you figure out why?

Butterick 2227 (left) and 2249 (right.) October 1928.

A closer view of Butterick 2227 and 2249. This modern velvet comes reasonably  close to the printed fabric at left. a description of the dress at right is below.

The thing all three dresses for larger women they have in common is: Surplice (i.e., diagonal) lines.

This simple afternoon dress calls for printed velvet; here is one source. Printed silk rayon would work, too. Rayon is one of the first synthetic fabrics, often used in the Twenties.

A simple afternoon dress, October 1928. Butterick 2253.

October clothes for schoolgirls were very similar to adult clothing:

A coat for girls and a dress to go under it. October 1928. Butterick patterns in Delineator.

Butterick for schoolgirls ages 8 to 15, October 1928. Their knees are not covered at all.

 

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Filed under 1920s-1930s, Children's Vintage styles, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture, Vintage Styles in Larger Sizes

Book Review: Mrs. Pankhurst’s Purple Feather: Fashion, Fury and Feminism — Women’s Fight for Change, by Tessa Boase

Note: the accompanying images are not from this book, but much of what I learned, is. Any reflections about parallels with current events are mine, and mine alone. This book made me think.

The millinery and feather trades were a huge international business in 1910. Ad from Delineator.

I’m sorry I took so long to review this book; I loved reading it, and I’ve raved about it to friends, but it is so jam-packed with fascinating information that I was tempted to quote something from every other page — which would not be fair to other readers; it’s too much fun to discover surprising facts for yourself! [Even so, I couldn’t resist sharing a few. My enthusiasm carries me away. A shorter review can be found at The Vintage Traveler 🙂 ]

In her previous book, The Housekeeper’s Tale, Tessa Boase poured through old account books, legal proceedings, letters and diaries, and used her research to unearth the life stories of several women servants over a period of nearly two centuries. I confess that history was the class that bored me the most in high school — although I was a good student, I hated “history.” But history vividly told though the lives of ordinary women — that is fascinating, and suspenseful, reading.

This teenaged girl wears entire bird wings on her hat. Delineator, March 1910. In 1892, 800,000 pairs of wings were imported by one London dealer. [Boase, p. 87]

In Mrs. Pankhurst’s Purple Feather, the women central to her story are not ordinary — most of them are women who achieved great things: They changed the laws of England in the early twentieth century. And they did it against all odds:

“Right up until the First World War, the idea of bird protection was as laughable to the general population as the concept of female emancipation.” — Boase, p. xiii

Mrs. Emmeline Pankhurst was the very vocal leader of the movement for women’s suffrage, the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU.) Mrs. Etta Lemon was the primary founder of the Society for the Preservation of Birds (SPB,) seeking to prevent the extinction of birds which were being hunted for women’s hat trimmings. Both of them were up against an all-male parliament, male voters, and a public perception that women should stay home and keep their opinions to themselves.

But, surprisingly, the crusading Mrs. Lemon,  — like many of her supporters — was an “Anti:” she was opposed to women getting the vote.

Did you know? In 1913, the Antis had 33,000 members; “the Pankhurst’s WSPU just 2,000.” [Boase, p. 237.]

It’s very hard for a modern woman to identify with Etta Lemon, — and this conflict between two successful, activist women is the paradox that shapes Boase’s book. It twines together two stories about women: the campaign for wildlife conservation and the campaign for voting rights. [The large cast of characters is helpfully listed and described early in the book — a very good idea!]

Wisely, Boase uses the gripping story of working woman Alice Battershall, ” a lowly feather washer,” to plunge us into the very big business of millinery and the feather trade in late Victorian and Edwardian England (and the world.) Alice was tried for the crime of stealing two ostrich plumes from her employer.

The trade in feathers was world wide. Ad for South African ostrich, Delineator, April 1910.

Alice Battershall earned 5 shillings a week — not a living wage even by the sweatshop standards of 1885. Her employer would have sold the feathers for 7 shillings each. Alice sold them to a “fence” for 1 shilling apiece. I had to stop and think about these figures: one ostrich plume was worth more than a week’s wages. Even by selling them to so cheaply, Alice increased her starvation wages by 40% — a powerful temptation.

And ostrich plumes were not the most valuable; ostrich were farmed, and the ostrich didn’t have to be killed for its feathers.

A family of Snowy egrets. Photo By AdA Durden from Jacksonville, USA Uploaded by Snowmanradio, CC , via wikipedia.

The bird that faced rapid extinction was the snowy egret. (Milliners called its feathers “Osprey.”) In 1903, a single ounce of Osprey feathers cost almost twice as much as an ounce of gold. [Boase, p.124] But snowy egrets only sported these long, delicate feathers (their nuptial plumage) while mating and raising their young. Egret nestlings need to be fed by both parents over a long period of time; whenever a plume hunter shot and skinned the parent birds, the next generation of snowy egrets died of starvation. When a colony was hunted two or three years in a row, it became extinct.

One famous hunter, David “Egret” Bennett, first wiped out egret colonies in Central America, then moved on to the colonies in Mexico and Baja California. He, too gets a chapter. He was aware that he was driving the species to extinction, but “I have never found any occupation as profitable,” he explained.

[Personally, I see a parallel with the fossil fuel industry today. For me, history — brought to life in Mrs. Pankhurst’s Purple Hat — keeps informing and illuminating the present.]

Mrs. Lemon and her friends began a campaign against the wearing of osprey; they sent letters to newspapers all over England; they wrote to parish newsletters and to clergymen citing biblical passages in support of their views; they wrote (and spoke) to other women and of course, to members of Parliament. But, while Mrs. Pankhurst was leading demonstrations and being arrested (repeatedly) for advocating votes for women — always while elegantly dressed and wearing hats bedecked with feathers,  the anti-suffrage ladies of the [eventually Royal] Society for the Protection of Birds hired men to carry the placards in their most effective education campaign. And, although Mrs. Lemon actually ran the SPB until she was forced out in 1939, on paper her husband Frank was its “honorary secretary.” She did not assume its leadership — officially — until he died.

Exotic birds, like the bird of paradise, were especially valued. This “Paradise Bird” was sold by Sears.

If you couldn’t afford the real thing, parts of many birds might be combined to make one. Sears catalog, 1910.

The sheer numbers of birds killed and skinned and transported to auction in New York and London boggles the mind. An undercover reporter from the American Ornithologists Union slipped into a plumage sale in London in 1888.

“Here were birds by the shipload,” writes Boase, listing about 7,000 parrots, 1,000 woodpeckers, 14,000 quail, grouse and partridge, 4000 snipes and plovers and other domestic birds like the 7,000 starlings, jays, and magpies. There were 5000 tanagers; hundreds (each) of birds of paradise, gulls, finches, orioles, larks, toucans; and 12,000 hummingbirds from all over the world. [It’s a mercy that my mind simply cannot picture a pile of 12,000 dead hummingbirds.]

Until I read this book I knew very little about Mrs. Emmeline Pankhurst; I didn’t realize that she was a widow who had to support herself and her daughters, while trying to maintain the appearance of a respectable and “womanly” woman of the upper classes. Cartoonists often depicted suffragettes as mannish women with ties and cigars or as frustrated spinsters. Mrs. Pankhurst was determined to break that stereotype. As in all things British, social class came into it. She didn’t believe that the exclusively male Members of Parliament, who were middle class by virtue of inheritance and/or wealth, would pay attention to the pleas of working class women. This led to a painful break with her socialist daughter Sylvia, who championed “equal pay for equal work” and an end to the “sweating trades” (e.g., ostrich feather curlers) in 1918. [That was 100 years ago….]

The women who worked in the millinery and feather trades were exploited in wretched, health-destroying working conditions, and often reduced to prostitution during the regularly occurring months when their trades were dormant.

A child might have worked for days to “willow” this plume. Peckham’s ad in Delineator, June 1910.

This is an ostrich plume that has been “willowed.” An ordinary ostrich feather has been made longer, fluffier and more luxurious by having extensions tied to every flue — a job which the small and nimble fingers of children were good at.

“One women and two children might labour for a day and a third on a single ostrich plume — whose preparation required as many as 8,613 knots…. In 1910, this earned them 3 cents….”  — Boase, p. 13.

“Pulmonary tuberculosis was a slow and steady killer of women in the feather trade.” [Boase, p. 13]  Nevertheless, abolishing the trade was a political hot potato: workers often preferred the risk of slow death to unemployment and starvation. (Hunger was already part of their lives.)

[This is another dilemma we face today. Although Boase never mentions these parallels, this book offers plenty of food for thought. Silicosis and  pneumoconiosis kill coal miners, and mesothelioma kills asbestos workers; nevertheless, eliminating these trades means eliminating jobs — a problem in 1910 and in 2018.]

As the new century progressed,  some women — like Etta Lemon; Eliza Phillips; Emily Williamson; Virginia Woolf;  and Winifred, Duchess of Portland — campaigned against the extinction of entire species for hat trimmings.  Mrs Pankhurst, immaculately dressed but debilitated from her frequent protest fasts, saw her supporters’ demonstrations become increasingly violent. Then came World War I, and a great change in women’s lives….

As I have mentioned, Mrs. Pankhurst’s Purple Feather is history told by a scholar with a novelist’s touch, focusing on the small detail and the personal story to bring its events vividly to life.  And, although the author does not mention their relevance to modern life, I can’t help being stimulated by many of the facts she shares.

Over 100 years ago, American Ornithologist Henry Oldys addressed the U.S. Congress on the topic of wildlife conservation, urging legislation to prevent the extinction of species:

The spirit of the age, was, he said, marked by ignorance, cupidity and supineness — a toxic combination that was steadily exterminating creation. “History will not listen to the plea, ‘It was not my business,’ ” he cried. ‘It will answer: “You were there and could have prevented it; therefore it was your business. You failed to do your duty. The only explanation is that you were corrupt, ignorant, or weak.” ‘ — from Boase, p. 226.

[In the light of my country’s withdrawal from the Paris Climate Agreement, and the U.N.’s recent report that irreversible climate change is happening more rapidly than predicted, someone needs to say that to Congress again.]

Nevertheless, I also found hope from the fact that women, working together, can accomplish the near-impossible. Even the story of the troubling Mrs. Lemon gives me hope:

The RSPB began with a letter writing campaign organized by a few Victorian ladies — bird-lovers excluded from all-male ornithological societies because they were women.

“Within six months… this little ‘bird and bonnet’ society [grew] from 1,000 to 5,000 members.” In two years, it had almost 10,000, “most of them women.” [p. 74.] Today, “The RSPB is a behemoth — a charity with 1.2 million members, 200 nature reserves…, 2000 staff and 14,000 volunteers. It has an annual income of 100 million pounds and it wields great political power. Its business today is international nature conservation.” (p. xi.)

Reading that makes me feel a lot better about our chances.

Summary: By focusing her complex story on the lives of individual women, Tessa Boase has turned an extraordinary mass of scholarly research into a memorable and fascinating book, filled with surprises and startling details. I used to think history was boring. Not this one.

The publishers deserve praise, especially for the footnotes (actually endnotes) which are printed in two-column format. They never intrude, but if you want to check a source, they are easy to read without constant page flipping. Full index and bibliography; color plates; and Ms. Boase herself collected the illustrations for the end papers from period magazines. Full disclosure: I received a free copy of this book for review.

Mrs. Pankhurst wore a purple feather because the Suffragette colors were purple (for freedom and dignity,) white (for purity,) and green (for hope.) Click here to see the (faded) feather that inspired this book.

Tessa Boase blogs at tessaboase.com/blog, where you can see more Edwardian feathered hats in full color (including eyes and beaks….)

Fashion sketch of a chic Parisienne; Delineator, May 1910. She is wearing a glorified chicken.

Four feathered hats. Delineator, February 1910.

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Filed under 1870s to 1900s fashions, 1900s to 1920s, 1910s and WW I era, A Costumers' Bookshelf, Edwardian fashions, Hats, Musings, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture, Vintage Accessories, World War I

Gigantic Hats, 1910

A gigantic hat from May, 1910. Delineator.

This was the era of huge hats, secured by huge hatpins to huge (often padded) hairstyles.

A gigantic hat with feathers and hatpin. March 1910, Delineator.

A very large hat from 1910. This one is covered with pleated silk.

It was not unusual for an Edwardian (1901 – 1910) hat to be wider than a woman’s shoulders and hips.

The proportions of this hat dwarf the woman under it. It’s much wider than she is. Delineator, June 1910.

That hat has a wide brim and also a very wide crown — at least twice as wide as the head it sits on. Inside such a hat, the silk lining included a wide band with a casing for a drawstring which could be gathered at the center of the hat and adjusted to the size of the hairdo.The opening could be made larger if you wanted the hat to sit lower on your head, or smaller if you wanted it to rest on top of your hairstyle.

The hat on the left must be supported by an interior that is not the same size as its exterior. January 1910, Delineator.

Another outsized hat from 1910. It’s much bigger around than her head is. Delineator, June.

These gigantic hats were not confined to the upper classes; here is just part of the selection that could be ordered from the Sears catalog in 1910.

Hats from a Sears, Roebuck catalog, 1910. Women could also buy hats untrimmed, and finish them at home.

The next gigantic hats from Delineator were for girls and teens:

A super-wide hat is worn by a teen in this illustration. She is perched rather shockingly on a table. (That is not a very ladylike way of sitting!)

Young women — schoolgirls, really — sport very wide headgear in this fashion illustration from March 1910. Delineator. [I’ll take a closer look at that hat on the left in a later post.]

This teen wears a wide velvet-trimmed hat with her fox fur stole and suit. January 1910, Delineator. Imagine sitting next to her!

I was wondering how these hats stayed on in a breeze; here one is secured with a chic veil.

Veiled lady from June 1910. Delineator.

The weight of such large hats was a problem; the black hat above is trimmed with light, sheer tulle and (possibly) artificial black fruits. The one below is also trimmed with sheer netting:

A Parisian lady illustrated in May 1910. Delineator. The size of her black straw hat is exaggerated by swathes and bows of ribbon or net trim.

But the other popular trim used in millions of hats — which added size, height, and volume without adding weight — was feathers.

This straw hat is large but light because most of its bulk is feathers. May 1910.

Feathers make this hat look larger.

Osprey“-like feathers shoot like the tail of a comet off this hat from a Phillipsborn catalog ad. May, 1910.

A hat trimmed with very long ostrich feathers. February 1910.

This is where fashion intersects with a social reform movement;  the slaughter of birds for hat decoration became an international problem which pitted women’s fashion against a reform movement led by women.

Women became increasingly aware that their fashion choices have environmental consequences. Teen fashion illustration, Delineator, March 1910. Her plumage seems to be legally farmed ostrich feathers.

A spray of delicate feathers in an ad for Suesine silk. Are they osprey? March 1910.

In America, the Audubon Society was formed to protect the endangered snowy egret, whose delicate feathers were sold as “osprey.”

I like to think the woman on the left is looking askance at the aigrette (osprey? or heron? or chicken — called “coque — feathers?”) on her neighbor’s hat. Fashion illustration, Delineator, May 1910.

Snowy egret feathers (called osprey) were illegal in the U.S., so Sears offered this black or white herron [sic] feather aigrette instead.

All these images are by way of background information to my upcoming review of “Mrs. Pankhurst’s Purple Feather,” a book by Tessa Boase.

Spoiler alert: I love it.

P.S. (added 10/18/2018) Tessa Boase has kindly sent a link to her post about a museum collection of feathered hats from this era. To see them in full color is quite an experience. Here is a link to just one of the hats she was able to examine. I urge you to read her post and (virtually) visit the rest. Click here.

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Filed under 1900s to 1920s, 1910s and WW I era, Hats, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture, Vintage Accessories

Directoire Sleeves, 1929 and 1930

Butterick dress pattern 3196 from May, 1930; Delineator. The sleeves were a new style.

I was so fixated on waistlines rising and hemlines falling in the short time period 1929-1930 that I was overlooking other fashion changes. One is the short (i.e., mid-bicep length) or “one-quarter” sleeve (click here); another is the introduction of a short, puffy sleeve on dresses for adult women.

The dress on the right, Butterick 3141, has sheer sleeves which are smooth at the shoulder and puffed at the cuff. Delineator, April 1930.

These sleeves were sometimes described as “Directoire.”

Butterick 3227, from May, 1930. Delineator, p. 32. It was available in sizes for both teens and women.

“Directoire” refers to the period of French history called the Directory, which was brief: 1795 to 1799. It ended with the rise of Napoleon to political power. However, fashion vocabulary is often used very loosely. For many writers, “directoire” and “empire” are used interchangeably.

Portrait of Empress Josephine Bonaparte by Massot, 1812, courtesy of The Hermitage. To see the full painting, click here.

The gigantic painting of the Coronation of Napoleon, by Jacques-Louis David, shows Josephine and other ladies of the Imperial court wearing sleeves that are puffed at the shoulder as well as the cuff, but this may reflect an attempt to evoke earlier royal outfits, or as a result of the painting being completed in 1807, three years after the coronation took place (and seven years after the Directory ended.) By 1807, the trend for puffy gathered sleeves was in progress.

I recommend tiffanyslittleblog for excellent close-up views and identification of the characters in the painting. She shows a preliminary sketch of Josephine wearing sleeves that are puffed at the bottom, but not at the top, as well as a close-up of her coronation dress, for comparison. Napoleon’s sisters also wear puffed sleeves.

Which brings me back to the description of this image:

Butterick dress pattern 3196 from May, 1930; Delineator. The sleeve is “the Directoire pouf.”

American women were already wearing these sleeves, as seen in this advertisement which ran in April, 1930:

“Women of America” in an ad for Air-Way, April 1930.

It appears that the sleeve which is not noticeably gathered at the shoulder is closer to the original “directoire sleeve.”

English fashion plate dated 1796, courtesy of the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum.

Another directoire sleeve from May 1930. Butterick 3231, for sizes 32 to 44. Delineator.

“The position of the high waistline depends on how you wear your belt.” For women who were reluctant to abandon the low waistline of the 1920s, some dresses were made without a waist seam.

This blouse, which could be made with long sleeves, still has a 1920’s silhouette — except for its sleeves. Butterick 3185 from April, 1930.

Because I grew up in the 1950s, I associate the puffy sleeve with dresses for little girls. This is how I was dressed for elementary school:

Dresses for little girls, Butterick Fashion News flyer, January 1951.

Older girls also wore puffy sleeves to school in the Fifties. BFN flyer, 1951. I remember a wearing a plaid dress with puffy sleeves in 1954.

However, except for “peasant” influenced smocked dresses, little girls didn’t usually wear puffed sleeves in the Nineteen Twenties.

1926 fashions for very young children. Delineator, September 1926.

Dresses for schoolgirls, May, 1926. Delineator. They do not have puffy sleeves.

I did find a few examples of puffed sleeves on girls’ dresses from the late 1920’s:

Puffed sleeves on a party dress for girls 8 to 15, from January 1928.

A 1920’s dress with puffed sleeves for a girl 6 to 10. January 1929, Delineator.

Nevertheless, the reintroduction of the puffed sleeve for women, teens, and little girls was called “new” in 1930.

The girl on the left has “quaint” “old-new” sleeves. Delineator, June 1930.

Even in 1930, puffed sleeves could be associated with youth.

The puff sleeved dress on the left is recommended for a sixteen year old. Butterick 3254, June 1930.

Another dress with directoire sleeves for young women. Butterick 3298, from July 1930.

The dress on the left is definitely for a teen rather than a sophisticated adult. Butterick 3202, May 1930.

This dress, Butterick 3120 from March 1930, is for teens 14 to 20. Delineator.

Right, Butterick 3572 from December 1930. “A frock from Kate Greenaway’s Almanac.” Kate Greenaway wrote picture books for children, often dressing them in  empire styles.

The alternate view shows dress 3572 made sleeveless.

This little flower girl definitely shows the Kate Greenaway influence:

An Empire dress for the flower girl at a wedding in September 1930 “makes her look like a miniature nineteenth century belle.” It wouldn’t look out of place at a wedding today.

But these sleeves were also worn by older members of the wedding:

From blouses to evening gowns, the “quaint” directoire sleeve made a modest appearance around 1930.

Blouse 3111, from March 1930, has short puffed sleeves –“very new and … having a tremendous vogue.” In sizes 32 to 44.

Butterick 3988 from September, 1931.

Puffed sleeves on a “simple frock” at a picnic; advertisement, July 1930.

Sleeve heads became enormous later in the thirties — especially after the 1932 movie Letty Lynton. Did their inflation start with these “quaint” styles from 1930?

Butterick Fashion News flyer, cover, May 1938.

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Filed under 1700s, 1800s-1830s, 1920s-1930s, 1930s, 1950s-1960s, Children's Vintage styles, Costumes for the 19th century, Mid-Victorian fashions, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture