Tag Archives: vintage fashion

Wrap Skirt Pattern 1480, 1927 to 1930s

Butterick skirt 1480 was first illustrated in June, 1927, with a blouse/step-in combination (No. 1493) and a cardigan jacket (No. 1367.) Delineator.

This very simple wrap skirt pattern first appeared in 1927. Surprisingly, it was still being featured — in a much longer version — in December of 1930. It had survived a major change in fashion. There is only one copy in the Commercial Pattern Archive, so I can’t be sure if the pattern was produced in a longer version after 1929, but it is certainly longer in illustrations from 1930.

Buttrick wrap skirt No. 1480 barely covered the knee in summer, 1927.

A 1928 version — still short, can be seen here. A different combination blouse and step-in — copied from Vionnet — appeared in Butterick’s Delineator in 1929. [And it had a zipper!]

The “one-piece wrap-around straight skirt” really is simple, with just four parts: Front belt [the front waistband,] back belt [waistband,] skirt, and an optional pocket. (The dressmaker would need to figure out linings, facings, etc. )

Butterick 1480 pattern from the Commercial Pattern Archive. 1927.

Here is the same wrap skirt illustrated in July 1927 — this time with a sporty striped jacket:

Far right, Butterick skirt 1480 with “coat” 6603 in July 1927. Casual chic!

Upper left: wrap skirt 1480 again. September 1927. These three styles are unmistakably “Twenties.”

This time, skirt 1480 was shown with a jacket-like ; the blouse opening lines up with the flap on the skirt.

By Fall of 1929 the new, longer skirt had been introduced.

Butterick wrap skirt 1480 is shown with overblouse 2802 (still in Twenties’ style) and a flared coat (Butterick 2794.)

The skirt covers the knees completely. (September, 1929.) This coat is about the length that some dresses were just 18 months earlier.

Notice how quickly the longer skirt took hold — there’s a big difference in patterns from September 1929 — above — and October 1929, below:

In October of 1929, skirt 1480 was shown with overblouse tucked in, in the alternate view.

Butterick coat 2847, blouse 2864, and wrap skirt 1480. Delineator, October 1929. Belts are rising. Notice the back view at right.

In 1927, the wrap skirt was described as “mounted on a belt that rests just above the hipbone.” In 1930 it “fits snugly over the hips at a high waistline.” To me, this sounds like two ways of saying the same thing — if the pattern was really much changed, it would have been reissued with a new number.

In her History of the Paper Pattern Industry, Joy Spanabel Emery showed two pattern envelopes of Simplicity 1866 — “first issued in 1946 and reissued in 1947 with a longer skirt. (The fastest and simplest solution was to lengthen existing skirt patterns by three inches.)” [Pg. 164.]

A few months later, by 1930, skirts were well below the knee, and ways to stretch your wardrobe were… creative.

Above: A four piece ensemble made by wearing wrap skirt 1480 with a blouse and jacket, or by wearing it over a dress! The long, waistless top of the dress could be made as an overblouse. (There are four patterns listed: Jacket 2993 (left,) coat 2812 (over her arm) frock or blouse 3002 (center and right, and skirt 1480 (shown three times.)

By Fall of 1930, most traces of the Nineteen Twenties’ look are gone. Skirts are mid-calf; belts approach the natural waist.

Butterick dresses from October 1930. The tunic second from left (3471) is a transitional style, like the tunics [below] that appeared at the end of the Tubular Twenties. Under the 1930 tunic: wrap skirt 1480.

https://witness2fashion.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/three-tunic-blouse-and-slip-costumes-1924-butterick-patterns-5970-5455-5681.jpg?w=500&h=500

Three tunic blouse and costume slip outfits, 1924. Butterick patterns Nos. 5790, 5455, & 5681. A tunic outfit offers more than one hemline, so the eye can choose the length it prefers — old and long, or new and short. 1924.

For more about the 1920’s long-to-short transition, click here.

Yes, that October 1930 tunic was worn over 1920’s wrap skirt 1480. So was this one, from December of 1930.

Left, Butterick tunic blouse 3560 over wrap skirt 1480; right, frock 3548. Delineator, December 1930.

Stylistically, the “Twenties” are over.

Why a wrap skirt should be the choice for wearing under a tunic (or over a dress!) is a mystery to me. But, as seen, easy wrap skirt 1480 survived a fashion earthquake.

P.S. Looking at the tunic dresses of 1924 and 1930 I was shocked to realize how little time elapsed between them. The short-skirted Twenties were short indeed.

 

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Unusual Capes, 1912 to 1920

Cape by Reville and Rossiter of Hanover Square, London.

Many years ago I encountered this cape with an unusual criss-cross front.

Detail of front of vintage cape.

I was reminded of it by two different Butterick patterns.

1914: Butterick 6975

This one is Butterick cape 6975 from June 1914. Delineator.

Note: I often have to crop images to show details because they would otherwise be too tall to see on a computer screen. Tall hats make it a real challenge. This page was 16 inches high.

Those very tall aigrettes on the hat make it hard to photograph the entire ensemble. [The word “aigrette” is etymologically related to “egret.”]

Let’s hope those are heron feathers and not the endangered snowy egret, or osprey. (Egrets and Herons are members of the same family.)

Here’s a description of Butterick cape 6975:

One pattern included several versions of cape 6975. “The cape may be in any of three outlines….”

1920: Butterick 2319

In 1920, Butterick issued a another cape pattern, even more similar to the vintage cape:

Detail of front of vintage cape.

Butterick cape 2319, Delineator, April 1920.

Two illustrations of Butterick cape 2319 from 1920. Images via Google and the Hathi Trust.

I even found a story illustration showing a young woman wearing a simple criss-cross cape on board a ship.

Story illustration from Delineator, 1920.

Of course, that cape doesn’t really look very good, because the narrow criss-cross front straps conflict with the look of the dress under it. The high-end vintage cape, on the other hand, covers most of any blouse that would be worn under it.

Cream and black cape by Reville and Rossiter of Hanover Square, London.

This very high quality wool cape, which I found in a private collection, was made of tightly woven, creamy white wool, with a black silk lining and black accents. It reminded me of doeskin — but I think it was slightly brushed wool.

Detail of vintage cape fabric, showing damage.

Back of Reville and Rossiter cape. Part of the collar is black.

The cape was probably intended to be worn and kept on, like a suit coat, because it was held in place by ties in back, near the waist. This cape would not be something you casually slipped in and out of during a visit; I think you would want to be standing in front of a mirror as you settled it on your shoulders and then reached behind you — under the cape — to tie the silk ties like apron strings.

The pleated white bands end behind the wearer’s body in black silk ties, which have shattered.

The silk ties, like the lining, were very damaged.

However, there is no problem dating this cape, because it is the British equivalent of couture. The date, 1912, is on the label:

The label in the cape says Reville & Rossiter, (1912) Ltd. Hanover Square W. — a posh London address.

I said this was a very high-end garment;  Reville and Rossiter of Hanover Square also made the custom coronation gown worn by Queen Mary in 1911. (Click the link to see more views and close-ups.)

Back view of Queen Mary’s coronation dress, 1911. The embroidery represented flowers and leaves from England, Ireland, Scotland, and India. Image courtesy of The Royal Collection Trust.

They made this court dress (Click here to see full information and an enlarged image) in the collection of the Victoria and Albert museum, …

Reville & Rossiter made this Court dress with train, worn in September, 1913. Image courtesy of V&A museum.

Detail of bodice on court gown by Reville & Rossiter, 1913. Notice the superb lace and the tassels at the waist. Courtesy of V&A museum.

… and this 1919 evening dress, also at the V & A.

The front of the Reville & Rossiter cape. The black buttons and buttonholes echo the back collar, also black.

I suppose it’s possible that the cross-over front of this designer cape inspired copies, which became available as sewing patterns by 1914 — and the style was copied even more closely in 1920. According to The Royal Collection Trust, “Reville and Rossiter was a London couture house made court dressmaker to Queen Mary. It gained the royal warrant in 1910 and in 1911 designed the queen’s coronation robe. By the 1930s they were no longer in business.” You could say that our vintage cape, made in 1912, was fit for a queen.

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Filed under 1900s to 1920s, 1910s and WW I era, 1920s, Coats, Vintage Couture Designs, Vintage Garments: The Real Thing, World War I

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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A Subtle Change in Fashion, 1920s to 1930s

Short sleeves on a very dressy dress; Delineator, February 1930. Butterick pattern 3032, for [Misses age] 14 to 20.

I’m not claiming that short sleeves were never seen in 1920’s clothing, but the short set-in sleeve — mid-bicep length — was usually associated with house dresses and work uniforms in the Twenties.

A short sleeved-house dress worn while washing dishes in February 1930. Super Suds soap advertisement.

The woman on the left in this picture wears a work uniform with short, set-in sleeves.

Left. a servant or waitress uniform, June 1929. Ad from Delineator.

The short-sleeved work dress below probably has kimono sleeves — cut in one with the top of the dress and finished with bias tape, like the neckline. This was a fast, cheap way to make a dress by eliminating facings and separate sleeves.

Woman ironing with a mangle while wearing a short-sleeved house dress. Ad, June 1929. Delineator.

Short kimono sleeves — that is, sleeeves not cut separately from the dress bodice — were very common, and contributed to the ease of making the typical twenties’ dress.

Two casual dresses from April, 1929. Butterick 2573, left, and 2541, right.

The alternate views are interesting: even in its long-sleeved version, 2573 has kimono sleeves at the shoulder. 2541, on the other hand, has short, set-in sleeves.

Alternate views of 2573 and 2541. April 1929. Waists are still low, and lengths are still short.

Full length views of Butterick 2573 and 2541. Delineator, April 1929.

2573 is for wear in the “country,” for sports like tennis [!], or “at home in the morning.” [The phrase “porch dress” was sometimes used instead of “house dress.” Either way, the dress stayed at home.]

Perhaps 2541 has set-in sleeves because it was available in very large sizes — up to 52 inch bust.

However, older and larger women were also offered these kimono sleeved dresses in early 1930:

Both Butterick 3028 and 3067 from February 1930 have kimono sleeves, but they reflect the rising waistlines of 1929-1930. 32″ to 44″ bust was the normal Butterick size range, but these models are not youthful.

[Period detail: Both of those dresses have bias tape bindings or accents. The scallop button closing was very popular.]

These dresses from June 1929, illustrated side by side, show a long (or short) close-fitting sleeve (left, No. 2648) or a kimono sleeve (right, No.  2668. )

Two typical dresses from the first half of 1929. Butterick 2648 (in sizes up to 48) has set-in sleeves. 2668 has kimono sleeves “for sun-browned arms”. Delineator, June 1929. These short dresses with low waistlines were on the verge of extinction in summer, 1929.

Close-fitting wrist-length sleeves, cut and sewn separately from the bodice, were usual for street clothes in the Twenties.
But I notice that the short sleeve, as we know it, was increasingly used on “dressy” dresses in 1929 and 1930.

The caption for this page was “Mature Grace.” The sheer dress on the left  (Butterick 3168) has the new, short sleeves — and it is suggested for older women in the normal size range. April, 1930. The name “one-quarter sleeve” is useful.

Two Butterick dresses from February 1930. I showed a detail of the one on the left at the top of this post — but I think it deserves a full-length view, too. [The Twenties are over.]

Many of the new, shorter sleeves were decorated with a non-functional tie or bow.

Butterick 3058 from February 1930 has short sleeves trimmed with decorative bows.

Right, another bow-trimmed short sleeve, from March 1930. This is definitely not a house dress. Butterick patterns from Delineator.

Left, a dress from Saks; right, Butterick blouse pattern 3282. Delineator, June 1930. Notice how long the dress is; both dress and blouse have natural waistlines. Bows on short sleeves were not just a Butterick pattern idea.

However, not all short sleeves from 1930 are set-in; the easier-to-sew kimono sleeve sometimes got longer:

All four of these dresses from June 1930 have the new short sleeve look, but, incredibly, they all have kimono sleeves — described as the key to an “easy to make” dress.

(Sewing tip: In my experience, a close-fitting, longish kimono sleeve is very likely to tear under the arm unless you add a gusset; if you don’t, it’s a good idea to use a stretchable stitch — like a narrow zig-zag — on the curved part of the underarm seam. Fabric cut in a curve will stretch — but only if the seam can stretch, too. An oval gusset is safer.)

All these 1930 dresses have set-in sleeves:

Dresses with short, set-in sleeves. Butterick patterns in Delineator, July 1930.

Bows on the sleeves were not obligatory.

Butterick patterns for young women, July 1930. Delineator.

But they are very “summer of 1930”!

A princess line dress with short sleeves trimmed with decorative bows. Butterick 3349 from August 1930.

All Butterick patterns pictured are from Delineator magazines.

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Filed under 1920s, 1920s-1930s, 1930s, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture, Tricks of the Costumer's Trade, Uniforms and Work Clothes, Vintage Styles in Larger Sizes

Ferris Corsets for Women and Girls, 1914, 1917 and 1910

Mother and daughter both wear Ferris Corsets in this ad from March, 1914. Delineator, page 65.

The Ferris Corset Waist was often stiffened by channels of cording, rather than exclusively by steel bones. In its day, it was a sort of “reform” or “good sense” garment, more flexible and less rigid than the usual boned corset. Nevertheless, it’s dismaying to read:

“Made in more than 100 styles to properly fit all ages, infants to adults.” Ad for the Ferris Waist; Delineator, March 1914.

The full ad for Ferris Waists, March 1914.

The girls at the bottom seem to be teens. The one at left appears to be leaning forward while using some kind of exercise equipment.

The tiny waist at left seems more 1910 than 1914. It may have been a “sport” corset.

The straps help to “teach” correct posture — and hold up your stockings. Even young girls needed something to hold their stockings up… especially when they were too young to have a waist and hips.

Text of Ferris ad, March 1914. “Ferris Waists take the place of corsets.”

Two girls wear Ferris waists in this ad from April 1917.

Ferris Good Sense Corset Waists were “lightly boned and  beautifully corded” to naturally develop the growing body into a more perfect figure in later years.” Ad from April 1917. Delineator.

Ad from May, 1914, featuring a maternity corset. Maternity corsets were sold by several companies, including Lane Bryant [click here to read more about Lane Bryant;]  Sears, Roebuck; and Berthe May.

Ferris Maternity Corset, May 1914. Delineator, page 73. [Why is she wearing her slip under her corset? Because the upper thigh was not usually shown in ads even in the 1950’s, which always led me to wonder how those stocking suspenders reached the stocking tops.]

A rival to the Ferris maternity corset was this more traditional boned corset from Berthe May. January 1914, Delineator. It “allows one to dress as usual and preserve a normal appearance.”

In this ad from 1910, Ferris assured buyers that their products were made “under the cleanest conditions.”

Ferris assured women that the Ferris Good Sense corset waist was not made by exploiting women workers in sweatshop conditions or by piecework in tenements. Ferris ad, 1910.

However, this Ferris maternity corset from 1910 does show fashionable constriction of the waist:

A Ferris Good Sense maternity corset/waist from 1910 clearly was intended to maintain the then-fashionable hourglass figure as long as possible.

Ad for Ferris Waists from Delineator, May, 1910.

Ferris ad, May 1910.

“Good sense” or not, corset-wearing started early:

Ferris Good Sense Corsets for girls, starting at age 6 months. If it buttoned up the back, a girl couldn’t get out of it without help.

Ferris Good Sense corsets for girls and teens, 7 to 15 years old. “[…Pleated] busts soft as silk. Specially adapted to growing girls 11 to 15 of slender form.”

Ferris waist for girls 12 to 17. May 1910 ad.

Those hose supporters (stocking suspenders) are really long!

An adult corset from 1910 sold by waist size: 19 to 30 inches. Ferris ad, Delineator, May 1910.

You can read more about the Ferris Brothers here.

 

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Filed under 1900s to 1920s, 1910s and WW I era, Children's Vintage styles, Corsets, Corsets, Corsets & Corselettes, Foundation Garments, Hosiery, Hosiery, Maternity clothes, Old Advertisements & Popular Culture, Underthings, Hosiery, Corsets, etc, World War I

Fancy Stockings, Twinkling Toes in 1914

Shoe buckles and fancy stockings featured in this Delineator article; April 1914, page 21.

By 1914, skirts might have very narrow hems of 44 or 45 inches — (Lay that out in a circle with a tape measure and imagine walking with that restriction on your ankles.) Some skirts had slits or a curved hem to permit a natural stride.

A peg-topped pannier skirt pattern from April 1914. Hems were narrow, and feet and stockings peeping out from them could be sexy. Butterick skirt pattern 6736.

Feet — and stockings — could be a focal point. It’s no surprise that stockings and shoes got more attention.

Parisian stockings, April 1914. All three have lace inserts. The lace on the right has a pattern of birds flying. Sold by La Maison Chatelet, Paris.

Swallows fly across the leg on the left. White silk stockings might have black lace inserts, like that on the right. A serpent snakes its way around the leg in the center. Hosiery from La Maison Gastineau, Paris.

Delineator magazine, which had offices in Paris and London as well as New York City, reported on couture designs  every month and aimed at an upper-middle-class reader. But it’s hard to imagine those snake stockings on the wife of a small-town American businessman or politician!

Slightly more conservative — but luxurious — stockings sold by La Maison Meier, Paris.

This was also an era of fabulous shoe buckles. (They clipped on to evening pumps and were purely decorative.) I inherited this pair of shoe clips from my aunt (and sold them!)

A pair of rhinestone or paste shoe buckles, probably World War I era or slightly later. Each was about two inches wide.

A lower-middle-class woman owned these beautiful shoe clips. Did she wear them often? Perhaps she wore them to formal events given by the Masons or the Eastern Star — she and her husband were members.

This photo of the backs shows the sliding fastener that clipped the buckle to the shoe.

A patented sliding device allowed you to use the clips on many different pairs of shoes.

As shown in these photos from Delineator, shoe clips could take many forms, even an owl, or a butterfly.

A shoe clip might be an abstract shape or a bow…

An owl’s face, and a different bow …. The clip at bottom right reminds us that a ribbon bow could match your shoes to your outfit.

These shoe clips show a traditional buckle shape, left, and a jeweled insect.

Evening shoes from Paris, April 1914. Delineator. Two of these shoes are shown with shoe clips. The one at top left is also trimmed with lace. The one at bottom left is “plain satin.”

[An embroidered shoe and an embroidered stocking: overkill?]

The embroidered shoe at the right, with straps that extend up the ankle, is a “cothurne” or “tango slipper.”  The straps keep it from flying off if you kick up your heels during the dance.

Another 1914 cothurne or tango slipper.

A lace-up shoe called the cothurnus was worn by the ancient Greeks and especially by actors performing while wearing masks. The built-up sole of the performers’ cothurni added to the stature of actors, making them appear larger than ordinary humans.

Shoes suitable for day or afternoon wear. April, 1914. (I think the stocking at left has a decorative “clock,” not a run.)

The dance called the tango was just becoming popular, along with the afternoon dance, called the “thé dansant” in French. (I just read an article about them in Delineator, May 1914 — written by Irene Castle.)

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Filed under 1900s to 1920s, 1910s and WW I era, Hosiery, Hosiery, Hosiery & Stockings, Shoes, Vintage Accessories, World War I