costumes

Okay, this is both not-retro and beyond-retro, but since it’s newly-sewn non-modern clothing, I’m including it.  I also hope it might be helpful to anyone else who sews this pattern, since it’s a common pattern.

I have a small group of friends with whom I play “old-timey” music–guitar, banjo, Appalachian dulcimer, washtub bass–a few times a year.  We’re not very good but we work for free so people ask us to play for historical events on a fairly regular basis.  This almost always involves “pioneer dress”.  None of these events are die-hard historically accurate so what exactly is meant by “pioneer dress” is open to all kinds of interpretation.

My brother got into Civil War reenacting when we were in junior high school in the early 1990′s.  I’m sure historically accurate patterns existed then but this was years before we had internet access, and the ladies’ auxiliary of his regiment was not very serious about it, so we had no idea where to find them.  My mother made Simplicity 8006 (1992) for me out of dark brown and black plaid brushed cotton.  There is nothing even remotely 19th century about this dress but, in a modern-detail-obscuring dark color and with an apron tied around it, it at least didn’t scream “Civil War Barbie!”.  I wore that dress for about ten years before I started promising myself I’d make a new reenacting dress in time for the next event.

It took me another ten years to act on that.

This year, I was determined.  I changed my mind probably thirty times: Which pattern to use, how accurate did it need to be, how inaccurate [read: easier to sew] could it be before I felt too guilty to wear it, etc.?  In the time I spent waffling, I probably could have sewn three or four dresses.  Oh, well.

This isn’t as terrifying as it sounds.  One, since the dulcimer is played on one’s lap, you can’t wear hoops.  I own a hoop but I think I’ve worn it exactly once in fifteen years.  When I do reenacting dresses, we’re talking work clothes.  No hoops, no Scarlett O-Hara tight-lacing, no fancy stuff.

I finally settled–I thought–on the Past Patterns 803 Round Dress, which is an historically accurate 1850′s everyday dress.  I decided to simplify things by making it button-front (less fussing with the lining) and omitting the off-center skirt closure, which made it less accurate but was also less complex thing to do.  It would be under an apron, anyway, right?  I got most of the bodice made, though, before I realized that a) attaching the skirt was going to take me the rest of my life, and b) I really needed a corset.  I could wear it without one but it just wasn’t going to look right.  The final blow was discovering that the very low-set shoulder seams would make it difficult to play the guitar.  I mothballed the project and reconsidered.

(For the record: This is not a criticism of the Round Dress.  I absolutely adore Past Patterns.  The 806 Mill Girl dress was a miracle of accurate pattern drafting and astonishingly easy to assemble considering my mother and I had never done historical sewing before in our lives.  I just did not have the time and energy to devote to the Round Dress that it needed.)

The next candidate was McCall’s M4548 (2004).

This is a pretty standard cheesy costume-quality pioneer dress, but it does have two things that put it at the head of the class where cheesy costume-quality pioneer dress patterns are concerned: It does not have a zipper, and it does not have bust darts.  Zippers are pretty easy to replace with buttons or hooks and eyes, although they usually run up the back of a dress, and a “wash dress” would fasten up the front so the wearer could dress herself.  Bust darts, though, are not accurate for mid-19th century dresses and are a lot more trouble to alter out.  That this dress already relies on double waist darts, which are A-OK, is a significant advantage.

The advertising picture for this pattern is a horror-show of garish color and terrible fit:

Also, I think that might be the worst bonnet I’ve ever seen.  I’ve seen a lot of bonnets, too.

Luckily, I am both stubborn and not-always-very-sensible, so I didn’t let this stop me.  Instead, I made a list of things that I had learned from the Round Dress that I thought could be applied to M4548 to make it, if still not very accurate, at least less inaccurate.  It turned out to be a very long list, but most of the things on it were not very difficult (follow the links to Flickr and blog posts that illustrate the process):
1. Eliminate collar. A dress like this would have had a detachable collar basted on.  (Super easy.  Easier, really, than making the dress with the collar.)
2. Close up neckline (if needed).  (Easy.)
3. Lower shoulder seams and corresponding sleeve caps.  (Mildly problematic.  I went to Leena’s to find out how to do a dropped shoulder seam.)
4. Interline bodice.  (Easy.  I cut a second bodice and trimmed back the edges along the front opening.)  Even dresses with blousy fronts had fitted linings, and they really need the structure of a lining to look at all right.
5. Rotate shoulder seams back.  (Easy.)
6. Reposition back princess seams.  (Probably not necessary and potentially problematic, but I wanted the look .  The blog post links show how much fiddling I did to get this to work.)
7. Merge reduced side-back pieces with front pieces.  (Easy in theory, but I could foresee this getting a little hairy.)
8. More buttons.  (Easy, except for the fact that I have to make more %#@!! buttonholes.)
9. Fuller skirt.  (Easy, except for gathering the sucker into the waistband.  I should have gauged the skirt but I just wasn’t up for it.)  I ended up with three yards, which is too narrow, really, but was all I could manage.
10. Wide skirt facing and kick-plate instead of a regular hem.  (Easy.)  Somebody else’s blog post here.
11. Piping at neckline and armscyes.  (Fiddly because of the fabric bulk but not actually difficult, especially if you’ve done it before.)  This photo on someone else’s blog shows the neckline finish nicely: Its applied to the outside, then turned inward and the piping seam allowance is tacked to the dress lining.  I am over the moon for the look of this but 803 called for 1/16-inch piping cord.  The smallest I could get was 1/8, which isn’t bad but still looks fatter than I’d like.  I’ll try something else next time.
12. Reduce sleeve fullness (probably a step back in accuracy but necessary since I’m going to wear this to dulcimer plays.  I don’t like huge sleeves, anyway.)  (Easy.)
13. For person fit issues: Lengthen bodice, lengthen sleeves slightly, add side-seam pockets, improvise sweetheart yoke (totally unnecessary, but cute).  And, because I ended up overbuying fabric because I wasn’t sure how well all this would work, I indulged in a bias panel around the bottom of the skirt.

Illustrations of many of the changes are here.

Other examples can be seen at Such Treasures (also heavily altered); Jengerbread Creations (mostly unaltered); and Ms. Catnip Kitty (dress 1 and dress 2)

The dress isn’t totally finished here: I forgot to bring my hooks and bars to Fort Parker so the waistband is being held closed by the tight apron.  Oops.  You get the idea, though.  The fabric was blue 1″ triple-windowpane homespun and the buttons are polyester that kind of looks like horn, from Joann Crafts.  I’m still working on the hand seam finishing.

I cut a size 12 (bust 34) which fits even though I think I’m more accurately in between a 12 and a 14.  Since the advertising illustration looked so baggy I figured I could err on the small side.   Also–TMI alert–I’m not wearing proper undergarments.  I made the chemise for M4548 years ago but never liked it because I didn’t cut it a size larger below the waist and it didn’t fit my pear shape that well, and I haven’t made stays yet.  I didn’t have time to make a petticoat so I’m wearing a modern dirndl skirt underneath.

This isn’t a great picture but it’s all I have right now:

The bonnet is McCall’s 1980 (1955) View C which, apart from the elastic across the back of the neck, is a pretty classic slat bonnet pattern. I should have used ties instead of elastic, but I didn’t.  I made this about a year ago and remember finishing it at 2:30 in the morning the day of an event, when I was well beyond caring.  I guess I could add them now just for appearances.

This is what I looked like in 1870 (thank you, Vintage Camera and your novelty filters):

The apron was improvised from an old bedsheet.  It’s a rectangle pleated into a waistband.

I am oh, so, very happy with the finished dress!  I have at least one more dress planned to make by tweaking this pattern yet again (it will have a yoked and gathered bodice something like the one seen here) and could even see myself making a version with modern sewing methods and a shorter, gored (to reduce bunching at the waistband), skirt to wear on days when I’m feeling a little bit Prairie.

Update, better pic!

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Daphne from Scooby Doo dressMy daughter was invited to a ‘Scooby Doo’ party and she wanted to go as Daphne! To be honest, I’m glad she didn’t want to be Scooby!

I used a long sleeve T-shirt pattern from an old Burda Style Magazine, issue 10/2010, making a few adjustments: I changed the button placket to a v-neck, I shortened the sleeves, I lengthened the top to a dress, shaping it a little from the waist, and added some bias trim for a touch of authenticity! The fabric was just over a metre of cotton stretch jersey and that included a hairband too. The scarf is half a metre of lime green polyester. A little light relief from some of the more complex vintage patterns I’ve been playing with. In fact… quite fancy one of these myself!! Also blogged over at ooobop!

 

 

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There is a very interesting article in today’s Wall Street Journal about the explosion of vintage clothing used in television shows today – and how much they cost to produce and how hard they are to find in original versions. I do not know if you will be able to link to it but I hope you can because it’s very worthwhile and inspiring reading. Here is the link: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702304050304577377933333653226.html

I have also cut and pasted the story – although they have a very cool slide show of clothing, if you can access the site. Here is the text part of the story:

Get Me Wardrobe

An explosion of period pieces on television has sent wardrobe supervisors racing to unearth fedoras, hoop skirts and spats. How dressing the stars has gotten so complicated—and expensive.

By JOHN JURGENSEN

Last winter Delphine White went hunting for clothes that could conjure New York City in 1864, the setting for a new cable TV drama called “Copper.” But the costume designer came up empty at a rental warehouse in Los Angeles, where the racks reserved for 19th-century gowns looked like the aftermath of a Black Friday sale. They’d been raided by four other productions trying to recreate the same time period. After she found nothing but more dregs in London, then Rome, Ms. White broke the news to “Copper” producers that most of the show’s featured costumes—600 dresses, frock coats and union suits—would have to be custom-built. Their wardrobe budget nearly doubled.

As more TV producers are firing up the time machine, lured by the impact of shows like “Mad Men” and “Downton Abbey,” wardrobe departments are coming apart at the seams. John Jurgensen reports on Lunch Break.

In an era of niche audiences, period dramas can confer boutique qualities—awards potential and cultural buzz. Hoping to emulate the cachet of stylish shows like “Downton Abbey” “Mad Men” and “Boardwalk Empire,” major networks are firing up the time machine. Shows under consideration for next fall include a high-society romance set in 1895 New York (from the creators of “Grey’s Anatomy”) and a drama about families exploring the Oregon Territory in the 1840s. Starz is gearing up for shows set in Renaissance era Europe (“da Vinci’s Demons “) and 13th-century Asia (“Marco Polo”) and announced plans Thursday for “Black Sails,” about Captain Flint, a notorious pirate from “Treasure Island.”

As producers look for eras that haven’t been mined for the small screen, wardrobe departments are starting to fray at the seams. Wardrobe supervisors are more important than ever, but their jobs are also more complicated—and dressing the part is expensive.

To create the sexy cocktail dresses and slim suits that parade through a luxury Miami hotel in 1959, the new Starz series “Magic City” spent more than $1 million for its first season. That’s roughly the costume budget for a big feature film, but “Magic City” had to stretch that amount over eight hourlong episodes. Costume designer Carol Ramsey and her team dressed about 500 people per episode.

In the first episode, the seductive character Lily Diamond appears at a New Year’s party in a curve-hugging white gown crusted in white beads. Making the dress from scratch required crushing beads along seam lines with a hammer, then rebeading outside seams by hand. More challenging, actress Jessica Marais wasn’t on set for fittings until a week before shooting began. The tally for the dress, including built-in corset, 10 yards of beaded chiffon and overtime labor: $7,000. “That took the entire shop working four days, and we’ll never use that dress again,” Ms. Ramsey said.

For the new Starz series ‘Magic City,’ set in 1959 Miami, costume designer Carol Ramsey’s team worked around the clock to make this beaded chiffon dress; ‘big overtime’ contributed to its $7,000 cost.

While advances in cameras and computers continue to cut the expense of visual effects, there’s been little streamlining of needle-and-thread work. “To my knowledge there’s no technological equivalent for good tailoring,” said Starz managing director Carmi Zlotnik. In the pay-cable channel’s effort to build the prestige of its original programming, it’s counting on period dramas to “transport audiences to another world.”

Costuming represents all the challenges of doing cinematic spectacle on a TV budget, while the historical-accuracy police scrutinize everything. One Scottish viewer complained of a “Downton Abbey” hunting scene in a letter to the Daily Telegraph: “No driven-game [shooter] in the ’20s would have been seen wearing leather gaiters. All would have worn plus fours, stockings, leather boots and, possibly, light-coloured spats.”

Last fall, ABC’s “Pan Am” launched with much fanfare for its homage to ’60s style, as seen in the painstaking reproductions of the airline’s sleek stewardess uniforms. Costume designer Ane Crabtree proudly recalls a scene from episode three: In 1963 Berlin (simulated on New York’s Upper West Side), the six lead characters strut down a street in outfits designed to evoke their personalities.

By episode four, however, her budget was getting squeezed as “Pan Am” flagged in the ratings. With no money to send her staff on scouting trips, Ms. Crabtree went on solo weekend missions to a costume supplier in the Catskill Mountains. To keep up with story lines that took characters to new lands each week, “we reused stuff from other countries, hoping it would pass,” Ms. Crabtree says. To garb villagers in Port au Prince (episode eight), she bleached fabric worn by extras in Jakarta (episode four). “I had to cheat, which is sacrilege to me.”

ABC aired 14 episodes of “Pan Am” before putting the show on hiatus. The stewardess uniforms and 100 custom-made costumes sit in a warehouse in Queens until the network announces the show’s fate later this month. (When a series ends, non-rental costumes are typically sold off or swallowed up by the studio’s wardrobe department.) Another period show from last fall, NBC’s “The Playboy Club,” only lasted three episodes. Some 60 bunny outfits, created by “Chronicles of Narnia” costume designer Isis Mussenden for up to $3,000 each, were handed over to Playboy Enterprises as part of the company’s deal with 20th Century Fox Television.

Eddie Marks wanted to buy those bunny outfits. The president of Western Costume, he runs a North Hollywood rental house that some designers describe as the industry’s Wal-Mart for its dominance and size, 120,000 square feet. The company has a wing devoted to hats, in-house cobblers who make shoes from scratch, and a vault protecting pedigreed costumes that staffers have discovered in the racks (recent additions include matching kilts worn by Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in “Road to Bali”). Western Costume has long supplied TV productions with police uniforms and other contemporary staples, but Mr. Marks says period TV has taken off in the last five years, with such productions now accounting for about 30% of his historical costume rentals.

It can cost up to $250 to rent one dress and about $200 for a man’s suit, generally for 15 weeks. Those fees, as much as pricey custom-made pieces, are what jack up the total cost of a costume drama. That’s because the look of every anonymous extra must pass muster for the period.

On HBO’s ‘Boardwalk Empire,’ Steve Buscemi’s custom suits are outsourced to a Brooklyn tailor, but the show’s costume designers have also built a kind of 1920s department store.

Shooting on “Magic City” wrapped last fall, but Ms. Ramsey spent about $100,000 to hold on to rented costumes until season-two production starts later this year. One reason: to keep the outfits from popping up on rival shows. For the same reason, Ms. Ramsey keeps a close eye on shows like “Mad Men.” She spotted Betty Draper (played by January Jones) in the same ivory-colored chiffon cocktail dress that she was planning to put on a “Magic City” character. “We yanked that right out,” she says.

For its first original drama, BBC America chose a setting little seen on television: Civil War-era New York. “Copper,” set to premiere Aug. 19, is about an Irish-American detective (Tom Weston-Jones) navigating the violent Five Points neighborhood in lower Manhattan, but the story also travels to posh uptown and then-rural northern Manhattan. Executive producers include Tom Fontana (“Oz”), Barry Levinson (“Good Morning Vietnam”) and Christina Wayne, a former AMC executive who shepherded “Mad Men” to the screen.

Inside a former auto parts factory in Toronto, a maze of faux tenement houses and shops recreate squalid Five Points. Fog machines cloud the air and horses clomp through the set where dingy clothes hang on laundry lines and extras wait around in tattered coats that look to be made from old blankets.

Ms. White, the costume designer, works in a bright fitting room with big mirrors. Reference drawings and photographs cover the walls. A picture of Billy the Kid hangs next to ’70s-era Mick Jagger and Robert Mapplethorpe, both decked out like urban swashbucklers. They helped inspire the main look of Mr. Weston-Jones’s character, who wears a brocade vest and leather coat with no outside pockets, in keeping with the style of the day. (Brass knuckles get stashed inside his hat.)

Ms. White is on an international scavenger hunt for materials. In the fitting room hangs a 19th-century Chinese skirt that she’ll dissect for its embroidered silk. She bought it in a small Ontario town, but declines to name her source. Bins overflow with moleskine from London, linen from Montreal, lace from Italy.

Near a “breakdown” area where textile artists powder clothes with chocolate-cake mix and cornstarch to create a weathered look, five pattern makers and seamstresses work full time, surrounded by racks of costumes for orphans and prostitutes. Much of their time is devoted to dressing the character Elizabeth Haverford (Anastasia Griffith), a headstrong British socialite. For a crucial ballroom scene, they spent 150 hours constructing a white gown that required hand-cut patterns, three layers of skirts and 500 beads sewn into its rosettes to catch the light. Including labor and 20 yards of tulle, the dress cost about $3,800.

With Elizabeth donning four such get-ups per episode, most girded with corsets and hoops, the demands of dressing her have shaped the show. Mr. Fontana, the show’s co-creator, says he has rewritten scripts—consolidating scenes and merging two days of action into one, for example—to reduce the number of Elizabeth’s costume changes. “If we do two less, it looks like we didn’t spend enough money,” he says. “But at some point you have to say, this is enough costumes in the course of an hour.”

It also helps when the costumes are cool. Fashion buzz about “the ‘Mad Men’ look” was a promotional jackpot for AMC, which included two branded clothing lines from Banana Republic, with input from series costume designer Janie Bryant.

“Copper” wants designers to take note of a colorful brothel owner. “Whether it’s a Marc Jacobs or a [Jean Paul] Gaultier, hopefully she will be their muse,” says Ms. Wayne, whose Cineflix Studios produces the show for BBC America.

With its splashy showgirl scenes and backgrounds teeming with extras, HBO’s “Boardwalk Empire” is seen by its competitors as a big spender on period TV. Yet costume designers for the Prohibition-era show say they’ve learned to build costumes relatively cheaply, especially because they’re not putting women in hoop dresses and puffy sleeves. In the pre-flapper styles of the early ’20s, “there’s a simplicity to the shapes that has saved us,” says costume designer John Dunn.

Adds his “Boardwalk” co-costume designer Lisa Padovani, “Manpower is the cost, not the ingredients to make the clothes.” Shortcuts are required: Attentive viewers will note that even the lords and ladies of “Downton Abbey,” for example, repeat outfits from episode to episode. Costume designers say dipping back into a character’s “closet” adds realism, while cutting costs.

The “Boardwalk” team costumed the pilot episode of “Mad Men” before the show got picked up and moved to Los Angeles. Mr. Dunn grew up in a Chicago suburb wanting to act and direct, but changed course after a production of “The Playboy of the Western World” in college, where he discovered that “through costume, you get to play all the characters.” In New York, he assisted veteran designer Santo Loquasto and got schooled in the theater world’s historical looks and threadbare budgets.

For a time he dyed materials in costume shops, where he learned not to take fabrics at face value. That came in handy on the first season of “Boardwalk.” The designer’s team built an elaborate dress for a canny widow played by Kelly MacDonald, but something looked wrong. The chiffon didn’t hang or move as it should. Mr. Dunn tested the fabric by burning a swatch. It bubbled at the edges, revealing polyester. The World War II-era synthetic is banned from the “Boardwalk” world.

To show solidarity with the natty “Boardwalk” actors, Mr. Dunn says he ratcheted up his own wardrobe, and now wears buttoned vests and vintage ties. He dreads buying clothes for himself, he says, but he recently spent an afternoon shopping for “Boardwalk” at the biannual Manhattan Vintage Clothing Show.

Mr. Dunn walked past a promising booth because he already knew the owner’s prices were inflated. In a cramped stall where one vendor sported a bow-tie, newsboy cap and sock garters, the designer tried on a straw boater hat. It fit his own “pin head” snugly, meaning it would be too small for most actors—a constant challenge with clothes from the distant past, when humans were more petite. In another aisle, he paid $385 for a flowery chiffon dress with its ankle-length hem intact. It was a find, considering how many women hacked off their dresses in the mid-’20s when hemlines rose.

Most vendors saw the “Boardwalk” team coming. One vendor led Ms. Padovani down a deserted hallway to a room where he’d set up three racks and two tables of gear—a private pop-up shop for the “Boardwalk” buyer. “Oh, doctors’ coats. Yes, please,” she said as she whipped through the hangers. She handed the vendor an armful of stiff, detached-collar men’s shirts ($150 each), stocking up on tough-to-find duplicates that are key to a violence-prone show.

By the team Mr. Dunn left the sale for a night shoot in Staten Island, he and his team had spent about $30,000. That sum included an unexpected splurge: three boxes stuffed with antique lace for $15,000—a bargain, the designers said, because the stuff typically sells for $150 per yard. It wasn’t bought with a specific scene in mind. Instead, these sundries would be added to a growing stockpile on the show’s Brooklyn set, where Mr. Dunn’s 60-person team gets about a week to prepare each episode’s outfits after a new script arrives. He says, “We had to create our own little factory and department store from 1923.”

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On November 19th I had a belated Halloween party to go to. It’s been ages since I last went to a Halloween party, so I just had to make my costume myself. Add to that my rekindled love for sewing and my love of all things mid-century, I picked something that was fitting for my prefered fashion eras, my nerd factor and my ever-growing stash of vintage sewing patterns. What I ended up with was the 1940s crimefighting superheroine the Blonde Phantom:

I had to find a 1940s dress pattern I could use for her highly impractical crimefighting outfit. I eventually settled on frankensteining two 1940s patterns; Simplicity 4657 and a mail order pattern from an unknown company, but numbered 2167:

I had to do several alterations to the mail order pattern. The alterations included:
Redesigning the original armscye to accomadate the armscye and sleeve of the Simplicity pattern.
Widen and lower the neckline.
Add length to the skirt.
Add a cut-out detail at the midriff.

Here’s what I ended up with after all the head-scratching from the alterations:

This was such a fun project! When I was younger, I’d often make my own costumes, but I never knew much about the construction of garments and I think it was a great experience to be able to apply my sewing skills to this nerdy project; it’s fun to make an approximation of a superhero outfit like this and be able to make it with costruction and design details appropriate for the era the character wearing it belongs to :)

If you’re interested, there’s more about this project over on my blog.

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