September 1914 was a turning point for the French fashion industry. The fashion press was publishing predictions for the new season, such as – ‘Cloth of silver, cloth of bronze, cloth of gold and other iridescent, tinselled materials are going to be very popular, it would seem from the array displayed in the manufacturing houses and ordered by such establishments as those of Chéruit, Callot, Premet, Poiret, Paquin and Beer’ (Vogue, 1 September 1914, p.106). The image below gives an idea of how these metallic fabrics were make up.
However the Vogue article was based on information received weeks earlier; the situation in Paris was very different by September. Many couture houses were closed, and fashion shows for the new season cancelled. American fashion buyers who had travelled to Paris found their visits not only fruitless but dangerous, with every berth in trains and boats leaving France packed to overflowing by refugees.
One intrepid American buyer did manage to bring back some garments which could then be copied and adapted for the US market, as the New York Day Book reported on the 9th September:
“HOW I ESCAPED FROM FRANCE WITH 71 FALL GOWNS!” WOMAN BRAVES DANGERS. New York. The gowns are here! Seventy-one model gowns and wraps! A plucky little U. S. A. girl sails into port with the first and only Paris fall model gowns…”
The lack of Paris originals was no problem for houses such as the London-based Madame Handley Seymour, who specialised in copies of French designs, marketed through sketches like the one below
fashion design by Madame Handley Seymour, V&A E.1103-1958
Les Modes, August 1914: cover
I intend to run a series of posts showing the way that fashion changed between 1914 and 1919, both in the couture system and for women working in factories or military support. I will be uploading original texts and images of historic magazines, pattern catalogues, garments, and photographs. To start off, here is a section of the Paris magazine Les Modes from August 1914, performing a neat segue from the assasination of Franz Ferdinand to the need for new frocks!
- ‘Since Parisians, following the example of Londoners, have extended their retreat to the seaside or the country to the end of the summer, one can no longer say that the summer season finishes with the horse racing Grand Prix, for it is prolonged by lavish entertainments. One can however say that the season reaches its apogee of elegance during the dazzling week of the races: there is an apotheosis of colours and of whispers, of applause for the winners of these famous races and for their owners. We forget, for these few days, the political disagreements and the worries of the morrow; gaiety permeates the atmosphere… This year, it was not a meteorological storm that disturbed the serenity of the sky, throwing a dark cloud over the lightheartedness that usually attends the race meetings. The horrific attack on the Crown Prince of Austria and his wife, the Duchess of Hohenberg, roused deep emotions in our hearts. We were shocked at this new drama that drenched the ancient house of Habsburg in blood; we wept for the octogenarian ruler whose heirs had predeceased him; we meditated on the litany of martyr kings; we were revolted by the unbounded fury of murderers who assassinated not only kings but their heirs apparent. Finally, we were particularly saddened by this tragic end to a royal love story, and by this massacre which united in death, as in life, the heir to one of the most ancient royal families of Europe and the wife whom he loved so much, even though she would not have been permitted to share his imperial crown. This attack cast a dark shadow over the brilliant Parisian social season which was drawing to a close. But the life of high society, which is so often called artificial, is like nature in that it can produce new growth and new flowers that cover any trace of past damage. Social life is starting up again, resuming its smiles and light-heartedness after the sorrowful tributes to the deceased. Social activities are resuming, showing courage in the face of this brutal assault; and the tide of fashion has started to flow again…’ (Les Modes, Paris, August 1914, p8; original in French, my tranlation)
OPera Cloak from Marshall and Snelgrove, London c1895
My book, ‘Art Nouveau Fashion 1890-1914′ will be published by V&A Publishing in September – the preview copies are now out and looking handsome. It was a privilege to work with so many beautiful objects and documents in the V&A collections – I was really spoilt for choice. Researching it I found out so much fascinating information that it couldn’t all be included. One theme that came through very strongly was the rivalry between couturiers in Paris, London and New York – fashion was a cut-throat business, with designs being pirated and corners being cut in order to secure prestigious commissions. No less a person than Queen Alexandra of England had to swear her fashion advisors to secrecy to avoid being upstaged at her own coronation!
I will be posting more from the book over the next few months, meanwhile here is the cover image:
Arkwright's Cressbrook Mill, 1783
A visit to the Derwent Valley in Derbyshire is a chance to see some of the most important sites in the early Industrial Revolution. Less well known than Manchester, this area was arguably more important for the development of cotton spinning technology. Between 1771 and 1783 Richard Arkwright set up three mills in the area – two within a few miles of each other – and installed his innovative ‘spinning jennies’. The machinery was powered by the water of the River Derwent, which was also used to transport raw materials and finished products. Visiting the sites now it seems incredible that factories employing hundreds were set up in such isolated valleys, miles from the ports through which cotton fibre was imported. In the 1770s the area was sparsely populated, and Arkwright had to advertise for families to come and work in his mills, and then build houses for them. There was also a scheme for employing orphans sent from London and other large cities, who were housed and educated in the mill where they worked. While this sounds like a recipe for exploitation, Katrina Honeyman’s research has shown that Poor Law authorities did try to ensure good conditions for ‘their’ children. Factories employing large numbers of children were easier to check up on, and better regulated, than traditional trades like farming and domestic service.
Sailor suits for little boys were the first democratic fashion – easy to make and easy to wear, with no stiff collars or fussy fastenings. They were mass-produced in British factories from 1870 onwards, and became the default outfit for boys starting school. There were washable cotton versions for seaside holidays – and fancy velvet ones with lace trim for party wear. Clothing manufacturers loved the fact that there was a constant demand for them – and issued new versions every year with slightly different trim. Mothers loved the fact that the baggy tops gave room for growth, and could be worn over layers in winter. Small boys dreamed of having a version with a cap and a whistle like a real sailor – while older boys saw sailor suits as childish, suited only for Infants School.
E tautz at London Fashion week 2014
The E Tautz catwalk at the 2014 London Men’s Fashion week showcased embroidered embellishments by students at the Royal school of Needlework. Following the theme of the ‘Rake’s Progress’, embroidered motifs were left unfinished and distressed, to give the impression of precious garments that were relics of former prosperity. A real-life ‘Rake’s Progress’ can be traced in Henry Cyril Paget (1875- 1905), the 5th Marquess of Anglesey. His love of extravagant entertainments bankrupted him in 1904, with debts of half a million pounds – only five years of his income, at a time when many families were living on £100 a year. Paget’s possessions were sold to pay his creditors – some of his suits were purchased by Vesta Tilley, a music-hall male impersonator who appeared as ‘Burlington Bertie’. An Art Nouveau embroidered waistcoat, probably designed especially for Paget, was bought by his friend Miss Emilie Grigsby and later presented to the V&A.
Creed waistcoat for henry Paget, c1900 V&A t.177-1967
Pincushion made by a soldier c1875-1900, Goldsmiths' College, University of London
At the time of year when we remember those lost in wars, it’s particularly moving to see craft objects made by soldiers on active service. There is a long tradition of handicrafts made by soldiers and sailors from scraps of fabric or items at hand like shells (both the marine variety and munitions casings). Sometimes these were for sale, like the carvings done by sailors. Most interesting, however, is the large number of pieces made to send home to loved ones, often incorporating images or messages from the maker. Pincushions were pieced together from a patchwork of uniform fabrics, decorated with beads, sequins, and ribbons, then sent home ‘For Mother’ – as they tell us in beaded lettering. This example, from the collections of Goldsmiths’ College, University of London, makes a direct appeal: ‘Forget me Not’.
Tennis apron, from 'Madame Schild' Shilling Dress Patterns', Issue 7, 1889 (British Library)
Given the recent triumph by Andy Murray at the Wimbledon championships, tennis may be about to have a resurgence of interest – not before time. Lawn Tennis (so called because it was played outside, unlike ‘real’ or ‘royal’ tennis, played in a specially constructed room) has a long history in Britain, but not for the reasons we might expect. In the 1870s it became popular as an upper-class diversion, played on the lawns of large country houses. It was one of the few sports acceptable for young ladies (other than horse riding, which was much more expensive) and ‘tennis parties’ provided a welcome opportunity for young people to socialise relatively informally. Not surprisingly, ladies’ tennis clothing was chosen for its smartness as much as for its practicality; dress sleeves were so tight that it was impossible to serve underarm, and corsets and hats were de rigueur. One concession to sportswear was the ‘tennis apron’ which protected the front of the dress from grass stains and abrasion, usually made with a large pocket on the front for storing tennis balls. Patterns to make these at home started to appear around 1878.
For American Independence day, a reminder that in the past there was a strong export market for British goods in the USA. The Stationers’ Hall documents at The National Archives, London, contain thousands of ‘piece goods’ labels – brightly coloured stickers attached to fabric yardage as a form of branding. These were designed and copyrighted in Britain for use with British cotton textiles. Each label is customised for a specific retailer or a specific market (although the textiles themselves were not so varied) and they present a microcosm of the places where British cotton was sold: China, Burma, Egypt, India, West Africa… In 1911-12 many of the labels refer to the coronation of King George V and Queen Mary – including one that pairs George with his American namesake George Washington. This was commissioned by A Lascelles of New York to sell Lasco prints, presumably in the U.S.A.
Copy 1 320-67843 1912 George V and George Washington
Dinner dress by Boue Soeurs, 1900
At the time of year when all the Fashion and Textile courses are exhibiting graduates’ work, it’s good to think about the history of fashion promotion. One of the major attractions of the international exhibitions held around the world from 1851 onwards was the opportunity to view new styles in dress – worn by the illustrious ladies and gentlemen at the opening ceremonies, on the bodies of the international visitors, and in the displays. At the Exposition Universelle in Paris in 1900 there was a whole building devoted to fashion, sponsored by the Collectivite de la Couture, the trade body of Paris Haute Couture. This contained large vitrines with staged scenes inhabited by figures with realistic wax heads – some of them portraits of the designers themselves. Visitors could linger over the details of elaborate toilettes for the ballroom or for presentation at Court – garments that would normally only be seen by those present at these exclusive events, or by those involved in the making. For those unable to visit, there were many illustrated review articles and guidebooks, including a lavish volume with hand-coloured illustrations of dresses from the Collectivite.