Sarah Siddons v. Anonymous Lady v. Mrs. Robinson

Ever since Fashion Police gained a weekly spot on E!, I’ve been watching the show religiously.  ”Bitch stole my look” is among my favorite segments and I thought it might be fun to take an occasional break from longer posts by comparing 18th century look-alikes.  We’ll call them Lady Brawlers and categorize them under Fashion Hurts.

This week I have two (or three depending on your opinion) ladies sparring for top props.  While Sarah Siddons and anonymous lady are copycats from the neck up, anonymous lady and Mrs. Robinson could very well be the same person.

Sarah Siddons by Thomas Gainsborough, 1785

Portrait of unidentified English lady after a painting by Hoppner or Reynolds (late C18) © The Trustees of the British Museum

The Telegraph identifies the print as Mrs. Robinson

Mrs. Robinson as Perdita by John Hoppner, 1782

Clearly, anonymous lady and Mrs. Robinson are sporting similar poses and ensembles, but they can’t steal each others’ look if they are indeed the same person!  Going on a facial comparison alone, I see two different women, but they do resemble one another with the anonymous lady slightly more pinched in her features.

What say you?  Is there some sartorial thievery going on here?  And, of course, the essential question: who wears the look with the most panache?

Ringling Museum: A Lady’s Fans, Part 1

Other than being a delightful ode to all things circus, the Ringling Museum in Sarasota, Florida is a surpising resource for the 18th century.  Not only does it have an original 1788 Vigee-Lebrun of Marie Antoinette, their collection of fans is spectacular.  Take, for instance, this trio from the 1750s.

The left (1) is French and features figures on a landscape.  It’s a pretty example of watercolored leaf paper over ivory sticks.  The predominant design is lace on a black backdrop, black being an unsual color for the time except when used in mourning.  I don’t, however, believe it’s a mourning fan as it was not specified as such at the museum.  If my recollection is correct, full mourning fans would have been made of black crepe during this period with half-mourning allowing white and/or dull colors to grace the garments and accessories.

The middle fan (2) is also French and shows a fête au jardin or garden party.  I have a close-up photo below because it’s very busy.  The sticks in particular are incredible.  Like the previous fan, the medium is watercolor on paper leaf, but it’s made with mother-of-pearl sticks in addition to ivory.

Unlike the first two, the bright red fan on the right is Dutch.  The technique is gouache on paper leaf.  This technique is similar to watercolor except with a higher pigment to water ratio and a chalk-like substance added to the mix.  This creates opacity and a high degree of reflection, making the colors stunning.  The ivory sticks aren’t quite as decorative as fan 2, but the village scene therein is precious.

The additional fans are closed and therefore not very interesting.  So then, the Marie Antoinette Vigee-Lebrun. As a side note, did MA actually read? I’m not so sure!

Fashion at Versailles: Vivienne Westwood’s Courtesans

The delightfully subversive Vivienne Westwood will be among the designers showcasing their work at Marie Antoinette’s old stomping ground, the Grand Trianon, for an exhibition put on by Musee Galliera.  “Le XVIII au goût du jour” or “A Taste of the 18th Century” runs through October 9th if you’re lucky enough to be near Versailles.  Other than Westwood’s courtesans, you’ll see Watteau-style robes à la française by Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel,  embroidered  motifs typical of the 18th century by Christian Dior and Pierre Balmain,  and Olivier Theyskens’s for Rochas invocation of the ghost of Marie Antoinette in a Hollywood film. 

Dare I entice you more?

Look familiar?  I do believe Mme Pompadour would approve.

Long influenced by 17th and 18th centuries, Westwood is known to reinterpret designs of the period.  She uses her trademark tailoring, inspired by authentic cutting principles, to produce a collision of the historical and modern.  The Boucher corset, featuring a print of the 1743-5 painting, Daphnis and Chloë, is apparently eminently comfortable due to the use of flexible fabric.  My dear Marie Antoinette: who knew?

Westwood is also well known for the Watteau gown from her 1996 Spring & Summer Colllection.

Westwood on her collection Portrait & the Wallace Collection paintings:

18th Century Costume Archives: 1794 Muslin and Lawn

Doris Langley Moore, one of the first prominent fashion historians, collected gowns and trumpery from the 1920s through the 1940s.  She amassed such an extensive collection that after several successful exhibitions, she donated her treasures in 1963 to what would become the Fashion Museum in Bath.

These lovely ladies in 1794 style dress are from Moore’s The Gallery of Fashion 1790-1822.  If you don’t fancy squinting, the original description reads: (Left) Round gown of clear lawn with cherry-colored sash.  (Right)  Muslin spotted with silver and headress à la Turque.  Madame de  Staël, the famous salonnière, was a known fan of this headress style.  Interestingly, her father was Jacques Necker, Louis XVI’s finance minister, appointed in 1777.  She was also a staunch opponent of Napoleon’s bid for European domination.

18th Century Costume Archives: Sophie Myles as Madame de Pompadour

From “The Girl in the Fireplace” on Doctor Who.

Interestingly, this sack-back gown was worn by Helen Mirren in The Madness of King George, Jodhi May in the Aristocrats, and by extras in Brotherhood of the Wolf and The Affair of the Necklace.  It has long engageantes (false ruffled sleeves) and in this incarnation, three brooches down the stomacher’s center. 

I’ve decided it might be fun to post a regular series of women’s period piece costumes and gowns, maybe throw a few men’s articles in, too, if the suit proves interesting.  I’m thinking Wednesdays and Saturdays, a short snippet of pertinent costume information with a picture.   Tell me if you have any suggestions!

The Gainsborough Hat

As you may have noticed, 18^th century fashions exist in direct opposition to the sleek chic of Coco Chanel who said, “When accessorizing, always take off the last thing you put on.”  Far be it from Georgian fashionistas to heed this advice, I will revise on their behalf, “When accessorizing, always pile on twice what you intended to put on.” 

Fortunately for us aesthetically inclined history geeks, this means hats–hats with plumes, hats with high floating ships á la Belle Poule, hats with hamsters (okay, maybe they were foxtails).

Millinery in this century was a glorious affair and being a hat girl myself, I find myself  lamenting they went out of style because really, who doesn’t look more glamorous with a bit of shadowed brow?

The Gainsborough

This namesake hat’s fame relies on two well-known 18th century figures, the first being the English painter Thomas Gainsborough, the royal family’s favorite portrait artist.  In 1783 he painted Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, wearing a hat designed by the lady herself and much like Georgiana’s other trends, this one exploded.  Stylized the “Picture Hat” after the portrait’s wildly admired exhibition at the Royal Academy, ladies flocked to milliners, requesting a large hat with a curved brim, colored black and complemented with a wide ribbon and a profusion of plumes.  Many of Gainsborough’s subsequent works feature this hat, as the ton adored being painted wearing it.  Later, in the Victorian period up until the dawn of World War I, its popularity gained favor among the sartorial crowd, though the hat  often took on a slightly smaller and less festooned appearance.  Around the 1900’s, the Gainsborough was referrred to as the Merry Widow, a name taken from an operetta by Franz Lehar where Hanna, the heroine, sported an imitation of Georgiana’s original “Picture Hat.”

Lily Elsie, actress in The Merry Widow, London 1907

Oh, where art thou from Watteau?

Ever wondered where watteau style gowns got their name from? 

This cheeky fellow . . .

Or at least we’ll imagine he’s cheeky.  He looks more depressed to me but since he did die from tuberculosis laryngitis within the year this portrait was painted, I imagine he had good reason to be dour.  He was only 36.

The short of it is,  Antoine Watteau had a thing for sack back gowns, those über-fahsionable loose dresses worn over a tight bodice with vertical pleats extending from shoulder to hem.  You may know them better as the robe à la française as they were commonly worn throughout 1715 to 1775 by french ladies. 

So what was special about Monsieur Watteau?  Throughout his career, he was the man with the plan to create scenes of fêtes galantes, essentially what you would spend your time doing if you were rich, idle, and oh-so-fabulous.  Afternoon parties among pastures, courting and dancing, you say?  Ha, I think not.  But, if we are to take Watteau’s paintings with any literal merit, instead of say, metaphorical, we shall have to surmise otherwise.  I say, court on!

What’s interesting about Watteau is that his work was never commissioned by an aristocrat.  Although his paintings showcased more than a handful of lords and ladies and he did create the fête galante genre, he was an artiste to the bourgeois.  As such,  his paintings bear a certain melancholy, an underlining dissipation that refuses to be dispelled by worldly charms. 

But I digress. 

I told you I would show you watteau gowns showcased by Watteau and I will.   One particular detail to note is how often we see the posterior of sack back gowns rather than the anterior. 

 from Rendez-vous de chasse (hunting party), Watteau, 1720

Gersaint’s Shop Sign, Watteau, 1721

More on Pandora Dolls

A few posts ago I blogged about pandoras, those exquisite little fashion dolls so essential to 18th century style.  Well, I found a website where you can acquire one of your own, albeit modernly made, but none the less fabulous  They are inspired by a mixture period drawings, actual garments, and Queen Anne Style wooden dolls. 

A great gift for the 18th century connoisseur or doll collector in your life.  Visit Susan Parris’ site to check out the dolls.

Pandora me this, Pandora me that

Pandora:  a miniature fashion doll wearing an exact replica of the latest haute couture, sent to ladies all over Europe so they could order on-trend fashions.  This term originated in France as Grande Pandore or Petite Pandore to describe evening and day fashions, respectively.

Pandora, Victoria & Albert Museum, 1755-1760

In the days before glossy magazines, pandoras were the primary means of disseminating fashion gospel.   Ladies waited with abated breath for the dolls to arrive because only then could they visit their modiste and order the correct cut, cloth, and style.  The dolls were outfitted head to toe, wearing coiffures, jewerly, hats and shoes, along with their gowns and embellishments.   Some were even dressed with complete underclothes.  

Depending on the occassion, Pandora’s were requested in almost any attire imaginable, but for most ladies, two dolls were sent to their homes, whenever the fashion’s required updating. One was typically arrayed in evening attire, the other in day wear. 

There is some suggestion that Pandoras were in use as early as the 14th century, but they didn’t become part of the veritable fashion trade until the 17th and 18th centuries.  Below is a young girl holding a pandora, as we may safely assume by her expression, supplicating her father for the latest fashions or merely showing them off.  Notice the pouf a la Marie Antoinette topped with feathers and myriad other adornments.  Notice too the girl’s expectant, happy face; the father’s indulgent, if a little annoyed, expression.  Based on how my husband acts in regard to fashion, I imagine that’s how most men felt about the Pandora during that time!

Christopher Anstey with his daughter, by William Hoare.  1776-1778.

National Portrait Gallery, London.

Evolution of a Stocking

Hogarth’s The Rake at Rose Tavern, Scene III of The Rake’s Progress, 1733.  In particular note the prostitute in the lower left portion, seated on a chair, fiddling with her shoes.  She is wearing silk gore clock stockings popular in the period.

Style

During the early 1700s, stockings for both sexes were fashioned alike.  Often they were brightly colored, the embroidery contrasting with the gore (a wedge insert at the instep).  Opulent embroidery was common among the upper classes while the lower classes bought plain stockings, most likely made of wool.  If one could afford it, machine-knitted stockings were a much sought after luxury following the invention of the Derby Rib machine in 1758.  This machine allowed for the production of an elastic type sock, a more comfortable invention that its stretch-free predeccesor.  Until the early part of industrialization, the lower classes had to make do with the outmoded and  imperfect method of hand-knitted socks.

Although few intact stockings remain, we do know a vast array of colors and styles were available.  Hosiers experimented with different fabric and designs, moving from the silk gore clock to the silk or cotton lace clocks, and later even stripes, zigzags, and of course the oldest fashion, plain.  The finest ones were commonly made of silk, cotton or worsted, and cost a pretty penny indeed.  Around 1738, they would set a shopper back as much as £1 2s, more than a fifth of some domestics’ wages.

Fit & Design

As early as the1670s, gore inserts revolutionized fit and comfort.  These wedge shaped additions also provided decorative embellishments like embroidery and contrasting colors, although both were seen in lesser detail on earlier socks. 

Antique Lace has several pictures of a pristine gore clock stocking, albeit from the United States, dating from 1720-1740.  The stocking below is typical of European designs for the period.

Evolution

Going the way of most fashions, gore clocks reached their zenith in the 1750s and were slowly replaced by embroidery without the gore.  Flower and nature motifs also appeared in the middle of the century, followed by the increasinlgy simpler styles (if more complicated methods).

In the latter part of the century, white or cream dominated the stocking scene.  Women were particularly inclined toward lace clocks, a method popularized after the 1760s where open-work patterns took on a–you guessed it–lacy appearance. 

Men’s styles altered dramatically around the 1770s through the 80s.  Stripes were worn by dandies and saw a comeback in the late 80s.  Horizontally striped, aka banded, stocking were popularized around the 1790′s.  This is also about the time the zigzag pattern appeared, although the stripes would remain the dominant fashion.

If you’re interested in the process of making stockings or desire a more comprehensive study, make sure to visit Knitting Together.  They have quite a nice virtual museum.  Another good resource is Notes on 18th century stockings.  This one has lots of links for further inquiry.