As I attacked the next layer of Lavinia’s underpinnings, I was forced to admit my strong opinions might not always be right. But before I confess my ignorance, let me show you what I found when I went looking for pictures of antique horsehair petticoats:
I couldn’t help wondering why they were such a mess. Had the long ago seamstresses who stitched these cared at all what they looked like? Surely, I said to myself, it can be done better.
My secret weapon was meant to be a treasure from my stash – an antique piece of “crin et lin” – or “horsehair and linen” fabric.
Yes – linen was woven together with REAL horsehair:
I purchased it over a decade ago for exactly this moment. But no one could have predicted it would spend the intervening years in my drawers plotting the best ways to torture me.
“Heh, heh, heh . . .,” it seemed to mutter as I pressed it (with great effort) flat.
The circumference of this second layer of Lavinia’s petticoats was cut to finish at 22 inches. All I needed to do was gather it up to the 5 1/2 inch waistband and stitch the center back seam. I might even finish early and have time left over to start my next layer!
Ahh! Such naive optimism!
Two days later, I’m here to tell you those awkward looking petticoats of yore are WORKS OF ART.
Horsehair, it turns out, was specifically chosen for this purpose because it doesn’t bend. When you sit on one of these petticoats, it sproings straight back to its original shape when you stand up. Which is wonderful once the thing’s been sewn, but not so much while you’re trying to sew it.
Imagine trying to pleat or gather a rubberized bath mat . . .
I ended up literally smashing the crinoline into folds to fit it to the waistband – with brute force, thousands of stick pins, a hot as @#$% iron, and plenty of bad words. The inside is uglier than anything I’ve ever created. There are patches holding it together where the fabric pulled away from the horsehair. And worst of all – I was forced to use a sewing machine – just for the side and center back seams, but still . . .
There were obviously no sewing machines in the 1840’s, but it was the only way I had any chance at all of pressing seams open.
Sigh . . .
The blasted thing is nearly finished, now, and it’s wonky as all get out, as you can see. But if I have to eat crow over my judgmental assessment of the antique versions, I’m at least going to wash it down with wine.
Lots of wine.
Because it’s Friday.
And I’ve earned it.
To follow along with the rest of Lavinia’s Underpinnings project, click right HERE.
And to see all of her costuming projects as I add things, pop over HERE.