1670 Corset: Construction, Front Trim

I am very, very excited because today, after about ten million years of working on it, my corset is corset-shaped! I finished stitching the satin ribbon to the front, placement based more or less on the extant piece at V&A, and I decided to ditch the idea of tie-closed shoulders, and stitched them. As nice as it would be to be able to adjust the fit, the shoulders are going to be bearing the weight of my bosom (which is a herculean task), so I thought it might be more stable and less apt to come untied at inconvenient moments (by itself or with the help of drunk and debauched campmates) if it weren't tied at all. I'm going to dig in my fabric and see if I have any canvas left with which I might reinforce the seam on the inside to help further stave off potential wardrobe malfunction, although the non-stretchy seam binding will also help keep the seam in place.

Without ado (and without the placket), the corset:

I'm thrilled to see it coming together to this point.

On a less exciting (but still VERY exciting) note, the skirt that matches the corset, made of the same set of recycled bedsheets, is pleated in the back, but not the front, because my (very late night) math was shoddy and I realized halfway through pleating that if I continued pleating all the way around, I'd have to lose about 12 inches off my waist. So I ended up with the back half pleated and the front section smooth. I thought this surely was not period accurate, and I've been trying to figure out how to use it without having to tear it open and start again.

And then I discovered evidence as early as the 14th century of pleating just the back of skirts to give the lady a more bootylicious silhouette. So my skirt (which does indeed result in a bootylicious silhouette) is completely passable. The lines aren't quite wide enough to match the period of the corset, but it's way less incorrect than I thought, which is good enough for SCA.

1670 Corset: Trim on the Back!

I spent a few hours today stitching the satin ribbon on the back of the 1670 corset. Now I need to do the front trim, the top edging, shoulder fastening, and eyelets. And hip gores, but I think I'm going to wait on that or make them easily adjustable so it keeps fitting as I continue to lose weight. I'm hoping to have that done before Christmas 2015.

I've also made a deal with myself that I'm not allowed to start any new projects for myself until I finish the epic stash of half-finished garments I've already started. Including this one. I will be making a couple pairs of pants for Connor, possibly tomorrow.

1670 Corset Update

I've been working on my corset a few hours each evening, and I've finally finished applying satin binding to the lower edges. Now all there is to do is stitching the satin ribbon in verticals and curves across the front and back of the corset, applying binding to the top edges and arm openings, and couched eyelets. That'll only take another three or four lifetimes. Here's a quick cell phone photo of the corset as it stands currently. I've finished the binding on the lower edges and applied trim to the side seams. there will be vertical trim up the center back, and curved trim on the back seams and along the front.

In the mean time, I've created a sketch of what I expect the finalized outfit to look like. This is in part to remind myself of why I'm spending countless hours sewing satin ribbon, and partly because it's fun. I make no apologies for my lack of artistic genius here.



The one thing I will say is that while the corset is patterned closely on period sources, this outfit takes some creative license. While the Victoria & Albert Museum's description suggests that the corset might have been worn with a matched skirt as an outer bodice in a casual, private setting, my sketch describes an outfit even more casual than what I believe the V&A Museum is suggesting.

The original corset upon which I have based my design is on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London:

Turkish Entari Started

Last week I had a sewing day with my friend Niyo, where I started working on a Turkish entari made from a recycled duvet cover. The duvet cover was a lovely satin-finish cotton with green on green stripes. It seems everyone I know has a set of sheets in the same pattern (mine are black), but it was a nice lightweight cotton with very little stretch, so I knew it would be a sturdy and comfortable option for an entari, which is a support garment.

In Turkish ladies' clothes, the base layer is a sheer chemise-like garment called a gomlek which is generally long sleeved and goes at least to the knees. My gomlek goes to about mid-calf and has extra-long sleeves which are bunched up to create a lovely pattern of folds up the arms. Next comes the entari, which is a floor-length coat with 3/4 or full length sleeves. The entari closes with buttons, frogs, hooks, etc, and is shown open from the waist to the floor, and frequently from the neck to the base of the sternum. The entari is belted at the hips with a cloth sash or metal medallion belt, and the ends of the entari's front corners are often shown tucked into the belt.  The entari is frequently shown worn as the outermost garment in interior scenes, but the lady would layer additional garments over the entari when she went out.

The entari is cut with the same geometric lines of all Turkish garments, and the tightness of the garment through the ribcage along with the under-bust closure provides bust support.

This garment is frequently confused with a gawazee coat, which is a non-period garment frequently worn in the SCA that is fastened from the underbust to the waist but is cut under the bust and is usually worn with a decorated bra. Gawazees are also typically shorter, falling to the thighs or the knees, whereas Entaris are shown falling to the ankles or to the floor.

I made my Entari about the same way I would have made a cotehardie: two back pieces, two front pieces, two sleeves, with gores at the sides and back. The front is open all the way down.  After I cut out my pieces I found a pattern cut from a single piece for the back and front sections, with only the gores added in, but if I make another one I'll probably make it the same way since it fits so well! Entaris are shown with narrow and wide sleeves, stopping at the elbow or going down to the wrist. Because I'm making mine for hot weather and I'm planning to wear this with my gomlek that already has decorative sleeves, I opted for short, wide sleeves.

I finished the construction seams at Niyo's house, and hand-stitched the hem (as my sewing machine is in the repair shop). I've decided to use prefabed frog closures, which fit the general style of the period but aren't textbook correct. I had time to sew on two of them before rushing off to an event this weekend, but eventually there will be six, going from the collar down to a few inches below my natural waist.

My photo is a fit test the night before the event.

What's period about it?

• small round neckline. Period art shows high, small necklines, either round or v. Many of the necklines in reference art were even higher than mine, staying very close to the neck. The top is open to below the breasts and with support provides PLENTY of cleavage. There's no need for a lower cut. I was struggling to maintain modesty as it was.
• geometric seams. A lot of gawazees are cut with princess seams in front and back which adds significant complication to the construction process and provides less support. The measurements for my garment are based entirely around the waist. The upper part of the garment is supportive because the top is tight (having been cut to my waist measurement rather than curving up to the breast). The lower part of the garment allows for hip flare by having the gores go all the way up to the natural waist. It allows for full range of movement and perfect compliment to my shape. The front of the garment can hang closed as in the photo or slightly open to reveal the gomlek and salvar (pants) underneath.
• frog closures. Period examples show either a row of buttons or a row of frogs. However, period frogs looked a little different, being long and narrow, where mine are rounder in design. I think to get a period shape I'll need to make my own, which I'd like to try in the future.

What's NOT period about it?

• Fabric. I used cotton with a slightly shiny satin finish. Silks and velvets were most commonly used in period, including brocades, but cottons weren't on the list.
• Color. Turkish clothing was very bright. Advanced dye processes gave them access to shockingly bright colors, and they used them. The moss green fits my personal taste, but would have been too dull for a real Turkish lady.
• Pattern. I found tons of examples of solids and florals, but not stripes. Stripes are widely associated with middle eastern garb in the SCA, but I haven't found many resources that explain why.
• Frogs. As I mentioned, my frogs are in the right direction, but not QUITE correct.

Overall I'd consider this a 10 foot rule piece. Passable at ten feet, but not quite the real thing.

1670 corset

The 1670 corset is a project I've been working on for ages. It's an entirely hand-stitched cord-boned corset with a wooden busk. The style is based on an extant corset on display at London's Victoria and Albert museum. It's a placketed corset, which means there's a separate center piece and the body of the corset laces in front of the placket. Sometimes plackets were used to add girth to a corset when a woman out-expanded hers, but based on the design I believe this corset was intended to be worn with a placket.

According to the museum, a corset like this would have been worn by an upper-class woman, and would either have been worn as a support garment under a more formal bodice, or worn with a matched skirt and sleeves as an informal garment, such as in her home.

The corset is made mostly of things I had lying around. I think I spent about $15 in materials for this corset and a skirt made to match it.

My corset is three layers. The innermost layer is 100% cotton muslin. This is the white visible everywhere that's boned. Then there's a layer of middle-weight canvas, such as you might find on the thinner end of tote bags. I bought the canvas at the fabric store for less than $10. This is the dark blue visible on the inside of the placket and the triangular back piece. The placket is not lined in cotton, but instead has two layers of canvas. The outermost layer is a silver satin-finish cotton bedsheet. I made a silver skirt out of the same fabric.

The corset is stiffened with a wood busk and hemp cord. The hemp is a theoretically period boning technique on par with broomstraw boning. We think women used these materials when they couldn't afford whalebone, but there's no hard evidence. The use of these alternatives are inappropriate to my pattern because this style would have been worn by someone who could afford whalebone (the original was silk!) but I decided that I don't care.

I saw tests on broomstraw that showed it to be an effective, flexible, and breathable alternative to steel boning, and I was inspired to put hemp to the test! Each stripe you see on the white fabric is an individual hand-sewn channel, each with a length of cord. There are 114 channels total.



The busk is a carved wood piece that I cannibalized from an elizabethan corset I bought several years ago that never fit me correctly*. I already had a busk, but you can order them online for about $10.

At this point, I've finished boning the garment and I've put all the pieces together. The placket is completely finished, but the body has one more section where the silver outside needs to be stitched to the canvas. Then black satin trim will be applied to the body, and I'll add shoulder ties that will hold the corset's armholes closed (and allow the corset to be adjustable), and I'll add eyelets. Then it's done!

I don't remember how many hours of work have gone into the corset, but both it and the skirt have been 100% hand stitched... no machine work whatsoever.

*By "never fit me correctly" I mean it was too short on my torso, the steel boning slipped out of the channels the ONLY time I wore it and by the end of the night the steel had pierced my side in six places, leaving me with a very feminine and impressive scar for about two years. Don't buy corsets from Sofi's Stitches. Just... don't.