Coif-Wearing

I'm going to need to keep this in mind for my next one: How to Wear the Coif. I love the "experimental" part of experimental archaeology/history, and how we can refine our understanding of material culture by trying things, and changing our hypotheses as necessary.  [See also, Jane Malcolm-Davies and Ninya Mikhaila's work on 16th-century dress support.]

Book Review: Easy Street

Easy Street: A Guide For Players In Improvised Interactive Environmental Performance, Walkaround Entertainment, And First-Person Historical Interpretation by Ann-Elizabeth Shapera. This book has been on my reading list for some time. For four years, to be precise, ever since Betsy mentioned it in her mourning impressions post.

And I should have read this book years ago. There's a lot of insight into what works and doesn't work when interacting with audiences, as well as exercises for designing a character, engaging an audience, or ad-libbing with other players.  Easy Street is certainly written from a Ren Faire viewpoint, and while my interpretation tends to be site-driven or activity-driven (rather than character-driven), I still found found it helpful and informative.

The book clocks in at 193 pages (plus a 14 page introduction), but the casual, conversational writing makes for a fast read. There are also lots of bullet points. The twenty-six chapters form an introduction to street theatre, freely mixing suggested exercises, advice, and illustrative anecdotes (positive and negative) from the author's years of performing and directing Ren Faire. Some other works are cited or recommended, but the basis of this book is the author's personal experience. The book presents a great deal of information, but it's presentation is too welcoming to feel overwhelming--which says something about the efficacy of the author's methods.

I think that any living history interpreter would benefit from taking a few of Ms. Shapera's lessons to heart, particularly the suggestions for promptly establishing character, and the mantra to 'make it work' for the audience.  Starting conversations has always seemed to be hardest part of interpreting (in my experience as an interpreter and viewer), and her theories for how to get the ball rolling are helpful. That being said, the examples given are for a jester performing in a Ren Faire setting, and are a bit more flamboyant than I'd be comfortable using in a craft demonstration or historic house setting; however, the underlying principles still seem to apply.

My caution about this book is to be sure you adapt the lessons to your own site and interpretive needs.  While research into the era you are presented is encouraged at multiple points, I feel it was conspicuously absent during the character-design section of chapter 2. Researching the audience's expectation can certainly be worthwhile, but I wonder that the list of possible activities was drawn solely from that, and not from one's topical research.  Activities appropriate to one's historical persona but unexpected by the audience are a great topic to interpret--and this point is spelled out, regarding the historicity of female jesters in chapter 15.  I like the emphasis on accurate costuming (for aesthetic and educational reasons, as well as conversation-fodder).  Incidentally, if you're reading this and don't do the Tudor era, see here for more costume reference books.

The conversational tone of the book causes it to amble a bit.  I think my copy will be gaining colored tabs in short order, for easy reference of key concepts and exercises. However, the personal stories about performing at Faire (and jester competitions) were amusing, and contributed to the overall message: first person theatre is about the audience, and it is something you can do it.

Score: 4.5 Stars

Strongest Impression: An insightful, approachable guide to improvising. It made this reader feel empowered to go forth and do first-person historic improv, which means it lived up to its goals.  I'd recommend every living history interpreter read this book at some point, but I might not hand it to a complete novice unless they were performing in a Ren Faire setting, as I think some first-hand knowledge of your living history niche is needed in order to apply the book's lessons.

Periodicals

The news of the day, October 5, 1855.

I hand-bound the Harper's in nine pamphlets of 16 pages each
(four pieces of paper, printed two pages to a side),
with the cover glued at the spine.

I'm rather proud of these, though there's still improvements to be made.  October 5, 1855 editions of the Pioneer and Democrat (Olympia), and Puget Sound Courier (Steilacoom). The former explicitly announces the arrival of the August issue of Harper's Magazine, via express from San Francisco, so I decided to give the Tolmies a copy as well.  Still working on cleaning up a Godey's, so it won't be appearing at Candlelight tonight.

What could go wrong?

[If you haven't seen Cranford, this is the relevant scene.  Also, you should watch Cranford!]

Petticoat From An Old Dress

One of the reasons I like using historical methods in garment construction is ease of reuse.

Consider my second-ever cotton dress:

Cotton "homespun" dress of red, blue and white plaid.

It doesn't fit my needs anymore. The coat sleeves post-date my main time, while figure fluctuations have affected the bodice fit in irreparable ways.

Fortunately, I made this dress as a finished bodice and skirt, so snipping a few basting threads gives my a perfectly functional working petticoat:

Colored petticoat. Cost: $0, 30 seconds of labor.

I flat-lined the bodice with white cotton, so both it and sleeve seams can be picked out, and the fabric used for patchwork or other small projects (doll clothes, sewing accessories, scrap-fabric hem facings). Modern techniques such as cutting out darts, serging seams, or using iron-in interfacing would reduce or eliminate this utility--I've remodeled a couple dresses with interfacing, and despite multiple washings, the fabric remained stiff and retained a gummy residue.

Fort Steilacoom Living History Symposium

Dear Living Historians, Historical Interpreters, and Reenactors:

You are cordially invited to a Living History Symposium on Sunday, March 26, 2017, from 12-4 in the afternoon. Guest speakers will be presenting on a variety of mid-nineteenth century subjects, to share their research and help you 'round out' your impression. The current offerings include:

*Dining in the 1850s & 1860s

*Early Photography

*Food Preservation

*The Genteel Hobby of Gardening

*Yeast and Innovations in Leavening

*Mrs. Mowett's Interactive Etiquette 

A tour of Historic Fort Steilacoom will commence at noon. The presentations will be held in Quarters 2, starting at 1pm. There is no charge to attend; visitors are advised to bring a water bottle. Feel free to invite your friends!

Please RSVP on the Facebook event, so we know how many attendees to expect.

Experiential History: Moving in Long Skirts and Dropped-Shoulder Dresses

Crinolines (1863) by Eugene-Louis Boudin

This is branch off of my corset musings; typing up the list, I realized that most of my reduced/changed movements involved not my corset, but rather limited limb mobility.

Long skirts are the big thing.  Except for one formal outfit, I don't think I've ever worn an ankle- or floor-length gown for modern attire.  In my living history wardrobe, the shortest work dress is barely above the ankle (the dress reform outfit is still in the planning stage).  Take a long step and you wind up standing on your hem. Climb the stairs too quickly--same thing.  Haven't had the chance to climb a ladder yet, but...  

What to do?  Use one hand to slightly raise the front of your skirt when ascending steps (lift 'up', don't push the fabric towards you); take small steps; 'kick' the hem past your foot as you walk; slow down so you have time to notice if you tread on your hem; look up as you go (bending forward lowers the front of your skirt). Walking around puddles or into the chicken coop, I find that gathering my skirt fabric to the sides with my hands (and raising the excess above the ankle) keeps it from sweeping into the muck.  Haven't tried a skirt lifter, but that might be a good project for the winter.  Raising your dress skirt and letting the petticoats take the damage is an acceptable and document-able period option.

One thing about bouncing between 1855 and 1861-5 is the difference between billowing skirts supported by hoop-steel, and billowing skirts supported by other skirts.  With hoops, you need to allow them to collapse and compress when sitting down or moving through a narrow space--and take into account that displacement.  You can sit gracefully on a bench, stool, side chair, or sofa in hoops provided you take enough time to left your skirts settle.  Sitting in an armchair doesn't work so well--those hoops need to spread out and for want of space will stick up awkwardly.  Similarly, you can just walk through the narrow doorway or between the row of dancers--provided there's space before and behind for your hoops.

Sans hoop, petticoats can collapse inward--allowing you to sit in the armchair.  They don't stand out quite as far as a hoop (at least not with the number I'm using--having tried no more than 4 at a time), so your area of effect can be much tighter.  I've still managed to knock over chairs by turning too quickly, but I have to be closer to them for that to happen.

In either case, long skirts get much more manageable with practice.  At this point, I'm so used to the petticoats that I only really think about them when dealing with novel situations--walking is second nature, climbing stairs nearly so.  I haven't done as much dancing, though, so there's some care necessary to avoid tripping myself.  Switch back to the hoop, and suddenly I'm re-learning otherwise intuitive movement, like gauging space around strangers, or remembering not bend over to pick up an object when standing at the top of a staircase.

The dropped shoulder seams of mid-century clothing also poses some challenges, but these I find don't become easier with practice.  The seams lay below the shoulder, sometimes as far as the upper bicep, and are fit fairly snug.  On my ballgown bodice, this prevents me from raising my arms past shoulder height (tricky when dancing with tall gents).  My work dresses have slightly higher/looser armscythes, but still don't allow the full range of movement that loose modern clothing does.  Opening the windows in Ft. Nisqually's period kitchen is almost impossible for me--I'm short, and the hooks are at my maximum modern reach.  So, what to do?

In matters of reaching, I can find something to stand on, or ask a taller person to assist.  In dancing, I can adjust my frame and trust my partner to compensate.  I can style my hair before putting on my dress (it's possible to do so later, though not always so easy).  Very little is actually impossible, though I've come to appreciate that servants may be a necessary convenience--other people can do the reaching for you.

Experiential History: Living in a Corset

When I started reenacting/doing living history, I was looking for a reason to dress up.  Over time that rationale has morphed into dressing up as a way to teach others about history (creating 'the look' of a time), and--as I've lately come to realize--to teach myself more about how people lived and performed various activities.

Exhibit A: Wearing a Corset.

When I started living history, I expected to be somewhat hampered by the clothing: that I'd need to learn a different way of moving, and that some activities would be difficult or even impossible.  As it turns out, very little is impossible (no back bends), and the operative d-word is actually 'different'.   

Even among living historians corsets have a reputation as uncomfortable, problematic, or even downright dangerous.  They've been out of mainstream wear for a good 3 generations, leaving a nebulous mythology of Scarlet O'Hara's tight-lacing, professional invalids, professionals of another sort, and 'fainting couches'.* I've seen visitors (who had just commented on the group's good posture) visibly flinch when it's mentioned that the ladies present are, in fact, wearing corsets.  Others have assumed that I'm not wearing one because I'm doing 'X' activity, or that women of the period didn't do 'X' because of corsets, or that corsets of the period must be different from the one I'm wearing because I can do 'X' while wearing it.  (For the record, the following list is largely based off my experience wearing 1850s/1860s corsets--either gored or shaped-seam styles--which are somewhat shorter in the torso and less heavily boned than some other time periods).

Activities I have done while wearing a corset:

1. Dance (ballroom, contra, swing...)
2. Cook over a fire or on a stove
3. Split kindling with an ax
4. Start a fire
5. Sing
6. Pick apples
7. Scale a low fence
8. Jog/run (not recommended)
9. Wait at table
10. Move furniture
11. Shoot arrows (also tried throwing a tomahawk once, but I'm apparently very bad at it)
12. Nap
13. Eat
14. Dig potatoes
15. Play games (rolling hoop is a bit tricky, see #8)
16. Strike tents
17. Act in a theatrical
18. Drive a car
19. Style hair (own or others)
20. Help others to dress
21. Ride the bus
22. Jump over puddles
23. Tie my shoes**

Things that I can't do in a corset:

1. Slouch
2. Overeat
3. Some Yoga poses

'No slouching' is the really noticeable bit, in my opinion.  It can be bit weird and somewhat tiring to sit up straight all the time--and it makes modern car and movie theater seats really annoying, as leaning backward isn't comfortable--but the corset also provides ample back support.  I can and have sat down to elaborate dinners in period dress, and enjoyed many of the delicacies offered, but learned that you need to take small portions if you want to try everything.  You can even do a number of yoga poses while wearing a corset--just not all of the ones involving lots of torso flexibility (though I can still touch my toes).  

In all cases, the different ways of moving become more intuitive with practice.  You can't bend much at the waist, so you bend at the knees when tying your shoes or lifting an object. You walk briskly rather than running because it's easy to get out of breath (though, even with snug laces I can sing or do moderate exercise without trouble). Stretching to pluck an apple is no problem--from the corset at least, dropped armscythes are another issue.  Straight-back period chairs are actually really comfortable when your only option to sit up straight. 

The other thing that gets easier with practice is actually wearing the thing.  When I was dressing 5+ days a week this summer, I found myself getting dressed a bit faster each time.  The 'comfortable snugness' also changed with practice: I adjust my laces based on feel rather than measurement, and by the end of July most of my dresses were getting loose at the waist because my comfortably laced corset was tighter than it had been in June.

For a while there, not wearing a corset actually started feeling really strange; I remember taking a walk one day and just feeling really weird about my posture and carriage, only to realize that it was the just second time in ten days that I'd been in modern attire. It was certainly a different perspective: not so much 'liberated' as 'awkward and somewhat exposed'. A feeling shared, I imagine, by those dress-reformers who went without stays (not all of them did) in the 1850s, by some of the women adopting the early regency/directoire fashions of the late 1790s, and by many young women after WWI.

The only time I've found a corset really uncomfortable is when I've laced it too tightly (not worth, won't repeat), or when a bone works it's way loose and started poking me in the hip or shoulder.  Bits of metal hurt.  The plastic's better in that respect--my first two corsets had plastic boning--but in all other ways, 1/4" spring steel really is more comfortable.  It gives better support than featherlight or zip ties, and is much less bulky than the latter.

One thing that's stayed true over time: however comfortable a corset is to wear, however good the support (think your favorite bra times about a million), taking it off always feels really nice.

*The true purpose of a chaise lounge is, of course, posing dramatically.  For maximum effect, clutch at your pearl necklace with one hand, while dramatically holding the other up to your forehead. Employ smelling salts as desired.

**Nonetheless, I prefer to take care of my shoes and hair first when getting dressed in period attire, particularly the shoes