Clothing Longevity c.1840-1870, Part 1: An Introduction

This project stated with the broad question of "How long did mid-Victorian clothing last?" (and it's reenacting corollary: "Can one justify wear a dress with specifically 1840s style elements at an event set in the 1850s, 1860s, or later by pretending to be old, poor, or rural?"). I've since come to realize it's really a series of related questions encompassing among other things:

• How frequently are dresses (or clothing more generally) being replaced?
• How long is a particular dress expected to be used in its original configuration by its original owner?
• How long can a particular dress (or other garment) continue to be used as clothing in some capacity by any person at all?
• Which people have the means, ability, and inclination to update old garments? Are there groups who do not?
• What assumptions or stereotypes do period writers attach to wearing outdated or outworn clothing?
  

Related to this, of course, is the issue of what happens to a garment after it's initial period of service. Is it being "turned" or altered to continue being used by the same person in the same capacity? Is the garment being altered to serve a different purpose for the same person? Is it being passed on, intact, for use by another? Is it being remade to a different purpose for a different person to use? Is the garment's fabric being re-used for a non-clothing purpose? Or is fiber itself being recycled?

Consider a woman's formerly 'best' silk dress...

• which has been re-made for/by the owner to keep the sleeve shape and other style elements up to date, for continued use as her best silk.
• which has been re-made for/by the owner as a wrapper for wear around her own house, with a new dress taking the role of "best."
• which has been sold through a used clothes dealer and bought by someone else to wear as-is.
• which has been gifted to a servant and re-made to suit the new owner's size, taste, and social station.
• which has been been taken apart and used to make a mantel for the original owner's daughter
• which was put away for several years, and later cut up to make a "crazy quilt"
  
• which has been used for one or more of the above, until the last pieces are finally picked apart by a rag-merchant and sold to a fertilizer company.

Arguably, most of these events can mark the end of the dress, if not the end of the fabric's useful life. And, unfortunately, the sources available to use don't always differentiate between one of these fates and another, especially when it comes to the issue of remaking the dress. As a result, my answers here are going to take a few different forms, and there will be a certain amount of uncertainty about how remade and altered dresses fit into the "life expectancy" of the middle class wardrobe. I'm mostly sticking to sources from the period 1840-1870, excepting The Workwoman's Guide (1838) and a beautifully comprehensive guidebook published in 1873 which brings together many of the elements suggested and implied in the 1850s and 1860s sources.

I'd also like to observe, before we get too much further, that different materials may perform very differently, not only due to their inherent properties, but also on account of how they are worn, laundered, and repaired. Sheer dresses (cotton, silk, or wool) can be very fragile; figured weaves can snag and collect fuzz; cotton prints may be subjected to harsh laundry methods; woolen materials are preyed upon by moths; an expensive silk might entail a much higher level of care than a cheaper material and be worth re-modelling.

And, as a final aside, modern clothing really can't be a guideline in this matter, in my opinion. The materials out clothing it made out of has changed drastically; the manufacturing processes of the fibers themselves produce different fabrics; wear patterns have changed; laundry methods have changed; the frequency a given garment is worn has changed; mending and alterations are much less common; there's greater tolerance for idiosyncrasies in dress; and the way our garments work together are all very different from the practices of the 1850s and 1860s. A modern person retaining clothing from 20+ years ago is not evidence that people in the year 18-- commonly did so without censure.

Blog Update: New Pages

My bobbins.

For the new year, I updated this blog's pages (accessible on the upper right-hand side of the mainpage).

Fabric and Craft Supplies saw the removal of a few (unfortunately now defunct) links, and several new suppliers added. These are lists of places where I've had luck finding suitable fabrics or hard-to-source supplies before. I have no association with any of these vendors.

I've updated the Research Index, Historic Cosmetics, Hair-Dressing Tutorials, Book Reviews, and Completed Projects pages to include posts from the last few months. Or eons. Whatever 2020 was.

I've also finally launched three new pages that have been languishing in the draft folder:

Material Culture has my master-list of links to museum collections, and other online resources for studying material culture. When the plague's over, I highly recommend research appointments at your local museum or historical society, because there is some cool stuff out there (not to mention valuable construction information from seeing interior views and alternative angles).

Living History Activities is a list of things to do at living history events. It mostly exists to remind me of my options when a weekend event is coming up, and I can't decide what to pack.

Living History Philosophy and Practice is where I've been stashing links to essays I found insightful on the whys and hows of interpretation. There's also a section on the Book Review page devoted to this topic. Some of my opinion pieces are also included, on the off chance anyone's looking for those.

Book Review: Past Into Present

Past Into Present by Stacy F. Roth

I wish I'd found this book years ago. It's basically a summary everything I've observed over years of interpreting and watching others interpret; I found myself almost constantly nodding along with each point the author made.

This is not a small volume, with 181 pages divided into 15 chapters (plus notes and appendices).  There's some background on living history and explanation of different approaches; the rest of the work covers developing a persona, interacting with visitors, and special situations that may arise while interpreting. The focus is on first person interpretation, though a number of the techniques either employ a level of third-person interpretation or can be applied to it.

The chapters cover topics such as "breaking the ice", "the art of conversation" and "interpreting to children"; the divisions make it fairly easy to look up specific information. The advice in each chapter is based on interviews with interpreters from different sites, so there's multiple approaches to choose form, with a certain amount of discussion about the context each technique has been used in, and about when it does/does not work.  These are a bit short for case studies, but are in a similar vein.  I like that one of the chapters specifically deals with interpreting controversial subjects, and how that has been successful or unsuccessful in different situations.  I also like the combination of theory and practical 'how-to' advice, which I think makes it a powerful and versatile tool.

There are a few places where the language used reads a little awkwardly (primarily about engaging special needs and ESL visitors), but overall it's quite solid and remains relevant twenty years after publication.  The only point I'm inclined to dispute is about interpreters' personal space--boundaries can be enforced graciously (or forcefully, as needed), and I disagree with the idea that costumed interpreters just need to accept being grabbed by members of the public.

Stars: 5

Accuracy: Enables it. There is some discussion about when/how breaking character can give visitors a better overall experience, but it's mostly about giving the reader as wide a variety of interpretive tools as possible.

Difficulty Level: All. I think there's good information here for interpreters of all experience levels, but especially for those who have done a little interpretation and are looking to branch into first person.

Overall Impression: A thoughtful look at different interpretation strategies, easily mixing theory and practical techniques. If you're trying to find methods for first person improvisation, go with this book or else Easy Street; if you're trying to better understand first person interpretation go with this one.

Starting Conversations

I've been musing a bit this summer about how to start conversations with visitors. I find it easy, now, to answer their questions, but when the visitor doesn't make that first overture, it's up to us interpreters to get things rolling. [If the questions you are getting seem less-than-helpful, check out Liz's post.] Although I'm arguably a professional, what follows are my own thoughts and reflections, rather than a guaranteed method of successfully initiating meaningful conversations. For fair warning, this post has also gotten ridiculously long over the two months I've been re-writing it.

General List of Things That Work

• Greeting the visitor
• Offering an explanation of the activity I'm undertaking
• Asking about the visitor's experiences at the site or event
• Calling artifacts/props to the visitor's attention (in character or in modern voice)

General List of Things That Do Not Work So Well

• Acting scandalized by the visitors' clothing or deportment
• Anything prefaced by "Did you know--"?
• Pretending to be confused by cell phones and similar technology 
• Melodrama
• "Do you have any questions?"

Why I Think So

Greeting the visitors is an easy first step. I find a simple "Welcome", or "Good Morning/Afternoon/Day" to be very flexible--"Hi" and "Hello" also work, but for reasons of verisimilitude, I prefer not to use them in my current settings. Sometimes, that's all I need to do--the visitor will offer up a question or observation in response, and we've already begun a conversation.  More often, the greeting needs to be followed by one of my other techniques.  But, if nothing else, the greeting establishes that I am present, that I am not a mannequin (which has come up surprisingly often this summer), and that I'm available to talk. Singing to myself between groups can sometimes accomplish the first two (and amuse me while I wait for visitors), but I need to stop so that a conversation can start.

I'll often combine the greeting with another technique, to give the visitor more bearings about their situation, and provide context to prompt their questions. So, if they've walked in on me doing some work, I'll name the task, and either begin an explanation of it, or beg a moment's indulgence while I set it down.  I like to keep these short, and offer succinct facts that help the visitor contextualize what I'm doing, and what additional information they might want. Knitting socks, for instance, might lead into discussion of the people who would be wearing them, the materials they are made from, how I learned to knit, how people made or acquired clothing in the 1850s, how people kept warm in the 1850s.  Sometimes, the visitor will offer a statement in return ("My mom used to knit"), as they start to relate your historical pretension to their own lived experience--which is pretty cool and totally what we're about.

Similarly, I can point out an object that may be of interest to the audience, even if I'm not using it.  The curtains in the Tolmie house (Damask ordered from England, at a cost of over 5 pounds for 60 yards), is a favorite: it tends to start conversations about trade routes and the availability of goods, but also prompts conversations about social status, wealth, and currency.  In the store, I often overhear visitors reading the explanatory plaque aloud before entering the building; when this includes confusion about an item, I'll prepare to point out the lusterware dishes, Jew's harp (or jaw harp, a small musical instrument), or other object of interest. A favorite variant of mine is to greet the visitor, and suggest all of the things they may be interested in purchasing, as a softened version of an eager salesclerk (most of us react poorly to pushy sales pitches, so keep it light).

After the activity or object gambit (or instead), I'll try to ask the visitor a question; after all, this is a conversation, not a lecture. The idea with asking questions is to get the visitor comfortable talking to you, and to suss out what they want to hear more about--this isn't the place to pop quizzes (more on that later). Likewise, rhetorical questions aren't my favorites, because they don't tend to further the conversation. Answers do.

If I'm early on the itinerary (or just saw the group come in and turn towards my usually-later-in-the-experience station), I might try "Is this your first visit to [site]?" This gives me a chance to drop some necessary background information to first time visitors (such as that we're an HBC trading post, not a military fortress), which will reduce confusion during the rest of the visit. Returning visitors will often venture a remark on how often they've attend/when they were last here (a school field trip 30 years ago, the last living history event, the fundraiser concert a few years back), which gives me an opportunity to thank them, and to single out some attractions that may be new since their last visit, or special activities that are happening today, such as:

• The current temporary exhibit
• The renovation of a [now centerpiece] historic building, which occurred 15 yards ago (we do get visitors in who remember touring with a school group 20 or 30 years before)
• Daily programming, like a visiting artisan's demonstration
• The spaces currently being interpreted (blacksmith shop, kitchen, orchard, woodworking area, etc.), and that these are good places to ask any questions they think of while visiting
• Where the restrooms are (it's a new-ish building)
• Attractions and amenities suitable to the group's interests: a group with young children might be especially interested in the game area; making sure groups with strollers/wheels are finding the ramps, etc.

With children, I might try "Are you having fun?", and when they answer "yes", follow up with "what was your favorite thing you've seen so far?"  When they inevitably answer the chickens, or the bastion, or the games, I can validate the response and offer an interesting fact or two. ["Yes, there was one chicken taller than the others. His name is Buster, and he's the rooster.", "This house is also my favorite building.  When the Tolmies lived here, all three of their sons shared this bedroom."]

Other favorites include "What do you think of [current building]?", and "Does this [kitchen/bedroom/house] look like yours? (mostly a kid question). I've seen "Where are you folks from?" used very effectively to discuss travel times and transportation in the 1850s, leading into a discussion of the store's clientele, and shipment of goods.

With the exception of "Is this your first visit?" and "Are you having fun?", I try to avoid yes/no questions. A lot of people won't take this as an opportunity to start a conversation, as though they don't want to inconvenience the interpreter. While "Do you have any questions?" seems nice and broad, it's really too broad, and doesn't give the visitor much to work with.  When I've used it, I usually get "we're just looking", or "not really", which ends the conversation instead of starting it.  The people who have questions will manage to ask them.  If you must include it, establish the connection and conversation first, so that "Do you have any [more] questions" serves as a bridge between your proposed topics and the visitor's.

On the subject of other questions to avoid, I find "Did you know [fact]" to be inelegant, at best.  At worst, it can alienate your audience and undermine your credibility.  If you pick an obscure fact, the visitor may feel stupid or isolated; pick an easy one, and you're insinuating that they are ignorant; get it wrong, and you've absolutely destroyed any trust they had in you.  This can also happen if the 'fact' appears to reveal an agenda, or offers a overly-simplified view of a complex situation. [If you start a conversation with me by saying, "Did you know the Civil War was actually about states' rights?", you've just seriously undermined my trust in any information presented at your site.]

Other less helpful tactics includes haranguing the visitors about their modern clothing, and fussing about modern devices. Getting the vapors from women wearing pants may successfully convey the idea that women in the 1850s wore dresses (with bonus points for miasma theory). You also just put your visitors on the defensive, making them less likely to ask questions or otherwise interact with you.  Really, any verbal prodding or teasing needs to prodding back--used on a case-by-case basis where the visitor has already indicated that this is how they want to communicate.  Getting back to the dress example, I have seen and played with a few variations on the theme of pants and dresses--taking the visitors for dress reformers, or trail emigrants, or simply people who must be here to buy fabric--but I try to keep it non-confrontational and focused on the information content. Less "Women in trousers! I will avert my eyes from this immodesty!", and more "Ah, you must by disciples of Mrs. Bloomer, or perhaps have adopted this costume for ease of travel. If you are looking for dress goods, we have a large selection of cotton prints and delaines..."  Even so, this method can be hit-or-miss.  Use with caution.

Time spent pretending you don't know what a cell phone is, is time in which you are not talking to the visitor about the year you are trying to interpret. Except for the youngest children, the visitors already know cell phones didn't exist in the year 1855, and belaboring the point isn't adding anything to that knowledge. You will get people trying to 'trip' you up on occasion--I usually respond by answering a related, sincere question (Liz's post again). So, if they bring up cell phones, I might talk about telegraphs, letters, and the amount of time it takes to communicate across distances.  If I'm not in first-person, I might mention that telephones are over two decades in the future (and portable ones over a century).  If someone's really being snarky while I'm in character, I'll give them a smile and parse the Latin or Greek roots of the word ("Telephone--sound at a distance? That could be extremely useful, unless it's just a fancy term for 'shouting'.").

Melodrama wastes everyone's time.  Even if you find a receptive audience, we mostly aren't professional actors, and we aren't working from professionally written scripts--there are plenty of media options which do it better.  The strength of living history lies in truth, and in the specific details we can present to the public. Let's focus on what we can uniquely do well, instead of mediocre dramatics.

Making stuff up? Just NO. Say that you don't know. Refer them to another person or a reference book. Validate the question and express interest in figuring it out. Answer the nearest related question you can. Offer what relevant information you do have. Retreating in shame and horror isn't very welcoming, but it's less of a disservice than lying to people who are trusting you. 

I'd also advise against co-opting other people's impressions: talking about what that interpreter over there is doing robs your colleague of the chance to do their own interpreting. Also, they can almost certainly do it better. While I could point out the basics of the carpenter's tools or the blacksmith's forge, the actual artisans can give more detailed and accurate information, as well as actually demonstrating. I shouldn't spoil their audience.  And on the other side, as a textile interpreter, I really don't need another person making up facts about my clothing and crafts.  Given the choice between lying to the public or contradicting another interpreter... well, I don't do the former, but we just lost credibility either way.

Book Review: Living History

Living History: Effective Costumed Interpretation and Enactment at Museums and Historic Sites by David B. Allison.

This is an interesting little overview of past and current interpretation methods.  It's not a long book:  98 pages divided into seven chapters, plus introduction, bibliography and a little poetry.  The tone is conversational; the content intermixes personal anecdotes, descriptions of previous interpretive techniques, research study results, and interviews with the staff of living history sites.  All in all, it's an approachable look at how living history interpretation has developed and changed through the 20th century, and what current best practices look like.

I mostly value this book for its retrospective of living history as museum practice: what seems to work with modern audiences and what does not. While reading, I found the shift between research and story a little jarring at times, but that's possibly because I was expected a denser, or more theoretical work (my fault). I did end up enjoying the peeks at how other sites operate their interpretive programs, though there were other partss I'm not sure I care for it. For instance, the section summarizing living history in popular media, ie South Park and The Simpsons, was longer than I found interesting or useful.

There wasn't a lot of 'how to' included, but there was a certain amount of 'this works well, that less so.'  I very much appreciated seeing someone else agree with me that 'feigning ignorance of the present' and/or 'mocking the visitors for their modern clothing and accouterments' is not a productive way to start conversations.  Personally, I find that approach annoying, and a distraction from the actual topic of conversation: Allison puts it more pedagogical terms, that making the audience feel stupid puts them in a defensive mindset which is not conducive to learning.

This isn't a book that will teach you how to interpret effectively, but it's a quick read that's likely to help you refine your methods and/or your site's approach to the interpretation.

Stars: 3.5

Accuracy: Encourages it.

Overall Impression: An interesting perspective on the development and direction of living history interpretation, but neither the most in-depth theoretical assessment nor a how-to guide. Approachable language makes it a good choice for a layperson interested in the hows and whys of living history and museum "enacting".  If it convinces even one person to stop using 'ignorance of the present' as their interpretive hook, it will be a job well done.

Nine Reasons to Sing at Reenactments

[This post has been languishing in my drafts for several years.  I think it was originally inspired by Liz's Top Ten Reasons You Need to Make a Petticoat.]

Musical Instinct (1860-69) by Eastman Johnson.

9. Easy to find.  Particularly if you're doing the mid 19th to early 20th century, mass-printed sheet music and song books mean lots of originals survive--originals that are old enough to be public domain, and widely available on-line thanks to Google Books, Internet Archive, the LOC, and various other archives and repositories.

8. No equipment required.  You can add it if you want: a handwritten page of lyrics, or a pitchpipe and some printed music, all the way up to beautifully-bound reproduction music books and period correct instruments.  There are lots of options.

7. Can be added to your other activities.  Sing while sewing, while cooking, or while washing up.  Start your ladies' meeting with a hymn; cheer the soldiers' parade with a patriotic tune; lullaby the children to their naps.

6. Creates subtle activity: music can add to an event's ambiance, even for people who aren't currently in your area.

5. Attracts attention. Sound carries.  A little singing (on its own or for amusement while working) lets people know where you are, without interrupting their current pursuits.  It doesn't demand an audience, but invites one in.

4. It's easy to start and end.  If you do get some visitors investigating your siren song, you can easily wind it down to engage them in conversation or answer their questions. No dropped stitches, fumbling for book marks, or materials getting ruined because you set them aside.

3. It's free.

2. It's fun.

1. It's authentic.  Puritans aside, whatever period you're doing, people were singing. And so can you!