Canibalizing a Corset
October 28th, 2011
I am not good at letting go. But after years of suffering in it, and 9 months of kicking it under my desk, I decided to put my old corset out of its misery.
See how the bones are poking out at the top? And see how unlike a female body its shape is? I made it in 2006 to wear under an 1870s ball gown at “A Different Affair,” an Edith Wharton-themed dinner party at India House. Here’s the entry on the event from New York Social Diary. Scroll down to see pictures of me in my gown.
I was very thin in 2006, following a long illness, and the corset wasn’t terribly uncomfortable then. But as I gained weight, it became less able to handle my shape. By last spring, it was downright dangerous, with untipped metal boning (yes, I’m an idiot) digging into my underarm. I wore it to a 19th-century pub crawl, and had to strip in the middle of a bar because I was in such pain. That’s when I decided to retire it for good.
In case you’re curious, I used Past Patterns’s 1840s-1880s corset pattern. I’d already made their Edwardian corset, and adored it (still do). The 1840s-1880s pattern was well done (as are all Past Patterns), and easy to follow, especially since I purchased the kit. It’s a good, standard Victorian corset shape. Not particularly interesting, but safe for many periods of reenacting. The construction is easy, though I don’t know enough to tell if it’s accurate or not. It’s certainly very different from the two sets of period directions I’ve studied so far, but that doesn’t mean anything! After using a number of her patterns, I trust Ms. Altman as an excellent seamstress and proven scholar.
So why did I make such a dreadful botch out of a decent pattern? Well…I made it in a single day. No fittings. I even clipped my own boning and didn’t bother tipping the ends. Idiot. I also spent a day making a boned bustle which is still in existence, but with similar problems.
There was one thing worth salvaging about this corset though: the busk. So I cut it out before I threw the rest away (I should have given it a decent burial, but I’m in a hurry these days).
You’re Invited . . .
October 3rd, 2011
Zoh and I are organizing a corset-making panel, with eight costumers, scholars, and designers each presenting one or two corsets. Most are historic reproductions, though there are also a few modern pieces, inspired by the rich history of the corset.
We’re going to run it like an open mic, with Zoh playing emcee. Each presenter will show off their handiwork, talking about their research, inspiration, and construction. I just bought a 5-minute hourglass timer for the event — pun definitely intended. We’ll also be demonstrating the corsets, helping one another to lace. Afterwards, there will be time for the audience to meet the corsetieres and ask their advice on corset making. And of course, all this in an East Village bar!
Worth a Thousand Words
September 30th, 2011
Returning the Compliment
September 24th, 2011
Sometimes I labor under a false sense of privacy, that no one but my dear friend Z. ever reads my ramblings (she mentions things I write about from time to time in casual conversation, to my eternal delight). But every once in a while I am reminded that there is a whole world out there, and a few of you actually end up here, because you searched for something I mentioned, or because you actually tried to find me. I’m always incredibly flattered to receive comments on my posts, or to meet someone in person who’s read me online.
Last week, I noticed that a number of hits were coming through a web site I’d never heard of. So of course I visited, and found an amazing treasure trove of beautiful paper dolls. Turns out, the author of Paper Thin Personas discovered Circa 1850 on her own, and even mentioned it in one of her posts. I’m so glad she did, because now I know about her blog. And I look forward to following the adventures of her current and archived paper dolls. Click on the preview below to visit her site.
Her dolls and their costumes span a wide range of times, cultures, and inspirations. She even drew a doll called “Florence of the 1870s.” Now that’s inspired! But do poke around — she’s got lots of darling and fashionable ladies to print and cut out, including directions for making magnetic paper dolls, which I intend to follow on my first free afternoon (projected for sometime in 2014).
Kusmi Tea, depuis 1867
September 18th, 2011
I can live quite happily without most indulgences, but the occasional tin (or two) of Kusmi Tea is one that I would be loathe to forgo.
I first tasted Kusmi’s Russian Evening Blend a few years ago at a cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. It was so enticing: complicated yet delicate, with a faint top note of roses. Having never seen the Kusmi brand before, I took the tag from the tea bag and carried it around in my wallet (it’s still there, knocking about in my change purse) so I’d remember the name. I resolved to look for a box on my next trip to the local coffee shop. To my surprise, they didn’t carry it. Neither did any of the grocery stores in our area. Yes, I know grocery stores rarely carry really good tea, but even the SoHo shops didn’t have it!
I mentioned my quest to an accomplice who also loves tea, and happens to be descended from Russian Nobility. He told me the story of the Kousmichoff family and their legendary tea house, begun in Russia in 1867 and later moved to Paris when it became politically expedient. I won’t attempt to recreate his version here, as I could never do it justice. Instead, I’ll point you to the official Kusmi Tea web site. By this time, my curiosity was thoroughly piqued. So I made it my quest to find a source in New York City. I eventually learned that only one shop (at that time there was but one — now there are more) in the City carried the Kusmi line.
McNulty’s, pictured here at Christmas, courtesy of someone who posted this photograph online, has been a mecca of the West Village since 1895. The interior furnishings are as old as the store — and equally charming. And they carry a full selection of Kusmi Tea, either loose in tins, or sewn into little muslin bags.
Russian Evening remains my favorite, taken either plain, with a little honey and lemon, or with a swirl of cherry preserves. I am also very fond of Russian Morning — a smooth and smokey blend beside which the average Irish Breakfast tastes like peat moss — best with a drop of cream. Now that I have my dear little single-serving teapot, courtesy of Miss R. K.’s recent sale, it will be even easier to brew a cup of Kusmi.
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