(Pre-)shrinking linen

Some fabric dealers say their linen will shrink up to 10-15 % over the first few washes. Now, most extant linen garments have probably been washed several times, so if we use their precise measurements to sew an exact copy from unwashed linen, we'll end up with an item that will be smaller than the original once it's been washed—and probably disproportionate too, as fabrics shrink mostly in the warp direction. Did linen always shrink this much?
 

Measuring linen

In the Western world today, we think in centimeters or inches. For sewing projects that don't involve fitting, it's easy to think in round numbers; perhaps different ones depending on if we prefer metrics or Imperial units. But European women in the 18th century and earlier probably picked other 'round numbers' than we do now.

HSM 2017 #6: 'Metal' bobbin lace

My 'silver' lace, 2 cm (3/4") wide

Traditional metal bobbin lace is made from metal thread, which consists of a thin metal strip wrapped around silk thread. Today's 'metal' thread is wrapped with metallized plastic instead. (Experimental bobbin lace today sometimes uses solid metal wires, which is a completely different thing).

Metal lace is relatively coarse compared to linen lace, and typically uses simpler, non-figurative, designs. Heather Toomer explains in "Antique Lace" (2001) that the stiffness of the metal threads makes them unsuitable for complicated designs (page 119). Still, styles changed over time, just as for other lace.

My fabric find of the year!

Close-up of today's find

Whenever I pass by my local thrift shop, I check out their fabric section. It's by no means a steady supply of fabrics for historical clothing, but considering how little I sew that's probably just as well. I've found vintage linen yardage there a couple of times, and today I found some really interesting fabric.

It's a pair of vintage window drapes, in a fabric imitating mid-18th century brocaded silk. All in all, I got 5 m (5.5 yd) of 110 cm (44") wide fabric for SEK525 ($55). Not super cheap, but a reasonable price for period appropriate fabric of a very unusual type. I'm especially impressed that they've even copied the use of a solid colored damask patterned ground, as seen in some period silks.

Fabric samples book review

Quite some time ago, I mentioned a new book of mid-18th century fabric samples, intending to write a review of it. And now I've finally completed it.

This book is written in Swedish only; there is no parallel text in English like in "18th Century Textiles". This makes sense, as the samples are all from Swedish factories. Still, it includes a lot of samples from fabric types that may not be published elsewhere. E.g., many of the fabric names below are mentioned in "Textiles in America 1650–1870"—but without pictures.

An échelle stomacher

1770s(?) stomacher at the Nordic Museum

This stomacher, dated to the 1770s (though it may be earlier—see discussion below), is in the collection of the Nordic Museum. I found it through the database of Swedish and Norwegian museum artefacts, DigitaltMuseum. The item text says (in translation):

a) Stomacher, triangular with the lower point rounded, out of two layers of white linen with 6 silk rep ribbons sewn on close together, striped in white, red, and pink, each with a bow in the center.
b) and c) Separate bows.

So, this échelle stomacher comes with two matching bows for attaching to the sleeves, making it a complete set as seen in many period portraits.

HSM 2017 #4: A very wide apron

Maid plucking a bird
(Pehr Hilleström, circa 1776)

A while back, I found a piece of vintage linen with nice selvages at the local thrift shop, and thought it would make a good 1770s working apron. I wanted an apron that a kitchen maid or wife in a lower middle class household might wear while doing chores.  She would likely have sewn it herself, rather than paying a seamstress.

Unfortunately, 18th century Swedish body linens were rarely preserved for posterity. As far as I know, there are a few shirts and some royal baby clothes, but no women's shifts or linen aprons. One of the reasons for this is that the paper mills used linen rags as their raw material, and from 1738 and on, a law required each Stockholm household to deliver a certain quantity of linen rags to the paper mill—otherwise they would be fined. This may have improved the inflow of rags to paper mills in the 18th century, but it doesn't exactly benefit today's historical dressmakers. So we have to turn to other sources of inspiration instead.