Dressing for Dinner in 1912

Hooks and eyes

How long does it take you to get ready for a big night out? I am not talking about the days, or even weeks, you might have spent deciding what to wear, but about your preparations on the actual day. Maybe 20 minutes to put on your clothes – assuming you might have to squeeze into some tricky shape-wear, 30 minutes for your make up – particularly if false eye lashes are involved and 15-30 minutes for your hair? Now imagine you are an upperclass woman dressing for dinner (maybe at Downton Abbey?) in 1912.

Assuming you start off in the nude, you will probably first put on a pair of drawers and a sleeveless chemise, both reaching to around your knees. Or you might wear ‘combinations’: a camisole with knickers attached – very modern! These garments, made of cotton or silk, might be decorated with embroidery, lace and ribbons but are relatively loose and shapeless. To mould your body into ‘the correct line’ is the function of your next layer: the corset.

Predominantly functional, corsets were usually made of light-coloured, densely woven and often subtly patterned fabrics, with few decorative features. They were stiffened through ‘boning’: the insertion of long, narrow strips originally of so-called whalebone but now more commonly of celluloid or steel. Encasing your body from below your breasts to your upper thighs, the corset is responsible for shaping you into a high-waisted and slim-hipped being in preparation for your outer layer. A split metal strip or busk, at the centre front holds hooks and eyes for fastening and also helps to make your belly disappear. The laces at the back of our ready-to-wear corset can be used for minor adjustments. Now attach your silk stockings to the two or more long, elastic suspenders or ‘hose supporters’ sewn to the bottom of the corset and slip into a petticoat that is narrow enough not to spoil your fashionably slim silhouette. Maybe put on your satin shoes? It will be more difficult to button up the straps when you are wearing your gown.

Until now you might have been doing fine on your own, but you probably want to call in your maid for the next stage. Let us pretend Mrs Burgh de Miller has lent you her beautiful gown for one evening before giving it to the Museum of London where it now resides. We do not know the name of the dressmaker who made this rose-coloured garment but it was obviously produced by a professional. See how the ivory net with its floral pattern has been edged with three dimensional lace flowers and petals to reveal the layer of dark pink silk satin underneath? Further shades of pink are introduced with the silk taffeta lining and a flounce of silk crepe near the hem inside the gown, which will only be seen on the rare occasion when the train is turned over accidentally. Gold beads and silver spangles have been sewn onto a triangular piece of flesh-coloured crepe mimicking a deep décolletage.

Once you have found your way through these layers with the aid of your maid, she will fasten the hooks and eyes of the sturdy silk ribbon waistband that helps to keep the gown in place. She will then match the small metal hooks on one edge of the lining with the small thread loops on the other side before closing the dark pink outer gown in the same way. The next procedure is the most complicated: because the edge of the outer layer of lace has been cut following the shapes of the flowers and petals, the little loops are not arranged in a straight line. Made of thread in the same colour as the lace, they are also almost invisible. It might take your maid a little while to match each hook with the correct loop. Nimble hands and good eyesight are important for this procedure as well as patience on both sides. Lastly, the small, embroidered panel at the top of the gown needs to be hooked into place and you are fully dressed, although not quite ready to dazzle.

Being used to arranging your long, wavy hair yourself, you might still want to enlist the help of your maid for a special evening like tonight, particularly if false hairpieces have to be pinned into place. Having to avoid obvious signs of make-up, you just carefully apply a little face powder and maybe a dab of rouge. Put on your ornaments, button up your long gloves and you are ready to go.

If you often get dressed this way with your trusted servant by your side, getting ready for dinner would probably not take you much longer than it might take a woman today, a hundred years later. Besides, what else is there to do? Dresses like Mrs de Burgh Miller’s speak of a time when women were supposed primarily to be seen and only seldom heard. The gown’s shape and the fragility of some of the materials demand careful, gracious movements or, ideally, complete immobility, turning the wearer into a beautiful statue. Playing with concealment and revelation, gowns from this period often seem to give out conflicting messages, their soft appearance belying the very hard foundation underneath. Seemingly made to appeal and attract they also cover and shelter the body within multiple layers that require knowledge and determination to peel off.

Would I like to wear one of these beautiful confections? Maybe for an hour or so. For an entire evening I would prefer a little black (green/ gold/fuchsia) dress. Something that allows me to climb onto the tables for dancing. •

text & pictures Beatrice Behlen

Beatrice Behlen is Senior Curator, Fashion & Decorative Arts at the Museum of London. Read her Blog here L.