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ijustwanttoreadfanfiction · 1 year

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Friendly Sex - Chapter 8 - The Visit

First of all, I want to apologise for the delay in posting. This chapter kicked my ass, I wanted to cover a lot of ground and this must be the 8th version but I'm still not 100% happy with it, had to happen at some point.

Secondly this covers topics that will likely be uncomfortable for some people, involving a manipulative step-parent and abandonment issues. If anyone needs to talk about this subject, my ask box is open.

Chapters warnings: MDI (18+ only), mentions of smut, explicit language, adult themes, drug use, abusive step-father, emotional manipulation.

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Tuesday 20th May 1986

You’re holed up in the back of Eddie’s van, straddling his lap, furiously making out whilst Touch Too Much - AC/DC plays. It was a habit you had gotten into over the past few weeks, one of many habits actually. Eddie along with the rest of Corroded Coffin played a regular gig every Tuesday evening at The Hideout, you had found it was as good a place as any to hook up, particularly when the regular audience was made up of ten drunks and the bar staff. Eddie had threatened Gareth and Jeff into sworn silence about your sudden presence under pain of death, exile etc etc.

“I should be getting home soon.” You whisper against his lips, Eddie answers by holding your hips tighter, grinding you down harder.

“Five more minutes sweetheart.” He murmurs breathlessly, sucking at the sensitive spot on your neck, since that night at the trailer it's become something of a catchphrase for him; always wanting five more minutes between your thighs, five more minutes of fooling about in the Drama club costume closet, five more minutes of hammering into you.

“You’ve already had ten.” You sigh without any trace of reproach, grabbing his face to bring him back to your lips, feeling him grin.

“I’m just making the most of my time.” He says, kneading the flesh of your ass. “Seeing as you’re abandoning me this weekend.”

“I’m not abandoning you, I'm going to visit my mom, you know, the Queen of Abandonment.” You mumble, feeling your mood plummet as it had been prone to doing the last couple of days. Eddie had made a valiant effort in listening to and trying to soothe the various worries you had about your upcoming trip to Chicago, how it couldn’t be for anything good, having to spend time with Philip, watching the twins enjoying the life you once had before it was all messed up.

“Hey,” Eddie cups your cheek. “It’s just for four days, you’ll be home again before you know it.”

You nod, fiddling with the black stone ring on his right hand, allowing yourself to be coddled as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“C’mon princess, let’s get you home.” He hums.

-------------------------------------------------------------------Wednesday 21st May 1986

Wednesday nights were Hellfire Club nights, with Eddie being decidedly occupied, you had invited Robin over to hang out and compare English notes before your final in a few weeks. Both of you laying on your bed, feet at opposite ends, heads meeting in the middle over a pile of paperwork. You heave a heavy sigh, correcting a sentence, trying to ignore the slight twinge in your back. Despite promising to get you home, you and Eddie had gotten carried away last night, which led to you bouncing on his dick in the driver’s seat of the van, the steering wheel as it turns out was not the most comfortable thing to lean against.

“So, you seeing Eddie later?” Robin asks nonchalantly, highlighting something in her book.

“No, tomorrow.” You reply, distracted by a tricky paragraph.

At first it’s like white noise, a dull fuzzy sound filling your ears, but then her words and your admission sink in, turning so quickly to face her you crick your neck; she’s grinning wide enough that you think her cheeks might split.

“What?” You squeak, feeling all the colour drain from your face. “We’re not - how?” You feel sick.

“Got three words for you babe, closed circuit television.” She says like a cat that’s got the cream. “I saw you both on the security monitor when he came into the store a couple of weeks ago.”

Your heart was in your mouth, or your ass, one of the two. How could you have been so stupid? Keith had specifically had camera’s put in after the adult section was opened, which happens to be right next to the Sci-Fi shelves.

“YOU’VE KNOWN FOR A COUPLE OF WEEKS?!” You shout incredulously before remembering your dad is downstairs, dropping your volume to a frantic hiss. “Oh my god Robin, why haven’t you said anything?!” You ask freaking out, hiding your head in your hands.

“I was waiting for the right time.” She reasons calmly like you’re discussing the weather, not your deepest darkest secret. “So what’s happening?”

“Nothing is happening, we kissed, once, that was it.” You say in complete denial.

“Bullshit, I saw you getting into his van the Saturday before last and on Monday you turned up to my practice smelling of weed with twigs in your hair and huge hickey.” She looks extremely pleased with herself, whilst you’re still trying to stop yourself from spiralling into a full blown panic attack. “So, are you together?” She asks.

“No.” You say shortly, huffing in annoyance when she gives you a look that screams ‘liar’. “I’m telling the truth Rob, we’re not together.”

“Soo, what then?” She presses, taking your hand in hers. “You can tell me, I won’t judge.”

You bite your lip, in the month you and Eddie had been hooking up it had often occurred to you that your agreement may become public knowledge, you’d had enough close shaves with the Principal Higgins/Fred Benson incident, and the first time Gareth walked in on you both the men’s room of The Hideout. But now it came to actually talking about it, you were terrified.

“It was the night of the party.” You mutter quietly. “I was upset about Steve, Eddie was out in the garden and we got talking, turns out he’s got it bad for Chrissy Cunningham.”

Robin does a very poor job at hiding her amusement, but presses her lips into a tight line, gesturing for you to continue.

“It’s your fault actually.” You jibe at her. “I told him that you thought I just needed to get laid in order to get over Steve, one thing led to another and we…” You trail off giving her a pointed look.

“You had sex in the garden?” She gasps.

“More like the street.” You wince at the confession, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“God damn.” She breathes. “Again not judging.” She adds quickly, holding her hands up in defence.

“After that we sort of made a pact.” You say.

“What kind of pact?” Robin asks, she’s near shaking with curiosity, but you can tell she’s trying to keep a handle on it for your sake.

“The kind of pact where we’ve been having lots of ‘casual’ sex.” You don’t know why you do air quotation marks around the word casual.

“And there I was thinking you were just using sex to pay for drugs.” She whispers, effectively stunned, you shove her insulted and you both burst into a fit of giggles. “So the mystery guy has been Eddie Munson the whole time?”

“Uh, huh.” You say, still giggling, some weird hysterical euphoria gripping you now you’ve told someone. You collapse back on the bed, Robin joining you so you’re staring up at the ceiling, holding hands like you did when you were little.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You sigh, giving her hand a squeeze. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Babe, I was in love with Tammy Thompson, a literal muppet. I could never think less of you.” She says, pressing your foreheads together with a soft smile. “So - is he good?”

You nod, exhaling heavily and she whistles.

"It's always the freaks." She laughs, sounding thoroughly impressed.

You think about how much lighter you feel with Robin now in the picture, but the stress of keeping it a secret from the rest of Hawkins still lies heavy on your mind.

"Rob -" You say seriously. "-Steve can't find out. He'd kill Eddie." Robin bobs her head in solemn agreement, whilst making a movement across her mouth, an imaginary zip.

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Thursday 22nd May 1986

You’re busy packing your gym bag ready for your flight tomorrow, when your bedroom landline rings, you grab the whole phone shoving the receiver between your shoulder and neck.

“Hello?”

“Hey princess.” Eddie’s voice crackles through the speaker, and you try to ignore the immediate smile that creeps across your face.

“Hi.” You reply, grabbing a few pairs of clean socks with your free hand.

“Good day?” He asks, with a slight yawn.

“Eddie you literally saw me -” You check your watch, laughing “- four hours ago.”

“A lot can happen in four hours sweetheart -” He reasons and you can almost hear his devious grin. “- a person could get up to anything.”

“Oh yeah like what?” You goad, shoving your Hawkins High sweater into the bag.

“Well, I for one have played guitar, made some Kraft Mac & Cheese and jerked off.” He says, sounding incredibly pleased with himself.

“Wow, that is impressive.” You deadpan.

“I know, I did have some difficulty with the jerking off though, nothing feels as good as your tight pussy anymore.” He teases, and even though you’re alone in the house you still get flustered, almost dropping the phone.

“Ed’s you gotta stop.” You say sternly but the effect is lost when you start laughing again.

“What time is your flight again?” He asks, and you can tell from the change in his tone that he's trying to behave himself.

“3pm.” You sigh, chucking a pair of converse on top of the bag.

“It’ll be ok sweetheart.” He reassures you, before clearing his throat, devilish Eddie back in play. “Now get on the bed and talk dirty to me.”

____________________________________________________

Friday 23rd May 1986

You hate flying, and have always preferred to take the train but your mom doesn’t understand why you would want to take a five hour journey over a one hour journey. You stand awkwardly outside the main terminal at O’Hare, glancing at your watch every five minutes until you hear two little excited screams heading your way. The twins.

Your half brother and sister are on you before you can blink.

“Oh my god, look at you guys you’ve gotten so big!” You exclaim, lifting Heidi up as Paul clings to your legs. “Where’s Mommy?”

Paul points back in the direction they sprang from, your mom bustling along in high heels, hair perfectly coiffed.

“Darling!” She calls happily, reaching you slightly out of breath, placing a quick kiss to your cheek. “You’re so pale!” She cries standing back to observe you.

“I’m fine Mom, there was just some turbulence when we were landing.” You sigh, hitching Heidi more securely to your hip as you pick your bag with some difficulty, Paul wanting to hold your hand at the same time. “No Phil?” You ask as you walk back towards her car, the kids chattering away over each other so you only pick up every other word.

“He got called into work, but he should be home for dinner this evening.”

__________________________________________________

After a manic afternoon of playing with Heidi and Paul, you’re taking a break before dinner, reading 'The Colour Magic' as loaned to you by Eddie. Perched on the plastic wrapped sofa in the fussy living room you feel distinctly out of place, everything in your Mom’s house is pristine, coasters on every surface, fresh flowers adorning each room, shoes off at the door so as not to ruin the shag carpet, even the magazines in the rack were alphabetized. You imagined taking her round to Eddie’s, she’d probably faint.

You hear the kids suddenly shouting in excitement, obviously Philip is home, he rounds the door and you instinctively tense up, both of you looking at each other with open dislike.

"Hello Y/n, how was your trip?" He greets you stiffly, like there's a broom up his ass.

"Fine thank you, how was work?" You ask so overly polite you sound near robotic.

"Busy. Heidi tells me you gave her and Paul some candy?" It's so prompt and accusatory you're amazed he bothered even saying hello; a new record in his self-restraint at criticizing you. You mark your place carefully in the book before trusting yourself to respond.

"Just some Red Vines I had in my bag." You reply as measured as possible.

"The children don't usually have candy, particularly not this close to dinnertime." He chastises, and you can tell he wants you to apologize, you can see it in his hard stare, the way his jaw ticks.

"My mom said it was fine." You say, rising to move past him.

"She was humouring you, next time respect our rules." He says bluntly, grabbing your bicep none too gently. "Every time you're here you cause trouble, my children do not need your bad influence."

You yank your arm out of his grasp, about to respond when a small voice interrupts.

"Mommy says dinner is ready " Paul mumbles, little face hovering by the doorway, his expression worried. You scoop him up, leaving the room and Phil at speed.

"C'mon Paulie, let's eat."

________________________________________________

You were rattled, Phil's grip still feeling like it's curled tightly around your arm, as your mom passes the salad bowl to you.

"Looks great Mom." You say looking at the food on your plate.

"Moussaka darling, Phil and I had it in Greece last year." She smiles blissfully at the memory. "I like to make it for special occasions, and what's more special than having you to stay." She reaches over to give your hand a quick squeeze.

"So Y/n, how are your studies?" Philip asks you, pouring himself a big glass of red wine, like he hadn’t physically restrained you ten minutes ago.

"I have two finals left and that's it." You say taking a sip of milk, thinking you'd much rather have the wine.

"And your college applications?"

"I’m uh - taking a year or two out, save up some money, maybe travel for a bit…?” You hesitate, feeling diminished in his presence.

“That’s quite an ambitious plan, particularly on your salary I would imagine.” He says smarmily, and you feel your temper rise. “Or were you planning on asking your mother and I to fund you?”

“I don’t need your help, I save everything I make.” You spit out between clenched teeth.

“We know darling, Philip is just teasing you.” Your mum reassures but you can see the high flush of colour on her cheeks, a sign that she’s stressed.

“I actually thought I could come up a bit more often once I graduate, maybe once a month, give you two a break from the kids, take them out to the cinema and things.” You say, speaking directly to your mom. Smiling as Heidi and Paul both gasp and bounce up and down excitedly in their seats at the prospect.

“Oh that’s very nice of you darling but -”

“- we won’t be here.” Philip’s voice cuts across your Mom’s like a knife.

“What do you mean?” You ask, your mom suddenly finding it difficult to meet your eyes.

“We’re moving sweetie.” She says quietly.

“To Sydney.” Philip chimes in, a broad smirk on his face.

“As in - Australia?” Your voice shakes as you look between them. “But, that’s so far away...” Your stomach drops in a sick swooping motion.

“It’s a big change, but an exciting one. Phil has a new job, and they’re paying almost double what he's on now.” Your mom says, trying to inject some excitement back into the room, but she falters under your tearful gaze.

“What about me?” You ask in a small voice.

“You’ll still be able to come out darling.” She soothes.

“Not to Australia, Mom! There's no way Dad can afford it.” You shout, feeling your chest rise and fall rapidly.

“We’ll pay you for you sweetie -.”

“- no we won’t Evelyn, we agreed, she either pays her own way or she doesn’t come.” Philip snaps, the following silence suffocating around the small dining table.

“Did -did you agree to that?” You ask, your heart breaking into a million pieces, noticing Heidi was silently crying opposite you.

“Well not in so many words, we just thought, Philip suggested that maybe you could contribute something -'' She trails off, looking at Philip for support who simply sips his wine, looking impassive.

“Mom, how am I going to see you? The tickets will be close to a thousand dollars!” You cry, feeling like you’re ten all over again, begging her not to go.

“Well I guess you should start saving then.” Philip mocks and you feel yourself break, eight years of hatred pouring out.

“You fucking asshole.” You snap, hands shaking as you kick your seat out from under you . “What? You weren’t happy enough that you took her from me the first time so now you’re going to take her to the other side of the world?!”

“You watch your mouth you little bitch.” He shouts back, slamming his fist into the table, Heidi and Paul both openly crying as your mom tries to soothe them.

“M-mom?!” You sob desperately needing her to back you up, but she doesn’t even look at you.

You rush away from them to the spare room locking the door, feeling like you’re going to pass out, choking on your tears. You grab the phone and dial.

____________________________________________________

Eddie was having an incredibly delightful evening, Wayne was working, he had left over lasagne, a couple of beers, a bong ready to go, the only thing missing was you.

He could have sworn while he was jerking off earlier that he could smell your perfume on his pillow and it had sent him wild, he wanted nothing more than to rail you into the mattress but you weren’t here, he wouldn’t see you until Tuesday at the earliest and it was torture.

He was just about to start watching The Shining when the phone rang, probably Reefer Rick wanting to offload some shit.

“Yeah?”

There was silence at first, enough that he was ready to hang up when he heard a tiny sniffle

“Eddie?” The panic that washed over him was instantaneous, hearing you call his name in a cracked voice.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” He asks frantically, already tugging on a Reebok before remembering you were in Chicago.

“S-she’s - leaving me.” You cry, it sounds like you’re breaking your damn heart.

“Who?”

“My Mom.” You sob, Eddie can hear how hard you’re breathing, he’s worried you’re going to have a panic attack.

“Sweetheart, I need you to calm down for me, ok?” He paces on the threadbare carpet feeling completely useless as you just cry harder, little whimpering sounds escaping you. “Can you take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, can you do that for me princess?”

He hears your breath stutter slightly, but then you inhale shakily.

“That’s it, in through your nose, and out through your mouth.” He finds himself doing it with you, the hand that’s not holding the phone rising up and down, it’s about another minute before Eddie feels that you’re stable enough to talk again.

“What’s happened baby?” He asks gently.

“They’re moving to Australia.” You say thickly. “Mom, the kids and Philip.” You spit the name out like it’s poison.

“Shit.” Eddie says heavily, and he’s irritated with himself that he can’t think of anything better to say. “I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

“She doesn’t love me.” You sound so sad, hating that he can’t wrap you up in his arms.

“Hey, that’s not true.” He insists.

“Then why does she find it so easy to keep leaving me?” You ask, voice cracking into tears once more.

“Because people do stupid hurtful shit princess, even to the ones we love.” Great he was sounding like a fucking hallmark card.

“I just wanna go home.” You whimper. “Everything is so fucked up. I wish I'd never come here, I just wanna be home with you.” You say it so quietly that at first he thinks he’s misheard, but the way his heart stopped said differently. “I-I miss you Eds”

You can’t miss him, surely? What was there to miss? You guys had a good time, sure, but he didn’t give you anything that you couldn’t get elsewhere. You just wanted comfort, you were far from home, going through hell. You probably didn’t want to put your dad through it so you rang him, but you could have called Robin? Maybe even Harrington? He ignored the spike of jealousy at the thought of Steve comforting you instead of him.

“Eddie, are you still there?” You sniffle. Shit, way to fucking go Munson, just give her the silent treatment whilst she’s pouring her heart out.

“Y-yeah, I'm here sweetheart… I miss you too.” He breathes, shaking the nervous energy out of his hands, he wants to expand, tell you how much he misses you when he hears a loud banging in the background and a muffled voice, possibly a man’s.

“Fuck off Philip I'm on the phone -” The banging continues, Eddie hears you grunt followed by a dull thud, he assumes you’ve thrown something against the door, followed by more muffled yells. “-yeah well you can bill me and upgrade your seats to first class you prick!” You shout back.

“Cunt.” You mumble, and Eddie can’t help but laugh, you let out a wry huff.

“Ed’s I'm gonna have to go.” You say, sounding miserable once more.

“Will you be ok?” He’s worried about how volatile Philip the Cunt was, ready to drive through the night to get you if wanted to.

“Yeah, I'm gonna run Phil’s phone bill up some more, call my Dad. Maybe get a flight back tonight.” You heave a sigh of exhaustion.

“I’ll see you soon sweetheart.” He promises.

“Counting on it Munson.”

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irish-dress-history · 30 days

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Patterning a 16th c. Irish léine sleeve

Mid-16th c. images of the léine from "Drawn after the Quick" and Codice de Trajes

The léine of 16th century Ireland had huge, iconic sleeves. Sadly, we have neither surviving examples of this garment, nor detailed period documentation, so we don't know how these sleeves were made. I have seen a couple different sewing patterns purposed, but none of these match the voluminous, gathered sleeves shown in the Codice de Trajes and the costume album of Christoph von Sternsee. This is my attempt to create a sleeve pattern that better matches the surviving evidence.

The cut of léine sleeves probably varied across 16th c. Ireland, potentially impacted by factors like a person's wealth or where in Ireland they lived. It almost certainly changed over time as more of Ireland fell to English colonial conquest. The wearing of the large-sleeved léine was banned by King Henry VIII (McClintock 1943). Lucas de Heere’s circa 1575 illustrations show women with much smaller sleeves than earlier images. However, at least during the early part of the century, sleeves did not vary by gender. According to Laurent Vital, the only difference between a man's léine and a woman's léine was that the woman's had gores in the bottom it make it fuller (Vital 1518).

My goal with this project is to create a léine sleeve pattern for an early to mid-16th c. Irish person living outside of the Pale. Since none of the period images or texts are very detailed, I am combining information from several sources.

Englishman Edmund Campion who visited Ireland in 1569 gave the following derisive description of the léine: “Linnen shirts the rich doe weare for wantonnes and bravery, with wide hanging sleeves playted, thirtie yards are little enough for one of them” (Campion 1571).

Campion’s claim that the sleeves were pleated initially struck me as strange. English and continental European shirts from this period frequently had gathered sleeves (Mikhaila and Malcolm-Davies 2006, Arnold, Tiramani and Levey 2008), but pleating isn’t the same thing as gathering. However, other period writers made similar claims. Writing in 1596, Edmund Spenser mentioned "thicke foulded lynnen shirtes” as a garment worn by the Irish (Spencer 1633).

Similarly, Fynes Moryson described the léine as being made of “thirty or forty ells [of linen] in a shirt all gathered and wrinkled,” elsewhere he described it as “folded in wrinckles” (Moryson 1617).

In The Image of Irelande, John Derricke gave the following description of the léine:

Their shirtes be verie straunge,/ not reachyng paste the thie:/ With pleates on pleates thei pleated are,/ as thicke as pleates maie lye./ Whose sleves hang trailing doune/ almoste unto the Shoe (Derricke 1581)

Assuming that Derricke’s description is not just poetic license, I know of one 16th century construction method that matches the description “pleats on pleats [. . .] as thick as pleats may lie,” and that is cartridge pleating. Cartridge pleating is a technique that is more commonly used on thick fabrics like woolens, because a lot of fabric bulk is needed to keep the pleats standing properly, but extant 16th and early 17th c. neck ruffs use cartridge pleating to join massive lengths of fine linen to a neck band (Arnold, Tiramani and Levey 2008).

Cartridge pleating on a thick woolen fabric

A person unfamiliar with sewing methods and terms might well describe cartridge pleating as looking like folds, gathers, or wrinkles.

The léine sleeve patterns commonly used in modern reconstructions are completely flat, like a Japanese kimono sleeve with rounded corners. (There’s also a version which has a drawstring or gathering running along the top of the sleeve. This is a 20th c. Ren Fair invention which has no historical basis.)

The end-on views of the sleeve openings in the recently-discovered images from Codice de Trajes and the costume album of Christoph von Sternsee clearly show that this is not correct. The rounded shape they show for the sleeve end can only be achieved through gathering.

Archer from the von Sternsee costume album and the O’Brien messenger from The Image of Irelande

The best illustration of a léine in The Image of Irelande, the messenger on plate 7, also provides evidence for a gathered sleeve. The way the fabric drapes in the middle of the sleeve suggests that the sleeve is gathered at both ends. Furthermore, the way the mass of a léine sleeve centers under the wearer’s arm when the wearer holds their arm out straight, like the O’Brien messenger, but hangs down like a trumpet when the wearer lowers their arm, like on von Sternsee’s archer also suggests that the sleeve is a symmetrical shape that is gathered at both ends and not a trumpet shape that is only gathered at the wrist end.

With these elements in mind, I went looking for a pattern which would create the correct shape. I used Jean Hunnisett's 15th c. bagpipe sleeve pattern from Period Costume for Stage and Screen and the sleeve pattern from this 1630s English waistcoat (published in Seventeenth-Century Women’s Dress Patterns) as a starting point.

1630s waistcoat sleeve pattern

I replaced the curved sleeve heads in these patterns with the straight sleeve end and square underarm gusset typical of mid-16th-18th c. shirts, since the léine, like the shirt, is an unfitted linen garment, and because the straight edge is much easier to gather all the way around. I don't have any actual evidence for square gussets in 16th c. Ireland, but this pattern definitely needs an ungathered piece at the underarm. Anyone who is bothered by the lack of evidence can use a triangular gusset like the one on the 15th c. Moy gown instead.

After that, I experimented with mock-ups until I figured out how to get the correct proportions. I don't have any training in patterning or draping, so this took several tries. I used my 1/3 scale ball-jointed doll (24 inches tall) as model, because he required a lot less fabric and sewing. Since this was just a mock-up, I used random linen remnants from my stash, and I didn't bother to finish most of the edges.

Here is the final sleeve with the seams sewn together, but before doing the gathering:

This sleeve, on his right arm, is based on the gathered-wrist cuff version of the léine from Codice de Trajes, the von Sternsee album, and The Image of Irelande.

This sleeve ended up with me having to gather 31 inches of fabric into a 5-inch armscye. So yeah, cartridge pleating became necessary, because there is no way to make that kind of reduction work with regular gathering. I also had to do some smocking to get the giant mass of fabric better controlled before I could attach it to the body of the léine.

While this pattern might seem absurd, (it does call for a sleeve end wider than the wear is tall to be pleated into the armscye,) a close examination of John Michael Wright's 1680 portrait of Sir Neil O'Neill shows remarkably similar sleeves.

While this painting is from a century later than my target time period and the clothing clearly shows changes like the addition of English-style shirt sleeve ruffles, the shirt still has elements which I have seen no where else in late 17th c. fashion that are probably derived from earlier Irish dress.

The doublet worn over top prevents it from hanging down properly, but this shirt sleeve has the same bagpipe shape as the 16th c. léine. I have highlighted it in magenta to make this easier to see. The fine, regular folds near the top of the sleeve (highlighted in yellow) are probably the result of smocking or cartridge pleating, indicating that this sleeve, like my purposed pattern, has a large amount of fabric gathered or pleated to the armscye. The wrist end of the sleeve has 3 rows of smocking stitches sewn with silk thread, which shows that the sleeve cuff has a huge amount of fabric gathered into it.

Historically, silk was the thread of choice for smocking, because it is smoother and has greater tensile strength than wool, linen, or cotton. Several 16th c. sources note that the Irish used silk thread when making their léinte (Gresh 2021). Laurent Vital described Irish women as wearing, "chemises with wide sleeves, worked around the collar and in the seams with silk needlework of different colours" (1518). The presence of smocking on O'Neill's shirt combined with my experience trying to recreate this sleeve makes me think that at least some of that 16th c. silk needlework was smocking.

For the left sleeve of my mock-up, I tried to recreate the flatter sleeves from "Drawn After the Quicke". These sleeves do not have a gathered wristband.

This sleeve used basically the same pattern, but the lack of gathering at the wrist opening meant that the whole sleeve was slightly smaller, so I only had to pleat 26 in of fabric into the armscye instead of 31 in. This was just enough of a difference that I could set the sleeve without smocking it first, unlike the right sleeve. I guess this is the more budget-friendly option for your less wealthy kern.

I also made the curve at the bottom of the sleeve wider to give this one a more square shape.

Some of my failed experiments:

I would like to thank my friend Nikki for loaning me her smocking machine. This project would have been a much bigger pain if I had to do all those gathering stitches by hand.

Since this post has gotten rather long, I am putting the actual drafting instruction for this sleeve pattern in a separate post.

If anyone would like to support my work financially, I now have a ko-fi page.

Bibliography:

Arnold, Janet, Tiramani, J., & Levey, S. (2008). Patterns of Fashion 4. Macmillan, London.

Campion, Edmund. (1571). A Historie of Ireland, Written in the Yeare 1571. Dublin. https://archive.org/details/historieofirelan00campuoft/historieofirelan00campuoft/page/n5/mode/2up

Derricke, John. (1581). The Image of Irelande, with the discoverie of a Woodkarne. John Daie, London. https://archive.org/details/imageofirelandew00derr/page/n29/mode/2up?view=theater

Hunnisett, Jean. (1996). Period Costume for Stage & Screen: Patterns for Women's Dress, Medieval-1500. Players Press, Inc, Studio City.

Gresh, Robert. (2021). The Saffron Shirt, Part 1: Saffron and Silk, Urine and Grease. Wilde Irish. https://www.wildeirishe.com/post/the-saffron-shirt-part-1-saffron-and-silk-urine-and-grease

McClintock, H. F. (1943). Old Irish and Highland Dress. Dundalgan Press, Dundalk.

McGann, K. (2008). The Invention of Drawstrings and Pleated Sleeves. Reconstructing History. https://reconstructinghistory.com/blogs/irish/the-invention-of-drawstrings-and-pleated-sleeves-1

Mikhaila, Ninya, & Malcolm-Davies, Jane (2006). The Tudor Tailor. Quite Specific Media Group, Ltd, London.

Moryson, Fynes. (1617). An Itinerary Containing His Ten Yeeres Travell through the Twelve Dominions of Germany, Bohmerland, Sweitzerland, Netherland, Denmarke, Poland, Italy, Turky, France, England, Scotland & Ireland. volume 4. https://ia801307.us.archive.org/16/items/fynesmorysons04moryuoft/fynesmorysons04moryuoft.pdf

North, Susan and Jenny Tiramani, eds. (2011). Seventeenth-Century Women’s Dress Patterns, vol.1, V&A Publishing, London.

Spencer, Edmund. (1633). A View of the present State of Ireland. https://celt.ucc.ie/published/E500000-001/index.html

Vital, Laurent (1518). Archduke Ferdinand's visit to Kinsale in Ireland, an extract from Le Premier Voyage de Charles-Quint en Espagne, de 1517 à 1518. translated by Dorothy Convery. https://irish-dress-history.tumblr.com/post/721163132699131904/laurent-vitals-1518-description-of-ireland

#16th century #irish dress #dress history #leine #art #gaelic ireland #irish history #historical men's fashion #historical dress #historical women's fashion #sewing

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arthistoryanimalia · 7 months

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For #WorldCassowaryDay:

Cassowary Dance Costume, 20th c. Iatmul people, Sepik River, Papua New Guinea Rattan, raffia, shells, string, cassowary feathers, pigment 26.5 x 18.25 x 75.5 in (67.3 x 46.4 x 191.8 cm) Harn Museum of Art S85-SPNG-G233

#animals in art #animal holiday #20th century art #birds in art #bird #cassowary #World Cassowary Day #Papuan art #Papua New Guinea #costume #Iatmul #Indigenous art #Oceanic art #Australasian art

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clove-pinks · 1 year

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Fashion History Books on Internet Archive

Illustration in La Mode by Paul Gavarni, c. 1835 (Rijksmuseum)

A selection of some of my favourites, free to read and check out once you create a (free) account!

Handbook of English Costume in the 19th Century, by C. Willett Cunnington and Phillis Cunnington. I can vouch for this as one of the greatest books in my collection, extensive menswear information. By the same authors: English costume in the Eighteenth, Seventeenth, and Sixteenth centuries.

A History of Men’s Fashion, by Farid Chenoune. A masterwork, absolute must-read primer on men’s fashion from the late 18th century to the late 20th century.

The Encyclopedia of World Costume by Doreen Yarwood. Covers many different cultures over a huge span of time so most topics are not treated in-depth, but still a great reference.

The History of Underclothes, by C. Willett Cunnington and Phillis Cunnington. Also covers men’s shirts in Western dress history, as these were considered undergarments.

Fashioning the Body: An Intimate History of the Silhouette, edited by Denis Bruna. A collection of essays on changing dress silhouettes in Western fashion over time, some of them very insightful.

The Dictionary of Fashion History, by Valerie Cumming. This is the first edition and I have the second, but my top fashion history dictionary and go-to for textiles and items of dress!

#fashion history #dress history #historical men's fashion #historical fashion #internet archive #open library #reference books #fashion #history #textiles #clothing #western fashion

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dragoncityinteriordesign · 11 months

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It seems it's the five-year anniversary of Guardian's airing, and it's been a year and change since I started this ridiculous blog, so this seems like a good time to write down a thought I've been having, and that thought is this: When I first thought about doing making a Tumblr to chronicle all the Guardian weirdnesses that caught my eye, I wondered, oh no, as I watch more c-dramas, will I then feel obligated to do this kind of deep-dive analysis for them as well?

As it turns out, the answer has been ... no. Not because I wouldn't enjoy it, mind you, but because nothing else I've seen has inspired in me the level of head-clutching befuddled awe that Guardian has.

At first I thought it was just that everything else I was watching was a period/costume piece, so of course we're not going to be dealing with random English in odd locations or jackass vehicle choices. But then I started watching some things set in the 20th and 21st centuries, some that are even filmed in Dragon City Shanghai Film Park, and ... nope. There are peculiar choices here and there, sure, but nothing even approaching the level of Zhao Yunlan's inexplicable apartment swing. Plenty of shows have fake books, but how many have fake bookcase walls? Think of how many objects in the main SID room alone I not only can't explain but can't even identify. And that's even before we get to what the hell everyone is wearing.

Truly, the more I watch other things, the more I realize what a unique gem of chaotic wonder Guardian is, 50% heartbreaking work of staggering genius, 50% dumb as a guinea pig in a roller skate, and I'm happy to have all of you fine internet people to share it with.

#guardian #zhen hun #meta

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jeannepompadour · 5 months

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Lilya Brik photographed by Alexander Rodchenko, 1924

#1924 #1920s #russia #20th c. russia #mdpcostume #vintage fashion #fashion #vintage #20th c. costume #photography #alexander rodchenko

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mx-lamour · 3 months

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Costuming Strahd: Art Addendum

I didn't include any mention of the official Dungeons & Dragons art for Strahd von Zarovich in my previous post, because I had dismissed it outright. There, I said it.

I shall strive to amend my folly in this addendum.

Let's start with that 5e cover:

I generally approve of this representation. No doubt it colored my concept of Strahd's silhouette, since this is the first image of Strahd I came into contact with, some two or three years ago.

The shape of this garb is much like what I was aiming for in my previous post. Strahd is sporting a crisp shirt with stiffened, buttoned cuffs, much like our modern button-downs or blouses spanning back into the mid-1800s. His torso is trim in a fitted vest with standing collar, which easily fits into the category of fantasy-Renaissance. Speculation on from where/when exactly the inspiration comes might be a futile effort; it would find itself at home among the elves in The Lord of the Rings, and I'm not about to dig into that concept work just now.

Actually, what his vest reminds me of most is 15th century brigandine [or tabard (see below), which would cover brigandine or a breastplate, which is why] it's the right length, if nothing else.

Reconstructing History, He's literally Elrond, and some brigandine

I believe I said it's easy to fake good pants, especially when sitting down. This example reinforces my point. His legs are indeed covered, and the result is not garish. Not particularly exciting, but nonetheless successful. You could probably even call them hose if you really wanted to.

His boots are literal extant riding boots, from "early 20th c." England, and honestly I'm so proud of this one-to-one reference.

[Fig. 1] and [Fig. 2], although my first thought had been Victorian cycling boots.

The cape draped around his shoulders appears to be quite thin and probably only falls to about his fingertips, since it doesn't drape over the chair cushion and he's not sitting on it. It could look like some kind of military cape. Or maybe even, to drag him back a few centuries again, something Elizabethan.

I'll do a whole thing on capes later.

Moving on...

Early Strahd von Zarovich was definitely Dracula by another name, but later art has been pretty consistently (from what I can see) this other red/blue outfit, with baffling ruby clasps instead of a single pendant around his neck.

That last one has me. To be fair, it's the only one gazing back at the observer... >.>

Look. This garb is sexy. It cannot be understated. While it's not what I'm going for in my own costume foray, this is a fantastic design. Here's why:

The line where blue meets red along his ribcage accentuates his chest. That same red draws the eye down over his crotch, subtly curving to accomodate his thighs. Those chains on his cloak and the sash around his waist are positively drippy, like the source of the Ivlis pouring down to the Tser Pool. The asymmetry of that and his mismatched shoulders gives him such a dynamic slant, something to visually climb back up like handholds on the face of a cliff. And the sash is supple, in direct contrast to his armored hips, solid and stalwart. His limbs are clad in slim nondescript brown, making it all the easier to focus in on his center, in high contrast dotted with solid rubies. The red and blue both, especially together, are blood colors, indicative of veins hidden beneath the skin.

He might be covered from toe to jaw, but this is an intimate costume.

Despite my appreciation for it, though, again, I personally am trying to make something a little less Lord of the Rings. For reasons.

So, let's see what I can come up with in terms of historical inspiration... if anything, lol.

This is going to be fairly stream-of-consciousness. (Not that it wasn't already, I suppose.)

The first thing that came to mind was a kaftan (or zupan?), because they can be fitted through the torso and feature a standing collar and embellished closures up the front. But, kaftans from Russia, the Ottoman Empire, and other areas touched by those cultures usually also have sleeves. I finally found the two illustrations below without sleeves, but they were difficult to track down and I'm not sure how much of what they depict is imaginary. (Although the sword, pouch, and helmet from the first one are definitely from an extant burial site.)

There's also the Polish kontusz, where the arms can be worn out of the sleeves, with the sleeves flipped back, and that can give the illusion of sleevelessness... A lot of examples I found of this particular garment are also open to the waist, which is delightfully provocative, but doesn't resemble the Strahd ensemble.

Examples from Chernigov (Ukraine) and apparently Moldova; a Polish kontusz

I can think of little source material for that long, pointed fantasy hemline, but allow me to grasp at some straws.

The straws in question.

Actually, this brings up a really good point of inquiry. Where does this drapery-between-the-legs situation that modern fantasy seems to be so enamoured with come from?

Tabards would seem the obious answer, but even that, in modern parlance, is used as an umbrella term for a wide range of garments that may or may not have any true basis in reality.

There's also just... loin cloths, I suppose, which can look like a piece of fabric just draped over the crotch and hanging between the legs, but there's usually more to it than that.

At last, after some digging around, I came across the video below. Bless Shad for his contribution to society.

It goes over all the the differences between those various styles of garment usually bearing symbols of allegiance all lumped together as "tabards", and presented me one more vocabulary word with which I was not yet familiar: the scapular.

youtube

Alas, monastic garb is my blind spot. Silly that I've played at least five clerics so far.

To summarize, I think the that the shape of the lower part of Strahd's... whatever-it-is... is inspired by a mix of these garments described in the video. It's short like a tabard should be, and has that dip between the legs reminiscent of a scapular.

But, ultimately, this thing is a waistcoat. Not a waistcoat in the Victorian sense; a waistcoat in the mid-18th century sense.

Monk wearing a scapular, and some fancy waistcoats.

Finally, the very-high standing collar on Strahd's waistcoat smacks of a couple things: Russia (again), or the Regency era. Although, in the Regency years, waistcoats became much shorter (ending at the waist) and lengthened up the other way with high standing collars. But, if you were to combine the two waistcoats above and throw in some suggestive high-hip cutouts like a 1980's leotard, you might come out with something that resembles what Strahd is wearing in all that sumtuous art.

The one with the sash really drives the comparison home.

With the initial kaftan comparison and this guy with the funny hair (a Count Vasili, coincidentally) above, Strahd von Zarovich's red/blue fantasy garb is also giving the Motherland, and folks, I already said that I was trying to keep blatant Russia out of Barovia (as much as that garb clearly slaps). But I also recently remembered due to this post that I am a total sucker for Russian pet names, so... who knows.

In the end... do I know what I'm doing? Absolutely not. I'm not sure which of these elements will filter into further consideration for my own Strahd von Zarovich costume, but I'm definitely glad I gave all this a look. Absolutely worth it. Learned a lot. ♡

#costume things #costuming barovia #strahd von zarovich #costume design #fashion history #costume history #curse of strahd #lamour dms cos #art analysis #art appreciation #ravenloft

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milksockets · 3 months

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brassiere + chemise, c. 1920s in fashion: a history from the 18th to the 20th century - kyoto costume institute (2015)

#my scan #fashion

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givemewallywestorgivemedeath · 1 year

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Wally was getting beaten within an inch of his life by mind controlled speedsters and all he could think was "Oh god, get up before Barry finds out!"

Because Barry had been dead for years. Wally took up his legacy but he didn't think he was worthy of the mantle. He didn't think he was good enough to fill Barry's shoes. There was time travel involved so Wally knew that Barry could show up at any moment and see him, half dead in a Flash suit. Wally was more terrified of Barry's disappointment than he was of death.

Of course Barry did show up. Didn't even blink an eye when he saw the future version of his kid. He just jumped in to help. You want to hurt Barry's kid? You have to go through him first.

Wally was devastated. He was a failure. Barry knew he was a failure. Worst of all, he was a failure while he was parading around in a Flash costume. Wally already considered himself the worst Flash but Barry had been dead. To Wally it was a mercy that Barry was spared the pain of watching Wally screw up his legacy. Until now.

Barry, of course, did not think Wally was a failure for not being able to singlehandedly fight 25 speedsters. He was incredibly confused why Wally seemed so... dejected and snippy.

Barry tried to compliment him, "you've come so far", but Wally took that literally, "yeah I came from the 20th century". Then Barry was worried that he had embarrassed Wally because Barry is an eternal dad.

The final straw was Barry commenting on the suit which was.... a sore spot. For multiple reasons. A) Wally changed the suit which would imply that Wally didn't like Barry's suit, b) Wally was altering Barry's legacy and, probably the most important part, c) when Eobard had pretended to be Barry he had used the suit change against Wally. Obviously Wally knew now that Eobard wasn't Barry but clearly the comments stuck.

Anyway, Barry was a smart guy and he knew Wally like he knew a chemistry set. He figured it out and set Wally straight. He was proud of Wally. He liked the suit. It was Wally's legacy too and he could do what he wants. Just classic best dad/mentor stuff.

And then he gave Wally a killer pep talk:

(sidenote: Jay is also the best dad/grandfather/mentor. Additionally I love that Barry talked about surpassing Jay in an attempt to make Wally feel better.

Barry saw Wally in action as the Flash and he thought Wally was worried that Barry would be mad that Wally surpassed him. The idea that he would ever be disappointed in Wally, even the idea that Wally would think that, didn't even cross Barry's mind. To him, Wally was the best Flash.

The faith Barry has in Wally is unwavering. It's so wholesome. Of course Barry was not wrong, Wally literally absorbed kinetic energy during the fight and stopped several speedsters dead in their tracks, a move that absolutely floored Barry, and then Wally violently exploded the ground with his vibrations to knock the rest of them down. Which again, made Barry go 'Holy shit what the fuck was that move??!?". So yeah, Wally had some serious skills and an advanced understanding of their powers that was way beyond Barry and Barry saw that. But Wally's a dumbass with imposter syndrome, so he was completely oblivious to it all and had an angst filled meltdown over disappointing Barry for being a 'failure'.)

#dc #dc comics #the flash #kid flash #wally west #barry allen #jay garrick

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xerith-42 · 4 months

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My Street Stoner Headcanons

This is part 1 in a series of posts I wanna make about different characters in the Aphverse who partake in the devil's lettuce.

Important disclaimer, I don't really like My Street! It peaked with season 2, it's got a lot of problems from day one that remain problems in it's sixth season, they manage to have TWO beach SEASONS and neither one has someone who was easily one of the main characters of the series it was based on, and it really lost the plot. Like way faster than MCD did. But there is stuff to love about it.

I love the idea of My Street as it was initially promised. A slice of lice modern AU of MCD that is a SLICE OF LIFE. No grand stakes of the universe, nobody's getting blown up (unless it's for comedic effect), and nobody's dying. It's about a bunch of young adults, some of whom have known each other since high school or longer, all living on the same street together and the day to day shenanigans they get up to. So basically Season 3 but the entire series is like that. This is my very long winded way of saying that none of the "lore" of My Street matters to me and when you read my headcanons, know that I ignore the canon of My Street more than I ignore the canon of Minecraft Diaries. I don't care about the angels, I just want to get high with my friends.

Anyways wanna smoke some weed?

Blaze is the main weed dealer of My Street. Man has both an indoor and outdoor garden with multiple plants. He and the werewolf trio all live together and they actually help him out with his business sometimes. It's the main way Blaze pays rent on their place and also just a great side hustle. Like Blaze never has to worry about money, and he's constantly giving free stuff to his friends if they want it.

His first ever costumer in the friend group was actually Aaron. The two got high in High School like once when Aaron was inexplicably at Blaze's house. He's still not entirely sure how he got there to this day, the whole experience feels very surreal and liminal. But he remembers how freeing it was, how much stress he was able to let go of. So when college is kicking his ass, he hits up Blaze expecting to just like share half a blunt like they did before, and then they hotbox Blaze's dorm with a gravity bong.

If it wasn't already clear, Blaze is the top stoner of the entire My Street Universe. Some characters are definitely more frequent users than others (we'll get to Travis), but for Blaze, I mean... C'mon. His birthday is literally April 20th. He's the stoner friends to end all stoner friends but he also gets weirdly emotional with people when they're high and basically makes his friends process their shit every now and then by offering to get them high as a stress reliever. It all started with Aaron showing up in his door, getting baked enough to see God, and then randomly confessing that he was actually a werewolf the entire time. Even though. Blaze already knew that.

And then Aaron confesses it to Irena (C!Aphmau) while they're late night gaming. Like she mentions that Katelyn's room smelled funny when she went into it the other day and Aaron instantly jumps to "I've gotten high with Blaze before." So she tries it out of morbid curiosity, and while she enjoys it, she ultimately decides it's not something she wants to do on the regular. Maybe for celebrations of like finishing a semester of college or finally getting that fucking promotion.

Katelyn definitely smokes it the most when she's living with Irena and Nana. Not having a solid job for a few months really fucked with her stress levels, even if she managed to make it work cause her roommates are awesome. But, she'll only do it outside or in her room and then instantly light a candle to clear out the smell, but they both eventually figure it out. Nana literally walks in on Katelyn lighting a blunt in her room when she's just trying to ask Katelyn what she wants on her pizza. There's a pause, Katelyn answers, and then Nana gives her a thumbs up and leaves.

The next morning Katelyn opens up the fridge and finds a small tray of brownies with her name written on the post-it note slapped onto them. Another note reads "For when you want to be subtle about it ;)"

Nana learned that she could put weed into butter and therefore she could make edibles from one of her sisters randomly showing up in town, dropping a bunch of life lessons and also useless bull shit on her, and then leaving and never elaborating. And the thing Nana mainly got from it is to make her own edibles because it's way cheaper than buying them. Nana doesn't smoke because she has asthma so this is like game changing for her.

She doesn't realize that she even has a chance to know who her dealer is because she's super paranoid about buying it. So she like goes through all these extra steps to hide it and hide her privacy and Blaze literally knows what she smells like and knows who she is, but he gets that people can be hesitant for others to know. Just strange that she's getting all weird about it when he and Katelyn were just hot boxing his car when she texted him.

Most characters have an experience like this. Trying it out for the first time, usually with Blaze or on their own, trying to hide it, only to stumble upon one of their roommates high as balls watching Lord of The Rings at 3 am and realize they're all a bunch of pothead losers and that's fine.

Blaze knows all. Like, he has heard everything. People feel randomly prompted to just start telling him stories from their childhood, confessing in the way of like "haha you wanna know something funny I never told anybody?" and then Laurance confesses he's been in love with Garroth since they were freshman. Or Zane confesses to really liking My Little Pony. Or Dante reveals that he's questioning his gender identity. Blaze just knows all these people on deeper levels than most of them realize if they don't frequently hang out with him.

And if they do, then they know that Blaze is no low level just grows for his friends and accepts tips. No, he's a full blown dealer. he's really strict about rules of wherever he lives, especially when he started dealing to raise money so he could pay tuition at PDH, he didn't want it effecting his family at all. and Blaze can literally chuck you through a window so it's hard for anyone to really pressure him into doing stuff he doesn't want to do. And all he wants to do is grow quality product for everyone to enjoy.

It's why his friends don't mind helping him out sometimes. Like Laurance comes over to his house to ask if he can use Blaze's three foot bong so he gets high enough his body stops cramping, but when he gets there Blaze has some classic rock on and he's just packaging orders and Laurance sits down at the table and joins him.

And while hanging out with Blaze, he always has just the most random wack ass stories. He meets so many strange people in the world, he travels a lot because he's technically unemployed, and he has the wildest adventures that people love hearing about.

Travis and Dante's house always smells different. If they're expecting company they'll use some kind of air fresher, or light candles or incense, or do something to get rid of the smell. But if they have nothing going on? If Travis is on break from classes to get his masters and Dante has the weekend off of work? That house is going to fucking reek for three days. They always take care of it eventually, but when they go on what they jokingly call their benders, they don't bother.

Due to this most people would assume one of the two of them is the biggest stoner on My Street (that isn't Blaze). Or maybe Katelyn and Nana. It's actually Vylad. He's just really good at hiding it.

Vylad got insane stoner rng and is able to be tripping balls and have no visual effect on his eyes. Like maybe they look tired, but they aren't bloodshot, even while he's sitting in a freshly hotboxed room. So Vylad likes hiding it because it confuses his friends and that's just always fun to do.

Despite being so judgemental, Zane oddly never makes any comment about this. If someone's room smells funny or Nana slips a special kind of butter into a batch of cupcakes and insists those are her batch, he doesn't say anything. It's not clear whether he's chill with it or not? Both his brothers smoke, even if Garroth is more infrequent about it, so maybe it's becuase of them? But even then he'll get upset at someone for something but not upset at his brothers when they do the same thing so??

Garroth asks Blaze if Zane smokes one day, and Blaze is just in shock because "You didn't know? Why do you think he wears the mask?" "Because he has facial dysphoria?" "Well, that, and because he can take a sneaky hit from his vape when no one's looking."

Zane has never forgiven Blaze for revealing his secret because now Vylad and Garroth keep asking him for hits.

If you have any specific MS characters that I didn't mention in here, or more in depth headcanons, feel free to send me an ask! I have. A lot. Of these.

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subzeroparade · 6 months

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What's a ballet with real snazzy costume work, in your humble and/or professional opinion? c:

Oh, you’ve activated my trap card - asking about costume design and ballet and not expecting me to barf up the entirety of my PhD. I’ve also done work on the ballet blancs costumes (Giselle and La Sylphide specifically) but they are interesting on a theoretical level and not so much visually, so I’ll skip that.

So here are some personal favs of mine - the highlights, if you will. Caveat: long post, and mostly limited to the work of the Ballets Russes, because they are my longtime obsession and I think (and have argued) for their role in fundamentally changing stage and costume design (to say nothing of dance, and George Balanchine can sit the fuck down). I didn’t put that in my thesis but I wanted to.

Anyway tldr in the first decade of the 20th century a troupe of dancers from the Russian Imperial Ballet (later the Mariinsky) travelled through Europe under impresario Serge Diaghilev, for what became known as the Saisons Russes, or Russian Seasons. They performed both opera and ballet, and are probably best remembered today (if at all) as the troupe that danced the premier of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and caused a riot at the Theatre des Champs Elysées. The eminent artists that worked with them include Debussy, Cocteau, Picasso, Chanel - and these are only a few recognisable names. But my focus was primarily on the Russian roots of the ballet, in their visual language and presentation of gender and nationality, more precisely around the work of artist Leon Bakst and dancer Vaslav Nijinsky.

Second image of Nijinsky from Le Dieu Bleu, and Bakst’s set design from Scheherazade (1911). These are mainly photos and scans I have from the year I spent in the archives of the Palais Garnier (the Paris Opera) where all the good stuff is.

The crux of why these costumes are insanely interesting to me is because they are very specific to their time - they are a product of a resurgence in nationalist interests in Russian art (Diaghilev ran Mir Isskustva and worked with Savva Mamontov before he organised the BR) as well as a carefully crafted, highly artificial presentation of Otherness, expressly destined for export to the west. French audiences in the first decade of the 20th century (because there is a stark cut-off at the beginning of WW1) still had an appetite for Orientalism, despite their flagging colonial power. What the Russians brought them was compelling mix of performative Orientalism just vague enough to be appealing and fantastical, visually intriguing, and refreshing to a society that had otherwise come to recognise itself as decadent, fallen “victim” to modernity. In the athletic virtuosity of Russian bodies, Bakst’s exotic visual language and the soaring music of Rimsky-Korsakov and Stravinsky, the French devoured what they deemed a sort of noble savagery (yes, that kind). Despite the oversaturation of Orientalism in painting throughout the 19th century, the French identified a kind of masculine vigour and freedom in these live performances they found they themselves lacked, and longed for. Primitivism, as demonstrated in myriad ways by the BR, was for them a way to reconnect with a virility that they felt modernity had stolen, or at the very least, weakened. If you think this sounds eerily akin to the discourse around mounting desire for war to “cleanse” or “reset” Europe during that same period, you are right.

A few of Bakst’s lesser known designs from the archive, for context (including a reprod by Barbier which I don’t have the OG of but is saved in my Bakst folder so please take my word for it). I have a thousand more of these but tumblr has an image limit per post 😤

Tamara Karsavina, who often performed with Nijinsky, and one of my most beloved historical figures. The existence of a strong classical ballet cirruculumin the UK today is in part thanks to her.

One of her most famous roles, as the Firebird:

Nijinsky is by far the most interesting figure to come out of the BR. He combined virtuosity and strength (that most audiences identified as masculine) with a glittering, joyful, and expressive queerness on stage (and off). Some of his greatest roles are expressly feminine in their costume design: Le Spectre de La Rose, for example.

There’s a colorised version of this out there where you can see every pink rose petal on him.

While others are much more decorative but still markedly Orientalist (or Russian-Orientalist): Le Dieu Bleu, La Peri, Les Orientales, L’Oiseaux de Feu.

This last image above is not, the last I saw it, in a private collection. It hangs above the vestibule of the Palais Garnier archives (also Napoleon’s private hangout room) where it faces the sort of “diptych” version that features Karsavina, and on occasion I would stand below them and weep quietly).

Either way, there is an argument to be made about Nijinsky’s physicality and, more importantly nationality as a kind of avenue of permission through which the French could admire both his beauty and athleticism and even, to a degree, imagine themselves in his place while still maintaining that safe distance of Otherness.

But I would argue that his greatest role was the Golden Slave in Scheherazade, a wild, erotic orientalist fantasy that has little to nothing to do with the actual tale of Scheherazade. In it, Nijinsky - bejewelled, wild, ecstatic, (and yeah often in blackface) - cavorts with Zobeide, the Sultan’s favourite, in a very sexually explicit storyline. Both characters are equally decorative in their costumes, and both, in real life, were recognisably queer(ed) figures. It’s Scheherazade in particular that helped accelerate an obsessive trend in fashion (Paul Poiret was at the centre) for Orientalist design. Bakst himself did some silhouettes that are hard to distinguish from his costume design, and through the remarkable illustrations by Paul Iribe, Georges Lepape and Georges Barbier, we can see some of the blatant repetition of motif and silhouette in these ensembles that are designed, among other things, to be worn to the theatre.

3rd and 5th are depictions of costumes of the Firebird and Zobeide respectively; the rest are fashion plates. This doesn’t even include the lampshade dress - which I don’t have a handy picture of, but have seen in real life - that is a pretty blatant melange of the Firebird and Zobeide, as designed by Poiret. Below is one of my favourite examples: A woman in a lampshade-style dress, standing against a backdrop not unlike Bakst’s set design above, attended by a archetypal oriental servant wearing Nijinsky’s Golden Slave costume.

These motifs also proliferated in advertisements and in all kinds of other consumer products (perfumes, for example, and decorative objects). Thus, there’s a performative aim in wearing these designs that I read as a sort of pseudo-kinetic empathy (and can funnnily enough probably be compared to cosplay). There is an attempt here to channel what is being presented onstage, to reenact it, to physically embody it, in the way that fashion is, at its core, a tool through which to construct identity. That the French pulled inspiration from an openly queer man leaping across the stage dripping in jewels, and from femme fatal-style odalisques, says a lot about the visual and cultural impact the BR had on the theatre-going public at the time.

You can see in these fan designs by Paquin some pretty obvious references to the BR aesthetic: L’apres-midi d’un faune, Daphnis et Chloe, Scheherazade, even a little Le Pavillon d’Armide in that first one.

Nijinsky was not the only one to queer the stage: despite not being a dancer trained to the level of the BR troupe, Ida Rubinstein, no doubt purposefully channelling Sarah Bernhardt, was also a beloved stage presence, whether as the sly harem favourite Zobeide or as the strikingly androgynous St Sebastian, gayest of saints.

This is not to say there haven’t been wonderful and brilliant costume designs since - and quite a few known fashion designers working alongside dance companies, to great success or otherwise. I will, however, shoutout my favourite contemporary work: Akram Khan’s Giselle, which has everything and yet nothing to do with Adolph Adam’s 1842 piece. I don’t even want to post pictures because the costumes of the nobles (the landowners, in this very apocalyptically late-stage capitalist version) are so fucking breathtaking in relation to the overall design, and their entrance itself is probably one of the most spectacular parts of the ballet, that all I can say is just see it. Or buy the dvd. What Khan does gesturally is beyond words, what Vincenzo Lamagna does with Adam’s original score is visceral and haunting and churns my insides. I make a point to see it live at least once a season when it’s touring with the ENB, and I will do so until it leaves the repertory or until I die. It’s my contemporary Scheherazade. It’s a gesamtkunstwerk.

Tldr Leon Bakst is one of the greatest costume designers of the 19th and 20th century and criminally underrated.

It’s not ballet, and it’s not the sumptuous costumes from Boris Godunov, but as a bonus here’s my favourite image of opera star Fedor Chaliapine as Ivan the Terrible.

#Thank you for the enclosure enrichment #And for coming to the tldr of my thesis #ballets russes #vaslav nijinsky #Leon bakst #fashion design #academic indulgence hour #Art history

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