A Smock-Frock from 1938

Today, a smock is understood as a variant of an apron – it is a loose over-garment worn to protect one’s clothing.  A frock is a now outdated term for a dress of any length or style.  Both terms may sound like something quite frumpy to wear.  Yet, I have the contrary to show as proof that a smock-frock can be fashionable.  Our modern understanding of many items we take for granted in common living are often sorely lacking in a realization of full historical context.  “Dig a little deeper” is my intuitive response after being an academic researcher for many years! 

In sewing, using vintage patterns is a good practice for opening one’s eyes to facets of fashion history previously either unknown or forgotten, as they leave enticing trails of interest in bygone definitions.  Recently, an old original 1938 Marian Martin pattern design I acquired and used for my early spring sewing has made me realize a new term – the smock-frock.  For as simple and unassuming as this newest dress project is (daily wear vintage clothes in comfy cotton are so handy to have in my wardrobe), it has certainly led me to discover yet another aspect from the annals of fashion.  Nevertheless, whether or not this dress taught me something along the way to completion, any dress that ends up being as easy to wear as a nightgown yet looks street worthy chic – with pockets as big as a small purse – is a winner in my estimation!

THE FACTS:

FABRIC:  a printed cotton

PATTERN:  Marian Martin #9602, year 1938

NOTIONS NEEDED:  all I needed was thread and some bias tape for some simple neckline finishing

TIME TO COMPLETE:  This was a quick project, made in about 7 hours and finished in February 2022

THE INSIDES:  I merely stitched over the edges a few times to prevent any fraying, and trimmed any fly-away threads from the fabric for clean but semi-raw edges

TOTAL COST:  On sale at my local JoAnn Fabrics store, buying 3 yards of this fabric cost me about $27

Happily, the seller that I purchased from studied up for the listing and included information from an old newspaper ad which was selling my same pattern.  Thus, that person’s amazing preliminary research is the only reason I know why Marian Martin no.9602 is called “a smock-frock” design to begin with.  Now, to appropriately continue my terminology tirade from above, a smock-frock is basically a centuries old garment primarily worn by British laborers and working class people.  Only in the last 150 years did it turn into a comparatively decorative garment to wear on its own for children’s play and ladies’ housework.  Smock-frock garments often had extensive embroiderd hand stitched work (for an alliteration of the word) to control the overall generous fit in precise places  on the garment.  This type of embellishment became highly decorative between the Victorian times and the 1930s, being more ornamental than a pure design element, and its popularity muddied the understanding of the term smock-frock.  

To make things more confusing, in the history of the clerical world, a frock is an outer garment…but so is an apron.  The Wikipedia page says, “It is uncertain whether smock-frocks are ‘frocks made like smocks or ‘smocks made like frocks’ – that is, whether the garment evolved from the smock, the shirt (or underdress) of the medieval period, or from the frock, an over garment of equally ancient origin.”  All this boils down to the fact that this late 1930s smock frock was a meld of the words, besides being a relatively modern take on two very ancient type of garments.  I am surprised this garment-related form of the term was even still in use enough for 1938 to add it onto the pattern description.  It is so close to what I would term a plain housedress, or even a hostess dress (which I explain in this post here) if sewn up of a decently nice material.  Smocking – as a style of stitch – has continued to be popular beyond the 1930s primarily on cultural inspired clothing or novelty designs as well as children’s clothes.

I am wondering if the use of this term here is because Marian Martin designs were something catered to smaller, rural town residents even though the parent company to the pattern line was based in New York City.  Living away from a big town can be someplace where old terms are still commonplace, so a smock-frock would have been well known amongst agricultural worker’s families of the 1930s. I do take note that the cover illustration portrays a young woman modeling.  I wonder if the design of this pattern would have been something that the older generations would have gravitated to before the youth of 1938 would have.  You can clearly see the Depression Era thrifty sensibilities in the fact that this pattern could be used to make several different designs – dresses with two differing necklines and closures, or an apron.  There are many possibilities here!  Marian Martin is a distant cousin to the lines of Anne Adams, Alice Brooks, American Weekly, and Laura Wheeler (needlework) – all patterns were owned by the same parent company at one point or another (see more info on that here). 

Having sewn a handful of patterns from this group of mail order patterns (my previous Marian Martin posted here, an American Weekly dress posted here, and an Anne Adams pinafore posted here), I have found them to generally run on the larger fitting size.  This one did not disappoint.  It was marked as a bust 32”, hips 35” and so I graded in 4 inches to bring it up to my size according to the instruction’s chart.  As it turned out, I had to pinch out a total of 4 inches overall as I was fitting this dress to myself during construction.  The realization of that blows my mind at just how large this pattern’s size was…lucky thing I was able to save this project from drowning me in fabric!  The hemline even came down to the ground on me according to the “dress length” as given by the pattern.  Refitting all the princess and side seams, as well as re-cutting the neckline and armscye made this easy-to-make design a bit more time-consuming.  It was still pretty simple to sew these adjustments because there was no pattern matching to worry about and I was fitting it along the way to completion. 

I knew ahead of time that the busy print would conceal the smock-frocks details, but they are simple and few so I was okay with that happening.  There are princess seams which divide the back and the front into a six panel dress.  There are big, generous pockets tucked in between seams to the front side panels just at hip length.  Then, the sleeves have puffed caps and a box pleat at the outer centered hem.  Finally, two ties come out from above the front princess seam just above the pockets so as to bring in the waist and shape the dress by tying in the back.  The attached ties make this dress reminiscent of a hostess dress, as I mentioned above (and posted about here).  It is the fact I have the ties – and the way I gave up fitting the dress to me any further after bringing it in by 4 inches – which lets me get away with no zipper or buttons or closure.  Contrary to the pattern, I cut the center back on the fold and lowered the V neckline so that this was an easy-peasy slip-on garment. 

A word or two needs to be said about my ascot neck scarf.  I made that, too!  It was cobbled together into being a long, tapered rectangle of two scraps leftover from making this sheer chiffon 1950s redingote.  A small French seam goes down the center to connect the two scraps, then went to my local sewing room and used their serger (overlocker) to stitch a tiny rolled hem edge finish.  I love making my own scarf!  It is yet another little but very useful outlet I recently discovered to use up scraps of lightweight material.  My neck is often chilly in both air conditioning and cool spring or fall days.  Also, my hair styles need protection from wind and rain, so I use sheer scarves a lot in all seasons.  This handmade version was just the thing I needed in lieu of a necklace or contrast belt to give my dress a splash of something extra.  It kept my neck cozy for these pictures, too, as the sunshine was warm that day but spring is still slow in coming here.  The neckline is pretty basic otherwise.  A vintage stick pin keeps my scarf in place on my dress, here tied in the manner of an ascot.

My fabulous shoes bring my dress way above its original humble smock-frock designation, but they are such a fun pairing here I couldn’t resist!  They are part of my latest and greatest shoe splurge purchase.  Miss L Fire Company was going out of business a few months ago so I *had* to snatch up several styles I have longed under deep clearance prices.  These are the popular Miss L Fire “Clarice” heels, made of color blocked leather suede panels with tie ankle straps.  These color blocked beauties make me forget I have heels on, but really elevate my outfit, as well as anything else I pair with them.  Just as I did with my scarf, I wanted to channel everything I love about the panache that 1930s street wear displays with killer accessories.  Even if this is just a homely cotton dress, I can show how versatile it is my making it fancier than it really is!  A great pair of shoes always helps in such a situation.  Believe me, there is no better company for statement footwear with high quality and superior comfort. Miss L Fire’s offerings are so well made and so comfortable but so standout chic, it is a true loss that they are relegated to the second hand market now. 

There is so much more I could have written in regards to smock-frocks, but I didn’t want to end up boring anyone and end up with too long of a post.  I have just found so much depth of interest in the history behind this basic little dress I whipped together!  What I didn’t mention above, is the irony of how it combines the masculine (through the working man’s shirt smock) with the feminine (a frock dress) in such a unique way.  Even still, the supreme mockery to my 1938 incarnation of a house-frock is the fact that it turned out so appealingly cute.  It is meant to be so utilitarian as to not give a darn about keeping it pristine yet I will be sad the first time it gets marred.  I don’t want to destroy it too quickly, but I also don’t want to let that hold me back from enjoying this dress whenever I want.  This is why I made it – to be worn, appreciated, and practical.  The print is so busy it shouldn’t be too noticeable when I do eventually end up staining, tearing, or otherwise using my dress as the pattern intended.  If this was going to be a true smock-frock, it was going to have to live up to its name and be a practical, work-horse kind of piece for me.  I always need these kind of clothes.  They truly do take a beating, though, but I think appear none the worse for their wear.  This mid-1940s dress is my go-to well-worn housedress, next to this cranberry cotton shirtdress, and my “Dust Bowl” Burda dress.  I am happy to have a real-deal 1930s house dress now, as I have only had ones from the 40’s until now!

I really hope to sew with this pattern again in the future using yet another charming cotton print, so this is not a one-hit-wonder here.  Perhaps next time I will choose the short, hip-length smock version that buttons down the back and has the Peter Pan collar.  Maybe I will just sew another dress version because it so handy and darn comfortable.  I also want to try out the “Edith Smock” from “Pattern Union”.  It is a zero-waste design with amazing details and a style strongly reminiscent of working smocks of old, only with large roomy pockets and billowy sleeves for the modern romantic in you.

I hope you enjoyed this little post on my smock-frock, and learned about a new facet of fashion history.  Please, give this post proper credit if you share elsewhere what you learned about here.  Also, remember to stay inquisitive and keep finding answers to the interesting questions of your own making.  Perhaps you will uncover something that will fascinate, teach, and entertain you just as much as I have found in the process of creating and wearing my smock-frock!

Hands for Love

There is perhaps nothing so expressive, so poignant, so telling of emotion as the human hand.  Some of the greatest, most touching pieces of art are of nothing other than hands.  Through our hands, we create a tangible version of those abstract thoughts and feelings inside.  Hands are instruments to write books or letters, perform music, form sign language, make art, and cook food to name a short list of the many varied ways possible to show the affection, communication, sensuality, and creativity we have within.  It never fails to amaze me that one of the most common, utilitarian parts of our body can speak volumes in the strongest yet most beautiful way possible without a uttering a word.  The power of a simple – even silent – “show of hands” as a public display of solidarity for change has been proved powerful and relevant with the protests of the last few years for racial equity.  All of the things I have listed that hands can do are each so closely untied to the workings of our emotive heart.   

Thus, even though I am posting this following on the heels to the holiday for romantic or filial love, I would like the feelings given by this blouse to be expressive of bigger affections.  I guess I’m wearing my “heart on my sleeve” through the interpretation of fashion by crafting a blouse which calls to mind the many symbolical meanings connected to combining both heart and hands (with roses, for good measure) in my chosen fabric print.  With a motif like I am using, my garment’s design called for a vintage reference in its style so I can go back to the era that understood how to sport an obnoxiously mysterious hand print with unabashed artistic license.

The art form of Surrealism really understood the natural connection between fashion and manual handiwork with the way it persists in having such an obsession with anything hand, glove, or finger-like.  The Surrealist movement gravitated to fashion as its most visually stunning means of expression, especially due in part to the famous and talented trio of Elsa Schiaparelli (designer), Salvador Dali (artist), and Man Ray (photographer) in the 1930s decade.  There isn’t one, clear message to anything Surrealist – the viewer can feel free to internalize within themselves the dream-like eeriness of its art for individual interpretation.  It is better to keep things open to the perspective of the viewer for profound topics in art or fashion.  For me, here though, things are a bit more precise because I have my own vision coming from the perspective of the maker and not just a spectator!  

Schiaparelli Haute Couture dress, Spring 2017

At first sight, my print immediately sent me back into my undying fascinated adoration for Schiaparelli’s creations.  Hand motifs are the trademark of her brand.  This will have been my third project directly inspired by things she made (my first being her “Metamorphosis” 1937 dress and duster coat, then my second her 1951 voluminous sleeved blouse).  Here I am using a year 2014 Burda Style pattern which has a subtle, timeless, 1930’s style with its creative paneling, fit-and-flare silhouette, strongly squared off shoulders, and clever use of godet additions.  I will explain throughout my post the rest of my specific symbolical ideas.  For now, let’s move onto construction details.  You’ll want to know how not only this was the most complex pieced blouse pattern I have worked with – ever – but also a one yard project!

My blouse is here paired with a true vintage 1930s beaded necklace, my maternal Grandmother’s old earrings, vintage 1940s original heels, and my 1930s inspired Burda Style “Marlene trousers” (posted here).  I was playing up the vintage connotation with this combo yet it looks equally on trend with a modern skinny pencil skirt and stiletto heels.  I even added a hand drawn temporary tattoo on my left hand using the Inkbox free hand ink pen.  It is a squiggled abstract rose alongside my thumb.  I’ll do anything for a thoughtfully intentional, carefully curated outfit!  I even succeeded in achieving a full wrap-around French braid crown with my hair – something I have seen on the models in some of the old high fashion photography of the 1930s. My mask is me-made of some dobby striped Indian cotton. 

Our downtown art museum was the location for our photos.  The sepia toned hand prints behind me are an exhibit called “All Hands On Deck”, a series of photos from Damon Davis printed and published as lithographs by Wildwood Press in 2015.  These images originated in the protests that arose after Michael Brown Jr. was shot and killed by a police officer in August 2014.  Davis photographed protestors’ hands held up in the “don’t shoot” gesture, now transformed into a gesture of solidarity, community, and a call for change.  These large scale photographs were originally pasted onto boarded up storefronts around town which were damaged by rioting.  The secondary background we used (seen further down in this post) is modern architectural blue Plexiglas boxes by Donald Judd, year 1969, and made for a good Surrealist inspired setting.  Nevertheless, I absolutely adore the connection created by me wearing my blouse to the exhibit of hand prints.  Symbolism like this is what I made my blouse for.  I couldn’t be happier with my new sewing creation!

THE FACTS:

FABRIC:  1 yard of 100% silk crepe for each the exterior print and the white lining; sheer contrast godet panels of navy polyester chiffon

PATTERN:  Burda Style pattern #111 from December 2014, the “inset blouse with godets” (also called “raglan shirt” #110 on the company’s German website)

NOTIONS NEEDED:  one invisible zipper and lots of thread

TIME TO COMPLETE:  This project was a time hog!  This took me over 20 hours to sew (not counting the time spent agonizing over the pattern and its layout on my material).  It was finished on October 22, 2021.

THE INSIDES:  My edges inside are raw but cleaned up nicely and stitched over to reduce fraying

TOTAL COST:  The novelty printed silk was a discounted remnant that I bought back in 2017 from a shop on Etsy which is no longer in business.  I spent $20 for the one yard, while the solid white silk was found at a different shop online for $15 a yard.  The poly chiffon was bought from JoAnn Fabrics for about $10.  Altogether, I spent about $50 including the zipper.

Honestly, for as much as I had a very certain vision of what to do with my printed silk and how I intended to interpret my vision, this project was one of the most challenging to achieve.  At the project stage, I could find a handful of patterns or design ideas which felt like what I wanted.  Yet, each time I found they would not work on one measly yard.  My lack of fabric was the major controlling/limiting factor here, actually.  I would have bought more from the shop but one yard was all they had left.  This was a skinny 35” width material, too, so it was basically the size of a large scarf square.  I knew a fill-in fabric would be necessary, which I wanted become a natural part of the design and not something due to my shortage of yardage.  A print like this seemed to me to call for a classy design with sleeves and full coverage with a touch of something unexpected.  Doesn’t that sound like quite a challenge to fulfill?!  Now you can see why I stashed this fantastic silk print for the last 5 years! 

I suppose I was unintentionally ‘waiting’ for the right pattern to fall into my radar.  My final chosen Burda pattern was a happy, if unintentional, find I came across one night browsing through my magazine while looking for another design I wanted.  It suddenly struck me, as I saw it in my magazine, that my hand print fabric would be a probable match for the design.  I especially liked how the sleeves as well as the main body, particularly through the waist, are primarily the print so as to give a cohesive appearance to the design.  This way, the contrast godets refrain from clearly advertising that I ran out of fabric (which I practically did).  Together with the modern-vintage flair to it, everything else I was hoping to find for my project ideal was fulfilled better than I imagined.  Some things in life are just meant to be.

The instructions by no means call for one yard, but it seems to my special talent – dare I say trademark – for squeezing the most unexpected patterns out of small cuts.  This was the most extreme version of that which I have yet done.  Every cutting line was the neighboring pattern piece’s cutting line.  The top and bottom hems were at the fabric edge.  There was a one-way directional print that needed every pattern to be lined up and running the same direction, though, too.  If I would have needed even one size up from the one which was my size (36 graded up to 40 for the hips) the pattern would not have fit on the fabric. 

However, the fact that the main body pieces were quite rectangular and relatively straight cut (thanks to the additional shaping the contrast godets add) was the saving grace.  The sleeve pieces (two-part raglan style for the loveliest shaping over the shoulder point) just barely fit in between the convex curves of the main body patterns.  “Silver linings” outlook aside, this tight layout did work me up to being a stressed, freaked out, sweating mess.  Using a special material always makes me pause for extra figuring to weed out any mistakes, but squashing in the layout so very impossibly was the “icing to the cake”.  I don’t want to be in this circumstance ever again but I am so thrilled it worked out I can literally tear up slightly just thinking about it sometimes.

Ideally, I wanted the contrast to be jagged panels to contrast off the delicate trio of items on the print.  The heart is a well of emotions which can be crushed, betrayed, and injured all too easily.  Hands can be an instrument in protecting or harming the matters of the heart and are the instrument through which we can feel sensory pain.  Roses may be the flower of love, but they have tiny, thorny daggers which grow along with their beauty.  To have the added godets pointing in towards my chest like daggers is the kind of unsettling message that I feel Surrealism – particularly Schiaparelli – would prefer and only strengthens the symbolism of my chosen print. 

These godet stilettos are merciful, though, being in a gentle chiffon, adding the softly shaping curves that the straight cut body panels need to contour and form over my body.  They hide a sensual little secret, too, as they are sheer.  The opacity of the dark blue together with the fact that I double layered every godet (so as to have a clean finished hem with the raw edge tucked inside) makes their translucent quality subtle.  I originally wanted a striking sheer blood red chiffon for the godets.  Going for a navy chiffon blended in with the background to let the red and white print stand out better.

This was a project listed on the higher than average end of Burda’s difficulty level scale, and I agree.  However, it’s not on account of requiring advanced skills.  Yet it is tricky and complicated, needing precision sewing and the patience to stitch many three point corners.  There are 9 pattern pieces in total that look terribly similar to one another.  These 9 pieces cut out to 18 fabric pieces.  Don’t forget that I doubled everything to 36 pieces because everything for my version is lined!!  This was such an ordeal to assemble and such a confusing jumble of pieces to keep track of! 

I did change up one small part of the construction assembly along the way for a smoother finish and finer detailing befitting my deluxe material.  I wanted something nicer than just conventional turned under hems.  Thus, before assembling anything, I sewed each piece’s hem wrong side-to-wrong-side.  Then, I sandwiched the seam, trimmed to ¼”, between the doubled up fabric (as there is a white lining to the silk and two layers to the chiffon godets) and did a tight top stitching at a scant distance from the clean edge.  Only then did I put the main body pieces together, followed by adding in the godets, setting in the side zipper, and tidying up my seams.  Achieving perfect corners every time was so laborious and challenging! 

Luckily, this was one of the very few Burda designs which fit me precisely with no tweaks to the fit.  I measured the heck out of the pattern pieces before I did any cutting of my fabric, so I figured such…even still, it was a pleasant surprise.  I recommend this – out of any pattern ever – as the one which needs to be perfect at the pattern stage because tweaking the fit after being fully constructed is very nearly impossible.  The sizing is extraordinarily good here for curvy bodies so trust the size chart and try this for yourself, as well.  A very supple and softly draping material (nothing too stiff) is important to choose here, though, to get the full effect of how the godets fall into themselves, or open up, depending upon your body movements.  Even without the unique print I chose I think this blouse would still be garnering compliments literally everywhere it is worn – which is the case already!  This is a standout, extraordinary design worth every minute and penny I put into it and couldn’t be happier.  I have plenty of lace scraps from my Grandmother which I am tempted to save towards another version of this blouse.  I would also like to try out the dress version of this blouse design at some point the future.

I find it ironic and confusing that among professional academic circles fashion is the most frequently discredited and underestimated means through which to express oneself.  Clothing is a basic need, just the same as being both the viewer and the spectator is a natural part of the communal human existence.  We use our hands to make and acquire our basic needs, and craft them (if we have that luxury) to our own liking.  Even the cheapest ready-to-wear clothing is made by human hands (in some degree), which so many people forget when they pay $5 for their favorite retail store leggings or t-shirt.  Garments necessarily intertwine both human expression as well as some sort of manual effort, so turning that into elevated, intentional art is only one step away.  Expressing ourselves without a sound and by sight only is a shared characteristic of both our hands and what we wear…both are influenced by the workings of our heart.     

As beautiful and meaningful everything else our heart through our hands can do, it is charity – love for our fellow beings  – that is surely the loftiest act.  With parents of both sides of my family dealing with the disfiguring effects of rheumatoid arthritis, I realize all too well that something as simple assisting with doing a button is one small but mighty act of kindness with our hands which can make a world of difference.  I realize, too, that both heart and hands of humanity can sadly also do damaging, evil, scheming deeds of mischief at an individual level as well and create terror and sadness in this world.  What have your hands done today?  How is your heart?  I hope this post finds you happy, healthy, and feeling safe.  I also hope this blouse project of mine has cheered your day, made you consider, and inspired you!   

My Victorian Christmas

The royal Christmas tree is admired by Queen Victoria, Prince Albert & their children, December 1848

The popularity of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” novel from 1843 is one a strong reason why Victorian fashion always seems to be the choice for a historical “old timey” flair to the winter holiday.  However, the celebratory traditions of the Victorian era do have a large part to play in the way Christmas has been celebrated in last 150 years.  The traditions of sending greetings to friends and family, caroling, the Father Christmas figure, glittering trees, and showy wrapped presents which spread good cheer and abundance were each not original to the Victorian era and were celebrated across the world for centuries before (in some cases).  Altogether, by the 1870s these practices were solidified into being one holiday, all thanks in part to the wide publicity of the way Britain’s Queen Victoria began celebrating Christmas with her family in the 1840s.

As much as I love the aesthetic of a Victorian Christmas, I have long been a confused but always captivated admirer when it comes to Victorian fashion.  What is with the big rear end?  Is it difficult to wear?  Why were the trained skirts so “extra” when there were dirt roads and hazardous carriage wheels to deal with? How can there be so many various trimmings (pleats, ribbons, ruffles, and beading) that actually look so good together?  Every detail in every fashion plate or extant original is so beautiful but also so unusual, with the fanciest Victorian ladies’ outfits a lot to look at, for sure. 

I actually have an original hand-tinted fashion page from April 1874 Godey’s Lady’s Book framed in my bedroom (see it in my post under “The Facts”) that speaks for my lurking obsession.  Did you know that in both 1850 and 1860 Godey’s printed an Americanized version of Queen Victoria’s Christmas scene with her family, and it is known as the first widely circulated picture of a decorated holiday evergreen in America? Art historian Karal Ann Marling called it “the first influential American Christmas tree”, and it certainly helped anchor the tradition for the Western Hemisphere by the 1870s.

I am a hands-on type of girl, though, and just admiring for years was eventually not going to cut it.  There was only one way to ultimately answer some of my internal queries and satisfy my fascination – attempt to sew my own Victorian wear.  My mom had recently given me her stash of historical costuming patterns, so I was conveniently set.  I figured Christmas was the best time to pick up this project for reasons listed in the paragraphs above, but especially with the local historic homes decked out in old time finery fit for a background setting which would be 1870s appropriate.  I also realized that I did not have historic clothing for the wintertime – the lack of which has now certainly been amended in the most fantastic way!

The recent purchase of a highly decorative vintage silk velvet jacket (possibly from the 1930s) which would remotely pass as Victorian gave me an easier introduction into sewing this new-to-me historical era.  Thus, for this outfit, I only had the make the skirt and the apron drapery which goes over the skirt.  The jacket gave me a ‘starting point’ idea to work off of, as well as having half of my outfit ready-to-go.  Luckily, I already had a reproduction blouse on hand, a 1880s Red Threaded corset, a lightly boned bum pannier, and my 1860s undergarments (made by me, yet to be posted) to help the rest of the outfit easily come together.  My Grandmother’s brooch pins down a lacey pocket square serving as a ruffled neck cravat.

Using the vintage jacket for my bustle set hints at a running theme I will be having here on my blog for 2022 – the revivals of historical styles which can be found in vintage fashion of the 21st century.  More on this coming soon!  On a basic level, the ‘not-true-Victorian’ jacket helped me remember to not be so hard on myself if I don’t get my first Victorian outfit perfectly historically correct.  Many of today’s most popular costumers are not strict about accuracy as much as I remember from being in re-enacting groups 20 plus years ago, but I am my own worst critic.  The older in era I sew, I want to be as accurate as is reasonable for both my means and my sanity (my Middle Ages dress is an exception). 

I acutely realize sewing is a journey and – especially for historical clothing – one can learn so much during the push to continue to trudge forward through challenges.  Looking back at the visible proof of that progress is something to be proud of, which is why I still love to wear things I sewed 10 and even 20 years ago.  I am confident this my first Victorian set will be very versatile to me, and be a work in progress that I will appreciate having made when I did…the way I did.  I have previously sewn and worn garments from the decades with bookend the Victorian era – Regency and Edwardian – so I am happy with anything fun, fancy, and swishy which fills that void.

picture of Lillian Robert from the DeMenil house

The location for my photos is the historic Chatillon–DeMenil Mansion, located in St. Louis, Missouri.  Construction on the house was begun in 1848 on a five-acre tract of the pioneer Henry Chatillon, somewhat famous as the leader of an Oregon Trail expedition.  In 1855, the house had then been enlarged to its present Late Greek Revival style form under the new ownership of prominent businessman Nicolas DeMenil and his wife Emilie Sophie Chouteau, the descendant of both of the founders of St. Louis.  Being a Victorian house, it was decked out in all of the era’s holiday finery.  I was so happy to hear the docent comment that I looked like an 1870s picture of Lillian Robert, the wife of the house’s heir Alexander DeMenil!      

THE FACTS:

FABRIC:  a dark brown herringbone printed cotton flannel for the skirt, with poly felt – leftover from this hat project – to support the hem (I’ll explain more about down below) and a 100% wool twill for the apron drapery

PATTERN:  Simplicity #5457, from Andrea Schewe, labelled as ‘Victorian 1880s’, from year 2003

NOTIONS NEEDED:  Lots and lots of thread went towards this project – I finished up about four 250 yard spools.  Other than that, I needed lots of size 2 hook and eyes.

TIME TO COMPLETE:  The skirt combo took me about 30 plus hours to make (a large part of it by hand) and it was finished on November 30, 2021.

THE INSIDES:  all edges are tightly stitched over for a simple edge finish

TOTAL COST:  The dark brown skirt flannel was bought on sale at my local JoAnn store for $5 a yard – with 3 ½ yards, my total is about $18.  I’m counting the wool apron drapery as free because it was rummage scraps I picked up as part of a “$1 a bag” second-hand sale of material.  All notions were already on hand, most from my paternal grandmother’s stash.  What a reasonable way to dive into Victorian dressing, right?!?

the Godey April 1874 print in my bedroom

For women’s wear, the shape and placement of the underpinnings, as well as the size of the overall silhouette, changes subtly but still significantly over the span of less than any given 5 years throughout the general Victorian era (1837 to 1901).  I kept close to the year of my bedroom’s Godey print – 1874 – as my main inspiration, because that is what I see on a regular basis!  Nevertheless, the 1870s & 1880s is often seen as the classic trademark look of the “bustle era” to the Victorian period, and veering closer to the 1870s suited everything I had to work with already.  I do think that the date of 1880 for the Andrea Schewe pattern is at least 5 years too late – the late 1870s shifted into a more curvy natural form look for a number of years before returning to the full bustle.   

From my research into bustle era looks, it seems my outfit is more of an interpretive mix of trends which ranged between 1870 and 1876.  My velvet jacket has a natural waistline length, with close fitting sleeves that are set in at my natural shoulder in line with pre-1873 fashion.  My reproduction blouse and my jacket both have fuller wrists, as seen circa 1873.  Hoop skirts were just beginning to be replaced in 1869, so amplified rear ends at this time (early 1870s) were rather tame compared to the late bustle era.  The overskirt’s apron fronts and draped backs were detachable and shorter than any overlay that came post 1876.  These details are everything that this Andrea Schewe pattern has, hence my skepticism of the cover’s date.  Nevertheless, all of these historical details also happily suited my working with scraps, using what I had, and trying make this outfit on a budget.  I still used quality fabrics which would have been utilized for a garment back then, and my entire outfit – inside and out – is cotton, wool, or silk.  My hubby actually found the fabrics I used for my skirts – he has been trained well to know what material I like and is an expert at finding a good deal!

It is actually a very versatile set for historical dressing.  I am hoping to make a different overskirt and more dramatic drape in the future, as well as a matching bodice, so I can turn my underskirt from the current “walking outfit of a comfortably wealthy middle class woman” into a fancier, trained outfit of a wealthier woman.  Yes, visible appearance of class status was what was done back then, for better or for worse.  Finding out about the way women of different classes dressed is how we study Victorian fashion today, and understand them when modern costumers choose what to recreate.  I myself like a more practical look for a lot of my historic garments.  I enjoy wearing things that might have seen more use and been worn by more people like me perhaps.  It’s all part of my “stepping back in time” idea, I suppose (which I discussed here in this post, already).  It is also easier to start off basic and work up to some intricate finery!  

The skirt and its apron drape were really quite simple to make – the hardest part was adjusting to a different silhouette.  All the accoutrements, such as the pannier for the bustle back, petticoats, and a corset, too, needed to be tied, laced, and hooked on myself in between construction fittings to see how my two pieces would work for me.  I had a good beginner’s outlook to power me through.  After reading a few blogs (this post was especially helpful), I figured out that the best way for me to approach Victorian bustle outfits were to view them as nothing more than a bodice with a two part skirt – underskirt and overskirt (which consists of the front apron and the back drape).  No big deal…they just require a lot more material and in much weirder pattern shapes than what I am used to sewing.  Once I got my head wrapped around the undergarments and foundation, then I could understand what my end goal was and not be completely mystified during the construction process of my bustled skirts. 

I wanted warm fabrics in a natural materials, so my basic underskirt is flannel.  My hubby found a flannel that has a wonderful two-toned herringbone weave.  This makes such a basic cotton appear as if it was a brushed wool, or a suiting, and provides interesting texture.  To continue the warmth factor, and level up the underskirt, the apron and its draped overskirt are my wool twill remnants.  I would never have used such a fine woolen if it hadn’t have been small, hacked up remnants which were completely moth chewed (it was like this when we found it, hence it was offered as good as free). 

I normally dislike using really nice material on historical costuming clothing mainly because I get sad over the fact it will not see much wear when compared to my regular wardrobe.  If an expensive fabric will help my project turn out a successful recreation of my ideal I have no problem diving all in.  It is all about give-and-take.  However, it is ideal for me when a fine fabric has existing issues too obvious for a more fashionable design.  The deep folds of the pleated apron front drape hide moth chews big enough to slip a pencil through.  It also hides the seaming I did to come up with pieces which just barely fit the patterns.  I had to improvise my own back overskirt drape because of the lack of material, too.  I really wanted something more impressive over my bustled back, but I am just as happy to have ‘rescued’ a nice – but damaged – material from the trash bin.   

The way the details are put together are a mix of finely done and rather unorthodox.  In lieu of a proper waistband for both underskirt and overskirt, I used brown satin ribbon turned under inside for easy finishing and for stability.  Cotton flannel relaxes too much to trust to just interfacing (I’ve learned) and there was nothing left but tiny scraps of the woolen.  All hems and top stitching at the waist was prick stitched invisibly most just because I couldn’t find a color thread to match.  I just couldn’t bear the thought of a harsh solid stitching line jarring my efforts thus far to make a nice historical outfit here.  The extra mile is worth it to me…which is why I also spent so much more effort on the underskirt hem than what would be expected just looking at it.  Again, flannel is awfully limp, and my skirt hem needed some body, weight, and stability.  I cut a wide 5 inch strip of felt for the entirety of the skirt bottom, and tucked it inside the flannel hemline.  I have read and heard from my fellow historical costumers that Victorian and Edwardian skirt hemlines could be stabilized with canvas, horsehair braid, or some sort of interfacing to help the silhouette of the skirt.  Again, I was just working with what I had available.  The felt does a great job at doing just what I hoped it would do.  For never doing something like this before, I was really overwhelmed at this step.

The jacket is a very interesting blend of the old and the new, too.  The exterior is an older silk velvet, I can tell, especially by inspecting the decorative stitching, but the interior has modern poly chiffon lining.  When I bought it, someone had done some very pretty creative modern up-cycling to make it what it is today.  Subtle brown stains, indistinguishable in the fancy stitching, makes me assume this must have had shattered lining and different closures and been in a rather sad state.  I was happy to see another sewist’s great job of mending and thrilled to have a vintage piece (at a great deal, I must add) which didn’t need me to find the free time I don’t have for garment repair…all I had to do was enjoy wearing it.

The apron overskirt, as it was patterned, has these peculiar but very smart back yoke panels which reign in the deep side pleats, keeping them smooth under the back bustled drape (attached down halfway, also for ease of dressing).  I like the way the smooth helps the overskirt fit and lay in an uncomplicated way, yet I also do not know if this is a modern adaptation or a true historical but little used overskirt detail.  I have not yet seen such a feature on any other Victorian bustle skirt patterns through other companies, or even extant garments, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t possibly out there and I haven’t yet seen it.  Other costumers or historical seamstresses, come jump in the comments and let me know about this overskirt yoke!

Perhaps the hardest learning curve of going Victorian was attempting a 1870s hairstyle.  I bought a 7 piece fake hair clip-on extension kit at 18” length to add to my existing hair and followed this YouTube tutorial from “Silvousplaits” (highly recommend, by the way).  I played around with my “new hair” for several hours the night before my event to get used to working with it, and so the styling as you see it here is my 3 third attempt.  If I had bought a 22” fake hair extension set I might have been able to try the second draped and twisted hairstyle in the “Silvousplaits” video or even had my braid go all the way around.  I used hair flowers to cover up the raw end of the braid, with all the pins I needed to keep the silky fake hair in place, and utilized a basic hair comb to hold the braid down at my top crown.  Victorian hair was fancy anyway, so I really don’t feel bad about having to use something extra in my up-do – the fake flowers and greenery add a nice splash of color in my half-fake hairstyle. 

Again, after explaining my hair situation, I am going back to my old feeling that Victorian fashion is so weird.  I have never before used fake hair and I am not used to having to use more than what nature has bestowed upon me.  Just based off of my experience with trying to re-enact the bustle era fashion, I can see why the Victorian period is often criticized as the era for keeping up unrealistic appearances.  My hair is half not mine, my body is restricted into a then-societal expected shape, and I have a fake caged booty.  What a woman wore back then told every spectator of her class, marital, and monetary status.   There were many wars and shifting of national boundaries at that time.  I would not have wanted to be a part of that era, and find it interesting in a different way than I do for the 20st century’s history.  I can’t relate in the way I can for the era my Grandparents lived through, but Victorian times had so many goings-on and such a shift in many aspects of life that the new Industrialism and colonial actions brought about…it is the history buff’s dream.  I like the fact Victorian times were the beginning of what we think of as modern living conditions, even if women’s fashion still had a good way to go before it too was ‘modern’.      

Perhaps a Victorian Christmas is too much for your taste.  Whatever way you celebrate this holiday, I give you my wishes for a happy, peaceful, and healthy holiday which will leave you with good memories, warm feelings, and a full tummy!  Yay – we made it this far through the year of 2021!  Now, for one more week to go so we can walk into 2022…  

Once Upon a December

Of all the animated princess which have graced the silver screen in my lifetime, I would like to say my favorite just may be one that is not even Disney in origin.  I’m talking about Anya, better known as Anastasia Romanov – the spunkiest, sassiest, most relatable animated royal heroine and one that has a historical basis (to some degree, as her adult life is the stuff of legends).  The last week of November was the annual anniversary since Fox Studio’s animated film “Anastasia” was first released for the entertainment of its audiences back in the end of November 1997.  Then, just last week, the palace of the last Russian Tsar Nicholas ll has been opened to the public, impeccably restored back to the time of 1917 so it looks just as it did when the princess Anastasia lived there with her family.  I guess I could have waited until the 25th anniversary next year, but after offering my “Pandemic Princess” blog series, and being a wholehearted fan of the animated movie, I decided now was the perfect time to finally bring one of her outfits to life!

I chose to sew a vintage version of the Russian tunic she is first seen as wearing in the movie when, as an adult (18 years old in circa 1927), she is finally leaving the orphanage.  She sings her first song “Journey to the Past” in this scene, the song that defines her hopes, dreams, and driving energy for the film’s storyline – the desire to find love, have a home, and connect with family.  She is the animated princess who literally had everything taken from her.  She lost more than just her memory by having amnesia (as the fictional story convincingly portrays) from a nasty fall taken while escaping the revolution.  Yet, no matter how afraid she was, she never lost sight of her belief in herself and her longing for belonging.  The jeweled “Together in Paris” necklace was her solitary key to a shard of a memory connected to the past she needed to reclaim.

That first song encapsulates why Anya is so appealing and inspiring, but the second song she sings later “Once Upon a December” while wearing that same tunic is a heartbreaking tune of her yearning under the shadows of vague memories.  Then, finally, when Anya agrees to go through with the scoundrel Dimitri’s plan to curate her into the princess ideal, she sings along to an upbeat song of family history and positivity in “Learn to Do It”.  As I did not have any snow or a fancy palace to channel the other two songs, I chose to interpret this last song…where balancing a stick on the head serves in lieu of a book to train Anya into walking elegantly.  Between these three songs, this is why I needed to make a fun (and a bit more fashionable) version of the oversized, torn, hand-me-down tunic that gets her through half of the movie.  How often does a princess get to sport casual wear that is this cute, after all?!  This is a whole new kind of a different vintage type of garment, and I love it – even if only for being Anastasia inspired.

My obsession over the Russian princess Anastasia is not confined to this sole outfit recreation, however.  On Instagram, I have styled my mother-in-law’s 1970s original dress to look like Anya’s blue strapless sparkle dress that worn in the animated film for her visit to the opera with Dimitri.  That scene is everything to me and just goes to show how the perfectly picked outfit for an occasion can literally make your man’s jaw drop…the most fantastic reaction ever.  Click on over here to see my second (non-me-made) Anastasia outfit for yourself!  Do I next re-make one of her late 1920s dresses from when she was spending a night of shopping and dining in Paris?  Or her blue collared “boat ride” dress?  Or one of her two golden yellow princess gowns?  Once I decide, I will be revisiting the fashion of the 90’s animated “Anastasia” at some point in the future.

THE FACTS:

FABRIC:  a 100% rayon twill

PATTERN:  a Lady Marlowe reprint of a year 1935 Simplicity #1908 sewing pattern

NOTIONS NEEDED:  Lots of thread, a dozen buttons (vintage ones were used here), and half a dozen hook-and-eyes.  The trim was a 1910 era antique notion, in a pre-stitched design on a 6 yard strip of loose weave muslin.

TIME TO COMPLETE:  The tunic was made in about 30 hours (a third of that time was spent on just the sleeve details), and was finished on April 22, 2021

THE INSIDES:  cleanly French seamed, with vintage rayon tape to cover up the bottom hem inside

TOTAL COST:  3 yards of this fabric was needed – it was bought at JoAnn fabric store for about $10 a yard.  The buttons were $12 and ordered through Etsy to top off an order so I could have free shipping.  The trim – all 5 yards of it – was the real cost at $67, and I only needed two yards, but I felt I had to get all or it or nothing.  If I divide out the cost of the antique trim, my total cost for this tunic was $70.

First of all, I want to clarify I’m calling this a Russian tunic because I’m merely using the same terminology as what is on the pattern I used.  If I wanted a true cultural garment I would have chosen either the #128 “Russian Settlers’ Dress” or the #116 “Shirts of Russia and Ukraine”, both patterns by Folkwear Company.  Even still, if you compare the line drawings for the traditional option through Folkwear with my 1935 fashion version they are really similar.  My version is slightly more fine-tuned and truer in styling to its release date versus true cultural clothing which is more timeless. 

An Eastern Bloc influence on the fashion of the Western world was popular in the 1920s through the mid-1940s, during which the embroidery of Hungary, Poland, and Slavic countries can be spotted on vintage blouses and dresses.  These loose and comfy but gloriously embroidered garments have been (and still are) callously coined as “peasant” styles by many.  Post WWI, the peasants suffered greatly under the many internal wars of the Eastern Bloc region, and millions starved to death in the 1920’s under state confiscation of grain and collectivization of agriculture. 

A Russian, Bulgarian, and Ukrainian folk influence was not as popular as the aforementioned “peasant” styles, and its decorated asymmetrically closing collared plackets were primarily seen on winter coats, tunic length blouses, and pyjama sets (for loungewear) in the 1930s.  The Soviet Union had been admitted to the League of Nations the year before my pattern was released, and the United States had recognized Stalin’s regime the year before that (in 1933).  No doubt the political and social-economic events of the time as well as the influx of refugees fleeing dangerous situations influenced an interest abroad in traditional Russian and Slavic garb.  Just the same as what happened to the qipao, originally from China (as I discussed in this post of mine here), once another culture’s fashion is imported in and adopted it becomes no longer purely authentic but a merging of expressions…for better or for worse.   

My tunic’s color scheme was chosen according to both what trim I could find and what Anya was wearing in the animated film, so this is not in the most traditional colors, but neither am I incorrect.  My trim is a true antique teen’s or 20s era addition to my tunic, so it is the real deal and not a product of my modern design preference.  It is in a counted cross-stitched design, so often seen on ‘Russian’ garments starting in the 20th century even if it wasn’t really proper to the culture (I’ll discuss this subject in further detail later on in my post).  So, whether or not it is truly Russian-Ukrainian, though, as it was labeled in its listing, is something I have not been able to clarify.  Either way, I think my tunic is a great homage to one of the great legends of history – the “what if the princess Anastasia had lived past 1917” story.  Influenced by the 1997 film, I would like to imagine she had a life of happy freedom, seeing the world and starting her own family with Dimitri (also frequently visiting Grandmother in Paris, of course).  Along those lines, I would like to think this is what Anya would have been wearing in the 1930s.

The tunic body basics were straightforward, but all the finishing and detailing work took up all the time and effort (don’t worry, it is always enjoyable, really).  Even with all the hours and hours of hand-stitching I logged for my tunic, working with rayon twill was a joy because it is the ideal blend of suppleness and stability.  The overall fit is a bit loose and forgiving (being hooked closed only to the waistline) and only needed to be tailored in across the shoulders and around the sleeve cuffs.  I love the little darted tucks which ever so slightly blouse out the bodice at the back.  Little points like this save the tunic from being a sack.  I also love the freedom of movement which is married to an air of elegance with the dramatically generous sleeves and fancy cuffs.  

The pattern was a reprint sized to just the measurement I needed, for a lucky break, and I have few complaints.  It was printed professionally, turned out pretty true to size, and all the pieces matched up very well.  This was my first experience with Lady Marlowe vintage pattern reprint company and I am pleased.  At the prices Lady Marlowe reprints are sold for, and the way they are so cleaned up to the point of looking more modern than not, I feel like I would be better served investing in a true vintage pattern – but I am a purist.  As I had a specific idea in mind this time, I was thankful to find a reprint which made something available to me which normally would not have been an option.

I felt like my antique trim as fated to be part of this project because it was exactly the same size width (3 1/2 inches) as the pattern piece for the asymmetric decorated front placket.  With the seam allowance, the finished edges just came to the outside of the stitched border to the antique trim, and I was ecstatic over the results.  So as not be overwhelming or confining to my neck, I used only the middle section of the trim for the collar to make it half the width as the front vertical trim.  For both collar and front closing facing, I had to iron on stiff interfacing to the backside of the old trim, and I felt badly adding something so modern and permanent to it.  However, the base material for the trim was a very fine and fragile mesh linen, and there was no way it was going to hold up through either the construction process or the a washing, even if I do so by hand. 

The underside of the stitching tells its story – I love seeing this!!!

I could tell from the backside of the trim that this was sewn by hand because the underneath was not by any means consistent, with lots of hanging floss ends.  This was real treasure I hated to cover up with the interfacing, but I realize this step was necessary to present a finished garment.  To think that this trim was done by hand blows my mind, humbling me and garnering my absolute respect for the maker.  Was this something which was worked in spells over months, with admirable patience?  Was the maker quick and efficient enough to do six yards in the first place?  What was this trim originally intended for, I wonder?  I have so many questions which will never be answered…I only know I am glad I have more to use on another project or just hoard for admiration purposes in the future.

Counted cross stitch as a cultural ‘folk’ decoration on a garment is often tied to Russia, even if the stitch itself has different origins.  The earliest fragment of embroidered cloth to include cross stitch can first be traced back Upper Egypt sixth century BC. It then flourished during the Tang dynasty in China (618-906 AD), when it may well have spread westward along the trade routes (info from here). In the centuries which followed, crossed stitching spread to England (old Normandy), medieval Spain and Italy, and then Germany and more.  In Russia and the Ukraine, cross stitch techniques began appearing in villages after the 1850s, being adopted by farmers from nobility’s and city people’s needlepoint

An example of Brokar’s stitch patterns. At the top it says “gift with purchase of glycerin soap.”

After 1870s, the French philanthropist businessman Genrich Brokar, with his Moscow firm of perfume and soap production, made a fatal hit to the knowledge and popularity of traditional crafts such as Igolochky (Russian punch-needle embroidery).  In order to attract customers, especially for his soaps, he included a free chart of a cross-stitch design with each sale of his products.  He hired his own artists to re-render traditional Russian symbolical motifs and simplify them to both please a greater variety of people and be easy enough for all skill levels.  Soon enough, Russian cross stitched garments became known as Brokar embroidered.  Before the Revolution of 1917, Brokar was one of the largest cosmetics manufacturers in Russia.  He had an ingenious marketing strategy that ruined how the world and even Russia itself sees its own fiber art traditions. 

Whether or not cross-stitch can be considered a true Russian traditional craft seems to a hot topic of debate on many of the sites for the promotion of cultural heritage which I visited online.  That being said, this is primarily how Russian and Ukrainian folk clothing has been decorated and understood for the last 150 years.  In honor of the 100 year anniversary of the Brokar cross-stitch marketing, the technique had a revival in the 1970s.

Even as I type that the cross stitched trim takes center stage for this tunic, my fun pistachio green vintage buttons are the close runner ups.  They subtly bring out the color of the trim, and low-key highlight the closure details I put so much handiwork into.  Doing a dozen chain-stitched thread loops (10 for the cuffs with 2 for the shoulder), sewing on a dozen buttons, matching up half a dozen hook-and-eyes under the front closure, and adding one large snap set at my neck all together took me almost as much time as it did to make the tunic.  It is a time consuming deal to close all those buttons, so – just as Anya did in the animated film – most of the time I flip back the cuffs for a casual look.  I love how the flipped back cuffs change the whole aura of the tunic.  I think it seems more Russian with the cuffs buttoned up because it is practical for cold weather.

These sleeves are so fantastic, aren’t they?!  They are like a cross-breed between gigot sleeves (also called leg-of-mutton) and bishop sleeves.  The giant puff sleeves literally are gathered in as tightly as they could go into cuff edges which stretch up to below my elbows.  It was as much of a drama to sew as it might look.  The skinny sleeve cuffs did not fit around my sewing machine’s free arm.  Even when I did manage to sew the sleeve-cuff seam by machine, the gathering was too tight for a good stitch.  I had to do the cuffs my hand sewing…wah!  The finished clean seams really add to the spectacle that is this sleeve style, though. 

Here – to be similar to Anya from the animated film – I am merely wearing leggings and ankle boots with my tunic.  Outside of these pictures, I will probably be wearing the tunic with a 1930s style skirt, either with it tucked in or sometimes not.  The pattern cover shows the tunic worn with a skirt, and it looks rather like something from the 70’s Disco era when I tried wide legged pants under it.  I appreciate that the pattern’s cover also shows frog closures as an optional closing method because it calls to mind the “merging of European and Central Asian traditions”, as Folkwear calls it, which this asymmetric-closing Russian style blouse (or tunic, in my case) has as part of its history.  The countries of the world are more intertwined than many of us consider, especially when you look at this fact from the perspective of a fashion memoir. 

Tunics themselves seem to an old cultural garment adapted by many nations.  They are flattering, versatile, and often unisex, besides being something modern, RTW doesn’t know how to create as tastefully as cultural clothing can do it.  All too often the tunics of today that I see in the store are terribly oversized, or in an overly clinging knit, or designed as if the body is something to hide.  There is a high probability that some part of whatever familial ancestry you most closely associate with has some form of a tunic as part of their heritage clothing.  This kind of tunic would be the very best place to start to find a renewed appreciation.  I am already used to wearing tunics in the Indian form of a kurta or kurti , so this Russian inspired one feels like a mere variant.  I am happy my excitement over the animated film “Anastasia” was a starting point for me to explore more tunics outside of India.  

It is not quite a dress, but it is a bit extra to be called a blouse…do you like tunics?  Let me know if you found the short history of cross stitching just as interesting as I did.  Also, I want to hear from any 1997 “Anastasia” movie fans out there – what were your favorite scenes, lines, or outfits?