A Ditto Suit: Waistcoat
Because I knew it would be the simplest piece of this project to begin with, I drafted the waistcoat first. Using the example found in Fitting and Proper, I traced out the waistcoat and began fitting. As a quick caveat: as I patterned out my pieces and assembled muslins, I did use my sewing machine for assembly of them. I'm ambitious, not a maniac. I started with the original dimensions, as they were quite close to mine in the first place, and what I got looked like this:
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Not too bad for a first draft. | |
I found the first fitting to be fairly accurate. The main issues were at the neckline (too high in front) and the armscye (far too close from underarm to shoulder in the front, possibly too open at the back). There was a minor fit issue around the waist at the back as well, one of those half-cosmetic, half-actual-fit types. I was able to make the adjustments I wanted to by simply cutting down the pieces I was already using.
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The back armhole still needed increased in size a little, but I made a note to change that when tracing the pattern out. |
Satisfied with my fit, I disassembled my muslin and traced my pattern pieces out onto paper, adding markings for pockets and buttonholes. This may not sound like a step worth making note of, but I truly never remember to do this, simply taking my successful muslin and cutting the fashion fabric out, then using the muslin as my lining fabric. It's worth noting the day I finally got smart.
As I began actual assembly, I opted to start on the waistcoat first. It is the simplest of the pieces, and also it was on the top of the stack of pattern pieces. I got the front facings stitched on, and then I was lured away by the breeches. I came back to the waistcoat after a few weeks (which is how long it took me to achieve success with the breeches--gory details in their own post), and the next step was to set in the pockets.
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Pocket basted onto the front of the waistcoat (yes, I made the opening too large). |
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Pocket flap being stitched on. I omitted the button closure of the original as I was tired of the very thought of buttons. |
To assemble the two waistcoats into one, I looked to instructions other than those in Fitting and Proper. The instructions there are perfectly useable, but leave a lot to be filled in on one's own. Because a large part of my goal for this project was to learn new skills and means of construction, I didn't want to simply piece it together from my modern knowledge. Thankfully, friends recommended a fantastic resource on waistcoat construction, a thesis from Virginia Commonwealth University titled Eighteenth Century Men's Civilian Waistcoats (Frances Burroughs Loba, author). It is available as a free pdf online, and was an excellent resource. The construction was surprisingly like modern construction to start: sew the lining pieces together into a vest, sew the fabric pieces into a vest, and then sew together. The difference lay in putting fabric and lining together. In modern construction, we would go right sides together and turn, finishing armholes and other unfinished edges by sandwiching the seam allowances inside and sewing. In eighteenth century construction, the whole vest is assembled in the "sandwich" manner.
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Backs pinned and ready to be sewn |
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For some reason, I couldn't get the pieces to line up properly. I realized my mistake before I started backstitching, thank goodness. |
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Waistcoat with all edges turned under and basted. |
I used a spaced backstitch to sew the waistcoat lining and exterior together. Thanks to sewing Tuesdays with a friend, it took no time at all to complete this step. A final fitting confirmed that nothing had shifted after putting the lining and fabric together, and then it was time for buttons and buttonholes.
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Sewing the waistcoat inners and outers together |
After making the breeches buttons, I had decided to use metal buttons for the frock coat and possibly for the waistcoat. However, some careful research and discussion indicated that a true ditto suit (insofar as I was able to discover) had matching buttons throughout. Making buttons was the most distasteful part of the process for me, but I chose to undertake the challenge. If I "cheated" things, I knew that any joy in completion would be tinged with regret at taking the easy way out. That meant more buttons. For some reason, I didn't struggle as badly with the waistcoat buttons. Perhaps I had my system down and was able to get in a rhythm more quickly. Whatever the reason, I completed the buttons for both waistcoat and frock coat in a few hours.
The next hangup was buttonholes. I put this off for literally A WHOLE YEAR. As I came up on the one year anniversary of beginning this project, I realized that I had let distractions and nerves get the best of me when I was so close to the finish line. I picked things up here and there, but finally got to work. I did the breeches first, and then came to the waistcoat. I had a truly atrocious time: because of the way the grain lay on the worsted, the fabric frayed like mad. I basted and used Fray Check, but it still didn't help. On the advice of a friend, I ended up going over the buttonholes twice, still to no avail. These buttonholes are hideous but functional. Thankfully their roughshod appearance isn't obvious unless you get extremely close.
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It's a poor quality image, but you can see the difference in fraying between the facings (L) and front (R). |
It was a relief to have them done, but this issue definitely dampened my mood. I know that this was my first time tackling such an ambitious project, and worsted wool stuff is prone to fraying, no matter how expert you are. That didn't stop the perfectionist in me from getting insanely critical and even considering not sharing the ditto suit at all for fear of everyone seeing and criticizing the flaws and my skills as a seamstress. I fought back against the anxiety, and continued to document this project here on my blog.
The last piece to complete was the frock coat.
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