Linen. It wrinkles if you even look at it, and when cut, begins to fray right away. Why would anyone use it?
Well, because linen is period correct - it was the number one fabric used in colonial America. (Wool was second, then cotton and silk.)
I've been doing so much sewing that I have used up almost my entire stash of block prints (I have one left) and cottons (three left, and they are earmarked for another project.) If I wanted to keep preparing for the Feast, it was time to break out the linen fabric in my stash.
And so I did.
This blue linen bed gown is the result and is definitely what I consider a practice or learning piece. I could handle the wrinkles (my iron is always hot when I am sewing) but the fraying was difficult.
18th century sempstresses and tailors either hand-pinked the raw edges of their garments or they used a pinking tool.
A repro 18th century gown with tool-pinked raw edges rather than a hemmed sleeve cuff.
Here is a photo of two authentic 18th century pinking tools (Google Images)
Occasionally you can find reproduction pinking tools on Etsy, but they sell out almost immediately. (The Etsy shop that makes them has had a "I'm taking a short break and will be back soon" notice up since 2022.)
I asked Brooke Sauter (head of the Feast as well as the Feast Sewing Circle, and a very accomplished sewist) for advice about working with linen and its incessant fraying.
I knew she had pinked a gown and asked how she had done it. (Above.) Brooke suggested that I make a template on cardboard and use that and then hand-pink the seams.
That sounded doable. (Heads up - it wasn't.)
Using a thimble, I traced it and retraced it on a card and cut it out for a template. Then, I traced that pattern on the seams of the sleeve cuffs.
It looked okay - definitely hand cut and in need of practice, but doable. (I thought.) I moved on to the other three sleeve pieces,
tracing and cutting and tracing and cutting, and...
An hour and a half later, the sleeve cuff seams were finally finished. Something that normally took me ten minutes at most. Even worse, my arthritic hands were aching and I'd only done four minor seams - the longer ones were still to be stitched!
This was not going to work. Even if my hands were not arthritic, the time invested in hand pinking every seam was way too long. I'd need to charge more than double what I normally do for a bedgown to make it worth the time I was investing in hand-pinking those seams.
Brooke had given me several options including sewing French seams and/or, if need be, using modern pinking shears.
I pulled out my modern pinking shears and went for it on all the rest of the seams that I sewed in that bedgown.
Not historically accurate at all, but rock and a hard place, right?
The linen bed gown looks fine but I will sell this piece for less because of the two different methods of finishing. Many, many living history people are on a budget and if the 21st century sewing method can't be seen (and it can't), then they will happily buy something. (I will disclose the pinking methods on the tag.)
I still have a lot of linen to use so I may try French seams on the next linen garment I make. French seams aren't difficult and, while they will take some time, they are not nearly as time consuming as hand-pinking. (My hands won't hurt, afterward, either.)
But they have their drawbacks, too. French seams are for use with very lightweight fabrics (lawn, chiffon, organza, silk, etc) and are not recommended for fabrics that are heavier, including most cottons and linens. And, French seams show on the outside of your garment and look like piping. I don't want visible seams like that.
Another option for sewing linen fabrics is a flat felled seam. It is more suitable than French seams (no piping look!) and will finish the edges without being seen on the outside. It's more likely that my next linen garment will be made with flat felled seams.
Finishing those seams in the linen bedgown almost made me cry uncle. But I've got ideas for the next time I make something from linen.
Take that, linen!
