So, I decided to tackle a Rococo outfit. Seemed like a fun idea at the time, right? Wrong. Well, not entirely wrong, but man, it was a journey.
Getting Started – Or So I Thought
First off, you don’t just “make a Rococo dress.” Oh no. It’s like an onion, or maybe a medieval siege weapon, layers upon layers. I dived into research, pictures everywhere, and quickly realized this wasn’t going to be a weekend project. More like a “clear my schedule for the next few months” kind of deal.
I figured, okay, start with the foundations. Stays. That’s what they called corsets back then, more or less. Sounded simple enough. I got a pattern, some coutil, and a whole bunch of steel boning. Let me tell you, wrestling that fabric and boning into submission was a battle. My sewing machine probably hates me now. And the eyelets! So. Many. Eyelets. My thumbs were sore for days.
The Shape of Things to Come
Next up: panniers. Those crazy wide hip things. I thought, “how hard can it be? Just some fabric and hoops.” Famous last words. Getting that iconic shape, making sure it didn’t collapse or look lopsided, that took some serious trial and error. I swear, I had enough mock-ups to outfit a small army of oddly shaped ghosts. My living room looked like a historical undergarment factory exploded.
And you can’t forget the chemise and petticoats. More layers! Simple enough, thankfully, after the pannier saga. Just a lot of fabric. So much fabric. I think I single-handedly kept a linen shop in business for a week.
The Main Event – The Robe à la Française
Then, finally, the gown itself. I went for a Robe à la Française, because why not go for the most complicated one, right? I found this amazing silk, a bit pricey, but I told myself it was an investment in my sanity. Or maybe a testament to my insanity, one of the two.
Cutting into that silk was terrifying. Measuring once, twice, ten times. The sheer volume of fabric was something else. It draped over every piece of furniture I own. Sewing those watteau pleats at the back, that was an exercise in patience. And pins. So many pins. I probably still have some embedded in my carpet.
- Figuring out the bodice fit over the stays.
- Making the sleeves, with all their ruffles. Engageantes, they call ’em. Fancy.
- The stomacher! A whole separate decorated panel for the front. More decisions!
And the decoration! Rococo is all about the frills, the bows, the lace, the ribbons. I spent hours, literally hours, hand-sewing lace and making little silk flowers. It was kind of meditative, in a “I might be losing my mind” sort of way.
Why Did I Even Do This?
You’re probably wondering why I’d put myself through all this. It wasn’t for a fancy dress party, not really. Truth is, I was going through a bit of a rough patch. My old job had gone belly-up, real sudden like. One day I’m coding away, next day, “sorry, department’s gone.” Just like that. Left me feeling pretty useless, staring at the walls a lot.
I needed something. Something complicated, something to totally absorb my brain so I wouldn’t just mope around. I’d always liked historical stuff, and Rococo just seemed so over-the-top, so completely different from my day-to-day (or lack thereof, at that point). It was either this or learn to bake sourdough, and I’m terrible at baking.
So, this Rococo project became my weird, frilly therapy. Every seam I sewed, every ribbon I tied, it was something I made, something I controlled, when everything else felt out of control. It was a pain, sure, but it was a productive pain. And way cheaper than actual therapy, probably.
The Grand Finale?
So, after weeks, maybe months (I lost track, honestly), it was… done. Standing there, in all its poufy glory. Putting it all on was an adventure in itself. Lacing the stays, tying on the panniers, wrangling the dress. I felt like I needed a team of ladies-in-waiting.
Did it look good? Yeah, I think so. For a first serious attempt, not bad. It’s definitely a statement piece. Was it comfortable? Heck no. But that wasn’t the point, was it?
So that’s my Rococo saga. A ton of work, a lot of frustration, but hey, I made a thing. A ridiculously impractical, historically inspired thing. And it got me through a weird time. Now, what to do with a full Rococo outfit just hanging in my closet… that’s a whole other story.
