A ring of pale mushrooms sprang up with the morning dew, and tonight you’re going to fly and whirl in a mad fairy dance. What if you want to honor the occasion but don’t have time for a full wardrobe refresh? You could turn up in a filmy gown made from flower petals and fervent wishes, as usual, or make a statement by doubling down on fungal fashion. You can collect some fantastic accents and accessories on your way to the fling.

• The mushroom hat is a fae wardrobe staple, whether it’s a warm brown-gray or a flashier amanita red with white flecks.And you don’t have to stop at one shroom—try piling them on top of each other till one big cap is covered in dozens of tiny ones, or wear them in bands and swirls for crowns and tiaras, like the forest lovers in our “Mushroom Maidens” feature.

• For highlights to cheeks, eyes, or any feature you want to render especially fetching, rub the desired areas with a sample from your favorite bioluminescent species. We recommend Mycena pura, Britain and Ireland’s lilac bonnet, for gentle purple shades. North America’s multi-lobed bitter oyster, Panellus stipticus, is a classic for the green tones Titania favors. It’s one of the brightest of the approximately 70 to 125 species of glowing mushrooms on the planet.
• Bitter oysters and their kin also make bewitching jewels for eyebrows, fingers, and wrists. The fungi themselves are able to control the amount of light they shed using enzymes that react to oxygen.
• Your favorite skirt might already imitate a mushroom cap, with a smooth outer layer supported by a full understructure of ruffly gills. Why not experiment by adding plenty of petticoats and frilly bracket fungi (trending now: turkey tails and oysters)—some of which come in fantastic bright colors?
• Someday even the fabric a human designer uses might be made of fungus. Scientists have discovered a way to spin the chitin and chitosan in some species’ cell walls into weavable threads.
• It’s a great time to play with textures. Nothing looks more chic than a morel’s brainy whorl set as an accent at wrists and neck, and many other species make their own fungi fur. Try a shaggy ink cap (Coprinus comatus): As it matures, the “fur” on top gets longer and lusher, with smoky lowlights around the base of the white shag. You’ll need to dry it out well before use, but do save the ink to pour where you want your next colony to grow, because it carries the mushroom spores. And the Coprinus absorbs heavy metals from the soil, so it’s an extra-eco-friendly resource.
• If you misplace your hat on a bright day, pluck a wide-capped mushroom to make your own shade. We like Macrolepiota procera, appropriately known as the parasol. It starts out ethereally delicate, then matures into a big, robust fruiting body with a shaggy-barked top.
• When you’re all zhuzhed up and in the fairy ring at last, you’ll find the mushrooms around the edge also make natural seating for fairy confabs. Their cushiony flesh conforms to your flesh for a good rest after a wild dance or a long spin around the circle.
• You might even want to drape yourself and your mushroom finery over one of them for your own communion rite. Turn your face to the sky and drink in the moonlight while your friends twirl the night away. You and your finery will be gone in the morning.

Art: Mother Mushroom With Her Children (c. 1900), by Edward Okun. Image courtesy Art Renewal Center.

You’ve likely seen Son de Flor’s romantic, timeless silhouettes all over social media (if not inside your own), but did you know that the first Son de Flor dress was created by two sisters in honor of their own queen—their mother, that is, who often wore a certain beautiful dress with a twirling skirt and Peter Pan collar? This iconic dress, and the way it made their mother even more radiant when she stepped into it, captured the sisters’ imaginations so much so that years later they replicated it in linen, called it a classic dress, and created a whole fashion brand around it.

Son de Flor—based, like the sisters, in Lithuania—has grown to nearly two dozen employees. Nearly all of them are women, except for one seamster and one male dog (who’s outnumbered by two female dogs!), not to mention the occasional child. All their dresses are born from this female, creative, sometimes chaotic energy, which not only honors the iconic, bygone dress of one mother but a humble, sustainable fabric—linen—provided by another kind of mother. Linen, which comes from the flax plant that’s native to Lithuania and its culture, is “fabric that our Mother Earth gifted to us hundreds of years ago” that has “qualities that are continuously important still today,” they say.

From it, they continue to make magic.

*From now until the end of 2024, use discount code QUEEN15 for 15% off non-discounted items.

Feature Image:
Priscilla Hernandez

Enchanting clothing for the modern witch or fairy has gotten far easier with the internet—especially with trends like “whimsigoth” and “witchcore” on TikTok and the Daily Faeshion Facebook group giving you all kinds of ideas. But it’s still hard to know what to wear in the summer. For example, many of the suggestions involve velvet, dark colors, and tons of layers, which are all pretty much the last things you want to wear if it’s sweltering outside!

In the 1810 ballad collection Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, editor R.H. Cromek wrote that Scottish fairies tended to wear “mantles of green cloth, inlaid with wild flowers” and “green pantaloons, buttoned with bobs of silk, and sandals of silver.” Though the ballads included in this collection are of dubious origin (many were likely the work of poet Allan Cunningham), Cromek’s description of fairy clothing is pretty spot on, traditionally speaking, and we think it makes great inspiration for magical summer wear.

To start, embracing the color green in summer works well no matter if you lean more toward the witch or fairy side of dress. Summer is the time of vibrant green grass and tree leaves—it is the color of life thriving everywhere you look. Folklore frequently associates the color with the fae, but you can make it witchwear too if you go for the hedge witch aesthetic: Lightweight fabrics in the color and leafy, mossy accessories are good places to start.

If you’re thinking you still want to embrace some layers, we recommend white lace. White is also a common fairy color, and it will keep you much cooler than layers of other colors would.

If your witchy heart says No, thank you—all black, all the time, we get it—we’re frequently in the same boat ourselves. Lightweight black cotton and black lace are great summer staples. Go for short styles or tea-length rather than floor-sweeping hems to survive the heat, and create texture and visual interest with jewelry instead of adding more fabric or layers.

Next, while it may be a little bit difficult to create garments “inlaid with wild flowers,” you can embrace wearing flowers in other ways. Fantastical prints, floral jewelry, and even a flower crown can evoke the magic of both spring and summer. We tend to like the brighter, bolder colored flowers in the summer—we’re talking sunflowers, hibiscus, marigolds, phlox, coneflowers, and zinnias. Last, we highly recommend those silver sandals Cromek talks about. Sandals are made for the summer, and having some with a bit of shimmer, shine, and glitter can take your outfit from mundane to magical instantly. If silver’s not your thing, pretty much any metallic color can work. We’re especially fond of the ones that wrap a bit up your leg—they always seem a little extra ethereal!

During the time of year that most people want to dress lightly for comfort, you don’t have to sacrifice your magical style. What do you have in your closet already that might add that little spark to your summer wear? Be creative—you never know what you might come up with when you keep your most enchanted self at the forefront of your mind.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SABRINA L. GREENE

Photographer Sabrina L. Greene was driving by her local dentist’s office in Waynesville, North Carolina, late last summer when she was struck by the beauty of the massive strawberry vanilla hydrangeas out front. Frost was quickening the next week, so she decided to save them. After contacting the office for permission, she and her husband spent an entire week harvesting and preserving the blooms. It took them a whole week of work in the evenings to hang them to dry, and they ended up with more than 630 flowers.

Meanwhile, in Maryland, artist Brenna Mills was also gathering and drying hydrangeas. When the online friends realized their mutual obsession, they hatched a plan for a photo-shoot meetup. Mandy Tweed of Mountain Flower Fantasies agreed to create a fae-worthy gown, and after hand-dying and cutting fabric, she mailed remnants to Mills for her to use in creating “a Southern-garden-style witch’s hat that would make Aunt Frances and Aunt Jet proud.” Inspired by Kirsty Mitchell’s amazing photography, Mills (and her late grandfather’s glue gun from the 1980s) created the hat seen here, with dried hydrangeas spilling forth and over the brim.

In the midst of this hydrangea madness, Dallas and Andrea Eubanks imagined summer bursting from a fireplace as a summer witch longed for the season and nature rewarded her by blooming indoors. Summer blessed the witch’s hat and adorned it with flowers.

And so this Hydrangea Witch was born.

Photographer: Sabrina L. Greene Photography @sabrinalgreenenc
Photographer Assistant: Sara Cline
Model/Hat Design: Brenna Mills @thewillowandthevine
Gown Design: Mandy Tweed of Mountain Flower Fantasies @mountain.flower.fantasies
Venue Host: The Yellow House Bed & Breakfast, Waynesville, North Carolina @theyellowhousenc
Set Design/Makeup: Dallas & Andrea Eubanks @dallaseubanks and @you_can_call_me_dre

Now that the weather’s warm and we’re trading in our felted, velveteen, and otherwise weather-inappropriate headwear for straw …. we thought we might need some tips for putting our best feet forward. We asked our friends at Evercrumbly & Witch, alternative millinery extraordinaire (and beloved by witches everywhere), for some summertime fashion advice! Owner and designer Jamie Addington lovingly obliged.

• Summer has arrived! It’s time for sundresses and picnics by the lake! Don’t take your hat decor too seriously. Summer is about fun. How about some faux berries or a cluster of colorful silk wildflowers?

• Trim the dead weight! A fancy formal hat can have all the bells and whistles, but when choosing decor for your summer hat remember to choose lightweight pieces. You don’t want a heavy hat while you frolic through the flowers!

• Summer also means beach days. Consider a tie to secure your hat from those pesky summer breezes!

• Keep your cool! Natural fibers and open weaves will always be cooler than artificial. Keep nature in mind when choosing your hat.

• Try something new. Sometimes a new color, or a style you don’t usually wear can make you feel like a whole new person. It’s summer. Go for it!

• Summer adventures can be messy! Remember to give your hat a good brushing with a soft bristle brush (I recommend boar bristle or similar) after your adventures to keep it clean and looking new for years to come.

Follow Evercrumbly & Witch on Instagram @evercrumblyandwitch or visit evercrumblyandwitch.com to see their latest creations.

“This piece was inspired by the old chestnut tree out in front of my cottage. The moist Irish weather forms the perfect climate for a whole micro ecosystem to thrive on its trunk. All the layers of mosses, lichens, ferns, and foliage combine to create some wonderful textures. I can only imagine all the magical creatures that call this place their home.”

Featured:

Title: Fern Corset
Artist: Rainbow Curve Corsetry @rainbowcurvecorsetry
Materials and techniques: coutil, moiré silk, felt mushrooms, hand embroidery, beading, free-motion embroidered moth, silk ivy leaves

Feature Image:
Shadow Puppets bustle jacket by Kambriel, made from intricately woven brocade accented with artful pleat work and ribbon tendrils
Paper Angel mask by Phillip Valdez
Portrait of Rhienium by Elisa Lazo de Valdez

If the gothic—an aesthetic made of both the somber and the fantastical—were to be represented by fabric, it would be a combination of sumptuous crushed velvet catching the light in fluid cascades both shimmering and deep, antique tattered lace woven with an intricacy as fine and alluring as spiderweb, and ghostly silk chiffon that seems to float ethereally on its own, casting delicate shadows with even the subtlest of movements. These threads embody the rich decadence of glories past as well as the fragile decay of the passage of time. The gothic as an aesthetic skillfully weaves incomparable delicacy and depth to convey an intimate chiaroscuro of shadow and light.

If gothic were a scent, it would perhaps best be captured by the dark and heady nostalgia of clove, combined with a bouquet of amaranthine flowers that live only in the timeless realm of   our most closely held wishes and memories. While countless other aesthetics have come and gone, in the gothic there is something vastly more enduring—indeed, something of the eternal. It’s a haunted aesthetic, comfortable with its ghosts and other immortals. After all, ghosts and vampires, yokai, banshees, and the like are a natural fit for the gothically inclined, for they too dwell in shadows, with movements guided by darkness, seeming somehow to exist in a different time and place than those surrounding them. Their memories, their pains and passions all run deep, so deep even death itself is not enough to subdue them.

A cornerstone of gothic is finding beauty in the darkness.  There is, after all, much elegance to be found in the macabre. Imagine a delicate footstep cushioned by the loamy soil of a seaside graveyard enshrouded in a cold, billowing mist. A late-night drive amidst faraway mountains while an all-encompassing music fills the air and wild winds blow through your unbound hair. Envision the stark silhouettes of trees grasping ever outward with sharply branched, skeletal hands. This is a world where even sullen skulls are not feared or shunned, but viewed as revered companions and carriers of the wisdom of the ages.

Some cathedrals are historically Gothic in an architectural sense, but those which have become truly gothic in their essence now lay half in ruin, with lofty roofs transformed through time into something loftier yet. A space that once served as a grand and holy enclosure has now—through some element of destruction, whether an abrupt tragedy of fire or gradual deterioration of centuries of neglect—opened itself anew to the greater sky beyond. In joining the art of humankind with the art of Nature, an even more sacred space is created where one can stand within the once hallowed, now hollowed, interior framed by filigree walls. Once where there were heavy archways of stone, now one can find clouds, moonlight, and stars. After all, no painted mural on a ceiling could ever truly match the majestic grandeur of an infinite parade of stars shimmering overhead.

Gothic dance resembles an elegantly somber ballet with its graceful, flowing movements drawn out dramatically to echoing, dreamlike sounds. It is not merely a dance for others, but also for oneself. Gothic dance is a form of poetry in motion, a freeform incantation, an expression of that which lies within, set to a spectral soundtrack that could just as easily be created by traditional instruments as the untamed voices of nature. Sometimes the only music needed to inspire this dance is the sound of a breeze blowing through the trees. The most dramatic and atmospheric dance-floor lighting is that of icy moonlight filtered through boughs of swaying leaves overhead, while the ideal drumbeat is that of a low rolling thunder in the distance, the ebb and flow of crashing waves, or the sudden, nearby sweep of a nighthawk’s wings.

When I originally set out to design my first collection of  gothic  clothing and accessories in the early 1990s, as much as I wanted to offer these designs, I wanted to create a little world of  its  own within those catalogue pages, a place somewhere “betwixt today and timelessness.” Within those blackened pages filled with firelight and moonlight, of nocturnal portraits and darkly elegant designs, was a realm of pure gothic dream. Ever since, I’ve continued to strive to create a welcoming place for those who know how to view the world through a blackened veil, yet see even more of the world of enchantments that surrounds us all. For gothic is a home to those who find comfort in the shadows, who hold poetry in their hearts, music in their hands, and magic in their eyes.

Photography by
ROYA DIAR
Model: Mahafsoun Cape: Costurero Real

Back up a bit (again). We’ve returned to the Middle Ages, and black underwear does not exist yet.

Olde-tyme underthings were white, or at least off-white, for the same reason that restaurants drape their tables in white linens: White may show the dirt, but it can also be bleached. White is, in its own way, a practical non-color.

Incidentally, lace, veils, and chemises weren’t always colorless. We see them that way in paintings because (it is now believed) the artworks’ conservators cleaned them almost as vigorously as a medieval laundress might scrub her employer’s chemise. Wardrobe inventories list chemises and laces in various colors; they were probably so delicate as to look pale when painted, then were made paler by restoration.

If you even had your portrait painted, you were definitely rich. You were probably also on the cusp of one of the two significant events in a woman’s life: her marriage and her death. For the first purpose, you beckoned the future in your most magnificent jewels (a garnet choker!) and colorful clothes. You were lovely, you were fecund, you were ready to be rich. For the other event—well, if you were old, you were probably sitting in the background of a group portrait and petting a dog.

At your wedding, you wore your most resplendent things and staggered under the weight of your colorful wealth. Bleachable white as the color
of special days and weddings is a fairly recent innovation. Back in the day, it was the color of mourning. During the Renaissance, for example, the French royal court instituted a custom called la reine blanche: After the death of the king, his consort withdrew to her chamber and wore nothing but white for forty days (long enough to determine whether or not she was pregnant). The rest of the court was in black. Just think how difficult it would have been for a reine blanche to escape, flitting like a ghost through the darkness.

A white wedding dress was a shocker, as when fifteen-year-old Mary, Queen of   Scots, put one on to marry the French dauphin in 1558. Her gown was accented in multicolored jewels, but people thought she could have tried to look a bit more festive. They didn’t know yet that she would spend most of her life wearing black and white for mourning. All three of her husbands died, and in her best-known portrait, she wears a long white mourning veil over the top half of a body swathed in black.

Mary’s signature color changed in 1587, when Queen Elizabeth finally put her tiresome cousin and longtime prisoner to death. Mary climbed
onto the dais in her usual jet-black ensemble, then asked the executioner for permission to remove it. She turned out to be dressed entirely in crimson beneath, from sleeves to petticoat. Red, the color of Catholic martyrdom, was an eloquent In your face! to the Protestant who’d ordered her death.

Red is an excellent gothic color.

Photography by
VIONA IELEGEMS
Model: Amaranth from the Noble Blood Vampire Chronicles

Anyone who’s worn black for a funeral or white for a wedding. Anyone who’s looked at a slip and thought, I could rock this as a dress. Whose idea of a little black dress includes sequins and lace and a corset … or a not so little billowing skirt made out of chiffon.  Anyone who has fled a mansion along a sea path, looking back over their shoulder and stumbling on the hem of a frilly white nightgown.

Anyone who’s tried out a smoky eye. Or dark lipstick. Black nail polish. Dyed hair, dyed clothing, a garnet choker. Vintage. Anyone who loves vintage!

Anyone who’s mourned a loss, who’s worn a locket that treasures a photograph or a strand of hair to hold on to love just a bit longer. Anyone who has discovered the beauty in weeping, and in ruins, and in a cycle of life that includes life’s end, and what lies beyond. Anyone who dwells in thoughts of The End and wants to look amazing right up until the eternal curtain descends.

Welcome to timeless gothic style.

Unders/Outers

We are in a very Goth moment (actually, we’ve been in one for about forty years now), in which we make our own rules as we plow along and then we break those rules. It’s all about breaking, really, and surprising, and acknowledging the yawning nearness of the grave. We dress for distress, our own (for we are creatures of infinite melancholy) and others’. They see us doing our thing, and they feel unsettled. Plus jealous. We win.

Goth subculture (let’s try to drop the “sub”) is the most enduring of the movements that formed around the DIY ethos of 1970s to 1980s punk. It’s also extremely creative, as the waves of surprise can be flashes of inspiration. A raven-haired angel, basking in the shadows of Highgate in black wings and her skivvies, might inspire the fashions that walk the next Milanese runway. But before we climb onto the catwalk, let’s peel away some layers and contemplate the very first gothic disruptions … meaning the Goths of the late 300s.

If you belonged to one of those Germanic tribes that started invading the Roman Empire, you wore what you killed. That meant a lot of fur and wool, and even though you could sew a bit, you held the pieces of your outfit together with thorns and animal bones.

You itched. You were lucky if you owned a linen undergarment to soften the border between your skin and your clothes, let alone something special to sleep in. You had probably never even heard of lace. You wore black and brown because those were the colors of your sheep, wolves, and deer.

But la-di-da, suddenly here you were in France and Spain and Italy and wherever. You’d broken the mighty empire down. And now that you weren’t running from the Huns anymore (they were the real enemy, not those enfeebled Romans), you had time to cultivate a few luxuries, such as underwear. Comfortable underwear that not only put a layer between you and your leather but might even … in a few centuries’ time … look … pretty. And clean.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The Middle Ages (about 800 to 1453) were the era of the shirt, the chemise, or the shimmy. It was theoretically an undergarment, but if you shed your wool cloak and tunic, you were still semi-decent in your chemise. That was all a girl generally needed underneath, and it would grow into the nightgown of today—and the sack dress of the 1970s—or really, just the dress, period. Some shapes are classic in origin. You can always pile on details and accessories.

Come to think of it, why not add the cloak back?

A man wouldn’t need braies—long linen drawers tied on with string—unless he was out and about. They stayed pretty much the same for centuries,
just changing length as tunics divided into jackets and outer woolen braies, the codpiece had a heyday in the Renaissance, and trousers sprang into being. Women’s chemises changed even less; hence the timeless quality to the covers of 20th century gothic romance novels. And that Edwardian corset cover, a little tattered but still fabulous, that you’re thinking you’ll wear to the beach.

As clothing grew more elaborate in the 1400s and 1500s, changing your underwear was considered as good as taking a bath in actual water. Oh, you might wipe yourself down with a linen towel in between—that was considered a bath too—but all those elaborate gowns and jackets and breeches that you (or your queen and king) got to wear, the ones that make modern hearts beat fast, were unwashable. There was no way to clean them, other than a sprinkle of powder and an airing outside.

So underthings became a way of protecting the clothes from the person, rather than the other way around. And as they grew certain of their own importance, they started to assert themselves. They were the Goths of garments, conquering the empire of the wardrobe. Even against velvet and cloth-of-gold, they held their territory, because they refused to stay tucked demurely down inside those deep necklines. They demanded adornment. They felt they had a right to embroidery and fine handmade lace and, most of all, to being seen.

You’ll notice a frill framing the bosom of your favorite Renaissance portrait. Sometimes a swath of lace creeps from the bodice and leaps to the subject’s throat, there to be caught with a ribbon. Those elaborate ruffs for which Queen Elizabeth is famous—underwear that’s grown up and gone to town. Even the modest Victorians liked a bit of lace to show at the throat and sleeve ends. The less modest Victorians, and most Goths thereafter, embraced what they thought of as the gorgeousness of the Middle Ages—the simply cut, body-skimming gowns, the big sleeves, the cabochon jewelry.

Can you imagine a gothic novel without a mysterious figure in a veil? You cannot. And if the novel is from the 1950s or the 2000s, she is probably also wearing something shaped like a nightgown, perhaps with a corset or a low-slung metal belt and a filmy robe. She looks Victorian, or medieval, or maybe a little Renaissancey. Again, timeless.

And adaptable. Dye the lace black or red in any era, and she’s a vampire queen. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla looked just like every other girl until she stripped down to her blood-soaked lingerie. And what did you wear when you were laid in your grave? A shroud, which is essentially a nightgown for eternal sleep.

Carmilla’s nightgown is a sign of her depravity—and her power to seduce other girls and triumph over death (while also dwelling in death forever). So it makes sense that a modern Goth loves lace and filmy things just as much as T-shirts from the Damned and Siouxsie Sioux. The lingerie rebellion has been brewing for more than 1,600 years.

Come to think of it, T-shirts are underwear too, sometimes decorated and worn on the outside. Appearing in public in nothing but lingerie, though—that is still shocking to the mainstream.

Brides of  Frankenstein mostly wear nightgowns; the Rocky Horror party really gets going when the unconventional conventioneers cavort in their skivvies. In the late 1980s, costumers were hard pressed to get Madonna to wear anything that wasn’t originally underwear, and she still flashes her black lace bustiers on Instagram. The Material Girl is a bit Goth at heart.

Why not wear that slip as a dress, then? Maybe a corset, antique or home sewn, over top? I’ll bet you have something killer in black.

Feature Image:
Dress, circa 1837, American. Silk. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Rogers Fund.

At the top of the 19th century, the Enlightenment and a series of revolutions had just turned the Western world on its head. Growing popular interest in reason, democracy, and archeology engendered an explosion of Neoclassicism. As early as the 1760s, Neoclassicism opposed French Rococo style in favor of the simple, symmetrical aesthetics of ancient Greece and Rome. The movement continued in some form all the way into the 1820s. Women’s fashion referenced classical antiquity as well, much as architecture and the decorative arts did. Fashionable dress embodied refined simplicity. Sheer white muslin evening dresses mimicked marble statues. Narrow, columnar silhouettes neglected to note the waist. Indeed, the waistline rose to just under the bust, at times creating a bodice less than three inches long. This was later deemed the Empire waist, a reference to the First French Empire.

The Romantic era essentially reversed the effects of Neoclassicism on fashion. Spanning approximately from 1815 to 1840, Romanticism was a schism from Enlightenment thinking. The Romantic spirit valued emotion over reason and imagination over analysis. In art, this was presented through the misty, mysterious landscapes painted by artists like J.M.W. Turner and Caspar David Friedrich. In literature, it was manifested through thrilling fantasy, like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and historic fiction like the Waverley novels by Walter Scott. Like the Neoclassicists, Romantics were inspired by aesthetics of the past. But rather than idealizing classical antiquity, they lovingly looked back on medieval, Renaissance, and baroque Europe. In fashion, Romantic influences from different centuries resulted in eclectic sartorial amalgamations.

During the short period when Neoclassicism and Romanticism co-existed, Romantic influence was as easily detected as a drop of ink in water. Under its influence, the fashionable feminine silhouette underwent major transformations. Romantic sleeve shapes evolved out of straight cuts into puffs, then demi-gigots, then massive full gigots, and then low, sunken balloons. Skirts inflated from a tall column to a wide, rounded arch. And quite notably, the waist was rediscovered. The waistline gradually fell from the empire position to the natural waist by the 1830s, and then settled into a low point by the 1840s. Strong, structured undergarments were increasingly relied on to support the artifice.

Such silhouettes were not unprecedented—they were all inspired by historic dress ranging from the 13th to 17th centuries. In a very clear example, by 1815 small neck ruffles appeared on chemisettes as a direct reference to the early Elizabethan Era. Around the same time, the Renaissance technique of slashing and puffing was referenced on the sleeves of evening dresses and ball gowns. On fashionable dresses from the 1820s and 1830s, it is common to see trimmings and hem sculptures inspired by 17th century Van Dyke points. The seemingly ubiquitous 1830s gigot sleeves were inspired by the 16th and 17th centuries. Even the comparatively modest styles of the 1840s relied on the historicism of 17th century Bertha collars and elongated V-shaped waistlines.

The Romantic departure from Neoclassicism was also made obvious through the color and print of fashionable dress fabrics. It would be false to claim that all pre-Romantic fashionable dress was white, as everyday morning and day dress was commonly made in printed cottons with dark grounds. However, sheer, white Indian muslin was undoubtedly the most fashionable fabric of the first decade of the 19th century. While white did not entirely vanish as a popular dress color, its arid simplicity was not suitable for the broad imagination of Romanticism. By the 1830s, bright blues, reds, and yellows were welcomed. Yet, more popular colors were quite a bit more drab: olive, sage, tan, “dead leaf,” “clay-stone,” and other earth tones. Fashion seemed to favor colors and figures found in nature or the landscape paintings of Romantic artists.

Historicism was another prominent influence on Romantic era dress textiles. Much as silhouettes were inspired by various styles of the past, so were dress fabrics. In many cases, direct inspiration was taken from the silk moirés, brocades, and meandering florals of the 18th century. In fact, it was not uncommon for Romantic era dresses to be made with repurposed 18th century fabrics—as was the case with a circa 1820 dress in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. That was perhaps the greatest betrayal to Neoclassicism.

In 2016, the Wadsworth Atheneum presented Gothic to Goth: Romantic Era Fashion & Its Legacy, the first exhibition dedicated to the influence of Romanticism on women’s fashion. Its curator, Lynne Z. Bassett, who had dreamed of doing such a show for at least fifteen years, used paintings, prints, and decorative arts to further contextualize the Romantic influence on dress. In her conclusion, Bassett asserted that Romanticism remains with us, both in fashion and culture. Although the exhibition focused primarily on fashion between 1810 and 1860, Bassett wrote that “clothing fashions have expressed revivals of Romantic design so frequently it is impossible to say that the Romantic aesthetic ever actually ended. Rather, it just continues to ebb and flow.”

Visit Summer Lee on Instagram @summerannelee.