19th Century Ladies Fashions included gigantic sleeves known by many names: Leg of Mutton, Marquise, Balloon, etc. Highly fashionable, women wore them to work at home, to “walk out”, to sit for photographs, and on their wedding days. Highly fashionable for a period of time in the 1890s (through the turn of the century), they’ve returned at least twice: mid 1980s and in 2016. A favorite? You decide.
An unnamed Dress Reformer, utterly against “tight lacing” (corsets), uses the art of poetry to explain that everything that ills a woman–from her attitude to her nature, from length of life to a red-tipped nose–is all a result of the ill-fated habit of tightly cinched corsets. This vintage newspaper publication is an example of the American Victorian’s use of humor to blame fashion on craziness with a price too steep to pay.
Dr. Richardson, a London physician, spoke against corsets (tight lacing) and the damage thereby inflicted upon women’s intellect. This article was syndicated from New York Times and appeared in Kansas Farmer on May 5, 1880.
Yellow roses appear briefly in three scenes within COURTING MISS CARTWRIGHT. Yellow roses, particularly Harison’s Yellow, are found strewn along the Oregon trail, blooming feral alongside abandoned ruins of cabins and clapboard houses in ghost towns, and originated in 1824 New York. This article contains the ‘Cemetery Scene’ where Felicity, new to Mountain Home and seeking answers. visits the cemetery and first notices the yellow roses on her father’s grave. This scene is the first conversation between sisters who’ve not known about each other until their father’s will brought them together the evening before–and they’d been barely civil.
While dimples and beauty marks were seen as attractive and stylish, Victorian Americans deplored freckles, “moth marks”, suntans, and sunburns–most unfeminine! Commercial products promised to eradicate such unwelcome blemishes and guaranteed beauty! If potions and powders failed, one photographer promised no freckles showed in his cabinet cards.
