When handed this book, I felt like I was intruding—the hand crafted spine creaked with hours of the author’s labor, and the muted green fabric frayed at the corners. I felt as though I had been handed a diary, and as it turns out, I sort of had been. Waisted Curves: My Transformation Into A Victorian Lady chronicles Sarah Chrisman’s journey from corset loather to Victorian garment educator and advocate in 250 hand-bound pages. We see Chrisman’s disdain for corsets melt away as she laces herself into the garment daily, and witness her transformation of thought and body, all brought about by an article of clothing.

Chrisman begins the narrative on her birthday, when her husband Gabriel gives her a corset as a gift. This spurs an extensive personal change, both physically and mentally. The narrow conception of corsets with which she begins the memoir quickly changes as she learns more about the history and practices of corsetry. Eventually, she dismisses the idea of the corset as oppressive as she records her changes in self-perception and self-esteem.

Despite this eventual change, the journey begins reluctantly. In the opening pages she admits to thinking, “At least he didn’t buy the most expensive version of a thing I’ll never wear.” But at the close of her story we see her in an “ankle-length wool skirt, three petticoats [and] cashmere-lined leather gloves.” She gradually adopts more Victorian inspired garments—and at times real vintage pieces from this era—into her day-to-day wardrobe. Waisted Curves is not simply a diary of what Chrisman wore each day, but is also full of historical and practical information about the garments she describes. In between stories of Victorian fashion shows gone awry, and stuffing a broken foot into kitten-heeled boots, Chrisman informs us about the history of not only corsetry but also Victorian apparel in general. In an often humorous tone, she examines the myths and misconceptions of the corset, and turns them inside out.

Reading this book reminded me of just how much what we wear shapes us—both figuratively and literally. Our feelings about our bodies are complex, and though we put on clothing every day, we don’t often think about garments as being able to address or reconfigure any of these feelings. If we hate the way a flap of skin sits on the top of our jeans, our disapproval is not likely transferred to the jeans themselves. We tend to think that our bodies should work around the clothing we wear, instead of the reverse.

Chrisman’s experience with corsets highlights the fact that clothing should work for your body and self-esteem, not against, and emphasizes the inseparability of clothing and body image. Throughout Waisted Curves, she becomes increasingly comfortable and proud of her corseted figure, until being without a corset leaves her feeling naked and uncomfortable. In the same sense, some women may feel foreign in their own skin when they unclasp the eyehooks of a bra. How clothing affects our perceptions of our own bodies is subjective, but as Chrisman’s book reveals, there is a direct connection.

What made me uncomfortable was how frequently Chrisman was approached or interviewed by complete strangers regarding her corseting practices—imagine the disgruntled woman sitting next to you on the subway asking you your cup size. At times, people’s audacity was shocking. It reminded me that, sometimes unfortunately, once what we wear enters the public domain, it becomes open for commentary—be it scrutiny or admiration. She handles both of these reactions with grace, never faltering or holding back as onlookers prod and pull at her petticoats. Chrisman’s experience pushed me to be not only confident in what I choose to wear, but knowledgeable as to why and how I am choosing to wear it.

Waisted Curves: My Transformation Into A Victorian Lady by Sarah A. Chrisman, AEGIS & OWL PRESS, 2010
reviewed by Casie Brown

Fact: sewing patterns can be intimidating. Really intimidating. Intimidating to the point that I hardly ever sew anymore because I’m under the impression that anything I would want to make from scratch and then wear would be a hair-pullingly complex and painful process.

To make a long story short, I was very, very wrong.

Erin Arsenault’s Stay-Stitched: Sewing without a pattern and designing as you go is possibly the most approachable sewing how-to book I’ve ever read. It’s also exactly what it says on the box—at no point is a pattern ever used, and since garment pieces are based on your own measurements, everything is designed to fit your specific shape. Arsenault describes it as a “workbook,” and she isn’t kidding. There are spaces for you to fill in with your measurements, and plenty of gridded blank pages for your notes, sketches, and ideas. The book contains instructions for eleven projects, including a simple tote bag, a cute kimono, and wide-leg sailor pants. It also has a list of basic sewing supplies, stitches, and instructions on how to do things such as make your own bias tape, add in pockets, and make facings for neck and arm holes.

Since making a tote bag for the purpose of this review seemed like cheating, I chose to make the “Egyptian Tunic,” a simple A-line skirt with braces. After picking out some cutely creepy Norman Rockwell baby-face print cotton, I set to work on my skirt. It was remarkably easy—all you do is use your measurements to find the waistband width and strap length, and the length and flare of the skirt are up to you. I ended up making my skirt shorter and more fitted at the waist than the book suggested, which was not a problem at all, simply a matter of pinning and re-stitching one of the side seams—and I love the way it turned out.

And that’s the beauty of Stay-Stitched—everything is customizable. All you have to do is re-draw your lines if you don’t like the way something fits or looks. Even if the projects in the book aren’t to your liking, I’m sure you could apply the skills learned in these pages to other clothes-making endeavours. A novice stitcher could learn a lot by starting at the beginning and working their way through. (Just a little note on the projects—the book is very skirt- and dress-heavy, but I’m sure some crafty gentlemen and those who don’t like skirts would appreciate the sailor pants and viking tunic.) I can also see this book being a godsend for anybody who doesn’t fit into standard pattern sizes.

I would highly recommend Stay-Stitched to people who want to learn to make their own clothes but don’t know where to start, or to jaded semi-experienced seamstresses like myself, who just need their faith in their abilities renewed.

Stay-Stitched: Sewing without a pattern and designing as you go, self-published by Erin Arsenault, 2009
reviewed by Kat Brightwell

Rachel Louise Snyder’s Fugitive Denim comes with the tagline, “a moving story of people and pants in the borderless world of global trade” — and that’s exactly what it is. Having had no previous introduction to the ins and outs of things like global textile laws or the mechanics of a cotton gin, I was prepared for a book full of hard-to-follow facts and, although determined to learn, feared I might be in over my head. But Snyder (an author, journalist, and professor from Washington D.C.) takes this intimidating subject matter and makes it not just interesting, but relatable. Throughout the book, she shares the stories of people in five different countries: from cotton pickers in Azerbaijan to fashion designers in the United States, bridging our mental distance between the clothes on our bodies and where — and who — they come from.

Fugitive Denim begins by explaining the termination of the World Trade Organization’s Multi-Fibre Agreement (MFA) in 2005 — an agreement that, in simplest terms, “set limits on the amount of textiles and apparel any one country could export to the United States.” According to Snyder, limiting exports to the United States meant that no single developing country could have a monopoly on the developed world’s market, giving many small nations (such as Cambodia, Laos, Peru, Nepal) a way of entering a market in which they otherwise might not have been able to compete. With the termination of the MFA, competition would increase and clothing prices would drop. Developing countries previously given access to large consumer markets would now have to compete against manufacturing giants like China and India without help. It’s the uncertainty and upheaval set into motion by dissolving these laws that Snyder addresses in Fugitive Denim. She puts names and stories to the people whose livelihoods are affected by the global textile industry and in doing so, makes readers aware of exactly what exists within every fibre of their pants.

There were moments where Snyder’s story felt disjointed. While the book is organized into four major parts, they have no title to indicate the section’s overlying theme, and the chapters have titles such as, “The Little Volcanoes we Carry,” and “The Ghosts in the Trees,” which are interesting and poetic, but give the reader little indication of what they’re getting into. In a book that attempts to address such a far-reaching and complicated topic, a little structural guidance would have gone a long way.

Most interesting to me was the writing itself. I expected a book about the intricacies of textile laws and their effects around the world to read more like a textbook than a good novel — but it doesn’t. Snyder presents facts with creativity, offering information to the reader through stories about people. One that stands out in my mind is a garment worker and former union leader in Cambodia who notes, after recounting being attacked on her way to protest for holiday pay, “We all die; I wasn’t afraid of dying. In living we lose control.” Along with effectively telling the story of globalized fashion, Fugitive Denim is full of these kinds of small and stirring observations, making it, truly, a moving story of people and pants.

Fugitive Denim: A Moving Story of People and Pants in the Borderless World of Global Trade by Rachel Louise Snyder.
W. W. Norton & Company, 2009
review and photography by Hailey Siracky

Like Katherine Joslin did with Edith Wharton, Daneen Wardrop ties fashion and academia together in Emily Dickinson and the Labor of Clothing. The Dickinson that is often studied – the one portrayed within her poetry – shows her intellect and her exceptional handle on language. By analyzing often-dismissed aspects of the famous poet like her approach to clothing, Wardrop presents a more down to earth perspective on Dickinson, one that sees her not just as a talented writer but also in many ways a conventional woman living in an antebellum era.

There exist very few images of Dickinson, the best-known being a daguerreotype of her wearing a plain collared dress. Wardrop uses this representation as a starting-off point in answering the very pressing question: was Emily Dickinson fashionable? She then goes on to interpret other roles played by clothing in Dickinson’s life by studying her poetry, letters, general historical context and one famous white dress. Here her research often mirrors itself: Wardrop uses fashion as a tool to further interpret Dickinson’s life and work, then studies Dickinson’s life and work to understand the significance of fashion in this era. An impressive archive of mid-nineteenth century North Eastern fashion, including the labour practices behind textile production, is thus interwoven with biographical facts about Dickinson.

When examining the relationship between dress and class, Wardrop makes no attempt to downplay Dickinson’s own privilege, though she is also able to shed light on some of the views Dickinson did and did not share with others of her time. Wardrop pulls together some of the conclusions with minimal evidence, so that they feel a bit reaching, and I was left wondering whether Wardrop would have come to such consistently positive interpretations were she not already a fan of Dickinson’s poetry. At the very least, she is meticulous in reporting her sources, so readers are able to draw their own conclusions about what is presented, which may or may not coincide with Wardrop’s perspectives.

The fact that this is from a university press should be heeded as a warning: this is a dense, academically-packed read. Although it clocks in at just 200 pages (plus end notes and bibliography), it took me quite some time to finish. At the very least, this kind of text serves as an “in your face” to those who don’t believe fashion can be an intellectual pursuit. On the other hand, it can be a bit taxing at times. Those looking for a lighter read are warned.

Hardcore fans of Emily Dickinson will appreciate this book, as will those who want to better understand the relationship between clothing and American history. Outside of scholarly pursuits, casual fans of Dickinson’s work might want to stick with the poetry itself.

Emily Dickinson and the Labor of Clothing by Daneen Wardrop, University of New Hampshire Press, 2009
Review by Anna Fitzpatrick
Photography by Casie Brown