Fashion in Film: The Young Victoria

Good morning and happy Wednesday! To kick off the new Fashion in Film blog series, I've chosen to analyze the costumes worn by Queen Victoria in "The Young Victoria." Let's jump right in!

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The costumes in the film were designed by Sandy Powell, who also worked on films such as Hugo, The Other Boleyn Girl, and The Tempest. She says that near the beginning of the film, she wanted to give Victoria a more youthful look, since she's still under the control of her domineering mother. This shows in her pale yellow, flower-decked gown she wears for the king's birthday. The light fabric, lacy details, bow at the waist, flowers on the bodice and headpiece, and the general details of late 1830's formal wear all mimic a young girl's party dress.

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The majority of Victoria's costumes for the first half of the film (even including the time between her coronation and marriage) reflect this almost childish aesthetic.

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So cute. :)

There are two costumes in "The Young Victoria" which are based on actual garments: Victoria's coronation robe and her wedding dress.

Powell has said that the coronation robe was the hardest garment in the movie to create. The original robe is intricately embroidered, and in order to replicate that, the Wardrobe department screen printed the design onto a fabric that they custom-dyed.

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Victoria's coronation garb does not particularly exemplify the fashions of the late 1830's. The ornate, luxurious details are timeless and nod to the long line of the monarchs of Great Britain. In addition, the v-waist, elbow length sleeves, and ornate over skirt that reveals a simple dress underneath suggests (at least to me) the mid to late 18th century, a time when the monarchs of the House of Hanover were at their prime (Victoria was the last British monarch of the House of Hanover, so this allusion may have been intentional. Or maybe it's just me. I haven't the foggiest).

The second costume in "The Young Victoria" that is a replica of an actual garment is Victoria's wedding gown.

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The wedding gown is an excellent, simple example of early 1840's fashion, with a low, pointed waist, bell-shaped skirt, and puffed sleeves.

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This museum display of Victoria's real wedding dress is almost exactly like the one in the film. One difference is the lace on the bottom of movie-Victoria's dress, which isn't on the real one. But looking at this photograph below, it seems as though the dress was either two pieces (with one plain skirt and one lace skirt worn with the same bodice), or Victoria was wearing a lace overskirt.

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One noticeable difference between Victoria's real gown and the gown in the film is the cluster of flowers at the bodice, which is replaced with a simple brooch in the movie. This portrait may have been the basis for this change, using an identical brooch in place of the flowers.

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Even though Victoria became Queen of England before she married Prince Albert, she really didn't gain independence from her mother until after her marriage. After this point in the film, Victoria's gowns become slimmer, more fitted, and more mature. The pale, muted colors she wore while under the control of her mother flourish into vibrant, bold hues. It's interesting to see how the change from 1830's fashion (youthful, overly decorated, fluffy, and pale) to 1840's fashion (simple, structural, striking, and mature) mirror Victoria's character journey.

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The last costume Victoria wears in the film is a vibrant blue gown with lace trim and a low 1840's waistline. She pairs this with a striking tiara and what looks like the same brooch worn with her wedding dress.

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The bold color and slim structure of the dress definitely reflect Victoria's strength of character, but to me, the lace accents also remind me of what she was when the film began and the journey she's made from the child ruled by a 19th century tiger mom to the strong, intelligent Queen of Great Britain.

So that wraps up our first Fashion in Film analysis! I definitely enjoyed putting this together. Join me next week as I dig into another fabulous lady's wardrobe.

Bonus round: Check out this article to see how actress Emily Blunt felt about wearing all of these gorgeous gowns.

Thanks to clothesonfilm.com and costumersguide.com for your lovely analysis, info, and pictures.

And now for something a little crazy...

In addition to my love for historical clothing (and lots of other things, but that's for another blog post), I also enjoy learning about the various royal families of Europe. Blame it on the royal wedding last year, my anglophelia, Princess Kate, or whatever you like. The long and short of it is, when I saw this photo of Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden and her husband Daniel, I couldn't believe my eyes.

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Yes, they are wearing 1770's-80's clothing. No, it's not photoshopped. Don't get me wrong, it's adorable (Victoria and Daniel are always adorable), but I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it. Make of it what you will.

Radical Change- the 1790's

The year is 1790. Two years ago, King George III of England suffered another episode of madness. Last year, the House of Commons passed a bill allowing the Prince of Wales to rule England as his father's regent, but before the regency could take place, the king recovered. General George Washington was elected President of the United States in 1789, and this year passed the Residence Act of 1790, commissioning the construction of a city that would be the headquarters for all American government. England is at war with France, and France is at war with itself.

The 1790's were characterized by many radical changes, and fashion was no exception. In fact, it's difficult to talk about the decade as a whole because clothing from the beginning of the decade differs so greatly from clothing around the turn of the century.

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So how did we get from natural waists, tight corsets, and colored silks to pastels, muslins, and loose-fitting empire waist gowns? Zipzipinkspot.blogspot.com has an AMAZING two part blog post on the transition from 1780's fashion to the early Regency. It turns me into a green-eyed monster of jealousy. In a happy way. It's swell.

One thing I found in my 1790's research this week was the fichu (rhymes with 'tissue'), a triangular piece of gauze, netting, or lace pinned onto or tucked into a bodice for modesty during the day. I've seen them around in different Jane Austen adaptations educational films on the period, but I never knew what it was called. 

This and the lighter muslins and linens (in comparison to the heavier, brightly colored silks of the 1770's and 80's) appear to be some of the only things that stay the same from the beginning of the 1790's to the end.

An early decade example of a fichu. Source.

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One thing that particularly interested me while researching this period was watching the waistline slowly creep up and bodices loosen as the decade went on. Two good examples of this are in the adaptations of Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park. Admittedly, the 2007 Mansfield Park is a little all over the place in terms of costumes (Fanny wears some mid and early decade waistlines, Mary Crawford's getups look like they're from the late Regency, the clothes worn by the Mrs. Norris and Lady Bertram look like they're from the 1780's, and the costumes for the play look like they're from the 1770's, leaving me with the question, "What is this madness?"), but Fanny is a good example of waistlines that are much lower than what we'll see later on in the Regency.

She looks a little squinty here. Source

In Sense and Sensibility, the waistlines are closer to truly empire, but more structured and tailored than we'll see later.

Elinor and Mama Dashwood are both good examples in this image. Source.

Marianne, with a gathered neckline that Zipzip explains in detail. Source.

Skirts also changed, becoming more narrow as the decade wore on, and the train was becoming more and more common. 

Beautiful train. Source.

By the end of the decade, waistlines were high, sleeves were short, and hair was worn looser and curly. The hair powder that was so popular in court fashion in the 1770's and 80's was now completely out of style, and a new era of natural hair and loose clothing was ushered in. After the turn of the century, the skirt would narrow still more, and hairstyles would become more polished and tight, conforming to the inspiration of Greek statues. That's what we'll be looking at next week, when I study the years 1800-1810. And I'll probably use more Jane Austen images. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I think a man looks nothing without a cravat.

Normally, I don't take much of an interest in men's fashion through the ages. I do intend this to be a blog that focuses predominately on women's fashion (sorry, gents, that's just the way it is). But I need to confess something: I love cravats. I think they're dreamy.

For those of you who don't know, a cravat is a type of necktie worn in the 18th and early 19th centuries. For purely illustrative purposes, here's a picture of Colin Firth modeling a cravat.

Thanks, Colin.

According to the ever-handy Wikipedia, cravats originated around 1630 when King Louis XIII of France hired Croation mercenaries to protect him and the Cardinal Richelieu against the Duke of Guise and the Queen Mother. The always fashionably curious French adopted the neckties worn by the Croatians and simultaneously mangled the poor word "Croate" until it became "cravate."

The cravat stayed popular until about 1692, when it was replaced by a similar necktie called the Steinkirk. The cravat made a comeback in the 1770's, thanks to the maccaronis (yeah, those guys). They were popular once again until they morphed into neckties after 1815. They were commonly black, replacing the white linen or muslin ties of the Regency. Here's a handy tutorial on how to tie a post-1815 cravat/necktie.

A sculpture of a cravat by Grinling Gibbons. It appears to be made out of a combination of muslin and lace or netting. Source.

During the Regency, the way a gentleman tied his cravat was one of the only ways he could distinguish himself from other gentlemen in dress without being labeled a fop. A veritable smorgasbord of knots and ties existed.

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A gentleman's valet often developed cravat ties for his master. A gentleman's cravat became a sign of his valet's craftsmanship. The fancier the cravat, the better the valet. This is referred to several times in Pamela Aidan's Darcy Trilogy. The valet would most likely purchase the muslin for the gentleman's cravats as well, unless that gentleman was like Henry Tilney and knew enough about muslin to buy his own (once again proving that Henry Tilney is the best Austen man of all time). (Or maybe Edward Ferrars.) (Or maybe I should just shut up about Jane Austen now.)