#kaftan fabric

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[chicinsilk]

US Vogue April 15, 1966

On the roof of the Royal Pavilion in Brighton…Franco-American actress Leslie Caron in shorts, striped harem pajamas, a small white kaftan trimmed in green. By Fernando Sanchez for Warner. Pajamas, from Dacron and Avron. Coat, in Arnel and Du Pont nylon (Stehli fabric).

Sur le toit du Royal Pavilion de Brighton …L'actrice franco américaine Leslie Caron en short, pyjama sarouel rayé, un petit caftan blanc gansé de vert. Par Fernando Sanchez pour Warner. Pyjamas, de Dacron et Avron. Manteau, en nylon Arnel et Du Pont (tissu de Stehli).

Photo Henry Clarke

vogue archive

[valyriandreamer]

𝔇ornish 𝔅ride

summary: Prince Jacaerys is sent to Dorne to secure their support in exchange for a marriage alliance during the dance of the dragons.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x martell!reader

Jacaerys Velaryon squinted into the sunlight, the wind whipping at his dark brown hair as he flew high above the scorched sands of the Dornish desert, riding his dragon Vermax. The sky over Dorne was cloudless, a vivid expanse of blue stretching from horizon to horizon, with the heat of the sun baking the land below.

The journey to Sunspear had been swift by dragon, much faster than any raven could carry the messages of war. Queen Rhaenyra needed allies desperately, and Dorne—with its vast army and formidable independence—was a prize she could not afford to overlook.

His thoughts were heavy as Vermax descended towards the palace of Sunspear, nestled in the heart of Dorne. The Martells were proud, notoriously independent from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. But Dorne was also practical, and the offer of a marriage to a royal of Targaryen blood might sway them. Jacaerys had never been one to shy away from his duties, but the weight of this mission pressed on him. It was not just about war—it was about securing the future of his family.

The landing was gentle as Vermax touched down in the gardens of Sunspear, the dragon’s large claws sinking into the sandy soil. Jacaerys dismounted with a swift motion, his boots hitting the ground as he glanced around, taking in the surroundings. The gardens were lush, a stark contrast to the barren sands beyond. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, their long leaves casting dappled shadows on the ground, while bright flowers bloomed in vibrant reds, oranges, and purples. It was a place of beauty, but the underlying tension of the political situation was not lost on him.

He stood tall, adjusting the strap of his sword as he waited. He could hear the distant sound of horses approaching, their hooves beating a steady rhythm on the stone paths leading to the palace. Jacaerys knew that this moment, the negotiations he was about to undertake, could shift the balance of power in the war. The Greens had secured their own alliances through marriage, and if the Dornish armies joined Rhaenyra’s cause, it could be enough to turn the tide.

Soon enough, the riders appeared. At the head of the group was Lord Qoren Martell, the ruler of Dorne, a tall and imposing figure with olive skin and a serious expression. His presence was commanding, but it was the figure beside him that captured Jacaerys’ attention.

The woman riding at Prince Qoren’s side was striking, her beauty impossible to ignore. Her dark eyes gleamed with intelligence, and her long, thick black hair fell in soft ringlets around her face. She wore a deep red entari, the luxurious fabric adorned with gold embroidery that glittered in the sunlight. Over the gown, she wore a flowing kaftan, cinched at the waist with a golden belt that highlighted her graceful figure. Her skin was warm, bronzed by the Dornish sun, and her jewellery—rings, bracelets, and a necklace set with emeralds—caught the light as she moved.

This had to be Princess Y/N Martell.

Jacaerys had heard of her—fiery, intelligent, and politically astute, Y/N was said to be a woman who knew her own worth and was unafraid to wield power. As she dismounted with a fluid grace, handing the reins of her horse to one of the guards, Jacaerys found himself watching her with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” Prince Qoren greeted him, his voice deep and measured as he stepped forward. “Welcome to Sunspear.”

Jacaerys inclined his head in a respectful nod. “Lord Qoren. I thank you for your hospitality.”

Qoren’s eyes flickered towards Vermax, who stood behind Jacaerys, the dragon’s golden-green eyes watching the exchange with eerie calm. “A dragon is a rare sight in Dorne,” Qoren remarked. “But I trust you did not come here simply to display your power, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys met the man’s gaze evenly. “I come on behalf of my mother, Queen Rhaenyra. The war has already begun, and we seek the aid of Dorne. In return, my mother offers an alliance bound through marriage.”

There was a brief pause as Qoren considered this, his expression unreadable. “Marriage,” he repeated, his tone neutral.

At his side, Princess Y/N stepped forward, her dark eyes studying Jacaerys with open curiosity. “And who, pray tell, is to be offered in this alliance?” Her voice was smooth, laced with amusement, as though the entire concept of marriage negotiations was a game to her.

Jacaerys turned his attention to her, meeting her gaze directly. “That is to be decided. I stand ready to marry, as do my younger brothers. The decision would rest with your family, should you choose to align with us.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a slow smile, the kind that hinted at hidden thoughts. “And what do you know of Dornish women, Prince Jacaerys?” she asked, her tone almost playful. “Do you truly believe one of us would be content to marry simply for the sake of war?”

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, surprised by her forwardness. “I do not presume to know the minds of Dornish women, Princess,” he replied. “But I do know that the realm faces dark days. A union between our houses could bring strength to both.”

Her eyes gleamed with something close to approval. “You are bold, Prince. I admire that.”

Prince Qoren, however, was less easily impressed. “Dorne has never bent the knee to the Iron Throne,” he said, his voice firm. “We fought for our independence and will not give it up easily, even for a marriage.”

Jacaerys stood his ground. “I do not ask for your submission, my lord. Only your support. Dorne’s armies are formidable, and together, we could end this war swiftly. My mother’s rule would be secure, and Dorne’s influence in the realm would grow.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the rustling of the palm trees and the distant calls of birds. Jacaerys could feel the weight of their decision pressing down on him, but he remained calm, knowing that this was a battle of words and wills.

Finally, it was Y/N who spoke. “You offer much, Prince Jacaerys,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “But Dorne does not act without thought. We will consider your offer… and perhaps, in time, we may find that a marriage between us is not so unfavourable.”

Her words were careful, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes that Jacaerys did not miss. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, a silent agreement that there was much more to discuss.

Prince Qoren nodded as well, though his expression remained guarded. “Come,” he said, turning towards the palace. “We will discuss these matters further. It is not a decision to be made lightly.”

As they walked through the shaded pathways of the garden towards the palace, Y/N fell into step beside Jacaerys. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her lips curving into a slight smile.

“You’ve impressed my father,” she murmured, her tone laced with amusement. “That is not an easy feat.”

Jacaerys glanced at her, his own smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “And what of you, Princess? Have I impressed you?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Perhaps,” she replied, her dark eyes gleaming. “But I am not so easily swayed by titles and dragons, Prince Jacaerys.”

He met her gaze, intrigued by the challenge in her words. “Then what does sway you, Princess?”

Her smile widened, full of mystery and flirtation. “That, Your Grace, is something you will have to discover for yourself.”

Jacaerys chuckled, though he could feel the weight of her words settle over him. Princess Y/N was not a woman to be taken lightly. She was clever, sharp-tongued, and fiercely independent—qualities that both intrigued and unsettled him. But he knew that securing Dorne’s support was not simply about marriage or politics. It was about earning the respect of a people who had never bent the knee and about understanding the woman who now stood before him as a potential ally, and perhaps more.

As they entered the cool stone corridors of Sunspear, Jacaerys knew that the negotiations were far from over. There was much to be discussed, much to be decided. But as he glanced at Y/N, her dark eyes filled with intelligence and fire, he realised that his journey to Dorne would be far more complex—and far more important—than he had first imagined.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he was not only forging an alliance for his mother but also discovering a path that could shape his own future.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Fashion History

to try to include in your poem/story (pt. 2/3)

Exomis - a short, asymmetrical wrap garment pinned at the left shoulder, worn by men in Ancient Greece

Eye of Horus - or Wedjat eye, is an ancient Egyptian symbol that represents the eye of the falcon-headed god Horus and symbolizes healing and regeneration and was often worn for protection

Faience - a man-made ceramic material that was often used in ancient Egypt to make jewelry and devotional objects; it is usually a blue color

Falling Band - a flat and broad white collar often with lace on the edges, worn by men and women in the 17th century

Fibula - served as a pin to both hold garments together and to show status of those with prestige or power within society; was popular in Greek culture

Fichu - a triangular shawl, usually worn by women, draped over the shoulders and crossed or fastened in the front

Fontange - a linen cap with layers of lace and ribbon, worn flat and pinned to the back of the head

French Hood - a rounded headdress for women that was popular in the 16th century (from 1540)

Frock Coat - a collared man’s coat worn through the eighteenth to the twentieth century; rose to prominence mainly in the nineteenth century, especially Victorian England; characterized as a knee-length overcoat, buttoned down to the waist, that drapes over the lower half of the body like a skirt

Frogging - ornamental braid or cording that can function as a garment closure, or be solely decorative

Gabled Hood - a woman’s headdress that is wired to create a point at the top of the head and has fabric that drapes from the back of the head

Gigot Sleeve - a sleeve that was full at the shoulder and became tightly fitted to the wrist; also called leg-of-mutton sleeve

Guipure Lace - a type of continuous bobbin lace made without a mesh ground; its motifs are connected by bridges or plaits

Himation - a rectangular cloak wrapped around the body and thrown over the left shoulder worn by the ancient Greeks

Huipilli/Huipil - a woven rectangular shirt worn by women in Central America beginning in ancient times

Jerkin - a close-fitting men’s jacket, often worn for warmth, sometimes without sleeves; worn over a doublet in the 16th and 17th centuries

Justaucorps - a long-sleeved, knee-length coat worn by men after 1666 and throughout the 18th century

Kaftan - (also caftan) is an ancient garment, which originated in ancient Persia but then spread across Central and Western Asia; a kind of robe or tunic that was worn by both men and women

Katazome (stencil printing) - a traditional Japanese method for printing designs onto fabric using a stencil and paste-resist dyes

Kaunakes - one of the earliest forms of clothing; made from goat or sheep’s wool and meant to be worn around the waist like a skirt, it is recognizable by its fringe detailing

Kente - a Ghanaian strip woven textile that has striped patterns and bright colors with corresponding meanings

Knickerbockers - or “knickers” are full or baggy trousers gathered at the knee or just below and usually fastened with either a button or buckle; were initially worn by men in the late 19th century and gradually became part of women’s fashion; the garment was usually worn as sportswear and became especially popular among golfers and female cyclists, hence the term “pedal pushers”

Kohl - a black material made out of minerals such as galena and used for eyeliner and eye protection in ancient Egypt

Labret - a type of lip-piercing worn by various cultures to indicate wealth, prosperity and beauty

Love Lock - a lock of hair from the nape of the neck hanging over the chest to show romantic attachment; it was a popular hairstyle between 1590-1650

Lurex - a shiny synthetic fiber made of aluminum-coated plastic with a glittering metallic sheen

Mantua - a jacket-like bodice with pulled back overskirt that bustled in the back, often in elaborately patterned fabric, first worn in the 17th century

Medici Collar - a collar that stands upright on the back of the neck and opens in the front; this type of ruff was introduced to France by Marie de’ Medici in the 16th century, taking her name two centuries later

Moccasins - a type of soft animal skin shoe that were worn by Indians in North America

Muff - a tubular padded covering of fur or fabric, into which both hands are placed for warmth

Mule - a backless shoe

Muslin - a simple plain-weave textile made out of cotton and available in varying weights and finishes; historically, there were also varieties of muslin in silk and wool

Needle Lace -often known as “needlepoint lace”; is a term referring to the technique in which the lace is made of entirely needle work; it developed in the 15th century and then became very popular throughout the 16th century

Nemes Headdress - starched, striped linen headdress that draped on the shoulders and had a tail at center back worn only by royals in ancient Egypt

Panes/Paning - a method of decoration using long parallel strips of fabric arranged to reveal a contrasting fabric underneath that was fashionable from the 15th-17th centuries

Panniers - an under-structure used in eighteenth-century fashion that created a shape wide at the sides and flat at the front and back

Pantalettes - (also referred to as pantaloons) are loose, pants-like undergarments that covered women’s lower halves in the late 18th and early 19th century

Particolored - the combination of different colors within the same garment along the vertical axis

Passementerie - an additional accent or embellishment in silk or metallic threads, such as an embroidered braid, tassel or fringe

Pattens - wooden-soled platform over-shoes, which were commonly worn from the 14th century to the 18th century

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Fashion History ⚜ Word Lists

[demigoddessqueens]

Hello! Can I ask how the Vox Machina would react to a female muslim reader who wears the hijab? Even her as their S/O if you feel comfortable. English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I love your writing!

Oh of course! 😄

a/n - I myself am not Muslim nor wear the hijab so I am open to any and all feedback

Masterlist 12

So for starters, I can see you hailing from the areas of Marquet and/or Ank’harel. Exandria is vast and diverse in its cultures, and they are not one to judge for differences.

Given most of their vices, you become a better influence for the group. Seeing you take time not to indulge so much rubs off more than they would admit.

Even when the worst of your most vicious enemies are rid of, seeing you perform dua does strike at them, especially Percy. He wishes he could have met you during the worst years when he was away from Whitestone.

Will always go out of their way to accommodate to dietary needs for you, even going alcohol-free

Of course you always have to look your best darling! The most beautiful fabrics for your hijab and a kaftan

Vex hears you pray and it reminds her of the guiding light that was her mother. A reassuring she needs when self-doubt creeps. Vax hears and sees you and he feels safe, calm and accepting of his future with the Raven Queen. He’s glad there’s another he can share his sentiments and feelings with.

Pike and Keyleth have grappled with their doubts and insecurities with following the Everlight and the Aramente trials before but you’re a reminder to them they can take that time for themselves. Keeping to what they believe and follow will be there, but to live a life and enjoy what has always been in front of them.

Grog has his fair share of philosophical questions here and there, which he is glad you make the time to answer. It’s refreshing that someone listens to what he has to say.

At the rooms you each have at Whitestone, Percy caters to your tastes and decorates your rooms to your liking. Whatever it takes to remind you of home.

If you’re good at textiles and artwork, then calligraphy has a soft spot in their armor and along their clothes designs .

Also, it becomes a rotation of each party member to come into your rooms to learn more of your language. It feels like an intrusion to hear you and your s/o speak privately to each other only in a dialect you both know.

Sometimes they’ll hear you singing, asking what those songs mean and if you could teach them. Mostly Scanlan just likes to pretend he’s learning because it’s an excuse to hear you sing, giving him courage to come to terms with his daughter.

And of course, the affectionate nicknames for each other! Say habibi and they turn redder than a tomato

Your relationship and dynamics can pretty much be summed up in the words of Nizar Qabbani:

Not everything in the heart can be said, so God created sighs, tears, long sleep, cold smile and shivering hands.

I throw my passport in the sea, And name you my country, I throw all of my dictionaries in the fire, and name you my language

[pre-raphaelitepunk]

Chemise -> Medieval Nubian Kaftan? Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Okay so, I went with option 4 (Gather the neckline and bind it, then separately gather the shoulders with elastic). I gathered the neckline, added elastic to the shoulders, and just tried the Kaftan on to see how much I need to gather the necklines down actually.

I think I'll gather both down to 15" and see where we go from here.

Also the kaftan is too long, though gathering up the neckline will help with that. If that's not enough, I'll add a few pintucks right above the ankara hem, because I don't want to take away from hem, and do the same with the sleeves.

After that it's onto the cutting and hemming the ankara wrap. I wish I had an approrpiate fabric with better drape as ankara is a medium-weight cotton with quite a a lot of crisp body, and the paintings show these robes, caftans, and wraps in rather drapey fabrics, but I will save that for when I revisit this project.

A reminder of our inspiration:

[lazy-nae2]

His Prize

Marcus Justus Acacius x Black/Poc Reader PT.2

Part 2 to my Drabble. Hope you enjoy 🫵🏾🩶🤎

Authors Note: Might not be accurate to Roman history homes or customs but it’ll be alright. Probably go back and edit it to be more accurate soon and more fluffy since I felt that I didn’t add much to it.

“Please…”, He softly murmured, as his hand enveloped yours in his which gave yours further warmth. You turnt away some, not meeting his gaze as you thought he’d wish to wash away the stress and memories of the day and be alone for a moment, but his gaze told otherwise. You sighed softly, as you turned back to him looking up, and took his hand and began leading him through the halls. As you two began walking your footsteps blended together, as if only one person was stepping on the marble floors.

He stepped after you, keeping pace as both of your footsteps stepped softly against the floors as he guided you with his hand softly against your back. You both stepped into the peristyle, as you felt the moon’s soft light against your soft brown skin and his olive tanned skin. You heard his soft footsteps beginning to walk ahead of you, as it seemed he was slightly eager to spend a private moment with you.

As you both enter your home’s private thermae you were met by the soft smell of different fragrances, that smelled more pleasant than the scents that usually flowed through the city of Rome. You both entered the Apodyterium, as he walked and slowly began removing his ceremonial armor, as he laid his breastplate onto the shelves that lined the changing room, as the rest of his armor followed.

You slowly began undressing as you took off your Chocolate Tahitian pearl bracelets, the silver earrings that bore the symbol of Athena on them, a golden necklaces with seashells, stones, amber, carnelian and garnet on the necklace with a few silver triangular shaped plates. You placed them aside in a cubicle, before you began undressing out of your Tunic/Dashiki/Kaftan , as you laid the cloth down onto the shelve along with your Strophium as you removed the fabric from your chest.

You placed the wrap of a headscarf on your head, hiding your hair below it to keep it from getting wet. You felt the soft wind of the night air softly brush against your body, almost like an caress, before you felt the hard planes of your husband’s body behind you as his hands softly ran down your shoulder to your hand as you let out a soft sigh with a small smile as you missed this feeling that was only possible with him.

“How I’ve longed to hold you like this again after all this time….Come along pretiosum.” Acacius softly murmured into the crook of your neck as you both began walking to the Tepidarium, as he gently took your hand as you both slowly stepped into the warmth of the pool, feeling it relax the soreness and tension from your bodies. You both sat close in the water as you let him tell you of his experiences during the campaign.

As you listened you could tell the effects of the twin emperors, Geta and Caracalla’s constant want for more bloodshed and territory, were but taking a toll on your beloved who was older than most young men who were sent off to fight for Rome’s glory. The tiredness and exhaustion were evident in his eyes, along with the soft hints of disdain he held for the young emperors who constantly sent him out to fight, and lay down man and boy who were on the opposite side of his swords.

After you listened to him for the next few moments, as he finished recalling his experiences during feeling the woe of his own journey lifting while you softly whispered words of comfort to him and after you shared your few tales of your own, while he was off, and you had to tend to the household. Every few minutes a soft chuckle would escape his lips, as your tales warmed his heart and moved it away from the battle, even if temporary. After you both sat in a comfortable silence as you gently kissed one another with the soft hint of honey on your full lips while the strong taste of wine was on his lips as he reached for your brown/ light brown/ dark brown/ soft brown waist, pulling you close as he desired. You both stayed for a few moments, enjoying the others presence until you left the bath, got dressed in tunics and him grabbing his armor and your previous evening wear as you both retired to your chambers for the night in the arms of another.

A third part might be out if this does well in my eyes.

A small prompt for a might not/or will be released next fic for Acacius based on Odysseus’s and Penelope from Epic The Musical.

For years, and more days on end, your handmaidens and other nobles say “When will she remarry, Hope is not yet lost for her another try in marriage, What she does not understand is that her husband has not been home in years”. Constant doubts and pity filled their hearts and left from their tongues, but you never listened.

For twenty years, away on a campaign was your General, the very reason you stay strong from remarrying. If the rumors held any truth to you as they did to others, and you were to have to feel the embrace of the underworld if that what was it took to see your Acacius again, then so be it. You continued to hold out hope day by day, as more suitors younger than yourself had constantly tried to try for your hand in marriage, but none would compare to your carissime meus, the one you held close to your soul even if your bodies weren’t near.

Then, one day you heard hooves coming to your villa’s gates and as your rushed to the front entrance, praying to the gods he’d have returned. Your dreams were withered as you saw more suitors. You decided to issue a challenge, whichever man who is worthy enough to handle the sword of your husband and defeat the animal/warrior of your choosing, then…and only then, will you allow them your hand. Yet they didn’t know that your husband’s sword was blessed by Ares/Mars to only be lifted by only the one who was the true owner of it.

[voievod]

Hello and welcome back to another of my Voievod shenanigans! 🎉 As I have been researching period clothing and trying to craft an idea of Vlad’s wardrobe for possible references, I have decided to share some information and musings on what măria-sa could have worn back in his days. It may be a long read but hopefully an interesting one nonetheless! For that reason, let me humbly introduce you to...

Vlad’s clothing references HC

I have decided to label this little thingy as a “headcanon” because, despite trying to research things diligently, some things might not turn out to be accurate or are simply the result of my deductions. (Also tagging @tutanchanup who wished to see something on period-appropriate clothing! ❤️)

Image sources (from left to right): Count Orlok’s costume from Nosferatu (2024); Portrait of P. Potemkin (1682) by Godfrey Kneller; drawing of Vlad Dracula found on Pinterest.

Historical context

Because Wallachia was positioned between two powerful empires, the country served as a kind of cultural and political crossroads. At the same time, we cannot forget the importance of the influence of the Eastern Orthodox church. This intersection of influences was most likely reflected in the country’s clothing style, particularly among the nobility and ruling class. For that reason, Vlad’s wardrobe could have been shaped by four major traditions — Byzantine, Ottoman, Hungarian, and Western European — with each contributing distinct elements to the attire.

Despite the fall of Constantinople in 1453, Byzantine culture most likely remained a dominant influence in Wallachian court fashion, but particularly in ceremonial garments. The Eastern Roman Empire had long set the standard for luxury and symbolic clothing through the Orthodox faith, so Wallachian rulers most likely adopted the significance of prestige and symbolism. This would manifest in richly embroidered silk and brocade tunics (Wallachian princely garments often reflected these patterns, as seen on murals). Wallachian voivodes were also depicted in robes similar to Byzantine imperial cloaks and long, flowing robes with intricate embroidery. Some garments reserved for ceremonial occasions may have included the use of religious iconography.

By the mid-15th century in which Vlad lived, the Ottoman Empire was a dominant force in Eastern Europe, and its influence extended into Wallachia through trade, diplomacy, and warfare. Certain elements of Ottoman fashion had already begun to become integrated into noble wardrobes due to cultural exchange and practical considerations tied to trade. The Ottomans favoured long, buttoned kaftans with wide sleeves, often made of silk or brocade, which we can see in Wallachian noble fashion as well. Bursa was one of the major silk production centres supplying Eastern European elites, and Ottoman silk production was considered among the finest in the world, so the fabric was most likely imported into Wallachia. Ottomans wore fur-trimmed hats similar to those we can see worn by Wallachian boyars. Ottomans also used wide belts (silk sashes or leather girdles) to secure robes, which is often seen in period costumes from Eastern Europe.

Wallachia was deeply tied to the Kingdom of Hungary, both as its vassal state and political ally. Hungarian noble fashion most likely inspired Wallachia’s more practical, day-to-day and casual parts of fashion. Hungarians preferred hip-length tunics with a more tailored fit which were useful for horseback riding and combat, unlike the long Byzantine-style robes. Hungarian nobles also had a tendency to display their coats of arms on their cloaks, which is something Vlad could have adopted for himself.

Wallachia had limited direct exposure to Western European culture, but I still think some parts could have (or were) penetrated into Vlad’s wardrobe, especially from the sphere of warfare. What comes to mind is a doublet (a short, fitted, padded jacket often worn beneath armour) or a gambeson (a padded, fitted garment worn as a substitute for armour). This would be a very practical substitute for the long coats, especially during moments when he wanted to indulge in physical activity and did not want to feel restricted. Wallachian voivodes also wore German armour acquired from the Transylvanian Saxons.

Taking all of this into consideration, it is safe to presume that the ceremonial or more formal attire may have leaned more towards the Byzantine and Ottoman influence while the casual and battle clothing reflected Hungarian and Western practicality. At the same time, it is important to add that his wardrobe was certainly not just to make him look fashionable but served as a statement of power, cultural identity, and political allegiance. For that reason, each fabric, colour, and cut was chosen with purpose, balancing his preferences with symbolism and tradition.

I have also noticed similarities between the Balkan fashion and that of other Eastern European states (Muscovite Russia, Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Ruthenia, etc.) which would make sense given the shared geopolitical connections, trade networks, and cultural exchange with the Hungarians, Ottomans, and Tatars. All these regions blended Byzantine (because of the religious culture), steppe nomad (historical ties), and Central European (political ties) fashion elements that created a distinctive yet interconnected style.

Social and political influence on clothing

As a voivode of Wallachia, Vlad’s clothing had to reflect his dynastic claims, military authority, and political allegiances. In the context of the 15th century, rulers often used clothing to assert their right to rule — in the case of Wallachia who did not rely on the inheritance based on primogeniture, this was all the more important as he could not rely on asserting any “divine right” but had to prove his position based on his persona and accomplishments. For that reason, his clothing would have communicated legitimacy, local identity, or military strength.

Clothes are to this day a particular form of propaganda, so his choice of fabrics, colours, or cuts would have been strategic. Red and gold are commonly associated with Byzantine and Orthodox iconography, so he could have used it to emphasise his role as a protector of Christendom (more on the red colour later!). Military garments might have used dark or intimidating colours, such as black, deep red, or dark green, to inspire fear and respect. During more formal occasions, he would have most likely worn expensive fabrics, richly embroidered clothes, and fur-trimmed coats to display his status.

Wallachian rulers were also expected to show their political allegiance through their clothing, so he would have leaned more strongly towards Hungarian or Ottoman aspects and inspirations depending on what allegiance he needed to show. I personally believe he would not have to align his clothing in such a manner on a daily basis, it was more of a formal aspect of particular diplomatic meetings or journeys to these countries.

Sumptuary laws

Sumptuary laws represent a set of social laws that regulated what different social classes could wear to ensure that luxury remained the privilege of the ruling elite. We know of a few sumptuary laws related not only to Wallachian nobility but also to the voivode himself. The voivode would have been exempt from most sumptuary laws (meaning that Vlad could wear whatever he wished) but enforced these laws upon his court to maintain social hierarchy.

The first important sumptuary law is the restriction on red colour, which was reserved strictly for the voivode and represented his office. Only a voivode was allowed to wear clothing of red colour (you can actually see it well in the Romanian film Vlad Țepeș from 1979 in which Vlad’s character wears red exclusively and quite often) — it might be worth wondering if anyone from his family could wear red when given his permission, but I am leaning more towards the possibility that it was a very exclusive symbol of power within the state. Red also had its important significance within the chancellery as red ink was used exclusively for the voivode’s signature. In the context of medieval culture, red was also considered the colour of power, war, vitality, but most importantly, masculinity.

Another crucial sumptuary law was related to fur regulations. Furs were a major status symbol, particularly sable, ermine, or lynx, which were expensive and often reserved only for rulers and high-ranking boyars. Furs were in fact so important in Wallachian high society that the treasurer from the voivode’s council (sfatul domnesc) not only supervised the collection of the country’s revenues and the way they were spent but also guarded and supplied the royal court with expensive furs necessary for the voivode’s wardrobe and for the gifts he gave to his guests. (For example, Radu cel Frumos forbade merchants to export fox, marten, and lynx furs out of the country, and these had to be kept in the royal treasury.) The title of this position is called vistier which literally comes from the Latin vestis (coat).

Analysis of formal Wallachian attire

As you might have noticed in the header, I have picked more or less the same style of attire which I have compared with the murals we have from the period. This is what I think most closely resembles the usual style of formal attire the Wallachian nobility wore. From the most recent media, Nosferatu (2024) very closely and accurately captures the style, so if you need good and detailed references, I recommend looking at the costume. I also personally imagine Vlad as someone who likes to dress nicely and lavishly but still retains a kind of soldier-like moderation, so the final attire looks noble and powerful, fitting for a young and virile man, while not accidentally sliding into excess or gaudy displays of extravagance. In this Ask, I have already shown a few examples and listed the garments separately — I searched for the names of the garments on Dexonline.ro, so it should be more or less accurate (I apologise if not!).

The cut of the sleeves on giubea is particularly important to mention (especially because in my previous response to the Ask, I mentioned that the sleeves were of standard length which is actually… not true skdsjdksdks sorry about that) as you can notice the extremely long, elaborate sleeves. The excessive length of the sleeves was a clear indicator of wealth and status — extra fabric was expensive, and so the ability to afford such impractical features demonstrated the wearer’s affluence and high social rank. Also, a man of Vlad’s position would have his giubea completely fur-lined, so not only would such a piece be important in the colder months, it would also be a very cherished possession due to its value. The same type of cut was worn both by men and women.

The furs Vlad certainly wore were:

sable

ermine

lynx

fox

As a ruler, Vlad would have access to the finest imported textiles, particularly from the Ottoman Empire, Venice, or Hungary. Here is a list of particular fabrics, expensive and symbolising power and prestige:

silk (most likely silk from Bursa imported from the Ottoman Empire; it could be plain or patterned with intricate designs)

brocade (a richly woven fabric with gold or silver thread)

velvet (highly priced in the late medieval period, often imported from Italy)

samt (a type of silk velvet)

Here is a very typical garment that Vlad could wear beneath the giubea — a long tunică made of the red brocade and intricately embroidered with gold thread. The top part was buttoned (and held around the waist by a wide sash), and the slit allowed for more comfortable movement.

On the other hand, for practicality (for casual wear, but also in battle or travel), Vlad’s clothing would rely on durable yet high-quality materials such as:

wool (the most common fabric, used for cloaks, tunics, and hose — fine, tightly woven wool was very comfortable and warm; particularly important for Wallachian trade)

linen (used for undergarments and shirts, but also lightweight and breathable clothing for warmer months)

sheepskin (essential for Wallachia’s cold winters, often worn as cloaks or lining for casual coats)

leather (used for belts, boots, gloves, and sometimes used to reinforce doublets or armour padding)

As for the accessories, fur-lined caps were very important among Wallachian nobility, especially in colder months. A pair of nice leather boots was essential, not necessarily pointed (as was the style in Western Europe) but with round toe which is more practical for riding. Leather gloves would also be a staple part of the attire. I cannot come up with any essential parts of jewellery for Vlad except for the rings. Nonetheless, gemstones would certainly appear somewhere on the accessories, mainly rubies (symbolising blood, power, and warrior spirit), sapphires (wisdom, freedom, and divine favour), and emeralds (protection and foresight). The team from Corpus Draculianum discovered a ring that could have belonged to Vlad, and it is not really a jewelled ring of a ruler but definitely a ring of a warlord, which fits my idea of what kind of jewellery he could have worn — not all bejewelled but cleaner, more practical, symbols of power and prowess. From spring 1462 onward, he most likely wore a wedding band as well.

The symbolism of colours was also important. I have already mentioned red, but there are other colours that would form a staple part of his wardrobe. Rulers used to wear the colours of their coat of arms as well, so as a member of the Drăculești, Vlad would wear red, blue, and gold (the colours of his family’s coat of arms).

Gold and silver would be used in embroidery, trims, and accessories. He could also wear green to symbolise nobility, wisdom, and stability — the colour was less common but nonetheless seen in noble garments. Black would symbolise authority, mystery, and mourning — this would form a standard part of funeral attire, but it was also acceptable to wear dark shades of brown, green, or red. The crucial part was to avoid bright and lively colours in this case. White was used in undergarments or perhaps ceremonial wear, but never for wedding attire (medieval wedding attire was characteristic for its bright colours and rich adornment).

Feathers were an important adornment for hats and caps, and Vlad’s would likely have been chosen for their symbolism and connection to power. Based on historical context and regional influences, he could have worn:

falcon or hawk feathers (as a symbol of war and rulership, fitting for a warrior voivode and a man who probably used to indulge in falconry; falcons were also linked to Hungarian nobility)

raven or crow feathers (ravens are often tied to folklore as a symbol of wisdom and fate, black feathers would also look nice in ceremonial or battle attire as a subtle notion of intimidation; he could also wear it during diplomatic meetings with the Hungarian as a subtle nod to Matthias Corvinus)

heron feathers (in the Ottoman Empire, heron [sorguç] feathers were also worn by the sultans and elite warriors in military contexts; he could wear these during diplomatic or military interactions with the Ottomans)

eagle feathers (they would carry symbolic weight because the eagle was the heraldic symbol of Wallachia; they are stiff and dark, so they would not be used for adornment per se but more for the symbolic significance)

ostrich feathers (very expensive and popular in European and Ottoman courts for their symbolism of wealth and high status)

peacock feathers (probably a little extravagant for Vlad but nonetheless often seen in Byzantine and later Ottoman courtly fashion)

To conclude this, Vlad’s formal clothing was not simply a matter of personal taste or appreciation for luxury but was also a calculated manifestation of his authority, identity, and even the volatile political landscape he had to navigate. Each detail, fabric, and colour served as a reflection of Wallachia’s position not only as an independent country, but also as a place at the crossroads of empires. Above all, his clothing should be seen as a weapon of perception — it shaped not only how he was seen by his subjects, but also how he was perceived by both his allies and enemies. In a world where power was as much about external image as it was about action, his wardrobe had to serve as a reflection of his own individuality and representation of his nation, but also as an extension of his position.

[msbarrows]

Dec 27 - Deboned the ham I baked for Christmas and made a vat of stock from the bone and scraps. I have a platter in the fridge with vast amounts of spiral-cut ham to divide up and freeze and find uses for.

Also, with the Canada Post strike over, a package that I'd ordered all the way back in early November finally arrived. I'd ordered a couple more kaftans made of recycled vintage saris, from an Etsy shop in India that does free delivery by regular post, and around the time I was starting to think 'those should arrive soon-ish' (it takes a while), the strike started and added roughly a month to their shipping time.

I won't be wearing them much before the weather warms up anyway, since they're kind of lightweight for winter, but I love how pretty they are:

I now have one of each length of kaftan the shop sells, and think I like the midi length the most, since it goes all the way down to mid-thigh on me (methinks I need to alter my maxi length one to the same length). I find the short kaftan is a couple of inches too short for my height; still wearable, I just prefer stuff that runs a bit longer. Though I do love the sari fabric used for that one; it's a dark blue with blue-black leaf or plume patterns, with the leaves edged with a stroke of metallic gold. It's just so pretty. The other one is also attractive, it's all watercolour-ish blended streaky blue-green-beige with touches of purplish-pink and a bamboo leaves print.

I am almost certainly going to order more midi-length kaftans later in the new year, it'll be nice to have some pretty clothing for wearing this summer instead of just the plain men's tshirts that are my current mainstay (men's because I can find tall sizes easily in men's clothing, unlike in women's clothing where it's near-impossible to find, much less in larger sizes).

For supper I made fish stick and oven fries.

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[dasha1l1]

I love to see videos of this russian? slavic girl on ig who wears layers of kaftans, harem pants and a fabric belt every day...

[magnificentlyreused]

This green cloak very briefly appears on Gracia Mendes Nasi in the twenty-eighth episode of the fourth season of Magnificent Century.

It was very likely altered and worn again by Hümaşah Sultan in the eighteenth episode of the first season of Magnificent Century: Kösem since the fabric is the same color and has the same general cut. Furthermore, the kaftan worn underneath is another altered piece previously used on Magnificent Century.

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Unremarkable People

Merry Christmas, lads and lassies! I've been writing fanfiction sporadically for the entire time this blog was in a state of hiatus, but the problem is, I never managed to FINISH any of it untill now, and even then, this one is pretty short. It's a plotless little thing meant to simply flesh out two background characters, basically just a pile of headcanons shaped like a fic. Very many thanks to Alex (@hurremsultanns) for inspiration! Trigger warning include, uh... I guess mentions of suicide, Hürrem hate and Hürrem fangirling. Enjoy!

Edit: God, this is so embarasing. I messed up the name of one of the characters and now some of y'all are probably thinking this fic is about Nazli and an OC - yeah, no, I just misremembered Esma's name as Selma, God knows how and God knows why I didn't realize my mistake untill I posted this thing. I am so, so sorry!

***

Over the years, Nazli had attended quite a few weddings, and on none of them the bride took her sweet time like on this one. True, knowing Esma, she probably just had an attack of stage fright in the baths; in fact, after a while, Nazli started to feel guilty for her initial annoyance. In fact, as the minutes dragged, she had to fight the feeling that she should, perhaps, go check in on dear colleague – despite knowing that doing so would go against Hürrem sultan’s explicit orders to go to the common room with the children and wait for their mistress there. And if nothing else, Esma’s designated helpers for the day were certainly in a better position to calm her down.

After all, it’s not like calming Esma down was that difficult of job.

Nazli did not consider herself a sentimental type, but it was hard not to get attached to Esma. Sultana’s children certainly had, which made it all the more impressive that Hürrem had graced her with manumition and a good husband, despite the protests of especially her daughter (whom Nazli hated an entirely disproportional amount considering she was only thirteen – then again, so did most of the other servants). Nazli was quite convinced that had His Majesty been present at the time, this wedding would not take place, but the girl’s mother was much more immune to the girl’s incessant whining. After all, though her sons were certainly sad to see Selma go, they had other servants to be fond of, and Selim and Bayezit relied on Mehmet’s judgement enough to in the end make peace with Selma’s departure. As of now, Nazli heard something about Mihrimah locking herself in her room in protest – then again, it’s not as if princess would’ve been missed on a wedding between servant and sipahi.

Where was Mehmet she did not know; her and Aysima’s charges were the younger boys, a task on which Firuze just somehow came to participate because of her attachement to the youngest. All around not the most unpleasant company to be in – Nazli harbored an instinctual antipathy towards Firuze, just because of how easily she was able to endear herself to everyone for seemingly no reason (she most certainly did not consider some potentially fraudulent sorcery an adequate reason, hence her coldness towards Firuze’s „successes“ in aleviating Cihangir’s pain). But she at least was mostly ignorable; Hürrem sultan didn’t have much use for her besides caring for her youngest anyhow, even if she still seemed infuriatingly fond of her.

Nazli’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar call. „Attention! Her Majesty Hürrem sultan is coming!“ And indeed she came, gorgeous and impeccably dressed as usual, with her famous crown sitting proudly on her head and a few choice servants accompanying her. Right after her, the lucky bride entered the room, and Nazli had to compliment her helpers on a job well done. Esma looked quite fetching in a small red cap rimmed with a braid of fabric, dress of the same colour with open, semitransparent sleeves and kaftan with a tasteful little white embroidery. On her neck, Nazli noticed one of several wedding gifts Hürrem sultan gave her the night prior; then again, extreme generosity towards her servants was par for the course for the sultana. She was evidently nervous and not as happy as the occassion would warrant, though at least she didn’t seem to have cried, which was a good sign. She kissed the hem of sultana’s dress, and sultana spoke out, somewhat melancholically. „Go, hatun. Go, and be happy.“

Esma threw a last, quick glance to the side, to Nazli, Aysima, Firuze, Fatmanur, Muhsine and the others. There were no more words to exchange between them, no tears to shed. All the goodbyes were spoken as the music on her kina gecesi faded and dawn was breaking. „What will sultana’s children do without me?“ she told Nazli once she was no longer sobbing, but her eyes were still wet with tears. „You must promise me you’ll take special care of them and those that are supposed to replace me. I simply cannot trust anyone else.“

This shocked Nazli a bit. „Not even Firuze?“

„Certainly not as much as you! I mean... I don’t want to say anything, she is a very nice girl, very helpful... But she has only been here for a short while, and I’ve known you since forever...“

All Nazli could muster was an „Oh dear.“ and a tight hug. „Allah, I am going to miss you so badly. I am happy for you, but also mad that you are leaving me here with these idiots.“ she whispered in her ear.

Esma chuckled. „Oh, stop it. You like them and you know it.“

„Depends on who’s „them“, I guess.“ With these words, she let Esma go.

Esma sighed. „If you hate them so much... Well, sultana offered you a way out too.“

Nazli smirked. „She didn’t really mean it. Haven’t you seen how quickly she conceded to my begging? Besides, a way out of what? I’d only go from serving the greatest sultana the world has ever known – and, by proxy, His Majesty the sultan – to serving some fat merchant and perhaps a brood of his children, whether mine or his previous wife’s.“

Esma shrugged with one shoulder. „Well, my husband is not a fat merchant.“

„No, but Melek’s was. And Gülnihal’s... Well, he wasn’t fat, but he was damn old. I can’t imagine living with him was very pleasant.“

„At least he wasn’t long for this world.“ Esma said with a melancholic expression – and then she covered her mouth, shocked by her own words. „Oh, I am sorry, I...“

Nazli gave her a generous, but sardonic smile. „We’ve all been thinking it since we heard of his passing. And at least she has a new husband now – a much younger and prettier one, I’ve heard.“

Esma sighed. „I hope I can meet her again.“

„You think your husband will let you travel to Bursa?!“

She looked at Nazli with one of her patented sad gazes – why oh why must’ve Almighty given the girl such big, innocent eyes? Was it purely for dramatic appropriateness? „No, but... A girl can dream.“ She sighed. „I never got to thank her.“ Gülnihal was the one who recommended Esma to Hürrem sultan, and without her, the great sultana would certainly never take Esma into service, since before that, they didn’t get along much. Having been there at Gülnihal’s wedding, Nazli knew the only reason Esma never got to say her thank you, farewell or really much of anything was because of her own crippling shyness. But she managed to bite her tongue; this really was the time for teasing and bickering, however well-intentioned.

She never really understood what were women supposed to get from marriage, anyway. Perhaps if she could choose a husband, as she would back in Rohatyn, when she was just a daughter of a petty merchant... But as much as Nazli adored Hürrem sultan, after hearing what husband she picked Gülnihal, she did not trust her matchmaking skills. Well, she suspected that waiting a few years untill his young, beautiful wife tires the man’s poor old heart so much it gives out, then letting her enjoy the life of a rich widow had been the plan all along. And if Gülnihal was willing to stick it out for those couple of years, then good for her, but there was nothing Nazli hated more than the image of some ugly, sweaty man in her, on top of her, everywhere around her...

She could not stand such a thing even for a short period, was what she meant.

Of course, that was not a problem Esma would ever have to deal with. Hürrem sultan selected a husband for her favourite servant with special care, landing on one Hakan agha, a young sipahi with especially good looks and excellent reputation among the ladies of the city. Of course, Esma would not see that beautiful face very often, as even now he was discharged only for a short honeymoon, and was supposed to return to the Persian front right after that. In Nazli’s opinion, that didn’t sound so bad, being left to run one’s household as she pleases, but she had to admit, love – and unlike Nazli, Esma was a sentimental type, so it was likely that with such a husband, infatuation could set in very fast – changed the equation somewhat.

Either way, she could only pray for Esma’s happiness; after all, if there was anyone who deserved it, it was Esma.

---

If there was an occassion that Esma feared more than anything, it was dying for something not worth it. She felt quite fearless in face of chilbirth, as brining a child into the world was indeed a matter worth giving your life for. So far, she had born two boys, though the younger one left this world as quickly as he came to it. Dying of an illness, that too wasn’t that bad of a death, as Esma thought of such matters as simply God’s will, just as her late father did on his deathbed. No, a truly unbearable thought in Esma’s mind had always been dying just because one got tangled up in the powerplays of the harem. Then again, she supposed Nazli would’ve seen it differently.

Today, she did nothing but pray for her soul, because she suspected noone else will. News of her demise reached Esma via her regular correspondence with Gülnihal, who in turn stayed in touch the same way with none other than Hürrem sultan. Details of the incident that cost Esma’s old comrade her life were quite murky. According to Gülnihal’s telling of Hürrem’s words, sultana uncovered some letters, the content of which could’ve been used to drive a wedge between two sisters of sultan Süleyman now living in Istanbul. What this conflict was even about wasn’t entirely clear, but whatever the case, their response was entirely disproportionate – they chose Nazli as a scapegoat, tortured her into confessing that she forged the letters, and after she broke under torture, guilt of „betraying“ her mistress soon drove her to suicide. Well, at least that was Gülnihal’s telling; the implications were worse still, because Nazli was a woman of steel nerves and unwavering loyalty to Hürrem. Whenever Hürrem needed assistance in some sort of shady enterprise, she called on Nazli before anyone else. If they actually broke her, Esma could not even imagine the things she must’ve been put trough to achieve that. Even still, Hürrem herself wasn’t entirely certain her friend’s death was a suicide, as the only evidence she had was the testimony of Hatice sultan, who would’ve been a prime suspect had Nazli simply been silenced. And all that for the monumental sin of... Trying to drive a wedge between two sisters, which as child Esma and her three little sisters could attest was something that would under normal circumstances scarcely need more than a gentle push. Now, in Esma’s experience, it was entirely possible that Hürrem simply covered up details that made her look bad; perhaps she accused one of the sisters of some terrible crime? Well, maybe, though she also knew Hatice was becoming more and more vicious in her hatred of Hürrem, and according to Gülnihal, she only got worse since the passing of Ibrahim pasha. In sum, as much as Esma wanted to blame Hürrem for the tragedy, she simply did not have enough information.

Well, not that she came out of the whole affair completely innocent either way. Whatever the measure of their fault in Nazli’s death, Hürrem, Hatice and that other woman (what was her name, anyway?) all held some amount of culpability. And unfortunately, no matter what the truth of the matter was, the incident seemed tailor-made to only confirm Esma’s deepest prejudices about faithful servants and their foolishness. Because, though Esma wasn’t a traitor by nature, she had to admit to being somewhat cowardly, and if she ever found herself under the same pressure as Nazli, she was under no delusion about her ability to resist it.

Then again, such a thing was always quite unlikely – Esma’s main asset for surviving the harem had always been the façade of a pleasant, weak-willed girl, which like all the best façades held a kernel of truth, made to look like the whole of the ear. Indeed, when she first came to the harem, she was nothing more than a scared young girl, broken by the loss of her loving (though poor) family. After she adjusted to the conditions in the harem, she did try to stand up for herself a couple of times, but unless one was of some rank and status, such efforts generally weren’t appreciated. And for Esma, achieving rank and status seemed night-impossible. She certainly wouldn’t cut it as a concubine, both because of her comely dark features (to think she for a moment hoped that in the harem, where women were supposed to shed their tribe and homeland, she’d at least be able to stop being a Gypsy) and her fear of intimacy (which was quite ironic, since as of now sex and children were the only pleasures she was able to get from this marriage – what with her husband being, unfortunately, a quite unpleasant character). She had hoped to at least reach for the title of a kalfa trough her service to Hürrem sultan, which is why she first expressed interest in it to Gülnihal. Esma could still remember how her heart skipped a beat when Gülnihal said. „As of now, what Hürrem sultan needs the most is someone to take care of her child.“

Esma dropped her gaze in a gesture of half-sincere modesty. „Well, as it happens, I had seven younger siblings – three of them much younger than me, and our father died when I was only ten, so my mother needed all the help she could get. So I’d say I do have some experience with raising children. Also, I just... Love kids.“ She blurted out the last sentence quickly, only realizing how stupid it sounds as it was leaving her mouth.

At the moment, Gülnihal only shot her a confused look and changed the topic, but soon thereafter, Nigar gathered her and a few other girls to tell them they had been chosen for Hürrem sultan’s household. Esma was surprised to find out that said household consisted mostly of girls that spoke Rusyn, especially those that have been taken in the same raid on Rohatyn and the surrounding area as Esma, Hürrem and Gülnihal. Why it was so Esma wasn’t sure; as the years went by, Hürrem spoke Rusyn with them less and less, though she always seemed to have more trust in girls from her homeland than those from other parts of the world she hired as her household expanded. When it came to Esma herself, she always found said trust somewhat misplaced, as from the start she thought Hürrem moody, petulant and in general not a very admirable person. This was in contrast to Nazli, who seemed genuinely fascinated by Hürrem ever since she won the Thursday night from Mahidevran. „I am just saying – she must be doing something right, no?“

At that, Esma furrowed her brow in doubt. „And you want to copy her method or something?“

Nazli defiantly stuck out her lower lip. „Just so you know, I’d never dream of being a favourite! I mean, what are the chances sultan himself would even look at me, anyway?! Impossible! I’d be extraordinarily lucky to even have him send for me...“

„With your face? Certainly!“ laughed one of the girls they sat at the table with – she was named something long begining with Fer-, Esma didn’t remember her exactly, since she didn’t exactly seek out her company (Fersomething was always like that).

Years later, when the work has long since brought them together, Esma asked Nazli to elaborate on her feelings towards their mistress. Nazli only smiled dreamily. „Can’t you see it? She has such a... Fiery spirit. It is as if there was a star in her soul, shining brightly...“

Esma rolled her eyes. „She’s just a bit of a bitch, that’s all.“

„Oh, if only she could hear you! She’s proud, that’s what she is. Proud and defiant...“

„The kind of personality that you’d think would get her killed, and it very nearly did a couple of times...“

„And yet it didn’t! Not only that, but sultan loves her more and more each day. Of course, some of it must be because of how extraordinarily beautiful she is...“

Esma only shrugged. „Well, I guess that’s true. I mean, if you want to know my opinion, Mahidevran is even more beautiful, but I am not a man, let alone sultan, so...“

Despite that qualifier, Nazli looked at her as if she was about to punch Esma good and hard. However, she continued talking instead. „Hürrem sultan is also very clever.“

„Not clever enough to not get in trouble constantly!“

Nazli seemed unfazed by this comment. „As I’ve said, she’s proud and free-spirited. Cannot suffer mockery or some other kind of degradation from anyone.“

Esma only rolled her eyes once again. „Sure.“

This really seemed to send Nazli over the edge. „Listen, if you’ve served Hürrem sultan for so long and cannot see her virtues...“

„I can! I just don’t like her that much, you know? I mean, I spend most of the time with her children anyway...“

„And she’s a kind, caring mother too!“

„I mean, she’s not that bad of a mum, I’ll give her that, but I don’t think she’s especially caring or something considering how much time we have to spend with them.“

„At least she is smart enough to entrust them to you! You’re great with kids!“

Esma suddenly felt blood rushing to her face, unused as she was to compliments – especially from Nazli. This one completely silenced her, ending their conversation, and Esma never really asked about Hürrem’s appeal ever again.

Around the time of Bayezit’s birth, Nazli confessed to Esma to having an unspecified „daliance“ with a girl named Hanzade, and Esma later did see them sneaking off to the laundry room at an ungodly hour, though considering how diligent Nazli was in her duties, Esma couldn’t imagine this daliance must’ve been very intense. There were also rumors going around that Nazli might’ve recommended one of their colleagues, Aysima, to Hürrem solely because she was smitten by Aysima’s beauty – though this time, Nazli herself didn’t tell Esma anything, so who knows. Either way, over the years, Esma became convinced that Nazli has caught the occupational dissease, caused in many harem girls by living so far from the laws of man or God, steered solely by the wills of their masters and superiors: tribadism. Not that Esma judged her too much – she never understood the temptation, but then, before her early thirties, she was completely unfamiliar with sexual desire as a whole, and romance unfortunately evaded her to this day. In fact, she misliked even thinking of such matters, prefering to ignore them whenever possible, and since Nazli never expressed any interest towards her, Nazli’s little misdemeanors were very ignorable. That said, it was probably the best explanation Esma ever found for Nazli’s strangely intense admiration towards Hürrem sultan, though she held her friend in high enough esteem to take her explanations as also constituting part of the truth. Nazli did indeed find Hürrem worthy of genuine awe, it’s just that the character of this awe might’ve been tangled up with other feelings also.

It must be said that Esma knew plenty of other ladies, many of whom had a significantly less intimate knowledge of Hürrem as a person, whose adulation of Hürrem was just as unquestioning, especially once she achieved the impossible by marrying the sultan himself. Perhaps, she told herself at the end of her ruminations, Esma herself is the odd one for being unable to ignore Hürrem’s flaws, quirks and foibles. Perhaps acknowledging her extraordinary feats and nature is simply the done thing for most normal people.

At the same time... Why should this exceptional existence matter to average people like her and Nazli?

And was Nazli even all that unremarkable to begin with?

Or just unlucky to be born how she was born and placed where she was placed by the whims of fate?

 Esma wasn’t quite sure. All she knew was that she herself actually was unremarkable, and that was the way she wanted to be. The only traits she consciously developed were her ability to stay silent unless she truly needs to speak, as oposed to simply wanting to, and her love and understanding of children. Esma’s ambition to become a kalfa had always been somewhat limp, and as the years went by, it faded away completely as she became more and more thoroughly consumed by her love and devotion to Hürrem’s children. She still missed them terribly – Mehmet’s kind nature, Mihrimah’s keen mind and strong will, Selim’s diligence and hard work and Bayezit’s sweet, but shy demeanor. Nothing bothered her more than the thought of never knowing anything about what Cihangir will grow up to be like, perhaps besides the thought of Selim allegedly becoming more disobedient since her departure. She was only able to admit it after she left them behind, but despite her best efforts, she did find a favourite among them, specifically in little Selim.

Of course, Esma had another Selim she dedicated her life to now.

The boy had her eyes and face shape, though otherwise he inherited his father’s features and much lighter colouring. He was lively and sometimes mischievious, but she still loved him with the kind of intense, boundless love her otherwise somewhat cynical heart was able to only give to children. Though thinking of Nazli and the rest of her former colleagues, she had to admit to sometimes finding surprisingly strong bonds with adults also.

One day, when her Selim is old enough to understand it, he is doubtless going to be curious about the time his mother spent in service to the most famous sultana of all time. And when that time comes, she will take great care that the stories of her comrades will be told.

The world is a dark, cruel place, after all. A man, and a woman especially, need to take their humanity where they can get it. And while Nazli found it in servitude, Esma did so in a place that she herself found altogether more dignified.

Well, at least that was her humble opinion.

[tahyal]

How's the E-book going?☺️

🙈🙈🙈🙈

I honestly haven’t been focusing on it at all 🙉😂, there’s a project im working on for my business and its been taking all of my attention. I’ll get back to the e-book as soon as I can!

(Btw the project in question is a collection of kaftan dress + Melhfa all printed in my art, on light crepe fabric🤍, they’ll be perfect for the summer, let me know if you’re interested and I’ll notify you when it launches 🫶🏽)

[pre-raphaelitepunk]

Chemise -> Medieval Nubian Kaftan? Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Okay so final product(ish)!

I ended up not adding the tucks because I just didn't have time to do it the way I want to before the party: carefully ironing and pinning each tuck and matching the sleeves. There was too much cooking and setup to do and the wrap helped pull the hem off the ground just enough for the night (not enough though). Either way I loved the end product and the medieval faire Christmas party was quite fun!

Because this is going to be my Christmas dress as well, I am going to overdye it red and see how it fits after it dries, I expect 5-8% shrinkage based on the linen and cotton. If it still needs tucks then, I will add them.

Also, I *will* be revisiting this project with a few changes to better represent the garments in the Faras paintings.

I need a different pattern to match the neckline. Though the paintings are very faded, we can see that the neckline is more crew/jewel than the open square neckline of the Italian chemise tutorial I followed.

I want to try cuffed balloon sleeves like the image on the right

The wraps don't look to be long rectangles but come to an angle on the ends. I will do more research and experimentation there.

The most important aspect is fabrication: fabrics with both body and drape would accomplish the silhouette in the images better. I'm thinking cotton-silk, linen-silk or linen-rayon blends. The most affordable options are probably rayon damasks.

[arabicattire91]

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