#kaftan fabric

[africanprintmanufacturer]

Where can I buy bulk wholesale African clothing?

Recently, African clothing has become very popular because of the bright colors, intricate designs, and deep significance of garments. From the elegant patterns of Ankara to the traditional styles of Dashiki, these pieces celebrate heritage with an edge of unique expression. Therefore, if you are interested in buying African clothing in bulk for resale, festivals, or personal use, you will need to know how to find reliable wholesale suppliers. In this blog post, we will guide you through all options on how to buy African clothing in bulk wholesale and some tips so that you don't make uninformed choices.

Understanding the Appeal of African Clothing

African garments are more than just fabric. Each garment is a shrine of tradition, culture, and a masterpiece of art that stores its own stories to tell. That's why it's gaining popularity:

Vibrant Styles and Designs

Colorful Patterns: African prints of Kente, Ankara, and Mud Cloth exemplify some very bold and beautiful patterns.

Different Styles: From casual wear to formal attire, there are styles suitable for every occasion.

Cultural Significance

Historical Roots: Most designs convey history and ideology of different African communities, making every piece a story in itself.

Symbolism: Different colors and patterns essentially describe a lot about identity and heritage.

This power combination of beauty and meaning is precisely what drives many to look into wholesale options.

Find Bulk Wholesale African Clothing

African Fabric Supplier in Gujarat provides best fabric like Ankara, kente, Khanga Supplier in Kenya, Leso Supplier in Kenya, Kaftan & Dashiki etc. best african fabric in South Africa, USA, UK etc. at reasonable price.

Bulk Purchase Tips

Having identified the sources, here are some tips to successful bulk purchase:

Quality Over Quantity

Inspect Samples: Order samples first before committing yourself to a large purchase. This gives you time to assess the quality and fit.

Material Choices: You need to understand fabric types since quality can be drastically different.

Know about Pricing

Discounts with Bulk: Suppliers usually come with tiered pricing; that is the more you order, the cheaper it gets.

Shipping Costs: In most cases, shipping should be factored into the total cost, as international shipping costs can be quite high.

Check Return Policies

Returns and Exchanges: Establish the supplier's process for returning goods that are not of grade or that are defective.

Conclusion

Shopping in bulk African clothing can be a very exciting journey for the enthusiast and seller alike. There are several suppliers: online, local markets, or trade shows, and even purchasing from the designer itself. By considering the quality of what you buy, understanding pricing mechanisms, and taking precautions, a generally satisfying and enriching experience in buying in bulk can be achieved. So that is the reason I would like to prefer africanprint.in

[other-peoples-coats]

Weavers?

On the odd chance, any weavers in the audience? We've just brought a fancy bitch loom (very local, very cheap, wanted one for a long time) but it is genuinely a Fancy Bitch loom* and much higher quality/capability than my wife or I have experience with.

We're obviously happy to muddle along, fucking about and finding out, but if you weave with a loom and have recs (or anti-recs!) for resources on said weaving, links/names/etc would be very much appreciated!

*seriously it's so fucking fancy it was originally custom made for a textile designer and is an eight shaft table loom on an also custom frame; it's technically a hand loom but functions much like a jack loom. It has a built in overhead light!

[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

[asoiaf-bambii]

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

[minecraftbookshelf]

Marriage of State AU Character Designs: The Mad King of Mezalea

Joel actually has three major looks through the course of the AU; Prince of Mezalea, Trophy Husband, and King Joel, with the subcategories of "armor" for each.

They all have the same base design of "human", differing by (apparent) age and general sense of style.

Some Joel Skins to start us off and provide the base we're working off of, and also the Mezalean banner because color pallet

And also, because it is actually relevant, (bear with me here) some samples of Mezalean architecture.

The Matral Palace and the Villager area.

Based off of Joel's final skin, the vibe is kind of "Victorian military dress uniform" however there is something very, very important to take into consideration from a worldbuilding perspective.

The Mesa is a warm weather biome. Its a colorful desert. Which means high temperatures during the day and cold at night. So tight-fitting, thick fabrics in a Victorian style would be incredibly impractical.

So we turn to the second possible source for fashion inspiration: The architecture, which gives mostly Byzantine vibes.

So what would Byzantine clothing look like, especially for nobility?

First off, taking into account that the Byzantine Empire lasted for approximately a thousand years and, naturally, underwent some dramatic changes in clothing style during that time, we'll pick a specific vibe out of the options. I settled on a bit of a mix between Early Byzantine (think the Theodora Mosaic shown below) and Middle Byzantine (see the mosaic of Emperor Constantine IX below)

And here are just some screenshots from my pintrest board for Mezalea and Mezalean!Joel, because if I put all these on here separately I'll hit the image limit too soon.

(General disclaimer: yes, Pintrest has an art theft problem, yes Pintrest is much harder to effectively use now due to the pervasiveness of ads on everything, no I don't use it for like, formal things. It remains one of the best ways to collect visual references and figuring out The Vibes)

(Yes, we get to go full Material Gworl vibes for the Mezalean King, as is only right and proper.)

General characteristics I'm adopting here for Mezalean clothing:

Brocade (and bejeweled) kaftan/kaftan-esque outer layer. This is a formal wear thing, and is absolutely a "showing off the wealth" power move.

Lots of Big Chunky Colorful Jewelry

I don't know what it's actual name is, but that general style of having jeweled tassel-like things hanging from the front sides of the crown/headdress.

Light-weight and loose fitting under-layers.

And of course, bright colors.

Prince Joel: Before he became part of the main cast in an epic fantasy adventure spanning several hundreds of years and an entire continent (and the adjacent ocean) Joel was the youngest of three princes with two older brothers who were both married and had kids.

Which is to say, it did not look like he would ever be the king.

His role in the kingdom was very much that of an ambassador to and direct connection to their people. He spent a lot of time working on fishing boats and in the mines and quarries. While he did receive a standard royal education on things like diplomacy and combat, international interactions were not his focus at all, much more involved in the day to day operations of his own home. (And yes, that is a very vital aspect of the idea of "royalty" in general, supposedly, and that being a particular point of Joel's upbringing will make more sense when I get around to writing and posting the post about how royalty functions in the Empires. tldr; its related to the whole thing where Pixlriffs accidentally redefined "war")

Basically, Prince Joel = the first skin, the simple green one. He's wearing more lightweight, practical clothes that allow him to engage in physically demanding dirty work without costing a fortune every day. He still dresses up for formal events, but he doesn't even attend all of those and he is far from a daily sight in court.

Trophy Husband: For a couple hundred years, Joel didn't live in Mezalea. Instead, he was one half of the chronological first arranged marriage in the "au in which all the marriages are arranged" situation. And this one was the one that most resembles the set-up of a generic "period" bodice-ripper novel (though that is not how it played out ultimately, for the parties involved, despite the romance that does happen.)

Basically, this is his War Prize Era. In which Lizzie won a husband in combat and then didn't really know what to do with him.

During this time period, Joel mostly wore ocean styled clothing, though during formal occasions he would wear a notable amount of Mezalean accessories, that were part and parcel of the treaty with him. (I'm trying so hard not to derail this into just a breakdown of the events of the Joel & Lizzie arc of the au im trying so hard)

He did tend to mix Oceanic and Mezalean clothing, due in part to Oceanic clothing being primarily designed for underwater wear, while he lived above the surface, finding the balance of practicality and appearances demanded by the political nature of his existence at the time. (Also a personal comfort thing as Mezalean clothing tended to afford more skin coverage and also had shoes) Once he and Lizzie were more comfortable both in the world and with each other he had more opportunities for personalization and tended towards Mezalean styles in oceanic colors. He did develop a significant appreciation for the Oceanic idea of skin-tight under-layers for water travel.

King Joel: He did end up back in Mezalea as king, which is when we hit the style closest to the second skin, which mostly for this is really an indicator of color scheme. Formally, he is now wearing the full Kaftan and Jewelry look, day to day its more of "colorful, simple, and lightweight" because he still is very active in the day to day commerce of his empire. He does usually wear significantly more jewelry than he did as a prince, he grew a taste for it during his trophy husband era XD. The details of his day-to-day wear are also fancier. finer fabrics, more embroidery, brocade hems, etc.

Most of his earrings are gifts from Lizzie, some in Oceanic colors, some in Mezalean, but all with little chips of prismarine to remind him of her even when she can't be there.

Armor: Joel's armor preferences are simple netherite plate. He also does have a ceremonial trident, as a member of the Oceanic royal family. His is gold-plated.

-

art

Lizzie || Jimmy ||

AU Masterpost

[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.

[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 🫶🏽)

[africanprintmanufacturer]

Where can I buy bulk wholesale African clothing?

Recently, African clothing has become very popular because of the bright colors, intricate designs, and deep significance of garments. From the elegant patterns of Ankara to the traditional styles of Dashiki, these pieces celebrate heritage with an edge of unique expression. Therefore, if you are interested in buying African clothing in bulk for resale, festivals, or personal use, you will need to know how to find reliable wholesale suppliers. In this blog post, we will guide you through all options on how to buy African clothing in bulk wholesale and some tips so that you don’t make uninformed choices.

[fashionbooksmilano]

Silks for the Sultans

Ottoman Imperial garments from Topkapi Palace

Photos by Ahmet Ertuğ, Essay by Dr.Patrick L.Baker, Dr.Hülya Tezean, Jennifer Wearden

Ertuğ & Kocabıyık, 1996, 251 pages, 150 colour plates, 31x42cm,

euro 600,00

email if you want to buy booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

This superb oversized book is published by Ertuğ & Kocabiyik Publications, a publishing house established by leading architect and photographer Ahmet Ertuğ and Ahmet Kocabiyik. Their books are unique collector's items focusing on the cultural heritage of Anatolia. The magnificent images by Ahmet Ertuğ are accompanied by articles of world-renowned academics to reflect the inherent value of the masterpieces they contain. The garments shown and described in this book were chosen from about five thousand objects in the garments and accessories collections of Topkapı Palace Museum in İstanbul. In making this selection, emphasis was placed on the silk kaftans (robes) that were worn by the sultans with an eye on such criteria as color, design, and quality reflecting the rich cosmopolitan atmosphere that prevailed in the Ottoman court. The examples in this book are classified according to design categories within which they are generally presented in chronological order. This has the advantage of reflecting the stylistic developments that took place in the design-shops attached to the Ottoman court. The first category consists of fabrics with the "triple spot" motif and its variations. The second group presents two examples of garments in the "saz" style and in the third, of the "Floral style". These are followed by kaftans in "Seraser" fabrics. The next three groups are devoted to fabrics that are of European origin or were imported from India. The next two categories show items of dress made from plain fabrics, some with appliqué designs, other garments from the 18th and 19th centuries. The last group are not kaftans but talismanic shirts, included because the unusual calligraphic treatment of their designs provides an interesting coda to the magnificent and elegant garments that precede them.

24/01/24

[msbarrows]

The first of the birthday presents I'd ordered for myself is the last to arrive - because it was coming to me by regular mail all the way from an Etsy shop in India. But hey, hard to beat free shipping for that distance even if that does mean slow (just over three weeks). It's a maxi length kaftan recycled from the fabric of a previously worn sari, and is a gorgeous lightweight 100% silk. Best thing is it cost me about an eighth of what a similarly fashioned recycled silk garment would have from an Ontario shop that sells the same sort of clothing ($45 vs $348 in Canadian dollars). Sorry sariNOTsari, I loved the look of a lot of your stuff, but valuemartindia has you on prices.

Tempted to buy more, possibly of the two shorter lengths (midi and shirt) rather than another maxi length like this one, as they'd be more generally wearable as tops. Because that's a pretty decent price point, and I love that each piece is pretty much guaranteed to be unique due to the nature of the fabric source. Though the light weight of the fabric means I should probably wait until some time in the new year, as this is more of a summer outfit than something suited for cooler weather.

[cymorilcinnamonroll]

And Lilith Sewed the Seam - Sapphic Short Story

The frost came early that year, the year the Queen of Night came to Karelia. We lived in Sharon, a little shtetl in Grand Russe on the Finnish border that was known for its beautiful alpine aerials and lakes like beads of blue glass. The ocean, too, was refreshing to swim in – provided one went to the banya afterwards. I was a young lass in the rime-laden harbors and forests. We Jews of Sharon were a sailing, seabound lot, making our living off fishing and the waves. But mama, bubbe and I? We were seamstresses of the finest caliber. Some would say we were magick. They called us, and our shop, The Weaving Wives.

The boyars ordered traditional kaftans straight from bubbe’s shop, woven with the earth goddess Mokosh and her lovers Veles and Perun on the breast. I had grown up toeing the line between two faiths. I learned both the myths of Baba Yaga eating unworthy children and the Night Howler Agrath screech-dancing on the roof to mark a house that her husband, Sammael, would strike down as dogs bayed at his twelve-winged flight. Sometimes, late at night, I could hear them.

Or perhaps it was only a storm…

Word of bubbe’s and mama’s and my craftiness spread. The year I turned sixteen, the tsarina herself ordered a fashionable cape from us. It was based off the tale of Father Frost’s granddaughter, Snegurochka the Snow Maiden. A tale I had always loved. It was the first project over which I was given complete ownership.

I embroidered white, pale pink and dove gray pearls on the powder blue cape in little clusters of wings shaped like snowflakes, then stitched eiderdown into the golden seams. Bubbe dusted it with malachite flakes to bless it from far off Azov, the riches of the earth piling high upon the tsarina’s head.

Mama, bubbe, and I were the treasures of Sharon. We were married to our thread, the men and women of Sharon said, and they—from the hunters to the midwives to the rabbi, to my own father, a ship captain and whaler—guarded our secrets with their very lives.

We Weaving Wives were a protected, cherished lot. And our craft was our very soul. There was a deep magick in that sewing. For in truth, we were good witches. We could summon sunlight to make yellow fabric like a peach. Melt down rusalka hair in our oven to create the finest threads. Our secrets were the stuff of legends, and we were glad not to tell the rabbi about them, or even dear papa. And the menfolk knew better than to ask, but the women always wondered.

The cape was the talk of the kingdom.

No wonder, the tsarina was pleased.

As fame of our clothing grew, the Weaving Wives gained esteem. Through charitable works we lifted our community up and filled the synagogue coffers to the brim. Our family did good works in Adonai’s name. All so that Peniel – the Face of God – might shine down after the three of us wrestled long with a hill of fabric, like female Jacobs and a needle-bound angel.

But the frost came early the year I turned eighteen, and it stole my bubbe away. Crying tears like glass beads, I looked into my mirror after shiva was over and found myself a changed maid: my long black curls were winsome, I was plump and rounded to please men, and my cornflower eyes could break hearts. I needed a husband. Only… the village maidens had always been far more winsome.

Fair Shayna, with eyes like silver coins. Comely dark Miriam, with a heart like a thorny rose. And Delilah, the marigold of my garden. I had tossed and turned with all of them in the fields and furrows on Ivan Kupalo, what the Western countries called St. John’s Eve, as we searched for fern flowers together to promise bonds of eternal love. Shayna’s lips were soft. Miriam’s grip on my hot hips was hard, determined, just like Malakh HaMavet striking only holy blows.

But Delilah? She was mother-of-pearl dissolving in Cleopatra’s wine. A beauty wrapped in a carpet, delivered to Marc Antony.

I wanted Delilah more than life itself. But Shayna and Miriam had already taken husbands. We were eighteen, after all. Only Delilah, with her red hair, pale skin, full form, and freckles, was left, and to me, she was more holy than any synagogue, a word on the tongue of G-d that would make Chava take an apple all over again, but this time, a blessed fruit. Delilah was a pearl of great price that could redeem. A benediction and wonder that would lighten the load of the Azazel goat on Yom Kippur and set the Temple right.

So, that night in my anger and mourning over losing bubbe too soon, I looked into my mirror, in the flickering light, and I cast a magick spell. I made a wish on bay leaves and some goldenrod I had dried earlier that year for Delilah to be mine. As I was threading the bay leaves through a needle, to string them over my dresser, I pricked myself on my thumb.

A bead of red delicious blood bubbled up. Suddenly, the mirror swirled into a gorgeous Ashkenazi royal woman with long black ringlets of hair done up in silver bands, a purple wine-dark dress with gold threading, yellow-green eyes like parched grass, and pale, ghostly skin. Her bruised pink lips were bloody, and there was hunger in her eye.

“Pu pu pu!” I said, warding off the demon, frightened. I clutched the red thread always tied to my bandeau and threw salt at the mirror. It sizzled as it hit the candle, putting it out. Then, silence.

I had not a day before the Queen of Night came to Sharon. She was the talk of our little shtetl, rumored to be disgraced Romanian royalty who had bathed in maiden’s blood and newborn calf spittle to retain her youth. She was old, she was young, she was invisible, they whispered. Dressed head to toe in a black veil, riding in a carriage like a hearse. It was pulled by black bulls, and scarlet, bloody-colored ribbons were woven round the black bulls’ necks.

Just like the blood from my thumb.

Lailah, she was called. I was so lost in fear of her, I did not hear the clinking of bells at our shop. Bubbe was gone, Delilah was not mine, and I was haunted by a ghost.

I was manning the shop till, daydreaming about the demon. She… had been beautiful. Lailah was said to be hideous. To be virginal and pure. To be a vampir or dhampir or G-d knew what! Only, this Romanian countess or ghost or queen had come to my shop, now, smelling of lavender and patchouli. She had been watching me, and I felt like I was drowning.

A musk radiated off her that reminded me of eating dinner between Delilah’s thighs.

Suddenly, Lailah let her veil and robes fall, and the demoness from earlier in the mirror stood naked before me, perfect as a pale statue of Dark Venus, brimstone the farthest word from her.

Her eyes were a poisonous, mesmerizing yellow. Her pubis was lightly thatched with slashes of black, her sex an enticing pink wound. She seemed to be carved from alabaster, her legs ending in owl’s feet, great sooty wings on her back, and a night storm cloud of ebon ringlets framed her sharp, small and upturned nose and wicked ruby-grapefruit lips.

“Lilith?” I squeaked. I did not have it in me to “Pu pu pu.” To reach for metal or iron or salt. To even clutch my red thread.

I knew immediately that if this beautiful, treacherous Queen of the Night asked, I would be her slave. I would be a dog in her yard, licking fruit off her feet, honey off her lips. All to taste… majesty. The divine.

She demurred, smiling to reveal needle teeth that only heightened her beauty. “You have grown beautiful, Jael.”

“Oh. No. I, Lilith, with all my pleading, please, flee this place. We are holy. Adonai shall smite you. And you are too beautiful to suffer,” I said, rambling, not making sense, soaking in Lilith’s beauty, her temptation, her smirk, the way her thick hips and ripe breasts swayed as she walked towards me slowly, like a leopardess stalking its prey.

“But, if I flee, you will be nothing. An adamant bloom plucked too young to thrive. You have all the talent of your bubbe Abigail, and all the strength and industry of your mother Bina. There is a reason our faith is passed on through women, Jael. You are the perfect vessel.”

I froze. “You mean to possess me?”

Lilith narrowed her yellow eyes at me. Oh, how I wanted to reassure her I was not scared. And yet, I was. Highly terrified. The Witch of Endor was in my shop, and darkness filled the corners, Sheol the depths of the yard; the windows were blotted out by the realm of husks. It was only Lilith and I at the axis mundi of the worlds.

“No, I mean to pay you,” Lilith laughed in a sultry tone, then quickly softened. “I have need of a dress for a ball Ashmedai is throwing. Ashmedai and Sammael are both my husbands, but they are at war as of late. I need to dress for battle. For the manner in which I fight, and who I choose as consort, shall determine the course of Kingship in Gehenna.”

My jaw dropped. “Like the Maid of Orleans?”

Lilith smiled. “Dear Jael, I have been at this for millennia longer than any Frenchwoman. Now, this I must ask you: can you make me a ballgown the color of a mirror, that reflects all it touches, that can withstand hail and hellfire? If you do, you will be wealthier than the tsarina. As you know, the Shekinah often rests with Sammael, and as the Shekinah’s Handmaiden, I ascend to G-d in turn. He lets me do what I like, you see. The world, for me, is freedom. As I mean it to be for all women, Jael. Your namesake certainly agreed. We had plans, Jael and I.”

“The girl who drove a tent spike through her enemy’s head?” I piped out, voice squeaking yet again. I nervously chewed my hair, then spat it out. “Yes, I can make a dress like that. But I do not need riches. Just Delilah.”

“Lilah. Delilah. She is similar, yet nothing like me. A seal, then, of our bargain?” Lilith leaned against the counter and kissed me, deep. “Yes, you taste just like Jael as well. She was one of mine, you know. Perhaps… but no, Jael. Let sleeping Judges lie.”

With that, Lilith disappeared, and the pale, ghostly light of winter trickled into the shop.

I reached for the red thread on my bandeau and snapped it apart, welcoming the demoness in.

For the fabric, I captured moonlight in a jar. I made it slitted at the train, so Lilith could stride across the burning floor of Ashmedai’s ballroom like the Queen of Sheba did to win Solomon’s heart. I wove the bodice of form-fitting silver silk, loose and dyed from rain under the morning star. Do not ask how the Weaving Wives work our magick. We simply do. It was in bubbe’s blood. It is half in mother’s blood. And I?

I surpass them both.

I wrote Delilah a letter that night. A letter to come room with me. It did not say much other than “bosom friend” and “bubbe’s room is empty” and “mama and papa are leaving for America, so it shall be just us, and I could use a shopkeeper.” But I sprayed perfume from Moscow on it, kissed it thrice, and slipped it in a pink bow and thick sturdy envelope into our hiding tree. An alder.

Delilah wrote me back: “If your gown for this cursed queen goes through, then you will have proven to me that a woman can love a woman, like a man loves a woman, and Jael, I do think… I must not write it.”

There were tear stains blotting her delicate signature.

I cried that night. I stitched Lilith’s seam. I used bat wings boiled down to the finest veins to protect the dress from hellfire. Then I crushed the bay leaves of my witchcraft, when I met Lilith in the mirror, into the fur capelet of mink. It was my heart’s treasure. My greatest wish of all.

And finally, a hilt for a dagger, bejeweled with malachite from Mount Azov. It was sacred in Russia, from one Mistress – the Mistress of Copper Mountain – to the Queen of Night.

Lilith came the day after Sabbath.

She tried it on, the silk bunching around her in pleasing, curvaceous angles, the embroidery and pearls and malachite and mink sparkling, and she shone like the tsarina’s silver tiara.

Lilith smiled in the mirror: “It’s perfect, my Jael. Come walk with me.”

Into her dark midnight carriage with the four red-banded black bulls I went. We rode to Gehenna. What I saw would frighten Enoch himself. Dumah, at the gate, with his poisoned sword of gall. Hazarmavet, the Court of the Dead, where new souls ate meat and drank wine in perfect silence. The winnowing of souls in the fire of Sheol with the punishing, purifying angels. A glimpse of Gan Eden and the Silver City where the angels lived, attending the Promised Messiah. It was all like a crack in the sky.

Finally, Ashmedai’s realm. A realm of exotic desert fruit and pleasure girls and winebearer ephebes. Hot searing heat, simoom winds, oases and belly dancers. It was scandalous.

Sammael’s forces of death, poison and decay camped at the door. I waited in the carriage as Lilith walked on French heels to the forefront, her dagger held high, her dress that I had painstakingly, feverishly sewed gleaming under the hot desert sun.

Lilith’s beauty sparked Sammael’s shedim and lilim and seirim into frenzy. They descended on Ashmedai’s forces as the demon king emerged from his glistening sandstone palace with his forces, dates and palm and rivers of jewels surrounding us on all four sides.

I watched as Lilith turned the tides of the battle, flirted with Ashmedai, lured Sammael. In the end, Lilith took both Ashmedai and Sammael’s crowns as they kneeled and kissed her hands off their heads. She melted the coronets down with fiery breath from her beautiful lips, then formed two gold arm bands for her pale limbs.

It seemed Gehenna had a new ruler.

I am old now. Delilah is my bosom companion. I talk to Lilith in the mirror, late at night, I am aged, Lilith is ageless, and she tells me tales of the world: the invention of electricity. War in America. Discoveries in Asia. How her plans are in motion to free women, so one day, we are not so tied to the cycles of our womb, forced to labor in birth pangs like Chavah.

Delilah and I adopted three girls, and we teach them the secrets of weaving, sewing, and stitchery. We are bringing the crafts of our shtetl into a new age. My parents died in America and seemed to have prospered. I have no intention of leaving Karelia. We are the exclusive gownmakers for the new tsarina.

It is a good life. It is a small life. Lilith and Adonai shower riches upon our community – not too much, but enough that Sharon is known as blessed. The Shekinah still roosts with Sammael, and will until the Temple is set right, and Her people ascend.

I am happy all my days. So is Delilah. When we die, we will be led by Lilith the Perpetual Regent of Gehenna to be her personal weavers and outfitters, and our daughter’s daughter’s daughters will know true freedom in the modern age.

And all because Lilith sewed the seam.

[abayaelegancebytahura]

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[redrosecut]

I have been staring for too long at these three picture, so help me please. Is Kösem wearing the same kaftan as Hürrem and Fatma (and Halime but we only see it very briefly on her) or is it a different kaftan from the same/similar fabric?

[shehanazindia]

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