#pleated bodice

[gogmstuff]

Around 1840 -

Top  Elisabeth, Freifrau von Oefele by Josef Karl Stieler (auctioned by Hampel). From their Web site via pinterest.com/andrewschroeder/1840s-art/; filled in shadows 40% 1758X2250 @144 3.6Mp.

Second row left  ca. 1840s Evening dress (location ?).  From threadingthroughtime.wordpress.com/2014/06/20/your-weekend-wow-19/ 572X896.

Second row right  ca. 1840s Detail of dress satin lined with tulle floral embroidery in metallic threads tulle and ribbon-trim (location ?). From threadingthroughtime.wordpress.com/2014/06/20/your-weekend-wow-19/ 736X896.

Third row  ca. 1840 Lady, probably Marie Charlotte, marquise de Bonneval, née de Segur by François Meuret (auctioned by Sotheby's). From their Web site 1070X1281.

Fourth row  1841 Countess Sofia Stepanovna Apraksina by Olga Golitsyn (Tomskiy Oblastnoy Khudozhestvennyy Muzey/Tomsk Oblast Art Museum - Tomsk, Tomsk Oblast, Russia). From Wikimedia; removed spots with Photoshop

[angelacostumery]

I can't even tell you how many days passed and how many curses were uttered in getting this from a mock-up of this overlay (image one) to a mostly functional bodice (image two).

It is just pleated, right? Well, no, it is also gathered and the combination makes things tricky...

Here you can see the pattern on tracing paper pinned to the fabric I'm using as an overlay, I sewed through each line that is marked, removed the paper, and used those lines of stitching as a guide for creasing and pressing the fabric.

The result is...very flat. Even flatter than my chest (impressive) which means it won't sit nicely at all. To form it to the bust the sides have to be gathered, not pleated--but I wanted to keep the definition of the pleats.

So I switched to pleats that were only 1/2" deep, then gathered in-between each one...I also switched fabrics and added some trim to the edge of each box pleat, because without it the detail of the pleats was sort of getting lost in the sheen of the fabric.

Much better! Then the entire edge was gathered down to match the measurement of the lining and the front seam was sewn.

This shows it in this state, on the dress form, resembling that mockup it all started with. But it is shinier (that is the fabric) and has more character (that is the cursing).

Some other stuff happened (lining, straps, etc.) to get it to the stage seen on the right but that is to be explained on another day!

[zegalba]

Issey Miyake: Body Works (1983)

[daguerreotype-era]

1/6 daguerreotype

[fauvester]

love cardassian military bodices. very Army does 1840s. here’s my 1840s does alien army does 1840s

[myfashion25]

Expertly designed by Jovani, the -40144 Pleated Bodice Ruffled Short Dress is perfect for any occasion. With a flattering pleated bodice and playful ruffled hemline, this dress will make you stand out in any crowd. Made with high-quality materials, it ensures both style and comfort.

[thebestshoppingonline]

Fu Jiang Women's Ruffle Bridesmaid Dresses Long Slit Chiffon Pleated Formal Evening Dress for Wedding

About this item

Feature:V Neck, Ruffle, Pleated/Ruched Bodice, Chiffon, A Line, Floor Length, Corset Lace up Back, Sleeveless

Size:Please refer to the standard size chart displayed left below the picture

Occasions:The Chiffon Bridesmaid Dresses with Slit Perfect as wedding party,pageant,photography,formal evening gown,concert,clubs,engagement,holiday,photoshoot dress,christmas party dress,dinner,dress-up, cocktail,dancing,family gathering, brithday party, beauty pageant,graduation ceremony,festivals,club wear or special occasion

Custom-Made Service: Custom-made Service is available without any Extra Cost, as for the customization, please send us a message about the measurements including bust/waist/hips, shoulder to hem or height

Service: If you have any questions about this dress, please feel free contact with us , we will try our best to help you

[marzipanandminutiae]

thinking about the infantiliztation and/or formalization of 19th-century women's clothing to modern audiences

like

our entire reference point for "wearing long skirts and outfits with decoration like lace, embroidery, appliques, etc." is either formalwear or fictional characters in children's media like Disney princesses. women's clothing is just so radically different now- not that those elements don't exist, but they're much less common in everyday clothing than they once were. some form of simple trousers and an equally simple top are de rigeur for everyday attire, and anything else is Fancy

combined with the fact- which is true! -that a lot of what survives to end up in big museums belonged to wealthy people, this ends up in wild assumptions like "basically our entire idea of what the Victorians dressed like is just Rich People Clothes really"

which has led to the eternal cry of "but what did NORMAL people wear?!?!?!" that will not be satisfied with real examples of middle or even working-class everyday clothing because it still looks too "fancy" to modern eyes

not Victorian, but a great example of this is what Abby Cox wore to portray a milliner (hatmaker) in Colonial Williamsburg. a working, middle-class woman:

(ignore the facial expression there)

this is the exact outfit she sported in a video that apparently got responses like "but that's just what rich women wore!" and it is, in fact, everyday attire for a working person. a person who worked in the fashion industry, it's true, but still

I had someone ask me about how to find examples of casual Victorian clothing because they were at their wits' end trying to research it. and I had to tell them that...what they were looking at WAS casual. in the sense of Clothing For Everyday Wear That's Not Especially Formal. there's nothing inherently formal, or exclusive to the wealthy, about a matched bodice-and-skirt dress, instep-length, with some trim. or even a trimmed blouse and skirt. obviously women working the absolute hardest outdoor, physical jobs might have adopted occupational trousers or similar, but we don't all dress like construction or farm workers all the time nowadays. why would they have back then?

Laundresses, probably 1850s or early 60s. Note that I can STILL date the picture based on their outfits and hair, and these are the furthest things from wealthy socialites.

Maid scrubbing steps, probably 1870s or 1880s. Note pleated trim on her skirt and what appears to be a peplum at the back of her bodice.

also, not all working women worked physical jobs any more than we do today. here is a teacher around the turn of the 20th century:

Teachers, 1887

"Breton Seamstresses," 1845, by Jules Trayer

were there differences in quality, type and quantity of trim, fit, etc? obviously. but some people are convinced that the basic outfit format can't POSSIBLY have been something ordinary women wore, because it looks formal and/or princess-y in a modern context

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

Genuinely obsessed with Movie!Elphaba's outfit during The Wizard and I. The SLEEVES?? All the buttons??? The silhouette???? The BOOTS????? The FUSED BODICE?????? So much DIAGONAL MICRO-PLEATING??????? AND with those thick CROSS-STITCHED leggings underneath???????? LIKE????????????

[cheapieclassic]

🍃Eucalyptus print dress from an H&M tablecloth - I made this AGES ago and forgot to post!

🍃Self drafted bodice with inverted box pleat skirt. The tablecloth and buttons are both thrifted.

🍃Styled with thrifted silk shirt and agate jewellery 🌿

[windmountain]

It annoys me so much when extra seam lines and sewn details are added for detail on a design, but they don't add seam lines where you NEED a seam for the design to work

[gogmstuff]

Glam dresses worn by Zinaida Ivanovna Yusupova (from top to bottom) -

1826-1827 Ball gown of Princess Zinaida Ivanovna Yusupova (Hermitage) From fripperiesandfobs.tumblr.com/page/5 838X1080.

1826-1827 Another ball gown of Princess Zinaida Ivanovna Yusupova (Hermitage) From fripperiesandfobs.tumblr.com/page/5 714X1080.

1826-1827 One more ball gown of Princess Zinaida Ivanovna Yusupova (Hermitage) From fripperiesandfobs.tumblr.com/page/5 656X1080.

1831-1833 Evening Dress of Princess Zinaida I. Yusupova (Hermitage). From their Web site 1351X1920.

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 16, vol. 18, 19 avril 1896, Paris. 11. Robe de maison en foulard mauve. Modèle de la Capdeville, 58, boulevard Haussman. 22. Corsage Tannhaüser en lainage violet évêque. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(11.) Robe de maison en foulard mauve, de forme droite, froncée devant et dans le dos, avec pli rond rapporté retenu par une ceinture de ruban nouée de côté, i rangs de petite Valenciennes ornent le devant et le haut des manches; la manche ballon, très basse sur l’épaule, se termine par un bracelet de ruban, double col rabattu orné de dentelle.

(11.) House dress in mauve foulard, straight, gathered at the front and back, with round pleat held in place by a ribbon belt tied at the side, rows of small Valenciennes adorn the front and the top of the sleeves; the balloon sleeve, very low on the shoulder, ends with a ribbon bracelet, double turn-down collar decorated with lace.

Matériaux: 10 mètres soie ou 5 mètres lainage, 20 mètres dentelle.

—

(22.) Corsage Tannhaüser en lainage violet évêque, rentré flans la jupe, le devant avec col revers est croise de côté; il est ouvert du lia ut sur un plastron en pareil surmonté d’un col de velours, garniture de velours assorti. Manche d’une seule pièce avec revers velours.

Matériaux: 3 mètres de tissu, 1m,50 velours.

(22.) Tannhaüser bodice in purple bishop wool, tucked into the skirt, the front with lapel collar is crossed sideways; it is open from the lia ut on a bib in the same surmounted by a velvet collar, trimmed with matching velvet. One-piece sleeve with velvet cuff.

[vintagefashionplates]

1845 green silk brocade evening dress with a white floral pattern, with a pleated skirt and boned bodice, that is shown here displayed with a lace bertha collar. Kyoto Costume Institute collection.

[johnpriceslamb]

— 𝓙𝓐𝓝𝓤𝓐𝓡𝓨

You are to be wedded by the end of the year. Upon travelling, you’re met with a group of pesky bandits.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 : age gap . fem ! reader . afab ! reader . hyper feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than chars mentioned in story . reader is in early 20’s . arthur is in late 20’s - early 30’s . fighting scenes . gore . traditional gender stereotypes heavily mentioned .

At the end of the year, you’ll be married off to a man.

Someone strong, handsome, clever, and gentle in heart. You hope.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for a woman.”

Your corset is tightened by your nanny from behind. The tightness of it makes your breath hitch slightly, hands curling up unconsciously.

In the late winters of 1892, the rolling plains of Lemoyne were no match for nobility. You were dragged along by daddy who was on a grand tour in the west, despite not being keen on the idea. He insisted on seeing the rails and trains he invested in, so you didn’t have much of a choice other than to tag along.

She ushers you to stand up so she could fit the petticoat around your hips. The bands of the voluptuous under-skirt were stretched, allowing you to titter in the large hole and shape your figure again. You’re thankful that it’s a lightweight cotton fabric, considering that all the other layers you adorned added a bit more unnecessary weight to your small frame. Then comes the underskirt, adding another layer of volume and structure.

“If a man stares at you, avoid direct eye contact by using the fan your grandmother has gifted you.” She instructs, remembering the lessons your governess taught you. Her frail hands place the soft, silk evening bodice over your tightened corset. A beautiful little thing which accentuated your curves even more so, kissed with ribbons and flares below the piece.

The burning wood which crackled near the fireplace left a smell around the changing room which you longed for. You’ll be leaving in just a few more minutes, having to face the harsh winter storms outside. You wonder to yourself if the amount of beauty products delicately touched on your face was really worth it, considering that the weather outside will most likely dishevel it. And of course, you’ll be spending most of the day travelling by carriage.

Finally, the skirt. The main part of your outfit. Nanny brushes off the remaining particles on the skirt with her wrinkled hands. You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful little thing, pleated with satin which ended with small bows. She repeats the steps like for the other underskirts, stretching the band, allowing you to step in, and lifting it up to shape your figure.

Upon the stool you sat, you squirm uncomfortably because of the amount of layers you had to wear. She notices, and kisses her tongue.

“A woman should not squirm uncontrollably in their seat.” She hisses, lightly tapping your hands with a ruler as a way to discipline you. “Repeat what I have said.”

A sigh escapes your tinted lips. You hold out your hands.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for women,” You repeat, “I must not stare back at a man and avoid direct eye contact.”

“Why must you not stare back at a man?” She asks.

You hesitate. The ruler comes down to your skin and places a stinging kiss. You hiss at the pain.

“B-because—” Another hit.

“No stuttering.”

You take a shaky breath, enduring the soft whimper which begs to escape from the bottom of your throat, “Because returning a man’s gaze could interpret as an invitation or a sign of interest.”

“What must you do if they stare?”

“Avoid eye contact by using my grandmothers’ fan.”

“Good.” She nods her head in approval. You place your hands neatly on your lap, looking down to avoid eye contact.

You’re ready to leave as soon as she ties the delicate satin bonnet on your head, ensuring that your face is covered with enough shade provided by the head piece. With the helping hands of the maids in daddy’s manor, all of your luggage was carried to the boot of the carriage. You bid your goodbyes to a few of your selected favourite maids, lightly kissing their cheeks before tittering away.

As soon as you walked outside, you knew that the cold winters of ‘92 would affect you much more than you’d expect. Suddenly, you appreciate the amount of layers you adorned. You could hardly feel the cold winds blowing even if you stuck your head outside the carriage’s openings.

The old man who drives the carriage around hops out of that tall seat in front to open the door and lend a hand for you to enter in. Upon entering in, you can see that there was a small lit candle; your only source of warmth.

You feel really glad for all of the layers.

You vaguely remember daddy boasting about all of the railroads built all over this part of America. ‘The Central Union Railroad’, a camp made up by working men who were in charge of building all railroads— daddy owned that camp. Some parts of you feel grateful for being raised in wealth and comfort, while the remaining parts felt guilty for seeing others having to slave away just to get ends meet.

You’re not convinced that all the men in that camp were capable of working. You’ve seen a good litter of youths labouring here and there. You pitied them greatly but alas: you were a woman. The most you could do was provide them more food rations and safety gear.

But as time slowly passed by, you’ve noticed the laws overseeing the amount of child labour happening in businesses. Daddy wasn’t too happy seeing a slight decline of workers in his company, nevertheless it did make your lips curl up a bit.

You’re not particularly interested in watching the railroads daddy invests and funded in, only because your thoughts immediately go back to the amount of workers that barely get payed to slave away in building these roads.

On the other hand, it was also how you’re able to sleep in a large manor everyday.

The roads slowly turned more bumpy and rough when leaving Lemoyne territory. You’re quite surprised that your carriage hasn’t been robbed considering the amount of warnings of raiders being littered across this part of territory. Your beady eyes boredly peer out of the windows of the carriage, watching the distant white-tipped evergreen trees pass by.

There wasn’t much to do other than watch nature unfold or perhaps pester the driver. You’d rather the former since you don’t even know the drivers name.

You can still feel the stings from that stupid ruler your nanny punished you with. They catch onto the fabric, which makes you twitch a bit at the abrupt pain. The more bumpier the road was, the more it caught on.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve left home. If you remembered correctly, you’d be arriving to a town somewhere in Chicago. You peak out to the driver up front, politely asking him what the time was. You left during the early hours of the morning, and you could see the sun rise much more.

His warm, honey-dew tipped voice replies back with a frail ‘9 in the morning’. Just a few more hours until they’ve reach to Chicago. Maybe even another day is to be filled with travelling.

You can’t help but sigh, “Could we take a break and rest somewhere in a few hours time?”

The old man hums, “We may, if that is what you wish.”

You smile sweetly. Of course, being told no was quite foreign to you. “Thank you kindly.”

You rest back onto the velvety cushions, heaving out another deep sigh. You look out of the openings again, and for the first time in a few months you lay eyes upon a long stretch of natural snowy land. It’s a vast difference between the usual scenery you’d see back in Lemoyne. There was no puffs of dark grey smoke in the sky, the heavy scent of engines and oil running wasn’t to be smelt, the bellowing of officers directing a crowd, no city life around.

Sometimes you’d see a few run-down stables with a few animals. Other times you’d just see landmarks with just the never-ending cold covering in it. On one occasion around noon, you saw a dead animal with its bones protruding out. Your nose scrunches up at the sight before looking away to the other opening of the carriage. Not much of a difference in scenery.

You tinker your lashes out of boredom, now playing with the satin-tipped bows on your bodice. The travel becomes much slower and difficult because of the amount of snow which catches onto the wheels of the carriage. It’s excruciatingly difficult to be entertained in these types of situations, considering that you left your novels back at home. You scoot back to the front seat of the carriage, peaking out to the man who lead the vehicle.

“May we please take a stop over there?” You ask with a shy smile, gesturing towards the small town from afar. You wonder if there’s any pastry stores nearby. The last time you ate was a few hours ago, a bowl of porridge and a few thin slices of bread. The man acknowledges your polite request with a gruff.

There’s been a bit of a food problem because of the cold winter, more snow meant less crops being able to grow and lesser animals being produced. You’ve been stuck on porridge and bread for a while now, and you’re hoping that it’ll change.

Once the driver stopped near the town, you’re greeted with the wind yet again. You unconsciously curl inward to protect yourself from the cold, peering at the people who lived in this little area. It’s humble, isolated, quiet.

Cold. Too cold.

You take a few steps, the bottoms of your shoes caked with snow. The man beside you takes ahold of your arm in case of any danger which falls upon you. He coughs a bit when the air hits his lungs. You pity him, asking if he needed a hot cup of tea or anything of the sorts to get him to warm up again.

His old eyes light up at the mention of tea.

“You mustn’t fret over me, my lady.” He whispers lowly.

“I insist.”

He takes a slow breath before sighing. “ If you must.”

Another pause to take a deep breath, “Your attitude is nothing like your father’s.”

You quirk a brow, “Pardon?”

He grabs onto your arm for support, mindlessly dawdling. “It’s a shame that you’ll be married off soon. When you see potential candidates during this trip, take a look at his attributes rather than his looks.”

What?

You tilt your head, “I thought this trip was a tour around the West.”

He grunts slightly, flinching a bit. “Perhaps I’ve spoken too much.”

Before you utter out another word of disbelief, you’re met with a click of a gun.

“Another step from either one of ye’,” A hoarse voice from behind grumbles like a predator, “One of yer head’s gon’ be rollin’.”

You’ve never been in situations like these before. Your nerves are getting to you. A soft sob escapes from your mouth as the tip of the gun threatens to puncture the back of your head. Your hands are immediately up in defence, beady eyes staring back at the frail man who could not do anything but mimic your actions.

You croak, “Please, sir. We don’t have anything valuable for you—”

Many more of them pop up. As if a litter of ants come and pour, the man behind scoffs before kicking your knees to buckle and kneel on the floor.

“Bullshit,” He snarls, “Look at what yer wearing. Pretty lil’ thing like ye’ ought to have somethin’ hidin’ under that skirt of yers.”

“What do we do with this one, boss?” One of them knocks the nozzle of his gun into the old man’s head. An old wail of pain escapes him, and your eyes water even more as you helplessly look around.

“Get rid of ‘em.”

“Wait, please! Don’t harm him! He hasn’t done anything wrong!” You sob, trying to reach out for him— only to be held back by these bandits, “No- stop, stop!”

The man who holds you back cackles, mocking your high-pitched pleas and sobs. The old man is knocked out with another blow to the head with the end of the bandit’s gun. You could see the back of his head starting to bleed.

“I’m telling you, a pretty girl like ‘er would sell real well in the markets.”

“How much do you think we could make?”

Another tug on your bodice gets you to raggedly gasp. Before your eyes peer to the Heavens above and beg for mercy, bullets from afar ring past and alert the others. You can hear gallops of multiple horses coming your way, and a heap of other outlaws.

“Shit, ‘s the Van Der Linde Gang!” The leader of the group- who currently holds you captive in his arms, yells at his group to gun them down. A bullet zooms past and catches onto his shoulder which allows you wiggle away and squirm to hide.

With the remaining strength you had, you drag the driver’s unconscious body with you and behind a barrel. He’s cold, everything is cold, you’re cold.

He’s dead.

The impact of the gun’s end must of cracked his skull. Tears pour down your beauty-tinted face, mustering up quiet prayers for him. Bullets are the only thing you can hear, accompanied with loud bellows and curses.

You have never in your life witnessed anything like this before.

You peak from the barrel, watching the man who gunned your driver down drops dead to the floor from one bullet which hits his head. Another array of shots are fired, and soon enough the litter of bandits are all gone.

Your ears perk when you hear them converse lowly, “Who the hell were those guys?”

“I don’t know, son. John, you ‘n Bill find supplies ‘round this town. Rob, steal, or be law abiding citizens— I don’t care. Just get as much as you can.”

You stifle a soft sob at the rowdiness. The man who was recently talking hears your soft whimper, before wondering over to you and crouching down.

“Arthur,” He seems to be calling for one of his men. He looks like he was born from wealth like you were. His clothes are tinted with jewellery and his vest looked like red velvet fur, “Come over here ‘n escort this girl!”

He lends you a hand. He sees the hesitation in those eyes of yours which lead him to a more softer approach.

When his eyes focus onto your face, he squints. He sizes you up and down quickly, the clothing you adorned clearly catching his attention. “Oh, you poor thing.”

Your small hands are held firmly by his as he hoists you up. Burdened with trauma and shock, you could only hear him murmur soft words of encouragement. You see a younger man strolling towards him, only for him to blink in surprise when seeing you.

There was something about him which sparked your interest greatly.

He scratches at his light stubble, barely visible yet. His breath seemed to hitch at the first sight of you.

“Can she talk?”

The other man who holds you closely scoffs, “‘Course she can. She’s just shocked.”

“Huh. Okay. What do we do with her?”

The man looks at you, “Hm. What’s your name, miss?”

You sniffle a bit, shakily replying with a meek babble of your name.

“Lovely to meet you, my dear. Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde.” He squeezes your shoulder a bit, “Where were you last heading to before.. all of this?”

“Ch— Chicago,” You stutter, either from the cold or from the scene which unfolded beneath your very eyes.

“Damn.. That’s a long way away.” The man who eyed you with interest mumbles, not taking his kind eyes away from you.

You stare back of course.

Some sort of spark in you flared up.

He could feel it too.

“We ought to take her back to camp. She doesn’t seem like she’s in good condition.” Dutch makes you step forward out to Arthur, who grabs you and hoists you in his arms and to his horse, a soft grumble of annoyance escaping his lips, before murmuring a low ‘up you go, girl.’

“When she’s settled enough, we’ll ride ‘er to Chicago. We’re headin’ north aren’t we?”

“Indeed we are.”

“Not much of a problem, then.”

You needily paw at him before he could settle you on the large saddle of his horse, “W-wait but my luggages..”

He quirks a brow at you, “What about it?”

You meekly look around, stammering. “I need it. ‘s— ‘s important, I just—”

He cuts you off, “Where is it?”

You gesture to the carriage from afar. You watch his built figure stroll down thataway to retrieve them. You’re still surprised that the bandits from earlier didn’t manage to spot it. But nevertheless, you profusely thanked him before he left to go grab it from the boot.

You watch Dutch’s other men grab your old driver’s body and sling it on the back of their horse, probably to bury it somewhere. You deeply thank them in your mind, only for a chuckle to interrupt your thoughts.

“The boy’s smitten, Hosea! Look at ‘im,” The man who found you nudged an older looking man’s shoulder, pointing to his bulky figure which held onto your absurdly large luggages, “Never did that with any of the other men we saved. Didn’t even protest when I said that we’re bringing her back to camp.”

Dutch titters to you with that beautiful stallion of his. You couldn’t help but envy at how gorgeous that mane was. You remember back home your horses were used for training and educating rather than for show. “You’ll be staying with us for a while until we can get you on your feet again.”

You slowly nod, sniffling a bit. You rub your arms for comfort, hoping that they won’t do anything funny to you, “Th—thank you..”

Hosea— if you recalled, only looked at you with eyes as warm as the fireplace back home. He pitied you too, but in a sense that wasn’t belittling like how Dutch pitied you.

Arthur grunts as he heaves the luggages on the back of his horse, securing it with some rope to not make it fall. He mounts from the left and settles behind you, before kicking his spurs gently which makes his horse start walking in a slow pace.

A comforting hand is placed on your shoulder. He leans in a bit and murmurs, “You’re safe with us.”

[frostedmagnolias]

Dress

c. 1890

“This silk dress has a standing lace collar as well as a lace yoke. There is floral applique on the center front and on the back of the boned bodice as well as on the sleeve cuffs. There is also ruching at the center front of the bodice and on the sleeves. The full sleeves are gathered at the shoulders and have velvet trim and lace trim at the cuffs. There are gathers at the waist and cartridge pleats and ruffles at the skirt hem. Features that indicate this dress is from the late 19th century are the hourglass silhouette, the monobosom, and the boned bodice.”

Grand Rapids Public Museum