The night she wouldn't shut up, or In Search of the Perfect Ren-faire Gown, Part 1

You ever have one of those nights when you just can't stop writing?  I think the official pathologic term for it is hypergraphia.  Pretty sure blogging counts in that too even if it is strictly typing not writing.  Ow.

Bit of history: I love historical costumes.  Once made a Regency gown just because the pattern and suitable fabric were on ridonculous sale and it looked cool.  I just can't get the same thrill out of a pair of jeans and a novelty tee (though if anybody can tell me where my Zombie Kibble shirt has got to, I do sorely miss it, it was the perfect shade of girly pink to make me grin wickedly every time I wore it).  Actually I volunteered to be the costumes mistress of the med school musical my fourth year just for a chance to teach myself machine sewing and make lots and lots of "Roman" tunics and things.  So of course I love Ren-faire for a perfectly understandable reason.

Now, the garb, on the other hand.  The first time it ever occurred to me to so much as show up in costume was my first faire as an adult--the Wentzville faire my third year of med school.  Didn't know how to use a sewing machine back then, of course--that's what "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum" was for.  That and good ol' Sondheim; actually, what don't I love about that show?  Anyways, armed with brand new sewing know-how and leftover fabric, I trolled the intarwebs for tips on making "faire legal" vestments and came up with a surprisingly roomy and versatile gored skirt (think the pattern's gone now, sorry) and tips for drafting your own corset/bodice pattern.  Had to cave and use another crafty friend's purchased chemise pattern later on, but after much cursing and gnashing of teeth I had...well...a costume of sorts.

Unfortunately, um, did I mention the Wentzville Ren Faire is in May-June and that the St. Louis area by that time is, well, hot?  As in ninety degrees, 100% humidity, saunariffic hot?  Yeah, might've touched on that a bit.  The peasant-wench's ville-best, in other words, was soaked through with several layers of sweat within an hour's time.

When you're in a bind at the faire, of course, the first recourse is to buy things.  After all, exorbitantly expensive is in the eye of the beholder when it comes to lightweight faux-velvet 16th-centuriesque gowns doing a sort of European tour of couture.  And that's when I realized the problem.  See, while the Elizabethan ideal reportedly might have been five-foot-two and straight up and down (yeah, add powder of arsenic and a red wig and I'd be quite the commodity, hoo-boy), the Ren-faire wearables' ideal most certainly is not.  Try five-ten with a 24-inch waist.  Wait, is that even possible?

Thus was born the quest for the perfect Ren-faire gown.  Necessity as the mother of all invention?  Perhaps.  Though creature comforts and vanity are a close 2 and 3 on the list of candidates.  In part 2 we'll discuss sacrificing historical accuracy for breathe-ability (goodbye corsets, hello sashes!).  And no, that will not be tonight.  Even Scheherazade has to shut up occasionally.