Language is a funny thing. I suppose we’re all guilty of following fads in our choice of words, and we all have particular phrases we find irritating or amusing – in other people. I recently came across an example by Jane Austen, written in 1817, just as the polite name of a woman’s undergarment was changing.
‘Your Anne is dreadful – . But nothing offends me so much as the absurdity of not being able to pronounce the word Shift. I could forgive her any follies in English, rather than the Mock Modesty of that french word…’
So presumably Miss Austen was still wearing shifts, when other ladies were beginning to wear chemises. She wasn’t alone, however, in her annoyance with linguistic affectations. Pantalogia, a New Cabinet Cyclopaedia, Comprehending a Complete Series of Human Genius, Learning, and Industry, Alphabetically Arranged; with a General Dictionary of Arts, Sciences, and Words (1819) has this to say:
CHEMISE, the French word for that article of linen under dress which when worn by men is called a shirt, by women a shift. Some few modern English ladies, with an affected squeamishness of delicacy, restrict the term always so as to denote the article of female dress chemise de femme; but as every one knows what they mean by the expression, and we see no reason why every one should not know what they mean, we recommend the use of the old English term, and the abandonment of the corresponding French word.
Was there really any difference between a shift and a chemise? Well, yes and no. No, because they both referred to the same lady’s undergarment. Yes, because when the word “shift” was used (up until the early 19th century), the garment was usually made of linen and was simpler in cut. As the word “chemise” became standard, variations in pattern and trimming were increasing and the chemise was more often made of cotton.
So much for the term; now was there any significant difference in the French and English methods of making this garment? I haven’t found anything consistently, unmistakably, irrefutably, definitively identifiable. When I examine an old chemise, whether in a book, online, or in person, I can’t raise an eyebrow knowingly and say, Ah yes, English, 1832.
But with the interest and expertise I see popping up in blogs and books, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone has – or will – come up with a list of distinguishing features.
If you are curious (or courageous) and would like to compare for yourself, below is a pattern and description, 1840, from a French periodical. (Please excuse my awkward translation. If you are fluent in French and English, I beg you to let me know and help me correct it!) English patterns and instructions of the same date are available in the Workwoman’s Guide.
No. 8 is a woman’s chemise. For ten chemises, purchase 25 meters of percale; take off a meter, and cut the rest into ten pieces; fold these pieces into two; on side No. 1, cut the gore that you add to the other side, cut by a thread as shown in No. 2; inside cut two gussets; indent around the neck; this is shown in No. 3; the sleeves are cut on the bias. Gather slightly on top of the arm and hem the bottom with backstitching. The armholes have to be a little curved under the arm. Take the remaining meter, measure a narrow band along the edge, then cut twenty pieces for double shoulder straps; these pieces are indicated by dotted lines; place a narrow piece of tape between the shoulder strap and its lining, there you insert the sleeve and backstitch, and you fold the lining over; gather the top of the chemise, as indicated, and insert a narrow tape of a meter in length; then cover this piece of tape with a band of percale; using backstitching and hemming, then fold under. Mark the chemise over the left gusset.
10 thoughts on “The Shift to Chemise”
I so look forward to these posts! So engaging and informative. Not to mention well-written. Please don’t stop. They make my day.
Bless you for your generous comment! From this obscure little corner of the internet, I click “publish” to a post and rarely know if anyone notices. I may stay up an hour later tonight, just simpering (genteelly of course) with satisfaction! 😉
I too love your posts. Your photograph of the shift and the gusset makes me want to make one immediately! The precision of the cutting and the precise geometry of the pieces really appeals to me. Not to mention the fine hand sewing and the linen. It’s as if the garment is entirely proud of its own construction and putting it all on display!
Thank you sooo very much! I’m delighted to accept compliments on behalf of the Plain Sewing Ladies of the past. Don’t you imagine they would be astonished to read your words? I hope somehow they know! You also make me want to pull out more stuff and say, ‘but look at THIS one she did, you have to see THAT one she did…’
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Yes do that! Pull out more stuff and show us. Their sewing is such a strong connection and link with the past and what is really another world. I wonder where you find all your samples and examples? Maybe I should search your blog more carefully for the origins.
Thanks, I intend to! Only I’m afraid it gets somewhat boring when everything I show is white, or was when it was made. As for finding stuff, I’m sort of a rescuer. Many of the things I’ve collected are things no one else wanted. And as with marketing, it’s easy with pictures and text to make a few things look like a whole lot more. 🙂
Thank you for sharing. Very informative. 🙂
Glad it was helpful!
Hi! Thank you so much for sharing this pattern! Do you know the name of the French periodical who published this pattern? Thank you so much.
So glad you found it interesting! It was from Journal Des Demoiselles, included on one of their folding inserts of patterns. That was early for a magazine to include clothing patterns.