The reality of the Victorian era was a grim one, yet we still choose to romanticize it. Look no further than the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s exhibition “Death Becomes Her: A Century of Mourning Attire.” The show (on view through Feb. 1) explores the strict duty of bereavement that fell to the 19th-century woman. The closer she was to the deceased, the more that was expected of her: A widow stood to face a two-year mourning period. Add to that, her grief symbolized that of the entire family’s, as well as her “status, taste, and level of propriety.” What was once reserved for the elite thus became the convention of the middle class in the 1800s, thanks in part to the emergence and wide availability of magazines (think Harper’s Baazar, Vogue) whose heeded advice extended to mourning attire; industrialization of the textile industry, which made things more economical (cheaper materials, quicker turnaround), was the other.
For proper “full mourning” dress, only deep and true matte blacks were allowed, in heavy materials such as wool and bombazine (a principal fabric for much of the 19th century). Some silks, like taffeta, poult de soie and moire, were also used but had to be dulled through texture. And while black does have a muting effect, it cannot hide careful attention to cut, detail and trim. One outfit, dated 1861 and displayed from behind, has thin threads of gray woven throughout the skirt, as if someone started sketching gardenias in charcoal. Lace is delicately draped around the shoulders, just sheer enough that the dress’s black beads still manage to peek through.
Some 30 ensembles are displayed in chronological order and span from 1815-1915. Mourning attire, we learn, reflected the style of the times. Witness the corseted waists of the 1860s, the princess seams of late 1870s fashion or the full gigot sleeves of the 1890s. The point was always modesty, with cues taken from the simplistic dress of nuns in the Middle Ages. Still, there are some spectacular pieces.
A soft-gray wedding dress from 1868 is the first look to move away from full black. According to the text, the bride chose the half mourning colors in honor of those who died in the Civil War; it “may have been more respectful than a showier bridal gown while so many families still grieved.”
In the back left corner are two “half mourning” evening gowns worn by Queen Alexandra in 1902, a year after the death of her mother. While both are quite flashy, it is the workmanship that makes a greater impact. The lighter of these purple dresses, designed by couturière Henriette Favre, is adorned with sequins in shades of mauve and lilac—a sort of ombré effect. But it is the elegant, scalloped hem that makes this gown fall so effortlessly, and feel as such. The second features a similar design of a darker purple, with individual beads sewn into silk tulle. It is a far cry from the conventional garb of Queen Victoria (the quintessential widow) also on display here.
The transition away from the rigid constraints of mourning attire in the latter half of the 1800s is perhaps the most interesting part of the entire exhibit. That is when black started to become more prevalent in everyday style (new chemical dyes lowered costs). Yes, black is classic and tasteful but let’s not mince words—it is also provocative. This is a paradox that the show does not ignore. An excerpt, from Robert De Valcourt’s “The Illustrated Manners Book” (1855), points out that “Black is becoming: and young widows, fair, plump, and smiling, with their roguish eyes sparkling under their black veils are very seducing.” She wasn’t a girl of pure and virginal white anymore.
The late 19th century saw not only an abundance, but the acceptance of the color as normal fashion. By1885, Arthur’s Home Magazine noted that “black has been so generally worn for a long time past that it is not always easy to distinguish between those who are in mourning and those who are not.” One did not have to be grieving to be enticing.
But it was the beginning of World War I that marked the end of mourning attire. Tradition, which had loosened with every passing year, had finally become impractical and turned personal.
For the vrai New Yorker—closets bursting in blacks—the exhibit is a must and a matter of reflection. It is easy to become engrossed in the intricacies of the clothes here, even more so in the sartorial responsibilities bestowed upon these women. But maybe, you think, it wasn’t so bad. At least these women knew what they were mourning. What about you?
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