So today I tried recreating working class outfits from Victorian times, and let me tell ya, it was way harder than rich folks’ fancy dresses. Started by digging through old photographs and museum records online – turns out poor folks’ clothes didn’t get saved much back then. Everything’s stains and patches and worn thin.
Getting the Supplies Sorted
Went to the thrift store first thing Tuesday morning. Needed scratchy wool for skirts and rough cotton for aprons. Found this horrible, stiff brown wool skirt for £3 – felt like sandpaper! Grabbed some cheap white cotton too. Almost gave up trying to find patched-up looking stuff that wasn’t actually full of holes already. Took me two more charity shops and half a tin of safety pins just to get started.
Later that afternoon, I laid everything out:
- That awful scratchy brown skirt
- Faded blue cotton blouse missing a button
- Stiff white apron (the kind you’d scrub floors in)
- Knitted shawl looking older than my Nan
- Pair of lace-up boots from a jumble sale – half a size too small
The Actual Bloody Layering
Right, Victorian working women wore layers even when poor. First came the chemise – thin cotton, coarse as hell. Then the stays – corset but sturdier, like armour made of twill. Mine was second-hand and dug into my ribs something fierce. Couldn’t lace it tight myself; got my mate Kevin to yank the laces while I braced against the doorframe. Proper couldn’t breathe proper after that.
Next, pulled on the wool skirt. Heavy. Hot. Itchy. Almost tripped stepping into it. Tied that faded apron over the top, knotting it tight round the waist. Shoved my arms into the washed-out blue blouse, fought with those tiny buttons near the collar – broke a nail doing it too. Threw the shawl over my shoulders for “warmth”. Felt like wearing cardboard.
Last, the boots. Laced ’em up tight, stood up… and immediately felt a blister forming. Hobbled around the living room trying not to curse.
Trying To “Work” In This Lot
Thought I’d try scrubbing the kitchen tiles while dressed up – proper immersive, yeah? Bent down to dip the brush in water and heard a ripping sound near the stays. Stood up too fast and nearly fainted from the corset pressure. The shawl kept slipping off. Apron strings came undone twice. Sweat pooled under that awful wool skirt within minutes. Took me half an hour to clean one patch because I kept needing to straighten up and gasp for air. Couldn’t imagine doing laundry or working machinery like this. No wonder everyone looked miserable in old photos!
Ended up collapsed on the sofa after an hour, unlaced the boots first thing. Red marks everywhere. That skirt left a rash on my hips. Honestly? The rich kept changing their stupid frilly fashions every season. The poor just wore whatever lasted. It wasn’t fashion. It was survival gear.
