Review: The Victorian Tailor by Jason Maclochlainn

Reading The Victorian Tailor: An Introduction to Period Tailoring is like being a starving man, handed a McDonalds Happy Meal.

There is such a dearth of information on historic menswear, I have no option but to recommend this book. But it's oddly unsatisfying, and lacks some of the vital nutrients you hoped for.

About the Layout

Criticising this book makes me feel like a total asshole. The author is a skilled artisan, writing on an unusual and much-needed topic. But skilled makers aren't necessarily skilled teachers, and there's a lot of rookie errors here - like reproducing Victorian instructions as a wall of text, rather than splitting them out for easy reading; using a formal, quasi-Victorian writing style using lots of insider jargon; and having information split out all over the book instead of arranged logically. I've covered it with post-it notes, because instead of a waistcoats chapter, information on fabrics, fabric quantities, construction, patterns, and techniques are hidden in five different parts of the book; most terms are defined somewhere, but the glossary is very sparse. There's a diagram naming all the parts of garments buried somewhere in the middle, which is essential to understand the second half of the book, which would be much better placed at the end - and so on.

The key clue to this book's problems is here:
"I conceived a project of two volumes."
You can really tell. This book is written for: historians, tailors, re-enactors, beginners and experts, and all five of them will feel frustrated and like there's a better book he could have written.


Useful? Absolutely. Most useful use of
limited space? Not necessarily.
Experienced tailors will get the most out of it, but that's not saying much as tailoring generally is a mysterious and rarely-written-on subject. And they won't need - for example - three pages on holding a thimble, and a fifth of the book dedicated to drills on neat hand stitches. Historians will like the description of a tailor's shop, but the odds of anyone else constructing a period-accurate tailor's bench and workshop layout is thin. Re-enactors probably won't need construction steps like "first, unwrap the bundle of fabrics and notions and check everything is correct", because they're not working in a tailor's shop and don't have an under-tailor. Beginners might appreciate the stitch instructions - if they have
the rare commitment to follow the exercises, aren't using a sewing machine, and wouldn't rather look at a video or photo-diagram online - but will be stumped when "you need four ft of cotton print for a waistcoat, and here are the pieces you cut out" is not written all together anywhere in the book.

There's a little too much detail on a lot of things you don't really need to know: what exact seam allowances ("inlays") to leave; how to make pressing cloths of the correct sizes; how much to pay your apprentice. But when you use the book, you are constantly hitting brickwalls where complete information is either absent or hidden elsewhere. I'm still very uncertain, after several readings, of how many layers of what fabrics are needed to construct a waistcoat. Nowhere is this written all at once. I've only just found a picture of a "fish" after several readings (It's a sort of dart, which looks like a thin, stretched diamond, a slit in the fabric - to my eye, rather like a self harm scar. In this book, darts are exclusively at the edge of the fabric and v-shaped )

(oh, how I wish someone had published his original two-volume vision; or that he had written and put online the missing parts of his opus. These books are so sorely needed. It's a huge shame that no publisher could take on the financial risk; and that Jason's website is not packed to the gunnels with juicy extra information. I really hope that, with the recent Steampunk boom, someone has the courage to take the rest of his project on - or a similar one from someone else. This author really needed his second volume, just so each of the topics had more space to breathe and develop fully; and I would buy his entire "comprehensive study of Victorian tailoring and gentlemen's costume" without hesitation if ever he had the chance to write it.)


The Whole Tailoring Thing

Finally, the whole tailoring Thing rattles me. Tailoring is a high formality/high competence environment: it's not like, say, tech where there is a real enthusiasm for things being open, participatory and low-barrier to entry. There's a very traditional notion of professionalism, almost akin to medieval merchants' guilds - where trade secrets are passed down, father to son, and a magician never reveals his tricks. You find the attitude in books - which are very rarely written - and online, and in the absence of documents too.


Here's how you WOULD cut a coat pattern,
if you were permitted to cut patterns or make coats,
which you're not until you have spent three
years exclusively making pockets.
This attitude bothers the hell out of me, as an enthusiastic amateur. I have low standards and limited time; I'd like to have a go at making formalwear, but don't expect or necessarily want it to be perfect. I certainly understand why an experienced tailor would lay down such rules, but they are underpinned by an expectation of who the reader is: that my goal is to be a master tailor, and I therefore must slowly develop skills over time without learning sloppy habits under the personal supervision of an expert artisan, gradually progressing until I have the skill to turn out a challenging garment well. In this book, it's exemplified by lots of information about coat fabrics and patterns being given, then a bait and switch in the construction section ("I firmly believe you should master the making up of pants and vests before you even attempt to tailor a coat"), followed by just enough information crammed into two pages to be frustrating.

Only someone genuinely in a tailoring apprenticeship would have the sort of time to hand-tailor 30 pairs of Victorian trousers, and have the need for them to look professional, and have the access to general information on tailoring which - as I have said - is very sparsely written about. And granted, tailoring is tough - I know I'd be progressing faster with guidance. But most of us don't have those resources (time, expert tutors, money to access them), or goals (producing high quality garments, becoming a full-time tailor).

There's apparently no room in tailoring culture for a hacky approach to trying your best and producing some OK, but not great, clothes - and I think that's a genuine shame. It's shown up by disciplines such as corset-making, say: which is ALSO a challenging skill, requiring excellent understanding of the body, tricky fabrics, unique construction skills and precision. Corsets are technical garments like suits are - you have to understand how to manipulate fabrics to achieve specialist effects. But if you make a bad corset, it fucks your ribs up. Yet, there are half dozen exceptional websites showing all the secrets of corsetry; and a number of books too. I feel like this could be a gender-related phenomenon. More women make clothes for themselves as a hobby, there's just a greater critical mass of people with the motivation to learn corsetmaking and the enthusiasm to share it. There are vastly fewer men making clothes for themselves, so the information remains locked away.

In short, this is not a guidebook. It's a supplementary reference work, to be used alongside other guidebooks. To get use out of it, you ideally need to be a working tailor. If you're a new sewer, as I was when I got it, it is going to hurt your brain. Learning from it will be a process, and your best bet is to buy a commercial pattern and use that - and then incorporate as many of the techniques and hints from the book as you desire authenticity.

OK, so I'm going to say some good things now.

The criticisms stick out strongly in my mind, because actually using this book is so frustrating - and that's why I bought it, to use it. As I said, criticising it makes me feel like such an asshole. Our community is starving for books like this: books on historic menswear, any books at all; books on tailoring, any books at all; books on menswear period, again any books at all.

Maclochlainn is clearly a skilled artisan, with a strong desire to pass down the best possible grounding in tailoring - without shortcuts - and as much as that frustrates me, I can see his passion and professionalism shining through on every page. He really wants you to be a good tailor, wants you to want it, wants you to appreciate the skills of an ancient discipline and become part of its great tradition. In his own words: "tailoring is a lifetime commitment...[you] need [patience, respect and dedication]". Having complained that access to tailoring mentors is in short supply, this book genuinely sets out to put the pedantry on paper and give you access to the top level skills as best it can. I can admire that.

What does the book contain?

There's a ton of research in this book. It's glorious. This book contains:

Chapter 1: a brief history of Victorian tailoring - with a focus on new technologies, techniques and draft systems. Very interesting. Names some books you could look up. At six pages, it's really interesting historical context - who would have thought there was a time before the invention of tape measures?? Stuff you never knew you wanted to know.


Fabric section: essential reading.
Chapter 2: fashion per decade and occasion. Too short, but OK for an overview. Supplement it with other books of style images, either from the period or general fashion history ones. I would have written this differently: for example, nowhere does it clearly state where Victorian men's trouser waistbands sat. I think they are on the natural waist, but it would have been great to have a quick overview of how Victorian menswear differs from ours - to flag up why a modern pair of trousers makes for a bad costume, and what someone should look for in a costume item.

Chapter 3: tailor and shop. For history people only. I would like to cut this chapter, and get 8 pages back for something else.

Chapter 4: materials and tools. Overview of which tools were used and which you should choose. The fabric section is absolutely essential reading. It has overviews of types, how to choose them, what was used when, some details on how similar-seeming fabrics differ, and both in this chapter and the appendix, lists of places where you can get authentic fabrics. Choosing the right period fabrics is one of these "magic ingredient" details which make a costume look good, so this section is priceless.

Chapter 5: basic tailoring techniques. This chapter's usefulness depends on how much of a fuck you give. It shows you how to sit well, thread needles, hold thimbles, and do common stitches well and correctly. I feel like you probably don't need this chapter, but if you read it you'll pick up Machlochlainn's passion. He really wants you to care about this. Most useful for a section on padding stitch, a specialist tailor's stitch which helps shaping: I didn't know about it, and it's crucial.


Information on styles is sparse. I would have liked more
arrows and labels on these images, pointing out key
design features. To my untrained eye, I can't see what about
these coats is notably Victorian.
Chapter 6: making patterns. This chapter is probably the one you were most excited about, and it's where the clutter starts. He's not super interested in you making a garment, but in giving you information on how to make garments. Consequently, the information isn't really given sequentially enough to use. You have to hop all over the place to assemble genuine instructions.

There's how to measure the body - always useful. Drafting instructions for a coat (which you will not be shown how to assemble) and for trousers (directly after these are information on trouser fabrics and details; there is not an equivalent section for waistcoats or coats). There's a bit on collar drafting (not sure what I'm drafting this collar for - coats? Waistcoats?) and on ideal seam allowances (I guess it's important? ) and what order to cut trimmings in (but is this for coats? Waistcoats? What are these trimmings made of? Are we allowed to make coats now?).

The 14 patterns are cool. They can be enlarged using tapes, given in the book - my favourite system for patterns, as it allows me to construct them on stiff paper and I don't need a printer. Again, half of these patterns are for jackets and coats which - the book will later instruct you - you are not to attempt constructing.
There is a kind of stitch called "stoating". This is a stoat.

Chapter 7: constructing. By this point you'll be so aware you are running out of pages, and have yet to actually make anything. 15 pages of instructions on making trousers. 9 pages on waistcoats - I've tried this, and they are tough to follow. I've gone through with a highlighter and read it several times. I would really have appreciated a sewing-pattern-packet style "here are pictures of all the pieces, here are the fabrics you cut them in". That sort of information is in the book, but you have to hunt for it. You'll reach a step showing how to assemble the bottom facing, only to realise you don't have one and don't even know what it is. "If you are making an early period facing, set aside your leather and..." well, I've learnt something, but what about facings for late period waistcoats...? And why aren't there diagrams for a facing on a single waistcoat pattern given here? And some of the diagrams, I struggle to understand. Then 10 pages on coat techniques - not instructions, just bits and bobs, as they are only for people who already know how to make coats.

It's at this stage the "this book was originally five books but we condensed it into one" thing will really start to bother you. I want the eight pages on tailors shop back; do we really need four pages on different pockets; could we cut out four chapters entirely and give the instructions a chance to breathe? The neatest backstitch in the world is worth nothing if you're not certain how two pieces fit together.

Appendices: Useful bibliography and fabric mill details and measuring tapes. Questionably useful instructions on making your own tailoring boards of the right sizes, and drills to practice hand stitching.

Conclusion

When I read War and Peace, I was so excited. It's astonishing. It's the best book I've ever read. I was passionate about the characters and the story and I read it cover to cover in about a month. About 300 pages before the end, you notice that Tolstoy is still adding in new characters and new situations and you slowly become aware that you've read 7000 pages for nothing. You've been cheated. You won't find out what happens to any of your favourite characters; it just dribbles into a history essay on the Great Man theory and Tolstoy's crush on Napoleon, and then abruptly stops. I was crushed. I had put so much time and commitment into this story, only to be denied any kind of ending or resolution. And it was such a good book, I can't overstate how much I loved it - but a story with no ending is no story at all.

This is what it feels like.

You're excited for this book, and you're reading chapter after chapter thinking "oh boy, all this background information and set up so I can master this skill I'm excited about". And it sort of "cheats" you of what you wanted and expected. It's a real let down feeling. A sort of, unfulfilled promise. I genuinely feel like the book runs out of pages halfway through, and maybe an editor should have nixed Chapter 1 and 3; maybe Chapter 2 and even Chapter 5 to give the "how to actually make things" bit a lot more space. Or even better: an editor should have appreciated the uniqueness and importance of this work, and given him a five book deal to develop all his sections properly.
This is another stoat. I'm sorry
someone mentioned mustelids
and now it's all I can think about
look at his lovely little nose!
Don't you want to give him a
tummy rub! Don't do that he'll
bite you.

As a reader, there's a dozen or so things I would have done to refocus this book for the "contemporary costuming community" - which the author states is his primary audience. To actually use it requires several supplementary books, tailoring experience, and the ability to improvise. Masterful tailoring is, of course, a life-time's work - but that's not what I'm talking about. No one can expect to produce an awesome tailored suit on their first go. This book obfuscates basic information unnecessarily, making it hard to understand in ways it doesn't need to be. And for certain, suit and jacket-making is hard - but this kind of elitism has no place in a book aimed at the costuming community. If you're making a Victorian costume, you need a coat. If you're not shown how to make coats, then there is zero value in making trousers or waistcoats either. It's an all or nothing project.

But we are starving for books like this, and any amount of information - no matter how oddly laid out - is valuable. So this book still gets a recommend from me. It is a well-researched book, on a much-needed topic, packed with really good information (if you can find it), and passionately written by an author who clearly has a really strong sense of professionalism and a "mission" to initiate you into the craft.

Summary: "The best book available" is not the same thing as "a good book". Nor is "book did not meet my needs" the same as "a bad book". This is the best book available on the topic, but it did not meet my needs as a reader. Much needed, well researched, comprehensive, but has a stone-in-the-shoe quality. Come to it prepared to do your homework.

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