Costumes were first worn by Colonial Williamsburg hostesses at the Raleigh Tavern on October 20, 1934, expressly for the occasion of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s visit and the dedication of Duke of Gloucester Street. These charming frocks were deemed so successful that by November 5, 1934, all hostesses in the exhibition buildings were also required to wear costumes. At first these costumes were sewn in a converted stable, then the department was gradually moved from place to place until settling at their present quarters located at 250 1st Street in the mid-1980s.
After almost 90 years, fresh changes have been made at the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation’s (CWF) Costume Design Center, welcome changes that begin with the name itself. Now known officially as the Department of Historical Clothing and Dress, its new title imparts a certain gravitas, a reflection of the fact that what is produced there are not merely costumes but represent the culmination of a lengthy process of painstaking research regarding eighteenth century clothing and material culture. Because the sewing profession has been largely populated by women, the sociocultural norm has been that this work was undervalued, and it is CWF’s goal to change that perception.
Brendan Sostak
Dressing video shoot for future Art Museums exhibit. Katharine Pittman and daughter. James Geddy House.
All 500 employees and volunteers who wear period dress initially received an allotment of clothing appropriate to their occupation and station in life, all created onsite. Part time employees will have fewer garments, but some will have two or three different job types, with extended wardrobes to match. The garments produced are assets of CWF and remain its property. They are cleaned and mended when needed by the department’s staff until they wear out or are donated. As many as 500 labor hours per month go into mending the stock in circulation.
Nation Builders such as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, or General Lafayette’s closets are extensive, reflecting their character’s importance in interpreting specific historic events. Every item is bespoke (custom-made) and fitted to the bodies of the actors who portray them. The finest materials are used and may be decorated with lavish embroidery, every buttonhole is handstitched, every cravat tied just so. George Washington’s leather gloves are based upon a pair worn by Washington himself. At the other extreme of the sartorial spectrum, a blacksmith’s apprentice may have a wardrobe of the most basic rough materials, sturdy and loose fitting with an occasional visible tear or worn spot and are largely machine sewn and generic in appearance.
People who portray enslaved individuals are outfitted with clothing appropriate to their interpretive goal. Coachmen and footmen of the time wore elaborate livery specific to the household, as did high-ranking house servants. Peyton Randolph and George Washington are both known to have specified the details of their household’s livery. Those who worked the fields did so in plain, utilitarian homespun clothing. In recent years, a stronger Native American presence is represented in Williamsburg since research has shown that to be an accurate depiction. Indigenous people were once a common sight on the streets of the city during daylight hours but were required to finish their business and leave by sunset.
The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation
Portrait of Matthew Gnagy, Manager of Historic Clothing and Dress department. Historical Clothing and Dress building.
Mathew Gnagy, manager of the Department of Historical Clothing and Dress is just the man for the monumental job of modernizing production of CW’s period clothing while raising the resolution on its authenticity. “I may be the guy who’s responsible for which direction to go,” Gnagy says, “but make no mistake, it’s the talented people who work here who actually make it happen.”
On the day of this interview, a production run of men’s basic linen shirts was in progress in one of the workrooms. Piles of cut fronts, backs, and sleeves waited to be pinned and stitched together by a cadre of machine operators. The entire run of 20 shirts will take two days.
“This is one of the changes I’m making,” Gnagy says. “It used to be that either this would be outsourced, or one person was handed a project bag for a garment, and they’d be responsible for pinning the pattern, cutting, then sewing it. Not everyone is equally skilled in all aspects of the process, so it would be time consuming. After 15 years in New York, some of it spent in a garment factory, I arrived here in Williamsburg in September of 2022 still traveling at a brisk New Yorker’s pace,” he says with a laugh. “I’m hoping to get a lot done before I adapt and embrace the relaxed Virginia way of life!”
Gnagy’s business expertise is proving to be an asset in his present position, as is his natural talent for clothing design. His grandfather was well known thanks to his vintage groundbreaking television show, a black-and-white gem called “Learn to Draw with John Gnagy”.
“My artistic ability may not be as great as his, but my propensity for teaching others must come from him. My greatest joy is showing people how to do things in ways that are logical, reasonable, and accessible.” Gnagy taught at Parson’s School of Design for five years and was also involved in the New York dance and stage world. “My past career has prepared me for the present task of educating the department’s staff about the accuracy of what we produce here while modernizing the ways in which we do it.”
The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation
Assistant Research Historian Fallon Burner visits the Costume Design Center to be fitted for Native American costuming. Pictured: Fallon Burner (left) and Jennifer Guadagno (right).
Someone once said that when a garment is custom-made, no matter the period, it should look as if you were born to wear it. “When a garment is fitted to your body, it makes you feel ten feet tall. It should feel that way from the inside, too,” Gnagy asserts.
In keeping with Gnagy’s focus to be historically accurate, he works closely with the Committee for Historical Clothing and Dress, headed by Neal Hurst, associate curator of Clothing and Textiles at the DeWitt Wallace Decorative Arts Museum. On request, Hurst makes actual period garments in their collection available to Gnagy and his staff, which they study and then puzzle out how to best replicate faithfully while finding where they can flex a bit so it is more affordable to build them. It is a unique blend of academia, practical application, and industry production. “We find the sweet spot, where the interior of the garment is machine sewn while the exterior may be all done by hand. The exception is buttonholes, which are almost always machine done in clothes that are mass produced. The average time to hand-sew a typical three-and-a-half-inch buttonhole is 45 minutes apiece and there’s just no budget for that.”
The historical interpreters who interact with the public are frequently asked questions about the garments they wear. Few are aware of the lengthy process of committee decisions and painstaking production, but they’ll know enough to answer basic questions such as the summer tourist’s favorite inquiry, “Aren’t you hot in those heavy clothes?” The answer they give surprises many of their guests.
It is well documented that visitors to Williamsburg back in the eighteenth century observed that the streets were “a sea of white”, due to the pale garments worn for their heat reflecting ability. Exposed skin or clothing made from darker colors absorbs heat, so most people saved those for the colder months, which bring their own challenges.
The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation
Matthew Gnagy, Manager of Historic Clothing and Dress department fitting cloth to mannequin. Historical Clothing and Dress building.
“There’s this whole textile thermodynamic which runs counter to our modern idea of how to stay cool,” Gnagy says. Instead of shedding clothes, one should cover up the skin with layers of the appropriate fabric. Sweat is normal in Tidewater heat and humidity and is part of the cooling process. “Wear linen next to the body and top with wool—yes, I said wool, but lightweight and loosely woven—to wick the perspiration away. I advise the men to shed their waistcoats but keep their jackets on, and I tell women to add a linen petticoat.” Gnagy (who once wore early seventeenth century garb daily in sizzling desert heat) is conducting training sessions to teach the interpreters how to wear their period clothing correctly and comfortably. Skeptical at first, they soon became converted when temperatures rocketed.
Every effort is made to ensure their clothing and accessories are comfortable. Gnagy is excited to share that his department will soon include a cobbler, a first for them. Period shoes are not the most comfortable, so modern insoles are incorporated to pad and support the feet. Accessories such as hats, gloves, and even eyeglasses are part of his department’s purview as well.
From 1934 to the present, Colonial Williamsburg’s historical clothing has evolved and been refined to reflect a more accurate representation of the style and customs of the city in the early 1770s, the way the town looked on the eve of the American Revolution. Research continues, and modifications will be made as fresh discoveries surface. On a rack in one of the department’s workrooms is a recently constructed summer weight men’s jacket in a loosely woven, pale beige fabric. Mathew Gnagy’s latest handiwork will soon be presented to a committee of historians for approval and perhaps by next summer the style will become the latest “must-have” fashion for the gentlemen of Colonial Williamsburg.