What the Frock? Demysteafying the Tea Gown
Our days are increasingly framed around beverages. We aspire to include some filtered water, but typically the working hours are bookended by tea and lager. We’ll leave you to figure out which we start the day with… and what we use for our curtain call. And though necking jars is a perfectly British habit, today we’ll be talking about the humble cuppa. Of course, it wasn’t always such a quotidian item, back in the day tea was an exercise in etiquette. So why the fuss? And was it really all corsets and crinoline?
When it first arrived in England, in the mid-1600s, tea was so pricey that only the wealthiest households could afford to stock it. Stored in a wooden caddy, often decoratively inlaid with mother of pearl and carved out of rare woods, this unique objet d’art kept tea leaves fresh. The popularity of tea soon got to the government’s ears. Never ones to miss an opportunity for lining their own pockets, by the 18th century they were taxing tea heavily, resulting in a series of tea thefts. Prosperous families began locking their caddies to prevent maids from sneaking off with the goods and caffeinating themselves into heart-attacks.
Nowadays, things are a little more civilised. You don’t have to lose your life in the gallows for sipping some of the soft stuff. You can indulge, relax, allow your tastes to be refined by the endless reel of commercial releases. You are offered oaths to ‘feel new’, ‘breathe deep’ and ‘revitalise’ or brew something tailored to ‘woman’s health’. At least in that sense little has changed: tea is still mainly marketed to women. This, by the way, is how the notion of the tea party came about.
Whilst today we’re terrified of donning a pattern or print that looks like granny’s curtains, back then, it was desirable for the hostess to match her gown with her interior.
Anna Maria Russell, lady in waiting for Queen Victoria, is largely credited as the mother of afternoon tea. Often lightheaded and peckish mid-afternoon, Duchess Anna of Bedford blazed the trail for pre-supper snacking. Born from the habit of taking tea in her boudoir, soon the ritual of sipping hot chai invited a new kind of occasion dress.
The tea gown became popular halfway through the 19th century and was characterised by unstructured lines and light fabrics. The style was exclusively worn inside and was the only indoor attire to officially form part of a lady’s wardrobe. To keep up appearances, and a lady’s modesty, the tea dress included a high neckline and puffed sleeves. Gathered at the shoulder-seams and the wrists, these produced a ruffle effect. With floral and natural motifs, the feminine A-line of these frocks was inspired by the increasingly popular Art Nouveau movement. The back of the gown incorporated a long pleat of lace that dropped from neck to hem, a style characteristically called the Watteau pleat (after the 18th century painter Jean-Antoine Watteau). And that wasn’t the only mimetic quality. Whilst today we’re terrified of donning a pattern or print that looks like granny’s curtains, back then, it was desirable for the hostess to match her gown with her interior.
It doesn’t seem like a far cry to have the occasional daydream about stretching out on the sofa and playing Victorian lazybones.
Another popular style mimicked the Japanese kimono in how it wrapped around the body with a front fastening design. This gown echoed an Eastern origin, likely influenced by tea’s heritage in that part of the world. Ladies could don this style without a maid’s assistance, meaning less time lacing up and more time gossiping.
Because of the intimate nature of making this brew in a gentlewoman’s parlour, restrictive bodices and big skirts were finally retired. The ease and languor with which one could get dressed for tea revolutionised ladies' fashion: the pressure was finally off women’s waistlines. Which was just as well, given the amount of finger foods and tiny cakes served.
While most of us now glug out of a mug, and mainly in pyjamas, that’s not to say the tea gown has totally vanished from our closets. Frilly collars, flouncy cuffs, and tiered ankle-length skirts, all in flowery patterns of apricot and peach, can be seen on the street. These house dresses are now worn outdoors, perhaps functioning as a form of subconscious nostalgia for more leisurely days, when high society dames could while away entire weekdays. For the busy working mother or the harried city girl, it doesn’t seem like a far cry to have the occasional daydream about stretching out on the sofa and playing Victorian lazybones.
Though tea drinking garners less fuss these days, we sure do enjoy our rest and relaxation all the same. As Mrs Price says in Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park: ‘Tea [means] rest and pleasure’. Amen.