The sadness of the pink kirtle.
Some of you may remember a long time ago now, I had an absolute disaster with a pink, woolen, early 14th century gown which the colour ran out of and the ensuing trials and tribulations of trying to get it back to a sort-of even colour to make it wearable.
After all the washing with red things in washing machines- an approach I NEVER take with my medieval clothes, I remarked how the wool had felted and the gown had shrunk a touch. I expressed hope at the time that I might still fit into it, but didn't really think I would.
Brand new. Worn one at home for photos. Hand stitched for hours. Colour still slightly patchy, but not so much I wouldn't wear it, but to sell, I couldn't ask a sensible price... so... today I tried it on.
I managed to wriggle my way unceremoniously into it but it was very tight around the bust and squished the girls into a weird-looking uni-boob which covered half of my chest.
The rest of it fit like a dream. The train is now floor length, so that wasn't an issue, however the flat, uni-boob looked awful and the tension on the side seams made me think that it would tear after a few hours wear.
Obviously, the answer here is to add some little underarm gores into the seam to give the bust a little more breathing room, but since the fabric has been rewashed and redyed several times at this point, I have nothing to match it with.
If the train was still long, I could trim that and construct little gores from that, but the shrinkage has taken that option away. I'd say the whole garment has shrunk about two and a bit dress sizes. Good thing it was so generously cut in the first place.
All I can think of, is that if I lose the Covid weight I've gained- about a dress size if I'm being honest with myself- I will fit into it.