I made a fairy tale cloak. I’m still hoping to go to a forest and take some magical pictures out in nature, but real life dictates backyard photo shoots for now.

I followed the pattern in Costume Close-Up: Clothing Construction and Pattern 1750-1790, by Linda Baumgarten & John Watson with Florine Carr. I made a pattern piece for the hood, but for the cloak itself I used the dimensions in the book to draft right onto the fabric in chalk.The outer layer is rust-colored wool from Renaissance Fabrics, with green shot cotton for the lining. I didn’t quite have enough green fabric for the lining, so I filled in the remainder with some batik fabric in a similar color family. As is oft repeated in the historical costuming community, piecing is period. (I realized later that while center back seemed like the best place for the batik fabric, it peaks out on both sides right around the clasp. Maybe someday I will fix it.)

The long seams of the outer layer and lining are machine sewn. I hand stitched the lining into the cloak. The hood in the book was pieced using 6 separate pieces. I was able to use just four pieces, eliminating the sliver of fabric used on the cloak in the book. I machined the outer and inner hood pieces together separately, then hand sewed the lining in at the front opening and around the smaller opening at the back of the hood.

The instructions call the gathering at the back of the hood “pleats” which implied to me that they would need to be mathed and folded carefully to look nice.

I was breaking my brain and fingers trying to accomplish what I had already achieved on a 17th century cap with a long running stitch pulled into a circle and tied off. I tried a 3/4 in. running stitch around the back opening and pulled it tight, and sure enough, got the pretty circle of pleats I was looking for with zero math or finger gymnastics. I used an oversized brass hook and eye closure at the front of the cloak. It might not be a permanent solution. The weight of the cloak and the aesthetic of the hook and eye don’t quite work for me, but I haven’t found anything better yet.

When you know better, you do better. Right now, I don’t know better, so I’m leaving the hook and eye until I see a solution I’m sure will work better. I’m considered a black ribbon, or alternately, a longer braided twill tape that criss crosses in front and ties behind the waist to distribute the weight of the wool and keep it from sliding around. And there are all sort of pretty clasps, too, but I don’t want to pick something that looks nice to me only to find out later it only works if you’re trying to be Aragorn.I added the arm slits at the last minute. I really didn’t want to cut into the wool, but having a place to put your arms through really increases the functionality of the cloak.

I folded the outer layer into each slit and whipped it down inside by hand. For my handsewing, I used champagne-colored silk thread for the finishing and hemming, and linen thread for sewing the hood to the cloak.Remember in the ’90’s when the ankle length trench coat was a strong statement of Weirdness? I always put cloaks in the same category.

Wearing this type of statement clothing crosses a line for me. At the same time, I love how my cloak turned out and I am super tempted to wear it on one of my afternoon walks and let it just billow behind me as I head down the sidewalk. (Update: I’ve done this! It was fun. But with street clothes the cloak wears a bit longer. I felt a bit like the lion from the Wizard of Oz, constantly batting its tail away.)I don’t want to be thought of weird (Then why ARE you weird? Why did you have seven kids? Why do you homeschool? Why do you keep making weird, old timey clothes? You might ask. Or is that my internal monologue?).

One day this fall, I wore my witch hat on a walk. As I came to an intersection, I heard a sudden burst of laughter from across the street. It was a laugh of delight, and I knew instinctively it was my hat that had caused it.

I know rationally in this strange time we live in, wearing something odd on a walk is much more likely to make someone laugh or smile than it is to make them heckle you for being weird. I’m working to be kind to myself about caring about this stuff. Social inhibitions aside, this lovely cloak has some potential for history bounding and everyday wear (perhaps a way to stay warm when I’m curled up with a book?) in addition to my brief costuming forays in the backyard.

The photos of me were taken by my 11 year old daughter, a budding photographer. I’m a perfectionist, so I made her take them twice. She is the one wearing the cloak in the detail shots of the hood.