GLOVES OF THE HOUR
An interesting modern development in glove making, and one which
undoubtedly has come to stay, is the vogue of the silk glove whose
popularity has grown to surprising proportions. Oddly enough, the first
gloves to be introduced into Europe for women in the thirteenth century
were made of linen, and were of very simple design. These may be
regarded as the ancestor of the chamoisette and cotton doeskins of our
day; while the knitted silk, or “purled” hand coverings, worn by the
early clergy, suggested perhaps the gloves of silk fabric so widely in
favor for the last half century. Quaint lace “mitts” and gloves of
spider-webby texture imparted to the costumes of our grandmothers a
charming femininity. But the practical silk glove as a substitution for
kid is a comparatively recent achievement of manufacturers who are
trying their best to meet the constantly multiplying new demands of
modern men and women.
The most hasty comparison of the earliest fabric gloves with those
produced in our own times cannot fail to impress one with the tremendous
strides the glove art has taken since it became a really modern
industry. The silk and linen gloves of mediæval days were loose and
almost shapeless; they possessed neither fit nor individuality. Roughly
measured to clothe the hands of a king, they might have been worn almost
equally well by the lowliest of his subjects. They were bulky and
awkward, concealing, rather than delineating, the character of the hands
beneath.
Gloves of leather and kid were first to acquire those traits of
individuality which were made possible by Xavier Jouvin’s invention of
an exact system of measurements, adapted to virtually every size and
type of human hand. The perfection of fabric gloves, however, lagged
behind. Even silk gloves were indifferently made, and could be had in
only a very limited range of styles and sizes. As for cotton gloves,
these were conspicuous for their ugliness and cheapness, up to within a
very few years ago. And yet, to-day, we have velvety chamoisette and
imitation doeskins which, upon the hand of the wearer, are so deceptive
that they readily are mistaken for the soft-finished leathers from which
they have been named. These fabric gloves, made of white, yellow and
many other colored textiles, woven especially for this purpose, are
supple, snug fitting, and possess a style of their own. They retain
their shape even with repeated washing, and they wear amazingly well. It
cannot be disputed that they fill a long felt need in both the masculine
and the feminine wardrobes.
Particularly in warm weather the fabric glove, or the silk glove, almost
puts out of business the leather glove, which seems heavy, overheating,
unsanitary, and entirely out of keeping both with the light costume and
the altered mood of the wearer. As summer approaches, we naturally long
to have everything about our persons fresh, easily renewable, dainty,
light and cool to the touch. Leather and kid repell us for ordinary
wear. Only the finest and thinnest of kid dress gloves find a favored
place in the summer wardrobe; while the fabric glove, in countless new
guises, becomes increasingly popular with every successive season.
Through June, July and August, fabric and silk are worn almost
exclusively—and if the period be short, during these weeks at least the
washable glove is without a rival.
Just as the chamoisette, or cotton doeskin, provides an acceptable
substitute for cape and lambskins for general wear, so the silk
glove—the Italian or Milanaise—becomes the dress glove for summer and is
appropriate for all except the most formal occasions. The silk glove,
indeed, has recently been brought to a very high state of perfection
through the growing skill of textile experts and inventors, and by the
application of the best glove-cutting and sewing methods; the latter,
which have worked such changes in the style and fit of kid gloves, have
done no less, proportionately, for the elevating of the silk glove. The
soft, delicate, yet firm Milanaise silk fabric now clothes the hands as
smoothly, and renders their shape as comely and as full of character, as
the kid glove long has been wont to do. Indeed, it disguises the hand
even less, and is a real test of shapely knuckles and tapering finger
tips. Also, the glistening silk itself is peculiarly seductive, at the
same time that it delights the wearer with its luxurious and cleanly
contact.
While kid gloves must be regarded as an art whose secrets are best known
to the French, fabric, and particularly silk, gloves are manufactured
with enviable success in our own country. Doubtless one of the most
interesting glove mills to visit is a well-known factory located in the
Alleghany industrial district of Pennsylvania, which, though occupying a
comparatively small area, is wonderfully complete and efficient, and
turns out by the latest approved methods a large output of high class
Milanaise gloves. The president of this company, who is hands, feet and
brains to his mill—also a practical inventor and a lover of machines—has
made it possible, by courteous attention to every requirement of the
trade, to place upon the market a superior product, and to win and hold
the confidence of his business associates.
A visit to this particular mill is doubly affording to the student of
glove-making because here they weave and dye their own silk fabric. We
are able to follow the process from a skein of raw silk to the finished
glove in all its accuracy and beauty. Every step in its evolution is
attended with admirable carefulness and despatch—the glove emerging
almost miraculously from the crude material as it is passed swiftly from
one operator to another, each worker contributing one factor more to its
final perfection.
The silk strand arrives “in the raw” from Japan, packed in straw bales,
and might easily be mistaken for a shipment of tea. In this state the
silk resembles fine white hair or, even more closely, spun sugar. It is
sent in quantities, as needed, to the spinners, and on its return is put
through a boiling process to remove a gummy substance inherent in the
crude product.
The strand is now ready to make the acquaintance of the machines. First
of all, it must be wound by machinery upon spools. This process is
known, simply, as the winding process. The neatly, evenly wound silk is
then conveniently fed from the spools onto other machines which
transform it into the warp or foundation for the silk fabric. These
warps vary greatly in width—some being like ribbons, measuring about six
inches across, others measuring 144 and even 168 inches. They are
delicate webs of shining silk with the threads running in a single
direction—vertically, to be exact.
Weaving machines next receive the warped silk. Each of these machines is
equipped with four thousand needles, or twenty-eight needles to every
inch, which knit up the silken web into cloth. As fast as woven, it is
dropped and rolled upon a long cylinder; it is very soft and satiny and
astonishingly resembles a mass of molasses candy which has been “pulled”
until it is snowy white and of glistening smoothness. It is now ready to
be dyed. The dyeing is one of the few primitive steps retained in the
entire process. This operation is performed by hand, and the material is
lifted and worked on long sticks to ensure evenness of color. No machine
is capable of giving such satisfactory results.
The final step in preparing the fabric, however—the dressing or
finishing—is done by means of an elaborate machine, consisting of sets
of copper cylinders or rollers. The wet, freshly dyed silk cloth is
brought to the dressing machine a hopeless looking mass of soppiness and
wrinkles. It is rolled upon a large cylinder which passes it on to one
smaller in diameter, which, in turn, feeds it off onto a rectangular
frame provided with rows of sharp points, like pin points, on both
edges. Between these points the silk is stretched as tight as the
inflated skin of a balloon. The frame bearing the taut silk is then
carried through a long, narrow, heated tent, some twelve feet in extent.
It emerges at the opposite end, thoroughly pressed, smooth and finished,
and is again rolled on cylinders with layers of paper between the
breadths of the silk, in case the fabric may still be a trifle damp, in
order to ensure the perfection of the silk.
The Milanaise or Italian silk is now ready for the glove makers. First
it passes into the hands of the cutters, who block out and cut by means
of dies pieces of silk of the right size for each glove. These dies vary
according to the many different sizes of gloves. Another set of cutters
takes these pieces and places them in punches which mechanically cut out
the shapes of the fingers and the reinforcements for the tips of the
first three fingers. These reinforcements hang onto the ends of the
fingers. Still other cutters cut out gussets, fourchettes and thumbs
from scraps of the silk cloth, to be fitted into the glove when it is
sewn together later. In this way every morsel of the silk is utilized.
Before the gloves at this stage are handed over to the sewers they are
stamped in a press with the name of the company which has ordered them
for its trade. Aluminum leaf is used in this process, and silver
lettering is the result.
Women seated at sewing machines now receive the cut, marked gloves, and
the first step toward joining their many parts consists in stitching the
reinforcements onto the ends of the fingers. This, of course, gives the
double finger tip and is a protection against wear. The backs of the
gloves next are finished with fancy embroidery stitchery. In the
simplest and cheapest gloves this is accomplished by a single operation.
But as gloves rise in quality and price, the embroidered backs become
more elaborate.
The thumbs now are stitched together individually and then are put into
the glove itself. The next set of sewers stitch in the fourchettes—or
sections forming the sides of the fingers—seam up all the fingers, and
close up the long seam running from end to end of the glove. Passing
into other hands, the openings at the wrists are skilfully bound and
stiffened, or faced. Trimmers clip off all superfluous silk in the seams
and turn the gloves right side out on wooden sticks. The wrists are then
neatly hemmed. Clasps of metal, pearl, or covered with the silk, are
stamped into the wrist facings by machinery—and the glove is ready for
the examiner.
This is one of the most important steps in the whole process. It
guarantees the perfect condition of every pair of gloves which leaves
this factory, and ensures the merchant and his customer against any
possibility of fraud in handling or buying the output of this company.
The finished glove is turned on a stick resembling the glove stretcher
commonly used at the counter; every seam and crevice is carefully tested
and scrutinized. If no flaw is discovered the glove is pronounced ready
for the packing room.
In order that the goods may present the finest appearance possible and
that it may be restored to perfect freshness and shapeliness after
passing through so many hands in the making, the gloves are placed on
wooden forms in the packing room and enclosed in a heated box for from
six to seven minutes. They are then taken out, slipped off the forms,
and given to operators who stitch them together in pairs, label and tie
them, and pack them in pasteboard boxes according to size and color. The
finished glove is now ready to be placed on sale, and is fit to tempt
the most discriminating customer of either sex.
But while the silk glove of recent years has become a truly progressive
industry, let it not be imagined that the kid glove to-day is resting
upon its laurels—great as its historical prestige certainly is! The
methods of kid glove manufacture are being tirelessly improved upon; the
product itself is of finer grade than ever before, it presents greater
variety, it is all the time more cleverly adapted to modern uses. But
only the designer of new styles in this important phase of apparel can
fully appreciate the possibilities of the glove art as they open before
him at the present hour.
The designer of French kid gloves, it goes without saying, is an artist.
He may not be a Frenchman, however. It is a mistake to suppose that all
the originality and all the inspiration to create a beautiful article of
dress, acceptable to the fastidious of every land, must be of French
origin. French influence, to be sure, plays an invaluable part in the
education of such artists; but an American, with long training in the
glove business, may have both the taste and the talent to invent glove
masterpieces which will be eagerly adopted, not only in New York, but
also in Paris. A few American experts actually have accomplished this
thing, and their work is not to be lightly mentioned and passed over. It
deserves our very special attention.
An artist who designs kid gloves, first of all has the feeling for
gloves _as gloves_. His object is to originate something beautiful in
glove form. Next, he knows the technique of glove-making from A to Z,
just as the painter knows his pigments, the laws of color and of
drawing. The glove designer realizes the physical limitations of his
art, and equally he divines the developments of which that art is
susceptible. He is thoroughly familiar with the materials at his
disposal, with the machines and the skilled workers he must employ to
execute his ideas.
At the same time, he has to be something of a journalist; he must keep
his finger on the public pulse, and be able to prophesy what styles men,
and especially women, will take kindly to wearing a season hence.
Gloves, like everything else in dress, must satisfy the demands of
fashion. They must change because life itself is change. They must adapt
themselves to the costumes the shops are showing, to the mode of the
hour, the latest conception of smartness and good taste.
In the hands of the designer of practical experience, who is also an
artist, this becomes possible. Yet, to most people, gloves would appear
a very limited field for the expression of originality! Examine, then,
some of the new designs for this year and season. They will answer the
question whether so simple and necessarily uniform an article as the
modern glove is capable of much artistic variation, and from them also
we can learn how such novelties are evolved.
Every large glove company has its own classical models—that is, there
are certain standard styles of kid gloves of the best manufacture which
virtually do not change from season to season. These have names, which
are as well known in the glove trade as the names of real laces, of old,
established design, to exporters and importers of that delightful
commodity. For instance, in a famous glove shop on Fifth Avenue, New
York, we are introduced to three classical styles—the Florine, the
Seville and the Isère. These are all fine French gloves, of a cut and
finish familiar to many of us. They are the foundation of all the other
styles, which are simply clever variations of these three.
For example, the Florine, a simple, overseam glove, acquires a one-inch
cuff of a contrasting color—and with it the romantic title of
Bandallette. Many beautiful color combinations may be seen in the new
Bandallette—alabaster with a brown cuff, canary with white, gunmetal
with pale grey.
The Seville is distinguished by its crochet-embroidered backs, affording
a much heavier finish than the stitching which decorates the Florine and
the Isère. A deeply fringed cuff of kid is added—and lo, the Spanish
cavalier becomes a knight of quite another cycle! Hiawatha, this
picturesquely slashed glove of purely American inspiration is
called—most reminiscent of the fringed decorations of aboriginal
chieftains is the odd device which gives it its new-world _bizarrerie_
and flavor. It is especially striking in pure white and black.
On the other hand, a two-inch cuff sporting large diamonds of white kid
set in a black border—or the colors may be reversed—is known as the Van
Dyck, and doubtless has caught something of the character of early
Flemish design. The Van Metor may be mentioned as similar. This is a
particularly beautiful glove when made in white kid, stitched with
black, and adorned with white cuffs, scalloped or pinked, and appliquéd
with black kid cut in deep, sharp points which taper upward.
The Isère is especially adapted for variations of a dainty, delicate
character. While the Seville lends itself best to two-toned embroidery
in handsome, heavy effects, on the backs, the Isère is displaying just
now on a white kid model rows of fine, black feather stitching between
slender lines of plain stitching.
Another distinguished glove, the work of the same expert designer, is
the Fielder, vaguely reminiscent of an old English hunting glove. In
black, with a very long wrist, the striking feature of the Fielder is
the deep, fan-shaped piece of white set into the wrist on the under
side; it also fastens with a cleverly adjusted strap, clasped with a
white pearl fastener. This is a very dashing glove.
A black glacé with white stitching has a fancy embroidered design on the
back which gives to it its title of Dagger. The dagger is delightfully
managed in conventionalized form, and reminds one of the adornments on
crested gloves of ancient days.
Nothing could be more exquisite than the new gloves embroidered with
bow-knots. If they are black, the bow-knots are in white; if white, the
graceful design is embroidered in black. Either effect is charming; but
the white gloves seem redolent of old valentine customs, when the true
lovers’ knot might well have appeared upon a perfumed pair of dainty
gift gloves such as these. The wrists also are parti-colored, gaily
striped in white and black, like Pierrette.
A very long-wristed, modish glove is the Garnett, in white kid, with
four black straps confining the fulness of the flaring cuff which is
lined with black, and all the stitching black. Indeed, while delicate
tints are seen in many of the novelties, the effectiveness of the new
designs is best grasped in the black and white combinations. In any
case, mere description gives little or no notion of the many
interesting, beautiful styles which are appearing—nor of how much
imagination and invention goes into the devising of these styles from
season to season.
There is a world of comfort, too, in the thought that while such artists
as these continue to concern themselves with gloves as a thing of
beauty—gloves for gloves’ sake—we may rest assured that commercialism
will not devour the more subtle distinctions of life. If such a trifle,
let us say, as our gloves is being zealously guarded and saved to the
canons of good taste, certainly we may hope to retain a true sense of
elegance, and our requirements in respect to the little niceties which
make up the general deportment of a people shall be continually
elevated.
If the foregoing description of the gloves of the hour may have seemed
redundant, or of too ephemeral interest, to the reader, let him pause
and reflect that, after all, we are ourselves makers of glove history;
and it may be that glove lovers of the future will be as grateful to
find on record the gloves of our times, as we have been gratified to
rediscover the glove annals of remote periods of human history.
FINIS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. P. 105, “demand out attention” to “demand our attention”.
2. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
3. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as
printed.
4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.