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The Old Corset Shop

We had to resist the temptation to title this page "Ye olde corset shoppe" or something similarly nostalgic, but quite inappropriate.

The characters in the cartoon are amazingly reminiscent of those stalwarts from the British comedy series "Are you being served?", and everybody from the matronly Mrs. Slocombe to the rather dotty Miss Brahms is represented.

The incredibly clever Dutch cartoonist, Jan Sanders, captures the ambience of the traditional corset shop in this cartoon (left). Note that not all the serving staff are female. Note the stacks of boxes with different sizes and styles of garment. This is the classic emporium of the two post-War decades, where a thousand variations on what is 'after all' quite a simple theme would be on offer, on the counter and for sale.

A lady could spend an afternoon struggling in and out of a dozen pairs of corsets, encouraged, chided and 'brought back down to earth' by her close friends, the corsetiere herself, or her daughter; the latter secure in the knowledge that her turn was next. (Dhr. Sanders was undoubted aware of the many excellent corset shops in Holland at the time. Sadly, few remain).

The Hunkemoller corset shop in Amsterdam, quite possibly Jan Sander's inspiration.

The cartoon and the picture on the right (from Germany in the 1950's), show a feature that existed for hundreds of years, and yet oddly is unknown in today's liberated society. The corset shop has a male attendant. Of course, only a female member of staff would be allowed 'behind the curtains.'

In the full cartoon, a group of sailors have just bought some "frillies" for their girlfriends and are laughing at the poor old Chief selecting something 'appropriate' for his - obviously - well-built wife.

I know women who were terrified to visit the 'corset shop' and others who looked on its very much like a trip to the hairdresser. A pleasant, fairly mindless afternoon, quintessentially female, and secure in the knowledge that the end result would be an improved version of the person that entered the premises. The women that were scared probably had had encounters with the rare, but sadly real, 'dragon' of a fitter. "Ah, Modom will require the formidable corset section, I presume", or to quote the old music hall joke:- Timid overweight customer "I'd like to see some corsets that would fit me please." Rude assistant "So would I Madam; so would I!" Sometimes, indeed, I thought these shops should label their corsetry sections, 'formidable corsets', 'corsets for normal women', and 'girdles for nice girls'. A old acquaintance recounts an episode in Shinners of Sutton where her substantially constructed companion had vanished into a cubicle to try on a specially ordered corset. She heard the woman call the fitter and explain that she didn't expect so many straps and things. The fitter announced that with her figure, the more straps the better. There followed what sounded like a scuffle, but turned out to be the combined efforts of client and fitter to adjust the garment. Some time later both women emerged from the cubicle, red-faced and angry. In the street outside the large lady exclaimed "What a dreadful woman! I really don't think I'm going to get on with this contraption!" Her friend cautioned her to be patient and let the corset settle down for a week, and added, with an economy of truth, "It really helps your figure." "Don't you start" the other retorted "Do you really think so?" Such is vanity and the corset shop.

My husband and I are firm supporters of the 'crowded shop' and the museum that fills its rooms full of fascinating objects. The modern museum, with its acres of space designed to show off a few expensive trinkets, bores us and makes us wonder "why bother?"

The Victorian corset shops above left no space vacant. Every nook and cranny was filled with their wares. Even Roussel's emporium (1930 - below) has a reasonable foundation-to-area ratio; however, the Smart-form shop below in the mid-1930's displays but six garments in a massive 600 square feet. The emptiness inside would hardly seem likely to attract a prospective customer. But Smart-form, which was none other than the very up-market Barcley, sought a wealthier, supposedly more discerning clientele.

Flapper era, Art Deco and from France on the right, three ladies apparently cavorting around the woods in their satin-panelled corselettes. It is, of course a reflection!

Another attempt at a corsetry display from a major department store in 1944 (below) looks more like the window dresser has gone off for coffee half way through her job! Staying on the western side of the Atlantic, the saleslady below (1944) demonstrates how one can transform one's bosom into the 'bullet' shaped cones that, presumably, rose in response to the ongoing war. The war featured strongly in corsetry advertising.

This is what we like to see. Plenty of garments on display, a smiling and helpful lady, ready to give advice, and the line which we all fall for "I've just got in something special that I think would really suit you. It's slightly more than you wanted to spend." Spirella's showroom (above right - 1930) and their London shop (below left - 1952) are excellent examples of the upper end of the market. Berlei and Sarongster feature in the scene from Australia in the late 1950's (below). No doubt the shelves on the right would have contained garments from Australia's other major brands, such as Jenyns.

From the 1960's, a Lancashire corset shop. These were the hey-days of corsetry; however, the chipped paint on the skirting of the shop front indicates that profit margins were never huge in this trade, certainly not in the provincial towns and cities. A cause for hope amongst us traditionalists is the corset shop on the right. This photo was taken recently in Spain, one of the last bastions of traditional Triumph corsetry.

Lastly, a sad reminder of present times. The shop below is one of the few remaining traditional corset shops in Britain. The shop is closed, although it is 2 pm on a normal working day. A closer inspection reveals that the proprietress only opens about 15 hours a week. This is not surprising; the lady has run the shop for decades and is well into her 80's. The window displays some relics of a former era and a corset that seems to have been returned, modified, and then failed to find a buyer. There is a good satin girdle on display; however, the general appearance of something better than neglect, but less than faded elegance, pervades the scene. The shop could easily be mistaken for a Charity Shop (Thrift shop in the USA). The badges of former pillars of corsetry, Camp and Spirella, proclaim wares that haven't been sold for years. Oddly enough, Triumph, the name on the door, still holds a firm foundation on continental Europe.

The Camp sign is decades old, since the style was modified long after the shop had ceased connection with this company. The shelves, however, still hold relics from this company in the unusual and thus unsold sizes. Lumbosacral* and dorsolumbar supports could be found, but the proprietress had forgotten what they were supposed to do. Fiendishly complex maternity devices were shunned by modern women who felt that pregnancy was uncomfortable enough without having to wear a straight-jacket!

The Spirella sign, again, a throwback to an era long-gone, would never have been placed in a shop window in the 60's or 70's. The High Street retailer and the bespoke businesses were keen rivals. The proprietress was simply trying to advertise every possible foundation garment to her diminishing clientele. The piles of unboxed corsets hint of damp in the store-room and a consequent unappealing deterioration of the boxes; the corsets themselves survived. Allusions to proud weddings of the past (but not the present) tell a sad tale: for the whole shop is nothing more than a fading reminder of something that has passed away.