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Welcome to another “Fabric Junkie” installment! Today we’ll continue the discussion on fiber and weave. In my last piece about this topic, I noted that many sellers (and buyers) think of the two as the same and treat them as such, e.g., by stating the weave, they believe they’ve covered both. But, again, weave is only half the story. People often don’t realize that several different fibers can be used to create the same weave. Last time I talked about satin, taffeta, and chiffon. Today we’ll look at three more fabrics that are also popular and typically presented in terms of weave only. These are jersey, velvet, and gabardine.

Jersey: A single-knit fabric that is thin, smooth, and drapes well. Many people associate jersey with cotton (those popular concert t-shirts, soft cotton tops and skirts, etc.). But jersey knit can be made from a very wide variety of fibers: silk, rayon, polyester, nylon, even wool. Cotton/polyester blends are quite common. Jersey can be very flattering and suitable for body-conscious styles.

Velvet: One of the most common fabrics for which people mistakenly equate fiber and weave. But, like jersey, velvet can be silk, rayon, cotton, nylon, polyester, or blends. A cut-pile fabric, it’s woven into a plain or twill backing with a “pile” of yarn formed by loops raised from the surface. The loops are then cut to form “strands,” or the nap. Cotton is made into both velvet and velveteen. It’s difficult to tell the difference between them only by looks. But when you feel both, they’re distinguishable from one another. Velveteen has a very short, dense nap and feels “stiffer” than velvet. Cotton velvet is softer, generally with a slightly longer nap, and has more sheen to it than velveteen. But still not as lush as rayon or silk velvet. Today’s silk velvets are often a silk pile woven into a rayon backing. Although one can still find all-silk velvet, its cost as a yards good can be prohibitive.

Gabardine: A type of twill weave, it exhibits steep diagonal lines, or ribbing, on its surface. It’s very sturdy and durable, used for suits, trousers, coats, etc. Relatively wrinkle free, it’s also good for sportswear and work clothes. Although many people think of it as wool, it can be made from polyester, cotton, rayon, and blends.

Welcome to the “Fabric Junkie”!

I’m an unashamed fabric junkie. I love the look, feel, and textures of fabrics of all kinds. In fact, part of the reason I collect, wear, and sell vintage clothing is for love of fabric. The right fabric makes a good design better and can turn a mediocre design into a masterpiece.

Today I’ll tackle a basic topic: fiber and weave. As both a seller and buyer of vintage apparel, I’m dismayed when I ask a seller about the fiber from which an item is made, and she or he doesn’t understand what I’m asking. Especially if the weave is stated in the description. But that’s only half the story. Fabric is a combination of fiber and weave, fiber being the raw material used to create it (e.g., wool, silk, rayon, polyester) and weave being the resulting look and texture once it is made into yardage. There is also the “how” of creating fabric (weaving, knitting, compressing, bonding, etc.), which affects weave, but that’s another can of worms for another day. Let’s keep it simple today!

“So, why is this important?,” one might ask. While some buyers don’t care what fiber a garment is made of, many do. Some can’t wear synthetics, some can’t wear certain natural fibers. For others, it’s a matter of preference. A buyer may want to know the fiber and weave in order to get a sense of how the fabric will feel and drape (or not) on the body. And, for both buyers and sellers, knowing the fiber can determine how to care for/clean/store the garment.

If you ask anyone in Austria, or in Vienna specifically, who was the best-known Austrian fashion designer, chances are they will say “Adlmüller” even today. He was the celebrity designer in Vienna for decades. But what made him, the man who freely admitted that he couldn’t even sew a button on himself, a celebrated fashion designer?

Wilhelm Alfred (usually referred to as W.F. or Fred—he hated the name Wilhelm) Adlmüller was born in Nuremberg in Bavaria in 1909. His father owned several restaurants, and his intention was that Fred should take over the running of one of them later. Fred liked cooking, so he trained as a cook from 1923 to 1927 at the prestigious Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten in Munich. Though his liking for good food and cooking stayed with him all his life, he soon realised that he was even more interested in fashion, colours, shapes and design. He had always liked shopping for clothes with his mother and his sisters, but now he wanted to do more. In 1929 he went to Vienna with the purpose of learning more about the restaurant business, but instead he found a job with the fashion boutique Ludwig Zwieback & Brüder. There, he learned decorating, choosing fabric and coordinating accessories and his flair for style and colours was noticed. A little side fact: The great-grandson of Ludwig Zwieback is the actor August Zirner.

In 1931 he went to work as a buyer at Tailors, Stone & Blyth, which was a well-known fashion house in Vienna at the time. At first he worked in the men’s department, and then started expanding the women’s fashion department, not only using his talent to copy couture designs, but also by using his own designs. He created his first couture collection in 1934, and from 1936, he also designed theatre and opera costumes. Adlmüller didn’t serve in WWII because of his health. He stayed on at the company as a director after the original Jewish owners, Ignaz Sass and his wife, were forced to leave and a German was put in place by the Nazis. Thanks to his good connections with the Soviet authorities in Vienna, Adlmüller was able to present his first post-war collection in Autumn 1945, and in 1946 he received Austrian citizenship.

After the war, the German owner of Stone & Blyth was arrested and Sass confirmed that Adlmüller could stay on as interim director. Ignaz Sass and his wife returned to Vienna in 1949 and partnered with Adlmüller as Stone & Blyth Nachfolger – W. F. A. Ges.m.b.H. In 1950 Adlmüller bought the couple out and started his own company. His elegant style became quickly known amongst society ladies and opera singers who had their gowns made by him. His reputation grew so much that soon he was considered the fashion designer to go to.

I would like to tell a little story about a scarf, that in turn tells and connects to so many other stories as only a vintage item can! I originally wrote about this some years ago on my now-sleeping personal blog and was astonished how many comments I received from people around the world, just because they had been searching for the name on a scarf or a hankie. So I thought it would be timely to revisit this story and see if I could find out more.

Here is the scarf that started it all: A lovely vintage silk scarf made by Fisba-Stoffels of Switzerland. I received this as a gift from my best friend. She had selected it because she knew I’d like the colors—plus it said “Swiss Made” on the label, and she thought that was funny.

I love the color combination and the groovy print, and I wear it regularly. One day I showed it to my mother. She took one look at the signature on it and said “Oh Fisba-Stoffels—I used to serve old Mrs. Stoffel at the shop in Klosters!” (she worked summer seasons as a tour guide and winter seasons in ski resort shops in the 1960s). Would you believe it? It seems the Mrs. Stoffel in question was quite a character and well known in town. My father, who grew up in Klosters, remembers her too. Apparently, the company mostly produced hankies, but also scarves. So, if the internet turns up nothing, just ask your mom!

So, my curiosity was piqued, and I started doing a bit of research, but could not find much. Revisiting the topic now, I have found quite a bit more information that gives a better picture and brings together two important names in Swiss textile history, especially regarding St. Gallen. Whilst the city is probably most famous for its convent with the abbey cathedral and library, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it was and is a centre of the textile industry. The production of linen and cotton led to a specialization in lace and embroidery from the mid-18th century. This started as a cottage industry and, with industrialization, morphed into mechanized production. The legacy of this today is companies that specialize in the production of elaborate lace and embroidery fabrics for haute couture.

The two names involved with Fisba-Stoffels, and which are each on their own famous, are Stoffel and Fischbacher. The Stoffel company has its roots with Franz-Xaver Stoffel (1794-1841) dealing in textiles and opening a weaving mill for silk ribbons in 1822. Over the years, the company changed its profile from dealing in textiles to their production, and taking over other textile companies in eastern Switzerland in the course of the 19th and early 20th centuries. The company Stoffel & Cie. (later Stoffel AG) was formally founded in 1888. After World War I, the company’s focus shifted to new materials like synthetic fibers and special textile finishes. The company grew to one of the biggest in the region and by 1960 had offices in Paris and New York and exported its products worldwide. They were also famous for their “Stoffels-Tüechli”—finely woven handkerchiefs, which were first introduced between the two world wars. Starting in 1965, Max Stoffel gradually sold the company to Burlington Industries. This process finished in 1968. The Stoffels brand name continued on for a time it seems, and their fabrics used in garments were labeled “A Division of Burlington Industries Inc.”

Ad from 1948 for Stoffels fabric with pre-printed aprons for home sewers Stoffels handkerchief from the 1960s

This is the third in a series of the essential books in VFG member Maggie Muellner’s vintage fashion library. Read about the others in previous recent blogs.

The subtitle of this little book is “Repairing and Preserving Garments and Bedding”. It is such a gem! The author—who had a long career as a physician and psychiatrist—became chair of the “mending committee” for a Vermont charity after her retirement. The group became increasingly expert menders as the years went by, learning by doing and sharing, as well from feedback given by recipients of their efforts. I love the picture this conjures for me of that group—I wish I could sit in with them for a session or two!

The book is slim at 180 pages, but it is dense with the kind of handy advice your grandmother might have given you if she was a domestic goddess. For example, I have a sewing machine and know about “machine darning”—I rescued the torn seat of the bib overalls I wear for gardening using machine darning recently. Lucky for me that denim fabric is fairly firm and dense, and the repair went smoothly. One of Ms. Foote’s tips for machine darning is to stretch the area you are working on using an embroidery frame so the fabric won’t get puckered during the process.

The manual is sprinkled with simple pen and ink illustrations—73 in all, covering tasks such as crotch repair, frayed cuffs folded inside, and invisible woven-in mending.