Context

Hose cover the legs, and differ in coverage and tightness across the centuries and according to the wearer’s social status. In the later medieval period, men’s hose were suspended from the doublet with laces, or “points”.

By the late 1460s/ early 1470s, which is the time frame I focus on, separate hose for the middling sort and elites were a rarity, and were primarily worn by labourers and those engaged in physical activity. Separate hose have two distinct legs that do not connect to cover the buttocks completely, or a codpiece to cover the crotch. As such, they can be rolled down (as in the middle image) when it’s hot, or when doing heavy labour.

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Joined hose were instead far more common, if not universal, for men’s dress in the court of the Burgundian dukes. They permitted more modesty, especially given the fashion of rising hemlines on pleated jackets, scandalising some clerical writers for their exposure of the buttocks and “the location of their humanity” (Du Clercq, from van Buren, 2011: 205). Fashionable hose also tended to be as tight and wrinkle-free as possible - to show off the form beneath, the lack of need for physical exertion that would risk ripping the tight hose, and the expertise of the hosier in fitting them.

Triangulating the Evidence △

Archaeological evidence

Pattern

We tend to find scraps from the feet of hose in the archaeological record rather than part from the leg or hose in their entirety, presumably because larger bits of fabric from further up the leg tended to be salvaged for other purposes. Extant remnants of fifteenth century hose are a rarity, and finds are typically dated either side of this century. I was able to research 14th century hose from London (England), late 15th century miner’s hose from Carinthia (Austria), sixteenth century hose from Groningen (the Netherlands), Alpirsbach (Germany), and London again. I’m also aware of fourteenth century finds from Lübeck (Germany), discussed by Jaacks in 1993, and late sixteenth century finds from French and Spanish whaling settlements in Labrador (Canada), discussed in Dubuc in 1990; but unfortunately was unable to obtain copies of these articles.

The various 14th century hose and the Finsbury hose discussed in Crowfoot et al. were cut on the bias for maximum stretch (2001: 185), as were the Alpirsbach (Fingerlin, 1997: 103, 117) and Carinthian (Nutz, 2026: 57) finds. The Groningen finds were also cut on the bias, and were often pieced at an upper corner for economy of fabric (Zimmerman, 2004: 160). All hose that I am aware of are closed by a seam running up the back of the leg.

There is great variety in how the hose were patterned to cover the feet in the archaeological record, and Crowfoot et al. (2001: 188) and Staniland (1997: 246) both point to a growing sophistication in the cut and construction between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. Some hose didn’t enclose the foot and instead just had a strap of cloth going under it like a stirrup, but these aren’t my focus at this point in time. The 14th century London finds show a variety of patterning techniques, most involving ‘the continuation of wedge-shaped sections over the ankles and heel’, or sections covering the instep and front of the foot like ‘broad tongues’ (Crowfoot et al., 2001, 189-90). From previous experiments with this earlier style, I know I hate the sensation of seams underfoot, so I’ve primarily recreated hose where the sole mirrored the outline of the foot and triangular gussets were inserted on either side at the ankle.

In my research however, another version of this style caught my eye. It is seen in two sets of sixteenth century finds, one from Finsbury, London, in Textiles and Clothing (Crowfoot et al, 2001); and the others from Alpirsbach. The relevant Alpirsbach finds were discovered in 1958 and consist of: a pair of joined hose dated to 1490-1535, the soles of which have not survived (Fingerlin, 1997: 104); and several short hose and ankle socks (used as insoles), presumed to belong to schoolboys dating to the second half of the 16th century after a monastic school was established in the recently-closed Abbey (1997: 116, 100). The Finsbury hose and the Alpirsbach short hose have ankle gussets, but do not have an “outline” sole. Instead, there is a triangle cut-out at the ball of the foot that is filled in by the back seam of the hose extending over the heel.

Zimmerman examined finds from Groningen dated approximately 1577-1600, 54 of which she determined were complete or fragmentary hose. 27 of these had identifiable sole shapes, which she grouped into five shapes. Interestingly, none of these were the cut-out style seen in the Finsbury and Alpirsbach hose. The greatest proportion of identifiable sole shapes (almost half, at 12) simply followed the outline of the foot. However, 5 of the 27 hose have the triangle cutout of the Finsbury and Alpirsbach hose in reverse, where the one-piece sole either has a flared two-piece extension like a fishtail that joins to form a point, or a one-piece triangular extension, both of which extend into the back seam (2004: 161). I believe that these three variations serve a similar purpose, in allowing for reduced bulk and greater shaping around the heel and ankle, giving ‘the heel covering a well-rounded shape’. Zimmerman also notes that there was an abundance of piecing to allow for the fabric to be cut as economically as possible. Smaller pieces like piecings, soles and gussets were often cut on a different grain from the rest of the hose, or from a different fabric (or weave) entirely (2004: 162). She also found that ‘the [ankle] gussets of no two hose were identical’ (2004: 161), suggesting these were individual to the wearer.

Unfortunately the 15th century Austrian hose were too fragmentary to know if they had feet, but the general pattern is comparable to the Alpirsbach joined hose (Nutz 2026: 59, 57).

As a brief aside - it should also be noted that we often see depictions of people just wearing hose and no shoes, including in outdoor settings. This is because some cloth hose had leather soles attached. This would obviously work best with sole styles that replicate the outline of the foot, to prevent areas where cloth would be exposed to the ground.

Materials

In terms of fabric, the Finsbury hose were made from a worsted wool 2/2 twill, compared to the tabby-woven cloth of 14th century London finds. Twill cloth provides more strength and elasticity than tabby cloth, and as such ‘had become the preferred material for hose by the 16th century’ (Crowfoot et al., 2001: 190, 186).

The joined hose in the Austrian finds, dating between the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century, were cut from a fulled plain-weave wool. They most likely belonged to miners, hence their simplicity (Nutz 2026: 57).

The sixteenth-century Groningen finds discussed by Zimmerman (2004: 161) were similarly all made of wool, mostly in a coarse, plain weave with 6-12 threads per centimetre and often napped on one or both sides. There are hose made from a ‘coarse 1/2 twill’ as well as a ‘thin, supple 2/2 twill’, in which the Z-spun warp varies from 18-24 threads per cm, and the S-spun weft 14-26 pcm. The soles are also reported as often being of a thicker fabric than the rest of the hose.

One of the textile fragments from Moorfields, presumed to date from the mid-sixteenth century, is a medium weight 2/2 twill wool woven from S-spun yarn with 12 threads per cm (warp and weft) that Cubitt et al. say ‘compares closely’ to cloth used for hose in other contemporaneous finds (2019: 236).

The Alpirsbach hose are unusual in that they are made of linen, which does not have as much natural stretch as wool. The joined hose are made of a three-shed twill (Fingerlin, 1997: 103) and the short hose of a mix of plain and twill weaves. The toe caps and soles of at least one of the short hose are made of coarser linen than that of the leg and gussets, to help prevent wear (1997: 117).

Construction

Crowfoot et al. suggest that the main back seams of the extant hose found in London and dating to the 14th century could have been backstitched to provide additional strength to the seam and prevent it coming apart in use. The seam allowance of the back seam was opened out and stitched down with a running stitch 2-3mm away from the seam and parallel to it (2001: 156). Interestingly, this seam finishing was worked from the outside, making the stitches visible when the garment was worn. If the stitches were worked from the inside, it would be possible to make shallow stitches that catch the underside of the wool but do not pierce all the way through the fabric, leaving little divots but not showing the thread. The authors compare this technique with the seams of the dress associated with Queen Margareta in Uppsala Cathedral, where it is used to help the seams lie flat (2001: 187-18). The seams at the foot of the hose were lapped, with an overlap of 4-7mm. This flatter style of seam is more comfortable under the foot, and Crowfoot et al. also suggest that they may be felted together over time by ‘the heat and dampness of the human foot’. The stitches were approximately 3mm long, at 3-4mm intervals, and consisted of ‘a fairly upright hem stitch’ (2001: 190, 153-5). Two fragments of bias cut cloth likely to come from hose suggest that one possible finishing method for the top edge was a single-fold hem of 4-5mm, held by backstitching in silk thread about 2mm from the edge (2001: 187).

The Austrian miner’s hose were sewn with linen, either using a backstitch or a double running stitch, and had a generous seam allowance (between 1.27 and 1.9cm wide). Where material was pieced, the seam allowance was much narrower at just under 0.5mm, with no evidence of overstitching. Four rows of stitching around the waist are strongly indicative of a strengthening waistband. The most unique feature of their construction is a small notch that may have been a shaping dart, placed just beneath the knee (Nutz, 2026: 57, 59, 60). This was likely only necessary because of the plainweave material, as the natural stretch of twill allows for a closer fit.

Of the Groningen hose fragments, the plain weave finds were predominantly stitched with linen, and the finer twill with silk. In one case, there is evidence of silk and linen thread being used in the same seam. The back seams are unusual in that they used a running stitch worked through a double layer of cloth (i.e. four layers total) for additional strength (see inset in pattern diagram above). This is done by turning back the seam allowances about a centimetre (often narrowing above the heel) before sewing together. The gussets are described as having ‘usually a single (but sometimes a double) row of thread impressions a few millimetres from the edge’, and ‘often…impressions of overcast stitching’. I interpret this as lapped seams, but could be misunderstanding. Some of the gussets also had decorative top-stitching in silk. Zimmerman also reports that some of the hose fragments have evidence of additional seams around the forefoot and in the gussets, and these are likely darts to improve the fit (Zimmerman, 2004: 160-2). These is no mention of any darts higher up the leg, as with the Austrian finds. She also posits that the Groningen hose, particularly those made from coarser weaves, and/or those with a greater number of repairs, were likely sewn at home rather than made by members of the Tailors’ Guild (2004: 164).

The Alpirsbach hose are a rare survival of relatively intact joined hose, but unfortunately construction details in the archaeological report are limited. Figures of the conserved hose show that the rear seams continue vertically up to the top band (1997: 101). They also differ from conventional hose construction in two main ways. First, they lack eyelets for lacing, and so Fingerlin they were work trousers (1997: 106). The other interesting thing to note is that the top corner of the codpiece was sewn to the hose on one side, but attached by eyelets on the other, rather than only being connected to the body of the hose at the base as more commonly seen in portraiture (1997: 102).

Documentary evidence

Sturtewagen’s 2016 thesis analyses the clothing of the people of Bruges between the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and is a fantastic collation of documentary evidence for my purposes. She examined 104 records from 1437-1480: 69 bastaardgoederen (inventories of Bruges burghers of illegitimate birth, found in the General State Archives of Belgium) from 1437-1444; and 33 confiscation inventories from the deanery of Sint-Donaas dated between 1460 and 1480, kept in the State Archives in Bruges. The after-death inventories are approximately 51% lower class, 36% middling and 13% elite, while the confiscation records were estimated to be 6% lower class, 61% middling, and 33% elite (2016: 271, 274).

She goes on to break down lower garments mentioned in inventories, where specified, by fabric and by colour. For the bastard inventories (reminder: 1437-1444, predominantly lower class), the fabric percentages were approximately 40% laken (i.e. broadcloth), 40% light woollen, and 20% non-silk mixed weave (2016: 287). Where colour was mentioned, approximately 30% of lower garments were black, just over 20% were shades of red, just under 20% blue and just under 20% grey. Just over 5% were green, and the remaining proportion (under 5%) were white (2016: 291). For the confiscation inventories (reminder: 1460-1480, predominantly of the middling sort), 66% were of light wool cloth, and 33% were of leather (2016: 287). In terms of colour, just under 60% were black, just under 25% were grey, just over 10% purple, and about 5% were tawny (2016: 291). So overall, we see a trend towards hose made of light woollen cloth, and a greater propensity for black hose.

Sturtewagen also discusses a source that specifies a construction style for hose: Zegher van Male’s Spieghel Memoriael was written c.1550 as a guide for future governors of the Bruges Beghard school, and discusses clothing for the school’s pupils. They wore knee-high stockings, made of kersey (2016: 226-7). Van Male specifies that ‘the hose for the children should be made using a pattern that has no seam running under the sole of the foot’, because this was “very unpleasant for the children to wear”. These were referred to as ‘coussins [hose] met zuelen ende clyncken (with soles and wedges)’ (2016: 229). This is the style I lean towards, for the same reasons, and it was so endearing to see this concern for the children in his care from a man centuries ago.

The 1455 statutes of the hose-makers in Dijon tell us that they “shall be required to make their hose for sale of good, sound and marketable cloth; well soaked, scoured and fulled, so as to cut them and make true and straight bias cuts without twisting; …to supply them with new, suitable cloth, without including any pieces of old cloth or any colour other than that of the main body of the hose; and where they are lined with canvas, it shall be entirely new, sound and of merchant quality, and sufficiently white.” (Beaulieu and Baylé 1956: 43 n.1).

Several secondary sources suggest that perpignan (a light, semi-worsted, serge-woven 2/2 twill wool fabric originiating in Perpignan, France) was particularly popular for the making of hose (see Frick, 2002: 167 n51 and McCall, 2022: 144), but I was unable to indications of this in sources specific to Burgundy. Though if it was popular in Italy, it stands to reason that it would also be popular in France and Burgundy, particularly given its original production location.

Pictoral evidence

As with doublets, a full depiction of hose (i.e. not covered by outer clothes) is generally reserved for those engaged in physical activity. When it is not covered by outer garments, we are more likely to be able to see the codpiece style, the closing seams over the seat, and/or the approximate numbers of eyelets used to suspend them from the doublet.

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Artists did not always choose to include details such as seams on hose, and as ever, stylistic choices must be balanced with the likelihood of an accurate representation of the historical reality. While a skin-tight fit can be achieved with woollen hose cut on the bias, depictions that do not show a little bagginess around the knees and seat to account for movement are unlikely to be realistic in that respect.

I also chose images that show hose in lighter-coloured fabrics, as these typically included more detail. However, as we have seen in the documentary evidence discussed above, hose came in a range of colours. Black was a particularly popular choice for illustrating hose of the later fifteenth century, as were pinks and reds. Also seen are blues (particularly a blue-grey), greys, greens and browns. Hose are almost always shown as a solid colour rather than mi-parti. A notable exception to this is the executioner in Dieric Bouts’ painting Justice of Emperor Otto III: Beheading of the Innocent Count (c.1473-5) in blue and yellow joined hose. I also found mi-parti green and white hose on a figure in the foreground on the right of Jean Fouquet’s The Trial of the Duke of Alençon (c.1459) (potentially a foreigner based on the style of his hooded cloak); and green and yellow hose on an executioner in Faits du Grand Alexandre (BnF Français 22547, 247r) - mi-parti hose could therefore have a connotation of livery rather than typical wear at this point in time.

These two German paintings depicting The Beheading of St George (below, left) and the Beheading of John the Baptist (below, middle) show a triangular seam, whereas the Italian fresco depicting the Martyrdom of Saint Bartholomew (below, right) shows a more vertical seam like those of the Alpirsbach joined hose. It may be down to regional difference, personal preference of the wearer or tailor, or practical concerns for getting the best fit depending on the wearer’s body type.

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Another interesting thing to note for Burgundian depictions of hose in the fifteenth century is that they aren’t shown being held up at the calves by garters, regardless of social class or activity. Whether this was a stylistic choice by the artists or a reflection of reality is hard to tell.

Embroidered hose

There are numerous depictions of what appears to be goldwork embroidery on hose, which I fell down a rabbit hole on and honestly deserves a post of its own. The designs are typically on the upper thigh or below the calf of one leg and range from simple to elaborate.

I predominantly found them depicted in two manuscripts: Croniques abregies commençans au temps de Herode Antipas (vol.1: BnF Ms-5089 réserve; vol.2: BnF Ms-5090 réserve, c.1462) and Faits du Grand Alexandre (BnF Français 22547, c.1470). The latter is illuminated by Loyset Liédet, and the former’s illuminator is unknown.

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Embroidered hose in Burgundy date back to at least the early fifteenth century, with the court accounts for 1416-20 referencing two pairs of hose for the Count of Saint Pol embroidered with his device and a further five with unspecified embroidery (Mollat and Fawtier, 1965: 78-9). Philip the Good also ordered two pairs of scarlet hose embroidered with the ducal motto (‘Autre n’aurai’') in 1420-22 (Jolivet 2015). While clearly tied to embroidered ornamentation on clothing in general (for discussion of women’s embroidered sleeves, for example, see Frick 2002: 197), I couldn’t find much discussion of embroidered hose specifically in a Franco-Flemish context in secondary sources. Van Buren remarks on the mottoes embroidered on the hose of the men in the Alexander romance frontispiece (the middle tile above), but does not provide any context to this practice (2011: 208). Crane’s work, while discussing predominantly embroidered sleeves and collars when it comes to clothing, allows for the placing of it within a broader ‘hundred-year vogue for using personal mottos, signs and colours in clothing’, from about 1350 to 1450 (2002: 15).

Véniel’s Le costume médiéval links the practice of embroidering hose to courtly love, as seen in Antoine de La Sale’s 1456 romance Jehan de Saintré (2021: 102). In this novel, a widow referred to as “Madame des Belles Cousines” gives the 13-year-old protagonist a purse with some money inside, and instructs him to purchase clothes (including hose) embroidered with her colours and personal emblem. The ladies of the court (including the Madame, pretending to be none the wiser), make a game of trying to find out who his love is upon seeing his finely embroidered garments (La Sale, 2014: 58-62). Years later, when he visits her in Paris, he wears ‘scarlet hose embroidered in large, fine pearls, in Madame’s colours and device’ (2014: 189) to show her that he still cares for her.

A trend for embellished hose specifically is better documented in Italy, where it seemed to originate with elite young men in Venice, who formed social and cultural fraternities called “Compagnie della Calze” (“Companies of the Hose”), and adopted extravagant hose as part of their livery. These hose could be parti-coloured, striped, embroidered with emblems or heraldic motifs, and/or decorated with pearls and jewels (Casini 2011: 139). The fashion spread to other Italian elites, with McCall referencing metallic threads, chains and gilt brocade being applied to the hose of Nicolò d'Este, his sons, and the courtiers at Ferrara and Modena (2022: 147-8). It can also be found elsewhere in Europe. For a Southern German example, see the elaborate crown-like band of goldwork and pearls around the calf of the recently married man in “A Bridal Couple”, a painting from c.1470 now held in the Cleveland Museum of Art. Or, for Spain, see Pedro Berruguete’s painting “Saint Dominic and the Albigensians” (c.1491-9), now held in Museo del Prado.

Depictions of goldwork embroidery on hose in Burgundy and Europe more widely do therefore seem to accord with historical reality: either displaying symbols of personal identification and significance, or those associated with a lover. While only the Alexandre frontispiece clearly shows a motto and entwined initials, common motifs in illustrations seem to be diagonal bands, sunbursts and raindrops.

Decisions

Based on all this, I decided to make my hose from a medium-weight fulled black 2/2 twill, with 9 pairs of eyelets for points and lapped seams at the foot. I deliberately did not make a decision about the shape of the seat seams, because I wanted to be guided by what gave the best fit. My soles would be of the same fabric (rather than thicker, as in the Groningen finds), both to reduce bulk and because I didn’t have thicker black wool in my fabric stash. They would have the triangular cut-out sole of the Finsbury and Alpirsbach finds, so I could experiment with the effect it gave. I wanted shoes to form a part of the outfit, so decided to leave soled hose for another time. I may yet embroider them.

Bibliography

Beaulieu, M. and Baylé, J. (1956) Le Costume en Bourgogne: de Philippe le Hardi a la mort de Charles le Téméraire (1364-1477). Paris: Presses Universitaires de France.

Cassini, M. (2011) “The ‘Company of the hose’: youth and courtly culture in Europe, Italy and Venice.” Studi veneziani 62: 133-154.

Crane, S. (2002) The Performance of Self: Ritual, Clothing and Identity During the Hundred Years War. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Crowfoot, E., et al. (2001) Textiles and clothing, c. 1150-1450 (second edition). Woodbridge: The Boydell Press.

Cubitt, R. S., et al. (2019) "An important 16th-century finds assemblage from ‘Moorfields’, Liverpool Street, London." Post-Medieval Archaeology 53.2: 225-265.

Fingerlin, I. (1997) “Seltene Textilien aus Kloster Alpirsbach im Nordschwarzwald”. Waffen- Und Kostümkunde 39: 99–122.

Frick, C. (2002) Dressing Renaissance Florence: Families, Fortunes and Fine Clothing. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Gay, V. and Stein, H. (1887) Glossaire archéologique du Moyen Age et de la Renaissance. Paris: Librairie de la société bibliographique.

Jolivet, S. (2015) “La construction d’une image  : Philippe le Bon et le noir (1419-1467)” Apparence(s), 6.

La Sale, A. de et al. (2014) Jean de Saintre : A Late Medieval Education in Love and Chivalry. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Malcolm-Davies, J., & Mikhaila, N. (2006) The Tudor Tailor: Reconstructing sixteenth-century dress. London: Batsford.

McCall, T. (2022) Brilliant bodies: fashioning courtly men in early Renaissance Italy. Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press.

Mollat, M. and Fawtier, R. (1965) Recueil des historiens de la France; Documents financiers vol 5: Comptes généraux de l’État bourguignon entre 1416 et 1420. Paris, Imprimerie nationale.

Nutz, B. and Stadler, H. (2026) “A Snapshot into the Past: Textiles and Wooden Artefacts from High-Alpine Mining Sites in Inner Austria”, Journal of Glacial Archaeology 8: 46–84.

Origo, I. (1992) The Merchant of Prato: Francesco Di Marco Datini: Daily Life in a Medieval Italian City. London: Penguin Books.

Scott, M. (1980) The History of Dress Series: Late Gothic Europe, 1400-1500. London: Mills & Boon Ltd.

Staniland, K. (1997) “Getting there, got it: archaeological textiles and tailoring in London 1330-1580” in Gaimster, D. R. M. and Stamper, P. A. (eds.) The age of transition: the archaeology of English culture, 1400-1600. Oxford: Oxbow Books: 239-250.

Sturtewagen, I. (2016) All together respectably dressed: Fashion and clothing in Bruges during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. PhD Thesis, University of Antwerp, Antwerp.

Thursfield, S. (2015) Medieval Tailor’s Assistant (second edition). Ramsbury: Crowood Press.

van Buren, A. (2011) Illuminating fashion: Dress in the art of medieval France and the Netherlands, 1325-1515. New York: Morgan Library and Museum.

Véniel, F. (2021) Le costume médiéval de 1320 à 1480. Saint-Martin-des-Entrées: Editions Heimdal.

Zimmerman, H. (2004) “Sixteenth-century hose and their Manufacture”, Acta Archaeologica Lodziensia 50/1: 159-165

In the interim, here is a brief summary of what I made and how it went! I presented this at the conclusion of my project at Yule Ball in the Shire of Flintheath, 2023.

Full write-ups coming at some point (I can’t in good conscience say “soon”…) on:

• the linen undershirt

• the pair of short linen braies

• the pair of woollen joined footed hose: the post discussing the historical evidence of hose is now complete, but not yet the one on the making process

• the woollen v-fronted doublet

For an introduction to the project, click here.

I gave a class called “Shaping the Body: padding, constriction and support in medieval and early modern European masculine dress” at Drachenwald Kingdom University Online in Februrary 2026. Below are my slides and presenter notes, with full bibliography. I hope you find them useful, or at least of interest.

Click here to download the powerpoint with presenter notes for “Shaping the Body”.

As changes in fashion caused separate hose to rise up the leg, over the buttocks, and eventually become joined hose, men’s underwear (braies) became correspondingly shorter and tighter, to fit more smoothly and comfortably underneath the hose. What were once voluminous, calf-length garments in the high middle ages become a much closer-fitting garment in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. As hose also became pointed to the doublet rather than suspended from the breech-girdle tying the braies closed at the waist, the drawstring of underwear also become narrower, because it no longer had to support the weight of the hose (Thursfield, 2015). Broadly speaking, the shape become something much more akin to the briefs we see today.

Linen is the most likely contender for fabric used to make underwear, for a multitude of reasons. Outer garments were typically made of wool or silk, which had to be spot-cleaned (as demonstrated by several solutions in the household book Le Ménagier de Paris (Greco and Rose, 2018)) because the fibres would not stand up to regular laundering. Linen, on the other hand, does not tend to shrink when laundrered, and also gets softer the more you wash it. This, combined with the fact that linen is a sweat-wicking, breathable fabric, means that linen underclothes can absorb sweat and bodily fluids from everyday wear, protecting the outer layers that cannot be washed as often. Linen can also protect the skin from itching through being in contact with wool, should the wool be of a quality or nap that causes itchiness.

Triangulating the Evidence △

Documentary evidence

While we know from written sources such as the Tacuinum Sanitatis and Flemish-French conversation books that braies were worn by men in the fifteenth century (Sturtewagen, 2016), there is not yet any documentary evidence to my knowledge that gives details as to their style or the way they were made.

In fact, Sturtewagen notes a ‘conspicuous absence’ of underwear from fifteenth century probate inventories from Bruges. Contents of baskets and chests of linens were rarely, if ever, specified. This absence from probate inventories is a common phenomenon in medieval Europe, and has led some historians (e.g. Sarti, 2004) to conclude that underwear was not commonly worn in the middle ages, except by elites. Sturtewagen, however, links this, in addition to the ‘private and intimate’ nature of body linens, to deaths from the bubonic plague in Bruges, arguing that body linens would be seen as potentially ‘contaminated’ and thus burned to prevent the disease from spreading. The probate records in particular she is referring to here are those so-called bastaard goederen or the inventories of Bruges burghers of illegitimate birth, which date from the 1438-1444. This lines up with Roosen and Curtis’ analysis of there being a likely plague outbreak, ‘potentially coupled with other afflictions’ in the Southern Netherlands in 1438 and 1439 (Roosen and Curtis, 2019).

Finally, these were items typically produced inside the home, and so are not mentioned in the tailors’ records or other similar sources (Sturtewagen, 2016).

Archaeological evidence

As ever with medieval European garments, archaeological evidence of underwear is extremely limited, because linen doesn’t survive well in the European climate (Crowfoot et al, 2018).

That being said, there are some incredible finds from Lengberg castle, where various material - including textiles - were found filling a vault spandrel. The finds are estimated to be from the fifteenth century, predating the year 1485 when the chapel was consecrated. Among the finds of textile remains (which totalled over 2000) was a completely preserved pair of linen braies, along with fragments from a second pair. The braies have been carbon-dated to between 1440 and 1485.

The braies are made from an hourglass-shaped piece of undyed plain-weave linen (12-14 threads per cm) and have been repaired with three successive linen patches over the crotch/ pubic region. They have been cut on the cross-grain, with the back edge of the hourglass shape (the edge that would lie horizontal across the hips/ buttocks when worn) cut on the selvedge, which has largely torn away from the rest of the fabric.

The hem, which has been double-folded and then overcast, is very narrow at a total width of 5mm. The front-right tie (the only one intact with without any knots) is 260mm long, 15mm wide at the sewn ends and 6mm wide at the outer end. The estimated total hip circumference is 84cm, and artwork suggests they were worn low on the hips. The thread used for sewing the hems etc. was two-ply Z-spun linen thread approximately 0.7mm in diameter. (Nutz and Stadler, 2015).

Pictoral evidence

This is by far the richest vein for late medieval underwear, particularly scenes depicting the crucifixion and martyrdoms. Although Jesus is normally depicted wearing a loincloth, the two thieves crucified alongside him are often shown wearing underwear. Additional sources come more occasionally from bedroom scenes or bathing scenes (whether outside or in the bathhouse).

Nutz and Stadler (2015) propose a 5-part typology of medieval underwear based on artwork:

• Type A: long, baggy braies that completely cover the leg, approx. 12th century;

• Type B: medium-length loose braies that reach to the knees, approx. 13th-15th centuries;

• Type C: braies reaching approximately to the mid-thigh, with short tubes of fabric covering and containing the legs but not tightly fitted around the thigh (analogous to modern boxers), approx. 14th-15th centuries;

• Type D: short braies that are similar to type C, but which do not or barely cover the leg (analogous to modern boxer-briefs or briefs), approx. 14th-15th centuries;

• Type E: “thong-like” braies such as the Lengberg find, where the fabric only really covers the pubic region and the buttocks, and the sides are formed of narrow straps or bands, approx. 15th-16th centuries.

Only types D and E are commonly seen in artwork of the mid-late fifteenth century. Additionally, I would further break D down into two sub-types:

• D1: a style with a narrower piece of fabric across the hips and a higher rise; and

• D2: a more rectangular style where the length remains more or less consistent all the way round. It should also be noted that this D2 type can occasionally be seen with a small slit that extends about halfway up the hip, presumably to allow for freer movement and greater comfort when worn.

Type E underwear, at least according to the artwork, seems broadly confined to the Holy Roman Empire in the fifteenth century, which is consistent with the Lengberg find being in East Tyrol (modern-day Austria). Types D1 and D2, however, are found in artwork across late medieval Europe. In one painting, Memling’s Scenes from the Passion of Christ (below), the two thieves are shown side-by-side wearing both styles - so perhaps the specifics came down to personal preference, as Constanza de Mendoza suggests (Buchler, 2010). Type Ds (1 and 2) typically tie at centre-front with a narrow drawstring enclosed in a waistband. The fit at centre-front is pouched, but smooth and tight everywhere else.

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Decisions, decisions…

Given that the Type E style of underwear don’t appear to be appropriate for my geographical focus, I decided to style my pattern as a Type D2 medieval underwear, but otherwise stick as closely as I reasonably could to the construction of the Lengberg finds.

The make

The materials

The linen I had in my stash is approximately 21-24 threads/cm, which is basically twice as fine as the linen used to make the Lengberg underwear. However, the finest patch on the Lengberg underwear was 18 threads/cm, and given the presumed social status of the owner (estimated to be low to middling class, due to the three successive repairs) (Nutz and Stadler, 2015), I decided that a slightly finer linen would be okay for a noble impression.

Along with the slightly finer fabric, I also used slightly finer linen thread for sewing the braies: two-ply thread with a diameter of 0.5mm, so pretty close to the Lengberg thread’s 0.7mm. Bockens is my favourite source of two-ply linen thread, although I don’t know if it’s Z-twist or S-twist. If someone knows how I can figure that out, let me know! I’m always up for more in-depth nerdery.

The patterning

My brain works best when flat drafting patterns, making a mock-up and then adjusting on the body, so that is the method I’ve outlined below. In period, clothing was probably draped directly on the body. I’m terrible at draping, but if that’s how your brain works, go you! What follows is only a rough guide.

I’ll also say in advance it’s easiest to do the measurements on your body, while in your underwear. Because of the elasticated nature of underwear waistbands and stretch fabric nowadays, make sure you do this with them on your body rather than off, to get accurate measurements.

• Measure your hip circumference at its widest point, and add an inch or two of ease.

• Then, sling a tape measure between your legs and measure loosely from the top of the centre front of the waistband of your underwear to the top of the centre back of the waistband. Again, add two or three inches of ease to the final measurement (less if your measurement was very approximate).

• Measure the circumference of your thigh at its highest point, and add half an inch to an inch of ease.

• Finally, measure at your hip, following its curve or lack thereof, the distance from the top of your waistband to where you would like the lower edge of the side of your underwear to fall. This is the length of your side seam.

You can put your clothes back on now. Or not. You do you.

On your test fabric, draw a rectangle, the width equalling half your hip circumference (including the ease you added) and the height equalling half the length measurement, waistband to waistband (again, including ease). You will use this to draft the front and back of the underwear at the same time, on top of each other. This box is the long dotted lines on the diagram.

N.B.: this draft does not include seam allowances! They will need to be added in seperately.

1. Draw a faint vertical line through the centre of the box, extending it through the top of the box by a couple of inches (the short dotted line on the diagram).

2. At the top of the box, make two marks on the centre line: one 2 inches below, and one 1/2 inches above the box. The lower point is the centre front of your braies, and the upper is the centre back. These marks are in red on the diagram.

3. Draw two smooth curves: one joining the top left corner of the box with the top right corner of the box, passing through the upper mark; and one joining the top left corner of the box with the top right corner of the box, passing through the lower mark.

4. On either side of the box, measure down from the top corner the length you decided your side seam would be, and make a mark. These marks are in red on the diagram.

5. At the bottom of the box, mark a point roughly 1 inch either side of the centre line. This is the width of the fabric that goes between your legs, so adjust for your personal comfort. These marks are also in red.

6. Take your thigh circumference measurement and divide it in half. Using a bendy ruler, an armhole curve ruler, or a tape measure stood on its side (NB: a french curve ruler does not have a steep enough curve for this), trace a curved line between the marks you just made in steps 4 and 5, so that the total length of the line measures half your thigh circumference. The curve is steeper in the first half, closer to the centre, and then levels off closer to the side. These are your leg holes.

7. Trace off your pattern draft so that you have two patterns: one for the front, and one for the back. Remember to include seam allowance when you’re cutting the fabric! Your mock-up can be cut from two pieces of fabric, but for comfort I’d recommend making the final product out of one piece, so you don’t have a seam between your legs.

The construction

After making and trying on my mock-up, I was also able to take a small amount of material out of the sides to allow the braies to follow the shape of my hips more naturally, resulting in the slight curved edges you can see in the pattern photo above.

Due to the fact that I curved the top and bottom edges of my pattern, it wouldn’t make sense to cut the piece out on the cross-grain to include the selvedge at the back of the braies (as per the Lengberg find), so I cut it on the straight grain instead. I had a spare scrap almost exactly the right size from a previous project, resulting in the small triangular bit of piecing you can see in the bottom left of the braies below.

To make them up, I first double-folded the fabric at each of the hip edges, and used a whip stitch to secure it, as if hemming them. Then, I held the sides together and used an overcast stitch to attach them. I proceeded to hem the lower edge of the braies (i.e. the leg holes), again by double-folding the edge and securing it with a whip stitch. My hems ended up being a consisent 4mm in width, which is a fraction smaller than the Lengberg find!

Then, I cut a strip of linen about an inch wide and the length of my hip circumference (plus ease and seam allowance) to act as the waistband and drawstring casing, and another narrower strip, about 5/8ths of an inch wide and a good 15 inches longer than the waistband, for the drawstring itself. For economy of fabric, these were formed from a couple of shorter strips of linen I had in my stash. Holding the right sides of the braies and waistband casing fabric together, I used a back stitch to join them about 2/8ths of an inch from the top edge. This was probably overkill, and a running backstitch would have sufficed, but I wanted to make sure the waistband seam was strong. Once one side of the waistband casing was attached, I folded down the other raw edge of the waistband 2/8ths of an inch from the edge. Thay way, when the waistband was folded over the raw top edge of the braies, this folded raw edge would be enclosed, finishing the seam. Before doing this and securing it with a whipstich to complete the waistband casing, I made two eyelets on either side of the centre front of the waistband (only on one side of the casing, not piercing all the way through), for the drawstring to pull through and be tied.

To make up the drawstring, I folded the long edges of the other strip of fabric towards the centre, and then folded the entire thing in half to enclose those edges (like how bias tape is made). I then used overcast stitching to stitch the edges together, which consistent with how the ties on the Lengberg underwear were done. My drawstring ended up being 7mm wide, just a tad wider than the 6mm ties of the Lengberg find. To insert the drawstring into the casing, I attached one end to a small safety pin, inserted into the eyelet to the right of centre front, massaged the safety pin (and the drawstring with it) around the inside of the waistband, and pulled it out of the eyelet to the left of centre front. This overlapped the ties, allowing for a more secure fastening. It also better creates the pouching at the front we see in the artwork (Buchler, 2010).

The results

Final thoughts

I’m a bit of a coward when it comes to actually wearing medieval underwear when re-enacting, honestly: I have made 5 pairs now, but rarely wear any except my early fourteenth century ones, and that’s only because they are required to hold up my separate hose! As a modern person used to an elasticated waistband and stretchy fabric, it feels quite insecure to just have a drawstring holding them up. These are comfortable, and I think a reasonable (if not perfect) recreation based on the evidence we have right now, but I’d definitely like to keep making more - perhaps if I keep making them, it will make me more likely to wear them at events?

If I made these again, I think probably be a bit braver and make them about an inch or so narrower in the hips and shorter in the legs, just to make them fit more closely and bring them slightly closer to the artwork - it would also give me an excuse to try out that short split in the side-seam we see in some of the art.

I’d also definitely like to try making a faithful (re-sized to my measurements, obviously) reconstruction of the Lengberg underwear someday, for the laughs if nothing else. Apparently Beatrix Nutz’s reconstruction took her about 6 1/2 hours to cut and sew (Nutz and Stadler, 2015), so it’s hardly an involved project!

Bibliography

• Buchler, Sunny (Constanza de Mendoza) (2010). “Burgundian Nobleman’s Underclothes c1445-1475. Updated link as at 15 December 2024, <https://www.yumpu.com/en/document/view/5778550/burgundian-noblemens-underclothes-c1445-1475>

• Crowfoot, E., Pritchard, F., Staniland, K., Baker, E. and Unwin, C. (2018). Textiles and clothing, c. 1150-1450. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press.

• Greco, G. and Rose, C. (2018). The Good Wife’s Guide (Le Ménagier de Paris): A Medieval Household Book. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

• Nutz, B. and Stadler, H. (2015). ‘Gebrauchsgegenstand und Symbol : die Unterhose (Bruoch) aus der Gewölbezwickelfüllung von Schloss Lengberg, Osttirol’ in J. Keupp and R. Schmitz-Esser (eds), Neue alte Sachlichkeit : Studienbuch Materialität des Mittelalters. Ostfildern: Jan Thorbecke Verlag.

• Roosen, J. and Curtis, D.R. (2018). The ‘light touch’ of the Black Death in the Southern Netherlands: an urban trick?. The Economic History Review, 72(1), pp.32–56. doi:https://doi.org/10.1111/ehr.12667.

• Sturtewagen, I. (2016). All together respectably dressed: Fashion and clothing in Bruges during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. PhD Thesis, University of Antwerp, Antwerp.

• Thursfield, S. (2015). Medieval Tailor’s Assistant. Ramsbury: Crowood Press.

• University of Innsbruck (2021). Medieval lingerie from Lengberg Castle, East-Tyrol, University of Innsbruck, viewed 20 Sep 2023, <https://www.uibk.ac.at/archaeologien/forschung/projekte/nutz/textilien-lengberg/mittelalterliche-unterwaesche/index.html.en>

Completing this challenge would make me a member of the Society of the Golden Egg, a challenge household in the Kingdom of Drachenwald. The goal of the household is to encourage those interested in the Arts and Sciences to challenge continually their abilities and skills through the use of period techniques and materials. Completing a challenge only grants you membership for three years - to remain a member, you must complete a new challenge.

I wanted to make, at minimum:

• one linen undershirt

• one pair of short linen braies

• one pair of woollen joined footed hose: the post discussing the historical evidence of hose is complete, but not yet the one on the making process

• one doublet

I wanted to use it as an excuse to gather together (and write up!) a body of research on noble men’s fashion for this specific time period and locale. It would be my first dedicated attempt at the speculative reconstruction of clothing using my own research.

Annoyingly, my health got in the way and I had to extend my deadline, which is now early December 2023. Two and a half months to go!

So far I’ve made the shirt, the braies, and one pair of hose. The hose were originally intended as a “wearable mock-up” for the real thing, but unless I can complete the doublet in record time I think they’ll have to be the ones I submit… so watch this space, I guess!

I’m going to make individual posts for each of these items, detailing my research and the making process, which will be linked above as I write them up.