The Sheer Truth

by

Lauren Roberts

         

They’re having a fight. He’s already dressed and headed out the bedroom door when she sits up on the edge of the bed and begins to put her clothes on. His hand is on the doorknob, but he turns back to face her, his face etched with frustration. As she talks, she lifts one leg and begins to languidly roll a sheer black stocking over her toes, her ankles, her calf, her knee and up her thigh. His eyes follow her fingers up her leg.

It is the most famous scene in the movie, The Graduate—and it’s interesting that both Benjamin Braddock and Mrs. Robinson played, at least in this scene, second fiddle to a fitted tube of sheer black nylon.

That nylon stocking and others like it had their beginnings a long time ago in  leg wrappings that go far back into ancient times. Some articles of hand knitting found in Egyptian tombs of the Coptic period were recognizable as socks.

Medieval stockings, called hose, were initially made of woven material. They were rolled on the legs as socks are today, and weren’t skin tight. Longer hose were held up by ties attached at the tops that were then tied over a belt while shorter stockings were held up by fabric strips tied around the leg just above the knee.

Up to the time of Henry VIII (1491-1597) hose had made out of cloth, though the king’s was considerably better than most: taffeta. Cloth stockings were common, and until 1560 even Queen Elizabeth I wore them. As a gift to the queen that year, her silk woman, Mistress Montague, presented her with a pair of black knit silk stockings. After a few days’ wearing, the queen sent for her, and asked her where she had gotten them and if she could obtain any more.

“I made them very carefully, of purpose only for your Majesty,” answered Mistress Montague, “and seeing these please you so well, I will presently set more in hand.”

“Do so,” replied the Queen, “for indeed I like silk stockings so well, because they are pleasant, fine, and delicate, that henceforth I will wear no more cloth stockings.”         

Queen Elizabeth wasn’t the only monarch to enjoy silk stockings. Marie de Medici, second wife of Henri IV of France, imported from them Italy and Spain and had them decorated with French lilies or the Medici coat of arms. Anne of Austria liked black stockings that had been knitted around the tops with gold thread.

Until nearly the end of the sixteenth century, all stockings were hand-knit. But that was to change with the invention by Reverend William Lee of the stocking frame or knitting machine, the world’s first piece of industrial machinery. The frame used a needle with a hook which opened and closed at successive stages of the knitting process and thus imitated the hand-knitter.  

It was so revolutionary that even the queen was persuaded to go and see it. But he was ultimately refused a patent because of fears that it would put the hand-knitters out of work. In a letter she wrote: “Had Mr. Lee made a machine that would have made silk stockings, I should, I think, have been somewhat justified in granting him a patent for that monopoly, which would have effected only a small number of my subjects, but to enjoy the exclusive privilege of making stockings for the whole of my subjects, is too important to be granted to any individual.”

He refined his machine to work on the more delicate silk, and was later able to present her with a pair of silk stockings made on it. But she still refused him the patent. Discouraged, Lee took the machines to France on the invitation of Henry IV. There he was personally welcomed and, with his brother, eight workmen and eight machines, he set up the new business in Rouen. Unfortunately, on the day he was to receive his patent the king was assassinated. Lee later died in France.  

One of the workmen, with one of the machines, remained in France. The rest returned to England where, without even without the coveted patents or other protection for the machines, framework knitting caught on. England, in 1660, had 650 frames and became the hosiery center of the world.

At the beginning of the seventeenth century, high fashion was much a rage and elegant men competed with women in inventing new trends. Among those were silk stockings with a ribbon or garter below the knee. Males wore silk stockings of all colors, but as the century neared its end, men’s clothing became more solemn and their stockings became dark and plain.

It was during the eighteenth century that the manufacture of stockings became a right and responsibility of a hose master or hosier. This entrepreneur rented out frames to frame knitters, called stockings, who would work from home. By the end of the century it was possible to loom net, ribbed, fleecy and “elastic” materials for hose. Stockings were still hand finished with seams at the back; they had to be as frame-knitted stockings were finished flat and needed to be stitched together. The hosier then sold them either through agents or haberdashers.

The stockings (that is, those who worked the frames at home) were, like many of their later counterparts in sweatshops, making little money for a lot of work. In the 19th century, Lord Byron headed up a commission to investigate their working conditions and eventually the industry moved from individual work in homes to jobs in factories. It did provide full-time work, however, since English styles had become quite fashionable for both women and men. Stockings for daytime wear were colored olive, dove, grey and brown; dress wear ones were usually black, white or pastel. White silk was reserved for evening dress, but pink could be worn on less formal social occasions. Special stockings were worn for recreational activities such as walking and bicycling. And black stockings were worn with tennis dress and swimming costumes.

As that century closed and the twentieth century opened, skirt hems began to rise. Hosiery was being produced from cotton, wool and silk, but it was when the first stockings made from rayon (“artificial silk”) appeared around 1910 that working girls could, for the first time, own and wear glamorous “undies” and silk-like stockings—the ultimate symbol of luxury.

By the 1920s, garters (and short skirts) had become quite fashionable. At the Paris Exposition in 1925, silk stockings were launched as part of the Art Deco movement, some in gold or silver, others embellished with diamond bracelets or hand sewn pearls at the ankle. Girls were photographed showing their legs above their stockings and an erotic overtone began to assert itself (at least until suspender belts replaced garters by the end of the decade).

One problem that had always existed was that none of the fibers used for stockings had elasticity. Thus, stockings had to be cut from flat pieces of material and then sewn together, producing the seam that in the twentieth century came to symbolize the erotic nature of stockings for many. This technology lasted until the 1930s when the circular knitting machine was invented. It produced a “tube” of knitted fabric, eliminating the need for seams. Still, the aggravating trouble of bagging at knees and ankles years away from its solution.

In 1937, a research chemist for DuPont discovered that a mixture of coal, tar air and water produced a durable, flexible fiber that could be stretched to form fibers that were, as DuPont said, “as strong as steel, as fine as a spider’s web.” The company unveiled their invention at the 1939 World’s Fair, and it was a raging success. Commercial production began late that year and DuPont, interestingly, chose not to register “nylon” as a trademark, but to allow it to enter American vocabulary as a synonym for stockings.

The first nylon stockings went on sale in New York City on May 15, 1940. More than 72,000 pairs were sold on that day alone. Within four days, four million pairs were sold, and in the first year, 64 million pairs were sold in the U.S.

But two years later, in 1942, all nylon production was turned to war supplies, Nylon was needed for parachutes and tents, and stockings became so difficult to obtain that women resorted to painting fake seams up the backs of their bare legs with eyebrow pencil to simulate the appearance of stockings. They were valuable commodities for American men stationed overseas where they became a form of trade for GIs who wanted to ingratiate themselves with British women.

With the end of the war, the cry once again went up for nylon stockings. In 1945 one San Francisco store was forced to halt stocking sales when it was mobbed by 10,000 anxious shoppers. In New York City, Macy’s sold out their entire 50,000 pair inventory. And in Pittsburgh, 4,000 women stood outside in the pouring rain all night long, waiting for one tiny hosiery shop to open up. It actually took until 1948 for nylon production to catch up with demand.
 
At the time nylon was invented only stockings existed. These traditional stockings were known as “Full Fashioned” because, as nylon did not stretch, they were fashioned to the shape of the leg. For this reason they came in a large number of sizes. In 1959, two further developments occurred: DuPont invented Lycra which stretches up to seven times its length without breaking and bounces back, and Glen Raven Mills introduced pantyhose. No longer did stockings or the new pantyhose need to come in a large number of sizes. And pantyhose eliminated the need for multiple “foundation” garments rendering yet another industry moot. In a refinement in 1965, and right in time for the miniskirt, Glen Raven Mills developed a seamless pantyhose version.

Nylon had won. As has pantyhose. But silk stockings were so desirable for so long that they became, among other things, the focal point of a short story by Kate Chopin, author of The Awakening. Her story, “A Pair of Silk Stockings” is on our Bibliopinions page this week. Read it for a fascinating look at the unstated but strong societal reverberations of this particular garment.

Another tribute was a 1957 film, Silk Stockings, a romantically-based musical about the seductive charms of capitalism. It starred Fred Astaire, Cyd Charisse and Peter Lorre. In the film, Astaire wields his personal as well as his country’s consumer charms on “dedicated” Communist Charisse, seducing her to “our” side. It was issued, not surprisingly, at a time when both the Cold War and the consumer-crazed 1950s dominated American lives, and it presented an idealized, exceedingly simplistic view of how we could “win them over.”

And stockings continue to fascinate even today. StockinGirl, Stocking Showcase, Stocking Store, Stockings HQ (with various discussion forums devoted to the subject) and many more all continue to sell, promote and enthuse about the joys of stockings. Benjamin Braddock would no doubt be quite pleased.

Bookmark specifications: Full-Fashioned Hosiery Manufacturer’s Association of Australia
Dimensions: 7” x  2 1/2” (at the top)
Material: Paper
Manufacturer: Full-Fashioned Hosiery Manufacturer’s Association of Australia
Date: Early-to-mid 20th century
Acquired: eBay

 
WIN A BEAUTIFUL BOOKMARK!
In a contest running through Wednesday, January 2, BiblioBuffet will be giving away 20 gorgeous bookmarks donated by Mirage Bookmarks of Switzerland. These bookmarks are paper thin but sturdy, of brushed stainless steel with finely cut out and engraved details. Each bookmark is mounted on a black card and encased in a transparent cellophane envelope.

You have the opportunity to win one of their Rough Sea designs by sending in either a written essay/story or a photo “essay” on the subject of bookmarks. The written essay should be between 300-500 words; a photo essay must contain a minimum of four photographs (and a maximum of eight) that sequentially “tell” a story in an interesting way. The specific subject and how you approach it is entirely up to you—how bookmarks are used, favorite or hated bookmarks, making bookmarks, building a collection of bookmarks, funny stories, finding bookmarks on your travels or in old books. It can be anything as long as it revolves in some way around bookmarks. 

Photographs should be e-mailed as JPG file attachments. Written submissions must be pasted into the body of the e-mail. Both types of entries should carry the subject line “Bookmark Contest.” Send them to: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

We welcome entries from all over the world. Winners will be announced in the “On Marking Books” column the week beginning Sunday, January 6. 

Rules:
(1) Only original material is accepted; entries must not have been published previously.
(2) One entry per person is permitted. Entrants must include their mailing address (which will not be shared with anyone), and be at least 12 years of age.
(3) BiblioBuffet and Mirage Bookmark reserve the right to publish any or all of the entries on a non-exclusive basis with no additional compensation.

So hurry. The prizes are simply stunning—and would make a wonderful way to mark your 2008 reading.


Almost since her childhood days of Mother Goose, Lauren has been giving her opinion on books to anyone who will listen. That “talent” eventually took her out of magazine writing and into book reviewing in 2000 for an online review site where she cut her teeth (as well as a few authors). Stints as book editor for her local newspaper and contributing editor to Booklist and Bookmarks magazines have reinforced her belief that she has interesting things to say about books. Lauren shares her home with several significant others including three cats, 800 bookmarks and more than 1,000 books that, whether previously read or not, constitute her to-be-read stack. She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it