A 1950s couture silk dress suit in the most beautiful two-tone mushroom grey.

And covered in stains.

Here’s the tea: this suit was £14 because to most people it would be landfill-fodder. I don’t know what this chick was doing, but there were yellow stains EVERYWHERE.

A moment for the couture construction

There’s shit in here I’ve never seen before. The pleating, the piping, the seed stitching to hold the lining in place…I’m gagged.

I can’t find any information on Gosdew, the maker. Not a peep. Obviously a boutique tailor, but I’m amazed I can’t even find company records. There’s ONE other listing on the whole internet, for a 1970s dress by Gosdew, but I have no way of knowing if this is the same company.

Stain removal

The suit washed fine in the bath, lots of minging brown water. Took SEVENTY YEARS to dry but that was fine, no rush.

I then tried Oxy stain removal gel on the jacket (which I was prepared to lose) because it’s fine for silk, but nothing. In fact, it made a visible mark around one of the stains, so I didn’t attempt it again.

Buying vintage silk is amazing because it’s affordable and super high quality, but many people are afraid to wash it. That’s great because they tend to not wear it as much and get rid of it earlier, but it does mean any stains are often set in for life.

Dying

This was – I thought – my last resort, but I’d resigned myself to it. I bought silk-suitable acid dye and a large stainless steel bucket that could go on my hob.

But when it came to it, I just couldn’t bear to lose the unique colour. Black might have covered the stains (not guaranteed!), but it would never shine the way the original colour does.

Botchery

So that’s how I found myself crouched on the floor over the suit, snipping and tucking and measuring all weekend. Measuring! Me!

I needed to tailor it anyway as it was slightly too big, so I took in the jacket at the back and actually CUT OUT the excess, which I don’t usually do, as I had need of it elsewhere. I removed the waistband, shortened the jacket and reattached the waistband to cover a stain. This also meant I now only needed two buttons, which was IDEAL as it was originally missing one of three. They’re beautifully covered, so it’s a boon not to have to replace or mismatch.

I took in the hips of the dress, discovering that they’d been let out at some point so I could follow the original seam line. I put darts in the back of the bodice to bring in the bust. This process was a bit like archaeology, digging into the past of mends and adjustments. Of varying quality…

We were then on to the problem of the large stain on the thigh of the dress. I’d cut out the excess fabric when I took in the back of the jacket because I finally decided the only thing I could do was add a weird pocket. I’d toyed with a corsage, with lace – but everything seemed like it wouldn’t look original. I’m not saying a couture silk dress suit would originally have a rando pocket on the thigh, but it felt the most right.

So, I pressed the silk around a cardboard pocket shape, tacked it to the dress and handstitched the very edges. I didn’t line it because I wanted it to sit as flat to the dress as possible, so it’s shit inside, and I decided I’d do tiny stitches up the seam I’d first thought very annoying, to keep it even flatter and hide the unlined insides.

The result

Is it perfect? Is it heck. But it’s now wearable by me and I didn’t have to dye it, which I’m so pleased about. It’s going to a wedding this weekend, and I think the original owner would be tickled pink about that.