Parasols of some variety were the de rigeur for any woman of the prosperous Victorian middle class. The significance of her sunshade went well beyond frippery: it guarded the pale complexion that distinguished a lady of leisure from her ruddier working-class sister.
The wealthiest lady matched a different parasol to every costume, which made these accessories bellwethers of social position; since excess meant affluence, an opulent parasol was the perfect status symbol. At the very least, a lady owned a plain, dark parasol for every-day use and a more elaborately decorated version for dress.
The rain umbrella, a sturdier and more utilitarian affair, was of less concern in an era when feminine attire made walks in the rain impractical. Plus, carrying an umbrella gave mute testimony to the fact that one lacked the means to hire a coach in inclement weather.
A more dashing woman might be seen driving her own park phaeton, a carriage just large enough to display her billowing skirts to advantage. Over her head would fly the tail of her driving whip, upon whose shaft had been mounted a jaunty sunshade. Possession of such a parasol-whip suggested its owner was not only prosperous, but spirited.
However stylish the open carriage, its perils were exposure to sun, wind and dust. Clever parasol manufacturers addressed the problem by incorporating a hinge near the top of the stick, so the shade could be tilted at an angle. When turned upon its stem, the cover functioned like a fan, directly shielding the face. No surprise that the design resurfaced with the 20-century advent of the automobile.
The parasol of the early 1830s could measure a full yard in diameter, balanced as it was by full leg-of-mutton sleeves. But narrowing sleeves brought with them proportionally smaller sunshades. The trend reached its extreme in 1858 with the brief appearance of the minuscule “telegram” parasol, with dimensions barely larger than those of the message sheet whose name it shares.
There was also the line of the skirt to consider. Flounces embellished parasol covers just as they did mid-century gowns, and sunshades grew more domed along with the skirts. By 1860, with some women wearing a hoop nearly 18 feet in circumference, the challenge of wielding a closed parasol gave rise to a new sort of jointed handle. In this version, the break appeared farther down the stem, allowing the long stick to fold for ease of handling. As with the carriage parasol, while the shade was opened overhead, the joint was secured with a ring of bone, or ivory or even gold.
With their elaborate handles and stems—some carved from exotic coral or jade or even encrusted with precious gems—fine parasols were passed down through families. The delicate silk tops, though, were ephemeral. A thrifty woman might revive an old cover with an overlay of hand-tatted lace, but most parasols were professionally recovered.
One reason parasols were treasured is that they were presented as serious courting gifts, fraught with intention. Like jewelry, such parasols were costly. Moreover, they were considered an intimate part of a lady’s toilette. For a lady to accept a parasol from her beau meant they were as good as engaged.
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