In the declining days of summer, you may already be dreaming of heavy flannel, sweater, or even tartan sport coat weather. Even I wistfully passed a hand over my tweed collection the other day. We still have a way to go, and if you’ve worn your madras in too many outfits, there is another option: gingham.
Let me guess at the two images that came to mind just now: Dorothy’s dress in The Wizard of Oz, or the tablecloths at touristy Italian restaurants? Me too. The last gingham shirt I wore was sometime in the early 2010s, and even when packing it for a Vermont camping trip I thought, “Is this too country?” Unfortunately, it was destroyed that weekend, both by the woods and the unseasonable heat.
Since then, I had only thought of gingham as a shirting fabric for dads, and the dominant textile used in Serial Mom. Yet gingham has a much longer history than the past few decades, and its origins are far more mysterious than its perceived simplicity. Its name could come from one of two sources: an anglicization of the Malay word for “separate” or “ajar,” or of the town Guingamp, Brittany, France. Records from Dutch West India Company indicate that gingham itself originated in Bengal or Coromandel, and was traded as far east as Japan and as far south as Cape Town.
Gingham is also known as Vichy check, referencing the French city where it became trendy in the early seventeenth century. When it arrived in Europe at this time, striped, plain, and checked gingham was already being shipped internationally. It’s believed that the fabric was introduced to England by Dutch traders, and during the mid eighteenth century, Manchester mills started weaving gingham into the two-tone check pattern we recognize today. As a midweight cotton fabric, it was popular for warm weather clothing as an alternative to heavy tartan. As a durable woven textile, it was also practical for home furnishings.
The History
Although many still associate it with shabby chic cottage core cuteness, gingham had a high fashion renaissance in the mid twentieth century. “Exploded” or maxi check gingham became
popular for sundresses, and mod brands in London made the fabric into style-defining staple shirts. Brigitte Bardot caused a shortage of the fabric when she wore a pink gingham wedding dress. And of course, we all remember the pre-Covid craze of the blue and white gingham shirt
from J. Crew that briefly plagued menswear.
Is it time to give the pattern another chance? As always, color plays a large factor. The dear departed Vermont shirt was only acceptable to me at the time because it was a pale peach and white gingham, not a high contrast weave. The latter is fine as a lone pattern, unless you decide to build a whole outfit of it, but I’d like for my gingham to be somewhat neutral to accentuate the other colors I’m wearing rather than be the main event.
Z. G. Burnett
Z.G. Burnett is a New England-based writer who specializes in history, fashion, and material culture. She is a contributing editor for Antiques and the Arts Weekly, and her work has appeared in Ivy Style and The Vintage Woman Magazine. Burnett is currently editing her first book, The Preppy Witch Primer. Find more at www.zgburnett.com
Image credit: Annie Minicuci Photography.
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