Europe in the 1590s was on the cusp of great change. In the latter half of the decade, a series of treaties finally ended religious warfare that had plagued France, the Low Countries, England, and Spain for decades. In England, an aging, childless queen fanned the anxieties of her councilors and her people, as they wondered who would lead them next. Amongst European powers, like the Netherlands, England, Spain, and Portugal, commercial competition fueled a nascent proto-industrial, globalized economy. As each decade sees its regressions and advancements, glories and unanticipated strife, the sixteenth century came to a close at the front steps of the modern world.

Clothing in the 1590s reflected this stage of both finality and growth. As in the 1580s, pattern books, emblem books, costume books, dress patterns, ambassadors, portrait prints, and diplomatic gifts circulated between European centers, maintaining stylistic dialogues and a regular stock of imported goods. Preferences did not shift towards entirely new trends as much as towards exaggerations of earlier styles (Fig. 1). In England, for example, men’s hose became still shorter, and women’s farthingales, still wider (Fig. 2). Dress maintained its complexity, calling for further ornamentation and elaborate embroidery (Fig. 3).

Clothing was, as ever, central to daily life—and a great concern of moralists. In 1592, a German visitor to England observed,

“The women…go dressed out in exceedingly fine clothes, and give all their attention to their ruffs and stuffs to such a degree indeed, that, as I am informed, many a one does not hesitate to wear velvet in the streets, which is common with them, whilst at home perhaps they have not a piece of dry bread.” (Ashelford 12)

These worries echoed William Harrison’s 1577 Description of England:

“Oh, how much cost is bestowed nowadays upon our bodies and how little upon our souls! How many suits of apparel hath the one, and how little furniture hath the other! How long time is asked in decking up of the first, and how little space left wherein to feed the latter!” (Ashelford 12)

There was a perpetual concern with the men and women who delighted in dressing, or wielded its power. Yet this moralistic, conservative opinion does not necessarily reflect reality. Throughout the 1590s, monarchs and subjects alike continued to cultivate a densely iconographical style, crafting public and private identities to reflect their political, social, and familial obligations and aspirations.

As in menswear, the actual components of a woman’s wardrobe did not drastically change from the decade before. As in the 1580s, a woman’s wardrobe included bodices, wide sleeves shaped with whalebone, stomachers, kirtles, and collars. In Western Europe, skirts and sleeves remained voluminous, while bodices (and their accessories) either reached the neck or revealed significant décolletage. In France, bodices were low cut (Fig. 1)—but not quite as low as in Italy, where they were sometimes cut below the breast, so women relied on the chemise for modesty, as seen in Domenico Robusti’s portrait of the Dogaressa Morosina Morosini (Fig. 2).

These Italian gowns tended to be made from brocades or silks, which were worn in a variety of colors and were sometimes studded with gems (Paulicelli 134). Their luxurious fabrics and the u-shaped curve of the bodice’s bottom appear throughout De gli Habiti antichi et moderni di Diverse Parti del Mondo, a 1590 book of costume engravings. In Spain, however, the bell-shaped farthingale remained popular. There, skirts were paired with shorter bodices and open, sweeping sleeves (Payne 317). A surviving example at The Metropolitan Museum of Art shows the comparatively high neckline, peplum bodice (perhaps inspired by armor), rich metal-wrapped threads, and a typical conical structure of the Spanish silhouette (Fig. 3).

Fashion-forward Englishwomen were, of course, looking to other countries, especially France and Italy for guidance. In England, the 1590s showcased an even wider, more unbalanced silhouette than the decade before. The inverted triangle of the stomacher—inspired by popular French fashions—became longer and narrower, as can be seen in the portrait of Maria Christina, Archduchess of Austria (Fig. 4). This inverted triangle plunged deep into the ever-expanding berth of the French, or wheeled farthingale (Ashelford). Ruffs occasionally multiplied or were layered with wired veils.

French fashions increasingly demanded a stiffened, emanating ruff, which would have been propped up by a supportasse. These additions highlighted elaborate lace patterns as well as laborious preparation. Barthelemy Prieur’s bust of Marie de Medici (Fig. 5), now at the Ashmolean Museum, shows an elongated hairstyle, neck, and ruff curvature coupled with layers of dangling jewels.

Elaborate, naturalistic embroidery pervaded dress in this period. Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger’s portrait of an unknown woman (Fig. 10) testifies to its popularity. Inspired by the natural world, embroiderers—both amateur and professional—copied elaborate schemes from pattern books and emblem books that featured flowers, insects, and animals. As Reynolds explains in In Fine Style, these floral attributes also held symbolic significance, contributing to elaborate iconographical programs (Reynolds 189).

In the Hardwick Portrait (see Fig. 2 in the “Fashion Icon” section below), Queen Elizabeth sports a forepart with a complex arrangement including sea-monsters, pansies, snakes, birds, and roses. The combination of wide ruff with a low-cut bodice hints at French and Italian influence. Her sleeves and gown can only be described, in modern terms, as being encrusted with diamonds and pearls, furthering the wealth of self-referential symbolism on display. Although it can be tempting to assume otherwise, portraits provide records of actual garments. Surviving petticoat panels, for example attest to the veracity of their seemingly impossible complexity (Fig. 11). Even gloves, an essential accessory, became canvases for dense symbolism, as highly portable, exchangeable, giftable tokens.  Simpler floral blackwork designs remained popular as well (Fig. 12). Indeed, black and white color combinations remained quite frequent (Fig. 13) as they were favorite colors of Queen Elizabeth.

As Anna Reynolds writes in In Fine Style, a core obligation of the courtier “was to reflect the glory of the monarch through splendid attire” (Reynolds 16-17). In England, as Queen Elizabeth I aged through the 1590s, her courtiers emphasized their youth and physique, in homage to the forever ageless, virgin monarch. While her health decayed, her courtiers became emblems of youthful vitality, reflections upon the longevity of her reign (Fig. 1).

The central components of a man’s wardrobe carried over from the 1590s: jerkins, doublets, gowns, hose, breeches, nightgowns, cloaks, buskins, boots, pumps, and bonnets. However, two styles became came to the fore:

The first was an athletic, active style, which accentuated the male silhouette and paid homage to the shared language between armor and civilian fashion. In his cabinet miniature of Sir Anthony Mildmay (Fig. 2), Nicholas Hilliard depicts such a gentleman, half-dressed in his armor. Hilliard’s protagonist, however, appears to be Mildmay’s long, tapering legs, rather than the man himself. Trunk hose, which had been gradually rising, became even shorter in the 1590s, freeing the leg and highlighting muscles. Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger’s portrait of Sir Thomas Lee (Fig. 3) illustrates an even more exaggerated, fantastic romanticization of the chivalric soldier. Dressed as a common foot soldier for political reasons, Lee elevates the costume with elaborate blackwork embroidery and lace. It seems possible that he may have applied white lead and painted blue veins upon his legs (as women did to their décolletage) to provide their unnatural pallor (Reynolds 48). The armor itself reflects the late Elizabethan penchant for tournaments, pageants, and fencing, which facilitated the display of masculinity, education, and mannered refinement.

The second style was a loose, deconstructed look, which implied a sense of melancholy (Ashelford). “The Elizabethan Malady,” was a phenomenon, popularized by the late Elizabethan aristocracy, that venerated sadness as a reflection of thoughtfulness and creativity. Common tropes included pale skin, ruffled silks, dishevelment, discarded gloves, and general expressions of despondency and forlornness. Black and white—the “colors” of Queen Elizabeth I—helped emphasize the look. In a miniature by Nicholas Hilliard (Fig. 4), an unidentified man passionately bares his chest in a low-cut shirt lined with lace. Isaac Oliver’s portrayal of a young man seated beneath a tree (Fig. 5) shows a gentleman more completely dressed in a gold doublet (the blackwork falling band and wrist cuffs match), short black trunk hose, black canions, and lace stockings supported by a garter, peeking out from his boots. Although he wears one glove, the other is discarded beside him, while he crosses his arms.

Throughout the sixteenth century, children largely mimicked their parents’ attire, with small adjustments. A portrait of Lady Pope with her children (Fig. 1) depicts Anne—the adult—in emulation of Elizabeth, with her bright red hair, wide, puffed sleeves, and white gown. Anne then passes this emulation to her daughter, who is dressed to artificially replicate the queenly/maternal curves, drapes, and stature. Anne’s sons, Thomas and Henry, have not yet been “breeched” and so wear skirted ensembles, relying on a hilt, sword, bow, and arrow to demonstrate that their current state is but liminal.  Gortzius Geldorp’s 1598 Family Portrait (Fig. 2) shows three children dressed in the same flat white ruff and black doublet worn by their father.