A Private View at the Royal Academy, 1881 by William Powell Frith – Various Victorian women and hem lengths
During the nineteenth century, in Victorian England, the hemlines of ladies’ dresses reached the ground as a rule, covering the ankles. A lady was only permitted in specific circumstances to show her ankle – when walking up the stairs or crossing a puddle. As such the glimpse of a naked ankle was enough to drive the gentlemen into a frenzy.
As a special thank you to our class sponsor Caledon Vicerine Kamilah Hauptmann, we have been inspired by her suggestion to prepare the following gallery of Steampunk ladies and ankles, a cheeky nod to the Page 3 Girl tradition in British tabloid newspapers.
Kamilah Hauptman’s store, Posture is Everything
Because this is a Page 3 Girl special with a Steampunk twist – we have juxtaposed the page 3 girls with two poetry snippets. The first, Jean Ingelow, was a popular nineteenth century poet born in Boston, England. She was a friend and contemporary of Alfred Tennyson. The second poet, David J. Murray, was born 1937 and raised in Manchester, England. He is emeritus professor of psychology at Queen’s University, Ontario.
Note also that in a Steampunk power reversal, our Page 3 Girls are not merely exploited cheesecake models of a powerful tabloid publication – but in fact are accomplished members of the Caledon Oxbridge Photo Salon who take photography and posing into their own hands!
Model and Photographer: Renee Caxton
There, as she passed it on her way,
I saw reflected yesterday
A maiden with a milking-pail.
There, neither slowly nor in haste,
One hand upon her slender waist,
The other lifted to her pail,
She. rosy in the morning light,
Among the water-daisies white,
Like some fair sloop, appeared to sail.
Against her ankles as she trod
The lucky buttercups did nod.
I leaned upon the gate to see :
The sweet thing looked but did not speak ;
A dimple came in either cheek,
And all my heart was gone from me.
Excerpt from Reflections: Looking over a Gate at a Pool in a Field by Jean Ingelow (published 1864 by Roberts Brothers, Boston)
Model and Photographer: Cindy Resident
As the side of your face
Laid its lovely curve
Against the air that slid
À Côté of it
I conjectured with a halting,
A sort of mind-murmur,
A kind of solid heart-stop,
That your beauty
Was something I invented.
And then I knew I lied
For out of my eye’s corner
I saw your ankle.
What, an ankle? What is this,
A Victorian joke? No,
Your ankle laid its lovely curve
Against the air that slid
At its side in perfection
Excerpt from ‘I do not like you, but I…’ by David J. Murray, Confusion Matrix and Other Poems (published 2007 by iUniverse)