1940s womens wear

If you’ve ever pulled a thrift-store blazer off the rack, felt the *thump* of shoulder pads like a pair of loyal terriers perched on your clavicles, and thought—*“Blimey, this could stop a Luftwaffe gust”*—then you’ve brushed against the soul of 1940s womens wear. We didn’t just dress in the ’40s; we *armoured up*—in rayon, tweed, and sheer bloody-minded glamour. The 1940s womens wear was a paradox stitched in austerity: strict rationing, creative defiance, and a red lip sharper than a censor’s pen. As one Wren put it over a cuppa in ’43: “If I’m gonna queue for spam, I’m doing it in a hat that says *‘I mean business’*.” And business, darlings, was survival—with style.

Enter **CC41**—the tiny boxed label that whispered, *“This frock is patriotic.”* Born of the 1941 Civilian Clothing Order, it meant your dress obeyed the rules: **max 2.5 yards** of fabric, **21-inch skirt length**, **no more than three buttons**, and *always* a natural waist. Yet designers like Digby Morton and Hardy Amies turned constraint into *coup d’élégance*. The 1940s womens wear utility dress was lean, clean, and quietly revolutionary—often with *side pockets* (yes, *pockets!*), a self-fabric belt, and just enough flare to jitterbug in. As Vogue London noted in ’42: “Utility is not lack—it is *liberation* from fuss.” And when your world’s rationed to butter *and* hope, liberation—even in wool-mix—is everything .

Those shoulders weren’t *broad*—they were *strategic*. Inspired by RAF tailcoats and Hollywood starlets, the 1940s womens wear silhouette borrowed straight from the barracks: sharp, structured, and radiating quiet authority. Padding was made from kapok, felt—even rolled newspaper in a pinch—and gave you the stance of a woman who knew where the shelter was *and* who’d brought the Thermos. It wasn’t about looking masculine; it was about claiming *space*. As one factory forewoman told *Picture Post*: “If me shoulders can carry the war effort, they can carry a handbag too.” And let’s be honest: on a foggy Tuesday in Manchester, a good pair of shoulders *helps* .

“Did women *really* wear trousers in the 1940s?” Oh, absolutely*—and not just in the yard or factory. By 1942, “slacks” were officially sanctioned for “active leisure”: cycling, gardening, even popping to the pictures. Wide-legged, high-waisted, and often in sturdy corduroy or rayon-twill, they paired with belted tunics or crisp blouses—and came with a wink: *“For practical wear only”* (wink-wink). Land Girls in jodhpurs, Wrens in navy overalls, even debutantes slipping trousers under coats to the Palais—1940s womens wear trousers were freedom, hemmed to ankle-length and laced with quiet mutiny .

“Make Do and Mend” wasn’t a hashtag—it was *homework*. Got a tear? Embroider a flower over it. Skirt too long? Hem it, then braid the offcut into a headband. Stockings run? Draw a seam up the back with eyebrow pencil (Max Factor’s *Liquid Stocking* sold out by teatime). Below, our top three hacks that kept the 1940s womens wear dream alive:

Here’s the tea: the government *refused* to ration lipstick. Why? Because morale wasn’t in the rations book—it was in the *mirror*. “Victory Red”, “Regimental Red”, “Tangee Flame”—each shade was a tiny act of rebellion. Women applied it *over* gas masks, *after* raids, even *in* shelters. As Helena Rubinstein declared: “In wartime, neglect is the only sin.” The 1940s womens wear beauty ritual was lean: red lips, pencilled brows, powder to hide the pallor, and *one* beauty mark—drawn just so. Not vanity. *Vigilance* .

Leather? Reserved for pilots and boots. So we got *creative*: cork wedge soles (lightweight, quiet on stairs), open-toe “spectator” pumps (two-tone—smart *and* scuff-hiding), and the legendary **Wren’s shoe**—low-heeled, lace-up, rubber-soled. Colours? Bold as brass: *red, white, or blue*—patriotism you could walk in . No heels over 2 inches—not just regulation, but *common sense* (cobblestones don’t forgive stilettos). And let’s not forget the **ATS boot**: ankle-height, brown, single strap—snapped up from surplus shops faster than a cuppa vanished at roll call.

Long hair + lathe = disaster. So we *built* it. Victory Rolls? Two barrel curls, pinned high—inspired by RAF spins. Snoods? Knitted or netted pouches that held hair *securely*—but looked like you’d just stepped out of *Casablanca*. Turbans? Not costume—they covered rollers, hid greasy roots, and added *three inches* of psychological advantage. Hair wasn’t *styled*—it was *fortified*. As one NAAFI waitress put it: “If me curls survive a double shift and a near-miss, they can survive your side-eye.” Now *that’s* the 1940s womens wear mindset.

Don’t let the rationing fool you—when the sun went down, *darlings*, we *sparkled*. Evening 1940s womens wear leaned into Hollywood: bias-cut rayon (if you could scrounge it), faux-fur stoles (rabbit, dyed to look like mink), and gloves—*always* gloves (elbow for opera, wrist for the local Palais). Necklines? Modest by day—*daring* by night: sweetheart, scoop, or subtle slit . Backs plunged, but modesty panels kept things *just* respectable. Accessories? Bakelite bangles, rhinestone brooches, and *one* statement earring if you’d lost its twin in an air raid. As *Harper’s Bazaar* wrote in ’44: “Elegance is not what you wear—it’s how you wear your hope.”

Fancy channelling the era? You don’t need a time machine—just a good eye and a bobby pin. Here’s our no-fuss checklist for nailing 1940s womens wear authenticity:

• Silhouette: Natural waist, *cinched*. Shoulders? *Padded*. Skirt? Knee-length (21–23 inches), A-line or gently flared .
• Fabric: Wool, rayon, or cotton—*never* clingy lycra. Look for subtle textures: herringbone, barkcloth prints, faille.
• Details: Patch pockets, self-belt, button-front blouses. No side zips—*only* back or side-seam metal zips (nylon didn’t arrive till ’48) .
• CC41 clue: Utility garments had the *boxed CC41 mark*—like a tiny medal of honour.
• Attitude: Stand tall. Smile like you’ve just heard the war’s *nearly* over.

And if you’re after deeper cuts—like how to date a dress by its hem tape, or why seamed stockings are back with a vengeance—pop over to The Great War Archive, lose yourself in our History vault, or time-travel further with our guide to 1900s fashion women edwardian trends.

References

• https://www.vam.ac.uk/articles/utility-clothing-wwii
• https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/womens-fashion-in-world-war-two
• https://www.historyextra.com/period/second-world-war/1940s-fashion-women-clothes-ww2-make-do-mend
• https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/wrld/hd_wrld.htm