As a substance that can outwardly transform people through clothing, fabric symbolizes the internal transformations that various characters undergo throughout the novel. Sergeant Farrat, for example, uses plain fabric, which is usually used to make curtains and tablecloths, to make himself stylish women’s clothes. Similarly, when Tilly attends the Dungatar Ball, she wears a beautiful, fitted dress she has for made herself out of georgette, which is usually deemed a shapeless fabric that is hard to manipulate. This suggests that even plain or cheap fabrics can be transformed into stunning creations with the right amount of imagination and skill, just as people who do not necessarily appear grand on the surface (like Farrat and Tilly) may be extremely impressive underneath.
Furthermore, the characters who are the best at working with fabric, Tilly and Sergeant Farrat, are the two characters who change and transform the most throughout the novel. Tilly starts the novel wary and emotionally closed-off and grows more open as the novel progresses. Toward the novel’s end, she transforms once again and becomes an avenging force in Dungatar—she takes revenge on the judgmental townspeople for all the outsiders that they have shunned and victimized. Similarly, Sergeant Farrat changes from someone who is afraid to stand out in Dungatar to someone who actively defies and goes against the townspeople. In this way, Tilly and Farrat’s flair for turning ugly fabric into beautiful creations parallels their ability to turn themselves from shy outcasts into confident individuals who have agency over their own lives.
Fabric Quotes in The Dressmaker
Couples stood aside and stared at Tilly, draped in a striking green gown that was sculpted, crafted about her svelte frame. It curved with her hips, stretched over her breasts and clung to her thighs. And the material—georgette, two-and-six a yard from the sale stand at Pratts. The girls in their short frocks with pinched waists, their hair stiff in neat circles, opened their pink lips wide and tugged self-consciously at their frothy skirts.
Every female seated in the War Memorial Hall that afternoon had listened hard, waited with bated breath for the name of a seamstress or dressmaker. She wasn't mentioned.
Gertrude stepped out of her wedding gown and hung it on a coat hanger. She caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror an unremarkable brunette with quiver-thighs and unbeautiful breasts. She let the tea-colored silk negligee slide over her chilly nipples and looked in the mirror again. 'I am Mrs. William Beaumont of Windswept Crest,' she said.