6 nasty Victorian era fashion trends that could kill you

By the middle of the nineteenth century, a bright green pigment had become one of the most highly desired colours in both fashion and interior design.

Known as Scheele’s Green, this compound of copper arsenite had first appeared in the 1770s, but saw its greatest popularity decades later when decorators and artificial flower-makers used it to colour wallpapers, ribbons, and leaves.

For textiles, manufacturers more commonly used Paris Green, another arsenic-based pigment that produced similar effects.

The bright glow these colours produced under gaslight turned them into a sign of modern taste, especially among wealthier households and socialites.

As the dye flaked off fabric and furnishings, fine particles of arsenic settled onto the skin and drifted into the lungs of wearers and workers, and over time symptoms included constant sores, coughing, and tiredness, which often puzzled doctors unfamiliar with the chemical’s effects.

Seamstresses often suffered the worst effects, as a result of the many hours they spent each day in contact with green-dyed textiles that released invisible clouds of poison during cutting and sewing.

In one notable case, Matilda Scheurer was a flower-maker in London and died in 1861 after months of exposure to arsenic-laced green foliage.

Even inside middle-class homes, green wallpaper created its own danger. When exposed to moisture, the arsenic in the paper reacted with mould and released a gas that caused headaches, nausea, and long-term respiratory illness.

Children who touched wallpaper or chewed green-coloured toys sometimes fell ill without explanation.

Some samples of green wallpaper contained as much as 3.5 grams of arsenic per square metre.

At first, manufacturers had denied responsibility and insisted the pigment was safe; however, eventually, medical reports from Britain and continental Europe confirmed a connection between green pigment and arsenic poisoning.

One important example of this work was an 1862 article in The Lancet, which led to slow reform but left a trail of preventable deaths.

Among middle- and upper-class men, no accessory held more special value as a status symbol than a well-made felt hat.

Yet beneath its polished surface lay a dangerous manufacturing process. To prepare animal fur for felting, hat-makers applied mercury nitrate, a substance that loosened hair fibres but released toxic fumes in the process.

Inside stuffy workshops, workers inhaled mercury daily as they combed, rolled, and steamed the treated fur.

Over weeks and months, mercury often entered the bloodstream and attacked the nervous system.

In fact, hat-makers experienced trembling hands, distorted speech, anxiety, and personality changes.

Many workers also suffered hallucinations and memory loss, earning the nickname “mad hatters.”

The phrase itself, which had appeared in English by the 1820s, became common as a way to describe such symptoms.

Though the condition became widely recognised, factory owners resisted any change to production methods, arguing that mercury-based felting worked well and that other methods cost too much.

In major hat-making towns such as Stockport and Danbury, Connecticut, entire communities saw higher levels of mercury poisoning.

Meanwhile, women’s hat fashions introduced a different kind of threat, as wide-brimmed hats decorated with feathers, stuffed birds, and ribbons required long hatpins to stay in place.

These pins, sometimes as long as ten inches, passed through carefully styled hair and emerged just above the scalp.

On crowded streets or in carriages, an accidental turn of the head could injure nearby passengers and, in some cases, women used their pins as weapons and stabbed would-be attackers or aggressive men in public.

Newspapers reported accidental deaths, eye injuries, and arrests. As a response to these cases, in 1912, New York City officials proposed a law that limited hatpin length to nine inches in public to reduce such accidents.

Neverthelss, the trend continued, with fashion still prioritised over safety.

Across many social classes, Victorian women placed enormous importance on facial appearance.

The ideal complexion was unnaturally pale and free of visible blemishes. Since exposure to sunlight made people see a woman as lower-class or rural, many avoided the outdoors and turned to powders, creams, and tints to achieve the desired look.

Unfortunately, these products often contained lead, mercury, and ammonia, ingredients that offered short-term results and long-term harm.

Many women applied powders made from lead carbonate or bismuth each morning, unaware that the substance entered the bloodstream and damaged internal organs.

However, repeated use produced swollen eyelids, hair loss, and stomach pain.

Some added mercury-laced creams to smooth wrinkles, and these creams stripped the skin’s top layers and left it raw, so the damage required more powder to cover it.

As the skin grew thinner, infections became more frequent, yet the cycle of damage and hiding the harm continued.

Medical journals such as The British Medical Journal occasionally published warnings about these products, though they rarely reached a wide audience.

For lips and cheeks, women used dyes that contained carmine, which came from crushed insects.

In addition, perfumes and facial tonics often used chemicals such as benzene or turpentine to keep the product usable for longer and make the smell more powerful.

As women inhaled the fumes daily, they experienced dizziness, skin rashes, and, in some cases, chemical burns.

Queen Victoria’s preference for a modest, pale appearance helped fix these beauty standards firmly across the empire.

Therefore, vendors prioritised profit, and women trusted that fashionable products were harmless.

Among the strangest trends of the Victorian era was the belief that illness made a person more attractive.

Tuberculosis was known as consumption and killed thousands each year, yet Victorian poets and painters idealised its effects and treated them as beautiful.

Thin bodies, pale skin, and a light flush on the cheeks became associated with elegance and moral purity, especially among women in upper-class households.

As this idea gained popularity, people began to imitate the symptoms of illness.

Writers such as Lord Byron popularised the connection between beauty and suffering, which made the appeal even stronger. 

To copy the extremely thin look, some women drank vinegar before meals to reduce appetite, while others swallowed chalk to whiten their skin.

Curtains were drawn tightly, and parasols kept the sun away, as the aim was to preserve a sickly pale look rather than to prevent sunburn.

A few women even sat near the bedsides of relatives with tuberculosis, and they hoped to catch the disease and adopt its outward signs.

Medical understanding of how disease spread remained quite limited, and so the risks were underestimated or misunderstood. 

Later in the century, a new trend appeared that targeted body size directly, as some advertisements promoted “tapeworm pills,” which were said to contain parasite eggs that supposedly helped women maintain a slender figure by allowing the parasite to use up excess calories.

These pills, which appeared in American patent medicine catalogues during the 1890s, helped to create widespread concern.

While no verified examples prove that pills actually contained viable eggs, belief that they really existed was strong enough to influence public opinion.

The supposed tapeworms were said to grow several metres long and could cause stomach pain, fatigue, and vitamin deficiency.

When symptoms worsened, treatment required strong chemicals or surgery.

Meanwhile, arsenic tablets appeared on pharmacy shelves with vague promises of brighter eyes and smoother skin.

Commercial products like Dr. Rose’s Arsenic Complexion Wafers offered cosmetic improvement, yet at the same time they increased the risk of organ damage.

British physicians in the 1890s warned that arsenic disrupted heart rhythms, attacked the liver, and caused people to die earlier, all in pursuit of a short-lived improvement in appearance.

In drawing rooms, dining areas, and theatres, Victorian fashion introduced a hidden danger that many people discovered too late.

Delicate fabrics such as muslin, gauze, and tarlatan were prized for their elegance, lightness, and flow, especially under candlelight or gaslight.

Unfortunately, these same fabrics burned with terrifying speed, and many women and children died in fires that began with a simple brush against a flame.

At home, long skirts and wide sleeves moved unpredictably in kitchens and near fireplaces.

A spark from the stove or a candle knocked from a table could set clothing alight in seconds, and the fabric’s weave allowed fire to spread quickly across the body.

Newspapers throughout the 1850s and 1860s described women who suffered fatal burns after trying to rescue children or move too close to heat while serving meals.

Their clothes turned them into fuel, and escape was often impossible. Publications like Household Words, edited by Charles Dickens, reported such tragedies in graphic detail.

Also, in theatres, dancers faced even greater risks, as ballerinas wore tutus made from multiple layers of gauze, which floated gracefully but ignited instantly when exposed to open gas jets near the stage.

In 1862, French ballerina Emma Livry caught fire during rehearsal and died from her injuries after refusing to wear a flame-resistant costume that dulled the appearance of her dress.

She lingered until her death on July 26, 1863. Other dancers, such as Clara Webster in 1844, died in similar accidents.

Though some flameproofing treatments using ammonium phosphate existed, they altered the sheen of delicate fabrics and were widely resisted.

Her death shocked the public, but theatrical traditions changed slowly. Aesthetic demands continued to outweigh safety concerns, and women continued to perform in outfits that could kill them.

Throughout the Victorian period, the corset remained one of the most famous and dangerous items in a woman’s wardrobe.

Corsets forced the torso into a narrow waist and lifted the bust, and they conveyed beauty and social respectability.

They were constructed from steel, bone, and tightly woven fabric, and they compressed the body with such force that organs shifted, bones deformed, and muscles weakened over time.

Girls often received their first corset before their teenage years. From that point on, they wore the garment daily, and each year they tightened it further to meet the ideal waist size depicted in fashion plates and magazines.

Some tried to reach an 18-inch waist, which was a measurement celebrated in advertisements and illustrations.

Medical experts noted that tight-lacing made it harder to breathe, reduced how much air the lungs could hold, and put pressure on the heart.

Dr. William Henry Flower of the Royal College of Surgeons lectured publicly on the internal damage caused by corsetry. F

ainting spells became fairly common at social events, particularly after meals or in warm weather and some women skipped meals entirely to reduce pressure on their stomachs.

Accidents involving corsets proved even more dangerous, since in carriage crashes or falls reporters said that the rigid frame of the corset sometimes buckled.

Contemporary newspapers occasionally claimed that metal stays punctured the chest or abdomen.

Though such injuries are difficult to verify medically, the believed risk fuelled growing criticism.

Pregnant women felt pressured to maintain their appearance and wore special maternity corsets that still limited movement and could lead to miscarriage.

Opponents of the corset included members of the Rational Dress Society, which was founded in 1881, and they published pamphlets and staged exhibitions to highlight the physical harm.

Although some adopted looser alternatives, most women remained tied to their corsets because their families insisted on it and they dreaded public judgement.

As you can see, the Victorian era was a time of dangerous fashion trends that had serious health consequences.

From toxic pigments to restrictive corsets, the fashion of the era was often hazardous to those who followed it.

It is important to learn about these trends and their risks to understand the importance of safety in fashion.

So, if you're wearing a green hat and wearing lead makeup while drinking tuberculosis milk at your dinner table covered in a delicate tablecloth, you're almost certainly out of luck...