The Language of the Fan - Staying Cool: Regency Style

It is hot, hot, hot here in Jane Austen's England and we're all looking for ways to calm down. Luckily, I have a fan on my desk I can point at myself, notching it up to the top setting so that it blasts me like a wind machine in a Mariah Carey video. However, we can't take a plug in desk fan with us everywhere, so sometimes it is necessary to go back to ol' faithful - the hand fan. In a remarkable bit of perfect timing, we've just launched a new Regency Fabric and Wood Hand Fan on our shop, so you can stay cool, Regency Style.

We must advise caution, however, as you take your new fan out into the world, to ensure you don't commit dreadful social faux pas. Of course, it can sometimes seem like everything in the Regency was about sending secret messages and obeying unspoken social rules, but that's half the fun, right? In today's post, we're going to explore the secret language of the Regency fan. 

Where does this all come from then? Well, this article in Country Life goes into the detail of the history of the fan and whether or not there really was a secret language. One thing is for sure - the fan offers a great opportunity to extend the power of your gestures and gesticulations. You could add emphasis to a point by tapping it on a table, or perhaps signal your impatience by fanning yourself vigorously. But what about fans as a method of communication that is more explicit? 

Well, a few have tried to figure this one out. In 1798, Robert Rowe introduced his Ladies Telegraph, which has concertinas for every letter of the alphabet, so that ladies can simply point to the letter to spell out words to a friend across the room. Our fan also has this feature. I can imagine how much fun me and my friends would have had at parties with this feature, using it to point out our crushes to our friends from opposite sides of the snack table. 

It wasn't until 1827, when a French gentleman by the name of Duvelleroy set up shop in London, that anyone had attempted to write down some kind of system of gesturing with the fan. 

This system looks a little complex to me, and I reckon I could quite easily mislead someone into an invitation to kiss me by accidentally using my fan to itch my nose. I suppose I'm not a nineteenth century lady though - thank god! The truth of the matter is that Duvelleroy probably devised this less as a reflection of society practice, but more as a gimmick to sell more fans. Evidence to suggest there was necessarily widescale uptake of the Language of the Fan is a little scanty, in the end. 

That's no reason not to give it a go, though. A fun summer project for yourself, or perhaps for the young people in your life, would be to get a group together to all learn the language of the fan, so that when it comes to Christmas party season you're all primed and ready to send secret messages across the dance floor! 

What do you think? Is it time the fan had a come back? Or does it all seem a bit complicated.