If a browsing reader were to pick up the book in a shop, I would, probably stereotypically, hope that they opened to the first chapter, “Recalled to Life.” For this short chapter introduces Charlotte Brontë’s story and the remarkable survival of her clothing, whilst also setting out the scope of the collection. It explains too why clothes matter — why they are vital evidence of a life lived and thus worthy of study. Though what follows is fascinating, this opening gambit provides the firm foundation upon which the rest of the book is built. It makes clear that Brontë’s garments are not merely curiosities or even relics, but sources that can speak with equal weight alongside letters, novels, and portraits to reveal new dimensions and new understanding of Brontë’s world and identity.

In the light of this, one passage from the opening section stands out: “Clothes are, and always have been, a vital part of our daily lives. Few things walk with us so closely. The garments that we wear literally mould themselves to our bodies, even becoming imbued with our DNA … They are an extension of who we are and yet can be changed to suit our own needs or the expectations of those around us.” The chapter goes on to show how garments communicate identity, status, and even private conflicts, while also exposing the culture, politics, and technologies that shaped them. In other words, clothes are not mute relics but a living archive — evidence of a life lived, and a lens through which to understand the society that required and produced them.

As a cherry on top, this chapter also contains one of my favourite drawings in the book: a pen, ink, watercolour, and crayon rendering of one of Charlotte Brontë’s most beautiful surviving garments, her muslin ‘Paisley dress’. My drawings are integral to the text. They not only vivify, but also offer readers the chance to look closely, to see the inner workings of a garment in a way that would otherwise be impossible. For reasons of practicality, most of Brontë’s clothes are kept behind glass or hidden away in boxes covered with tissue. Here, however, illustrations provide access — allowing readers to examine seams, folds, and textures, and to appreciate the artistry of the dress as both object and evidence. The visual material works hand in hand with the written narrative, reminding us that biography can be read not only in words but also in fabric, leather, paint.

My hope is that the book contributes to the continuing expansion of Brontë scholarship. Many distinguished scholars, Lucasta Miller, Juliet Barker, Christine Alexander, to name just a few, have already worked to dismantle the Brontë myth, revealing Charlotte as far more complex than legend suggests. My work builds on this foundation by turning to a previously unresearched body of evidence: the more than 150 surviving garments and accessories that have outlived their famous owner. These objects, though fragile, are eloquent. They carry traces of use, repair, and alteration, and speak of choices made in relation to fashion, morality, economy, and identity. Through their testimonies, fascinating and varied as they are, Charlotte emerges as braver, bolder, more connected, more vulnerable, more contradictory and more Victorian than ever before.

I would also be thrilled if the book introduced Brontë to new readers while prompting reflection on biography more broadly. Approaching life-writing through the medium of dress may reach those who might not otherwise engage with the genre — costume drama fans perhaps, or a younger generation of readers — offering a direct and human point of entry.

Film now plays an important part in drawing people in, and my work as a historical costume consultant for film and television has shown how powerfully clothing can spark curiosity and connection.

Beyond reaching new audiences, I would like to think that the book will challenge traditional practices of biography, which have tended to treat material traces, and in this case garments, as afterthoughts. It shows that, with informed insight, such objects can be read as evidence in their own right and not simply shoe-horned in as decorative asides. By placing garments at the centre rather than the margins, the book highlights how biography can be deepened and broadened in unexpected ways.

In this way, Brontë’s clothes may inspire not only fresh scholarship on her life, but also new possibilities for biography itself: a practice more attentive to the overlooked, more willing to cross disciplinary boundaries, and more open to the idea that material culture is integral to understanding character and experience.