Look at a pair of old curtains. Most people see dusty fabric. Dorothy Jeakins saw a play clothes revolution that would define a cinematic masterpiece.
When we talk about the 1965 film, we usually hum "My Favorite Things" or think of Julie Andrews spinning on a hilltop. But honestly? The visual soul of that movie lives in the stitches. The Sound of Music costumes didn't just happen; they were a meticulously planned exercise in Austrian realism clashing with Hollywood glamour. It’s been over sixty years, and we’re still obsessed with those lederhosen.
Why? Because they tell the story when the characters aren't singing.
The Genius of Dorothy Jeakins and That "Curtain" Moment
Dorothy Jeakins was a legend. She already had Oscars under her belt for Joan of Arc and Samson and Delilah before she ever stepped foot in Salzburg. She didn't do "pretty" for the sake of pretty. She did character.
The play clothes made from Maria’s bedroom curtains are the most famous outfits in movie history. Period. But here is what most people miss: they weren't just one set of clothes. Jeakins had to design seven distinct outfits that looked like they were made by an amateur seamstress out of the same bolt of fabric, yet still fit seven differently sized children perfectly. It’s a technical nightmare disguised as a charming DIY project.
If you look closely at the "Do-Re-Mi" sequence, you'll notice the subtle patterns. The fabric—a heavy, floral-patterned green and white material—wasn't actually old curtains, obviously. The production team had to source massive quantities of that specific print to ensure they had enough for multiples (costumes get dirty, they rip, they need backups).
Authenticity vs. Hollywood: The Dirndl Debate
There is a weird tension in the movie. It wants to be authentic to 1930s Austria, but it also has to look like a 20th Century Fox musical.
Real Austrian Tracht (traditional dress) is heavy. It’s stiff. It’s meant to last a lifetime. Jeakins balanced this by using authentic silhouettes—the high waists, the tight bodices, the aprons—but softening them for movement. Maria’s arrival at the villa is the perfect example. She wears that "horrid" dress she brought from the abbey. It’s heavy, itchy-looking wool. It’s drab. It’s purposefully ill-fitting.
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Contrast that with the Baroness Schraeder.
Eleanor Parker’s wardrobe is the polar opposite of Maria’s. While Maria is in linens and wools, the Baroness is draped in high-fashion silk, gold lamé, and structured suits. Her costumes were designed to scream "Vienna" and "Wealth." They represent the world Captain von Trapp is supposed to want, while Maria represents the world he actually needs.
That Iconic Wedding Gown: A Secret History
Everyone remembers the wedding. The cathedral, the long aisle, the organ.
Julie Andrews' wedding dress is a masterclass in "less is more." In an era of lace and ruffles, Jeakins went with a high-neck, long-sleeved gown made of silk shantung. It was ivory, not pure white. It had a massive train that looked incredible against the stone floors of the Mondsee Cathedral.
But here’s a fun bit of trivia: Julie Andrews couldn't actually see where she was going. The veil was so heavy and the train so long that she was basically being steered by the child actors.
Also, that dress wasn't just a costume—it was an investment. In 2013, the original wedding dress sold at auction for over $23,000. That’s actually a steal when you consider the cultural weight it carries. It represents the moment the "flibbertigibbet" Maria truly becomes the matriarch of the von Trapp family.
The Lederhosen Problem
Let’s talk about the boys. Lederhosen are tricky.
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In the 1930s, they were standard, practical wear for boys in the Salzburg region. They are made of leather. They are nearly indestructible. For the film, the costume department had to age them. New leather looks shiny and fake on camera. They had to beat those shorts up, scuff them, and oil them to make it look like Friedrich and Kurt had been running through the woods in them for years.
Christopher Plummer’s Captain von Trapp has a different journey. He starts the film in stiff, military-style tunics. Everything is buttoned up. High collars. No room for breath. As he falls for Maria, his wardrobe softens. We see him in more relaxed loden jackets and even—gasp—sweaters. It’s a visual thaw.
Why the Colors Matter More Than You Think
Jeakins used a specific palette for the family. You’ll notice a lot of blues, greens, and earthy browns. This connects them to the mountains. The "Sound of Music" isn't just a song; it's a landscape.
When the Nazis take over, the colors shift. The introduction of the stark reds, blacks, and whites of the Third Reich flags and uniforms creates a violent visual contrast against the soft Alpine tones of the von Trapps. It makes the family look vulnerable. They no longer blend into their surroundings because their surroundings have been invaded by a different aesthetic entirely.
Behind the Scenes: The Logistics of a Musical
Think about the "Lonely Goatherd" scene.
The costumes for the marionettes had to be exact replicas of traditional Austrian dress, but scaled down and light enough for the strings. Meanwhile, the children are in their "curtain" play clothes. The sheer volume of laundry on that set must have been astronomical.
Filming in Salzburg was wet. It rained. A lot.
The cast often mentions in interviews how they would be freezing in their light summer costumes while the crew was wrapped in heavy coats. Julie Andrews' dirndls would get soaked, and the heavy wool would weigh ten pounds more than it did at the start of the day. They had to have hair dryers and heaters on standby just to keep the "Sound of Music" costumes from looking like a soggy mess on the 70mm film.
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The Legacy of the Look
You see the influence everywhere.
Fashion designers from Vivienne Westwood to modern cottagecore influencers have pulled from the Jeakins playbook. The idea of the "prairie dress" or the "modern dirndl" owes a huge debt to this film. It romanticized a version of European folk dress that, while based in reality, became a global shorthand for "wholesome adventure."
If you go to Salzburg today, you can still buy "Maria-style" dresses in the shops. It’s a massive industry. People want to feel that liberation of running through a meadow, and apparently, the right apron helps.
What We Can Learn From the Design
The success of these costumes proves a vital point in filmmaking: clothes aren't just clothes. They are the narrative.
- Maria’s evolution: From the shapeless grey novice habit to the structured wedding gown to the practical traveling suit. It’s the story of a woman finding her place.
- The Captain’s softening: Moving from rigid uniforms to soft wools shows a man reclaiming his fatherhood.
- The Children’s unity: Their matching outfits (first the sailor suits, then the curtains) show they are a "block"—a unit that stands or falls together.
If you’re a cosplayer or a theater director looking to recreate these, don't go for the cheap shiny polyester. The secret is in the weight. Use real linens, real wool blends, and don't be afraid of a little bit of "mess." The von Trapps were kids, after all. Their clothes should look lived in.
Actionable Steps for Costume Enthusiasts
If you are planning to recreate or study these iconic looks, keep these specific details in mind to ensure authenticity. First, focus on the fabric weight; the "curtain" clothes work best when using a heavy cotton or a light upholstery fabric to mimic the look of actual home drapes. Second, pay attention to the "age" of the garments. If you are making lederhosen or loden jackets, use sandpaper or leather oil to break down the sheen, making them look like they’ve survived a hike through the Alps. Finally, study the specific button placement on the Captain's jackets—traditional Austrian Tracht often uses stag-horn buttons, a small detail that makes a massive difference in historical accuracy. For those visiting Salzburg, the Panorama Tours still take fans to the original filming locations, providing a first-hand look at the scale and texture of the environments these costumes were designed to inhabit.