Queen Victoria’s Birthday Fan: The Language of Fans and 19th-Century Material Culture

Today, the fan has largely vanished from the roster of objects we regularly use. Its practical function — to cool the air in a sweltering ballroom or on a hot summer’s day — has been rendered obsolete by electric fans. Aesthetically, too, it no longer holds a place of prominence in the modern wardrobe. Yet, the 19th-century fan remains a fascinating part of material culture. “I cool, I refresh, and I can keep secrets,” reads the inscription on an Irish lace fan once owned by Queen Alexandra. These words capture both the practical elegance and the social function of the fan, which is often credited to have been used as an expressive tool used to speak the language of the fan.

In this article, we’ll trace the history of the fan as an object, the language of the fan, and the life of a particularly significant example: Queen Victoria’s birthday fan.

This delicate artefact reveals far more than its mother-of-pearl ribs and silk leaves might suggest. Through the lens of an object biography, we’ll conduct an artefact analysis of Queen Victoria’s fan, examining its materials, craftsmanship, and ceremonial significance.

What’s an Object Biography?

An object biography is a method used to trace the social and cultural life of a thing, making it an essential tool in the study of material culture. It seeks to understand the “life” of a physical object by examining its origins, usage, and ownership. More than that, it explores the object’s relationships with people, places, and events across time, placing it within a broader cultural and historical context.

An Object Analysis of Queen Victoria’s Fan

Now that we clarified what an object biography actually is, let’s jump right into it and take a closer look. This particular fan is rich in symbolism and includes many typical design features of the period.

Why is it called the ‘birthday fan’?

The answer is simple: it was gifted to Queen Victoria by Prince Albert on her 39th birthday in 1858. Remarkably well-preserved, it remains in excellent condition, complete with its original box. Now part of the Royal Collection Trust, it belongs to a group of eleven fans associated with Queen Victoria and was exhibited from November 2006 to February 2007 in Unfolding Pictures at The Queen’s Gallery (now The King’s Gallery) in Buckingham Palace — how I wish I could have seen it! But alas, in 2006, I had rather different priorities.

In the study of material culture, objects are often categorised by the types of value they hold: economic, practical, aesthetic, cultural, or sentimental. As we begin this object biography, it becomes clear that Queen Victoria’s birthday fan can embody all of these at once, depending on the lens through which it is viewed. In the sections that follow, we’ll approach the fan through these distinct value categories as part of our broader artefact analysis.

Economic value

The box in which the fan is stored bears a trade label from ‘Mme Rebours of 17 Rue Rousselet’, indicating it was purchased in the Saint-Germain district of Paris. This immediately situates the fan within a commercial exchange, attaching clear economic value to the object. Like most artefacts, Queen Victoria’s birthday fan reflects the systems of production and trade that define so much of material culture, whether through the purchase of the finished object or the acquisition of its individual components (thanks, capitalism).

Practical value

The practical value of the fan lies in its original function: to keep the user cool. Though far less common in daily life today, the fan’s utility endures in specific cultural or ceremonial contexts, reminding us of its roots in physical comfort.

I cool, I refresh, and I can keep secrets.

— Inscription on a fan presented to Queen Alexandra.

This inscription neatly encapsulates the fan’s multifaceted role as a tool, as a subtle communicator, and as a social tool. That said, many fans, especially during the 19th century, and particularly in the era of the Aesthetic Movement, were valued as decorative objects or as souvenirs from theatre and opera visits. In those contexts, their practical function was often secondary.

Aesthetic and sentimental value

Queen Victoria’s birthday fan is a remarkable example of both aesthetic and sentimental value. Composed of individual cream silk leaves, it is exquisitely painted in watercolour, bodycolour, and gold. The guards are carved and pierced mother-of-pearl, held together with brass pins, and finished with a silver loop from which a silk and gold thread tassel hangs.

Delicate garlands weave between the leaves, inscribed with the names and birthdates of Victoria and Albert, as well as their first eight children. These garlands also flank painted figures of Fame and Peace, which the Royal Collection Trust suggests may allude to the end of the Crimean War in 1856, when the fan was commissioned and decorated. Though this connection remains speculative, it offers an intriguing thread in this object biography. The central leaf bears Queen Victoria’s crowned monogram — VR — while the two central guard sticks also include the letter A for her first name, Alexandrina, along with the date 24th May 1858 (her birthday).

The intricacy and elegance of its design speak clearly to the fan’s aesthetic value. Yet its sentimental value is equally powerful: the fan was a birthday gift from Prince Albert, and the floral designs were hand-painted by their 15-year-old daughter, Princess Victoria. Every decorative element is deeply personal, from the acronym of flowers to the monograms; all of which tie the object directly to its owner. This interplay between beauty, symbolism, and intimacy makes the fan not only a work of art but also a deeply expressive artefact, and a vivid example of the fan as social tool within the realm of material culture.

A Brief History of the Fan

Fans have served a wide variety of functions throughout history, shaped by the time, place, and culture in which they were used. Beyond their familiar use as cooling devices, they have acted as shields, tools for winnowing grain, and even as aids for stoking fires. The materials used and the level of ornamentation reflect the cultural context of each fan’s creation.

The fan as an object can be traced back to ancient Egypt (ca. 3000 B.C.). In China and Japan, evidence of fan use dates to as early as the 5th century AD. Chinese painted silk fans were brought to Japan, where the rigid screen-like forms eventually evolved into the folding fan by the 12th century — a technological and aesthetic innovation that would later travel westward.

In Europe, some of the earliest documented fans appeared in France. By the late 1600s, they had become so fashionable that a guild of fan makers was established. A similar guild followed in London in 1709, shortly after Queen Elizabeth I had popularised the fan in England. During her reign, both static feather fans and ornate folding fans became widespread, symbolising wealth and status; early evidence of the fan as social tool.

By the mid-1700s, France had become the centre of European fan production, a position it maintained well into the 19th century. This dominance was on full display at The Great Exhibition of 1851, where few British-made fans appeared and French fan maker Jean-Pierre Duvelleroy won first prize. Expanding trade routes also brought Eastern fans to European markets, introducing new techniques and aesthetics.

In the 18th century, fans were often multi-functional. Among their more significant social uses was their role in political expression: women, excluded from many public and political arenas, used fans to display allegiances during the Jacobite uprisings and the French Revolution through the imagery painted on them — an early form of fan language, and a powerful example of how objects can communicate meaning.

By contrast, the early 19th century saw fans become smaller — roughly 6 to 7 inches — and far more restrained in decoration. But by the 1830s, mirroring the expanding silhouettes and ornamentation of women’s fashion, fans grew more elaborate once again. They often featured scenes from popular operas, novels, or plays, turning them into narrative objects and essential sources for object biography research. This trend continued into the Victorian era. The Royal Collection Trust holds several excellent examples, including the National Progress Fan and the Arrival of Queen Victoria at Treport.

Queen Victoria’s birthday fan, however, is a prime representation of the 19th-century fan as both art object and personal artefact. The floral decorations align with the language of flowers that was so popular in Victorian culture, and the overall design exemplifies how fans were increasingly tailored to reflect their owner’s character and taste. In keeping with another mid-Victorian trend, it also appears to have been a collaborative piece purchased as a blank fan and then decorated at home, with Princess Victoria contributing to its design. In this way, the fan becomes not only an object of beauty but a richly layered example of material culture, deeply embedded in its historical moment.

Fans and femininity

[T]he dainty little plaything […] this delicate toy, this airy creation of gauze, ivory and
paint, frail and fragile.

— G. Woolliscroft Rhead, History of the Fan (1910)

In the European context, the fan has long been situated firmly within the female sphere. Rhead’s description blurs the line between the object and its owner. It is difficult to tell whether his words refer to the fan itself or to the woman who wields it. In both form and function, the fan was closely tied to femininity, becoming an extension of the female body. Through gesture and implication, the language of the fan emerged, a silent code rooted in performance and perception. Percival MacIver captured this intimacy in The Fan Book (1921):

It had a personality which expressed the moods and customs of its owner as no other species of adornment could do. It was almost part of the costume, yet, not being attached to the dress, it could be closely examined and admired in a way that would have been impossible where part of an actual garment was concerned.

This quote underscores the fan’s dual identity as both accessory and social tool: an object that facilitated performance, flirtation, and coded communication in public and semi-private spaces. The fan’s mobility and visibility allowed it to function outside the rigid boundaries of dress, making it a uniquely expressive artefact within 19th-century material culture.

However, this relationship between fan and femininity began to shift after the 1870s. Although fans remained associated with women, they became increasingly removed from the body and instead appeared mounted on the walls of drawing rooms, recontextualised as decorative objects. As the New Woman moved into public and political life with more direct forms of agency, the fan no longer held the same relevance. From object in motion to static display, it reflects the beginning shift of societal attitudes toward gender, visibility, and domesticity.

This transition sets the stage for my final discussion: the fan as a device for overt or concealed communication through the gestures of fan language.

The Language of the Fan

We’ve explored the material properties of fans and how Queen Victoria’s birthday fan fits into various 19th-century material categories, but what about their communicative function? Could a fan be more than a decorative object and perhaps even a discreet messenger? A secret gestural code, often referred to as the language of the fan, was allegedly practiced by women in the 18th and 19th centuries, allowing them to convey messages through the movement and positioning of their fans. But was this widely understood and genuinely used, or is it more myth than historical fact — one of those instances where romanticised ideas obscure the truth over time?

One of the earliest and most detailed attempts to codify such a language was through ‘Fanology’, or The Ladies’ Conversation Fan, designed by Charles Francis Badini and introduced in 1797.

This illustrated guide presented a sophisticated system of gestures, requiring precise coordination between the position of the fan and the body to express particular sentiments. While Badini’s version belongs to the late 18th century, it was revived and adapted by Jules Duvelleroy, who popularised a Victorian version of the language of fans, printed and distributed as little pamphlets with his creations.

Yet, for this type of fan language to be effective, both the fan-holder and the intended recipient would have needed to memorise a detailed list of gestures. Historians remain sceptical about whether this was ever widely practiced; beyond the printed list of twenty-three gestures, there is little evidence to suggest that this symbolic system was part of everyday social interaction. As such, it remains a subject of ongoing artefact analysis and debate: Was the fan truly used as a covert form of female expression, or is its communicative function more metaphorical than literal?

What is certain, however, is that fans experienced a resurgence in popularity during Queen Victoria’s reign after falling out of fashion in the early 19th century. The 1851 Great Exhibition included an impressive collection of fans, with Duvelleroy himself receiving a prize for his specimens. This renewed interest is echoed in publications like The Lady’s Newspaper, which noted that fashionable ensembles once again included “large painted fan[s],” suggesting the return of the fan as an essential accessory. If not as a social tool, then at least as a symbol of style and status within Victorian material culture.

Still, contemporary accounts also hint at a shift in how fans were perceived and used. An excerpt from The Lady’s Newspaper, titled ‘Fancies About Fans,’ testifies not only to their soaring popularity but also to the decline of their communicative role:

The fan, once so important […], is reappearing in the hands of the fair”, however, “the art of handling the fan is lost in England”. While “grandmothers […] can sigh over the recollection of conquests begun, completed and secured by the aid of the fan”, women in the 1840s must resort to the handkerchief or the bouquet to covertly exchange messages with their suitors, but the “monotonous movements made by those compared with the perpetually wavering flutterings of the fan” can never be quite as efficient as the language of the fan.

Unfolding the Truth Behind the Language of Fans: Conclusion

In the end, when we look at popular fan imagery and publications from the period, it is plausible that a secret fan language was practiced at least to some extent during the 18th century. However, as fans fell out of fashion in the early 19th century, so too did this mode of silent communication. When the fan returned to prominence in the Victorian period, manuals like the one published by Jules Duvelleroy were likely less about reviving an old tradition than about marketing — a clever strategy to elevate his products and enhance their desirability. As we’ve seen, this approach was commercially successful.

That’s not to say that Victorian women didn’t playfully imitate the gestures from his pamphlet or invent personal codes of their own. But in the absence of substantial primary evidence, we must conclude that the language of the fan, at least in its codified form, had become more myth than social reality. Any flirtatious, non-verbal exchange involving a fan in the 19th century likely relied on improvisation or the symbolic potential of the object itself rather than an agreed-upon lexicon.

In this sense, the material cultural history of fans reveals a story of craftsmanship and encapsulates how a once-utilitarian object became imbued with layers of cultural meaning.

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Select Sources

• Hélène Alexander, Fans (2002).
• M.A. Flory, A Book About Fans: The History of Fans and Fan-Painting (1895).