Category Archives: Sewing

Something small

Lace panel from thrift store

In between unpicking the skirt from the halter sundress and procrastinating, I did actually (almost) finish one rather small piece. You may (or may not) recall a large piece (several metres) of starched white cotton I found at the thrift store back in June. It was the kind of lovely, plain, basic fabric you rarely find at the thrift store, so I would’ve picked it up just for that, but one end had also been worked with the most amazing panel of handmade lace I’ve ever seen.

Now, admittedly I don’t know much about lace-making. I have no idea what techniques are employed, except that it looks to have been done by hand, with gorgeous patience and precision. I assume this is some kind of heirloom stitching taken to an astounding extreme. It’s one of those pieces that makes you wonder about the person who had the fabric before you, though. What kind of piece was this worked for? Was it meant to be the yoke of a shirt? Part of a Christening gown or something? Why would someone put all that work into making the lace, and then never make the final garment? (The shape and positioning on the fabric suggests garment to me, but I suppose I don’t really know even that).

Anyway, obviously it needed to become something that would showcase the beautiful lace. After some hemming and hawing, I made my decision, and cut out a second version of my sundress bodice, with the lace in the centre front panel. I toyed with the idea of putting a coloured fabric behind, to show through at the lace, but the white cotton was too sheer to hide it, so I just lined with another layer of the same fabric.

The top. Unfortunately this was the only shot where the light didn't totally wash out the lace.

It still needs straps. I had some cut out and pressed and ready to go, but somewhere between bringing it upstairs to do the handstitching I mislaid them. It actually stays up remarkably well, with that large shirred back, but I’ll feel much happier with straps anyway. I used the facing piece to make the little “collar” top, which I really love, although since I forgot to add a seam-allowance to the CF, it wound up not reaching quite to the side-seams. I hand-stitched the bottom of the bodice front together for a nice finish that doesn’t show on the front. I maybe should’ve put some interfacing strips along the V-point in the front, as it’s a bit wavy and floppy, but it’s not awful.

It looks good with shorts, but wouldn’t it be perfect with a full, puffy skirt? 🙂

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Sometimes you just have to walk away.

Hmm

McCall's 3415

I have a feeling this dress is going to spend a little while in the Magic Closet.* You know when you reach that point when you’ve unpicked a seam so many times the whole thing just starts to look mashed and no matter how well you re-stitch it it’s still going to be a bit wonky? Yeah. I’m there.

That being said, I think once I’ve had a little bit of space I’ll quite like this dress. We just need a bit of time.

Front view

So, after all y’all’s** sage advice last week, I put on my big girl panties and unpicked the skirt (yes, removing zipper in the process), and made Alterations.

Specifically, I lopped 15 cm (about 6″) off the top, re-cutting using the top of the pattern but blending out to a wider width quite quickly (maybe a little too quickly…). In my paranoia over having enough ease I actually made the skirt a bit wider even at the top, electing to ease that in.

Side view

This fabric doesn’t ease so well, did I mention? Well, I mean, it does—there’s no pleats in the seam—but it sure shows the puckers. Not even going to go into how many times it took me to get the zipper straight and smooth and matching up, either. On the up side, I did get it smooth and relatively straight (and relatively invisible!) eventually, so I shan’t whine too much. And I did a slightly better job stitching on the bodice lining on the inside this time, although with all the grading and clipping and fraying from being unpicked so many times it still doesn’t look peachy. But I think I have the theory down, anyway.

Back view

There are still some issues with how the back hangs—I think somewhere in my alterations the grain got a bit skewed—but at least it’s not straining over my hips and making my belly look like a stuffed sausage anymore. (It actually looks way better in this pic than when I’m just standing straight.  I miss the pockets, though. I wonder how much more work it would be to put them back in, now there’s enough ease for them… (walk away, Tanit, walk away…)

Hem facing

Having removed six inches in length, I didn’t really want to lose much more in the hem, so I put back the hem lace I’d been planning to use and dug out a package of teal hem-tape from one of my thrift-store scores that’s probably been in its package since about the time this pattern was new. I actually really like using a bias facing in curved hems like this. It works a bit better if you “circle” it first—iron it while stretching it into a curve.

Hem facing

Plus after thirty-odd years in the package it really needed to be ironed. Fortunately the skirt is quite narrow, as it was only a 1.85m package, and I had to discard about eight inches at one end where the tape that held the end in place all those years had turned yellow and marked up the fabric. I had just enough. The hem facing is a fair bit darker than the rest of the dress, but I think it’s a fun flash of colour. And it gives me the feel of a full, yummy 2.5″ hem without losing more than about 2 cm in length.

Having said all that, I have to admit something.

Halter styles are something I have a problem with. Meaning, I like them. I love the exposed back, I love how they look on other people and on pattern illustrations. But somehow when I see them on myself, I always feel line-backer-ish. Like they just emphasize the breadth of my shoulders. I keep making them because I really like the idea. And I keep thinking that next time, it’ll look “right.” There probably should be a name for this kind of stylistic insanity. On the other hand, I am actually liking the photos a lot better than I like the reflection in the mirror, so perhaps its one of those things where my brain exaggerates what I’m seeing beyond all reason.

Anyway, I’m hoping that some time in the Magic Closet will help me forget about most of my issues with the dress. Although the halter one’s probably there to stay. Next up: jackets in summertime. Unless the Lonsdale pattern arrives, anyway ;).

*You know. Where self-made pieces go to wait out the period while you forget all the stupid mistakes and messes you made.

**I don’t actually talk like this, but it sure is fun to write sometimes. Also my town is infected with cowboys at the moment, so it would be surprising if I didn’t have at least a few symptoms.

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All I need now is the Lonsdale…

Patterns! Thank you, ElleC!

It was a good week, mail-wise, if not sewing-wise*. Several really awesome things came through, but I’ll stick to the sewing-related ones.

Very sweet (and tragically blogless) commentor ElleC send me a delightful package of her own Value Village pattern finds. More 70s Simplicity than you can shake a stick at (including more maxi-dreses!)! And that retro black-dress pattern is the Simplicity take on the Audrey Hepburn dress Her Selfishness copied, lo these many moons ago (It might be fun to compare Selfish’s pattern to the Simplicity one, someday when I’m in an LBD mood…). But I’m especially, super-duper, stoked about the men’s “Designer Jeans” pattern front and centre. Copyright 1981, from a design house I’d never heard of in Edmonton, Alberta, it looks guaranteed to be pure cowboy. The legs are straight, not flared (I checked carefully 😉 ), although I have a feeling they’re not very roomy. Good for me, less good for my hubster. There’s also two versions of the instructions, both of which are really nice, although I still haven’t managed to figure out what the seam allowance is. Sadly, the man has informed me that he wants the jacket I promised him more than anything else. He doesn’t seem to grasp that my jacket motivation now that real summer is here is somewhere below zero. Blergh.

Building Patterns

Equally thrilling, this pattern-drafting book arrived. I actually won it back in May after commenting on a giveaway/article on Burdastyle.com, but it probably got shipped out right around the time the postal strike got serious. Anyway, it’s here, now, and came with a cute little note from the author herself, and it looks like fun although I haven’t had a real chance to dig into it. It’s definitely text-book weight, anyway!

All I’m waiting on now is for my Lonsdale Dress pattern to arrive! Tasia shipped them out last weekend, so hopefully sometime next week…

Anyway. I am trying to spend my weekend sewing, rather than blogging (so I might actually have something worth blogging about later), so I’ll leave you with that.

 

*this not getting home from work until 6:30 thing really chokes my mojo. Bleh.

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One year of jeans

Unsewing 😦

Since the picture above  constitutes the grand total of my (un)sewing the last couple of days, I thought I’d talk about jeans.

First me-made jeans for me, ever.

I just checked back and realized it’s been over a year since I made my first pair of jeans for myself! Wow. Where did that time go?  Geez, I was so darned proud of that first pair. Funny considering I really hate wearing them now, although more because of the fabric, which I never did like, than anything else.

Anyway, inspired by Carolyn’s autopsy of her recently-deceased black jeans, I thought I’d muse self-indulgently a bit over one of my favourite things to stitch up.

Depending on how you count it, I’ve now made seven or eight pairs of jeans for myself. Nine if you count the Lekala sailor shorts. These fall into two categories, stretch and non-stretch. Since I made my first pair of non-stretch jeans not that long ago, I can’t really comment on quality, so today I’ll just be talking about my stretch jeans, all of which are based on the infamous Jalie 2908 pattern. You can find all the Jalie jeans posts here, or all the jeans posts ever here.

I picked this pattern because it was highly recommended on PatternReview.com for something approaching the kind of jeans I like to wear, which are low-rise, tight-fitting stretch denim. The Jalie pattern is mid-rise, close fitting, stretch flares. From my reading, I was pretty sure that I would be making several stylistic modifications, and probably a couple of fit ones as well. For style, I would be lowering the rise and reducing the leg-flare to a straight-below-the-knee style (something I’d found in a single RTW pair back in 2004 or so and been looking for ever since that one beloved pair went to the great closet in the sky), and probably going down a size as, based on the models in the photo, I thought the jeans as pictured were a little loose for stretch denim (your mileage may vary.) For fit, I expected to dart the yoke and add, oh, 5″ of length to the leg or so.

Procedure for putting dart in yoke pattern piece. A small amount of additional width can be trimmed at the centre back (step 4) if necessary; alternatively, two darts could be used to spread the amount removed over a more gentle curve.

At the time I was a bit perplexed by why the Jalie jeans were drafted with such a flat butt. It seemed like pretty much everyone needed to modify the yoke, and the lady behind Jalie even has a tutorial out there on how to do the fix, both during construction and on the pattern for your next pair. Then I watched (well, over the phone) my mom try to make flat-seat adjustments on some pants she made back in the winter.

Best pair ever.

WAY harder than just taking a little dart out of the yoke. So. Yoke-dart for the win.

Anyway.

Jeans are actually not terribly difficult to make. Denim, even stretch denim, is a lovely fabric to work with, sturdy and well behaved. Where you run into trouble is:

  1. bulk
  2. topstitching.
  3. fly
So, let’s start with 1.

Bulk:

Denim is thick. Good denim is thicker. In a few places, like where the yokes meed the centre-back seam, you’ll be stitching through up to eight layers (more if you’re doing proper felled seams). If you’re lucky enough to have a chew-through-nails-clunk-over-everything vintage or industrial machine, you’re probably good to go. If, like me (up until a week ago) you don’t, you will probably need to resort to a few tricks.
  1. Clapper/point presser and hammer

    The clapper. This is one of those unfinished blocks of smooth wood, often topped with a point presser. You iron your seam, get it good and steams up, and then press and hold this on top until it cools down. It’s amazing how much more this flattens out fabric than ironing alone—I know I was always pressing the iron on longer than I should and then scorching my fingers trying to push things down after taking the iron off. Trust me, the clapper is better.

  2. A hammer. Yes, you heard me. Technically this is best done with a rubber mallet, as a metal hammer has a tendency to break some of the fibres around the edges. A sharp-edged rock-hammer even more. Although probably most of you don’t have rock-hammers lying around, so you won’t run into this problem. Anyway, hammering a bulky seam also flattens it, even more dramatically than the clapepr, just be careful you don’t put holes in your fabric. Especially if it’s a thin denim. [Rock-hammer pic]
  3. Handwheel. Most of the thick spots in jeans are going over seams, and don’t last very long. A lot of places where the machine motor jams up and just won’t go through all the layers, you can carefully handwheel a stitch or two to get it started, or even get you past the trouple spot completely.

Jalie 2908 made skinny

Topstitching:

Presumably my topstitching woes are over now that I have the Featherweight, but topstitching on my modern Janome was certainly an adventure. There are several options I’ve used at different times. Generally the advice is to use regular thread in the bobbin, regardless of what you’re doing with the top thread. Topstitching generally looks better with a slightly longer stitch; I usually use 3mm for mine. Backstitching on topstitching can look messy, and many people recommend pulling the ends to the inside and knotting afterwards. I’ve experimented with both ways and came to the conclusion that the messy backstitch is, for me, more secure, usually not noticeable, and certainly not any more unsightly than some of my other topstitch booboos. Your mileage may vary.
    1. Two threads through the needle. If you can rig your machine to hold two spools, then hold the threads together and thread the machine as usual. This gives the top side of the stitch more oomph, plus you can use any regular thread, which gives you an extra-wide colour range to choose from.
    2. Triple stitch. Sometimes called (at least by me) a “stretch straight stitch”, this is where your machine takes two stitches forward, then one stitch back all the way along. The symbol on my Janome looks like this: ||| Basically, it ends up stitching each stitch twice, looking (ideally) just like #1. The down-side is that sometimes the forward and back stitches don’t line up perfectly, and if you don’t turn corners (say, on the pockets) just after the 1st forward stitch, it will take a stitch back after and make your corner look messy. The up-sides are: like #1 you have every colour imaginable to choose from; the top and the bottom look the same; and for stretch denim, this stitch has a bit of stretch to it.
    3. Heavy duty thread (including Coats & Clark Heavy Duty, buttonhole thread, and Guterman Jeans or upholstery thread). This heavier thread has a more striking appearance than regular-stitched regular thread, and looks more like “regular” jeans topstitching. You will probably need to turn up the tension a bit (do some tests) but my Janome handles this kind of thread quite well.
    4. Topstitching thread.

      Thread setup for dealing with mega topstitching thread: wrap around the little round bobbin-winding doohickey before threading as usual. Actual Guterman Topstitching thread not shown.

      By this I’m referring to the Guterman Tops-titching thread, which is the thickest of the threads I’ve found. It’s also a bit “fluffier” than, the heavy-duty threads above. But it comes in a wide range of colours and looks really striking. My Janome has major problems with this thread, which basically come down to the tension. The highest tension setting on my machine is too low. Possibly I could adjust the bobbin tension to compensate, but when stitching jeans on a single machine you’re re-threading just about every other seam. I wouldn’t want to add constant bobbin-adjusting to that procedure. Eventually, I came up with a sneaky tension fix where I wrap the thread once around the bobbin-feeder, which has its own little tension disk, before threading as normal. This increased the tension significantly, to the point where I could actually keep the regular tension pretty close to its normal setting. The other problem I have with this thread is it often gets snarled in the bobbin in the first couple of stitches. I found it was possible to keep this from happening by holding on (firmly!) to the tail of the thread when starting the seam.

Topstitching feet: 1) 1/4" edge-stitcher; 2) rolled-hem foot; 3) blind-hem foot

Topstitching foot. There are a lot of different sewing-machine feet that will work for topstitching, but your standard zig-zag foot is not the

Straight stitch foot (on Featherweight) and adjustable zipper foot. Both have open toes and can work well for topstitching.

best. Basically you want something with an open toe, so you can see precisely where the needle is on your fabric, and edges you can line up to get a consistent width. I don’t recommend trying to twin-needle denim, although I did hem some jeans this way early on—you’re liable to break at least one needle, at which point it gets very expensive very fast. My favourite topstitching foot is an actual edge-stitching foot with a handy keel (mine cost five or six bucks), but an ordinary straight-stitch foot like the kind that my Featherweight has also works really well. A blind-hemming foot works well in theory, but my particular foot the movable keel has a tendency to wander along its screw over long seams, which is less than useful, and it’s hard to re-set it to a precise width. My rolled-hem foot actually worked surprisingly well—just ignore the little scroll part and it’s got sides the right width and some handy grooves in the bottom. This was my favourite until I got the edge-stitch foot.

Fly:

I don’t have a HUGE number of tips on stitching up the fly.
  1. Find the tutorial that works for you. I have good luck with Debbie Cook’s; if you’re a video person (I’m not), Sandra Betzina’s video on the Threads website also comes highly recommended.
  2. Keep a RTW pair on hand for reference. This makes it much easier to keep track of which side to topstitch and stuff like that.
  3. Interface the fly, either with something fusible or with fabric from a front pocket extension. It will be a much happier fly later on if it’s a little more substantial.
  4. TRUST THE FLY. This is one I’ve only recently come around to. After you’ve got your fly constructed and your waistband on, it’s very tempting to try and tweak your fit that last little bit by moving the button one way or the other. Don’t. The button needs to sit so its shank is just at the end of your buttonhole. If you try to mess with this, you will end up with a gaping fly.
My own jeans have ranged from barely wearable to being far and away my favourite pair. I wish I could say there was a consistent improvement in this, or that I’d made the absolute perfect jeans even ones. I haven’t.  But I have had a lot of fun, and gotten some very wearable jeans for a lot less than I would pay at the store. There’s a lot of things RTW jeans have that I can’t imitate—fabrics I can’t find, embroidery I can’t do. My next step will be hunting down some really quality buttons and rivets, as the ones I can get locally are slightly sub-par, or at least, not quite right for jeans. I haven’t even tried my hand at distressing any of my me-made jeans, although I won’t totally rule it out in the future. But there’s plenty of other neat touches I can add, and thinking of what little detail will make that next pair special is one of my favourite things about making jeans. If you can pick up a pair at Walmart and are good to go, then making your own jeans probably won’t be your thing. But if, like me, you’re picky, hard to fit, or get stressed out trying to find that perfect style, making your own can be both fun and money-saving. I’m one of those people who regularly spends over $100 on new jeans, and I can’t reliably find any at the thrift store that are long enough and haven’t been worn to ribbons. Even paying full-price for quality denim, I can cut that price in half, and be just as happy—or happier—with the final product.
Damn. Now I want to make some more jeans.

Jeans!

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I want to work for Colette Patterns

If I can draw this…

Colette patterns is looking for a technical illustrator to do contract work. I want this job. If I can illustrate Carboniferous lizard pancakes, I can totally illustrate sewing instructions, right?

Of course, they’re looking for someone experienced. Y’know, someone who’s an expert with Illustrator and InDesign. I’m almost passable with Illustrator. I’ve never even looked at InDesign (although now I’m curious). The extent of my experience readying illustrations for print is making sure my DPI is within the journal’s recommended range.

Who prides themselves on meeting deadlines. Um, well, as long as I don’t put my supervisor as a reference…

Who answers email quickly. Um. See above.

Can easily translate complex sewing tasks into clear visual instructions. Hmm. I’d like to be such a person. I haven’t tried yet. Although having tried to write up instructions for a couple of patterns at this point, I gotta say, that’s the hardest part. And not nearly as fun as drafting up the pattern itself.

And there’s that whole thesis thing I’m supposed to be working on. Y’know, that little detail.

So basically, they’re not actually looking for me, and I couldn’t really jump on it if they were. /Sigh.

But if that description is you, go for it, and know that at least one person out there will be green with envy…

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McCall’s 3415: Pride, fall, yadda, yadda

McCall's 3415

I am feeling summery-dressy.  What better way to move on to my next sundress triumph than to finally get around to the lovely McCall’s 3415? I love this pattern so much—the sleek line, empire waist, CF seam. The high, round-neck version is my favourite. And I just happened to have this fabric perfectly matching view C on the pattern envelope. I pulled out the pieces, did some quick tracing, pin-fitting, and even made up the bodice-lining as a kind of muslin to check the fit. Everything looked good.

What could go wrong?

Those of you with keen eyes may have noticed that this pattern is Misses’ size 10. Most of the 70s patterns I’ve made up to now have been a size 12.

Now technically both my bust and hip measurements are in between these two sizes, and I’ve read advice that when choosing a size from the big 4, if you’re between sizes, go with the smaller one. And with the few modern Big 4 patterns I’ve made for myself (hmm, that might actually only be one) I’ve ended up with the 10. But 12 seems to be a more common size in the single-size vintage patterns that have thrown themselves in my way, so I’ve often gone with that, and, at least for Simplicity, have my alterations pretty much worked out. The addition of a padded bra to bring my bust up to the official size-12 range, and I’m good to go.

I’m not nearly so clear for McCall’s patterns, having only made up one for myself, and that one being basically unfitted. And a size 12.

Pockets

Still, when you’re using $2/metre thrift store fabric, you can’t really justify much in the way of muslining. So off I went. I liked where the under-bust seam was falling, so I didn’t petite the bodice. I did do a small swayback alteration in the back, but that was all. I blithely added side-seam pockets, even remembering to interface the front side seam allowance (a tip from the Marcy Tilton book) so they don’t bag out. The bodice is intended to lined, with lining and shell cut from the same pattern piece. This is of course just asking for the lining edges to roll out, especially as it would be pretty near impossible to understitch those narrow parts around the neck, and I wasn’t feeling up to painstakingly making a lining piece taking into account turn of cloth, so I went with my old standby: piping. Yay! Is it possible for a wardrobe to have too much piping? We shall see…

Piping and button-loops

The pattern instructs you to use hooks and eyes for the non-overlapping closure at the back of the neck. I’m not a fan of hooks and eyes generally, and this definitely seemed a little flimsy (not to mention Becky Home-Ecky), so I made little tiny spaghettie strap button loops. I cut them on the bias, used the bobby-pin method to turn them, steamed and stretched and ironed the crap out of them until they were as skinny as I could get them, and I think I’m in love. I’m also a little astonished I was able to find a bobby-pin in my house, but anyway. The cute little buttons are from the stash, and probably are of a similar vintage to the pattern, if not older.

Zip

And then I got it all stitched up, minorly flubbing the invisible zip because I was too lazy in the zone to re-read Sherry’s tutorial. It’s okay, not great, and I did have to rip to re-position the waist seams so they matched.

And then I made my worst mistake yet. I tried it on.

hmm

Oops. Ok, so it’s not totally, totally awful. The bodice is pretty much perfect, barring a small amount of gaping at the sides that probably has more to do with my poor fabric-handling technique than anything else. But that is, ah, a wee bit MAJORLY tight through the hips. And there’s the wrinkling in the back. And a bit of gaping over the pockets, probably to do with the tightness in the hips (the Marcy Tilton book also discusses the amount of ease you need to have side-seam pockets in a skirt, and I’m pretty sure I don’t have it here. Also the side-seam swings back, suggesting I need a bit more booty room. This is, shall we say, a bit unusual for me.Hmm.So, depending on how you squint your eyes, I did one of two (possibly three things wrong. Arguably I should have shortened the upper part of the skirt to accommodate my short waist, which would basically bring up the wider part lower down to where the width is needed. Alternatively, slashing and spreading to widen the skirt from waist down would’ve done much the same thing. For fun, I took a tuck with a bunch of pins.

Pin-tucked

I didn’t do as good a job pinning up the back (it’s tricky with the zipper) but I think that’s a definitely improvement in the front. The side-seams are still pulling back a bit, though, which I think means that more booty-ease is still needed in the back.

All of which is fascinating, but doesn’t help me save the dress’s current incarnation. At this point I’m considering removing the pockets and just making the side-seam as small as I can, but since I already serged the seam this won’t increase it by much. Maybe enough to at least lose the worst of that stuffed-sausage look, though… Alternatively I could try an add a godet at each side-seam, but that seems risky, too…

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More thrift-store fun

Thrift-Store Pattern Fun

I’ve had a little bit of luck at the thrift stores in the last little bit I thought I’d share, for lack of sewing since I currently have no kids at home to keep me from spending LONG days at the office.

While home last weekend I went shopping at Value Village with my Stylish Sister-in-Law. (I have two sisters-in-law, the stylish one and the crafty one. I have hopes of getting both of them sewing, although it’s a bit tricky at this remove.)

While Stylish scoped out the summery dresses, I did my requisite scope of the fabrics, but (fortunately) found little to tempt me. There was a piece of what I think must be someone’s home attempt at shibori. Sadly, though, it was very narrow and, frankly, looked kinda like what I think shibori would look like if I tried to do it at home in my kitchen—the basic technique was definitely there (the silk was still wrinkled where the threads had been releashed), but the overall pattern was uneven and generally meh. And it was expensive (by thrift store standards, not by shibori standards), so I left it. I also walked away from a fairly comprehensive-looking Simplicity sewing book, chanting to myself: “someone else needs it more… someone else needs it more.”

I did not fare quite so well in the old-patterns section. I walked away with the above bunch, probably none of which I really need. But they are so cute…

"New" desk for sewing machines.

On returning home and setting up my featherweight, I realized that the compromise of setting my machines on the end of the cutting table, which was barely adequate for two machines, was not going to be at all functional for three. So I had a mission. I needed a desk for my machies, preferably with plenty of drawers. I generally don’t like shopping at Value Village for furniture, as most of what they have in that department is pretty depressing, but for something that just needs to be functional and inexpensive, I figured it was a good place to start. After all, it’s going to be keeping company with my alley-salvage cutting table.

Happily, I found this blue desk. It’s real wood construction, quite sturdy, and has big drawers. It’s pretty nicked and beat-up, but I think it will serve its purpose nicely. Also all those drawers have considerably relieved the pressure on the stand of drawers holding my notions. I still need something more for the patterns, though.

While I was thrift-trawling, though, I couldn’t quite resist a couple more sewing books, one by Sandra Betzina, another by Marcy Tilton, whose name I think I’ve heard before.

No Time to Sew---Sandra Betzina

I have to admit, on closer inspection I’m not super thrilled with the Betzina book. It’s basically a wardrobe/style guide with sewing suggestions. There’s probably some good techniques and suggestions buried in there, but let’s just say that my idea of a stylish wardrobe and Sandra Betzina’s idea don’t have much in common beyond both being made of fabric. Exactly the wrong kind of dated.

Easy Guide to Sewing Skirts---Marcy Tilton

I’m much more excited by the Tilton book. It’s about making skirts. I know, you never would’ve guessed. There’s lots of detail, from beginner tips on fabric to a fairly comprehensive fitting section to some more couture finishes, and a lot of discussion of which techniques are suited to which fabric types, which I like. Not all the techniques are exactly what I would use, but then I don’t know everything so maybe I should give them a try. Lots of tips on the finer points of finishing waistbands and vents and things (although not on lining a vent!)

Oh, and the Featherweight is fixed. Or rather, I am even more astonishingly clueless than I thought I was. Oona nailed it—when I replaced the needle after the break, I put the flat side to the right instead of the left. Apparently, like threading from right to left, this is a Big Deal for Feather.

*headdesk*

Well, colour me embarrassed. Especially since I had swapped in and out several needles BEFORE the one I broke, making sure the Singer ones were the same as my regular ones. Apparently all those times, I managed to put it back in properly by pure accident, while this time, when I was actually paying attention, I got it wrong. Five or six or ten times.

ANYWAY. She’s working happily again, albeit somewhat dripping in oil from all my attention. I’ll get her figured out yet…

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Cream Spice Capris

Cream Capris

I love that I was able to take these photos at 10:00 pm at night, outside, without a flash. Now if that doesn’t scream summer, what does? (This is where someone who’s from the real “up north” chimes in with a comment about the midnight sun. /envy.)

Superfluous shot

So, the capris are done. And they are fun, although as usual there are a couple of issues (beyond my indifferent topstitching). The biggest one is simply the fabric—although a lovely and stretchy cream denim colour, and heavier than some of the jeans I’ve made, the fabric is a bit thin for jeans. Meaning while it stretches nicely to fit, it, ah, hugs all the lumps and bumps rather than smoothing them. When you add portions like the pocket and the rear yoke, that don’t stretch nearly as much, it also creates a few lumps and bumps that wouldn’t be there all on their own. Tucking in tops CAREFULLY and choosing the right pair of underwear are also going to be important (VPL in jeans, who knew?)

Other than that and the Featherweight Tragedy, I’m pretty happy. The piping is nice, the wonky topstitching is fading from memory (fortunately it’s on the butt where I don’t need to look at it), and I finally remembered to make my belt-loops wide enough for all my belts (although it’s the narrow one I’m wearing in the photos).

Rear View

If I were to do it again I would place the pockets higher or make them a little taller. The dip between the petals in the top eats up a surprising amount of space, both visually and practically.

Front view

I like it with the cuffs turned up. Although, the non-stretch lining of the cuffs doesn’t interact especially well with the stretch denim when putting these on. we’ll see how that goes.

Centre-Back belt loop

I put a lot of strain on my belt loops, especially at the centre back, so I like to elaborate them in some way. Often I use three instead of just one at the CB. This time, I made one giant one with piping on both sides. I just piped both edges and topstitched to keep the bias on the inside. Super easy, and a nice finish to boot.

Belt-loop and button

For the other belt-loops, I wanted them more narrow, so I put piping on only one side and just folded the other side under and topstitched.

Vintage buttonholer buttonhole!

This is the first truly successful jeans buttonhole I’ve done—made with the vintage buttonholer and one of my new templates, the short keyhole. It’s the perfect size for the jeans buttons I have (which are admittedly a little wimpy. One of these days I’ll order some genuine good all-metal ones. /sigh.) I will note I find it quite odd that when sewing straight lines on the Janome with heavier thread, I have to turn the tension way up (and often do some other jiggery pokery) but then when zig-zagging I have to turn the tension way down.

You can just about see my neat feature on the fly where I had the two lines of topstitching criss-cross halfway down. This has nothing to do with the fact that my zipper was placed a little too far out from the centre front and couldn’t make the stitch line right where I wanted. Nothing at all… (I find it interesting that some people, who are following the exact same tutorials I do for fly zipper insertion, find that their zipper is still too close to the CF line and tends to gape. I have the opposite problem, with my zippers ending up tucked too far under the fly and often interfering with my ideal topstitching line (the Jalie pattern doesn’t leave you much room for error in this, either, as there’s not a huge fly extension).

Fun pants!

This pink thread is Coats & Clack Heavy Duty XP Dual Duty, or something like that, not the super-fat Guterman topstitching thread. Janome actually likes it fairly well, meaning all I have to do it turn the tension way up, not some of the other finnicky workarounds I’ve come up with for the topstitching thread. But for some reason it all goes whack when zig-zagging—whether with the buttonholer (in which the machine is still set on straight) or the zig-zag stitch. Featherweight handled either flawlessly, although she needed a bit of a tension boost too.

Featherweight afficionados, I have a question: I have generally been advised to use regular thread in the bobbin with my topstitching thread up top. Despite the annoyance of winding extra bobbins, there are times when it would be nice to have topstitching thread on both sides (turn up cuffs, come to the front of the class). Also I can’t help but think it might be sturdier (I have had a fair bit of topstitching failure on some of my earlier jeans where the bottom thread has broken). Can the Featherweight handle this? Any particular pros and cons?

My favourite feature is the piping, I think. I may have to add that to more jeans in the future. But then, piping is kinda addictive at the best of times…

Other things to try in the future:

  • change up the front pockets. The Jalie pocket line manages to be both distinctive and boring. I love the double pockets on Patty’s pair (pattythesnugbug.com is transitioning platforms while I write this so I can’t do a direct link, but looks up her pants posts, she has lots of great musing on fitting and styling)
  • something with lots of rivets. Lots and lots of rivets. I love hardware as much as the next crypto-Goth.
  • distressing. I generally like my jeans fairly crisp and dark wash (obviously these are not dark, but you know what I mean). I lost my taste for buying pre-worn-looking denim right around the time I had to start paying for my own clothing. When you have a $90/pair jeans habit and are on welfare home with a small baby*, you need your jeans to LAST, because you’re probably not getting another pair for a long time. That being said, since I’m making my own, it would be ok to have some more casual pairs with a more RTW look. Just no pre-made holes and paint splatters, please.
  • I have had fun messing with the back pockets on these last few pairs, too. It’s the little details that really make (and distinguish) jeans.
  • draft and make a pair for my husband. Yes, I’m a sucker for punishment. I’m also seriously considering using a women’s draft for him (don’t tell him) as he really fits the women’s measurements considerably better than I do (don’t tell him that either). Boy got back. Which is where Tyo gets it, of course.
*This situation lasted precisely one year. I am profoundly grateful for the social safety net, even gutted as it was after the 90s, as my hubby and I would not have been able to make it through the transition from goofy teenagers to responsible parents without this government aid.** And I would rather shoot myself in the foot than go on welfare again. It SUCKED.
**and considerable support from both our families. I don’t once regret having my children when I did (especially as my field, like most academic ones, doesn’t really put you in a good position to have a family often until your late thirties), but it was HARD. I suspect it’s always hard, but I know we couldn’t have done it—certainly not nearly as well—without our extended families. So on the off chance of any of them reading this

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Tulips and Tears

Tulip Pockets

When I could finally pull myself away from stitching random scraps on my new Featherweight, I settled down to start work on my cream capris. Same old pattern (Jalie 2908), hopefully a few new details.  I was SO excited to be able to thread the Featherweight up with topstitching thread and a) not have to re-thread every other seam and b) not have to jolly my Janome along (she will sew topstitching thread… with some careful finagling).

These pants are inspired by a couple of pairs of my kids’ jeans (kids’ jeans get the best little touches!), with piping and what, for lack of a better term, I’ll call tulip pockets. Using some of my japonesque-print fabric for the piping and pocket lining.

While I maintain that the idea is sound, the execution could use a little tweaking. In particular there’s three layers of denim and four layers of cotton at the bottom of the pockets, making folding and topstitching a little, ah, haphazard. I may have to go back and redo some of the topstitching. Bleh. That’s what I get for trying to cram everything in to an evening.

Three pocket pieces

Anyway, aside from the piping, I used three pieces for the pockets—well, two pattern pieces. The overall shape is based on the shield-shaped pocket I used in the bellbottoms; I traced it off, drew in the curve to make a half-piece, and used a slightly shortened version of the original piece for the backing. I was originally going to just overlap the two “petal” pieces and topstitch them together, as in the inspiration pants, but unlike my children I tend to actually stick stuff in my back pockets, and I wanted to make sure it would stay there, so I added the third piece (rightmost in the photo). Really I should just have used a tiny triangle to fill in the top of the tulip a bit, but the full backing piece was really nice for getting the overlap of the tulips (sorta) symmetrical. I say sorta because I think I inverted two of the pieces by accident when I was piping so the curves aren’t identical. Fortunately, I was able to make the two slightly asymmetrical pockets mirror each other, so it worked out.

Stitch in the ditch

I stitched in the ditch at the edge of the piping to attach the various pocket pieces together, using washable glue-stick to hold things in place. I used the adjustable zipper-foot on my Janome set up as a straight-stitch foot (with the needle going down the middle), so I could see the “ditch” to stitch in it. This helps a lot. Although the feed-dogs on the Janome are definitely not well-positioned for use with a foot this narrow when it’s centred.

Swapping machines during the same project is a new experience to me (the serger doesn’t count, that’s an entirely different beast). The Featherweight is so slow (actually a good thing, especially for topstitching!) and quiet, the Janome is much louder and sews much faster. Also it’s taking some adjusting to remember which hand to use to raise the presser foot. As a lefty, I loved the back position of the presser-foot lever on the Grand Old Dame, and it took quite a while when I got the Janome to get used to lifting the presser foot with my right hand, as the lever is tucked on the inside under the harp. Now, of course, it feels weird to use my left again. You can of course reach under the harp and lift the back lever with your right, but my battered inner lefty is determined not to give in to the right-dominated world in this one small thing (I already use scissors and a computer mouse with my right hand, dammit)

Cuffs

I also made little cuffs for the bottom of the jeans, lined with the japonesque fabric, and hopefully they will look cute turned up or down. I picked the pink topstitching thread as it matched some of the pink in the print, but I’m wondering now (of course, too late) if the somewhat darker blue I was also considering would’ve been better (to make the piping seem a little less stark.)

You can see in the very first photo that I piped the outer seam on the leg. This took some deep breathing on my part, as that’s the place I like to twiddle with the fit, which varies from pair to pair based on the stretch of the fabric. With piping, there is no fit twiddling. But it seems to have worked out, anyway.

My poor baby!

Readers, I have sinned. It has been… two days since my last confession, I guess. Tragedy struck while I was topstitching the fly with the Featherweight. I very carefully marked my curve so I would miss the bottom of the zipper underneath. In my (not undeserved) paranoia, I even hand-cranked through that area. Then, being safely past the bottom of the zip, I went to finish the last inch of the topstitching and—I broke the needle. My guess is I was pulling on the fabric and pulled it off centre with the needle in it, hitting the edge of the needle plate instead of its nice little hole. And after I replaced the needle, it wouldn’t stitch! Or, it’ll stitch once or twice, and then skip five, and then catch one… and… and…

I have a feeling I’m going to be stalking the Featherweight forums this weekend.

Forgive me, Sewing Gods! I have damaged my beautiful, new, vintage machine.

In penance, I shall do five pieces of mending and one full unselfish garment.

I guess that’s one upside of new machines. I wouldn’t be nearly so distressed if I had screwed up my Janome. Of course, I’ve broken probably a dozen needles in her in the exact same way. She puts up with my crap marvelously. Obviously I need to be a little more careful of the Featherweight. She is even older than my mother, after all.

And to make things worse, I have to finish the pants ALL on the Janome.

I’m going to go cry now. And put some belt-loops on the capris.

But mostly cry.

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How to thread a Featherweight (and other adventures)

The Little Lady

I didn’t get a chance to try out my new machine before I left. Not looking a gift sewing machine in the bobbin-case, as the case may be. Anyway, naturally the first thing I had to do once I got in the door (after kissing my husband, anyway) was run downstairs to play with my new toy.

First order of business: threading.

Threading

Now, there’s a vast amount of material out there on the internet concerning Featherweights. Probably everything you could ever want to know. But really, I learned on a vintage machine, albeit not quite this calibre  of vintage, and I could already see that the basic threading was pretty familiar. Nothing like my mother-in-law’s drop-in bobbin, sideways-spool-holding Janome that made my brain fall out.

Bobbin

The bobbin orientation, which is 90 degrees to the left of what I’m used to, was a little odd, but everything else about the bobbin casing and the bobbins was familiar enough. Fortunately or not, the machine came with its bobbins still wound with a small rainbow of thread (glad to know I’m not the only one who does that!) so I didn’t have to figure out how to wind a bobbin right off the bat. I love how easy-access the bobbin is—just lift up the folding platform at the left and it’s right there.

Bobbin rainbows.

So, I loaded up a bobbin, got the thread up to the top, inserted a scrap of fabric under the foot, and…

The engine whirred, the feed dogs moved, the needle sailed up and down,a nd within about three stitches I had a hopeless tangle and the thread fouling on the bobbin casing had sliced through itself.

Trying not to panic, I removed the bobbin from its case, put it in the other way, re-threaded, tried again.

And again.

And again.

So pretty

After ten or so tries (thinking all the while about that definition of insanity as repeating the same action expecting a different result) I reluctantly came upstairs to google “how to thread a featherweight”. But no great surprises revealed themselves. I had had the bobbin inserted properly the first time; the top thread ran through its  hooks, holes, and tension assembly just as I had thought. My stomach sank. Was something (ulp) wrong with my machine? Was the timing off? (My serger acted similarly when its timing was thoroughly blown, everything moving but somehow the stitches just not forming properly) Was something even more dire amis?

Then I reached the last, the very end, of the threading instructions.

The one major difference between the Featherweight and the other machines I have used before now. The needle (like the bobbin) is oriented at 90 degrees to the front. Instead of the eye of the needle going from front to back, it passes from right to left.*

As I’m a lefty and it was easier to get at, I had without any particular thought threaded the needle with the thread entering from the left and exiting from the right. It never would have occurred to me in a million years that THIS was the one tiny thing that could throw the entire stitch off. But there it was, in the instructions, scanned from some original manual. Thread the needle from right to left.

I rushed downstairs and switched my thread.

She sews!

And lo, she stitched. With a minor tension adjustment, she stitched beautifully. She stitched with top-stitch thread. She stitched with the buttonholer attachment. She stitched layer upon layer of denim.

Stitch-length lever. Lift to stitch backwards.

Eventually, I figured out how to backstitch (move the stitch-length lever all the way to the top). I haven’t quite wrapped my mind around not having to hold on to something to keep it stitching backwards.

Some fun details:

My mom purchased this machine through the antique shop where she works, in my home town. The machine belonged to the mother-in-law of the woman who lived next door to us when I was little.

1951

A plaque on the front of the machine declares 100 years of Singer excellence. This makes me think the machine was probably made in 1951. The serial number begins with EF, which this website suggests means that it was manufactured in the UK (Scotland, to be precise) in 1949. The motor, on the other hand, says it was made in Canada and has some notation that includes “AU 61” which makes me think August, ’61. Obviously the motor could have been replaced… anyway. I’m inclined to go with 1951 for the year, at least.

The motor

It came with neither attachments nor manual, but it did have a few cute extras in the box:

Vintage Singer needles

Several packets of needles.

Un-cleaning set

The original cleaning set. I don’t think any of these will be getting too close to the machine. That’s an impressive amount of rust, especially when there’s none at all visible on the machine itself.

Repairs

Receipts for repairs done in 1980. There’s some notes about earlier repairs stapled to the back.

Also in my home town, my mom found another Greist buttonholder at Value Village for $1.99. This one had a box of additional templates tucked in with it. She’s keeping the buttonholer, but let me have the extra templates. A shorter keyhole (yay!) but no eyelet.

More buttonhole templates! (yes, they fit)

So in short, I’m ready for my next project!

Next project! Summery capris

*Those of you who know Featherweights probably all know what I was doing wrong by now. Hush, don’t spoil it for the rest.

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