Tag Archives: too much talk

August 31, 2012 · 9:03 am

Carol Evans’ Wardrobe

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Moving stress + running errands our last day in Cow Town + 50% off sale at Value Village facilitated a bit of a splurge on vintage children’s patterns, I fear. How can you resist a bit of retail therapy for a quarter apiece?

The patterns range in size from 4 to 6X, and all seem to have been intended for wear by a girl named Carol Evans, who I presume was a vampire trapped eternally in a child’s body, since the patterns range in vintage from 50s through 70s. Or they might have been collected more recently by a mom-stitcher with a thing for vintage patterns, not unlike myself. But really, I think it’s the vampire thing.

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This fifties housecoat just may be the child’s version of this pattern, which Peter and Cathy rehabilitated so stunningly into an “Opera Coat.” I’m going to assume that our little vampire was at least as capable of turning something so drab and basic into something luxe and glamorous as Cathy is.

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This might just be the quintessential fifties little girl dress. According to this website, it’s from 1954, as is the preceding housecoat. Also, I love the little capelet. Every vampire (child) needs a capelet. Not to mention plenty of variations on a dress, for when she gets blood on it. Also, those of you who did time in Vampire: The Masquerade, dig the black satin version with the rose.

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Something about the white version of this sweet little sailor dress just makes me squee. Presumably this had a similar effect on Carol Evans. Or possibly she ran away to sea to hide her lack of aging. You have to keep moving when you’re a vampire child.

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Doesn’t this one looked sophisticated? I want to say very Jackie O, but I wasn’t around back then to observe and haven’t really researched, so you can correct me if necessary. Or maybe it’s Chanel. Doesn’t that little jacket need to be made of boucle, with a quilted lining and chain in the hem? Poor Carol has been size six for at least a decade, after all—she has to be feeling more grown-up inside than out. This is just the dress for when she wants to look like a miniature (and very chic) adult

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These two McCall’s patterns fascinate me, not so much for their contents as their style. I had instantly pegged the dress as sixties (based on the illustration style, the dress itself is such a classic I think with minor hem-length variations it would look at home in any decade since 1900. Possibly 1850.) The pants wardrobe, on the other hand, I had pegged as classic 70s. The fashions, the art, the bell-bottoms, the gingham. Then I checked the dates on both patterns. The 60s one is indeed earlier—1968. But the “70s” pattern is 1969. I kind of feel like I’ve captured the cusp of a decade in pattern form—a snapshot of the transition from one style regime to another. Especially since both are by the same company. As for Carol, well, they both obviously cater to her need to appear childlike and innocent to manipulate the adult humans around her. Can’t have anyone suspecting, after all.

The patterns go on (It appears later in the 70s Carol headed somewhere chilly and needed some serious winter gear) but I think I’ll leave it at that. Speculation on the life of Carol the vampire child welcome in the comments! 😉

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August 30, 2012 · 8:56 pm

Moving Home

I imagine all of you who’ve been reading this week have realized we’re in the throes of moving.

In particular, we are Moving Home. After five years in the Big City (or the Western Canadian equivalent, anyway, which my American co-workers assure me isn’t anything like actually big), we’re moving back to our hometown, which thinks it’s a big city only because there’s no comparison within easy driving distance.

As with any such move, I’m a little torn. Part of me is excited to be back around the friends and family I’ve missed so much. Part of me feels like we’re admitting failure, running back to the small and familiar. Part of me is sad because I know it won’t be the same, regardless.

But on the sewing front, despite the intense tragedy of losing my in-home sewing room (current plan is to set up at my mother-in-law’s house, a few blocks away), I’m actually pretty excited. About (I know!) sewing for other people.

Aside from my the assortment of nieces, I am excited about sewing for my sisters-in-law and my mother.

My stylish sister-in-law is close to my size, but she’s a classic pear shape, very different from mine. We’ve been stealing each others’ clothes since we were teenagers (yes, I was still a teenager when I met her…) , with varying degrees of success. And she’s kept my children for a full month every summer for the last five years, with little or no recompense, so a bit of sewing is the least of what I owe her. Also, I’m pretty sure her figure is more-or-less what Tyo is going to end up with in a few years, so hopefully I can get ahead of the curve there. 😉

My crafty sister-in-law is a little bigger than us, and curvy, with a classic hourglass shape. She’s the only person I’ve ever measured who actually has bust, waist, and hips in the same size by the pattern envelopes, although probably she needs a smaller size in the shoulders. She’s also one of those people who never wants to spend the time and money on herself to look as good as she could—she wears oversize clothes, whatever she can pick up cheap. I’d like to help her feel as beautiful as she actually is, although how receptive she’ll be remains to be seen.

And then there’s my mother. The woman who taught me to sew. The woman who sewed the Grad Dress. The woman I learned style from, even if my style has never been on the same planet as hers. And one of the biggest crimps in my mom’s style over the years has been fit—she has the same short waist, long limbs, and square shoulders that I have,  plus a full bust—so I’m excited to get her at least a few items that actually fit, both her body and her style.

Then there’s my (almost) fifteen-year-old niece (daughter of Crafty, for those attempting to keep track). Not sure if I want to sew for her or not. I mean, I’d love to if she wanted to. (I’d love even more if we could sew together and it could be that rarest of things, adult-teenage bonding time) But it would have to be very niece-led. I have zero interest in creating something for a teenager they’re not going to wear.  And of course there’s my little nieces, who are enjoying their new dresses.

Don’t worry—I promise I’ll extract blog-modeling promises before embarking on any of this non-selfish sewing.

 

But first I need to get that sewing room set up!

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August 12, 2012 · 9:03 pm

The Black Leather Dress

Black leather dress.

Once upon a time, in the dying days of the 20th century, I bought, at the local vintage clothing store, a dress that was not vintage, nor really classic any way at all, but that was homemade.

Far more important to me at the time, of course, was that it was black and it was leather. Looking back on it, I have the sinking feeling that it was someone’s idea of a costume for Xena, Warrior Princess. Either that or it’s fetish-wear escaped from someone’s personal dungeon. Regardless, it was an absolute delight to my teenage sensibilities, and has never lost its place in my closet since, despite the situations calling for it being about as common as hen’s teeth in my life these days.

C’mon, you can’t model a Xena dress without a sword.*

I keep trying to come up with a quick description, you know, such as might be printed on the pattern for such a dress. Halter-type, open backed dress has princess seams, boning, and Roman Legionary skirt?

Like so many of our home-stitched garments, it has a few quirks. Although, it’s hard to say where design ends and quirk begins, and then there’s the issue that it was probably perfectly-tailored to the original wearer. Or maybe not.

Repurposed?

So, the obvious: plenty of interesting seaming, perfect for using small scraps of (possibly reclaimed) leather. At least one of the gladiator-strips at the bottom has a previous stitching line crossing it, suggesting it has been repurposed. I do wish these bottom strips were a bit more substantial—double-layered or at least topstitched. They look kind of unfinished and cheap.

Unzipped

The straps are an odd combination-halter-type I’ve never seen elsewhere: the main strap is a simple halter, snapping behind the neck, but then there’s this accessory strap that rungs from under the arm up the back of the shoulder, and attaches to the halter just on either side of the snap.

Back view

This strap sits at a bit of an odd angle, and has always folded a little awkwardly on me at the back of the arm, unless I slouch significantly. Does this mean that the original owner had a more rounded, stooped, or slant-shouldered posture than I? Or was it just some quirk of imperfect or inexperienced drafting?

Snap and straps

The snap is not exactly perfectly-applied, but is less mangled than mine usually are, and let’s face it, anyone who sets snaps through that many layers of leather by hand has my kudos.

Back zipper.

The entire dress zips open at the back with a separating zipper that, oddly, opens from the bottom. Was this planned, or did our seamstress mess up and then decide to keep it since, well, unpicking leather? I can’t say it makes the dress any easier to get into, although it’s certainly quick to get out of. Hmm. Is that another point for the fetish-gear argument?

Lining

The inside is lined with a thin stretch lining of some kind, with all the same piecing as the outside. I think I would’ve wanted to simplify for the lining, personally. It is very short. In fact, I hadn’t quite appreciated just how short the whole thing is from the back until taking photos this time. Which is why the back view photo is only from the hips up. Hmm. And this is not the dress that caused my mother to declare I looked like a hooker when she first saw me wear it.

Lining attachment

The lining appears to have been hand-stitched in place all along the top edge, where there is a narrow leather facing; the hand-stitching continues up the insides of the narrow straps, which also kind of makes sense—I think turning straps in leather would be a pain in the butt.

Boning in front.

Something I only noticed just now (now that I’m finally looking at it with a stitcher’s eye is the presence of two pieces of flexible plastic boning stitched to the seam-allowances in the front. Along only one edge of the boning, since the seam allowance isn’t wide enough for both. They took the time to tip the bones with leather, though, so they wouldn’t poke through.

There’s no internal seam finishing on the leather or the lining, not that anything’s in danger of ravelling, and the hem on the lining is made with a simple zig-zag.

Luv

/sigh. For all its weirdness (and impracticality), I still love this dress.

Back in the day.

And, just to prove its antiquity, here’s a shot of it in actual use, from New Years Y2K itself. With Osiris, and though you can’t really tell, an itty-bitty Tyo bump.

*What, you mean you don’t have swords lying around the house? C’mon. I mean, some of you probably have guns in the house—now that’s whack.

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August 3, 2012 · 10:52 pm

Funnygrrl’s Dress—The Meetup

Funnygrrl & I

My fellow Cow Town citizen, Funnygrrl, who blogs at Falling Through Your Clothes, and I first met up (after a LOT of missed opportunities) last spring, for a very exciting fabric-shop and coffee date, where she gave me a bit of rather pretty fabric and I talked her into buying a rather expensive serger.

Now, my fairly intense enabling aside, Funnygrrl first presented two pieces of fabric, both lovely linens with an identical embroidered border motif—one in black with white embroidery, one in white with black. I would take one, she would take the other, and at some point in the future we would have lovely “twin” dresses to remember each other by.

Meeting

Well, as they say, The Future Is Now. A little while back, as the panic of my impending move descended, I realized if I wanted to have the twin dress meetup, as fantasized, before hundreds of kilometres come to separate us, I had better get stitching. So I put on my big girl panties and started cutting Simplicity 5549. By some miracle, Funnygrrl’s head was in the same place, and when I emailed her to let her know I was cutting fabric, we wound up being able to schedule a quick coffee to catch up and photograph our dresses together, as nature intended. Now, I actually have a whole post written up about the dress itself, but when I tried to glom the meetup onto it, it was just getting long, so I’ll post that one tomorrow. Or maybe after the Promaballoona dust settles.

I am an angelic presence, apparently. My camera really did not like the lighting in there.

Funnygrrl and I met up at a local indoor garden (actually the top floor of a mall) called the Devonian Gardens, where us pale, sun-starved northerners can go to pretend we’re somewhere, well, other than the cold and frozen north (which isn’t cold and frozen at this time of year, although it was chilly and rainy, hence my tights.) I was all excited by the name, and while the garden itself is beautiful, I must confess to a teeny, tiny bit of disappointment that none of my favourite transitional fossils were making an appearance.* But other than that it was lovely, especially since it was pretty grey and chilly outside.

Big Wall Of Green. Funnygrrl’s camera handles my dress somewhat better than mine.

Very big. Very green. Very wall.

Fun in the (artificial) sun

It’s probably just as well you can’t see my dress very well—I’d been wearing it all day and was definitely sporting the rumpled linen look, although it didn’t get quite as bad as I had feared it might.

Funnygrrl & Tanit-Isis

Funnygrrl even brought spanky blog shoes to change into for the photos—clever woman! I am wearing my ubiquitous, desperately-need-to-be-replaced ballet flats. In fairness, they didn’t need to be replaced desperately until last weekend, when I forgot my water shoes and wound up spending the whole day wading in the river, wearing them. Oops. Do you have blog shoes? I confess, I have a whole box.

Thanks, Funnygrrl!

Photo credit for these goes to Funnygrrl (except for the one where my dress is looking truly angelic), since a) her camera’s better than mine, and b) it’s silly enough having one person running around working the self-timer, never mind both of us. So I mostly let her do it.

Oh, aside from taking photos like a pair of tourists in oddly complementary outfits, we sat and talked. And talked and talked. Until it started getting dark on us, basically. I love hanging with sewing peeps.

Acanthostega, a Devonian tetrapod with gills, toes, and a tail-fin.

*Er. It occurs to me that that was probably even more obscure than my usual run-of-the-mill science jokes. So the Devonian Period is a stage of geological history that happened roughly between 400 and 350 million years ago. It was marked by the evolution of the first full-canopy forest ecosystems and, most interestingly from a vertebrate-centric point of view, the first land vertebrates. Panderichthys, Tiktaalik, and Acanthostega are progressively less fish-like examples of the fish-tetrapod transition, which happened in the late Devonian and has to be one of the neatest “events” in evolutionary history. And Acanthostega had eight toes. Does it get any cooler than that?

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July 26, 2012 · 8:00 am

Lengths of the Pantses

Patternmaking for Fashion Design

Curiosity over the actual definition (if there is such a thing) of the names for the various pants lengths after the piratas*/capris post led me to do some book-type sleuthing.

Here’s one picture, from Patternmaking for Fashion Design by Helen Joseph-Armstrong. According to it, we are all wrong and “capris” are the length only one inch above the ankle bone (which I would’ve called pedal-pushers or flood pants or clam-diggers, if pressed). Her pedal pushers and “toreador” length I would both have called capris. Apparently Bermudas are quite a bit shorter than I’d thought, only about 3/4 of the way down the thigh. Maybe I’m mixing them up with men’s board shorts. Probably this says something about the imprecision of everyday word usage, regional variation, and just my own failure to pay attention. Of course, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s no actual standardized terminology. I don’t think there’s an International Code of Fashion Nomenclature that will bar your style from sale if it isn’t labeled appropriately.

What do you think? Any other “official” length designations out there I should be aware of? I’m a little torn on issues like this. On the one hand, who the frick cares? On the other hand, I spend most of my professional life dealing with extremely technical terminology, and I really appreciate the precision it allows. If there is an agreed upon standard, I’d like to at least know what it is so that if I screw it up, it’s on purpose.

Ooo, oo, I know what Tyo’s pants are!

Moi, circa 1983. Jeez I loved this outfit. I am pretty sure my mom made it.

They’re knickers!!!!

Ok, I’ll stick with capris. Or piratas.

*the Patrones magazine is in Spanish, from Spain. Given the differences in clothing terminology between England and North America, I’m not going to assume that the terminology Patrones uses is common to Spanish-speakers worldwide, either.

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July 20, 2012 · 6:27 pm

Thank you, ElleC

Prezzies

In an effort to make me feel better as my brain esplodes with all the crazy* going in my life right now, famed philanthropist ElleC sent me a care-package.

Two books on nifty sewing techniques.

Because something else to read is exactly what I need right now.

Not to mention inspiration about time-consuming hand-decorating techniques I HAVE NO TIME FOR.

Yes, like all ElleC’s gifts, this one is edged with malice aforethought. However, I am quite sure I will thoroughly enjoy reading through both Sewing with Knits (practical!)  and Fine Embellishment Techniques (exciting!)

Thank you, ElleC.

Thank you.

No, I mean it, really. 😀

Also, Canada Post managed to deliver these in like, two days? Which is insanely impressive for them. I mean, ElleC and I aren’t located too far apart, as the crow flies, but there’s still like mountains in the way and stuff. Thank you, Canada Post.

*I.e. trying to finish a PhD thesis, juggle various family medical issues (not mine), and preparing to move back to our hometown at the end of the summer with neither savings nor promising career prospects, all without having a total nervous breakdown.

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July 18, 2012 · 9:43 am

Fantasy sewing: Fantastic Menswear

A little while back, Peter posted one of his periodic dirges discussing the dearth of stylish modern menswear patterns. However, not one to be a negative Nellie, he went on to highlight one of the more exciting periods, historically, in menswear, the 1970s, and, in particular, the patterns Butterick—the Fashion One—put out for men during this time period. (And the ready availability of said patterns today, often in uncut condition—which probably says something about why they don’t still make ’em like that)

This touching paean niggled something in my memory. Something about 70s menswear.

Butterick 4711

Aha! there it is, folks, Butterick 4711, a men’s suit pattern I thrifted for, as you can see, the princely sum of a half dollar, uncut except for the vest. And designed by, or at least approved by?, Robert L. Green, whoever that is. (Ok, apparently he was the style director at Playboy during the 60s and 70s, among other things.)

While I certainly couldn’t resist this pattern, especially in the size 40 (exactly my husband’s size! Well, for the jacket, anyway), the odds of me actually making it up are, ah, infinitesimal. My husband, despite being only a couple of years older than me, came of age firmly in the 80s. He’d be much more likely to wear this pattern (image also courtesy of Peter) than a very 70s suit.

That being said, Peter’s post prompted me to pull out the pattern and peruse the instructions, as one does, y’know. Some nifty details emerged:

A very nifty fly indeed.

French Fly! (Or at least, that’s what Carolyn called it. See her tutorial. See it now. (durr, I wasn’t paying attention and scanned the picture of the fly, but not the part of the instructions concerning it. Oh well. Go read Carolyn’s tutorial instead.)

Welt pockets!

Welt pockets that hang from the waistband–COOL! Maybe you’ve seen this detail elsewhere? I don’t think I have, not that I’m overly versed in fine tailoring. Still cool.

Vest with odd neck bit.

Odd back-neck strap on the vest. Apparently whoever made the vest before thought it was odd, too, as it’s been clipped off the front pattern and pinned in place on the other piece.

I didn’t get into the jacket instructions, partly because they’re too involved for the amount of time/energy I have right now, partly because it’s for only a partial lining, which isn’t acceptable in menswear as far as I’m concerned, not that I’m any kind of expert.

Now, my husband won’t wear any element of this suit, as I said, except perhaps the vest. My husband does wear vests. And wear them very well, I may add. 😉 My very ticklish fancy is currently dying to make him a soft and summery vest in white slub linen. Of course, I don’t have any white slub linen… but a plain white linen would do (see photo at the top).

Of course if I propose this, he’s going to ask where his jacket is.

/sigh.

But it’s a good fantasy, isn’t it?

Oh, I also got, at the same time, the coordinating boy’s suit pattern:

Butterick 5205

If only I had a sartorially adventurous twelve-year-old boy to sew for. No? Maybe not.

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July 10, 2012 · 8:00 am

It has been brought to my attention…

That yesterday, I wantonly and willfully, with complete disregard for public health and wellbeing,  planted the Spiderman theme song (and Simpsons version), in the minds of hundreds of innocent readers.

For this, I humbly apologize, and, in meagre recompense, offer you this:

Spiderdress Throwdown

Yes. Photoshopped Spider Dress Throwdown Sewdown.

Unfortunately, I was too lazy to go back and take photos in more active, cooler poses, so this is what you get. I like to think we’re about to go rescue some poor soul from the curse of ill-fitting storebought clothing…

Also, this is totally Oona’s fault.

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July 3, 2012 · 8:26 am

Somebody Else’s Handmade Dress

A dress of semi-mysterious origin.

Ok, how to explain the provenance of this dress? My crafty sister-in-law (techically my brother-in-law’s wife), has, astonishingly, both a mother and a daughter. Long and long ago, her mother was a seamstress, and at some point ended up with a store of (now) vintage dresses. A year or two back, she offered one of these to my crafty sister-in-law’s daughter for her grade 8 graduation. She altered the dress quite a bit, in particular removing the sleeves and shortening it, but in the end, said ungrateful child didn’t like it (at least partly because it’s quite tight in the bust on her,* but also because her grandmother wouldn’t shorten the hem any further) and wore a modern, storebought dress instead. On my most recent visit Home, said ungrateful child offered the dress to me. And then, when I tried it on, declared how great it looked on me.

I, also, think it looks great on me.

I’m not entirely sure how to take that, frankly, but anyway. Here’s the dress. Questionable taste of fourteen-year-olds aside, I like it quite a bit.

The vintage is late sixties or early 70s (I was told 70s but the style feels more 60s to me… maybe that’s just the length, though, which has been altered). It’s an empire-line cut with a darted bodice and long darts to fit the skirt over the hips. In fact, it’s very similar in style to the grad dress my mother made herself in 1970. And it was entirely home-made, by someone whose skill, while adequate, certainly wasn’t any greater than most of us bloggy types.

The interior.

The dress is unlined, but entirely underlined. It’s made out of a satiny teal twill, undoubtedly polyester, with an overlay of white lace in the bodice area.

“ribbon” waistband

The matching ribbon “waistband” and bow at the front are made of tubes of the fashion fabric, finished by hand at the ends.

Seam finish and darts

The raw edges on the inside are finished with a zig-zag (with considerably less rolling than I’ve ever encountered when zig-zagging). The long, double-ended waist darts have a snip in the middle, to allow them to curve more smoothly. Possibly I should be doing something similar for my Project Drop Waist efforts, but I’m not a big fan of the raw edges. I suppose that’s what lining is for.

Shoulder seam

The shoulder-seam is finished by hand. Given that the dress originally had sleeves, and how freakin’ snug it is under the armpits, I suspect my sister-in-law’s mother took the shoulders up to shorten the whole bodice for my niece, who may be busty but is definitely not tall. The bust darts are distinctly high on me, too, although where the empire waist falls is perfect. (That being said, before I read the Slapdash Sewist’s trick, I used to sometimes finish sleeveless shoulders this way, too, so I didn’t have to hand-stitch in the lining (in this case, facing). But like I said, the dress originally had sleeves, so I can’t imagine why it would’ve had this kind of finish on the shoulder if it’s not from alteration.)

Lapped zipper

The back zipper is lapped, and the top has some of the same kind of funkiness that I tend to run into when I attempt such things, making me think that either that’s intentional or that the dress’s original stitcher was as inept as I generally am. Other than that it’s reasonably well executed, but not hand-picked.

Back view

The bodice fits well enough but the rib zone is, ah, snug. Cute, but not quite fit perfection (not recommended if deep breathing is going to be required, either).  As per usual, the portion above the waist is a smidge long (but less than I might have expected, which also makes me think the shoulders were taken up). Fortunately, there’s lots of room in the hips. The horizontal fold deepens a bit at centre back—swayback joy.

Inside view of bodice darts

The bodice darts are sliced, zig-zagged, and pressed open to reduce bulk. I have heard of this, but haven’t tried it yet myself. I think that about covers the construction details, however. Oh, bodice is finished with a one-piece facing, which you’d be able to see in the first interior picture if you clicked to embiggen it.

Still cute. Fit quibbles aside, I feel like a curvy bombshell in this dress. Which is unusual for me.

Also, I GOT A HAIRCUT! It’s been, um, six months. Aiee. I feel human again! Although I tried to use a hair wax to style it this time, like my stylist does. When she does it it looks smooth and soft and fluffy. Somehow, whenever I try to use a wax, it ends up stringy and greasy-looking. But I won’t complain, because I love my haircut. And this dress. I totally don’t think it’s over the top to wear a vintage 60s prom dress for running errands. Do you?

*yes, my fourteen-year-old niece gives me hand-me-downs…

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June 26, 2012 · 7:21 pm

My baby

Those of you who come here just for the sewing, feel free to skip this one. I’m taking a moment to mush out.

Tyo

Dear Tyo,

When you were born, I looked at you and was overwhelmed by how much love there must be in the world, if every mother feels this much looking at her baby for the first time. I was young, and scared, and excited, and uncertain of just about everything,  but my love for you was instant and immense and unremitting, and being your mother has been, and continues to be, the most exhilarating adventure of my life.

Today, you graduated from grade six. In a few weeks you’ll be twelve. You’re not yet a woman, but the shape of your childhood is changing, and everything about you hints at the changes that are coming. You amaze me, challenge me, and drive me nuts every single day, and the privilege of watching you grow is the most amazing gift you could ever have given me. You are strong and confident, passionate and compassionate, vulnerable and astounding. I know you’re going to have to work hard in life—as you already do—to overcome your particular challenges, but I also know that you have the will, determination and, yes, the charisma, to do just that. You are already becoming  the person you dream of. And I can’t tell you how excited I am that I am privileged to watch you, be there for you, and probably even get in your way from time to time, on this journey.

I love you to the moon.

I know you’re sad to be leaving your school and moving away from so many friends—and you have wonderful friends—but I am so excited for the things that you are doing, the person you are becoming, and the adventure that lies ahead. I know that wherever you go, whatever you do, you will shine like a beacon. You are one of those people who lights up a room, whose smile gets under the skin, who inspires us just by breathing, and if you choose, I know you’ll change the world, just as you’ve already changed all of us who know you.

As the story says, I love you to the moon

and back.

***

Ok, I’m going to go blow my nose now. I’ll be back with some sewing stuff later…

PS, if anyone asks, I’m blaming this whole post on K-Line.

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