Dear Gertie: A Cry for Help!

Readers, today's question from Anna is a dire one. This poor woman is abroad and her sewing machine died! Can you imagine? Here's what she wrote to me.

Dear Gertie,

I'm a military wife and just moved from the U.S. to a new base in Norway. I brought my $500 Brother sewing machine (Best. gift. ever!) with me and committed the ultimate sin. All the other Americans here tell me the everyone blows at least one appliance on the different electricity but I hoped I would be smarter than them. (I'm guessing this is my Karma for being a snob) I plugged my machine into the wrong outlet on my transformer and turned my machine on. it made a sickening*Pop* and is dead. Sewing has been my one link to sanity. I'm a career girl who sews my own clothes because I love to, but I'm waiting on a Norwegian work permit (which can take months and months) and now I have nothing to do!

My question after entirely too much back story is, have you ever sewn a dress, or any other substantial project completely by hand? Do you know of any web sites with tips for better hand stitching? I'm hoping the sheer length of stitches to complete a dress will placate all my crazy instead of amplifying it!

Thanks for hearing out my rant,

Anna
AirForce wife extraordinaire
Sola, Norway

First of all, Anna, your poor thing! I totally understand how you feel. I was unemployed for about five months earlier this year, and my sewing machine was definitely what kept me going through many a day at home alone.

The idea of sewing something entirely by hand is an intriguing one. When we're so used to zipping through stitches with our machines, it's hard to remember that people used to sew clothing entirely by hand. And they still do! Last weekend, I watched the documentary Valentino: the Last Emperor. Everything in Valentino's couture workroom is done by hand. My favorite moment in the film was when Valentino's partner tells a story about the time they bought a sewing machine for the workroom, but got rid of it since no one ever used it. 100 seamstresses and everything is done by hand!

I've never completed a garment entirely by hand, but I think it would be an awesome project! Think of it as a challenge, and pretend that you're a seamstress in a couture house, and you can only use the finest hand-sewing methods.

Here's what I think you should do. Take a simple project, like a camisole or blouse with an uncomplicated design. Purchase the very, very best materials you can afford, and focus on enjoying every stitch of your couture project. Just think how treasured that garment will be when you're done!

Here are a few links I found that might help you:

• BurdaStyle's tutorial on making a strong backstitch for seams
• "Create Couture Lingerie" from Threads Magazine
• "A Hand-Picked Zipper Is Worth the Effort" from Threads Magazine
• Hand-Sewn buttonhole tutorial from CraftStylish
  

Also, if you can get your hands on a copy of the book Couture Sewing Techniques by Claire Shaeffer, it's enormously helpful.

Good luck! Please tell us what you decide to do. Readers, do you have any thoughts or links to online resources for Anna?
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Call for Entries: Most Awesomely Bad Pattern EVER

Let's take a moment to thank ZipZapKap, who brought to our attention her 70's McCall's pattern for apron chaps, which have to be the most sublimely horrible thing I've ever seen. Seriously, I'm (practically) speechless. It got me in the mood for a little contest here at my Blog for Better Sewing. So, I'm sending out a call for entries: can you top these apron chaps?

Please send your entry for MOST AWESOMELY BAD PATTERN EVER to me at gertie [at] blogforbettersewing [dot] com. Or post a link to your entry in the comments here! It's up to you to decide what makes a pattern awesomely bad: the design in general, the pattern art, etc. Patterns from all decades (including now) are up for entry.

The exact details of the prize are TBD, but I'm thinking it will be the pattern of your choice ($20 or less) on Etsy.

You have until the end of the day of Friday, 11/13. I'll then choose my top three and post a poll to let you choose the winner!

Update: Enter as many times as you like!
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Marking Unprinted Patterns

It's a two-post day, in celebration of BurdaStyle Thursday! Today, my guest post on the BurdaStyle blog is about using vintage patterns that are unprinted. (Up until the mid-50's, patterns were marked with perforations, rather than black printed marks like we have now. This can be a little disorienting until you get used to it.) As a little companion piece, I'm posting here on the two methods that I use for marking with vintage patterns.

Marking unprinted patterns is like a line from a police interrogation scene: "We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way." So let's start with the easy way: chalk marking.

Start by pinning your pattern to the fabric and cutting it out. Here's what it will look like. (This is the front pattern piece of the Peter Pan collar version of the bow-tied blouse, FYI.)

Take a piece of tailor's chalk and use it to color in the little holes on the front. (See my BurdasStyle piece today for info on determining which holes are crucial to mark, and which aren't.)

Next, mark the back. To do this, poke a pin through each hole.

Then turn the pattern piece over and make a mark by the pinpoint on the back. Voila! Both sides will be marked.

Now, for the hard way: tailor's tacks. This really isn't all that hard (just more time-consuming), and it's great for fabrics that don't take chalk marks well.

Start by threading a needle with thread in a color that will stand out on your fabric. Make it a double thread, and do not knot the ends.align="center">

Next, take a little bite out of both layers of the fabric, inside the perforation you want to mark. Do not catch any of the pattern tissue.

Pull the thread through, and then repeat this stitch, making a little thread loop.

Once you've marked all the perforations you need to, unpin the pattern tissue and pull it off the fabric. Your trusty little thread loops will remain.

Next, pull your two layers of fabric apart and snip the threads between them.

Now you have marks on both sides of both pieces of the fabric! Hooray!

That's all there is to it. Any questions? Ask away in the comments!

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Patterns for Dudes

I loved all your varied responses to this post, where I asked if you knew any men who sew. I was also pleasantly surprised to get quite a few responses from readers who are men who sew.

Commenter "d" had the following thoughts to share on the lack of male sewists:

Mostly it's cultural: men aren't supposed to sew, so they don't. And those who have some interest get discouraged by the treatment they get from people like the clerks at fabric stores (who look at me like they think I'm going to rob the place, until they get used to me.). And the *total lack* of decent patterns for men's clothing.

Interesting, eh? I think there are some good points here, even though I'm a humorless old feminist who bristles a bit at men complaining about getting poor treatment because of their gender. But I see what d is saying . . . we live in a culture that has certain expectations of traditional masculinity, and those expectations do not include being interested in sewing.

But what I really liked about his comment was the point that men's patterns suck. From what I've seen out there, I would have to agree. Even vintage patterns for men are pretty boring (though their envelope illustrations are unintentionally hilarious, usually involving pipes and ascots - or both!).

From what I've observed about contemporary men's pattern collections, they are either:

1) Boring.

2) Containing a highly disproportionate ratio of vests and Hawaiian shirts. (Fun fact: of the 12 patterns for men that Simplicity offers, 6 of them include a vest. That's a whopping 50% vest rate!)


3) Um . . . whatever all this is.

But, let's face it, men's clothes are just not so exciting in general, unless you get into advanced tailoring and custom flourishes. But perhaps I'm showing my gender bias here. What do you all think about the state of patterns for dudes?
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Armed and Ready (for Coat-Making!)

So, I confessed to you last week that I was intimidated by how complicated coat-making seems. In fact, I was ready to wimp out and take all the shortcuts I could. But then one of you lovely commenters brought me to my senses.

Here's what kbenco wrote:

I'm sorry to disagree with the "just go for it" vibe here, but I think your Modern Vogue pattern is deceiving you. IMO the instructions should start with "Consult a good tailoring reference". If you make a coat without fiddly interfacing and lining etc etc, you will be able to wear it, but will you be happy with it? I threw out my first real jacket, made from the instructions in the Vogue pattern envelope, after I had made one from the same pattern, using tailoring references, which I liked about a thousand times better. A nicely made coat would be worth all the work.

First of all, I adore her sassy attitude! I love a broad with strong opinions. Her thoughts definitely touched a nerve, and I've committed to doing this thing the right way.

The first thing I did was write to the lovely Nancy K, who lives in my region and participated in the Great Coat Sew-Along (with fantastic results!). Nancy was very generous with advice for me, especially concerning what kind of interlining is good for our part of the country.


So, armed with Nancy's guidance and a reference book I picked up at the FIT bookstore, I headed to the Garment District and shopped til I dropped. Seriously, my bags got so heavy I almost tipped down the subway stairs. Let me tell you, it got expensive fast. In fact, I spent about the same in supplies for this coat as I did for the last coat that I bought at Macy's. Granted, that coat is a worthless piece of crap. I have to keep reminding myself that this coat is going to be much better and warmer and more fabulous than anything I could buy ready-to-wear. (Right?)

My shopping spoils included:

1. 5-1/4 yards red wool/cashmere flannel from Paron's
   
2. 2-1/2 yards polka dot silk charmeuse for the lining from A.K. Fabrics
3. Heavy tailor's muslin for testing the pattern
4. Black lambswool for interlining (it's so soft and fluffy!)
   
5. Sew-in hair canvas for the undercollar and hem
6. Weft interfacing for the front facing

And believe it or not, there are more supplies to be bought. I managed to forget thread and shoulder pads. And there might be shoulder head whatsits and pressing thingamabobs needed (I'll have to consult my reference book for the exact terminology here.) And I'm also going to have covered buttons custom made. (Squee!)

So, here I go. Wish me luck! I'm going to get the muslin sewn up this week. I'll definitely be looking to you sassy, opinionated broads for feedback on the fit.

P.S. Just to note: I took the above photo in artificial light and couldn't get across the fabulous lipstick-red color of the wool, sadly. But trust me: it is a fab, true red hue. Not orange-y at all. Coordinates perfectly with MAC Russian Red lipstick!
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Presenting the Bow-Tied Blouse!

This is project 7 of 14 from Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing! Can you believe I'm halfway through? I just adore this little blouse, and it was fun and easy to make.

Here's a shot of the back, of which I'm extremely proud. I made bound buttonholes and made fabric-covered buttons with the help of a Dritz kit.

And here I am modeling it with the bolero, a la the photograph in VoNBBS

Here's what VoNBBS had to say about this project:

The short-sleeve blouse that has a soft neckline interest is a wonderful suit blouse . . . you can also wear it with any skirt in your wardrobe. We made it in wool jersey (which will teach you how to handle knitted fabric). You can make it in practically any fabric you wish . . . make it in black velveteen or pastel slipper satin for evening . . . make it in linen, pique, or chambray for warm weather in chalk-white, black, or a bright, vibrant colour. For cool weather you can also make the blouse in sheer wool or challis. The blouse buttons all the way down the back (it also has a Peter Pan collar version). It should take a beginner about 9 hours to make.

Well, this definitely didn't take me 9 hours, so perhaps I really am improving! After I figured out the bound buttonholes, I was able to whip this up in an afternoon. I will definitely be making this pattern again - actually I already have another one cut out. It will be teal wool/angora jersey, with the Peter Pan collar. This is basically my dream blouse for work, so I'll probably be whipping up a bunch of these suckers. And the pattern I bought actually fit me perfectly, no alterations required! I love it when things work out so easily!


The next VoNBBS project up is the little girl's party dress, which I imagine will be simple and a lot of fun to make. But then the projects start getting . . . involved. Let's just say that the second half of VoNBBS will separate the women from the girls. The subsequent project, the full-skirted dress, is estimated to take 30 hours! Well, when the going gets tough, the tough get . . . sewing?
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Best and Worst of the Bound Buttonholes!

As promised, I made my first attempts at bound buttonholes. I thought you might enjoy seeing the best and the worst of my test run! Naturally, I'm leading with the best, shown above. Not too shabby, eh?

And now, for the worst. Look at this pathetic thing!

Doesn't it look like a Cubist version of a buttonhole or something?

Anyway, I've made the bow-tied blouse (it turned out wonderfully, and pics are forthcoming!). Unfortunately, I could not maintain consistently lovely buttonholes, and some of them are better than others. But, happily, when it's buttoned up I don't think anyone will ever notice.

I have to say, I did enjoy learning a new skill, and I found bound buttonholes to actually be quite fun to make. In fact, I think I'll make a couple more versions of the blouse so that I can perfect my technique!

Isn't it funny how some dreaded techniques actually end up being enjoyable?
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Is Your Sewing Machine Haunted?

Here lies the body of the man who invented the sewing machine, readers. I took a tour of Green-wood Cemetery in Brooklyn today, and can you believe it? We came across the grave of Elias Howe, the man who (arguably) invented the sewing machine.

Though others had already come up with the idea for the sewing machine, Elias Howe was the one to make the first working model and to be awarded the first U.S. patent for the design.

Visiting Howe's grave got me thinking about death and sewing . . . specifically, about the horror-movie potential of sewing.

Sewing can be scary, no doubt. Danger lurks at every corner: fingers can be sewn clean through, rotary cutters go awry, and then there's the prospect of bound buttonholes. (Eeek!) And there's always the possibility that your sewing machine could be haunted. That's right, haunted. (Bwa ha ha!)

Apparently it's quite common for sewing machines to become possessed by spirits. Take this eBay listing for a haunted 1894 Singer, which unfortunately ended last week. (But there were no bidders, shockingly enough, so don't give up on your chance to own it!) According to the seller, the machine is haunted by the spirit of a woman named Paloma, who was killed by her abusive husband while she was sewing on the machine. If you listen closely, you'll be able to hear Paloma sobbing, or you might even see visions of her bloody head resting on the machine.

Sewing machines provide plenty of other opportunities for haunting. The internet is rife with tales of machines whirring away mysteriously . . . with not a human user in sight. And isn't this prime horror movie material? Think Stephen King's Christine, but with a possessed vintage Singer instead of a murderous car.

So, let's hear it. Anyone out there have a haunted sewing machine?

P.S. Happy Halloween! Watch out for the ghost of Elias Howe and other things that go bump in the night . . .

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Bound Buttonholes (Ack.)

So, I have a confession: I've never made a bound buttonhole. And the bow-tied blouse (which I cut out last night! In the baby blue wool jersey) has five of 'em. Right smack down the middle of the back. I'm scared, people. I've been doing research on various methods, and here's what I've come up with.

Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing boasts about their method: "Speaking of buttonholes, we show you how to make Vogue's streamlined one-piece fabric buttonhole. We love it. It's quick and easy." It's funny that VoNBBS acts like they invented this method, because as far as I can tell, it's the standard "patch" method.

Now, I am not impressed with this method. I first attempted it while making my taffeta skirt, and the results were so sad that I ended up just making the buttonhole by machine. But not this time! I'm determined to make some pretty bound buttonholes if it's the last thing I do, damn it.

So I turned to Issue 140 of Threads Magazine, which has an article on bound buttonholes that promises "professional results with industry techniques." I admit I have a soft spot for this article because the author, Barbara Frangione, opens the piece with a charming story. Here's a little excerpt:

Once upon a time (actually, it was during the winter of 1949), I took a draping class in New York City. I rode Long Island Railroad to get to class, and I usually sat next to a fellow student whose father owned a clothing factory.

One night, I wore my new wool coat - a Vogue pattern with every plaid meticulously matched and not a thread out of place. The bound buttonholes were made the way the pattern instructions had always directed. Needless to say, I was more than pleased with my work.

I said to my fellow passenger, "I made this coat."

"I know you did," he said.

When I asked how he knew, he replied, "By the buttonholes. They're just not right."

Can you believe he said that, readers? What a cad! I don't like this young fellow one bit. But the story has a happy ending, in which Barbara learns an industry technique for making bound buttonholes. It involves using strips rather than patches, a technique that looks a little something like this:


You then turn the strips to the inside and secure them in place. So that's what I will be testing out tonight (on some scrap fabric first, of course). Wish me luck!

And please, anyone have any great tips on bound buttonholes? I need all the help I can get!
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My Top Alteration Tips for Vintage Patterns!

Happy BurdaStyle Thursday, everyone! That means there's a new guest post on by yours truly on the BurdaStyle Blog. This week I discuss the three alterations that I consider to be essential for creating a modern fit with vintage patterns.

So please stop by and join in the conversation. I know you all some fantastic tips up your own (couture) sleeves! Read more on "My Top Alteration Tips for Vintage Patterns!"

My Sweater Guard Collection

Here it is, in all its glory! A lot of you asked about the sweater guard I was wearing yesterday, so I thought you would be interested to see these. I bought the entire lot at once on eBay for less than $10. I thought they would make nice accessories or embellishments, but then I stowed them away and hadn't thought to use them until I finished this bolero. It just screams for a sweater guard! The little pink posies second from the top are my favorite. (Also: don't worry, I won't ever wear them all at once like this. Though it is tempting.)

Sweater guards are a fascinating fashion relic. In the 50's, it seems that there was an frightening epidemic in which ladies suddenly couldn't keep hold of their sweaters! How alarming that must have been.

You see, it had become de rigeur to throw a cardigan insouciantly around one's shoulders, like a capelet. But how to retain that "devil may care" look while still keeping your cardigan secure? I know - A sweater guard!

(Sweater guard is just a funny name, don't you think? It seems a little melodramatic. I mean, they don't really guard your sweater from anything. Well, except from falling off.)

I think the most interesting thing about sweater guards is how they fell completely out of fashion. People don't even know what they are today! But there are a plethora of them out there for the taking. I found some fun examples currently on Etsy that are still fastened to the original card they were sold on. This is good stuff, people!

This sassy orange set has user instructions that read like a haiku:

Place SWEATER
around shoulders
guard holds securely.
Cannot slip off.

It seems that sweater guards became a way to show tribe spirit at a certain point. I've found sweater guards with the Cub Scouts logo, Florida seashells, Canadian flags, the Boston Bruins logo. And look, for the Catholics in the house . . . this one is a Miraculous Medal sweater guard!

And, sadly, it seems that some hipster crafter types are making "ironic" sweater guards these days, fashioned from beer bottle caps and plastic spiders. Seriously? Is nothing sacred?

Oh, and unrelated: here's a picture of the skirt from yesterday on Veronica, my dress form, so you can see the design lines a bit better.


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Bonus Bolero (Plus Skirt!)

Here it is! The bolero suit ensemble! (Note: you must pronounce "ensemble" in the French manner: Ahn-SAHM. Try to look very sophisticated while you say it.) I paired the Ahn-SAHM with a vintage sweater guard and my pink portrait blouse. I would love to show you more detailed shots of these pieces, but this is what I could get as I was running out the door this morning. (Don't you just hate it when life interferes with your sewing and blogging?)

The bolero is the bonus variation from Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing, which is view C of vintage Vogue 7259. I had to draft the front piece on my own since it was missing from my pattern. It went pretty well, if I do say so myself. I decided to make the sleeves elbow length, which I thought was the perfect compromise between what VONBBS wanted (short sleeves) and what Doris wanted (LONG sleeves!).

The skirt is Vogue 8603, and I am IN LOVE. I will definitely be making this again, probably in black stretch suiting, with about two inches added to the hem. It falls just above my knee as is, and I prefer a just below the knee length. Here's the back view:

Take that, hip ruching!

Anyway, I can add more pictures later if you're interested in some detail shots. I must say that I'm quite proud of this little ensemble!

(Oops. I mean this little Ahn-SAHM, of course.)
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Why Are Coats So Complicated?

The latest project I've been scheming and obsessing about is a winter coat. I own a coat that is black, completely nondescript, and not warm enough at all. I've decided that this year I want to make one with a really warm interlining in a fabulous color. So I've turned to the old interwebz for information, and there is A LOT of it out there. In fact, I had no idea coats could be so complicated!

And this is coming from someone who likes to complicate everything. No project is too simple for me to render completely unmanageable in its ambitiousness. I guess I thought making a coat would be like making a jacket . . . only longer. But oh, how wrong I was. There are so many choices to make! What kind of interlining, underlining, and lining? Do you "bag" the lining or put it in traditionally? Should I add fancy tailoring techniques like pad-stitched hair canvas on the collar? Oy, I'm exhausted just thinking about it all.

And then there's the fact that I've been in major indecision mode, in tandem with major obsessive mode. I found the PERFECT fabric: a gorgeous lipstick-red wool/cashmere flannel from Paron's. But I've been agonizing about the pattern. I ordered an amazing pattern from the 1930's, but then realized it would be all wrong for a heavy coat. See the gathers at the bust? It's more meant to be a coat dress.

So then I decided to go with a contemporary pattern, and landed on Vogue 8346, view D (shown in ivory on the envelope below), which is a classic frock coat with a retro feel.

I read over the instructions, and they seem very simple. No hair canvas, no pad-stitching, no tailoring. Is Vogue trying to deceive me? Or is it really possible to make a coat without losing your mind?

Do you think I'll be happy with the results if I follow the simplest instructions possible, only modifying them to add an interlining for warmth?

I would love some advice here. Have any of you made a winter coat before? Should I just give up and head to Macy's now?
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Would You Get a Sewing-Themed Tattoo?

I got some new ink over the weekend (pics to come!) and I was reminded of this Flickr group of sewing-related tattoos that Sarai linked to several months back. I loved looking through this photo pool (check out the fabulous one above, courtesy of the lovely Kaylah from the Dainty Squid), and obviously I'm no stranger to tattoos myself. It got me thinking . . . would I get a sewing-themed tattoo?

The two questions I get most often about my tattoos are: 1) Did they hurt? and 2) What do they mean? The answers are: 1) Hell yes, and 2) they don't really mean anything. I'm not one of those people who has a momentous life event and then goes out to get a tattoo to commemorate it. Tattoos, while not meaningless to me, are more just . . . art. You know, pictures of things. Pretty things.

So I guess what I'm saying is that it would be out of character for me to take something that's such a big part of my life and make it incarnate it on my flesh for the sake of it having meaning to me. (Not that I think that that's a bad reason to get a tattoo at all.) But . . . I do think scissors are cool-looking. I especially love this work-in-progress from Cherry Pie Vintage on flickr.

So don't count me out completely on the sewing-themed tattoo. I do still have an awful lot of room on my arms . . .

How about you, dear readers? Yea or nay on the sewing tattoo?

P.S. I probably don't even need to say this, but: please, let's make this a discussion about sewing tattoos, and not whether you personally approve of tattoos or not. (Okay, Mom? Ha ha.)
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Ten Things I Hate About Sewing

So, we often talk about why we love sewing. But let's have a break from all that positivity and sunshine and get negative for a minute. So here's my list. Top ten things I hate about sewing!

1. Lining things. Making linings is boring, let's face it. No one will ever see it, the materials are slippery and hard to work with, and it's just a big, boring hurdle to face before you can put on your lovely finished product.

2. Scraps. My sewing room is turning into a scrap landfill! (Read more thoughts about scraps here.)

3. Constant scheming and obsessing. I have an obsessive mind, so I pretty much think about sewing in all my free (and not free) time. My internal monologue can start to sound like a broken record, which is really annoying.

4. Pins. Why do they end up everywhere except in my pin cushion?

5. Ironing. Self-explanatory. Ironing is boring.

6. Hemming. Hemming is a constant source of anxiety for me. I'm always worried about how it's going to turn out: will it be straight, will it be invisible? Arrrgggh.

7. Sewing brings out my indecisiveness. Which pattern? Which fabric? I don't know! Let's obsess about it for days on end! (See number 3: constant scheming and obsessing.)

8. Finishing seam allowances. Wouldn't it be nice if fabric didn't ravel?

9. Hand Sewing. Actually, I just hate it when my thread tangles and knots. Which is all the time.

10. And finally, the top thing I hate about sewing is . . . when I can't find time to sew. Because then I can't do what I love. What a second, am I being positive here? Crap.

Your turn! What do you hate about sewing?
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Are You There, Vogue? It's Me, Gertie.

Vogue, are you listening? I have a couple requests. Specifically, I've been thinking about which fashion designer you should hire next for your designer pattern line. I don't want to be rude, but I think your choices have been veering a bit off track lately.

Readers, we discussed the latest Vogue designer patterns here, and there was a general feeling of disappointment (to say the least). Personally, I'd like to see Vogue hire more designers with ultra-feminine, retro sensibilities. More Tracy Reese than Chado Ralph Rucci, in a nutshell. This all got me to thinking . . . if I could be in charge at Vogue for a day, which designer would I hire?

I did a bit of debating, and I have to say, I couldn't decide between Rebecca Taylor and Nanette Lepore. Can I please have both, Vogue?

I love Rebecca's ladylike looks that are both glam and wearable. And she's proven this season that she is a master of the faux two-piece dress. How cute are these little retro numbers? I'll take one of each, thank you.

Now for my next fantasy pattern designer, Nanette Lepore, another designer who does retro so well. (This is just like fantasy football, but actually fun!) Specifically, I want a line comprised entirely of skirt patterns from Nanette. She makes the most kick-ass skirts with strategically placed peplums, ruching, and ruffles.

So that's what I want, Vogue: patterns for faux two-pieces dresses and fabulously intricate skirts from Rebecca and Nanette. Is that too much to ask?

Now it's your turn to play creative director, readers. Who would you hire?
Read more on "Are You There, Vogue? It's Me, Gertie."

It's BurdaStyle Thursday!

Just a reminder that it's that time of the week . . . time for my BurdaStyle guest post! Today I wrote about my top tips for starting out with vintage patterns.

If you're new to the world of sewing vintage, this post is a great place to start. I hope you'll find it useful! And if you're looking for more advanced tips, come back next week for a list of the most common alterations needed to make vintage patterns wearable today.

Hope to see you there!

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A Progress Report

First off, I want to say hello and welcome to all the new visitors who have come over from BurdaStyle! It's a pleasure to see so many new faces alongside my familiar friends here. I hope that you'll all feel free to jump right into the dialogue. And there's going to be a lot of said dialogue . . . I have some discussion posts up my sleeve that I think you'll all enjoy! So stay tuned for some stitching and bitching (and theorizing and debating and scheming).

Secondly, I thought it might be a good time to have a sort of progress report on my Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing (aka VoNBBS) project. (If you're new, you can read about the conception of the project here.)

There are 14 core projects in the book, which you can see scans of here. I have completed six of them (click the links to see the finished projects!): the chemise dress, the full skirt, the portrait neckline blouse, the sheath dress, the bolero, and the slim skirt. Some of the projects have what I'm calling "bonus projects," or extra variations of the patterns. For example, there was also a bonus halter dress variation of the full, gathered skirt.

I am currently working on one of the bonus projects: an awesome variation on the bolero, with short sleeves and lapels. Here's a little illustration:


I'm making it in a plum-colored gabardine with a matching skirt (Vogue #8603 from the current collection) for a smart suit look. I'm almost finished with the skirt (and it is to DIE for - I can't wait to show it to you!). Here's a swatch of the fabric:

And then next up is the bow-tie blouse! This has been one of my favorites from the start.

But I have questions, so many questions . . . First of all, VoNBBS strongly suggests making this blouse in a wool jersey, as it "will teach you how to handle knitted fabric" and is "so wearable." Isn't that interesting? I don't associate knit fabrics with the 50's. But then, it's helpful to remember that Coco Chanel popularized the use of wool jersey in 1916, so wool jersey would have been old news by 1952.

But what's really interesting is that there are no special instructions for sewing with knits other than how to cut open fabric that had been knit in a tube. In fact, it's sewn with regular techniques just like any other project in the book, and it even includes bound buttonholes, which I would not have thought to do on a knit either. And my 1952 Singer certainly doesn't have any zigzag or stretch stitches, so I'll just be using a regular straight stitch.

I picked out two wool jerseys (I got indecisive) and I made sure they were both relatively stable so they would be easier to sew. Here are swatches!

The one on the left is a pale blue wool jersey, and the one on the right is a teal wool/angora blend. Doesn't angora just scream 50's somehow?

So. What do you all think? Do you have a jersey preference? And what do you make of sewing this blouse in a knit? I guess I'd always pictured it in a sumptuous 4-ply silk . . . but I suppose that can come after I've perfected the pattern! In fact, there is a darling variation with a Peter Pan collar . . .

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What's Wrong With This Picture?

Something is very wrong with this book cover. No, it's not the cliche use of the color pink and cutesy shoes as a shortcut to market to women (okay, that is a little wrong). What's really wrong is this: why in the world is this woman sewing in stiletto heels???? Is one of the 101 ways to use your first sewing machine putting on the least sensible footwear you own and seeing how quickly you can lose control of the pedal and sew over your own finger?

I cannot sew with any shoes on whatsoever. Even sneakers or flats. I feel I need bare or socked feet in order to commune with my foot pedal. (Yeah, that's right, I said commune.) Otherwise, I can't properly gauge how much pressure I'm applying to it. I took a dressmaking class in a sewing studio last winter, and I was the only weirdo removing her right shoe in order to sew.

So I felt less alone when, in response to my post asking what you wear while sewing, several people mentioned bare feet as a necessity. So once again, my curiosity is piqued and I must ask you all another strange, invasive question. What do you wear (if anything) on your feet while sewing?

And seriously, don't you think it would be actually impossible to sew in high heels? Will someone test this out and report back to me please? I'm scared of what might happen if I try.

P.S. Speaking of pink(ish) things, what do you all think of my fabulous new banner? It was designed by my bestie, April. I love it so much that I can't stop staring at it. (Thanks, Apey!)
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'Dear Gertie' (In Which I Attempt to Give Fashion Advice)

Readers, I love getting your e-mails. And I have a particularly interesting one to share with you today: a lovely lady named Kris wrote to me recently for vintage style advice. It was especially thrilling for me since it made me feel like a style columnist for one of them there fancy fashion magazines or something. Hence, "Dear Gertie" is born.

Kris is a beginning seamstress who would like to try her hand at vintage patterns, but has one nagging concern: her body type, which she describes as size 12-14 hourglass, or "aging Marilyn Monroe with a tummy bulge."

Here's what Kris had to say, in her own words:

Can those of us without supermodel flat stomachs wear a wiggle dress without the aid of our grandmother's girdle?

And ya know, in writing this email a new train of thought has steamed into the station. Why should I care if I have a few bulges? Rather than stressing out and trying to make myself fit the clothes, why shouldn't I just make the clothes fit me? . . . So, what say you? Should I face "reality" and continue with the jeans and t-shirts or forge ahead with the pencil skirt (and stiletto pumps) of my dreams? Can a regular, non-waspy woman make these vintage styles work without a winch and pulley system? Any suggestions on good styles for a beginner to start with?

As you can imagine, I have a lot of thoughts about all this. But let's start with the first part of the question: foundation garments. I feel like my thoughts on this subject vary from other ladies who like to wear vintage styles. Namely: I do not like girdles, and I do not feel I need to wear a girdle to make a vintage style look "right." I have one 50's style girdle made by Rago, and it does absolutely nothing for my figure. It actually makes me lumpier, with all the boning and hooks and such. I do make use of Spanx for smoothing purposes under fitted pencil skirts and sheath dresses. (Tip: I highly recommend Spanx control-top tights - perfect for winter!)

Now, to the question of facing reality. "Reality" can bite me. "Reality" tells me that I can't have a dress that fits me in both my waist and hips, that I have to choose one or the other. To this I say HA! Every dress and skirt I make needs extra room added to the hips. I could take this as a sign of defeat, but instead I like to think that conventional sizes simply aren't bodacious enough to contain me. Yeah, it takes a certain attitude. And, obviously, I am a big believer in making clothes fit ME, not making myself fit clothes.

My overall thought is this: In essence, you should definitely wear what YOU want and what you're comfortable in, and hopefully those two things overlap in some way. And honestly, Kris, it sounds like you have the perfect figure to pull this stuff off! Imagine that you're Joan Holloway from Mad Men. When I worry that I'm not skinny enough, I don't have the confidence to pull off pencil skirts and sheath dresses. But when I tell myself that I'm a smokin' hot curvy lady like Joan, it does wonders for my confidence. I guess it really is all in the attitude, huh? So here's your new mantra: What would Joan do?

As for style recommendations for curvier and plus size ladies: You might want to start with retro-style contemporary patterns rather than jumping into vintage patterns, with all their quirks and fitting issues. I think a simple high-waisted pencil skirt (try McCall's 5590 or Burda 8155) and a secretary blouse (maybe McCall's 5884 or Simplicity 2501) are very flattering on larger sizes and will help you get your sewing skills sharpened before moving on to bigger challenges.

There! I've done written an advice column! (Don't worry, I won't quit my day job.) Readers, do you have anything to add?

P.S. If you have a question you would like answered in "Dear Gertie," kindly e-mail me at gertie [at] blogforbettersewing [dot] com.
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