Sewing and Body Image

As seamstresses, we have to be brutally honest about our bodies. Vanity sizing may be alive and well, but there's no such thing as "vanity measurements." We ladies who like to sew know our exact waist and hip measurements at any given moment. We talk more frankly about our body "flaws" than other women. (How else would we give tips on pattern alterations?)

On one hand, this is a great thing. We can make clothes that fit our bodies perfectly. We can sew up dresses that are one size on top, and another on the bottom - rather than trying to squeeze into a ready-to-wear size. Also, with a realistic awareness of our bodies, hopefully acceptance will follow.

On the other hand, sewing talk often turns into complaining about our figures, as so many conversations between women do. On any sewing message board, you can read a woman's demeaning remarks about her body, even as she is giving out priceless sewing advice. I suppose this kind of talk builds a sort of false sense of intimacy between women, but ultimately I think it just makes us loathe ourselves.

Even Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing includes this kind of supposedly harmless "girl talk" in the instructions on the slim skirt: "If you're practically hipless (lucky you!), you'll have to carry your hip darts down further." Really, VoNBBS? We should aspire to being "hipless"? Having hips is not a handicap. In fact, I'm not quite sure how I would walk without mine.

Vintage patterns, while being a great source of beauty and inspiration, also serve to remind us how far we might be from the 1952 ideal. Acutally, women of 1952 were probably just as far from the 1952 ideal. Who can live up to those wasp-waisted illustrations? Or even these VoNBBS models?

Another thing to consider on this topic: as women who sew and blog about it (or post pictures of ourselves wearing our creations on Pattern Review or Burdastyle), we are putting images of our bodies out there in a way that can feel very vulnerable. I suppose that's why we use some of this negative self-talk: to try to lessen this anxiety and as a preemptive defense against people who might judge us.

As much as I try not to, I get consumed by this anxiety at times. We're all our own worst critics, right? While looking over the many pictures my husband had taken of me in my new red sheath dress, I could really only find a couple in which I thought I looked acceptably slender. So of course those were the two I published! Even with all the glowing and thoughtful and lovely compliments you gave me, I still found myself thinking, what if I had posted one of the "fat" pictures? Would people have responded as positively to the dress?

Obviously, it's not easy to stop a lifetime of this ingrained behavior. But I think that it's especially important in our little online sewing community that we foster an environment of body acceptance, rather than body apologies.

Carolyn of Diary of a Sewing Fanatic perhaps said it best in this post about choosing a pattern size: "When taking [your] measurements, be truthful. Don't fudge the numbers, don't get upset about the numbers and don't be scared of the numbers. Because everyday your body wakes you up and gets you through a day...treasure it. It's yours and it's precious."

The Evolution of Home Sewing: 1958 and Today

Did you know that the Time Magazine online archives go back to 1923? I sure didn't, so I was amazed and delighted to find this very informative article called "Sew & Reap" about home sewing from the November 10, 1958 issue.

According to this article, home sewing was a billion dollar industry at the time. This is in 50's money! I would be very interested to compare that to the profits of today's home sewing industry, wouldn't you?

The article really outlines the ways in which home sewing in 1958 was so influenced by Paris fashion:

Every calculated change in Paris means more money spent [on patterns]. So fashion-bent have sewing women become that patternmakers have all but junked the simple housedress designs that used to be their bread and butter. What more and more women want is the kind of high-fashion Vogue patterns long sold by Conde Nast. The originals would cost perhaps $600, but almost any woman can copy them for the cost of a $3 pattern and $50 worth of fine fabric (Vogue patterns even supply a Paris label).

That's interesting to compare to today's Vogue designer lines. I've enjoyed some of their Anna Sui offerings, but the others (Michael Kors, Donna Karan, etc.) have been a little staid for my taste - certainly not the trend-driven machine that it seems to have been in 1958.

What really blew my mind, though, was the fact that 20% of all women's garments in 1958 were made at home. Can you imagine?

And then there was the age of the women who sewed their own clothes:

One return prize for the industry is more and more younger sewers: the average home sewer's age has dropped from 45 in 1928 to 27 now, and by 1960 millions of teenagers will be sewing. A common but fashionable wedding present for suburban brides: a sewing machine.

These 27-year-old women of 1958 would be 78 today. Are they still sewing, do you think?

I tried in vain to find the average age of the home sewer today to compare to the stats of 1958. Though there has been an indisputable rise in young women sewing today, I would guess that the average person purchasing sewing supplies is of the boomer generation (the teenagers that the article predicted would be sewing in the 60's, I suppose!).

But there was such an incredible drop in average age from 1928 to 1958 - do you think it's possible we could see the same thing happen in the coming years?

One parallel I can see between the young women sewing in 1958 and young women sewing today is that is was viewed not as necessity, but as a creative outlet:

Millions of women now rank sewing as their No. 1—and often only—hobby. "There's a whole new climate," says Simplicity's [director] Shapiro. "They do it as an art form."

Anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts on all this. From your age perspective (whatever it may be) how do you see the future of the home sewing industry?

The Making of the Satin Sheath Dress

Here she is! The fabled red satin sheath dress! Sewn entirely on Mrs. Exeter, my "new" 1952 Featherweight.

The late-day, short sheath dress.

The perfect dress for informal evenings is the slim, supple sheath, photographed here in satin with a fur stole. Change the accessories . . . and it'll have another smart look. You'll learn to handle fabric with a nap. When completed, you'll know how to fit a bodice and face a square neckline. It should take about ten hours to make.

- Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing

Sewing this was a very cool experience. Of everything I've ever made, I must say this is the garment that I'm the most proud of. Sewing on Mrs. Exeter really feels like dressmaking, you know what I mean? I never thought I'd say this, but I actually preferred it to sewing on my computerized machine (Sorry, Betty). There is something to be said for simplicity in a good machine.

Here's an inside shot for construction detail.

I stitched flat seam binding to the facings for a neat look. I also applied seam binding to the zipper before installing it, a tip from Claire Shaeffer that Cindy wrote about on her blog.

And a shot of my lapped zipper, which went in without a hitch!

A few miscellaneous notes:

• Why do my pinked seams look more like they were chewed on by rabid wolves? Is this a tool problem or a user problem?
• Sewing flat: a revelation! When I was worried about sewing in the round (i.e. sleeves) on this machine (which doesn't have a freearm), commenter Elephantschild made the suggestion to sew flat as much as possible. So instead of constructing the bodice and skirt and then sewing them together at the waistline, I stitched the front bodice to the front skirt, and then then back bodice to the back skirt. Then I sewed the side seams. This was a HUGE help on this dress, where there are so many waistline darts to line up perfectly.
  
• As I mentioned earlier, the belt is custom made by Pat's Custom Buttons and Belts. Look for a post later this week on using this service.
  

VoNBBS also includes instructions on making this in flannel, in linen, and in corduroy. I love the idea of corduroy, perhaps in a vivid mustard yellow. As VoNBBS says, "For a cool weather country dinner dress - or to be coupled as a jumper, with your cashmeres and shirts." I can just see myself, perhaps up in the Catskills for the weekend, in my cool weather country dinner dress! I also love it as a jumper, illustrated above with the jaunty scarf. I'll have to add some cashmere to my wardrobe, darlings.

But, for now, I'm putting the sheath dress pattern away, with just a little bit of sadness. (I'm going to miss the old girl.) Next up is the bolero in black velveteen. But first I'm going to take a little break for some other exciting projects (including a dress for a dear friend to wear at her wedding reception!), which I will update you on soon.

Here are the closing thoughts from VoNBBS on this dress:

Finishing touches: Remove all basting threads. Overcast seams. Press lightly on wrong side. Isn't it wonderful? We hope you have a special date soon - so you can surprise everyone by announcing, "Why thank you! I made it myself!"

Field Notes on Working with Duchesse Satin (Also: Kitties!)

Duchesse satin is a cruel and beautiful fabric. It's a thick, tightly-woven satin made from silk or synthetic fibers and has a very distinctive sheen. I worked with it for the first time for my sheath dress from Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing (to be unveiled tomorrow!), and discovered that as well as being gorgeous, it is also very tricky to work with. I thought I'd share a few things I discovered here.

First, of all, I should note that I'm working with silk duchesse. I'm not sure if synthetic duchesse has all of the same properties, but I would guess that it's generally very similar.

Style notes:

• The biggest thing to note about duchesse is that its luster, which is quite beautiful, also has a fatal downfall: it shows every lump, bump, and dent - in your body and in your construction. I would recommend choosing a style that's not too terribly fitted. This sheath dress worked well because there is actually a notable amount of ease in the bodice and hips. The waist is very fitted, and happily, covered up with a belt.

Pressing notes:

• You should press duchesse directly only on the wrong side. On the right side, use a silk organza press cloth. Mine is made from some leftover organza, cut into an 18" square. With the press cloth, you can use high heat and steam and avoid making uneven shiny marks.
  

Construction notes:

• Duchesse rolls like the dickens. Here's a picture of a swatch, next to some other fabrics. See how it rolls in on itself? Because of this, it can be especially hard to cut and hem. Press the edges thoroughly before cutting.

• Applying a fusible interfacing stops the rolling. I ironed interfacing inside the hem to keep it crisp and roll-free.

Thoughts on hemming:

I found that duchesse is pretty much impossible to hem invisibly, even with a lot of precautions taken. I used VoNBBS's first method of hemming:

I was VERY careful to only pick up one itsy-bitsy thread from the dress and not to pull the stitches tight, but I still ended up with a bit of a ridge on the right side of the dress. I think if I make a dress out of duchesse again, I would explore some non-stitched hemming methods, like a fusible tape. Have any of you ever tried this?

Now, on to the kitty portion of this post. Professor Higgins had a meeting with his colleague Lion this morning . . .

. . . while his sister Pip napped sweetly nearby.


They both send their best wishes, and Henry tips his hat to the ladies.

Happy Labor Day to my neighbors in the U.S.! Come back tomorrow for the unveiling of the satin sheath.

Swatch Time: a Love Story

So. I can't thank you all enough for your help in narrowing down fabrics for the overskirt/wiggle dress combo pattern. And I went to the fabric store intending to buy the blue fleurs, just like we talked about. But then there was a problem. Another fabric caught my wandering eye and before I knew it, we went home together. It was a moment of passion, I must confess. I think you'll understand, though.

Just look at this dreamy fabric. It's black embroidered illusion with silver beads and sequins. Be still, my heart. As soon as I saw it, I just knew it was the one. You can see why I fell so hard, right?



Here's a close-up of the embroidery:



And here's how it looks over a bit of black crepe, for dramatic effect.

I hope you can forgive my fickleness!

Now I have to find the right black fabric to coordinate with it, which isn't as easy as I thought it would be. It needs to be fairly firm, to tailor into a jacket and wiggle dress. I considered a cotton sateen, but I think it needs to be silk, to match the dressiness of the illusion. But I don't want it to have too much sheen, and therefore look too dressy for work without the overskirt. Ah, what a conundrum.

I will let you know, however, that I've decided to wear the wiggle dress/overskirt ensemble to my friend's wedding later this month - if it works out, that is. And the LBD and jacket will be perfect for work. So once I get the fabrics right, I think I'll actually get a lot of wear out of this!

Help Me Name My New Sewing Machine

I have a habit of naming my sewing equipment. It makes me feel like we're all a team, working together to make beautiful dresses. My Brother machine is named Betty, and my dress form is Veronica, for instance. And now I have this beautiful 1952 Singer Featherweight that is, as of yet, nameless.

At first I thought she was a Doris, after the fictional lady who first owned several of my VoNBBS patterns. But this morning, she looked so proper and stately, and I thought Mrs. Exeter.

Anyway, they're both quite sentimental names, which is perhaps why I can't choose between the two. In the short time that I've owned Mrs. Exeter/Doris, I've quite fallen for her. She brings such an air of serentity to my sewing room - plus she's a dream to use.

What do you think? Also, does your sewing machine have a name?

Project Runway and Avant Garde Fashion: WTF?

Last night's Project Runway included the now-familiar "avant garde" design challenge. I have to admit, I've always been a bit bemused by these episodes. It seems that, at least to PR contestants, avant garde means there is required to be at least one huge poufy or sculptural thing extending from the model's body, like Irina and Johnny's design, pictured above.

Why, I wondered, in the world of Project Runway, does avant-garde always mean playing with volume? I suspect it has much to do with the nature of Project Runway itself, that little fashion tempest in a teapot. Considering that the very definition of avant-garde is something that opens boundaries of art forms, is it really feasible to conceive, design, and create an avant-garde look in one day?

I think that's the thing that's always bothered me about these PR challenges: the avant-garde project seems like an afterthought, something to be whipped together. So the designers rush around like the insane, taking breaks to whine at each other, and then end up just plopping a big pouf of organza on a model's shoulder and crossing their fingers that they don't get cut.

In reality, I suspect that experimental looks actually require a lot more planning and technical expertise than traditional designs. As we've seen, to try to be a "conceptual" designer on Project Runway is to essentially be ridiculous - and a death wish, competitively speaking. Just this season, we've met the unforgivably weird Ari Fish, who was cut for her "disco soccer ball halter diaper," and then the ethereally annoying Malvin who was axed for his bizarre chicken/egg take on fertility for the maternity challenge. I think we all collectively groaned when he primly posited that he was "just too conceptual for America."

Oddly enough, the designs I've seen on PR that have felt the most avant garde to me were Chris March's from the All-Star Challenge. His minimalistic and monastic creations seemed both beautiful and ominious, evoking something beyond just clothes. (Maybe he wasn't napping through the challenge, he was just thinking really hard.)

But I suppose this all opens up the question: what the hell is avant-garde fashion anyway? What makes a design truly experimental, in the way avant-garde theatre or art is experimental? And I'm afraid that's one I'm not prepared to answer. I guess I just wish the producers, judges, and contestants of Project Runway were.

And you, lovely readers? What do you think of the avant garde challenges? Also, any fashion nerds out there that could help out with some historical context?

Vintage Fashion: Reaction to a Girls Gone Wild Culture?

Inspired by our earlier discussion about vintage sewing and gender politics, I've been reading a very interesting book called Female Chauvinist Pigs: the Rise of Raunch Culture by Ariel Levy.

Levy outlines what she refers to as our current "raunch culture:" a culture in which women are just as eager to participate in the objectification of women as men are. Cases in point: Girls Gone Wild (videos in which girls on spring break excitedly flash the camera while drunk), cardio striptease classes, grown women wearing baby tees adorned with the Playboy bunny, and so on. Just a couple weeks ago, there was a post on Jezebel.com about a new line of girls' t-shirts from Hollister, which have "sassy" slogans such as "the twins are quite a handful." (Written across the breasts, of course. Get it? Twins? Handful? Ugh.)

Levy is befuddled that women seem to think that participating in raunch culture is fun and harmless, as well as a strategy for empowerment. She asserts the intriguing argument that unresolved issues of the feminist movement of the seventies (aka the "porn wars") led to this current state of confusion.

So. What does this have to do with vintage sewing? A lot, I think. I started to wonder if a return to vintage fashions signifies, in some ways, a return to a sense of propriety. In other words, by wearing 50's fashions (which can be sexy but aren't overtly sexual) am I displaying my unwillingness to participate in raunch culture?

Or is dressing vintage just another side of the same coin? Think about it: girls who wear the Playboy symbol on clothing and jewelry most likely think that they come across as sassy and fun-loving. But the danger is that they are ignoring the very real oppressive history of this symbol. (After all, as Levy points out, Hugh Hefner chose the bunny as his trademark because the sweet, uncomplicated animal represented the ideal woman to him.) But are those who enjoy vintage fashions ignoring the very real roots of those girdled, dark times for women?

And lord knows, images of the 50's can be as sexualized as they come: just do a Google search for "fifties housewife," and you'll see what I mean. (An instance is the "sexy 1950's housewife costume" you can buy here, spatula included.)

In any case, I do think there's an idea here. That by eschewing Hollister and sewing my own clothes (from vintage patterns or otherwise), I can forge my own path and not feel represented by logos or brands that stand for things I find abhorrent.

Anyway, I know you ladies will have brilliant and diverse insights on this. Let's hear them, please!

Eleven Down, Three to Go! The Pattern Search Continues

My goal to make every project from Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing came with another (perhaps more daunting) challenge: tracking down every pattern that's featured in the book, all from the years 1949 to 1952. This search has held a lot of appeal to my obsessive personality. Anyway, I wanted to give you an update on this, since I am very, very close to having them all. (Yippee!)

This past week I located both the background dress and the little girl's party dress. The background dress (pictured above) surfaced with one of my trusty Google alerts. It was an auction on eBay, which I managed to win for $15.59.

The little girl's party dress, on the other hand, had been hidden in plain sight. It was listed on sovintagepatterns.com, and seems to have been there for quite a while. I found it in a moment of serendipity while looking for patterns from the 50's for children's Halloween costumes (only for the silly reason that I adore the illustrations). The pattern number was listed and everything, making me wonder why prior web searches hadn't pulled it up. Technology, it's a mystery sometimes.

I paid $25 for this pattern, more than I like to spend typically. But, I thought, worth it in this case. Yes, even though I don't have a little girl, know any little girls, or have any idea what to do with this dress once I make it. This whole VoNBBS project makes me do funny things sometimes.

This leaves only three patterns to find! The full skirted dress, the shirtwaist, and the suit.

Vogue 7422 (dated 1952)

Vogue 7329 (date unknown)

Vogue Special Design S-4240 (dated 1949)

So, this is really just another pathetic plea for help in locating these suckers. If you sell vintage patterns or are an obsessive vintage pattern troll like me, please do let me know if you can help me find any of these. Thank you. End pathetic plea.

And, as always, thanks for reading!

Update: One commenter kindly asked to see the envelopes for these patterns, and I'm afraid I only have the image for one of them, the full-skirted dress (#7422). The others are still a mystery, as the envelope images are not included in the book. Anyway, here is the one I have:

Update, part deux: Ooh! I found the suit pattern envelope as well. Unfortunately, it has already been sold. (Waahhh.) But here's a pic:

The Plot Thickens

I've decided to throw a little twist into my Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing project. (It's just like Project Runway!) From now on, all the garments will be made on a Singer Featherweight from 1952, the very same year VoNBBS was published. Oooh, the drama!

I've been intrigued by vintage Featherweights for quite a while since some people say they're the best machines ever produced. I finally took the plunge when I saw this shiny 1952 model on eBay for a good price.

Now, believe me, this is going to take some getting used to. I'm accustomed to my Brother PC-420, which is a computerized machine with all the bells and whistles: an automatic thread cutter, a needle which can be programmed to stop in the up or down position, and a gazillion different stitch options and amenities. This Featherweight is bare bones. As embarrassing as it is to admit this, it feels a little strange having to cut the thread tails on my own and check the position of the needle when I finish a seam. I'm just spoiled, I guess!

So, this could get interesting. An evening gown and a tailored suit, all on this little machine? I'll need a lot of gumption. And a buttonholer attachment. (The 1948 model, naturally.) Because, due to prior traumatic experiences, there's no way I'm going to work my buttonholes by hand.

Also, to further ensure the integrity of the VoNBBS project, I've decided that there will be no more serging of seam allowances for me. I'll stick with pinking, overcasting, or binding from now on. The one thing I'm really worried about is setting in sleeves - there's no freearm capability with this machine. Goodness, I might need to do them by hand! (Hold me; I'm scared.)

I'm really hoping this new twist on the project will give me an even better sense of what home sewing was like in 1952. It's one thing to use the book and the patterns, and another thing entirely to limit myself to the equipment from that year. I'm excited! And, truthfully, a little apprehensive. (Okay, a lot apprehensive.)

The red satin sheath will be my first project on this machine. Wish me luck!