Vintage Vixens at Sandra Betzina's Sewing Week!

I've always — and I mean always — loved the styles and silhouettes from the 1950s and 1960s. And when I was but a lass in the 80s, discarded clothing from those eras was still plentiful and mostly cheap to get in vintage stores, thrift stores, and yard sales. How I miss Purple Heart, Mr. Peabody's, and Flashback, in Houston, Dressed to Kill in Austin, Garage in Berlin, Alice Underground in New York. All gone now.

At some point, I acquired a vintage pattern at Flashback. It was for a full slip and printed in the early 1950s (I still have it). I made a slip out of electric blue pima cotton and wore it under a black voile Nelly Don dress. Then about 1988, someone gave me a pattern for a mini-dress from about 1967 and I made it out of purple and green polkadot print cotton. I found a bunch of old patterns at Family Thrift in Austin around that same time. Then, I bought a bunch more at an estate sale from two, never-married sisters on Dancy Street (as well as an armload of 1950s dresses).

I'm not sure what happened after that. I think something called eBay came on the scene, and even in its early days, you could pick up a lot of old patterns for less than a dollar each. I have a lot of vintage patterns now. They're not all amazing designs, but I love them just the same. Used to be, I got a lot of funny looks when I said I collected old sewing patterns. Not anymore!

This year at sewing camp with Sandra Betzina, I've got even more company than usual in Vintageland.

This is Lyn, and she's saying, "Oh, I'm only folding my lining!" She's one of my best buds from sewing camp over the years and a veteran of the Betzina week. She loves 1940s silhouettes best, but is making an Eva Dress pattern that's reprinted from a Claire McCardell design. Lyn has that fantastic gift of knowing exactly what looks good on her, and stays with it. Her dress, intended for a big event in the fall, will be made out of her beloved blue, and I know it's gonna be smashing as always.

This is Catherine, and she's making a 1960s sheath. Look how happy she is, and I would be, too, if I could make a dress straight out of the envelope! Catherine's learning fast how to take a flat pattern fantasy and turn it into three-dimensional fabulousness.

Here's Jenni. She's in high school. Before this class, she made a dress out of playing cards, another out of newspaper sheets, and an outfit out of Duck Brand duct tape. Jennie's Project Runway material all the way. She sews at lightning speed. She made a formal Vogue dress out of camo print twill (whereas most of us would have picked a boring satin-weave something or other) and plans to embellish it with faux jewels. Here she's working on a polka-dot dress that will have a chenilled bodice. Jenni told me that her favorite silhouette for women is the 1950s.

To Lyn's and Sandra's left, Alden of BurdaStyle is busy tracing off a new copy of her vintage Advance pattern, which she told me was rescued from the trash somewhere in Brooklyn. She, too, is an unapologetic lover of straight up vintage styles.
She bought these great buttons from "the button lady," who comes every sewing camp and sells us unique buttons of every description. While she and fellow BurdaStyle co-worker Carol were out today on company business, I snapped this photo of her pattern and buttons.

In previous years, most of of my fellow students have been interested in everything from tailoring to jeans, but never vintage patterns, so it's been good fun to meet these shirtwaisted sisters from another mother this year!

My San Francisco Week With Sandra Betzina

The single most inspiring person I have met in years is Sandra Betzina. Based in San Francisco, Sandra writes books, produces instructional videos and television shows, publishes her own line of sewing patterns through Vogue Patterns, gives lectures, and teaches hands-on workshops in garment fitting and construction. I had happily limped along on junior high, home-ec style sewing skills for many years and seemed to be able to fool people that I knew how to sew. But after I started attending Sandra's workshops and using her books and videos, my knowledge of and ability in this craft grew exponentially.

Sandra inspires me not only to be a better sewist, but a better woman. There are no "fat pants" days in Sandra's life, and being with her reminds me that I shouldn't have any, either. Like other strong, independent, secure, happy, and confident women I know, Sandra believes that how you deal with your appearance has everything to do with how you feel on the inside, too. One of the most obvious outward signs of this inward grace is, of course, clothing. Clothes have great significance in the lives of some of us; others, not so much. For garment sewists like me, well-fitting, original, beautiful clothes are the goal, but the making runs a close second in importance. A willingness to embrace the process of fitting and sewing garments goes hand-in-hand with your final product. Luckily, we have Sandra to help us along the way, whether we learn with her in the virtual world or in real life.

This is my fifth return to Sandra's San Francisco Sewing Week — and I'm far from the exception. Sandra's husband, Dan Webster, likes to joke that Sandra's students probably never learn anything, or else why would they keep returning? For me, it's the chance to renew the great friendships I've made through this experience and to keep learning more about about the thing I love so much in my favorite city in the world. All right, it's also the best fabric shopping, too.

The week always begins with Sandra's trunk show, where she shows us all her latest garments made from her patterns. She tells us about the fabrics she's discovered lately, what she likes about them (or doesn't like) and shows us tricks and tips she's developed along the way for better construction or more interesting finishes and embellishments — things you will never find in pattern instructions. (All of her best ideas will be finally be collected in her upcoming book, Power Sewing Toolbox, due for release this fall.) I'm always struck by the possibilities she introduces, like this one above. Instead of closing skirt darts in the conventional way, stitch some hook and eye tape on the lines of the dart legs on the public side of the garment! I'm totally doing this on my next straight skirt.

Next, everyone in the class gets new, accurate body measurements and discusses what she hopes to achieve in the class for the week. For me, it's to get a personal fitting shell done and refine the fit on one of Sandra's T-shirt patterns. Even I, stubborn donkey of the sewing room, am feeling weary of making a muslin every single time I sew a garment. I'm hoping a fitting shell, which is a muslin bodice, sleeve, and skirt fitted to my body's own unique contours, then converted back to a flat pattern, will help speed the process of pattern alterations.

Project of the Month: Japanese "Sewing Lesson" blouse

Once you learn what there is to sew and do beyond the Big Four pattern companies, it becomes irresistable! This top comes from a Japanese pattern book called Sewing Lesson. You can make this design as a blouse or a shirtwaist dress. It has a cut-on sleeve, so it's a snap to sew and doesn't take much fabric. As with most non-U.S.-produced patterns, you have to trace this off yourself and add seam allowances. And with Japanese patterns, yes, you must un-petite them, and grade them up, and try a muslin before you get into your fashion fabric. It seems to me that Japanese patterns would be well-proportioned for a young teen or older tween (as long as she likes the design).

You know how ladies' shirt patterns are published with a layout for buttonholes? Sometimes, the pattern will even say something like, "six, 5/8" buttons required."

Ignore that. Don't mark any buttonholes until you find the buttons you want to use. Use whatever size fits the garment and fabric. Maybe you can only find five you love, or you have seven or eight small ones. Use the ones you want. In my case, I recycled shell buttons from a 60-year-old blouse.

Try on the blouse and pin it closed. Find the spot where the garment hits your bust and mark it. Then make another mark where you want the blouse to button at the top. The distance between these two is the basis for your buttonhole spacing. This is a much better way to determine your buttonhole layout. I guarantee you won't have peek-a-boo at your bra if you do it this way!

Case Study: Pressing Seams Open

Those of us who learned to sew by following pattern instructions find we have some gaps in our knowledge down the road. A case in point: pressing seams open.

The Big Four pattern companies sometimes mention this crucial step in construction in the glossary section of the instructions, but more often, it's just the last, short sentence in a sequence of steps. "Stitch side seam. Press seam open." If you're lucky, they've provided an illustration of the wrong side of the garment and the tip of an iron is magically parting the two little seam allowances open and pressing them flat. So for years, that's what I did — I just turned my garment wrong side up on the ironing board, slid the tip of my iron into the seam allowances and ironed away.

But I've learned a couple of other important things about pressing seams since then. The first is, press that newly-stitched seam with the raw edges still meeting and "meld" the stitches into the fabric. Let it cool briefly. Then, press the seam open. The difference may be subtle, but I've found it really helps keep your work neater and more "professional-looking."

All right, that's simple enough. But what about when you're dealing with seams that are hard to get to, as in this baby blanket I'm making? Essentially, it's like a big pillow case. I've sewn all four seams (leaving an opening into which I stick my hand and turn it right side out, of course). I can't really pull it over my ironing board for pressing the seams open. The solution? Press one of the seam allowances like so:

 And then turn the work over and press the other one:

When you turn your blanket (or pillow case) right side out, you'll have a much crisper and sharper seam.

This technique is also really useful on curved seams, such as round collars or circular pillow covers.

One-Thread Sewing On Delicate Fabrics: Part Two

When you work with very delicate fabrics, such as silk chiffon, you'll need a few special methods of sewing your fabric to get the best results. Last week I showed you how to thread your machine "backwards" using a drawn-out length of bobbin thread. It's just wonderful for sewing a dart in your sheer fabrics. Here's how to finish the job.

I'm using China silk, or silk habutai, in these photos. I lined my garment with this fabric. The chiffon print I used for the shell just didn't show up that well in photography.

Normally with dart sewing, you start at the widest part of the dart and sew toward the tip, or apex. But with this method of dart sewing, start at the apex instead. My thread is pretty taut. There's only enough slack in it for me to get a very little bit of the fabric — about two threads wide! — under the presser foot. It takes a little bit of fiddling around. (Remember, your bobbin and top threads are one.)



Now, notice two things. One, I've got my stitching line marked very thoroughly. Two, I've got my needle swung over to the left, as far as it will go. (It is such a handy thing to have a sewing machine that has an adjustable needle position.) This keeps those greedy feed dogs from grabbing my delicate fabric and pulling a chunk of it down, down, into my bobbin shuttle and jamming up the machine.

Here's what that looks like. No, the machine was not threaded for one-thread sewing when I took this. I just wanted you to see how my needle is in the left position. If you don't have a presser foot that has a single, tiny hole in it, nor a throat plate with a small hole, you'll have to move your needle over to the left to sew filmy, delicate fabrics. Otherwise, you'll run into trouble with the feed dogs grabbing the fabric and pulling it down into the machine.









Begin sewing your dart now, and don't backstitch. Use a shorter stitch length, such as 2.0. When you get to the end of the dart legs, stop sewing without backstitching and remove your work from the machine, leaving some long thread tails. Tie these tails off in a knot to secure the stitching. That's all there is to it! To sew the next dart in your garment, you must re-thread the machine each time.

This is a bit of an advanced technique that requires a little thought. You will, of course, have practiced sewing on some scrap fabric first. Don't use your actual project to experiment. Get out your sales receipt and remind yourself of how much you spent on your fabric. If that doesn't get you in the mood to practice this technique before marching headlong into the real thing, I don't know what will!

One-Thread Sewing On Delicate Fabrics: Threading the Machine

At some point in your sewing career, you'll want to leave your comfort zone of sewing stable cottons and instead, try making a garment from (drum roll) silk chiffon. Why not? All the other sewists are doing it! And one of the first steps in construction you'll have to face is sewing darts in this temperamental fabric. I learned this technique of making darts by pulling up a long length of the bobbin thread and threading your machine in reverse, sometimes called "one-thread sewing," from the late, incomparable Shannon Gifford.

Step One: Unthread your machine (if is threaded) and pull up a good 18" of thread out of the bobbin. Then thread the machine needle from the rear. That's right, instead of poking the thread end into the eye from the front, poke it through from the back.

Step Two: Draw the thread upward toward the uptake lever.

Step Three: Draw the thread over the uptake lever, right to left. Remember, we are threading the machine "backwards." (Confession time: I took these photos as much to remind myself how to prepare for this unusual technique as I did so I could teach you how to do it!)

Step Four: Draw the thread down through the tension disc.

And up again. You will still have a good length of thread left.

Step Five: Draw out the length of thread from left to right.

And lay it across the top of your machine, allowing the thread to dangle off the edge. You're ready to sew your dart now.

Recycled Fashions: A Force To Be Reckoned With

A sewing and fashion trend that's hot these days is the recycling (upcycling?) of old clothing into new garments by altering, cutting, splitting, embellishing, and repurposing. It makes perfect sense. Quality fashion fabric is hard for us home sewers to find. Why not scavenge it from discarded clothes? It also fits into our enhanced sensibility about conservation and ecology. I went to a science museum in Toronto a couple years ago and saw an exhibit that debunked the old "it all rots in the landfill" wisdom. Among the still-perfectly-good items that had been excavated and put on display was a pair of Wrangler jeans. They had been underground for 35 years!

Still, I'm having some trouble looking at this trend as an avenue for my own creativity. Here's an old calico "housedress" that's been in my closet for about 20 years. I bought it at a garage sale. It's easy to tell someone sewed it at home about 50+ years ago. I've worn it, and worn it, and even had compliments on it. But I've always felt it needed help, somehow. But what to do? And is it really worth it? As a home sewer who works with patterns published for the home sewing market, this recycling project has me stumped.

I'm Berserk for Peach Berserk

I've not often wished I were someone else, but if I had a chance to slip into another person's skin, I would choose to inhabit the amazing, fabulous, and exuberant Kingi Carpenter, proprietess of the Toronto boutique, Peach Berserk. She is my hero!

Kingi, a former art student, sells one-of-a-kind and custom fashions made on the premises from silks and cottons she has screenprinted by hand with her own original, crazy, and delightful designs. She always says she got her inspiration for Peach Berserk when she visited Paris and looked everywhere for a dress that had Eiffel Towers printed on it. No Eiffel Tower dress was in evidence anywhere. Kingi thought that was just a shame and went home to Toronto and made her own fabric, "so no girl would have to go without Eiffel Towers on her dress again!"

From there, she used all sorts of other imagery — everything from flowers, to kitchen implements, to David Bowie — for her 100+ silkscreen designs, and more keep coming every year. Each and every one is sold in any color fabric and ink the customer chooses, and you're encouraged to mix and match freely, even on the same garment. For those who are decision-impaired and in a hurry, a selection of clothing off the rack is available. Peach Berserk is the go-to spot in Ontario for "out-there" prom dresses, and even does a great wedding clothes business as well.

I'm a fan of "outsider" fashion, and yeah, I love the reinterpreted Bettie Page look that's so popular among the roller girl/rockabilly crowd. But I love Kingi's unapologetic celebration of femininity in her clothing. There is no hard-edged irony or parody in her silhouettes. She even has a print called "I Enjoy Being A Girl." I love that she loves color and can't live without it. I love that she teaches others the fun art of silkscreening in monthly workshops right in the shop. I try to bring a little of her spirit to my own life and sewing, but don't quite make it. Speaking of which, I want to decide what to do with my own Eiffel Tower fabric!

Meh Fabrics

It's great that Project Runway seems to have ignited new interest in both fashion design and home sewing. But even as this interest rises, the stuff we need to make it happen — quality fashion fabric — is getting impossible to find unless you travel to large cities to hunt for it.

So, as every PR viewer knows, Mood Fabrics in New York is where the designers shop for all their fabric and notions on the show. You can even buy a T-shirt with the words, "Thank you, Mood," (puts the soothing sound of Tim Gunn's voice right in your head, doesn't it?). On TV, the place seems massive, daunting, and chock-a-block with textile treasures — so unlike the seedy chain stores the majority of American sewists must shop. We see the contestants hop excitedly around the store's three floors, scouring the ceiling-high shelves for the fabric in which they've imagined their design. How we would like to go there someday ourselves!

But I was a little disappointed. You know how the PR designers will softly lament, "I couldn't find what I was looking for"? And we, the viewers think, "Why not? The place is jammed!" Well, the fact that the place is jammed is what makes it impossible to find things! If indeed, the desired item is there at all.

There is actually a view into the street from Mood. It isn't quite as windowless and claustrophobic as it looks on TV.

The Mood staff is efficient, jokey, and a little gruff. Perhaps this is the point, to shoo away tourists. Oh, but they are there, anyway! Retirees in Teva sandals and shorts, I kid you not, moms and kids, and all manner of looky loos who don't sew at all, and as they aver, aren't about to start. Do they really think they're going to see Tim Gunn lounging around in there and just chat him up?

Me, I was looking for striped cotton jersey, black and white, or black and grey. Three-quarter to one inch wide stripes. I was looking for cotton or cotton blend fleece (lightweight), and medium-scale cotton prints. No luck. I came back the next day, however, in a better mood for Mood and found the place less filled with rubberneckers, which put the Mood staff in a better mood, too.

Project of the Month: BurdaStyle Magazine Feb. 2010, #103 skirt

George Carlin liked "military intelligence." For me, there was no better oxymoron than "German fashion." But I'm beginning to change my mind with every issue of BurdaStyle Magazine (formerly called Burda World of Fashion) I get. February's issue had a feature on "Fifties Flair," so of course I was interested right away. If you're not familiar, Burda is a German pattern company that publishes patterns much like our Big Four do here in the U.S., and they also publish a monthly magazine. The magazine contains fashion spreads and printed pattern sheets of the clothes featured. Many patterns are also available for download on BurdaStyle.com.

Unlike the Burda patterns available in the fabric stores, which are printed on tissue, you must trace a copy of the Burda magazine patterns yourself — and remember to add seam allowances. It takes all your concentration and spatial reasoning skills to find all the lines on the printed paper to correctly trace your pattern pieces. What's more, the instructions are written in a fairly shorthanded manner, and there are no illustrations. These factors make Burda magazine projects not for beginners, in my opinion.

So, among the things in the Fifties Flair feature that caught my eye was a half-circle skirt with some very intriguing front soft pleats that are asymmetrically placed, and two back pleats. When I finally pieced my pattern together, I found I had two quite unusual shapes. The front piece has a grainline that you can place on the straight of grain of your fabric if you're making the long version of the skirt, and a bias grain if you're making the short version.

The back piece is also cut on the bias. This skirt has side seam pockets and an invisible zipper closure. It was pretty interesting figuring out how to manage that — I can't wait to try it again.

My results? Hard to say. That front pleating I found so enticing in the magazine picture isn't wanting to behave very well in the lightweight denim I chose. (I may end up stitching this pleat down about 5 inches from the waistband. I've got a pin there at the moment.) I think this skirt would be really fab in a cotton voile, which the magazine suggests, or in a "drippier" fabric like a rayon faille, a 4-ply silk, or a stable knit. At any rate, I've long been wanting to replace my "bad" denim skirt I wear all summer with something a little more unexpected.

Sewing An Invisible Zipper Into An Opening With Intersecting Seams

You'll come to a crossroads whenever you're installing a zipper into a dress that has a bodice joined to a skirt, or even just a skirt that has a wide, yoke waistband. You've got the vertical zipper seam to deal with, and then you've got two, horizontal seams that match, right? Those are called intersecting seams. I think of it as the "Four Corners" dilemma in sewing. (You know, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona?) Sew that zipper in even a little bit wrong, and the seams won't intersect nicely, and you'll have a garment that whimpers, "Someone made this." Eww.

I was sewing this dress from Go Patterns on my annual trip to the San Francisco Sewing Experience with Sandra Betzina in 2008 when she taught me the trick to getting great results when you're at this Four Corners crossroads. To do it, you'll need a couple of inexpensive and readily available tools: Wonder Tape, wax chalk, and a quality invisible zipper foot. And there's no pinning and basting involved!

I follow Sandra's directions in her book, Power Sewing Step by Step, for invisible zipper sewing in general. The first thing is, open the zipper, place it face down on your ironing surface, and with the tip of your iron, press those coils open and flat. (Take care with the heat, now, because you'll never melt the coils of your zipper at a time when it's convenient for you to head back to the fabric store for another one.) I like to use my point presser/clapper to hold the whole thing flat while it's cooling off, but you can use anything that's long and flat and slightly heavy to do the same thing, such as a clean and splinter-free piece of 2 x 4.










Have you ever reinforced the seam allowances of your zipper opening with narrow strips of fusible interfacing? I wish someone had told me this years ago. It really makes those seam allowances behave.



Next, finger press the seam allowance (very likely you're using 5/8") on one side of the zipper opening. That just means to use your finger or fingernail to crease a fold in the fabric — not your iron. The reason? This fold is only temporary. We don't want it pressed in with heat.

Then, get your wonderful Wonder Tape and reel off a length of it that's as long as your zipper. (Wonder Tape's double-sided and sticky, but the adhesive will launder out.) Apply the Wonder Tape to your seam allowance.

Peel the release paper from the tape, leaving behind a nice little strip of sticky stuff. Next step is to place one side of the zipper on this line of sticky stuff, and it requires a moment of your total concentration. Ready?

Make sure the top stop of the zipper is indeed at the top of the zipper opening. (Zippers that are installed upside down aren't so handy.) Make absolutely sure your coils or "teeth"of the zipper match up evenly to your finger-pressed fold of your seam allowance. (If you get the coils a little too far away from the fold, or a little too far over the fold, your invisible zipper won't look so invisible.) Your zipper is, at this point, securely (and temporarily) attached to the seam allowance. No pins are necessary! Unfold your finger-pressed zipper seam allowance and lay it out flat. You will have just the one layer of your garment fabric on bottom, and the Wonder Taped-on zipper on top.



Now, go to your machine and stitch all the way down the length of the zipper tape. You will need to use the best quality invisible zipper foot you can find for this. A lot of newer machines come with them now, or they're easily ordered online. For successful invisible zipper sewing, you must stitch very close to the coils, and the invisible zipper foot is what allows you to do that. (Sew too close and you won't be able to even close the zipper —ask me how I know. Too far, and and you will have seam allowances that gap and expose your "invisible" zipper.)

Still with me? Remove your work from the machine. Close the zipper now, and lay your garment flat. Find the horizontal seam — in this case, I'll call it the Utah/Arizona border. Using your wax chalk, make a mark right on your zipper that lines up exactly with the line between Utah and Arizona. I like wax chalk because it doesn't brush away very easily, and no one will ever see this mark.

It's time for the other side of the zipper. Make a finger-pressed fold on the remaining zipper seam allowance, just like you did on the first seam allowance. Apply Wonder Tape to the seam allowance, yes, just like you did the first time. Peel off the release paper from the Wonder Tape and expose a line of sticky stuff. Now, open your zipper. Find your little mark you made on the zipper when you were at the Utah/Arizona border. Carefully line up this mark to the opposite horizontal seam — the Colorado/New Mexico border, if you will. Now you can finish sticking down the zipper to the seam allowance, taking care to match the coils perfectly on your finger-pressed fold, the way you did the first time. Unfold your finger-pressed seam allowance and lay the work flat.

Okay, this might the time you pin the zipper tape to the garment fabric. But you really only need to pin right at the horizontal seam, to ensure that your chalk mark stays precisely where you want it — on the Colorado/New Mexico border. Sandra recommends cross pinning, or putting two pins in an "X" formation for this.




Return to your machine and sew the remaining side of your zipper to the seam allowance. You're going to be so excited when you look at what you've done — Four Corners!

Finish closing the garment seam allowances as you usually do when you sew an invisible zipper.

Remodeling a T-Shirt

T-shirts really are our go-to garments, aren't they?

Some of us end up with more of them than others. We have passion for something — likes sports or a rock band — and think, "I must have that T-shirt!"

Or, we get a lot of them for free.

There are many books and blog tutorials out there about how to transform your T-shirt into a new garment or accessory, by cutting, tying, or embellishing. I'm not adding to that, but I am showing a way to fit a T-shirt that's too big.

Here's my shirt, an American Apparel man's shirt in medium. The manufacturer uses the softest cotton jersey anywhere and it's very nice to wear and work with. I would have been better off buying a larger shirt, but this fabric is a lot more giving than other shirt fabrics, so it's okay.




Lay shirt as smooth and flat as possible on your work surface. Don't cut it yet! You need to see if you have enough fabric in all the places you need it.

Use an old, favorite T-shirt (in this case, a totally pitted-out shirt from a low-priced chain) as your pattern. Cut the sleeves off your old shirt. Cut the old shirt open on the sides. Leave the shoulder seams sewn, though, and align them with the already-sewn seams on your new shirt.


Take a look at what's going on here: My old, ladies' shirt is wider at the chest than the man's shirt. We need the room in that part of our bodies, while men need width at the upper chest and shoulders. That's just one reason why a man's T-shirt looks so terrible on a woman.






Okay, but I was safe, anyway. I cut my new front (and back) pieces with a wedge of sleeve in them. It's kind of an unplanned gusset in the sleeve!

Now, and only now, you can take the sleeves off your new shirt, and cut open the side seams (in lots of cases there will not be any seams on the sides — many shirts are sewn from tubular knits). Cut your armholes, and your sides, using your old shirt as your pattern. They will invariably be very different from the man's shirt. Use the sleeves from your old, gross shirt as a pattern for your new sleeves.



In this case, I decided not to give myself the extra work of hemming the sleeves, so I left the hemmed sleeves from my Destroyer T-shirt just as they were, instead of cutting them into the cap style that my old shirt had. What I really wanted to use was the sleeve cap curve, and the armhole curve.

Serge the sleeves into the armholes. Then, join the side seams of the body and the side seams of the sleeves in one, fluid seam.



My new shirt was originally a little longer than my old shirt, so I cut some off and hemmed it at a length that was right for me.




The final result.

This is a quick project because I didn't take the factory-sewn shoulder seams apart (those are very good, you can't do as well at home yourself on those). And I didn't take the neck band off (although I may change that because it's a little high for me). And I used the original sleeve hems.

All I did was set in the sleeves, join the new side seams, and re-hem the bottom, and I was ready for SXSW week (which is the time I usually wear something like this).



Now, will this work for all your T-shirts? Not always. It will not work when:

your new T-shirt is not large enough

your new T-shirt is made of a fabric that has much less give than the fabric of your old, favorite-but-not-wearable shirt

I discovered this when I remade a SXSW volunteer shirt in the very same manner I have just described here. The fabric in that shirt, a "Beefy T," is a more stable knit (and less comfortable) than the knit fabric American Apparel uses. So, when I was done, it fit me, sort of, but had far less wearing ease than I like.

It pays to spend a little time learning more about knits, and why your projects will turn out a bit contrary to expectation sometimes. I took "Understanding Knit Fabrics" with Sarah Veblen online on PatternReview.com, and it helped a lot.

The Tourist Fabric

Seen this printed, cotton voile fabric? I think every sewist has, now. I got it, oh, I'll say 4 years ago at B & J. But since them I've seen it sewn up into an oversized, unisex-looking shirt (replete with beads and sequin trim, no less). And I saw it on a bolt in Mill End Fabrics in Oregon. Must be a giant overrun for some designer.

My plan all along has been to make it into this Neue Mode dress and put that garment into the summer rotation. My first attempt at this pattern I'll call a semi-success. It was my first go-round with silk chiffon, and it was way fun (not).

Looking at these two fabrics and seeing how similar they are in color and tone, and now I'm using the same pattern for both of them … oh, what am I thinking??

Gump Dress Project 1.0

So, the Gump dress has been separated and I'm playing with its skirt. I removed the left, side seam pocket (oh, it was set in so lovely, it almost hurt to remove it) and put in an invisible zipper, following the method Sandra Betzina describes in her book, Power Sewing Step-by-Step. The hardest thing about the invisible zipper for me is staying organized long enough to get through it.

Remember how I thought I didn't have a nice, long piece of fabric on the grain? Right, except for the lovely, interfaced front plackets! I have basted the placket that has the buttonholes in it to the skirt, using it for a waistband. This skirt fits me, without shame, at my waist.

Overall, this project could be just okay, not great. I still think this fabric is so pretty, but I'm not sure I love the garment. A little eyelet trim at the hem would perk it up, but are we veering into Hee Haw territory again, maybe? (As with my black-and-white gingham Decades of Style dress last year?) The thing is, I would see something like this on the body of a hipster waif, but she would have just the right accessories for it. What would those accessories be???

Thinking.

Vintage Garment Case Study #1: Brown & Black Gingham

I often find myself in almost a no-man's land when it comes to my love of the clothes of the 1950s and 1960s. Women older than I am often share no such fondness, and women younger than I am often just don't get it — the reference means nothing to them.

But since I was a tot, I have been a fan of the post-war shirtwaist style. This dress, which I may have acquired about 8 or 9 years ago in a New Year's Eve buying frenzy at the Citywide Garage Sale, typifies many construction details I love and that would never be used in a factory today.
The first thing you notice is the bias-cut front button placket, applied to the center front (as opposed to being enclosed in a fold in the front facing, which would be a much more labor-saving method). Look, the button holes are worked on a diagonal!! You could try this on one of your own garments, and use covered buttons, too, like this dress. You could even get the buttons professionally done for a smart look.

As with the Gump Dress, the waist seam is stablized with tape, in this case, rayon seam binding. Clothing was expensive when this dress was made. Clothing was supposed to last.

I think this fabric may be a cotton blend, judging from the absence of bad wrinkles, but I wouldn't know for sure unless I did a burn test. It has a marvelous fit (which would be better if I laid off the blue cheese). There's something on the collar, however (hellooo, applique?) and the left sleeve is faded from closet or shop wear (helloo, cardigan?). This dress used to have a belt, probably a self-fabric belt, but it's long gone now.

Another detail is the snap-in sleeve heads, secured with twill tape, and removable for washing the dress.Too bad there's only one left.

The front skirt has four waist pleats and is joined to a typical two-dart bodice; the back has three gores and is joined to a back bodice that has two small waist pleats handling the dart control. The fact that the back and front are not just cookie cutter, mirror images of each other is another great style choice that would not be repeated in an everyday garment today. It felt wonderful when I put this dress on.

The label inside the back facing reads, "Atlas of Houston," which I think probably was the boutique the dress came from.