There is something so classic about those striped shirts that debuted in France on their sailors in 1858. And I love them so much that this isn’t the first time they’ve appeared on my blog. I wrote about my fondness for stripes while singing the praises of the boat neck and again (briefly) when I wrote about my fall wardrobe planning in 2021.
We all know that fashion trends come and go, but by now, we should realize that “style” is forever. So said Yves St. Laurent in 1975: “Fashions fade, style is eternal.” He was not the first to express this sentiment. Years earlier, Coco Chanel said almost the same thing when she uttered these words: “Fashion changes―style remains.” I suspect Yves was simply paraphrasing Coco. In any case, there are some styles we wear that we could have worn decades ago, and they still look fresh today. Striped T-shirts are one of those timeless styles. My husband and I have recently been revisiting old family videos. Those from the late 1980s and early 1990s reminded me of a trend that has no staying power at all—padded shoulders. Dear god, we were the epitome of style at the time, but that did not stand the test of time!
The Breton-style shirts are such a fascinating part of fashion history. I have always loved this photo of Chanel herself wearing the classic style so many years ago.
Of course, Hollywood stars embraced it as well. What could be more classic (and alluring) than Jean Seberg in her own version?
And since I don’t wear much in the way of patterns, I have embraced strips as my pattern of choice. Last year, I was desperate to have a St. James Breton shirt and found this one in Montreal. St. James is a French-made brand, so it always seemed close to the originals to me! The fabrics, though, are what these shirts are all about. I’d love to be able to find some of their fabrics.
A few years ago, when I was deeply enmeshed in learning how to do flat pattern drafting, I created two patterns featuring boat necklines. Still, I tended to make them from stripes—or a combination of stripes and plain fabric if I had leftovers.
During that same interval of designing for myself, I created a dress for a cruise—again in strips, this time seersucker.
Recently, I blogged about this twist on a classic for the Fabricville blog (Vogue 1805) and used the leftovers to make a T-shirt (Butterick 6418).
As I look at my sewing projects over the past few years, I’m struck with how many times I chose stripes—and this isn’t even all of them!
I think there is a declining breed among sewers/sewists in this twenty-first century. This is that rarefied group of sewists/sewers who eschew anything that smacks of fast-fashion-ready-to-wear techniques. For years, every time someone said a certain tool or technique would make the garments I sewed myself resemble ready-to-wear, all I could picture was crumbling sweatshops in third-world countries where workers toiled in outrageous conditions so that first-world consumers could have their choice of millions of pieces of clothing of questionable quality. No, I said. That’s not for me. And it always seemed that there was a serger involved in those discussions.
I fancied myself a couture sewist/sewer. Can you feel me rolling my eyes at that conceit? Oh, yes, I did learn to make a Little French Jacket (or three), hand-inserting silk linings, and I taught myself traditional tailoring, spending hours hand-pad-stitching the undercollars. So, I effected a kind of snobbery about that sort of sewing where a serger was involved in seam finishing or worse, *gasp* making a garment from start to finish. Then, a few years ago, I got one. And this past Christmas, I found a combination serger-coverstitch machine under the tree. What in the world?? I’ve evolved.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am still in the couture sewing category when it comes to most of the kinds of clothing I love to wear and make, but I’ve added a few tools and techniques to my repertoire. And over the past month, that repertoire has expanded to include coverstitching. Let me tell you about my adventures over the past few weeks.
For years, I sewed with only a sewing machine. Then I added the aforementioned serger, using it to finish seams of leisure wear and the odd seam in a shirt or hem edge in a jacket or dress. I always kept it to three threads since I had no intention of ever making a garment from start to finish on my serger. Finally, it occurred to me that being able to do a coverstitched hem or edge (or even use it in reverse for an interesting detail) might be a nice addition to my sewing arsenal. So, what exactly is a coverstitch, you might well ask (as I did).
According to the lovely Linda Lee’s terrific book Sewing Knits from Fit to Finish:
“…the most popular coverstitch is produced with two needles and three threads. There are two rows of straight stitches on the top and a series of looping stitches on the bottom…there is often an option to use three needles for three parallel rows of straight stitches…”
And, of course, there is no knife for cutting off the edge of your fabric like on a serger because it’s mainly for hemming. You might think that the double-needle stitching capability of your sewing machine is the same, but it really isn’t quite the same. Anyway, I thought I’d like to give it a whirl, so I began searching for the right machine.
Now, I’m a kind of neatness nerd, and I live with an even more dedicated neatness nerd. So, the idea of adding an extra machine to my downtown-sized sewing atelier (*cough*) seemed a bit excessive. That’s what sent me looking for a machine that could do both serging and coverstitching. I found the big sister of my current Singer serger and put it on my Christmas list. There it was on Christmas morning. Then, I had to learn how to use that sucker.
I decided to cut some pieces of knit fabric and practice the coverstitch—for which the machine was set up and threaded out of the box—and figure out how to most easily convert it to a serger. Let me just say there was a very steep learning curve. And this is despite the machine resembling its little sister in many ways, but in so many more ways, it simply does not. There was much to learn.
Once I figured out a few things—tears and frustration notwithstanding—I realized that I learned so much more by making threading mistakes. Or at least, that’s my story. I did manage to find a reasonably good video on YouTube that helped me immensely, but as I searched YouTube, it occurred to me that most of the sewing videos were too long. I thought I might start a YouTube channel with sewing videos no longer than five minutes, but that’s for another day (or maybe even lifetime!). After many goofs and threading mistakes, I decided to pull out some leftover fabric and make a new top, all on the new machine—no sewing machine needed. This approach is so contrary to my former point of view that it isn’t even in the same ballpark. But what is life if you can’t evolve, hmm?
I decided to make Butterick 6418 as my test garment. I liked view D with its contrast sleeve and bodice insert, and I had enough fabric left from two previous projects to get it done. So, I began.
I used what my (very detailed) machine manual calls a “three-thread ultra-stretch mock safety stitch.” The three threads are left needle, right needle and cover looper. The safety part refers to the fact that it is designed for seaming, and I can report that it is a very stretchy stitch.
That was great for my project. Then I would use the three-thread coverstitch for the hems and the neckline. I was a bit leery of the coverstitched neckline—for good reason. The pattern design calls for the neckline to be turned and stitched. I think the next time I do this, I’ll make a narrow neck binding for a better finish.
I motored along the seams, seaming and finishing all in one fell swoop. I have to admit I was a bit tickled by the process. I didn’t do anything fancy on this project, but I can see a few interesting approaches in the future. I can see decorative finishes using the coverstitch reversed or even trying to make a bathing suit, although that may be a bridge too far!
Lessons I Learned
A combination machine requires patience since it has to be rethreaded and rejigged from serger to coverstitch machine every time you change modes.
You can minimize the changing by thinking through a project before you begin.
I am still not a fan of the imprecision of doing seaming and serging all at once. I’m a stickler for fit, so I prefer to have an exact measurement. This doesn’t seem to be too much of a problem, though, in stretchy enough knits.
I need to never lose sight of the usual things I am aware of—like when my needle thread runs out. When it did, I thought there was something wrong with the machine. No, it just ran out of thread.
The coverstitch book I also received for Christmas:
Anyone who has been reading my online posts for a while will already know that I’m a bit of an odd duck when it comes to sewing bloggers. Rather than being a sewist who writes, as most sewing bloggers seem to be, I am a writer who sews—that’s why my posts usually contain a story or two. I don’t just tell you what and how I’ve been sewing. I usually have a story about why I’m doing what I’m doing.
I’ve been sewing since I was about twelve years old and writing for as long—but I’ve spent more of my adult life writing than sewing. About two years ago, I wrote a book that combined these lifelong passions. Until then, most of my writing had been a thirty-year career as a nonfiction health and business writer with a bit of historical fiction added to the recent mix. When The Year I Made 12 Dresses launched in mid-2020, I had no idea it was the start of a book series. I had no idea that Charlotte (Charlie) Hudson, who learned as much about herself as she did about sewing that year she made 12 dresses, would stay in my imagination through so many stories.
Charlie has become slightly more peripheral to the stories recently, although I would argue that she is pivotal—and that will become increasingly clear when the next (and final book) is published. In the last book, Charlie found an unfinished manuscript for a romance novel among her great-grandmother’s belongings after she died. And Charlie, being a writer herself, decided to finish the story. What she never counted on was that she had the ending wrong. Charlie discovers the real people behind the characters in her great-grandmother’s story and knows she has to listen to them. Today, I’m launching the fifth book in the series.
It’s 1989, and Antonia St. John has a single goal. To crash through that glass ceiling created by 1960s Madison Avenue advertising men. Then, the one thing she never saw coming threatens to derail her plans until she can find a solution. She never planned on having a baby―especially a baby who turns out to be a ballet dancer, something Antonia cannot get her head around. But the baby is just the beginning of Antonia’s journey into family life.
When she learns her baby’s father, Tim, has a secret buried in his past―a secret so big it changes everything― Antonia has to dig deep within herself to find the courage to see it through to the end and to find her place in the family. With an unlikely ally in her mother-in-law, Grace, who never liked Antonia, she finally begins to learn the lessons that families―even dysfunctional ones―have to offer. Figuring out where you fit into a family―and the world―may be the ultimate challenge.
There’s another thing about me that many of my readers don’t know. I’m a ballet mom. My son lived away from home in residence at Canada’s National Ballet School from the time he was eleven until he graduated in 2007. That experience as a parent of a student at an elite ballet school was part of the inspiration for this book, which is dedicated to 2007 graduates of the National Ballet School.
Charlie doesn’t do a lot of sewing in this book (just wait until next time, though!), but she learns a lot about life.
There was a time when I never looked back on a year of sewing and style matters. These days, I find it very illuminating to see how my style has evolved, what I choose to sew, what I choose to buy off the rack and what I’ve learned―about sewing and myself. And the end of a calendar year always seems like the right place to reflect―beginnings and endings and all that. So, what did 2022 offer me?
I looked back at the patterns I chose to work on this past year. I always tend to stick with the big commercial brands since they usually have the most interesting design details and well-fitted pieces―by which I mean more tailored pieces with less design ease. I continue to notice that many of the indie pattern makers don’t seem to be able to produce anything that has to fit closer to the body. In other words: bags―bags with far too much design ease. Bags are not my style. So, I used Butterick, McCalls and Vogue patterns with a New Look thrown in. But I also tried a Jalie for the first time this year. Dear god, there were so many sizes in one pattern envelope―it was mesmerizing. I also tried a custom-fit Lekala pdf, although I hate pdf patterns (oh, maybe they’re starting to grow on me).
Here’s the 2022 run-down:
I also launched a new book that carried on from the first in what has become an unexpected series. The first book, The Year I Made 12 Dresses, introduced Charlie (Charlotte Hudson), who learned to sew after finding a dusty old sewing machine in her late mother’s basement, and she has appeared in every one since.
However, in the most recent books, her role has been peripheral. The good news is that Charlie’s story is coming full circle―I’ve begun work on a new book that I expect to be out in mid-2023. Charlie travels to Mallorca to take a course from a Parisian couturier―and learns to make a Chanel-style jacket…among other things.
Of course, the release of the newest one is imminent! Charlie will make that jacket throughout 2023!
Throughout the sewing adventures of 2022, here are some things I learned.
I need to pay closer attention to online pattern reviews.
The burrito method for attaching yokes is fun and fantastic!
I don’t wear dresses as much as I like to make them 😊
The camp shirt style is spot on for my summer lifestyle.
I am itching to make another Little French Jacket.
My new book should go full circle around to where the series started: sewing
Wait until I tell you about my Christmas present! Then my plans will come clear. And onto that new book where Charlie learns to make a Little French Jacket―with a twist.
It might have been last summer when my husband came along with me on a fabric-shopping foray to Queen Street West in Toronto when he found the fabric. I was otherwise occupied in the shop while he rummaged through the myriad shirt fabrics and discovered a cotton denim-y fabric that we both thought would make him a fabulous shirt. I finally dug out one of the bespoke shirt patterns I created for him a year or two ago and got back to work on the shirt.
I like the precision required for making a really good shirt, but I have difficulty finding fabric I love. So many shirtings―the kind made specifically for shirts―are too…I don’t know…boring? I mean, there are lots of stripes, then there are more stripes, then you look again, and there are even more stripes. I’ve made a few striped shirts in my day, and it’s getting tired―not to mention how my eyes begin to cross after staring at stripes for a while. I’d love to find some nice lightweight cotton that doesn’t sport stripes (or worse, the dreaded florals) for a shirt for myself, but I digress. I have the denim. And I’m cutting it out for my husband’s shirt.
While we were in the fabric store, I pulled him over to the thread rack. I picked out a few possible contrasting threads for topstitching and asked him which one he preferred. He chose a kind of taupey-grey. It turns out that this is a great colour for topstitching denim. Anyway, let the sewing begin.
Whenever I haven’t made a shirt for a while, I pull out (the late) David Page Coffin’s book, Shirtmaking: Developing Skills for Fine Sewing, for a bit of inspiration. I particularly like his description of attaching a sleeve placket because I tend to forget how it goes. (Wrong sides to wrong sides, wrong sides to wrong sides…my mantra―god knows I’ve done it wrong enough times and had to unpick it *sigh*).
The other aspect of shirt-making I always review is attaching the collar stand. Now, don’t get me wrong. I know how to do it because I was taught that method whereby the inside of the collar stand is done entirely by hand. The results are good, but there can be funkiness at the centre front. Most shirt-making sewists who teach things online swear by what they call “the burrito method.” The only problem is that each of them has its own burrito method. I’ve tried two of the three main ones, and they work okay, but there can be frustrations.
As I searched for the best videos on this burrito method, I stumbled across instructions for using a similar approach for attaching the yoke. It was like a lightning bolt went off. What? This is how to do it without resorting to slip-stitching the inside. Well, it was too late for me since I’d already done the yoke (and it turned out quite well, even if I do say so myself), but next time―let’s just say there will be burritos even if they’re not for the collar (which they may be).
How to Sew a Shirt Yoke – the Burrito Machine Sewn Method
I must admit that by the time I found this video, I had already attached the yoke to the men’s shirt, so I put it on the back burner until I started a new blouse for myself.
I found an interesting blouse pattern among the discards I like to peruse whenever I’m in a big-box fabric store. Last summer, I stumbled on McCall’s 8014 at Fabricland somewhere here in Ontario. I love these expeditions―as a downtown urbanite with access to the best fabric stores in the country a forty-five-minute walk away, I still like to have an adventure at a suburban Fabricland/Fabricville (depending upon where in the country you live) whenever we’re on a road trip. I also had some sale fabric―a rayon with a very soft hand.
I applied this burrito method to attaching the yoke, and wow! What fun! It worked beautifully. I wonder what new things I’ll learn in 2023. (Umm…it’s not quite finished…those cuffs are pinned and, no buttons- as you can plainly see!)
Can we talk about sewing pattern reviews? Do you use them? Love them? Hate them? Or not even know they exist? As for me, I usually forget they exist.
I am a member of the online pattern review site, cleverly called―you guessed it―Patternreview.com. I have posted exactly one review. This is odd coming from a woman who has a lot of opinions. Yet, I seem unable to make more of a contribution to this site, which, in my view, is doing all of us sewists a great service. All you have to do is plug your pattern brand and number into their search engine, and you’ll see a list of reviews of that exact pattern. They include a wide variety of pattern brands from Vogue through the rest of the major brands and such an extensive list of independent brands that I have to conclude they have most of them covered. That isn’t to say, however, that every single pattern has been reviewed. But I’ve never found one from a major brand that wasn’t there. With all that to consider, why do I find pattern reviews so problematic? Let me introduce you to Vogue 1663.
This pattern is a Kathryn Brenne design that captured my attention not because of its shawl collar and belted waist but because of its back detail. I loved those tucks, so I decided I’d consider adding this style to my winter wardrobe.
I bought a length of sweatshirt fleece, one of the pattern’s recommendations. If I had paid closer attention to those fabric suggestions, I would have noted that they also suggested boiled wool. And a fabric with a 35% cross-grain stretch factor. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never known a pure, boiled wool to have that much stretch. No single pattern design can be executed equally as easily―and with equally good results―in both those fabrics. Anyway, my fabric did meet the requirements vis-a-vis stretch, but that was just the beginning of my concerns about overlooked issues in this pattern. Let me begin with what others have said about it.
The reviews of this pattern were consistently good. The reviewers liked the design, the sewing and especially the outcome. Well, that was the moment I should have seen the error of my ways in selecting this one. One of the specific questions that reviewers are supposed to answer is this: “Did it look like the photo/drawing on the pattern envelope once you were done sewing with it?” All the reviewers said yes.
Well, when I look at the pattern envelope, I see a sleek yet casually cozy sweater/jacket (a swacket, perhaps?). Then I look at the finished products on the review site, and I see a bathrobe. I should never have been so cocky as to think I could do it better. I thought that if I chose a more appropriate fabric than that selected by several of the reviewers, I could do a better job. Not so much. I mean, once you see it, you can’t unsee it, and that‘s what I saw all through the construction process. *sigh* It’s a bathrobe. Anyway, I began.
First, there were a few funky things about the pattern instructions. Everywhere, it kept telling me to finish the seams with pinking shears. What the―?! Dear god, pinking shears on sweatshirt fleece. It’s just so weird. Of course, I didn’t do that. I used a serger, but you could just as easily use a zig-zag stitch. Just step away from the pinking shears. Then there were other funky things.
There was the funky finishing instruction for the interior of the big facing and a strange instruction to stitch the pockets on with a 5/8-inch top-stitch. First, this would look awful. Second, if you use a 5/8-inch top-stitch, wouldn’t that mean you might not even catch the seam allowance in it?? And how ugly would that be to have the edge flapping? Needless to say, I didn’t do this. A 3/8-inch top stitch did very nicely.
Another thing that seemed to be missing from the instructions was any suggestion that applying reinforcement to the shoulders would be in order. In my view, this is crucial to any kind of success with this pattern. It is designed to be made in a 35% stretch, and it has a lot of fabric in it―I mean a lot. That means that there is considerable weight pulling down on those shoulders. I applied iron-on interfacing to the shoulder seams and to the centre back facing seam. It really helped.
Of course, there’s the inevitable mid-project existential crisis when the half-finished object is hanging on Gloria junior. I am looking at the piece dubiously when my husband walks in and says, “What is that you’re making?” But I know what he really means is, “WTF is that thing you’re making?” WTF, indeed. I have to admit: it did look pretty scary. N’est ce pas?
As I examined the half-finished monstrosity, I realized that it was long―far too long. And, contrary to what the pattern reviewers said, the finished product wouldn’t look anything like what it looked like on the pattern envelope. How tall was that model?? I am five-feet-seven (okay, maybe I’ve lost half an inch over the course of my later life) and wear a thirty-one-inch inseam. This length looked godawful on me. So, I chopped off two inches. (Of course, that made pocket placement a bit fraught, but that’s another story).
Were there any things I liked about this pattern? Yes. I really liked the design and construction of the belt. That may sound silly, but the idea of making the seam down the middle of the belt rather than at the edge really worked in this fabric. It also meant that the top-stitching was done on only two layers rather than on two layers on one side and four on the other, giving it a more consistent look.
So, I finally finished it. It’s marginally less ugly than it had promised to be mid-project. But will I wear it? I predict it will either languish in my closet, only to be picked out on the odd occasion, or become my go-to, at-home warm-up on those cold winter nights. What do you think?
No, really…how many pieces of fall and winter outerwear does a girl really need? Well, of course, it depends. It depends on several things. I suppose if someone pushed me into a corner and said, “Name the most important factor in answering this question,” I’d probably have to say the weather. I mean, if you live in Barbados (with all those heavenly palm trees and trade wind breezes), then I suppose the question is moot on any level. But, since I live in Canada―Toronto, to be specific―weather, which is based on our climate in this part of the world, dictates wardrobe to a greater degree than in many places. And it seems to me that since we have widely varying temperatures through the fall and winter seasons, I’d have to say that a girl needs many pieces of outerwear.
I read on a couple of style blogs that we need two to three winter coats/jackets. I think I snorted coffee out of my nose when I read that. Who are they kidding, and where do they live? That is not nearly enough.
One blogger suggested five coats every woman should own: a parka (okay, yes, and I already have one), a leather jacket (yes, but that doesn’t count as winter attire where I live), a rain jacket (ditto―not winter wear, but autumn, yes), a wool coat (yes, I’ll buy that, but they are truly not that warm, so they hardly count as January attire), and a puffer jacket (another autumn selection for me). This last one is interesting because a puffer jacket is a good choice, and I have one. I own a Mackage puffer that is packable and oh-so-light. It does have warmth, but those little jackets aren’t long enough to cover your butt, and that’s important. Anyway, there is so much more to the outerwear thing.
I’m not sure that this year’s runway offerings are geared toward real life, but I did find some inspiration for the variety one needs…
First, there is the very early autumn weather. The sun shines for days at a time, and the temperatures are just beginning to fall. A girl needs a light jacket and a light coat (there will be dressing up once in a while, n’est ce pas?). Maybe she needs more than one of each. Then the weather gets a bit colder, and another jacket is required. Okay, you could begin to layer, but at a certain point, you start to look like the Michelin man. That might be a good look for some people, but I have enough Michelin man moments in the dead of winter in a down-filled parka to satisfy that particular sartorial requirement. Let’s just say that a girl needs a variety of weights and styles of outerwear. Did I really need a new one this year? I suppose not, but that fabric I found was so lovely, and the Vogue pattern (9133) I liked went so well with it. So, sue me. I made another jacket. The fact that I haven’t gotten much wear out of the tailored jacket I made last year is entirely beside the point. I love looking at it in my closet. *bats eyes*
So, I decided to make a new early-autumn coat. The fabric came from Canada’s online fabric store, Fabricville. That’s because, lately, they’ve been asking me to contribute to their blog twice a year. I had no idea when I initially said yes, that they would provide the fabric, but they do, and I always look for something interesting and usually an appealing colour. I wear mostly black in the winter because that’s the Toronto uniform (I’ve mentioned before that there comes a day in early fall when there is a dramatic switch on the streets to black and continuing to wear white jeans and pastels―if that’s your thing―makes you stick out and not in a good way). This plum colour will fit right in and brighten up my blacks. This coating fabric is heavier than most I usually work with, and I loved learning to manipulate it. The only problem I found with it is that since it’s not pure wool, it has limited moulding ability, but it did have some. For example, when creating the shoulder for the set-in sleeves, I did have to work hard to get the shape I wanted.
It’s unlined, but I had some lining fabric left over from a Little French Jacket project from a couple of years ago (does keeping it make me a fabric stasher? I hope not!), so I decided to line the sleeves. My arms get colder than the rest of me, and lined sleeves make sliding the coat on over a sweater so much nicer. I decided to set in the lining by hand, and I like how it turned out. I also opted to finish the sleeve hems by hand for a more polished look. I love how they turned out.
I also wanted to do a bound buttonhole because it’s been ages since I’ve done one. Of course, I had to find myself a good YouTube video to help. I landed on the Threads magazine video “Teach Yourself to Sew: Bound Buttonholes” and found it the most useful for a review.
When I did the sample bound buttonhole, I concluded that the fabric was too bulky for a nice finish. I cut a piece of that lining fabric interfaced it and voila! Reasonably good bound buttonholes! (The top one is the bulky one; the bottom photo shows the one I used.)
The piece is a kind of elongated blazer with interesting lapels (at least, I think they’re interesting), which can be dressed down as I’ve done for the “photo shoot” my wonderful husband allowed himself to be roped into, where I’m wearing my favourite Paige jeans and sneakers. He just told me he made a reservation for lunch on Sunday at a lovely chi-chi restaurant I love a twelve-minute walk away. I’ll be wearing it a bit more dressed up for that outing!
I hope you’re keeping warm as we move toward winter in the Northern Hemisphere, and if you live down under or anywhere in the tropics, I’m not speaking to you until the spring! (Just joking! 😊)
PS: If you want to read about the specifics of working with this heavy fabric, you can read about it in the blog post I wrote for Fabricville HERE.
When friends ask you if you’d be interested in a trip to Spain and Portugal, and Spain and Portugal have been on your radar for a while, what do you say? I say, “What do I wear?” LOL No, really. That’s always my first question. Of course, the second question is, “When do we leave?”
We left in early September and spent two weeks travelling from Madrid to Lisbon, then to the Algarve on the south coast of Portugal, followed by Seville and Granada. Then, after four wonderful days back in Madrid, we flew to Mallorca to meet those friends and spent a week in a private villa. It was wonderful. However, what did I wear? Did I wear all those things I made for the trip, or did I wear something else?
The last time I wrote something here, I was planning that wardrobe. I began with the dresses. I ended up taking only one of the dresses I’d made, along with a Cop Copine dress I fell in love with at their boutique near me.
Then, when we got to Spain, I found I needed only one, so I didn’t even wear the white one (Butterick 6748)! It’s now tucked away for a possible Caribbean outing sometime this winter. (Nothing planned yet.)
I also made several camp shirt-type blouses that I always find endlessly useful in the heat. And it was super hot in Spain, especially in Seville―the hottest days of my life, I think. I wore two of them to death (Butterick 6324) and found them comfortable and presentable for Europe in the heat.
I also planned to take a side-tie blouse (in rayon) that I made from Butterick 6765, but you know what happens when you’re packing. Some things just had to be left behind. No one needs that many blouses with them on a three-week trip! So, it’s another one that will find a home in my suitcase en route to the Caribbean (and there’s always next summer).
I suppose there will always be those ready-to-wear items that inevitably become favourites. One of those in my wardrobe is a Ted Baker T-shirt made from a beautiful rayon knit that’s comfortable and flattering (at least n my view). I have had this one for several years, and it has gone everywhere with me―Spain and Portugal were no exceptions. I also always take a favourite Judith and Charles silk blouse.
And, of course, I always wear black when I fly. And yes, even a month ago, it was before Air Canada dropped their mask requirement.
The trip was terrific, and if you’ve been following me for a while, you know that my husband and I have a travel blog at thediscerningtravelers.com. Our first post about this trip includes a walk-through video of the beautiful villa in Mallorca. If you’re interested, click here.
God and Air Canada willing, I’ll be touching down in Madrid with my husband on Labour Day weekend. These days, with all the apparent luggage-related chaos at airports around the world (and especially here at home), knowing what to pack in a carry-on and in checked baggage has taken on even more urgency. Add onto that the mystery surrounding exactly what I should wear in Madrid and on tour in Spain and Portugal in early September, and I have a dilemma (and only about five weeks left to sew anything!).
Here are the issues I need to solve:
What do I need for city wear in one of the most cosmopolitan cities in Europe?
What do I need for a ten-day road trip through Spain and Portugal?
What do I need for a week on the island of Mallorca in a villa?
And how do I ensure I have at least one change of clothes in case my luggage doesn’t make it on the first attempt?
Okay, let’s get one thing straight: I do not travel with carry-on only. Ever. Well, strike that. I used to do it whenever I had a one-day trip. For example, I flew from Halifax to Toronto and returned on the same day (a two-hour flight, and of course, I did only carry-on). Other than that―no. Why? you might reasonably ask.
I’m one of those travellers who despises being hit by massive carry-on bags as they pass me in the aisle. I loathe those contortions everyone goes through, trying to put too-big carry-ons in too-small overhead bins. I am homicidal if I get to my seat and find someone has used my overhead bin for an oversized piece of luggage so that they can keep the floor of the seat in front of them empty for their feet. Okay, rant over. But you get the picture. And it’s my own choice. So, I will be packing checked bags, and I will be taking my chances. Back to what to put in said bags.
I have decided to begin with a colour plan. I’m also thinking I might use this one for general fall and winter wardrobe planning.
I think it transcends seasons with its grey-black-white-rose palette. But I still have a dilemma.
According to what I read online, people in Madrid dress for the season regardless of the weather. This means that if it’s hot in the fall, they will not return to their summer attire, and if I take the summer-dressing approach to 28-degree Celsius weather, I will stick out. But the question is this: is early September considered summer (even though it isn’t technically speaking), or is it fall?
I have to think about that. With the temperatures expected to be high and lots of on-foot touring planned, it seems to me that keeping cool and comfortable will be paramount. That being said, Quiero verme un poco chic, ¿no? Huh! Practicing my Spanish! I want to look a bit chic, don’t I? Of course.
The problem with looking chic for a three-week trip that involves lots of city touring on foot, moving by car from one city to another, two days in a beach resort on the Algarve in Portugal, four days in a capital city (Madrid) and then a week in a villa on the island of Mallorca, is that I want to look appropriate while wearing travel-friendly clothing. What is travel-friendly clothing to me?
First, travel-friendly clothing doesn’t wrinkle―at least not too much. There’s nothing worse than having to iron clothes every day. This can happen during a road trip.
Second, travel-friendly clothing is versatile. I cannot afford to take a single piece of clothing that I can’t wear several different ways with several different pairings.
Third, travel-friendly clothing looks chic while keeping me comfortable. 😊
I have to begin with an inventory of what I already have. Let me begin with dresses. (In the next post, we’ll move on).
I rarely wear dresses. But, if you’ve been reading the GG Files for any length of time, you know that I like to make dresses. This can be a problem. However, in this case, my inventory unearths a dress I made at the end of last summer, hauled along with me to the Caribbean, discovered I didn’t need a dress and hauled it home. So, since it fits into my planned palette, I will take it with me. This one is New Look 6650.
I love the half-belt detail on this dress, but I don’t’ love the length. So, when I made it, I shortened it so that it falls just at the top of my knee and added slits to the sides. I also made this from fabric that really didn’t have the 35% stretch the ease of the pattern required.
I’m just grateful I haven’t gained so much weight it won’t fit me in five weeks! But is one dress enough?
One dress is probably enough, or at least I could make it do. However, I love a shirt dress, and when I saw Butterick 6748, I thought it might be terrific. I had a piece of pin-tucked, white, woven cotton-lycra that I bought at the end of last summer, so I thought I’d give it a go.
Along the way, I picked up this new toy!
I suppose I’m late to the game (again), but I’ve never used one of these measuring gizmos before. Where has it been all my life? When I think of how much time I spend measuring for buttonhole placement…anyway, this little beauty will be with me along the way to making several coastal-grandmother-style, chic tops to take along. I’ll show them to you next time, along with my ready-to-wear picks.
In his book The Alchemist, writer Paul Coelho wrote, “It is precisely the possibility of realizing a dream that makes life interesting.” Since the first time I walked into the home economics classroom in grade seven and created my first blue corduroy jumper, I’ve had a dream to pursue my creative side. But I also had a practical side and knew that math and science were my greatest strengths, followed by my language skills. So, I followed those interests into university and beyond, spending many happy years as a university professor who wrote books. Life has always been nothing if not interesting.
But that blue corduroy, V-necked jumper I sewed so carefully and then wore proudly had never left my internal dreamer. So in recent years, when I had the chance to put my passions for sewing and writing together, it never occurred to me that at this point in my life, I’d be launching the fourth book in a series of novels that allowed me to do just this.
It’s almost two years to the day that the first book in this series, The Year I Made 12 Dresses, was published. I never intended to write a series, but it just happened. Today is the official launch of book four! I’m excited to share the next “almost-but-not-quite-true” story…”Something I’m Supposed to Do.”
The “almost-but-not-quite-true” stories take you on a journey backward in time from the twenty-first century to the 1980s, onward to the 1960s and ending―and beginning―in 1912. Three generations of incredible women all learn a single lesson: You don’t get the life you deserve. You get the life you create.
Book 4: Charlie Hudson has a problem she never saw coming. She has too much money and no idea what to do with it. As she searches for what she’s supposed to do, she faces her great-grandmother’s unfinished book manuscript and finds herself drawn into the 1980s and a romance that might teach her something about the interconnectedness of life events. If only she could figure out what it is.
Charlie becomes part of a book within a book and discovers Something I’m Supposed to Do.
It launches today.
Of course, you can get it at Amazon or any other online bookstore… just in case you’re interested!
Visit the Moonlight Press page for more, including trailers and the details.
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