history – The G. G. Files

In Search of the Perfect Wrap Top: Fall/Winter 2019

Posted on October 18, 2019 by ggherself

Have you ever found a silhouette that you just love? For me, it’s been the pencil skirt, the skinny pant and the wrap top. I don’t wear skirts all that often (with the exception of my cruise collection 2019 skirt) so searching for a pencil skirt is a bit of a time-waster. I have actually found my perfect skinny jeans (Paige denim – no, I do not make jeans and will never make my own jeans as long as Paige continues to exist).

But…I have been searching for the perfect wrap top for years and this season wanted to add one or two perfect ones to my wardrobe.

Over the past couple of seasons, I’ve experimented with a couple and my desire to create one in (expensive) silk knit set me off on a quest to ensure the perfect silhouette, the perfect wrap and the perfect fit – before I take the plunge into an as-yet-unpurchased piece of (expensive) silk. But first, where did this little gem of a piece of clothing begin? It’s a fascinating history.

Of course, Diane von Furstenberg has been credited with “inventing” the wrap dress more than 40 years ago back in the 1970s (not all the clothes during that decade were hideous), and we can all be forgiven if we believed, up until this minute, that this is where this silhouette began. It did not. If you look closely, you might even conclude that DVF borrowed the idea from an American designer who preceded her by some 40 years.

According to most online sources, the wrap silhouette can be traced back to American couturier Charles James in the 1930s when his body-hugging designs were just short of scandalous. Of course, he was also known for his extraordinary ball gowns, but it is the wrap silhouette that is the most avant-garde as far as I’m concerned.

Until I began looking into the origins of the wrap design, Charles James hadn’t even registered with me. But there he is. This little video, hosted by none other than Vogue’s Hamish Bowles, provides a terrific overview for those interested in the history of fashion. But CJ’s wrap creation doesn’t really appear here.

However, if you have a few moments and the interest), you’ll notice that buried among all his other voluminous creations, the CJ wrap dress appears (at about 3:27 of the video is you want to skip ahead).

What’ really interesting about the design as far as I’m concerned, is the way it wraps. And not every one of his wrap dresses had the same inner construction. The one featured in the videos above is actually a wrapped skirt.

If we move forward into the 1950s, you can see that even the pattern companies were offering home sewers options. The silhouette in general is a very ’50s look the way I see it.

I started my own wrap journey with a faux-wrap tank top that I designed based on a favourite top from, of all places, Landsend. (I wrote about it here.)

It’s kind of cute, but not the real deal. I do like the fact that with a faux-wrap you don’t have to worry about a wardrobe malfunction, though!

Then I moved on to Butterick 6517. (Note the same striped bamboo jersey).

I liked the outcome, although I did think that the wrap-over bit at the front was a tad bulky. So many folds. Nice, but not worthy of (expensive) silk jersey.

I finally hit upon Butterick 6628 and with a few tweaks I’m happy to say that it became the first piece of my 2019-20 F/W wardrobe. You might remember my inspiration board for this season along with its colour palette.

I picked up a drapey synthetic for the purpose of trying out this pattern before the (expensive ) silk knit that I plan. It turned out better than I had expected and this will be the design for the final product when I find the right fabric.

In the meantime, I’ve put this one into the fall/winter rotation and am still searching for the perfect silk knit. On to the next design!

More images of the Charles James wrap dress: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/171965

Style

Adventures in fitting the bust: Or why commercial patterns don’t fit (me)

Posted on February 7, 2017February 7, 2017 by ggherself

At least the back fits at the muslin stage!

It occurs to me that a bodice that fits like a glove across the bust is the holy grail of fitting (of course, I have yet to properly create a pant sloper, so I might stand to be corrected). As I make my slow and not-so-easy way through another so-called fast-and-easy pattern, I realize that I just have to suck it up: a perfect-fitting bodice takes time. It further occurs to me that bodice fitting has been important throughout the history of women’s fashions, even if the shape has changed often dramatically over the years. (I write historical fiction in another life so historical research is kind of my thing!)

Take for example bodice fitting in the time of Henry VIII. In those days, women were made to fit into the clothing rather than having clothing made to fit the woman. Just imagine having to get up in the morning and be laced into your corset so that your waist was tiny, your bust smashed flat and your back kept so ramrod erect that you could hardly move let alone breathe. Only then would you be able to fit into the dress you were required or wanted to wear. And never mind the health impacts of fitting into your clothing rather than the other way around. There’ a fascinating history of corsets on the web site Fashion in Time – which I love for its insights into how far we’ve come in fashion.

oil on wood 63 x 45 cm Musee du Louvre Paris

The truth is, though, that this fashion was a regression of sorts if you consider the functionality of the looser, more flowing clothing sported by both men and women in ancient Rome and Greece. It was during the medieval period that clothing began to have a lot more structure, but there is structure – that terrific fit we all seek – and there is prison.

Bust lines seem to have been important to women for centuries. I always thought that the bra was a nineteenth century pheonomenon, but it seems that we’ve been wearing them for much longer in one form or another. Early bra-like garments date back to ancient Greece when women tried various kinds of strapping to hold up the girls. But in an even more fascinating discovery, it seems archeologists have unearthed what appear to be 600-year old bras with cups and straps and the whole nine yards![1] So I know that I’m not the only one who cares about this fit issue!

medieval-lingerie-1-537x402 — A 600-year-old bra! [photo credit “Fashion in History” see footnote]

Fashion in the twentieth century waxed and waned between loose (the flapper dresses of the thirties) and the structured (Dior’s ‘New Look’). That Dior-esque silhouette influenced much of the mid-century clothing until Gabriel Chanel’s approach to design gave women back their comfort along with beautiful tailoring. The 1960’s brought a revolution in dressing: all those shift dresses that fit everyone. For me, though, the Chanel look is the holy grail of fit that I seek since it is based on individual proportion, coupled with ease of movement. It is tailored clothing with ease. So that’s where I begin.

At the end of last week’s sewing and fitting adventures I was the midst of creating a muslin/toile/calico fitting garment for Vogue 8886, a design I loved mainly because of the lovely boat neck band which turned out to be an enormous collar – but I digress. I’m focusing on bust line fitting here. vogue-8886-sleeve-variations

I was a bit irritated by the fact that this pattern is supposed to be a “perfect fit” pattern that includes separate pattern pieces for A-B-C-D cups. So, as I already mentioned, I cut for the D and found that it was HUGE! Of course, it had never occurred to me to put together a whole lot of sewing and fit intelligence to conclude that this wasn’t really what they meant. Let me go back.

Since returning to sewing, I had stumbled upon the FBA (AKA full bust adjustment) on more occasions than I can count. Evidently, it’s a general secret of the sewing intelligentsia that if the potential wearer of the garment is more than a B cup, then said wearer needs to have the pattern adjusted for that larger cup size. Indeed, the scoop is that commercial patterns are drawn for a B cup regardless of size. Okay, I thought. I need to learn to do this. Not so fast.

As I perused the online instructions (there are many very good ones) it began to dawn on me that I my over-bust measurement being only 2 inches smaller than my full bust one (not to mention that the under-bust measurement is way smaller) the FBA instructions didn’t seem to apply. It never occurred to me that this might also be the case with the pattern that offered several cup sizes. I simply recognized that I wear a D cup and cut that one. After doing many adjustments to approximate perfection, I went back to the pattern instructions which is when I found this:

perfect-fit-not

But even if I had read this before I started, I would likely have thought that it must be wrong. How in the world could a B-cup pattern fit me? It seems that if I’m 32-D and not 40-D, that’s different, but no one told me. I should have followed the FBA instruction advice from the outset and simply left the B-cup pattern as is. I don’t qualify for the FBA. You live and learn I guess.

Summary: just because you wear a bra cup size above a B does not necessarily mean you need to do a FBA. Nor do you need to cut the appropriate cup size in a sized pattern. What it means is that if you (I really mean I) want a well-fitting bodice, I’ll have to use my—a personalized sloper to fit the commercial pattern and do a mock-up – every time. Which brings me to my understanding of why commercial patterns don’t fit. Everyone’s body is different.

Taking measurements around a body does not in any way account for the differences of how those circumferences are distributed. It doesn’t account for the fact that someone with a narrow back and large bust can measure the same as someone with a wide back and not much in the way of breasts at all. Those two women could hardly be the same size. So, commercial pattern companies have their work cut out for them. And that’s why many of the designs are loose and unfitted. General results with those pieces will be better. At least if you like loose clothes all the time. I don’t so I continue to take the slow and methodical way forward!

[Getting closer to what I want – shoulder fitting fine; left side of the princess line coming – one more tweak and I can use this side to make the pattern. But those sleeves! Too long to really be 3/4,and I think I’ll add a turn-back cuff if the fabric can handle it…but all of that will have to wait. I’m off to LA & Phoenix next week to escape the Toronto weather for a bit. Hoping to make a pilgrimage to Mood Fabrics! PS Anyone know a terrific fabric store in Phoenix?]

FYI: I love this fascinating web site on fashion history: Fashion in Time.

http://www.fashionintime.org/fashion-history/

[1] Medieval “Lingerie” From 15th Century Castle Stuns Fashion Historians http://www.ecouterre.com/medieval-lingerie-from-15th-century-castle-stuns-fashion-historians/

Fashion, sewing

Sewing with knits: Moving into the 21st century

Posted on August 30, 2016August 30, 2016 by ggherself

Sometimes I think I’m the only person on the planet who remembers wearing (and sewing with) crimplene. Yes, that’s how you spell crimplene. Trademarked in the 1950’s (long before I started wearing the stuff), this was a fabric that really came into its own in the late 1960’s, remained a mainstay of fashion and sewing for a few years, then disappeared into the mists of sewing history.

According to most online sources, crimplene was the trade name of both the yarn and the fabric made from it. Polyester in origin, this was a go-to fabric for all kinds of projects and will go down in my own fashion sewing history as the first knit I ever sewed with. It occasionally appeared as a woven fabric, but most of it was a textured double knit that we used for shift dresses, pant suits (yes, matching tunic tops and pants which, BTW might make a great come-back for the over-50 set with the right silhouette in my view), men’s leisure suits (please god no more leisure-suit come-backs), and even shirtwaists. I loved it.

purple crimplene — This great 60’s dress was for sale recently online – although I suspect that it was from the early 70’s. See that texture? Crimplene!

Crimplene had all the characteristics that we were looking for at the time:

It was forgiving (unlike many of the woven fabrics of the day).
It was totally unwrinkleable (likely not a real word, but you know what I mean).
It was machine washable, dryable and unshrinkable (which accounts for why I never learned to prepare fabric before sewing since crimplene needed no prep).
It came in every colour and texture you could imagine (and couldn’t fade even if you left it in the sun for years).
It was indestructible (and crimplene clothing is probably still stacked in our land-fills to this day).
And it never frayed (so those of us on the fast fashion sewing track which we have finally recovered from never had to finish a seam allowance *shudder*).

So, when I returned to sewing in the twenty-first century I wanted to learn the techniques for modern knits, of course. I decided to enroll in another Craftsy course (actually it was the first one I ever stumbled upon) on sewing with knits, took out the walking foot that came with my new digital sewing machine and figured out how to install it on the machine. I have to admit I had never seen such a contraption before – never even heard of it. But once I learned how to use that sucker, I cannot live without it.

As I made my way through the course, I found myself two lots of knit fabric whose weight I really liked and proceeded to make some modern knit tops. What I noticed, although it didn’t really strike me at the time I bought the fabric, was the extent to which it resembled – you guessed it – crimplene. Fashioned from cotton blends in this century, both lengths of fabric I chose were eerily like the crimplene I had known and loved in the last century.

See that texture? (Front on left; back on right) Not crimplene, but twenty-first century cotton knit!

Sometimes I wonder if our sewing DNA is a kind of blueprint for what we’ll evolve to as we age – but perhaps like a fine wine, we do get better with age. I’d like to think I’m a bit more discerning and that this discernment has evolved along with the increasing size of my pocket book that was thin, indeed, back in my undergrad years at university.

Anyway, as I examine closely the fabric of the cross-over top I made during that Craftsy course, I can see definite remnants of my former penchant for crimplene. Now I’m longing to have a length of that old stuff to see if it really is as terrible and unbreathable as I think it was.

This new century has taught me that knits should probably not be indestructible, nor should they be designed only for fast sewing. They should take beautiful seam finishes, and should feel divine when worn. Feeling and looking divine: that’s what I’m after!

[If you need more about crimplene, here is a great post on a Sixties Style Blog that you’ll just love – and lots of photos! A Brief History of Crimplene http://stylesixties.blogspot.ca/2013/04/a-brief-history-of-crimplene.html]

sewing, Style

The search for perfectly fitted clothing begins here: My dressmaker’s mannequin

Posted on August 9, 2016August 9, 2016 by ggherself

wire mannequins Why, oh why does my dressmaker’s mannequin not resemble me? The short answer is that I’m too cheap to buy a custom dummy. So I’m left with Gloria Junior (her name) whose under-bust will never be as small as mine unless her waist becomes waspish, and her shoulders will never resemble mine unless they are raised at least an inch. And that’s just the beginning. So, why do I need her, anyway? I sewed my own clothes – and clothes for my sisters and my mother – for years without the aid of a mannequin. So, why now?

I was thinking about this when I was walking down the main drag in Stratford, Ontario about a month and a half ago with my husband, like you do when you’re there for the weekend to see two of their phenomenal plays or musicals that are part of the annual Stratford Festival every year (and, yes, it does sit on the banks of the Avon River with everything named after Stratford-upon-Avon in England, a Shakespeare park and all).

We stopped in front of a window display in one of the numerous boutiques that dot the street front. The mannequins made us laugh, and I started to think about how we rely on mannequins for a sense of the esthetics, and size, of the clothes that we think we’d like to have.

Of course, that also got me thinking about how mannequin use came to be – so I’ll share my history lesson!

Referred to by many as “glorified coat hangers” mannequins seem to me to have been, and continue to be, so much more than that. According to an article published by The Smithsonian, when archaeologist Howard Carter opened King Tut’s ancient Egyptian tomb in 1923 he discovered “an armless, legless, wooden torso, made exactly to the pharaoh’s measurements, standing next to the chest that held the ruler’s clothing…” Since King Tut’s demise dates from around 1350 B.C., it seems clear that mannequins have been around for a very long time – this might well have been the very first, or at least the earliest on that we know about.

Fast forward to eighteenth-century France and the court of Marie Antoinette who, it seems, sent fully-clothed mannequins regularly to her sisters in the way we might send a copy of vogue magazine to someone who didn’t have access to current fashion news. These mannequins had arms, legs, heads – the whole body, but it wasn’t long after that when they mannequins began to appear headless, armless, legless, fashioned wire, wicker and leather. As one writer put it, “with as much personality as a doorknob.”

mannequin by pierre imans 1911 — French mannequin, 1911

It was in the late 1800’s during the Industrial Revolution when expanses of glass fronts on stores became a kind of runway for the mannequin – shop owners needed a way to display their wares. The mannequin had now regained her head, arms and legs.

In a fascinating history of mannequins, writer Leighann Morris sees the evolution of the mannequin in the twentieth century as a kind of history of fashion itself – the shapes have resembled Barbie dolls, Twiggy, androgyny, fetishism – whatever has been in fashion at a point in history. And then there is the whole visible nipple debate which isn’t over yet! (As a sewer, visible nipples at least provide a sense of where one should measure the figure breadth!).

But these have been the mannequins designed for displaying clothing – store fixtures for the retail trade. What about mannequins that we know and love as the dressmaker’s dummy? Well, they have evolved alongside.

What’s interesting is that in spite of the fact that women’s heights, weights and body types vary more today than ever before, commercial dress-maker’s dress forms all seem to be very similar. It is true, though, that you can have a custom-designed dress form made just for you – a clone of your body – as it is at this moment in time, it has to be said.

LBJ finished on gloria — Gloria junior wearing my Little French Jacket. Although making a not-too-fitted jacket doesn’t seem to need a precise form, it would be nice if the boobs were in the right place!

I did a lot of online research before I bought Gloria junior. In fact, I set a maximum budget of around $300.00 so I knew I was looking for an adjustable. She has those dials that get her bust, waist, hip and back length to my size, but there is just so much more that goes on in between.

First, there is the issue of that relatively small underbust that I have. Then there is the neck – hers is fixed in position. Then there is that fact that most women are concave under the collar bone, but sadly she is not.

Why do I need her anyway?

First, I do think that being able to fit and pin without having to be a contortionist makes life easier – and probably results in fewer unnecessary puckers. Second, I think being able to stand back and really look at how everything fits and drapes without just having the mirror to help improves fit.

Then, I really just like the idea of pinning my projects on a form as I go. It makes me feel just a bit more professional – a bit of a fashion fantasy, I’m afraid.

Anyway, my Craftsy course on drafting a moulage and bodice sloper is my first step to that custom-fitted mannequin.

I’ve drafted, cut and sewn my first one. Of course, as expected, there are a few issues that were not unexpected. I’m about to cut my second one this afternoon. I hope I have the stamina to do as many drafts as needed to get it right!

Sources:

The madness of mannequins. https://mannequinmadness.wordpress.com/the-history-of-mannequin/

Leighann Morris. The complete history of mannequins: Garbos, Twiggies, Barbies and beyond. http://www.hopesandfears.com/hopes/city/fashion/213389-history-of-mannequins

How to Buy a Dress Form. http://www.craftsy.com/blog/2013/08/how-to-buy-a-dress-form/

Photo credits:

http://www.hopesandfears.com/hopes/city/fashion/213389-history-of-mannequins

Fashion, sewing

The search for the perfect size (uh…one that fits!)

Posted on August 2, 2016August 2, 2016 by ggherself

rack 2 It never fails: tune into a discussion of garment pattern sizes among newbie sewers and be prepared for the lamenting to begin. Yes, you, the experienced garment producer, think to yourself, a size 8 pattern is most assuredly not going to fit you if you wear a size 8 in ready-to-wear. In fact, I understand the depths of your indignance. If you wear a size 8 in most ready-to-wear, you probably wear a size 6 in Not Your Daughter’s Jeans (yes, I’m old enough to truly appreciate them). And, to add insult to injury, you probably wear a size 0 – yes, zero – in Chicos (of course their sizing is a thing onto itself). But here’s the thing – you only wear a size 8 in North America anyway. Rest assured, you’re never going to be able to zip up that size 8 dress off the rack at Harrod’s or, god forbid that you even try, at Galleries LaFayette in Paris. That’s because a size 8 in North America ready-to wear equates to a size 12 in the UK, and generally a European size 42, just maybe a 40 (not a 38 as you might wish). So, where does that leave you in pattern sizing? Probably a size 14.

size comparison chart — Source: fashion-411.com

I have one thing to say to you – the same thing I had to say to myself – get over it. If you really want to be able to get your clothing to fit, ignore the number and go with what works. Let’s back-track for a moment to see if we can understand this.

Did you know that clothing sizes were invented only in the early 1800’s? Before that, there was no need of them. If you were well-to-do enough, your tailor simply made your clothes to measure – all of them. If you were less financially fortunate, you made your own, fitting them to your body, your children’s bodies and the bodies of anyone else who relied on you (the matriarch usually) to provide them with wardrobe.

According to a very interesting article in Time magazine titled, “The Bizarre History of Women’s Clothing Sizes” (which is worth a read), true sizing as we recognize it today, really began to develop in the 1940’s. Before that, children’s’ clothing, for example, was sized according to age range. Even today you usually buy baby clothes by age: 6-12 months, 18 months etc., as if every child at 12 months weighs the same!

Interestingly, the standard sizing in the US was developed through an extensive survey of some 15,000 women who volunteered to be measured. The fact that they were paid to do this also resulted in the sizing being skewed toward the sizes of those in the lower socio-economic strata of society.

As the authors of the Time article state,

“As American girth increased, so did egos…And thus began the practice of vanity sizing. Over the decades, government size guidelines were heeded less and less, items of clothing began getting marked with lower numbers and eventually, in 1983, the Department of Commerce withdrew its commercial women’s clothing size standard altogether.”

Oh vanity sizing! I remember being in a dressing room in the Gap several years ago. I was well aware that the Gap had changed their sizing, especially since I was comfortable in their size 6 jeans. Next door to me were several young women also trying on jeans. Suddenly I heard a screech: “OMG! I’ve lost weight! The size 10 fits!” Sorry, kid. You’ll really have to measure yourself and/or get on the scales to find that out if that’s true. Which is where we begin the search for the perfect fit in sewing patterns. Measuring.

There really is a knack to this measuring stuff. And then if you’re using an off-the-shelf pattern which many (most?) home sewers do, there’s the matter of finding out that you don’t really fit perfectly into any of their sizes. And it’s worth noting that in the sewing world, the notion of vanity sizing hasn’t really taken hold to the same extent, but there is no doubt about it, it’s there.

I stumbled upon this sizing chart from a 1948 Vogue sewing manual…

1948 vogue size chart

So, what size would you have worn in 1948? And here’s their chart today…

vogue size charts 2016

And not really fitting any of them perfectly? So goes the world. My answer was to seek out a way to make a personal moulage, from which I’ll create a personal block, or sloper – terms that I hadn’t even heard of six months ago.

So, I’ve embarked on a new course to learn to draft my own perfectly fitted patterns. It all begins with perfect measuring, and thankfully, I have a wonderful husband whose perfectionism borders on the mystical – a terrific trait in your measuring partner. I began there, then proceeded to the session on beginning to draft. I’ll let you know how it goes!

My journey to find my perfectly sized clothing begins!

Time Article cited: http://time.com/3532014/women-clothing-sizes-history/

Couture Sewing, Little Black (French) Jacket

LBJ*: My Jacket Now has Sleeves

Posted on June 28, 2016June 28, 2016 by ggherself

[*Little Black Jacket sometimes referred to as the LFJ or Little French Jacket]

sleeve pattern — A vintage pattern for nothing but sleeves!

There is nothing quite like setting in the sleeves to make a jacket look like – well, a jacket! Sleeves are interesting, aren’t they? I was browsing some vintage patterns online the other day (like you do), and stumbled upon a pattern from the 1930’s that was nothing but sleeves. I thought, what a great idea! Well, it’s part of a great idea. You have to have a garment body that suits them!There is little doubt that the same body with different sleeves can look vastly different. Even the pattern I’m using for my homage to Chanel’s Little Black (French) Jacket has two sleeve variations.

I’ve chosen to make it with the two-piece, bracelet-length sleeves for this time around (I’m already considering the next one!).

Even Chanel herself gave a lot of thought to her sleeves. In the past when I’ve put sleeves in jacket-like garments, they have always tended to be a single pattern piece. If you think about it, this kind of construction doesn’t give much leeway for what our arms are really like – that is, they bend. A real Chanel jacket always has at least a two-piece sleeve and usually a three- piece one which allows for having some ease in one of the seams at the precise place where our elbows bend. In addition, the multi-piece sleeve permits the sleeve to be narrower which gives it a more polished, well-fitting, custom look.

Another of Chanel’s concerns about sleeves was that they have a relatively high armhole. This vintage photo of Chanel herself shows her holding up her arm to demonstrate that a higher armhole allows the jacket to remain in place when the wearer raises her arms. What a great idea.

coco-chanel_sleeve — Coco Chanel demonstrating the advantages of the high armhole (Smithsonian)

Anyway, all of this research leads me back to the challenge of the day: preparing and setting in the sleeves on my own jacket.

I have already joined each sleeve’s two pieces ensuring that the requisite ease has been included. I have also machine-quilted the lining to each of the pieces. Now I am ready to construct them.

I pin back the lining along the seam just as I did when constructing the jacket body so that it doesn’t get caught up. Then, using a 3.0 mm stitch length and my trusty walking foot (could not live without it) as always with this bouclé, and remembering that I’m using a 1-inch seam allowance, I sew the seam. Then I add the two rows of ease stitching (5.0 mm stitches) over the top of the sleeve head.

Seams are now sewn and the lining needs to be finished.

I begin pressing the seam by pressing it flat first, then using a seam roll (or in my case a rolled up towel since I’ve been too cheap to buy an actual seam roll), I steam the seam allowances open with the tip of my iron. Then I steam it lightly from the right side to finish the pressing. I trim the seam allowances then it’s time to deal with the lining.

Using the same technique I used with the body of the jacket, I first secure the one-and-a-half-inch hem with a catch stitch, then use a lapped seam for the lining along the seam and fold under a half-inch above the hem. Then I use that ladder stitch to hand sew the lining in place. Now I’m ready to shape the shoulder.

I use my tailor’s ham (fortunately I wasn’t too cheap to buy a real tailor’s ham which in my opinion is an essential sewing item) as a stand-in for a shoulder, I ease in the shoulder shape. It’s now ready to be set in. I am sewing the fabric (without the lining) of the sleeves to the fabric AND the lining of the body (I basted the lining to the jacket body fabric at the armholes ages ago in the process). Many people simply pin-baste the sleeves. I am going to do what I always do with set-in sleeves – I thread baste it in. This is a challenging situation since there is so much fraying fabric and open lining pieces that will eventually have to be hand-stitched into place, not to mention a plaid that has to be matched that I do not want to take a chance on losing pins or having the sleeve shift while I’m sewing. So, working inside what is akin to a paper bag, I slowly sew the armhole seam. When I finish, I hold my breath for a moment as I turn it right-side out. The sleeve is beautiful without a pucker in sight and even more fantastic is that the plaid is perfectly matched. The I have to do it all again on the other side!

Finally, they are in and my jacket looks like it is a real jacket. I just have to trim the seams and then hand sew the sleeve lining to the body lining. They are finished and I am delighted.

I try it on with a bit of trepidation. I altered the shoulder length a bit at the muslin stage and now this is the moment of truth as regards the shoulder fit. There is nothing worse than a jacket that droops over the shoulders when it is designed to be perfectly set at the shoulder line. I adjust things and look in the mirror. Perfect. Well, perfect enough.

I’m getting close to the end of the project although there are still many hours of hand sewing ahead. I first have to consider pockets and trim, but that’s the next step.

Couture Sewing, Little Black (French) Jacket

LBJ*: Making a Customized Pattern for the Jacket

Posted on May 16, 2016May 16, 2016 by ggherself

[*Little Black Jacket sometimes referred to as the LFJ or Little French Jacket]

I now have to cut apart the toile that I’ve grown so fond of!

Now that I’ve created a toile – fitting muslin – for my little black jacket project, I know that it’s time to cut it apart. But I’ve grown quite fond of the ugly white cotton jacket that hangs on my mannequin. I know that the next step toward making that pattern I’ll need for cutting into my actual jacket fabric can only result from me taking scissors to my creation, so I’ll have to do it, and I’m happy to learn to create a patterns since it’s something I’ve never done before. Until I did some research, I hadn’t considered the history of modern sewing patterns that those of us who are interested in sewing take for granted. According to Joy Emery’s very interesting book A History of the Paper Pattern Industry: The Home Dressmaking Fashion Revolution, the first known work that contained small pattern diagrams drawn to scale was published in the sixteenth century! She says, “The book’s purpose was to instruct tailors on methods of cutting out pattern pieces so as to get the most garment from the least amount of fabric.”[1] It’s funny, isn’t it, that we still try to do that today. Fabric was expensive in the sixteenth century and it is ever thus in the twenty-first century! book cover

Anyway, for the next couple of centuries more and more manuals of this sort were published in Europe and eventually in North America. The first companies that produced actual patterns in the US for home sewers appeared in the mid-1800’s and were Demorest and Butterick. (Although to be clear, there were full-sized patterns in Europe long before this according to my research.) But what an invention! Full-sized patterns that home sewers could use and adapt! Ever since that time, we’ve been buying and using commercially-produced patterns, while the more daring among us have simply created their own. In my view, creating a made-to-measure pattern from a commercial one is a bit of an adventure in itself for those of us who have more or less stuck slavishly to the pattern for years. I’m a bit excited about entering into the pattern-making realm!

So I take the toile from the mannequin and begin to cut it apart. I have to cut accurately along the stitching lines that I did in bright blue thread so that they would be visible. I’m very happy that I did this following the advice of my online video instructor Lorna Knight [see the Craftsy class on the Iconic Tweed Jacket].

After each piece is cut out (one front, one back one back side etc. – you get the picture since I’ll be using a double layer of each piece although I’ll be cutting them out single layer – more about that when I get to actually cutting out the fabric – later), I remove any seam allowances, such as around the neckline and down the front, as well as the hems so that what is left is the piece as it will be sized finished. Now I’ll have to make up a paper pattern piece for each one that includes seam allowances and hems.

There is such a thing as proper pattern-making paper, and Lorna Knight uses one called cross-and-dot paper which has printed crosses and dots presumably to assist with straight layouts. Some people buy rolls of paper medical offices use for covering their examining tables, while others use rolls of craft paper. I’m using sheets of packing paper left over from our recent move. I had this in mind when I rolled them up and put them in the back of my closet.

I work with each piece individually and create each pattern piece one at a time. I start by laying the muslin piece on the paper and putting in a couple of pins to hold it down to the paper. Then I have to begin to add the seam allowances and the hems.

It seems that on couture garments, large seam allowances are de rigeur for purposes of fitting and because in the case of a Chanel-style jacket, the boucle fabric that I’ll be using frays easily and wide seam allowances ensure that you have enough fabric. So, I use a seam guide and mark full 1-inch seam allowances all around and a one-and-a-half-inch hem. My research tells me that deeper hems are also a hallmark of better garments (and the pattern calls for this anyway!).

I use a pen to make dots all around and then join them. I then get out the original tissue-paper pattern and use it to guide my markings. I’m going to need to mark the straight grain, notches, dots and any other marks that will assist with ensuring accuracy in sewing. Of course I need to write on each piece precisely what it is a piece for: front, back, side front upper sleeve etc. The instructor in the Craftsy course I’m following also recommends writing the date on each piece. After all, I might want to use this again and I’ll presumably be able to remember what size I was when I did this – I hope the same one I’ll be in the future!

spot-cross2 — Dot and Cross pattern-making paper — that I didn’t use!

All that’s now left of my pattern-making is to cut out each pattern piece. So, now I have a pattern. May I choose my real fashion fabric yet? Next time.

[1] Joy Emery. 2014. The history of the paper pattern industry: The home dressmaking fashion revolution. London, Blomsbury, p. 5.