Pattern Panic

It's April, and the wedding is in August.  There's plenty of time for me to  make 10 different dresses, if I like. I spent hours poring over online pattern catalogs, and believe me, going to the fabric store and thumbing through pattern books is much quicker. I'm no closer to a decision. Everything for weddings seems to be strapless. No way. I'm 60. I don't do strapless. 

If I start now, I can make something complex. Only thing is, I want to wear a dress, and I haven't sewn any  for years. I fear that I will end up in an A-line  dress with a droopy arty jacket. I like sewing arty.

The bride will be wearing  vintage Jessica McClintock. Do I want to nod to her style and wear a 70's boho dirndl close fitted vest and filmy top? Could I stand to wear pastels? Lavender and mint green are her accent colors. I dunno. I didn't go for ruffles and lace in the 70's.

I have a vast collection of vintage patterns, but I am short. There is no way that I want to wear a poufy skirted 50's dress. I am not a cupcake. My pattern stash turned up variations on the same pattern, from different publishers and different eras. I'm headed toward sheath/shift/A-line, despite my indecent lust for patterns that feature clever cut and drape techniques.

I have a collection of vintage linen tablecloths just waiting to be transformed into something.

I'm leaning toward an a-line sheath with cap sleeves, and a  jacket of some sort.  The bride gave me a lovely vintage dress and jacket pattern for Christmas, but a dress and jacket of precisely the same fabric seems somehow  business like, not really celebratory. Perhaps  cotton lace or eyelet. A suit? Somehow that seems too businesslike. If I'm going to wear a suit, I want it to be Mainbocher. I love high fashion of the 40s and 50s, but  most of the high fashion stuff looks good only on very tall people.

I haven't sewn clothing  for myself for years. I've mended, made do and forced manufactured clothing into submission. I've made hats and vests, and socks, but I  haven't cut a pattern for a dress for years. It ought to be special. It ought to be fun. Fun for me is color, strip quilting, embroidered ribbon, lace.  Mostly, it is color.

Broadcloth large scale print with kimono sleeves and obi belt? Boat neck? Somewhere I have some vintage rayon damask given to me by the bride's mother. Could I dye it? Bead it? 

Panic now. Avoid the wait.

One Size Fits Few

This just in: I am not a complete idiot, nor am I malformed. The problems that plague me when I try to sew pants from many commercial patterns (Simplicity, Butterick, McCall) are not unique. I am not completely inept. I learned this with a trip to Fashion Incubator, a site for those who design for manufacturers.* What a relief!

Kathleen Fasanella discusses common industry problems, researches why they occur, and tells designers what they can do to avoid them. She bought a pair of manufactured pants for her husband, showed that they did not fit, sewed a gusset to make them fit better, and told us why no real human could have worn those pants to begin with. As I understand it, the mistake that makes many pant patterns fit poorly creeps in during the grading, when they enlarge the pattern for different sizes. If the additions are made in the wrong place, a whole set of fit problems can occur. I sort of knew that.

I love knowing what makes clothing work and why. There is even an answer for why the waistbands of pants seem to get smaller at a different rate than the rest of the pants. It's in the cut. If you cut the waistband alongside the pant leg, it shrinks at a different rate than if you cut it across the width of the fabric. It gets smaller faster. It's not my imagination. Henceforth and forever more, I will cut my waistbands across the fabric, even if I have to piece them.

Fitting a pair of pants is indeed almost as complex as, say, rocket science. Weight gain is not evenly distributed. Allowing for weight gain  requires knowing where you store it. If, unlike Lyndon Johnson, you store fat above the waist, you've got it made. Folks who store fat in their thighs have one problem. Those who get big middles have another. Each fat storage zone has its own shape, and sometimes the best you can do is to disguise it.

In other words: everything I was ever taught about fitting pants is only partially true. The rules that worked when I was severely underweight don't work now that I am normal and then some. I have curves. They are pleasant, but they are still curves, and pants patterns are designed to fit a median. No, let me correct that. Pants patterns are designed to go on  a variety of shapes. They only actually fit one shape well, and the rest of us must learn to put up with what we get, or change brands. 

Off I go to fiddle with  my stalled pants project. I've also dug out former college level sewing instructor Terry Jones' instructions for making pants. She very kindly posted them years ago during one of my prior rants about pants patterns. Terry Jones can make just about anything seem simple. Her instructions are calm, matter of fact, step by step, and I should have followed them long long ago instead of getting distracted by moving 3 times in 3 years and having sewing machine and fabric out of reach for 18 months.

*Anyone can read Fashion Incubator, but only those who have bought her book may comment on the site. This ensures that she only has to deal with informed commenters. I am grateful and happy to be allowed access to all this inside information.

I fought the pants and the pants won

At least I am consistent.  My second attempt at making a pattern from finished clothing turned out just the same as the first: too small. I'm not sure what happened. The originals are denim, on their last legs and fraying badly; the copies are waffle weave without give.

I made the pattern  measuring point to point and adding a 5/8 seam. The originals only had a 3/8 seam. The pants made from the copied pattern fit as if they were painted on. I let out two seams and now they only look as if I were poured in. The shape is right, but yuck.

At this point I am tempted to stop beating a dead horse. I could, I suppose, add an inch width to the side seams. But we all know that this will just encourage another problem to appear. Still, the shape is right.... I give in. I'll add strips along the sides and see what happens.

I have 30 years of pants patterns, many untried, all bought in the hope that it  would be the magical pattern that trumps all others. I've bought patterns in classic and funky styles, the same measurement as my hip and two sizes smaller, as someone advised. I've used one size for the front and another for the back. I've measured, slit apart, added. When the pattern gets to the almost good enough stage, I am beat, done, unwilling to face the reality of tweaking  pants patterns for months or years.

I could try a pattern from another manufacturer. I have determined beyond argument that Simplicity will not work for me ever. McCall is marginally better. I have twice attempted a McCall pattern pants pattern. The pants fit, but only because I altered them substantially.  I like loose but not voluminous, and the pants I made from a knitwear pattern are right in the crotch length but wide enough elsewhere for me and a few of my closest friends.

I have a vintage Stretch N Sew pattern, but  I don't want knit pants. I have an old Vogue, but I think I want a complete change: Burda. It is rumored that Burda has a long back rise, so there's an alteration I wouldn't need, right off the  bat. Burda has a completely different sizing system.  Instead of 10-12-14, it has horrifyingly large numbers, 38, 42, 46.  

Maybe I should try again to copy pants. David Page Coffin makes it look so simple in his video.  His 2009 book, Making Trousers for Men & Women, addresses a raft of interior details that make all the difference.  Coffin uses photos lavishly to illustrate techniques, and is generous with his descriptions.  I agree with a good many of his preferences, the use of Petersham as a waistband liner, cut-on waistbands, extra fabric in the back for expansion. I may never attempt a curved pocket welt, but it's in there.

Thank you, Qbookshop and Craftside, for claiming that my answer to a silly question won, and for allowing me to choose a book. Making Trousers for Men & Women  arrived this week  and is a very satisfying read. I'm thrilled to have it, but with my track record with pants, I don't imagine I'll be a good advertisement for its merits.

Suit Rescue

Small, gray, wool and impeccably styled, it was a suit from the 80's approximately the size of my niece.  The price was too good to ignore. I bought it and later made the niece try it on. She was in raptures. Her main concern was the length of the sleeves. Mine was that the skirt was too tight around her middle. Both of us thought that there were only one or two stains, and that they would come out when I soaked the suit in cold water.

The first soaking produced grimy gray water. The second produced water the color of weak coffee.

I used the waistband of the skirt to lengthen the jacket sleeves, and noticed yellowish stains on one sleeve. I released the darts in the skirt front and added another inch to the waist and hips by letting out the side seams. Because Petersham ribbon (stretchable grosgrain) is so hard to find, I used a woven braid to face the waist, and added a button tab at the back, made from the last bit of the former waistband.

It was all done except for the final pressing with steam and pressing cloth. I do this in front of a window, There is an abundance of natural light, and this showed more yellowish stains. All the stains I noticed, I scrubbed with plain cold water. So far, all have come out. Granted, the stains were faint and could only be noticed in strong light, but having seen them, I couldn't ignore them.

And this makes me wonder what in the world the cleaners of that suit did. If anyone had soaked the stained area in water before sending it through the dry cleaner, none of these stains would  have hung around.

Unconventional Alterations I've Never Read About (But Tried Anyway)

Like most  people, I tolerate a certain amount of annoyance from my clothing because the color is right, the price was right, or  the thing looked mostly good. One day  ALL of my clothing was annoying, and I had no choice but to deal with it.

A couple of years ago I bought  pair of pants a size too big because I knew I could take in the seat. The color was perfect, a gray-lavender. Two years passed. The fabric shrank and faded and I got a little larger. The too-high-in-front waist became annoying enough for me to want to do something about it. After removing the belt loops and the button,  I started my cut where the button sat, and tapered it toward the side seams. The waistband lining was shredded by removing so many threads, so I replaced it with bias tape.

Finally, I sewed the belt loops together with a slit for a buttonhole, and put a button tab on the front. The pants are much more comfortable, but they are still faded. See the dark spots where the belt loops were? If the pants had been brand new I don't think I would have been quite so cavalier about chopping here and sewing there, but the change worked, and I have a new sewing trick.

Recently I  got angry with a pair of pajama pants. If I bent over and straightened up, there was the sensation that I was losing my drawers. Adding a diamond  gusset at the crotch, the most suggested alteration for pants, only added fabric where no extra was needed. Another way to increase the back rise is for paper patterns only. I was not about to  remove all the elastic, increase the scoop in back and add to the sides -- in essence, remaking the pajama pants. I wanted a fix and I wanted it fast.

I cut horizontally from side seam to side seam about an inch below the elastic. At that point, the worst that could happen was that I'd lose a pair of pj pants that I didn't like anyway.  I sewed a rectangle of flannel  to the upper edge, then  tried on the pants and pinned  loose edges together. At the side seams, I needed no extra fabric, but the center back seam required 2 inches. I ended up with  a back addition that looks a bit like a grin, or a semi circle. My pajama pants are now comfortable.

This works for any elastic backed pants where the waistband is not a separate piece. I've done it on pull on jeans, and a dressier pair of pants,  mulberry corduroys with a velveteen insert. As long as I match colors, the addition looks like a pattern detail and not like the salvage effort it is. 

Pattern Quest: wearable pants

You'd think that with 30 years of pants patterns, I would have one that actually fit. I can find pants in stores. I just can't make them from patterns. It's given me a warped view of myself. The reason is that patterns are made for banana shaped people, and I am a pear. Or so I'm told.

My quest for a decent pants pattern is strewn with many disappointing results. Some are garbage, some are cut up for other projects and one or two get worn no matter how bad they look. My size changes before I get around to altering the pattern, or to making something new from an altered pattern. The whole process is exhausting and discouraging. I think I've gotten fussier over the years. It never used to bother me that I was taking in 2 inches on each side seam even though I used the sizing the package  recommended. I'm not sure why they want us to measure, when they don't pay attention.

The problem with most patterns is that nothing fits well. I alter one thing and discover that another problem was hidden by the major annoyance. Years ago I made a pair of pants from a wornout pair and they were too small. Why? Because the worn out pair was relaxed fabric and the new ones were new fabric. I guess.

From time to time I decide to take my measurements and draw a pants pattern. Several times I've done 9/10 of the work to draft a pair of pants from scratch but I never have the nerve to cut out the pattern.  I have one from the 70s made to Ruth Amiel's instructions in Finally It Fits. I've got a larger one made to  Donald McCunn's instructions. Making the pattern takes so much time I'm exhausted for the next week. The resulting pattern looks so strange I never make it up. But I save it.  I'm always a different size. Smaller, larger, smaller…

Right now I am larger, and can use a pattern I made from a pair of jeans that almost look decent. They feel fine, so it doesn't really matter how they look. The day before I wanted to use the pattern, I folded all the pieces together and rolled them up. The next day they were nowhere to be found. Today the pieces popped up as if they've never been AWOL. Before cutting them out, I tried the pattern up against the pants again, added a little here, subtracted a lot there, and cut them out.

I'm afraid to sew them up. A friend pointed out I had nothing to lose, that the worst that can happen is that they don't fit.    

One Piece at a Time

One-Piece Wearables

Sheila Brennan's One- Piece Wearables came out in 2008, but I didn't hear of it until after it came out in paperback last August.  I had even seen reviews, here and  at Craftside . My initial reaction was ho-hum, more sleeveless stuff for teen sylphs. Once I had the book in my hands, some of the patterns were so clever I literally could not walk away.

To be sure, there are a good many sleeveless things that only the under 30-set should wear, but a blouse/jacket and a wrap dress (inexplicably called a robe) are cleverly shaped and flattering to many figures. I bought it in an actual physical book store for full price and was happy to have it. Yes, I know that using a single pattern piece wastes fabric, but it saves time and eliminates tedium, not to mention preventing backache! I have enough fabric in my stash that I can afford a bit of waste. Besides, much of my waste gets used in smaller things. And there is absolutely no reason I cannot piece fabric together.

I'm excited. I'm thrilled.  Maybe I'm even motivated. We'll see. I'm already planning to add sleeves to one top, and facings to another.