Five days into the New Year seems like a good time to look forward and put down in writing new plans and projects, both personally and in my sewing life. Occasionally in past years, I have chosen a word to guide me in my thinking, and after a sewing friend (thank you, Debra!) suggested this approach again, I happily went with the first word which popped into my mind. P I N K.
Pink is undoubtably my favorite color. I love it in all hues and shades, from the palest pink to deepest fuchia, from bubblegum pink to carnation pink. I love wearing pink and I love sewing with pink fabrics. Looking at fabrics I have collected over the past few years testifies to this fact.
A few of those selections with “assignments” for 2022 will be scattered amongst this exploration into PINK.
P of course stands for PINK the color.
P is also a good reminder to keep PERSPECTIVE on the year. If the last two years have taught us anything, it is to be prepared for the unexpected. Sometimes things are out of our control, thwarting our plans and timing. Rolling with the punches (another P-word!) is something I need to become better at. Which brings me to . . .
P is for PERSEVERANCE. This is an invaluable asset when it comes to sewing well – and living well.
I is for INDULGENCE. I have decided to indulge my love of coats and dresses and fancy clothes even I don’t need them. So there!
I is also for INDECISION. I am not usually one who has trouble making decisions, but sometimes, a fabric or pattern stumps me. When that happens, I have to step back and let time make the decision for me. It always works.
I is for INSPIRATION, which is never in short supply among all the vintage patterns, fashions, buttons, and fabrics in the couture-loving-and-sewing online community.
N is for NEW ENDEAVORS, both in sewing and in my personal life – NEW patterns, NEW fabrics (YES! Even new fabrics), NEW commitments, determined by answering these two questions: What can I let go of? And, more importantly perhaps, What can I not let go of?
N is also for NOT feeling guilty about all the time I devote to sewing and fashion and dreaming about both.
K is for Kindred Spirits – such an amazing camaraderie amongst the global sewing community. I am so grateful to be part of the network of friendships we share.
K is for Keeping Focus, and for the need to Knuckle Down in order to accomplish my sewing and personal goals this year.
K is finally for Kindness which I hope will guide me throughout this new year.
“And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been.” Rainer Maria Rilke
Or do you call them pants? For some reason, I tend to think there are slight differences between pants and slacks. But not so, according to Fairchild’s Dictionary. Slacks are listed as “Synonym for pants. Term is usually applied to loose-cut casual pants, not part of a suit. In the 1930s when women first began wearing pants for leisure activities, these garments were generally called slacks rather than pants.” (The Fairchild Dictionary of Fashion, by Charlotte Mankey Calasibetta and Phyliss Tortora, Third Edition, Fairchild Publications, Inc, New York, New York, 2003, p. 359-360). I find this interesting, and a little confusing. I have always thought of slacks as a bit more refined than just pants. “Slacks and a sweater” conjures up a town-and-country-state of mind for me – rich wool, cable-knit sweater and a string of pearls or simple gold necklace. Perfect for being comfortable but stylish. Although it doesn’t really matter what one calls them – pants or slacks – I prefer “slacks” – especially when they are finished!
It took so many fittings during the process of making these slacks, and so many minor tweaks, so that when I finally took the last stitch, I was so relieved! A lot of thought went into them which I will share here.
First of all, the vintage wool I was using (and from which my matching cape is being constructed) is – you guessed it – an uneven plaid. Fortunately, the dominant colors in the plaid allowed me to “ignore” the uneven aspect and concentrate on what WAS even, if that makes sense.
Then I had to determine where I wanted those lavender lines to hit my hips, and where I wanted them to run up and down the legs. These considerations needed to accommodate where I wanted the pants-leg hems to fall in relation to the larger blocks of the plaid. I generally like to have a hem fall somewhere mid-way between dominant horizontal lines. I never want a dominant horizontal line to be right at the edge of a hem if I can avoid it.
I underlined these slacks with silk organza, I lined them with silk crepe de chine (from Emma One Sock Fabrics). I am lining the cape with matching color silk charmeuse, but I wanted a lighter weight lining for the slacks. The only exception to this is the facing on the waistband, for which I used silk charmeuse. The interior of the waistband may occasionally be against my bare skin, and silk charmeuse is just a bit more comfortable in areas which call for a snugger fit.
It was serendipitous that I had a wool sweater, purchased many years ago, which is a perfect complement to the darker purple/eggplant color in the plaid.
Now I’m excited to make more progress on that cape, which has taken a backseat to holiday sewing and shopping. It may, indeed, be after Christmas until the cape gets its debut, but life has its priorities, doesn’t it?
While bogged down in the fitting of these wool slacks, my mind has been thinking about capes instead.
I know myself well enough to recognize it is always prudent to work on the least favorable item first and save the ”goodies” for later, and that is what I have done with this cape and slacks ensemble introduced in my last post. There is a reason I have made few pairs of slacks in my years of sewing: I find fitting them tedious. So, while I think I am just about satisfied with how they are coming along, the thing which has kept me sane is the prospect of making that beautiful cape.
All of this has led me to do a little research into capes. I started with Fairchild’s Dictionary of Fashion, as I often do when investigating a sewing/fashion topic. Well, oh my! There happen to be no fewer than 8 pages of entries for capes, cloaks, and shawls! It turns out a cape is not just a cape, and the history of capes is long indeed. For my purposes here, the simple definition of a cape is sufficient: “Sleeveless outerwear of various lengths usually opening in center front; cut in a full circle, in a segment of a circle, or on the straight – usually with slits for arms. A classic type of outerwear worn in one form or another throughout history….” (The Fairchild Dictionary of Fashion, Third Edition, by Charlotte Mankey Calasibetta and Phyllis Tortora, Fairchild Publications, Inc., New York, New York, c2003)
Interestingly, Christian Dior has no entry for capes in his Little Dictionary of Fashion, another one of my go-to reference books. But as luck would have it, the newest J. Peterman Company catalogue, Owners Manual No. 197, Holidays 2021, arrived in my mailbox this week. And there on page 5, he has offered for sale a Plaid Wool Cape, with the enticing caption: “Capes are mysterious. Alluring. Functional. In the past, they’ve existed as an alternative to coats so you wouldn’t crush your real clothing…” He goes on to say one will not want to take off this particular cape, as there could be nothing better under it. Well, I guess that’s an arguable point, but you get the picture. Capes demand attention, but in a good way.
I started thinking about the patterns I have gathered over the years, and I remembered at least two which feature capes. Once I got into my pattern collection, I found four besides the one I am currently using.
The earliest one is clearly this Vogue Couturier Design from the second half of the 1950s.
Its description reads: “Suit and Reversible Cape. Easy fitting jacket with concealed side pockets buttons below shaped collar. Below elbow length sleeves. Slim skirt joined to shaped waistband. Reversible, collarless cape has arm openings in side front seams.” I think this is pretty spectacular, and while the suit is lovely, it is enhanced many times over by the addition of the short cape.
Next is this Advance pattern from the 1960s, a cape in two lengths.
I was attracted to this pattern because of its lengthwise darts, its rolled collar and back neckline darts.
The 1970s is represented by the Molyneux pattern I am using and two more: a Pucci design and a Sybil Connolly design.
I purchased the Pucci pattern for the dress (which I now believe to be too “youthful” for me), but its cape certainly completes the outfit. The description reads: “…Cape with jewel neckline has arm openings in side front seams; back vent [which I find interesting}. Top-stitch trim.”
And the final cape pattern I own – almost a capelet – is this Sybil Connolly design. The caption states “…Short asymmetrical flared cape has side button closing.” No arm slits in this cape.
I actually made this cape a number of years ago, but I must admit I have worn it infrequently. The wide stance of the neckline makes it a little unstable. I guess there is a good reason most capes have a tighter neckline – and open in the center front.
So there is my whirlwind cape tour. What do you think? Are capes alluring and mysterious? Functional and sophisticated? I, for one, think capes have a slightly romantic charm to them. Do you?
When I received the length of pink wool from the eBay seller, I wrote her a note to tell her how excited and grateful I was to have the opportunity to purchase that fabric. It apparently had been from the estate of an accomplished dressmaker, known for her good taste. The seller then kindly offered me another piece – very different in aspect – from the same collection. The photos she sent me showed a wool plaid which looked to be a medium khaki background with purple and lavender lines woven into it. It wasn’t exactly what I usually gravitate to, but I knew the quality of the fabric would be superb, and being a pushover for vintage fabric, I decided to purchase a five-yard length from her.
When the fabric arrived, it wasn’t at all what I had expected. This is one of the downsides of purchasing fabric – especially vintage fabric – online. You don’t always get what you think you are getting. This fabric was deep brown and the purple and lavender intersecting lines were more the colors of eggplant and lilac. It seemed kind of dark to me. Except for black and navy blue, I’m not usually a dark-wearing person. The quality of the fabric, however, was indeed superb. Soft, lightweight with a beautiful hand to it.
I was a little disgruntled about this purchase, though. I don’t like to spend money frivolously, and this suddenly seemed like an unwise decision. But – it was done, so I put the fabric in my fabric closet for storage. Every once in a while I would take it out and ponder it. I started to like it more and more, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what to make with it – all 5 yards!
Now. . . I have discovered with fashion sewing, that sometimes time allows creativity and inspiration to blossom, and that is what happened with this fabric. At some point over the summer, I decided this wool would make beautiful slim slacks. But what to do with all that remaining fabric? Somehow, a matching jacket did not appeal to me at all – and then I remembered a lovely vintage Vogue pattern, designed by Molyneux, I had in my collection at home in Pennsylvania. I knew it would be perfect with the pants – and the fact that I had long wanted to make its featured hip-length cape sealed the deal!
In preparation for this project, I needed to order lining fabric, both for the pants and for the cape. I selected 5 shades of brown silk charmeuse on Emma One Sock’s website and sent off for swatches. (I often prefer to use a contrasting color for a lining, but in this case I determined a matching lining would allow me greater flexibility in wearing the cape with something other than the matching pants.) The swatches arrived in short order, and I was astounded to discover that not one of them was even close to a matching color.
And then it hit me – like an iron in the face! – this wool was not brown, it was a true olive green! No wonder it had started to appeal to me. I have long been a fan of olive green, which I now know to be a little bit of an enigmatic color. Off I sent for 5 more swatches of silk lining, this time in shades of deep green. When the swatches arrived, it was a Bingo moment. One was clearly a perfect match.
Please stay with me in the next couple of posts, as I work through this two piece outfit – a project whose time has finally come.
Do you love pockets and add them to your sewn creations wherever you can? Would you be happy never to have to sew another pocket? Do you tolerate them in a garment, preferring to do without if possible? Many people have very strong opinions about pockets or the lack thereof. I think those of us who sew are among those with the strong opinions, primarily because we have it in our power to add them or delete them. My personal mantra on pockets is “Let’s see if we can do without them, unless we can’t.”
I generally divide my thoughts about pockets into three categories: those in dress pants (slacks), those in dresses and skirts, and those in dressier coats and jackets. (A little caveat is probably useful here before I get any further. Yes, jeans should have pockets, as should hiking and/or activewear pants and shorts. And absolutely, pockets are part of the functionality of active outdoor coats and jackets and vests. Those categories are not part of this discussion.)
It was over two decades ago when I first started thinking about the dilemma pockets in slacks present. I had just purchased a navy blue wool flannel, dressy pair of slim pants, which fit well and were flattering. There were two welt pockets on either side of the front which were basted closed, as is the custom in better clothes (leaving it up to the purchasing customer to remove the basting.) I left the basting in and preserved the slim silhouette of the slacks. Had I removed the basting, the front, I am sure, would have “pooched” out at those two spots and, well, not done my tummy any favors. Once I started buying vintage patterns a decade ago, I began to notice the slacks in the patterns from the 1950s generally were pocketless. (I have long thought fashion and style in the decade of the 1950s was at its zenith, both in elegance and in silhouette, which is a topic for another discussion.) Here a few examples of patterns from the 1950s:
In my mind, pockets in dress slacks are superfluous at best, detrimental at worst, and just unnecessary. Although I rarely make pants and slacks, I have yet to put a pocket in any of them.
Dresses and skirts are a bit more complicated. Fuller skirts often provide the perfect camouflage for in-seam pockets. I have sewn at least three such styles, the patterns for which included pockets in the side seams. Interestingly, two of them were vintage Diane von Furstenberg patterns from the 1970s; the other is a more recent Vogue shirt dress.
There was a charming article appearing this summer in a Weekend Edition of The Wall Street Journal by author Jasmine Guillory and her “perfect dress” which, alas, has pockets. (Check her website here to read the article under “About”.) Here is what she wrote, “The only element that mars this dress’s perfection is its pockets. This might be a controversial statement, but I don’t like dresses with pockets. They pooch at my hips, even when empty, and if you put something in them, it’s worse…. What’s this great need for dresses with pockets?” She goes on to say she regularly takes her dresses with pockets to the dry cleaner to have the pockets removed. (Alas, again! Her dry cleaner closed during the pandemic, meaning that her “perfect dress” still has its pockets, making it “almost perfect.”)
But what about slimmer silhouettes? In-seam pockets could cause the same “gapping” situation, which begs the question “Would you put anything in those pockets which would cause that pocket to gap even more? Probably not. I would place my hankie or my cell phone or lip stick in my handbag, not in my pocket – and that goes for fuller skirts as well. (Besides, like Jasmine Guillory, I am quite smitten with handbags.)
However, what about in-seam pockets which are part of the design? Here is a notable example:
And then, of course, applied pockets are often part of the design, but not really intended for practical use. Take a look at this evening gown:
You might be able to tell I have decided I am not so keen on pockets in skirts and dresses either – UNLESS they are integral to the design.
Which brings us to coats and jackets. I think one’s first reaction to this category would be “Well, of course, jackets and coats need to have pockets.” And for the most part, I would agree with that. Often pockets in coats and jackets are part of the design and add stylistic interest as well as functionality. Here are a few examples of coats I have made, with such pockets:
Here is a jacket pattern which is in my sewing queue for 2022. I absolutely love the pockets.
And where would a Classic French jacket be without its pockets? They are not really functional, but undeniably integral to the design.
Not all coats have pockets, however. Take a look at this Madame Gres design which I made in a lavender linen. It has no pockets, nor would I want them in this Spring coat.
And here is a “summer” coat which I think is just so chic. No pockets.
I have made this coat pattern twice – once with pockets and once without.
But here is the same pattern, made as a “cocktail” coat. I made it pocketless and love it.
Clearly there is much to consider when it comes to pockets. When we add them to a garment, or delete them, or change their placement, or baste them shut to eliminate that dreadful “pooch” problem, we are admitting that not all pockets are equal. Some are perfect in every way, some not so much, and some – are never missed.
Summer is quickly slipping away, but before it does, I will share one quintessentially summer dress which I made back in July. It ticks off a number of features which make it “Summer Seasonal”: it is sleeveless, it is a bright color, and it is linen.
I found this vintage piece of Moygashel linen a few years ago on eBay. Always a pushover for vintage Moygashel, I purchased it, not quite knowing what shade of green it would be. I was expecting a lime green, but when it arrived it was “lime green meets mint,” a color reminiscent of the early 1960s. Actually, not just reminiscent – an actual survivor from that period of time. The width of the fabric was only 35” which was a dead giveaway that this fabric is from the early part of that decade. Shortly thereafter, Moygashel began to be woven in 45” widths. Fortunately I had three yards, which compensated for the dearth of width.
To keep with the early ‘60’s vibe, I decided to line it in pink. Although I usually line linen with a cotton batiste or cotton/linen lightweight blend, I decided to treat this dress a little bit differently. I do not often use Bemberg for lining, usually preferring silk, but this lovely, time-tested 100% rayon lining just seemed to be the right choice. (Why? I knew the seam allowances of the bright green linen would not show through the tightly woven Bemberg lining, AND it would be a comfortable, lightweight and slinky fabric with which to line a summer dress.) I ordered what I thought would be a medium pink, but when it arrived, it was more of a very deep rose. What to do? I hemmed and hawed, I thought about ordering a different hue of pink, I even thought about abandoning the pink idea and just using a white crepe de chine I had on hand. Why I was agonizing so much over the color of the lining had to do with my thought if the dress turned out well, I would enter it in the County Fair. I knew not everyone would “understand” such a deeply contrasted lining. But not wanting to waste money and fabric – and time! – I finally decided just to go with the dark pink, shown a few pictures below.
I used this sheath dress pattern again, as I am so fond of the double shaping darts in the bodice front and the real kick-pleat.
I underlined the dress in silk organza so that I could eliminate facings and have an invisible application of the lining. (The silk organza underlining gives one a base upon which to tack and secure stitches which do not show on the fashion fabric.)
I surprisingly found a zipper which was almost a perfect match to the green linen, and I did a hand-picked lapped application.
Once I had the lining fell-stitched in place around the neckline and the armholes, I under-stitched those areas in waxed and ironed white thread. (I used white to quiet down the deep pink!) Using this technique keeps the lining in place. The under-stitching is attached to the silk organza underlining only, not the fashion fabric, as explained above.
To complete the early 1960s’ essence of this dress, I can pair it with a vintage ‘60s’ Guillemin scarf, also found on eBay. The pink in the scarf doesn’t match the pink lining, but since the lining does not show, it only matters to me (and now all of you also know this little fact!)
So how did I do with this dress as an entry in the County Fair? It was awarded a Red Ribbon in the Adult Division, which was lovely. The day was “saved” however, when dresses I made for my granddaughters each won Blue Ribbons (and one of them won Best of Division).
One might get the idea I love to iron should they take stock of how many cotton blouses I have made over the past few years. Now I do love a crisp cotton blouse, and I find them to be imminently wearable, neat and tidy, and versatile. So I keep making them. But do I love to iron? Not really, although it is not my most dreaded household chore. (I think that might be grocery shopping – or more precisely, lugging everything home and putting it all away. I don’t like that.)
One advantage to having lots and lots of cotton blouses is that the ironing can pile up, yet I will still have blouses to go to in my closet, so there’s that. I think – no, I know – another reason I keep making casual cotton blouses is that I love to sew with beautiful quality cotton (of course Liberty comes to mind!) The selection of quality cotton prints, checks, plaids, stripes, and solids available online is astoundingly diverse, making the temptation great to make “just one more blouse.”
And then there are the buttons. If you follow my sewing life through this blog, you know my fascination with and pursuit of vintage buttons to use on my blouses and other projects. Yes, a white plastic button can perform the same function, but a beautiful pearl button adds a touch of class to a simple blouse like no other detail can.
It also helps that I have a set of blouse patterns which fit well due to many alterations and tweaking over several years’ use. It is a lovely feeling to start a new project, knowing I don’t have to fit the pattern and make a muslin before I can get started on the fashion fabric.
I had been eyeing this Liberty cotton lawn on the Farmhouse Fabrics website for quite a while when I decided last Spring to go ahead and indulge. Having a floral among my blouse selections is something just a bit different for me, as I already have numerous ginghams, plaids, and stripes.
So – is Tuesday really for ironing? There used to be a proscribed schedule for all those household chores – and it went like this:
Monday: Wash Day
Tuesday: Ironing Day
Wednesday: Sewing Day
Thursday: Market Day
Friday: Cleaning Day
Saturday: Baking Day
Sunday: Day of Rest
Well, times have changed. Now, every day is Sewing Day.
Eyelet is one of those fabrics which can conjure up memories from one’s life. So often associated with pinafores, eyelet is lovely for little girls’ dresses – and petticoats. It is often used for lingerie or sleepwear for all ages, as well as dresses and blouses. It is a summer fabric, with its “built-in” air conditioning – ie. all those little holes surrounded by embroidery. Often eyelet trim – and sometimes eyelet yard goods – have one or two finished borders. Such was the case with the eyelet I found earlier this year for the ruffled collars for sundresses for my granddaughters.
It was working on those collars which convinced me I needed to make an eyelet bouse for myself. I went back to Farmhouse Fabrics, from which I had purchased the double-sided eyelet panel for those collars, to find a suitable eyelet for a blouse. Farmhouse Fabrics has quite an inventory of lovely eyelets, so it was difficult to decide. But decide I did, and purchased this all-cotton eyelet made in Spain.
For a pattern I used this vintage Vogue pattern from 1957.
I liked the convertible collar of this pattern, as shown in View B. A convertible collar is one which can be worn open or closed. The collar is sewn directly to the neckline. I did, however, shorten the sleeves to below elbow-length. I also chose to make plain, buttoned cuffs without the extra turn-back detail.
Although the blouse is described on the pattern envelope as “tuck-in,” I liked the gently curved and split hem which would also allow me to wear the blouse as an over-blouse. The thumbnail detail from the pattern envelope shows the curved hem.
I lined the main body of the blouse with white cotton batiste, leaving the sleeves unlined. To reduce bulk, I made the undercollar and the cuff facings from the white batiste.
Buttons are always a favorite component of a blouse for me. I had a card of vintage Lady Washington Pearls which seemed a lovely complement to the scale of the fabric embroidery.
I first wore this blouse on a very warm evening to attend an outdoor concert. I was amazed at how cool the blouse was. The little breeze there was, did indeed feel like air-conditioning as it wafted through all those embroidered holes!
Finding beautiful eyelet fabric is now on my sewing radar. I would like to make more with this timeless, feminine and versatile type of lace.
When the flowers are blooming on Liberty Lawn, they are fresh well into the summer, right? When I originally ordered this fabric last Fall, I intended for it to be a Springtime blouse.
Once it arrived, however, it wasn’t right for a blouse. Additionally, I thought the blue was going to be more of a navy blue (although it looks like navy here, it is really lighter than navy), so I was a bit disappointed and had to rearrange all my thinking on it. This is why it is always best to obtain a swatch of fabric before ordering, a precaution I often do not heed, at my own peril.
However, I had had it in the back of my mind to make a summer skirt this year so once I looked at this piece with fresh eyes, I saw the possibilities in it. I envisioned a skirt with some swing to it, but not too full, and below-the-knee length. Rather than search all over for such a pattern, I just used the skirt pattern I had altered for this dress:
The 5 gores in it give it a nice gentle sway, and the addition of the inverted pleat in the center front adds width without bulk. I lined the skirt with cotton batiste, but used no underlining.
I applied the lapped zipper by hand and finished the inside of the waistband with Hug Snug hem binding tape.
Originally I was going to make a self-belt or sash out of the same fabric, but I thought that would be boring. Then I thought about trying to find a straw belt to wear with it, but that notion did not go too far because I remembered a lime green silk sash I had made several years ago. Although not an exact match, the green coordinates with the green in the Liberty fabric and, I thought, adds some necessary contrast. Paired with a white tailored blouse, the outfit is still casual.
Getting back to Liberty Lawn … I can find myself lost for hours looking at online selections of Liberty fabric. The designs, the color selections, and the silky quality are all so tempting. The pure number of beautiful prints is so great – that more often than not I find myself unable to make a decision. There are some designs, however, that are so classic and eye-catching, and those eventually will find themselves in my check-out cart! Yes, Summer flowers are yet to come…
When inspiration strikes, one must seize it, even if it doesn’t really make sense. You may remember this fabric from a couple of months ago, purchased online from Britex Fabrics:
This is one of those fabrics which has just gotten better and better the more I have looked at it. I have had it sitting out in my sewing room since it arrived, just pondering its potential. Then one day I went “shopping” in my fabric closet. I have my stored fabrics divided according to fiber or usage, with a large “basket” container for each class. For example, all the silks are together, as are the linens, the cottons, the lining and underlining and interfacing fabrics, with the wools (which take up more space due to their generally bulkier nature) stacked on shelves next to the baskets. Well, this particular day – the day I went “shopping” – I pulled out the silk fabrics just to reacquaint myself with what exactly I had in that container. Buried down at the very bottom I found a deep pink, polka dotted silk charmeuse jacquard and INSPIRATION struck! I had found the perfect complement to my newly acquired floral printed silk twill.
At that point all I could imagine was a pink silk blouse and a flowing hostess skirt. My prudent, practical side told me I have no occasion for such an outfit. But my creative, dreamy side said “If you make it, you will wear it.” I am stealing the following quote from some unknown sage, but it is speaking to me now: “The chief enemy of creativity is good sense.”
These two fabrics are meant for each other with their perky polka dots and shared sheen. And the somewhat amazing thing is I purchased the pink charmeuse probably 10 years ago from – you guessed it – Britex Fabrics!
Once I had the two fabrics side by side, I really began to “see” the floral twill, all its intricacies, the brilliance of design in having a spacious polka-dotted field for those whimsical flowers, and the color combination where the blues and pinks play off of each other in a color tug-of-war. In the words of Oscar Wilde, “To look at a thing is very different from seeing a thing.” [My italics]
My mental wheels were really turning by this time. I knew what blouse pattern would be perfect for this two-piece project. I had made this 1950’s pattern a few years ago in a silk dupioni – and it has continued to rank among my most favorite makes.
I will have to search for a skirt pattern, but suffice it to say, it should have uncluttered lines to show off the fabric, and it definitely needs to have a gentle fullness to it. Decisions still need to be made as to how I underline this fabric. I believe white cotton batiste will be best, as I will need to block the show-through of the pink blouse fabric. That, combined with a white crepe de chine lining, should do the trick. We will see, as they say.
Time is, God-willing, on my side. I envision the start of this project in late Winter or early Spring of 2022. And buried deep in my head – like that pink fabric buried deep in its lair – is the thought I may just have to HOST some tony party to provide the perfect setting for my elegant hostess skirt and swanky blouse. Who wants an invitation?