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:
Note the defining tuck in the front of the pant legs.
These slim pants are enhanced with 4 shaping darts each, front and back, with no waistband.
These slim pants do have a waistband.
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.
This DvF dress pattern from the 1970s has pockets in the side seams.
Again, pockets in the side seams in this Vogue pattern. The fuller skirts in all three of these dresses conceal the pockets well, but only if they are empty! If I make any of these patterns again, I will not bother with adding pockets.
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:
This Vogue Designer pattern has shallow pockets in its side front seams. Somehow, I can’t imagine this dress without them!
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:
Notice that these pockets open from the side.
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:
The pockets in this coat are inserted into the shortened princess seam.
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.
One of the Classic French jackets I have made.
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.
The wool version has in-seam pockets which I find useful:
A peek inside one of those in-seam pockets.
But here is the same pattern, made as a “cocktail” coat. I made it pocketless and love it.
No pockets needed when one has a lovely little clutch to carry.
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.
Is there any month more steeped in tradition than December? I think not. It is important to remember that traditions, according to Webster, are “the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs, etc., from generation to generation, especially by word of mouth or by practice,” and therefore, they help to define our lives. Suspending tradition goes contrary to our desires and our goals and our self-expression.
I suspect most of you are having to suspend some of your December/Holiday/Christmas traditions this year, as am I. So I was pleased to see that Pantone has once again continued their tradition of introducing the Color of the Year for the year to come, 2021. In a vote of confidence – and perhaps because we need to be thinking expansively in the year to come – their color of the year is actually two colors, Ultimate Gray (PANTONE 17-5104) and Illuminating (PANTONE 13-0647), a vibrant yellow. This gray is “emblematic of solid and dependable elements which are everlasting and provide a firm foundation.” “Illuminating is a bright and cheerful yellow sparkling with vivacity, a warming yellow shade imbued with solar power.”
Here is a very “illuminating” yellow silk taffeta jacket I made back in 2016.
And an “ultimate” soft gray cashmere coat, also made in 2016.
Leatrice Eiseman, Executive Director of the Pantone Color Institute, talks about this color combination: “ The union of an enduring Ultimate Gray with the vibrant yellow Illuminating expresses a message of positivity supported by fortitude. Practical and rock solid but at the same time warming and optimistic, this is a color combination that gives resilience and hope. We need to feel encouraged and uplifted; this is essential to the human spirit.”
As one who loves both yellow and gray, and as one who has sewn with both colors over the years, as detailed above, this choice sent me to my pattern collection, where I quickly found examples of gray and yellow pattern art from years past. Here are two:
I also went to Christian Dior’s Little Dictionary of Fashion to read, once again, his take on gray and yellow.
Some of the language and expressions in this little book seem a bit old-fashioned, but it contains a wealth of information and advice.
About Gray: “The most convenient, useful and elegant neutral color. ….There is nothing more elegant than a wonderful, gray satin evening dress. For day frocks, suits and coats it is ideal. I would always advise it.” Page 50. That is quite an endorsement for gray.
About Yellow: “The color of youth and of the sun, and of good weather. A beautiful color for frocks and also for accessories and right for any time of the year. …There is a shade of yellow for everyone – but you have to take the trouble to find it.” Page 124.
Cheerfulness, elegance, optimism, fortitude – these are worthy goals to set for living in the months to come – and for sewing – whether or not we blend the colors of gray and yellow into them. Right now, however, with the enduring promise which defines December, I am focused on the colors of the season, red and green, and of keeping what we can of beloved traditions – knowing that, like finding that perfect yellow, we have to take the trouble to make this holiday season glow and sparkle in its own way.
I wish all of you, my readers, a warm, happy and even MERRY, Christmas and holiday!
From my house to your house, Merry Christmas! (Cavallini & Co. vintage-inspired tag)
Every January when I sit down to do some planning for the new year at hand, I usually start by doing three things:
Looking at what I accomplished on my list from the past year, and moving those unfinished items onto my new list,
Going through my fabrics and deciding what looks inspiring – or in desperate need of action – and
Assessing what my wardrobe needs will be for the year.
This year, I am adding #4 to that list: What patterns do I want to try for the first time, and which ones do I want to make again.
Number 1 looks like this:
This is my list for 2019, perhaps the third iteration of it. Things and priorities change during the year. My list for 2020 is still being planned!
Number 2 is shocking to me. I have so many beautiful fabrics. I could easily just concentrate on what I have stored away and be totally occupied with those for not just this year, but for several years to come. However, I know from experience that I will buy new fabrics (and already have since January 1!), and I will be glad I did. So there. I am admitting I am a hopeless case when it comes to fabric. There are too many dreams tied up in some fabrics for me to resist their purchase. I always just hope that the fabrics used from my existing collection slightly outnumber the new ones I buy. Usually this is the case. Hopefully it will be this year.
Number 3 is not always apparent. I do know I will need some dressier things for Springtime events. I do know my summer will be very casual. And usually Fall and early Winter require some dressier apparel. I have a big birthday (gulp!) coming up this year, and I think it deserves something special, but I’m not sure what that is yet. But I would be willing to bet it will demand a new dress, at the least.
And my new Number 4 – now here is a category that really inspires me. I have so many amazing vintage patterns to try, but I also have so many I have made once (or more) and love so much that I never tire of making them. I believe my patterns will guide my sewing this year to a large degree.
Here are a few I have never used, but have hopes for in 2020:
This pattern is out of print, but I don’t really consider it vintage. However, it looks like a great shirtwaist dress pattern. I especially like Views A and D. My hope/plan is to make at least two, and perhaps three, shirtwaist dresses this year. In fact, View A is my current project.
I love everything about the design of this dress: it has a two-piece look, but the skirt is attached to a camisole under the over-bodice. I love the buttoned back and the front seaming detail. I particularly like the long-sleeved version.
Here are the back views of this dress.
Here is another take on a princess-lined dress, with jacket. It is not suitable for striped, plaid or diagonal fabrics, which eliminates quite a few of my choices, but I would love to try it. Even better would be to make a dress and jacket…
The line drawings on the envelope back show the seaming details and dart placement. It looks really, really lovely.
I came across a piece of deep pink cashmere last year, and if I decide to make a coat I think it will be View B of this classic coat pattern.
And here a few patterns I have used and want to use again. Most have been fitted correctly (although I always seem to tweak one or two little things) – and most are versatile and classic and have simple, but elegant, lines to them.
I will definitely be making this pattern again this year at least once.
I know for certain I will be making the short version of this dress again. I have a dress planned for Spring using it. My first use of this pattern resulted in the dress below, selected for inclusion in the Gallery of A Stylish Guide to Classic Sewing, by Sarah Gunn and Julie Starr.
I would love to make another bow blouse this year. This classic look from 1957 is about as lovely a bow blouse as one can find.
A bow blouse would be the perfect pairing with another Parisian Jacket. A silk blouse with a Parisian Jacket made from vintage Moygashel linen?
Finally, ever since I used this pattern years ago, I have wanted to make it again, in a short-sleeved version. I am hoping this will be the year!
I think I could make either view of this dress over and over and not get tired of it.
Much has been said this year about the start of a new decade. It does seem prescient, doesn’t it? Full of hope and anticipation, the new decade will, nevertheless, do what it will. Dressmaking will be just a part of the new continuum, but my days and months and years will be measured in no small part by what I put on my list, and then the placement of those happy checkmarks when I have accomplished that which I set out to do.
Welcome 2020! No doubt you will be gone in a flash, so may we all make the most of your wondrous days, the dressmaking ones and all the others, too.
Although I hope to wear my pink wool coat (completed Spring of 2019) with various dresses and skirts, I particularly wanted to make a skirt which would coordinate with it. That way I would have a “planned” ensemble. I envisioned a petite pink-and-gray houndstooth wool, or a mini-checked pink-and-gray wool. After a wide search and coming up empty-handed, I was just about convinced I was not going to find either of those two fabrics, at least not in the time frame I planned. And then I found a lightweight wool and silk blend on the website of Farmhouse Fabrics. It was a variegated gray and oyster-white plaid with a pink pinstripe running through it on the cross-grain. Although it looked lovely on my computer screen, I wasn’t sure it would fit my needs, so I ordered a swatch. From the swatch I could see its beautiful quality – and its perfect colors – so my search was over.
I am so accustomed to using silk organza as my underlining, but the incredible softness and delicacy of this fabric made me think twice. I thought silk organza would undermine the fluidity of the wool/silk blend, so I decided to use a very lightweight cotton batiste instead. Using the Susan Khalje pattern for which I already had a toile (yay!), I made a very simple straight skirt. Just for fun I decided to line it in pink silk charmeuse. I had some in stock as I had used it for the pocket linings in my pink coat. I also lined the waistband, which I like to do when sewing with wool.
The pink charmeuse lining is my unseen homage to this color which I love so much.
I inserted a lapped zipper by hand in the center back seam.
I angled the center back vent toward the center back seam so that it will hang evenly when I am wearing the skirt.
It is easy to see the angle on the vent with this particular fabric.
One side of the vent folded back.
When I cut out the lining for the coat, I maneuvered the pattern pieces to give me a long narrow length of the silk, which I made into a scarf.
Paired with a V-neck gray sweater, it proves to be the perfect accessory. As Christian Dior said in The Little Dictionary of Fashion, “In many cases, a scarf gives a final touch to a dress.”
It’s a nice combination of colors!
The scarf is a pretty addition to the coat, I think.
It is rewarding to see my vision become reality!
So, now the big question, one which I have been asking myself frequently as of late, “When and where will I be wearing this lovely ensemble?” It seems life is just so despairingly casual now, affording few opportunities to wear pretty dresses and skirts and specialty coats. I try to buck the trend when I have the place and time to do so – and I have yet to feel like I have been overdressed. Of course, Christian Dior had something to say about this, too. “Generally it is very bad to be overdressed, but I think that in certain circumstances it is very impolite and wrong to be underdressed.” I could not agree more and personally prefer to be slightly overdressed than underdressed. How about you? I do hope my pink coat, paired with this gray skirt, will prove to be the perfect dressing for many occasions. I am certain I will enjoy wearing them.
When is a sewing project really, really, finally finished? That was the question I was asking myself after I thought I had finished my Pink Coat, but then decided I had more to do. Or, more precisely, I had things to undo and then redo.
I had not noticed how crinkled the hem appeared until I saw these photos.
I had purposely steamed the hem lightly, not wanting to make it a knife edge, but after seeing these crinkles, I went back and steamed it again. I still had crinkles. My expectation at this point was that I would probably have to take the hem out and redo it. This suspicion was confirmed when I sought advice from Susan Khalje. She oh-so-gently agreed with me! First she suggested removing the silk organza from the bottom of the coat up to the fold line of the hem, and lightly catch-stitching it along the fold, which would not show. I did this after taking out all the stitching along the lining, the facings, and the seam allowances, in order to undo the hem.
The pins mark the fold line of the hem; as you can see, the silk organza underlining extends to the bottom edge of the coat.
I then pinned about a half inch above the hem line, so I was able to remove the silk organza right at the hem fold. I then used a catch-stitch to secure the silk organza right along the fold line.
Doing this helped, but the hem was still not as soft as I thought it should be. Susan’s next suggestion was to add a bias strip of flannel to the interior of the hem, which I suspected was what I had needed to do from the start. I went to my trusty Vogue Sewing Book from 1970 to get guidance and found this:
From: The Vogue Sewing Book, edited by Patricia Perry, Vogue Patterns, New York, New York, c1970, page 324.
I used all cotton white flannel, cut 2½ inches wide, the width of the hem. I positioned it so that ⅝“ was below the fold line, with the remaining above. I used a catch-stitch on the wider section of flannel, securing it to the silk organza. Then I did a loose running stitch right on the fold line. After every step, I gently steamed the area.
Obviously I had to take out the catch-stitching along the lower portion of the center back seam, and then I was able to slip the flannel under the seam allowance.
Then I was ready to put the hem back in, and reattach the facings and lining.
None of this was difficult, but it was time-consuming. However, I am much happier with the appearance of the hem now. It is soft and hangs with more grace.
A much smoother, softer hem!
Susan also suggested that I make an adjustment to the front edges of the collar. Although I had under-stitiched it, I apparently did not coax the front-edge seams back away from the edge enough, allowing them to show more than they should. So I took out a majority of the understitching and re–did it, too.
The collar lays flatter now, and I am really happy with it.
Needless to say, I was a bit discouraged that I was facing so much work to correct these problem areas, but I knew it needed to be done. I considered waiting until next Fall to tackle these fixes, but I decided I would feel less like doing it then than now, so I dug in. It became a good learning experience, and a good reminder that different fabrics behave in different ways. It is up to the dressmaker to seek out the best solution for a problem area and then do it, or in this case, re-do it. Hooray, the Pink Coat is finally – really – finished.
Is it possible to fall in love with a coat? If so, then that is what has happened with my pink coat. It was a relationship which grew over several years.
First, I found the pattern, this Vogue Paris Original Designer Pattern from 1965. It was an eBay purchase made several years ago, with a promise to myself that one day, when I found the right fabric, I would make it.
Next I found this silk charmeuse couture fabric on the website of Mendel Goldberg Fabrics. It was an end cut, 2.25 yards, and when I purchased it, I envisioned another wrap dress, not the lining of a coat. Luckily I had no urgent plans to use it, and thus it eventually found its way inside the pink coat.
I am showing the lining silk here along with the pink wool to show how well they complement each other.
And then – I found the pink wool. Also an eBay purchase, this wool was not inexpensively priced, but I recognized its rarity and its “presence” in the posted pictures. Then I hoped it would live up to its promise once I received it and saw it in person. Over the years I have found some amazing things on eBay, but this wool is one of the real treasures.
Because I have already posted quite a bit about the coat’s muslin/toile and certain salient details, I will not go into too much more description about the coat’s construction. But I do want to point out some of this pattern’s engineering charms.
1) On the photo on the pattern envelope, I believe the soft shoulder of the coat is evident. I used a “cigarette-type” sleeve heading in each shoulder to enhance the smooth transition from the shoulder to the top of the sleeve. Not so evident on the pattern illustration is the drape of the back of the coat from the shoulder line. I realized this drape works so well because of the two neckline darts. They are in the neckline, not the shoulder seam; they add necessary shaping without disturbing the drape.
Can you see how the dart comes off from the neckline, not the shoulder seam?
2) The collar is an engineering marvel in my mind. The under-collar is constructed from four pieces, two main sections cut on the bias, and a 2-piece collar band, seamed at the center back. The band helps the collar to turn beautifully.
This photo clearly shows the components of the under-collar. You can also see the under-stitching I did in silk buttonhole twist.
3) When I made the toile, I was concerned about the fullness of the back of the coat. It seemed a bit much, and I have already written about my intention to add a half belt to draw in the fullness, if needed. Nope! I am so happy with the finished look – it has that 1960s’ vibe without being overwhelming. I did move the vertical back seam line up 1.25” to rest at my natural waistline, rather than below it. For me, this was the correct alteration. It may not be on someone else who has more height than I do. Another consideration was that a half belt would have concealed the seam detailing which is so lovely on the back of the coat.
An inside look at the back of the coat, showing its drape from the shoulder seams.
The other significant alteration I made was to remove 1.5″ of width from each sleeve. I possibly could have taken out even more, but I will be wearing this coat over sweaters and perhaps even a jacket, so the sleeves as I cut them will still accommodate that bulk. But I would not want them any fuller!
Although the pattern did not call for it, I added flat piping to the edge of the lining. I chose white silk crepe de chine for this contrast detail. I felt any other color would have been too demonstrative.
The coat kind of looks like a sack of potatoes in this photo of its front edge!
The finished look of the lining edge.
I had some difficulty finding pink buttons. I ended up with two varieties found in two Etsy shops. I used a larger pink-swirly one for the looped closure, and smaller pink pearl-y ones for the concealed opening. If I ever find ones I like better, that’s a easy switch. But the more I see these, the more I like this combination.
Basting threads are still evident in this photo.
Alas, it is much too warm for wearing wool coats now, but it is ready for next Fall’s cooler days. By then I hope to have a windowpane checked skirt, in delicate gray, white and pink wool, specially made to wear with this coat.
It is always interesting what photos reveal. I am thinking I may need to redo the hem to get a softer look to it. It looks like it has crinkles in it!
I will take any excuse to show the inside of this coat!
I cut a piece of the selvedge with the Lesur name on it and attached it to the right front facing of the coat right below the placket. I think this is an important part of the story of this project.
There is a very slight bow to the back of the coat, again reminiscent of the ’60s.
This coat is almost making me anxious for next Fall!
As I worked on this coat, I came to realize how perfectly suited the pattern and the wool were for each other. It was such a privilege to spend so many hours with such quality. No wonder I fell in love!
Sometimes it is the smallest little detail which can make or break a sewing project. In the case of my pink coat, it was that single loop at the top front edge.
Normally loops are very straightforward, but with this pattern, that was not the case. When I looked ahead at the pattern instructions, this is what I found:
Because the front facing is not a separate piece, but rather folded back from the front edge, there was no seam within which to secure that loop. The instructions directed me to “slash” the yoke front facing through the center of the “squares,” shown here in basting:
The basted “squares” indicating where the “slashes” should be are in white just to the right of the center fold line in the photo.
And this was supposed to be done after the collar was already on and the facing properly secured in place. Well, I knew I wasn’t going to be slashing anything without getting a second opinion, and furthermore, I knew I would need to do the installation of the loop before the collar was on and the facing turned. I did not know how I could ever secure the loop without access to the inside of the facing.
I went online to Susan Khalje’s Couture Sewing Club which is by subscription on Facebook. Once I posed the question about the best way to accomplish this task, Mary Funt of the blog Cloning Couturesuggested I use an awl to work holes where those squares were, separating the wool threads and enlarging the openings to the size I needed. Then I could whip the edges with silk buttonhole twist to secure them. Mary also suggested I use a medical clamp (hemostat, which I highly recommend as a vital sewing tool! I have had mine for years and use it frequently), to help flatten the raw ends of the loop.
This shows the awl, the hemostat, and my spool of vintage pink silk buttonhole twist, along with a sample “insertion” of the loop.
First I practiced! Here are my practice holes:
Practice holes helped me determine how large the hole needed to be to accommodate the loop.
The hemostat was also helpful in pulling the end of the loop through the holes I made. Susan Khalje further suggested that the loop would need to be very securely fastened inside, and she suggested I under-stitch that part of the facing, catching the loop in the stitching.
The completed holes, bound with silk twist.
The loop inserted into the facing.
This shows the secured ends of the loop inside the facing.
The under-stitched facing, in which I further secured the loop.
Oh my goodness! Thank you Mary Funt and Susan Khalje! Using this method produced exactly the results I wanted.
The finished loop.
After the mystery of the loop was solved successfully, it was on to the collar, and ultimately on to the final steps before attaching the lining. The completion of this coat is in sight, after all this time. I can’t wait!
Instruction sheets for patterns always intrigue me, and especially so, instruction sheets for vintage Vogue Designer patterns. They so often include a quirky method of handling one aspect of construction. And often the construction details for an entire complicated dress or coat fit on one side of one sheet, completely at odds with the amount of time involved in the actual process from beginning to end. The beginning of my pink coat, however, commenced long before I started at “ number 1” in the Instructions.
With my adjusted and fitted muslin (toile) completed, and with its pieces disassembled again, I transferred it onto white silk organza to be used as both the pattern for the fashion fabric and as its underlining. This was the point about which I was both equally excited and terrified! There is a real thrill involved in laying out the pattern on your fashion fabric, but my pink coating wool is no normal fashion fabric. A rare survivor, this French Lesur wool from the mid 1960s, needed some special attention before I could begin to lay out my organza pieces on it.
Often vintage wool displays a crease down its center point where it has been folded for decades. Fortunately, this Lesur wool was folded with the right side in. There was a definite crease line, and it looked a bit soiled as well.
In the left half of this photo, you can see a line of light soil along the crease. This is the wrong side of the fabric.
I used a Woolite spot remover pad and worked gently along the fold line to reduce the minor discoloration. Then I put the entire length of wool in the dryer with a Woolite dry cleaning cloth to freshen it. When it came out, the crease line was practically gone, but I noticed that the wool appeared just a bit thinner along that line. I knew I would have to work around this when I laid out my pattern pieces.
It is barely visible, but there is a line of thinner wool close to the center of the photo.
Working single layer, as is customary with couture construction, I spread out the wool on my dining room table. The “coat front and lower back” piece is quite wide, and extended across the center point line of my wool.
You can see how wide the Coat Front and Lower Back pattern piece (#3) is, on the lower left.
Because the longest straight edge of the piece is the front facing, I knew I had to make sure that line of “thinner” wool was on the facing and not on the main body of the coat. Fortunately the wool had no nap, so I was able to stagger those two very large pattern pieces with different vertical orientations, which saved the day!
A number of pieces were on the bias which always seems to use more fabric.
All in all, it was tight fit to get all the pattern pieces on. I let it all sit overnight so I could doublecheck myself with fresh eyes before I actually started to cut. Knowing how special this wool is made taking that first cut with scissors extremely nerve-wracking. However, I figured it was now or never, and so I cut! One by one, the pieces piled up and when I was finished , all I had left was this small mound of scraps!
I have just enough left to make a half belt, should I choose to do so.
Next up was a part I always enjoy for some strange reason: basting the silk organza underlining and the fashion fabric together. And then to the Instruction Sheet, only to remember that the first thing to do was the pockets! I like detail work, but whenever I have to make a slash in the main body of anything, I get anxious. Fashion Sewing is not for sissies!
Here is one of the pockets slashed and ready to turn.
With lots of basting, lots of double-checking, lots of talking to myself, I finished with two flapped pockets that look they way they should, thank goodness!
I basted the pockets closed to protect them while I finish the rest of the coat.
And then, no rest for the weary, the next item on the sheet was the fly for the concealed front. Actually these are not difficult, although this one was done a bit differently than the one I put on another coat I made several years ago.
The buttonholes on a fly front need to be as flat as possible, so even though I was working in wool, which would normally dictate bound buttonholes, I made these five buttonholes by machine. Obviously they do not show, being within a concealed opening, so this was the way to go.
Here is the front of the coat with the concealed placket underneath. Top-stitching will be added later.
Remember what I said about quirky construction? I had already looked ahead (of course…) to see what next important step I was facing, and indeed, it was a facing! That looped button which is a design feature on the coat, turns out to be anything but normal. I will cover this interesting – and quirky – application in my next post, as the Pink Coat Odyssey continues.
The best laid plans sometimes need revision. As a person who likes to make careful lists and schedules, I find it difficult at times when life conspires to upset those plans. Especially difficult is when my sewing plans go awry!
I have been dreaming about making this coat in my treasured vintage pink wool.
With new enthusiasm after seeing the Dior Exhibit in Denver, I was sure this coat would be well underway by the end of March. However, for an unexpected, albeit happy, change of events, here we are at the end of March and all I have finished is my toile. But my enthusiasm is still on track!
A fun part of any project in which I use a Vogue Designer pattern is devoted to finding out more about the initial debut of the pattern, and documentation of its appearance in Vogue Pattern Book Magazine. Although I had a good hunch that this pattern was from the mid-sixties, I was quite delighted to see it included in a feature of new Designer patterns debuting in the October/November 1965VPBM. .
The caption for my coat pattern, top and center, reads: “DIOR: The ensemble to wear all year – a dirndled dress and a coat that’s shaped high and narrow.”
Of course this was when Marc Bohan was the Creative Director at Christian Dior, a period of the 1960s known for its gorgeous dressmaker coats and ensembles. Here is a sampling of some other designs appearing in the same time frame in a few Vogue Pattern Book Magazines.
I actually own this pattern, too. I have always loved the look of this coat. This pattern is shown in the same issue of Vogue Pattern Book Magazine as the Dior design, October/November 1965. What a great year for coats.
This kimono-sleeved coat was shown made in textured pineapple wool by Einiger. I made my purple coat from vintage Einiger wool, so I know what fabulous quality it is.
This coat features a spread collar on a low V-neck. This coat and the one above are shown in the February/March 1966 Vogue Pattern Book Magazine.
This coat is described as being “the total look of the Chanelesque tradition.” It, too, was made from “mossy-surfaced” Einiger wool.
And this coat is reminiscent of the Dior design I am making, with its pointed collar, straight-shape and concealed closing. The tubular belt is a brilliant addition. This design is by Guy Laroche and both it and the pink coat shown above were included in the February/March 1964 Vogue Pattern Book Magazine.
Back to my toile: I made the first one without any alterations to the pattern. The first thing I noticed is that the horizontal seam which extends around the back and angles up on either side of the front, seemed to add extra “baggage” in the lower back.
Here was my first toile atop the waxed marking paper. This shows the lower front and back piece, with its angled side seam.
The seam was designed to be below the waistline, but I determined it might look better on me if it were reset to fall exactly on the waist. This adjustment would keep the spirit of the design, but would be more flattering on me for some reason.
I made another slight adjustment to the shoulder line. First I cut the shoulder line on the body of the coat back about ½ inch on either side, to reduce some excess fabric across the upper chest. That made some pulling in the top of the sleeves. So then I added about ½ inch to the top half/curve of each sleeve. So it was an even swap, just distributed differently.
This shows my markings on the upper shoulder.
And the adjustments to the top of the sleeves.
Interestingly, the sleeves have no shaping by darts or seams on this pattern. They seemed a bit too full to me, so I tapered the seam to reduce the width of each sleeve by about 1.5 inches. I have had to make this adjustment to other coat patterns from the same time period, so perhaps a fuller sleeve is a hallmark of that era. I did not want to narrow the sleeves too much, as they need to be comfortable to wear over long sleeved dresses and sweaters.
I am contemplating adding a half belt, secured with buttons to the back of the coat. That’s a decision I’ll make as the coat comes together. The drape of the wool, as opposed to the drape of the muslin, may convince me I do not need it, but I rather like the appearance of a back belt.
Here is a rough mock-up of a possible belt, but this needs much more thought!
I found this picture of another coat which has a high back belt, probably about the length of one which I might add. It is so helpful to find examples like this of design details.
Lots of pink featured in coats from the 1960s. This design was featured in the February/March 1968 International Vogue Pattern Book.
So, I have embarrassing little to show for the past three weeks regarding this coat. Perhaps the next three weeks may be kinder to me. We shall see!
In re-reading my last two reviews of the Dior in Denver Exhibit, I realize how very little I was able to include, when there was so much to see and learn. Well, these reviews cannot go on forever, but there are a few other aspects and components of the Exhibit that I still want to share.
In one of the narrower passageways between Exhibit “rooms,” there was a display of Dior scarves lining each side. From the Dior Heritage Collection in Paris, these printed silk twill scarves were designed by Alexandre Sache between about 1958-1976.
The very bright graphic ones were so eye-catching:
And this engaging one with its impressionistic rose in the center was my favorite, I think:
You may have noticed in my first two reviews how many of the fashions, especially the early ones, were made in black. Dior considered black “the most elegant of all colors.” While they often do not photograph as well as other colors, these fashions made in luscious black fabrics commanded attention throughout the Exhibit.
I apologize for not having the attribution on this cocktail dress.
Also spread throughout the Exhibit were quotes from the various Creative Directors. Two especially caught my eye. The first, from Christian Dior himself, was one I had never read before. “The Americans are, by essence, impeccable.” Wow! What a lovely tribute to his stylish American clients.
And then there is this one from the current Creative Director, Maria Grazia Chiuri: “A dress can have some impact but a woman makes the difference with her attitude.” This quote needs no further commentary…
The Exhibit included so many supporting documents and written and printed materials, it was impossible to identify the most important. But I want to share this copy of Time Magazine from March 4, 1957, with Christian Dior on its cover.
Dior died the same year, 1957, on October 24th.
As Exhibit goers departed the exhibition space, there were paper punch-out Dior “handbags” for the taking:
Here is the reverse of this small bag, with punch-out puzzle pieces of the coat included! So clever.
After four hours nonstop in the Exhibit, I reluctantly departed from the Denver Art Museum to get a very late lunch, with intentions to return to the museum shop for a little browsing. Here I am upon my return, standing in front of one of the displays of books:
And here is the bag (I love bags!) which housed all those lovely purchases made at the Museum Shop:
Upon my return home to Pennsylvania, I was anxious to see what Christian Dior Vogue Designer Patterns I have in my collection of vintage patterns. Two are actually ones I purchased in the early 1970s, another time in my life when I was actively sewing for myself :
I made this coat when I was in my early twenties. I only wish I still had it!
I never made this pattern, but I may still do so.
And then there are these two, somewhat recent purchases:
These two patterns are earlier than the two above.
And yes, you do see a theme emerging if you consider these four patterns. They are all coats! (I am obsessed with coats…) Any guess what my current project is (after I make birthday dresses for my granddaughters)?
What Do You Think of Pockets?
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.
The wool version has in-seam pockets which I find useful:
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.
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Filed under Coats, Day dresses, Fashion commentary, Mid-Century style, pockets, Uncategorized, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1950s, Vogue patterns
Tagged as 1950's Vogue patterns, fashion sewing, pockets, sewing, vintage fashion, vintage Vogue patterns, Wall Street Journal Fashion coverage