Category Archives: Vintage fabric

June 23, 2025 · 1:59 pm

A Lovely Solution

What do you do with all those scraps of fabric which are often left over from a sewing project?  Sometimes I just throw them out, feeling guilty while I do so.  Sometimes I fold them up neatly and put them away in a very big box I have reserved for such things (to “think about another day.”)  And sometimes, if there is a sizable amount remaining, I’ll put my leftovers in a “giveaway” box, to be recycled in some charitable fashion.  But recently I have come up with another solution.  I have started making padded hangers with my fabric leftovers.  

Remember that small amount of fabric remaining from my recent pink striped dress?  I could have easily pitched that scrap (and not even felt particularly guilty about it), but I knew I had just enough fabric left to make a matching padded hanger for my dress.  

I had already made a few of these hangers in various scraps, using a You-Tube video for the basics, with several trial-and-error sessions to tweak the method and pattern to my satisfaction. Feeling confident with my new-found “expertise,” I plowed ahead and squeezed out just enough for a hanger to match my dress.  

The ribbon bow serves two purposes: to cover up the seam where the two sides of the fabric sheaths meet in the middle, and to make your hanger more beautiful!

Now, I should add here that I have been a fan of padded hangers for a long time, purchasing quite a few from a couple of Etsy shops in recent years.  However, I have always thought it would be lovely to make matching hangers for some of my creations – or – just pretty hangers to mix and match. 

Here are three I have recently made.  

Two of them are made from Liberty fabrics, and the dark blue one is made from fabric left over from a skirt I made at least 25-30 years ago.  There is something particularly rewarding about using Liberty scraps, as the fabric is expensive and its tight weave lends itself beautifully to being stretched over the padded wooden hanger forms.

Speaking of the hanger forms – I have yet to find a source for these raw wood hangers.  To get what I need, I have purchased cheap, polyester satin covered hangers in bulk and taken off the fabric and yucky foam padding to reveal the raw wood hanger form inside it all.  This works, but I would really love to find a source for basic, uniform, raw-wood hangers with the swivel, silver-toned hardware that I prefer for these small projects.  

Here are a few pictures of my process, not intended to be a tutorial.  

Here are the basic ingredients for making padded hangers: a wooden form, quilt batting used for the padding, and the cut-out fabric pieces to sew and cover each side of the wooden form.
Shown here are two varying wooden forms I happened to have on hand. The unfinished – or raw – wood one is specifically intended for being covered. The other one is a “finished” wood hanger which I turned into a padded hanger.
The quilt batting cut and ready to apply to the wooden form.
The batting pinned in place, ready to sew by hand.
The padded raw hanger ready for the sewn fabric “sheaths” to be slipped over each end of the hanger.

Let me tell you why there is something very rewarding about making these hangers.

  1. First of all, they really don’t take much time, perhaps 35-40 minutes per hanger. 
  2.  Second, it is the perfect combination of hand and machine sewing. 
  3. Third, as stated, it is a wonderful way to use up scraps.  
  4. Fourth, I can use the fabric that is best suited for these closet accessories – tightly woven cottons, light-weight linens or damasks, and never anything slippery, such as satin, which causes your garment to slide off one side.  I am particularly looking forward to making hangers with some of my scraps of vintage cottons and linens, a unique way to preserve samples of these special fabrics. 
  5. Fifth, handmade padded hangers make very sweet small gifts for friends and family.
  6. And finally, making my own hangers allows me to use coordinating color ribbon. White is always nice, but using coordinating colored ribbon makes your hangers just that much more personal.

Often, between sewing projects, especially if they are major projects, I like to make something quick and easy and fun to “decompress” and get ready for the next big undertaking.  Making a padded hanger is the perfect solution. 

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Filed under Bows as design feature, Liberty cotton, padded hangers, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric

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May 10, 2024 · 4:47 pm

 How Does One Pack for a Trip to Paris in mid-March? Part II

Blouses, sweaters, tops.  These three categories gave me plenty to pair with dressier slacks and more casual pants.  I took along one solid black, jewel neck embroidered cotton sweater and two cotton cardigan sweaters which I always wear fully buttoned to use as dressy tops.  They were perfect for three of the days in Paris.  I had two cashmere/cotton blend pullover collared sweaters which were equally perfect for more casual days and a few more versatile pullovers.  Then I had blouses.  I love blouses.  I decided I needed a new silk blouse to take to Paris with me.  

I saw this Italian silk twill on the website for Britex Fabrics:

It appealed to my love of geometrics, and additionally I thought it was just so classy looking.  So I bought it and proceeded to make a blouse.  

For a twill, it frayed a bit more than expected, but the weight was lovely.  I tweaked my go-to blouse pattern once again for this blouse.  I eliminated the back box pleat below the yoke which I have added in previous makes.  I wanted a more streamlined appearance and less bulk to tuck in.  To that end I also added very slim front vertical bust darts.  

I cut the back yoke on the bias which I decided would look better than on the straight of grain due to all those squares lining up attractively.
Here is one of those narrow vertical darts below the bust.

I also shortened the hem by one inch and squared it off with slits at the side seams.

What to do for BUTTONS!?  I had selected 3 varieties from which to choose – all from my collection assembled over the past umpteen years.  

The one thing in common with these buttons is their squarish shape which I thought would compliment the print.

Usually, a winner is clear to me, but this time I needed some assistance.  So, I asked my sewing friend, Debra, for her input, which was a brilliant move on my part.  How wonderful to have confirmation from her trained eye that the buttons I was leaning toward were her choice as well.  Her decisiveness was quick and instinctive. 

The only problem was they were already on a blouse which I made years ago.  No problem, I just took them off that bouse, with a promise to find replacements at some point.  The other sweet thing about these black cube buttons – and I digress here – is that I was with my daughter, Susanna, when I purchased them.   We have wonderful memories of that day long ago, spent together at a vintage textile show in New England.  So from the fields of Massachusetts to the streets of Paris, these vintage Bakelite buttons continue to add layers to their history.

And here I am wearing my blouse, drinking champagne, and enjoying conversation with one of our guest speakers.

I thought it would be a good idea to have a “fancier” blouse along on the trip.  It was already in my closet, having been sewn a number of years ago.  It continues to be one of my favorite makes ever, although I do not get the opportunity to wear it very often.  

I wasn’t sure when I would wear it, but somehow I knew I would find the perfect day and time.  By Friday morning of the trip, I had decided to wear it that evening to our Gala Dinner, with dressy black slacks.  I had brought along specific jewelry to pair with it, and I was quite confident I would look well attired for that special night.  And then…  as luck would have it, one of our stops that day was to a scarf store in Paris.  Susan had expressed her great admiration for this store and their goods, so we were all looking forward to our time there.  

Truth be told, I could have easily purchased three or four scarves that afternoon.  The selection was wide-ranging, both in design and fabric.   But there was one scarf I knew would go home with me.

The funny thing is, when I purchased it, I was not thinking about the blouse I planned to wear that evening.  But when I got back to my hotel room, I realized what a great duo they would make.  As the evening was a bit chilly, and we had a short walk to the restaurant, having this cashmere blend scarf wrapped around my shoulders was the perfect addition.  

It was a fun evening, and I felt perfectly attired!  Of course, from now on, I shall refer to this scarf as my Paris wrap. 

At this point you may be wondering if I actually wore a dress while on my trip.  As a matter of fact, yes, I did.  Our instructions were to be dressily attired the evening we attended the Ballet at the Palais Garnier.  I decided to take along this dress which was ready for another outing. 

 It is dressy and comfortable, but the best thing about it is – it pairs well with my pink coat, forever a favorite.  

I was determined to take this lightweight Spring wool coat to Paris.  I made it from vintage Lesur wool made in France and for some reason, I just had my heart set on wearing it in Paris.  The weather wasn’t all that cooperative as it was a bit warm for a wool coat.  That did not deter me.  I donned it anyway, and that’s the end of the story!  

Together with two of my tour-mates before the ballet.

However, there is more to come, as I will share a bit about other parts of the trip next time. 

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Filed under Bakelite buttons and/or jewelry, Blouses, Buttons - choosing the right ones, Coats, Scarves, silk, Uncategorized, vintage buttons, Vintage fabric

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October 4, 2023 · 6:53 pm

A Book Review:  The Dress Diary of Mrs. Anne Sykes – Secrets from a Victorian Woman’s Wardrobe, by Kate Strasdin.

Every once in a while, I find myself having fallen under the spell of a particularly noteworthy and engaging book.  Such was my fate with this remarkable story of an Englishwoman (1816 -1890) and her journal of fabric swatches, saved from her own life and collected from family, friends, and acquaintances over the course of decades, beginning in September of 1838.  

This book was first published in England and then a few months later in the USA. My copy is the version published in England, the book jacket of which varies from the version published in the USA.

With over 1200 fabric entries, the diary – or journal – gradually revealed its secrets to the author, a fashion historian, who painstakingly transcribed the often sparse notations  accompanying each fabric sample, piecing together the fascinating  life and times of Anne Burton Sykes.  The research is meticulous, and the author, Kate Strasdin, shares her eureka moments which allowed her to expand not only Anne’s life, but those of her friends and family as well.  Written in an engaging style, this non-fiction book often reads like a novel, a wonderful story of love, friendship, adventure, and vibrant personalities.  

There is so much to learn here about Anne’s life in the larger context of world history and events, but it is the personal experiences and expressions which spoke so loudly to me.  Yes, there are many details which, by the nature of the journal, must be extrapolated and surmised, which the author is careful to note.  But the picture of Anne – and her husband Adam – which evolves is one of two very likeable people, engaged in their community, industrious and thoughtful, friendly and adventurous, and undoubtably well-dressed.  

The first entries in the journal, of Anne’s wedding attire, were actually placed and annotated by Adam.  He was the one to give Anne the journal on their wedding day.  He refers to her as “my charming Anne.” Not beautiful, not sweet, not dear, but “charming.”  That single selection of adjective spoke volumes to me about each of them.

She also must have been brave, enduring a four-month sea voyage from northern England to Singapore, where Adam’s business took them two years after their marriage.  There they built a life among other English-speaking neighbors and acquaintances, in the stifling heat and humidity of the south China sea.   After seven years in Singapore, they went on to Shanghai for two years (where the diary goes silent for the duration), and then back to England.

 Anne’s friendships with other women throughout her life are apparent in the swatches she receives from so many in her circle.  The exchange of gifts and tokens of friendship take form in dress-goods (cotton, wool, silk), ribbons, pieces of lace, and snippets of sashes. There appeared to be a remarkable camaraderie among all ages and between the sexes.  

The author has done a masterful job in deciphering the life and persona of Mrs. Anne Sykes through so many diverse fabric swatches.  Anne’s kindness, her circumspection, her devotion to family and friends, and her small place in history make for a wonderful, enlightening story.   I am very grateful to have had the opportunity to read and savor this book. 

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Filed under Book reviews, Fashion commentary, Fashion history, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric

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August 27, 2023 · 6:01 pm

A Tale of Two Dresses, Part 2

Whenever I am working with vintage fabric, it seems I either have more yardage than I need or, more frequently, less than I need.  I have learned over the years there is usually a way to work around having less fabric than I really need.  I just have to get creative.  And that’s what I did when I made this dress.

I quickly determined there was no way I could get the dress I wanted by placing the pattern on the lengthwise straight-of-grain.  The flare of the skirt, which I wanted to be mid-calf, precluded any notion of such a layout.  At 45” wide, I knew I could just get the dress length I wanted if I laid out the pattern on the cross-grain, from selvedge to selvedge.  Linen is a very stable fabric, so I was confident the cross-grain would work.  In addition, there were no directional limitations in the floral design of the fabric.  Barely fitting my pattern – from shoulder to hem – on the fabric from selvedge to selvedge, however, would leave no extra fabric to turn up for the hem – or even to face the hem.  I decided to worry about that later.  First I wanted to determine how I could get the four pieces for the dress and the two lengthened sleeves placed on the fabric, keeping in mind three important things:  1) although this was not a fabric to be matched per se, the all-over design of the fabric needed to be on the same plane in contiguous seams; 2) I wanted to space out the larger floral motifs so the dress would be balanced as best as possible (looking critically at the dress I made when I was 23, I clearly could have given this more thought!); and 3) I wanted to avoid large demonstrative blooms at the bust.  Then, and only then, would I worry about the hem.  

I transposed all the markings from my adjusted pattern onto the cotton batiste, then used those pieces as my pattern. I then basted the two layers together to be treated as one, before sewing any seams or darts.

Once I was happy with this placement, I had a eureka moment when I knew I could accomplish two things with a simple bias trim made from the yardage of deep pink linen which coordinated nicely with the floral.  1) I could preserve the full 45” of cross-grain length by applying bias trim to the hem edge instead of turning it under, and I could do the same with the sleeves.  And 2) the trim would add interest to the dress, just as I had vaguely imagined.  (A quick aside here – I have ample yardage of the solid deep pink linen to make a coordinating coat at some point. Every dress needs a coat, right?) 

I underlined this dress in a very lightweight, pre-washed, cotton batiste, then I lined it in Bemberg rayon.  Moygashel linen washes beautifully, as does Bemberg lining, which is why I chose Bemberg over silk for this dress. I eliminated the neckline facing, choosing instead to bring the lining up to the edge of the neckline seam, then under-stitching it to secure that edge in place.  

I chose to do a hand-picked, lapped zipper, an application which I think looks so lovely.  Interestingly, I hand-picked the zipper in the dress I made in 1973, although it is a centered application.  

And here is a back view of the 1973 dress. The zipper is metal, which certainly is a telltale sign of a vintage dress.

When it came time to apply the bias-cut trim to the hem and sleeves, I had to experiment around a bit.  I didn’t want it too wide, but it needed to be substantial enough to look like it was meant to be and not an afterthought or decision made in desperation!  I finally settled on an exposure of 1/2”.  

Now this is where it gets interesting.  A few weeks ago I saw a vintage dress on a Facebook/Meta post by Xtabay Vintage Clothing Boutique.  It is obviously Moygashel linen (I can tell by its weave and color), but what really caught my eye were the bias strips and low-profile bows adorning its sleeves.  I tucked this idea in the back of my mind for future consideration.  What I didn’t know was that the future was right around the corner!  Yes – I “borrowed” this idea and added a single bias-cut bow to each sleeve.  Somehow, it just seems to finish the dress.  

I never would have thought of adding a bow to each sleeve had I not seen this pretty vintage dress.

In this view, the princess seam which originates in a dart is visible. This is a nicely engineered, flattering pattern.

Well, you may have guessed by now the reason for making this dress this year.  I will wear it next week when my husband and I celebrate our 50th Wedding Anniversary.  I have changed a lot in those 50 years (and so has my husband!), but I still love pink in all its shades and I still love Moygashel linen (and I still love my husband, too!)  

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Filed under Bows as design feature, couture construction, Dressmaker details, Fashion history, hand-sewn zippers, Hems, Linen, Linings, Mid-Century style, Moygashel linen, Sleeves, Summer sewing, Uncategorized, underlinings, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1970s

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August 27, 2023 · 12:34 pm

A Tale of Two Dresses, Part 1

Where to begin with this story?  I have to go back 50 years – which sounds daunting and slightly surreal.  As a 23-year-old about to be married, I had already made my wedding gown that summer of 1973.  I still, however, needed a couple of dresses to take on our upcoming wedding trip in early September.  With that intention, I ventured into Stapler’s Fabric Store on Walnut Street in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (USA).  Stapler’s was one of the old, notable, family-owned purveyors of fine fabrics and dress goods, and I loved going in the store.  Most of the time I could only look and dream, so going in on a mission made this trip memorable.  

Stapler’s carried high end fabrics and that included the newest offerings of Moygashel Irish linen.  I have written several times about this storied brand of dressmaker linen, known for being wrinkle and crease resistant, known for its exquisite designs and colors, and highly sought after by women of good taste.  I can still feel the excitement I had that Summer day when I saw a quintessential floral Moygashel in vibrant pinks and greens and whites.  

I had already picked out a Very Easy, Very Vogue pattern (the pattern number is lost to the ages by now, as is the pattern itself) to make a long A-line dress with short cut-on sleeves and center front and center back seams.  I purchased the yardage I needed and made this dress:

Ankle-length dresses like this were very fashionable in 1973.

I loved it.  I felt beautiful in it, which has, over the years, become my litmus test for a successfully made garment.  Several years ago I included this dress in a post I titled “Shopping in My Cedar Closet.”  I posed a question to myself – should I take this dress apart and reuse the beautiful fabric – which I still loved – for something else?  By asking myself this question, I knew I had the answer.  Too many memories, too much of the younger me were in this dress for me to cut it apart.  I placed it back in the closet and vowed to keep it as is. 

A few years later a most amazing thing happened.  While searching for vintage Moygashel linen on eBay, I found an offering for a length of the same pink, green and white floral fabric I had purchased so many years ago.  The listing was for 2¼ yards of this 45”wide fabric.  I purchased it immediately, its new rendition to be determined. In my mental sewing calendar, however, I hoped to bring life to this fabric 50 years after I made my first dress from its twin.

The planning began in earnest earlier this year.  I had to decide exactly what silhouette dress I wanted my new dress to have.  With only a little over two yards, I knew my choices were somewhat limited.  And I also knew the fabric itself needed to be the star – with its demonstrative, large design, its medley of colors and its lustrous weave.  It took me a while to realize I had already determined the correct formula 50 years ago.  It needed to be another A-line dress, with some length to it.  This time, however, I would make it using the couture techniques I have learned since then.  

I also knew I wanted: a) longer sleeves, if possible, with the yardage I had; b) to underline and line this dress (but preserve its washability); and c) to add some minor embellishment in some way, perhaps buttons or trim of some sort.

I had these deep pink buttons, one design of which I thought might be a possibility … In the end, I decided they would not work.
And, I had two lengths of Moygashel linen from the 1970s in this deep pink, from which I could make trim, if needed. This proved to be essential to the success of my endeavor.

A suitable pattern happened to be one I had already used twice.  

The line drawing for the shorter length shows more detail as to the seaming and the darts. The description on the pattern envelope reads: “evening or street length, high shaped, slightly A-line dress has short sleeves and scoop neckline with or without slit at center front…”

I first used this pattern for this dress:

And then a year or two later, I used it for this dress:

Having a pattern which fits, with pleasing lines and a certain finesse to it, is worth its weight in gold.  Even better, the late 1960s’/early 1970s’ vintage aspect of this pattern made it a perfect fit with fabric from 1973.  The only question I had was a big one.  Did I have enough fabric to make a longer dress with longer sleeves?  The answer: No – and then Yes.

(The story continues in the next post…)

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Filed under Fashion history, Linen, Mid-Century style, Moygashel linen, Uncategorized, vintage buttons, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1970s

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February 3, 2022 · 3:42 pm

A Return to Sewing

Did you think I had abandoned my cape?  After an unexpectedly long hiatus from sewing – due to busy holidays, travel, and things out of my control – I finally returned to my sewing room last week.  And although PINK is supposed to feature large in my 2022 sewing agenda, I first had “anything but pink” unfinished business from 2021.  Yes, that cape which I thought would be such an easy make…  I put the final stitches in it last week, only about 6 weeks after I imagined that would happen.

Hah… Those buttons are much more of a deep olive green in reality!
Can you tell it was freezing when I took these photos? This duo will be a good Fall ensemble, but it is not quite warm enough for the middle of Winter!

In all fairness, I should say whenever I must stop a project and then return to it weeks later, I always imagine that it has taken me much longer than it should have.  There is a “reacquaintance” factor in the time involved.  “Now, just where am I in this?  What’s the next step?  What did I do with the undercollar?  Is the lining already cut out?  If so, where is it?”  and on and on. Believe it or not, I tend to be rather organized about my sewing, leaving notes for myself – that sort of thing.  But still – the momentum needs to be rebooted, both for the project and for myself!

Enough of this babble. On to the cape – what worked, what didn’t, and what will I do differently, should I make this pattern again.  Regardless – the cape is ready to wear, and I am very pleased with how it turned out.  

I had to pay extensive attention to laying out the pattern and matching plaids as best I could, knowing that this uneven plaid was going to play some tricks on me.  For the most part, I think I was fairly successful; at least there aren’t any glaring mismatches.  

I must have sewn, torn out and resewn the collar at least five times until I realized those stripes were never going to perfectly align.
I chose an olive green silk charmeuse from Emma One Sock Fabrics for the lining.

The arm slits are just lovely, both outside and inside:

The welts are continuous with the front princess seam.
The lining is brought right up to the inner edge of the welt and slip-stitched in place.

I was a bit concerned about the size of the collar.  This is a pattern from the 1970s, when collars tended to be a bit oversized.  I certainly did not want this cape to scream 1970s, so I was ready to pare down those collar points if necessary.  But I think the collar is perfect just the way it is.

I under-stitched the collar to control the edges.
I think the size of this collar is just right.
I also under-stitched the front edges of the lining. The entire cape is underlined with silk organza, which gave me the perfect anchor upon which to attach those stitches invisibly.

The one component of this pattern I did have trouble with was the separate closing tab.  The pattern, surprisingly, did not specify bound buttonholes.  Rather it called for machine or hand-stitched buttonholes.  I usually like to make bound buttonholes on wool fabric (there are exceptions, of course, but I did not look at this as one of those).  So I dutifully went at it.  But the narrow width of the tab made turning it, with bound buttonholes applied, nearly impossible.  No, make that totally impossible.  It was lumpy, uneven, and unacceptable.  But I was not going to give up on my bound buttonholes.  I decided to redraw the tab, using “squared-off ends” rather than rounded ends.  I knew that would give me more space to manipulate all the interior buttonhole bulk.  I also oriented the buttonholes horizontally instead of on an angle as shown in the lower pattern piece below.

The lower figure is the original tab as taken from the pattern. The upper figure is my redrawn tab.

Voila!  It worked, and I think it might even be a better look than the tab with the rounded ends.  

Not sure why my olive green enameled buttons look almost mint green in these photos.

So – what would I change next time?  I think I might add an inch or two in length.  I think the cape pictured on the pattern envelope looks longer than the reality of it.  

I also think I would taper the back hem of the cape to a gentle extended curve so that the back of the cape is about one to one-and-a-half inches longer than the front.  When I visualize that, I like what I “see.”  

Making this cape has reinforced my opinions about this type of outer covering – it is graceful and quietly elegant in this unfussy form, even in plaid.  Finishing up this project was necessary, but also, as it turned out, a successful start to the new sewing year.  

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Filed under bound buttonholes, Capes, couture construction, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1970s, Vogue patterns, woolens

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January 5, 2022 · 7:52 pm

PINK Plans for 2022

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.

And first up is this length of deep pink cashmere blend (Farmhouse Fabrics), from which I plan to make this jacket:

P:

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 have plans to make a day dress out of this soft and supple dress-weight wool, purchased from Mendel Goldberg Fabrics. I am still deciding on the pattern.

I:

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.

If you follow my blog, you have seen this duo before. Silk charmeuse for a fancy blouse and silk twill for a floaty skirt, both from Britex Fabrics.

N:

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. 

The pink gingham on the right is silk taffeta. When I purchased this fabric from Farmhouse Fabrics, I intended to make a shirt dress, but then it did not seem right to me. A couple of years later, I knew it needed to be a Spring coat instead, lined with the quirky vintage 1950s’ novelty silk. The pattern is below, first used by me in 1974 for a trench coat I sadly no longer have.
I love this pattern now as much as I did when I first made it in my early twenties.

K:

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.

Even when I choose a color other than pink, somehow pink wiggles its way into the design. When I found this fabric at Emma One Sock Fabrics, I immediately thought of making a tunic and trimming it with pink Petersham ribbon.
A Pink-Lover’s Dream Collection: From top to bottom: 1)vintage Moygashel linen, purchased on eBay 2) silk charmeuse, purchased from Britex Fabrics 3)vintage Moygashel linen, purchased by me in the 1970s 4) linen, possibly Moygashel, purchased on Etsy 5) silk jacquard purchased from Britex 6) silk charmeuse, purchased from Mendel Goldberg Fabrics 7 & 8) coordinating silks, purchased from Mendel Goldberg.

“And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been.”  Rainer Maria Rilke

Happy New Year, dear Sewing Friends.  

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Filed under Mid-Century style, silk, Silk taffeta, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric

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December 7, 2021 · 4:53 pm

Wool Slacks

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!  

This is the pattern I used for the slacks. Notice they are called slacks in the description! There are 8 shaping darts – four in the front and four in the back, and no pockets.

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.  

This photo from my last post shows the uneven aspect of the plaid. I planned the layout according the the brighter lavender stripe.

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. 

Here is the hem on one of the legs, to show where I wanted the lower edge to fall in relation to the plaid.
And here you can see how I placed the vertical stripes on the legs.

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. 

I faced the waistband with silk charmeuse.

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. 

It was quite chilly when I took these photos! Where’s my cape?

 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? 

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Filed under Fashion history, Hems, Linings, Slacks, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1950s

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October 31, 2021 · 6:24 pm

A Fabric Full of Surprises

Several years ago I purchased a piece of vintage French Lesur wool, which I subsequently made into one of my favorite pieces ever, my pink Christian Dior-designed coat.  

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.  

The swatch second from the right was the closest match, but it was still a long way from viable, even more so in person than in this photo.

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.  

The center swatch “reads” brown in this photo, but it is a true olive green, as is the background of the wool fabric.

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.  

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Filed under Capes, Christian Dior, Linings, Uncategorized, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue Designer patterns, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1970s, woolens

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September 14, 2021 · 2:36 pm

A Summer Dress

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.  

The sheath dress pattern I like is the one on the right, underneath its matching plaid coat.
Not just a slit, but a real kick-pleat!
Here is the kick-pleat on the inside of the dress.

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.)

The neck and armhole edges are stay stitched by machine close to the seam line, then clipped and tacked in place by hand to the silk organza underlining.
Here is one of the side seams, clipped and then also tacked in place by catch-stitches.
A beautiful lining hides all those interior stitches and seams.

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.

I used Hug Snug rayon tape to construct the strap holders.

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).

(Those of you who follow me on Instagram @fiftydresses have seen this picture already…)

Good Summer memories, all of them.    

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Filed under couture construction, Linen, Linings, Mid-Century style, Moygashel linen, Scarves, Sheath dresses, Uncategorized, underlinings, Vintage fabric, vintage Vogue patterns from the 1960s

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