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.
One might get the idea I love to iron should they take stock of how many cotton blouses I have made over the past few years. Now I do love a crisp cotton blouse, and I find them to be imminently wearable, neat and tidy, and versatile. So I keep making them. But do I love to iron? Not really, although it is not my most dreaded household chore. (I think that might be grocery shopping – or more precisely, lugging everything home and putting it all away. I don’t like that.)
Even wearing a pretty blouse, like this – my most recent make, to the grocery store doesn’t make that chore more bearable!
One advantage to having lots and lots of cotton blouses is that the ironing can pile up, yet I will still have blouses to go to in my closet, so there’s that. I think – no, I know – another reason I keep making casual cotton blouses is that I love to sew with beautiful quality cotton (of course Liberty comes to mind!) The selection of quality cotton prints, checks, plaids, stripes, and solids available online is astoundingly diverse, making the temptation great to make “just one more blouse.”
And then there are the buttons. If you follow my sewing life through this blog, you know my fascination with and pursuit of vintage buttons to use on my blouses and other projects. Yes, a white plastic button can perform the same function, but a beautiful pearl button adds a touch of class to a simple blouse like no other detail can.
A simple pearl button, circa 1960, BGE Originals, “First in Fashions”
It also helps that I have a set of blouse patterns which fit well due to many alterations and tweaking over several years’ use. It is a lovely feeling to start a new project, knowing I don’t have to fit the pattern and make a muslin before I can get started on the fashion fabric.
Three of my favorite blouse patterns, for which I have fitted muslins.
And one which I feel sure will become a favorite once I make and fit a muslin for it! View A is a classic look and the sleeves are so elegant.
I had been eyeing this Liberty cotton lawn on the Farmhouse Fabrics website for quite a while when I decided last Spring to go ahead and indulge. Having a floral among my blouse selections is something just a bit different for me, as I already have numerous ginghams, plaids, and stripes.
Liberty Lawn is lovely to sew and lovely to wear.
These colors make me happy.
So – is Tuesday really for ironing? There used to be a proscribed schedule for all those household chores – and it went like this:
Monday: Wash Day
Tuesday: Ironing Day
Wednesday: Sewing Day
Thursday: Market Day
Friday: Cleaning Day
Saturday: Baking Day
Sunday: Day of Rest
Well, times have changed. Now, every day is Sewing Day.
Or is it the first dress of Fall? It depends on your point of view, apparently. The Autumnal Equinox, here in the Northern Hemisphere, is September 22nd, officially the first day of (Astronomical) Fall. Meteorological Fall began on September 1st, marking the point in the year when the temperatures begin to fall (pardon the pun.) Either way one looks at it, I now have a finished dress which is either late for Summer or just under the wire. I’m honestly just delighted to have it finished!
Although linen is traditionally thought to be a summertime fabric, I have long thought it is also the perfect fabric for early Fall. Moygashel linen is especially well suited for this time of year. Its natural fibers keep it cool for those days which continue to warm up, but its sturdy weave and heft give it a substantial enough look for these days of transition.
I purchased this piece of vintage linen from an Etsy shop years ago.
This particular piece of Moygashel, undoubtably a survivor from the mid-1950s, presented me with a couple of challenges. First, it was only 35” wide. And I only had 2½ yards. Laying out pattern pieces on a single layer of fabric always allows me to maximize their placement, improving my ability to do the impossible – get a dress out of too little fabric. (Here is another Moygashel linen dress which I was able to squeak out of 1 5/8 yards of 35” fabric.)
This vintage Vogue pattern gave me two sleeve options. If I had opted for the very short sleeves, I would have had ample yardage. But, for the seasonal reasons mentioned above, I particularly wanted to make this dress with the below-elbow-length sleeves. So, I fiddled and figured and made it work by utilizing both the straight of grain and the cross grain for the bodice/sleeve pieces. I was able to do this because of the allover floral design – ie., no directional limitations.
This pattern is dated 1957.
Interestingly enough, this dress with its cut-on sleeves does not have gussets. Rather, the underarm seams of the dress sections are curved to add moveability.
This shows where the seams join under the arm close to the top of the side zipper.
I underlined this dress with white cotton batiste (from Farmhouse Fabrics) and I finished the seams with Hug Snug Rayon seam binding.
The buttoned upper back bodice is a real focal point of this pattern. Being 1957, the pattern calls for “fabric buttonholes” – or bound buttonholes. So that’s what I did.
When it came to buttons, I wanted to use some sort of faceted black buttons. After searching online and coming up empty-handed for buttons of the correct size and look, I settled on these carved pearl buttons already in my button collection.
I love these buttons, but I still think black ones would be better … so I will keep searching and switch them when I’m successful. That will also allow me to use the “leaf” buttons (I have 6 of them) for something which will show them off to better advantage.
The final construction detail of note is the 10” side zipper. I used a lapped, hand-picked application which lays inconspicuously below the left sleeve.
It is so inconspicuous, you can barely see it here!
I did not leave an opening on either side at the waist for a belt to slip through. In fact, I did not have enough fabric to make a self-belt! However, my intention was always to use a contrasting belt. I think this fabric will lend itself to using belts of varying colors (red or yellow or pink?) as long as I can coordinate with shoes, handbags and/or jewelry. That will have to wait until I am home from our Summer location. Maybe I’ll even find black buttons back home!
I could wear this dress without a belt as well. (But I’m not sure I will…)
One final note about this pattern and dress: it has to go over the head. It was much more common for dresses from the 1950s and ‘60s to have side zippers and “over the head access” only. This can wreak havoc on hair (and make-up)! So a little pre-planning is necessary – I will need to finish my primping after I have put on the dress.
And everytime I put this dress on, I shall see the original Moygashel linen label which came with the fabric.
I suspect this dress will go right into the cedar closet for the months to come, as I switch out the wool skirts and dresses and coats and sweaters. But hopefully, in March, at the Spring Equinox, it will creep out from its dark and quiet spot and maybe even actually be worn!
It was not planned this way. Not much so far this year has been planned in the way it is going, truth be told. Which makes my most recent make both tinged with nostalgia and hopeful. Mostly hopeful, I think.
For over thirty years I have had this length of Liberty Lawn surface time and again from its storage basket in my fabric closet. I never had the right pattern for it, not when I purchased it on the island of Bermuda back in the 1980s, nor over the ensuing years – that is, until this year. After making my wool challis shirtdress earlier in the year, I realized that same pattern was how I had subconsciously – for years – envisioned this fabric being used.
It has been satisfying to use this fabric, finally, as it deserves to be used. Liberty is one of the world’s famous manufacturers of cotton. Did you know it has its own entry in Fairchild’s Dictionary of Fashion? Actually two entries – one under Liberty and another under Liberty Print. Here is the latter entry: “Trademark of Liberty, London, for wide range of printed fabrics. The best known are small multicolored floral designs.” (The Fairchild Dictionary of Fashion, by Charlotte Mankey Calasibetta and Phyllis Tortora, Third Edition, Fairchild Publications, Inc, New York, New York, c2003.) I wrote about Liberty cotton way back in 2012 when I was still pondering the use of this red and green floral print. But voila! Now I have used it!
Enough of the blah, blah, blah, here are the details: I underlined the fabric with a very lightweight white cotton batiste, purchased from Farmhouse Fabrics. Then I finished the raw edges of the seams with Hug Snug rayon seam binding. I love this finish for garments which are underlined, but not lined.
Here is a detail of the cuff. I did not underline the sleeves.
As I mentioned in my post on the wool challis shirtdress, I added shoulder darts to the back of the bodice, and instead of using an eased-in sleeve, I converted the necessary fullness into a dart at the very top of the sleeve. The button placement guide for this pattern indicates using 8 buttons. I think next time I make this pattern (and I’m sure there will be a next time), I am going to increase that number to nine. I think the distance between buttons on the bodice is just a bit too much, now that I have it finished.
Speaking of buttons, I found white pearl, metal shank buttons in my collection, and they seemed just perfect for this fabric, which has such a fresh appearance. The only substitution I made was the button on the collar band, where I used a button which was 3/8” rather than 1/2”. Fortunately I had a card of 4 buttons in this size which mimics the appearance of the other buttons.
A detail of one button on the bodice.
For the belt/sash, I got my inspiration from RTW which I detailed back in January. My first thought was to use a red grosgrain ribbon sash. But it just didn’t look right. Fortuitously, in looking in Promenade Fabrics Etsy store for ribbons that might work, I came across a white Seersucker-look 2 ½” wide light weight ribbon which I thought looked wonderful. I ordered three yards, and it was just as wonderful as it looked online. However, in holding it up to my fabric, there was enough “show-through” to be problematic.
The ribbon was not opaque enough to cover sufficiently the print of the fashion fabric.
To remedy this, I used a fusible interfacing for the middle section of the sash which would be the initial circling of my waist. (I rarely use fusible interfacings, although I keep some on hand for some of the sewing I do for my granddaughters, but this time it came in handy.) This did the trick and also added just a bit of stiffness to that section of the sash. Then the un-faced end sections of the sash are still soft and flowing.
This shows the sash with fusible interfacing applied to the mid-section of the length of the sash, but not to the top layer nor bow. It adds just enough coverage to minimize the appearance of the fashion fabric beneath it.
After I took photos, I got the idea to fold the interfaced part of the sash in half lengthwise to make it narrower and maybe a bit more flattering. Here it is on my dress form:
One of our few warm, sunny days allowed me to get these following photos.
While I was making this dress, I could not help but remember the fun trip my husband and I took to Bermuda when I purchased this Liberty cotton. I still remember trying to decide which piece of Liberty print to purchase (so many from which to choose), how many yards to get (it was still manufactured in 35” width at that point), and being delighted to get a label with it. Those were the times when one dressed for dinner, had breakfast served in one’s room , and tea in the afternoon. Yes, I could not help but be nostalgic. But then I had so much fun bringing this fabric to life, I could not help but feel hopeful. It was a lovely way to spend the hours in my sewing room. And how fitting to sew with fabric which perfectly expresses my sentiments right now. Please, give me Liberty!
Those of us who do fashion sewing sometimes have difficulty identifying what we do in a single descriptive word. A “sewer” (not those stinky things that go underground that happen to be spelled the same way) can be one who sews many different things, right? The term “sewist” is a somewhat new word, made up of sew + artist, which really doesn’t describe anything specific to my way of thinking. Most of us are not “designers” (and not all designers can sew), although most of us use some design techniques in our fashion sewing. Some of us may be “sewing professionals,” a term which covers a broad range of endeavors, such as being a custom clothier, a sewing teacher, a writer about sewing, or even a retailer involved in the sewing industry. The term “seamstress” implies one who sews on a machine, as in a factory; although this person may be very talented in certain techniques, her job does not leave room for innovation or creativity. And that is why I like the term “dressmaker” so much. In one word it expresses many things explicit and implied. And although it is a term much used until the 1960s and not much since then, I consider myself a Dressmaker; maybe you do, too?
This wonderful Vogue book, copyright 1957, still used the term “Dressmaking” in its title.
A dressmaker is one who makes custom clothing for women (oneself included.) She usually works from a commercial pattern, and then uses all her creative, design, and technical skills to create a one-of-a-kind dress, blouse, skirt, coat, etc. I have devised this ABCs of DRESSMAKING to define some of the important aspects and practices of dressmaking, especially in the couture sense.
D is for Design. This seems like it should be common sense, but it cannot be said too often that you should choose a design that is going to work for you. Unlike ready-to-wear that we get to try on, when we sew, we are working from patterns that we think will be flattering, but we really will not know until it is finished (a muslin takes some of the guesswork out of this, but not entirely.) Most of us have our own personal style that we know is flattering to us. Even if you want to diverge a bit from it (which is fine), it’s probably best not to go too far afield. Also, beware of trends that may not be flattering. (An example of this from a couple of years back is the revival of the peplum, a look that not too many of us can wear very successfully.) When it comes to Design, choose one that is “smart for [many] seasons” rather than “one that’s soon outdated.”
The first page of the book pictured above tells the reader why she should be using Vogue patterns, but it also suggests some of what it means to be a “Dressmaker.”
R is for Risk. Let’s face it, fashion sewing can be risky. We can be sewing with really expensive or “difficult” fabric or vintage fabric, which is now no longer available – or sewing with a complicated design/pattern – or making something for a very special occasion – and the outcome is entirely in our hands! It takes bravery, confidence in one’s skills, patience, and a willingness to take a risk to grow in our dressmaking, but the rewards are manifold.
One of the Dressmaking signs I have hanging in my sewing room.
E is for two things: Engineering and Embellishment. I have said this before, but it bears repeating – sewing is engineering. I love to read pattern instruction sheets, especially for something that is complicated, and I bet many of you do, as well. It’s fascinating to see how patterns go together, how different fabrics demand specific approaches to that process, how the pattern pieces need to be manipulated to fit one’s particular form. A well-engineered pattern is a beautiful thing, and it takes a sewing-engineer’s mind to know how to best bring that pattern to life in a stylish and successful fashion. It takes a dressmaker.
Another one of my signs, the first one I purchased and still my favorite!
Embellishment is almost synonymous with the term dressmaker. “Dressmaker Details” include such things as ruffles and frills, ribbon, or braid, but also those little touches that add so much to a successful garment, such as well-chosen buttons, interior trims, non-boring linings, covered snaps, bound buttonholes (when appropriate), and the creative manipulation of, or addition to, a pattern to get the effect you want. A creative dressmaker can start with something basic and make it unique – and couture – by adding just the right embellishments or details.
S is for Seams. This is about as basic as it gets, but those seams must be sewn well and finished well for a successful finished garment. One of the techniques I learned in the couture sewing classes I have taken with Susan Khalje is, for me, the method to achieve successful seams. That is – thread basting along seam lines to use as your sewing guide, rather than relying on the seam allowance markings on one’s sewing machine. This is the building block for successful dressmaking. And then, finish those seams on the inside to control bulk and add to the wearability and durability of your garment.
S is also for Steam. As in ironing. A good steam iron is worth its weight in gold! Steam is useful in so many ways – here are just a few: 1) When sewing with wool or most dry-cleanable fabrics, a good place to start is steaming your fabric before you begin to lay out your pattern pieces. Even if you have pre-washed cotton or linen fabrics, a good initial steaming of your yardgoods will insure a better outcome. 2) Steam newly sewn seams flat to set your stitches before spreading the seam open for its second pressing. 3) Contours can be set beautifully with steam, especially when using a pressing ham and/or a seam roll, or draping your work-in-progress on a dress form.
The Vogue Dressmaking Book has an entire section on pressing, with guidelines still appropriate almost 60 years later. Click on the image to read the page.
And then, S + S is for Sewing Sense, which is what every successful Dressmaker must develop. This subject is so vast it warrants its own blog post sometime in the future!
So now I am halfway through the ABCs of D-R-E-S-S-M-A-K-I-N-G. Part II is yet to come…
In planning for my ‘50s-inspired silk party dress, my original intention was to use a red sash, just as shown on the original dress which I first saw on Pinterest.
When I sent off for swatches of silk taffeta from Emma One Sock Fabrics, however, I requested reds and yellows, just in case I might change my mind. When the swatch card arrived, there were clearly two obvious choices – the clear red and the vibrant yellow.
Then a funny thing happened. I ordered the red, which was out-of-stock temporarily. The owner of Emma One Sock (who, I might add, is one of the pleasantest and most helpful people from whom one will ever order fabric!), held up the order, at my request, while I thought about it some more. By the time I went to Baltimore to start my dress in Susan Khalje’s Couture Sewing School, I had just about decided to switch to yellow. With Susan’s hearty endorsement and the additional approval of my classmates, the decision was made: the sash would be yellow, not red.
When the yellow silk taffeta arrived, I knew the decision was the right one. All I had to do then was figure out how to make the sash. Easy, right? With lots of time to think about this while I finished the embroidered organza top and the sapphire blue skirt – and the dress lining – I gradually came up with a plan. I decided a more structured cummerbund and bow would be the best look. First I went in search of a cummerbund pattern, which I found in an early 1960s pattern in my collection:
I decided to loosely pleat it instead of gathering it, so it would appear smoother around my waist. Because I had underlined it with silk organza, I had an anchor upon which to secure the soft pleats:
I used a loose catch-stitch to secure the pleats.
And I folded in the two ends, ready for hooks and eyes.
Then I lined it with silk crepe de chine.
Now – I really love a beautiful bow. And I knew just where to go to get the perfect bow pattern. I made this Butterick pattern in the early 1990s, and while I still like the dress I made (I’ll feature it sometime… it’s still in my closet!), I love the bow. I have used this bow pattern numerous times, always successfully.
Here is a close-up of the instruction sheet, showing the simple but effective construction of this bow.
I increased the width and length a bit, as I knew it would need to be a focal point of the dress. I attached the bow to one end of the cummerbund, and used a snap to secure it in place on the other end.
All of this took more time than I could have ever imagined! The event for which I made this dress is next week, and I’ll get proper pbotos taken then. But here is a sneak peek, first of the shoes I found which really seem to be the perfect pairing for this dress:
And here is the dress on my dress form:
I thought I’d include this photo of the dress lining for anyone interested in seeing it.
I am very pleased that I decided to “V” the back of the outer bodice!
A close-up of the bow.
One of my favorite fashion quotes is one from Madeleine Vionnet: “The dress must not hang on the body but follow its lines. It must accompany its wearer and when a woman smiles the dress must smile with her.” Will my dress put a smile on my face when I wear it? Yes, if only for the fact that it has been finished just in time!
It is one of those patterns which is always in my mind when I am looking at or for fabric. Twice I have opened it up to survey its pieces and construction, and twice I have decided against it. To be fair, both times of rejection have been because of “not enough fabric”, but other factors have weighed in as well: 1) the collar is too “’70s-looking” and would have to be recut; 2) the skirt is A-line, a look I am just not excited about right now; and 3) the top part of the dress is “bloused” instead of darted, which adds more bulk to the waist than I can handle at this stage of my life. However, with that said, I still love the look. I love the strong contrasts of color, divided and punctuated with the wide white belt. I love the styling with the shoes matching the red bodice, the tidy neck scarf, the big ball earrings, and the classy bracelet. It is a memorable look. And – it served as inspiration for me as I recently paired two vintage pieces of contrasting Moygashel linen.
When I purchased these fabrics – at different times – I had no intention of using them together. But then, one day I put them together and liked what I saw. I knew from Vogue 2708 (above), that a white belt would add the necessary foil to those two strong colors. Further encouragement came happily from a two-piece dress in the June/July 1962 issue of Vogue Pattern Book Magazine using similar Moygashel linens:
From the description: “They’re naturals – and we’re not just talking about the cotton and [Moygashel] linen fibers in the clothes on these pages , but the good wearing-relationships we have with them. We like them; they like us – our 1962 shapes, science-bred colors, the places we go, our washing machines…”
Now all I had to do was decide upon a pattern which would work with the one yard I had of the “bittersweet” yellow linen for the bodice and the one-and-one-quarter yards I had of the “pottery” blue linen for the skirt. (Fortunately, these linens are 45”wide, meaning that they were manufactured after the early-1960s.)
Initially I thought I would just go with View D of this current Vogue pattern:
But after having recently read Linda Przybyszewski‘s The Lost Art of Dress and being influenced by the discussion therein of the importance of fashion emphasizing one’s face, I thought I wanted a more interesting neckline. Off to my collection of vintage patterns I went, emerging with this one:
The neckline dips down to a slightly curved V, with a center seam.
And the back is equally as pretty!
Now I had a plan. I would use the narrow skirt from the current Vogue pattern and the bodice from the vintage Vogue pattern, except that I would make it sleeveless. I had to work to line up the darts on the bodice and the skirt, moving them hither and yon several times. And then I had to deal with the positioning of the bust darts, always an issue for me with vintage patterns. The apices of the darts are always too high for me. (I’m sure it has much to do with the foundation garments which women wore in the ‘50s, ‘60s, and early ‘70s.) Simply moving the apices lower does not always work, as then I seem to have too much fullness above the bust and across the shoulders. Of course, this is where making a muslin (toile) comes to the rescue. In this case, my first muslin had so many changes to it, that I had to transfer all my final markings to a new muslin. I also decided to underline the linen with silk organza and use true couture techniques to complete this dress.
Here is one side of the front from my first muslin. I still had to make changes on the second muslin, but better on muslin than on the fashion fabric!
As I work on this dress I am in concurrence with further commentary from the 1962 VPB: speaking of “Naturals for our Time” (linens and cottons), the editors say, “Most of all, we want the real-life way they look – effortless, inspired by structure rather than detail [my emphasis], and naturally appealing now.” Actually, there is one important detail which will add to the “good wearing-relationship” I will have with this dress – but I’ll save that for my next post…
Many reviews of Linda Przbyszewski’s book The Lost Art of Dress: The Women Who Once Made America Stylish have been written. Two of the most recent ones are by Stephani Miller of Threads Magazine, and by Joy Landeira in the quarterly newsletter (Summer 2014) of the American Sewing Guild, Notions (available to members only). Both of these, plus many others give an excellent overview of the subject of the book. For those of you abroad and others who may not have been exposed to this book, here in a nutshell is the narrative: From 1900 – 1960, American women’s interest in fashion was shaped to a great degree by many professionals in the fields of Home Economics, Retailing, and Art. Following certain concepts espoused by these “Dress Doctors”, as the author calls them, average American women embraced style, grace, appropriateness, and practicality in their dress, making them paragons of American fashion.
I found the book completely fascinating to read, learning much about the cultural and social history of this country during those six decades. Although the book is scholarly in its research, documentation, and overview, Linda is an engaging writer, infusing humor frequently, adding pointed commentary throughout, and, finally, extrapolating meaning from the “lessons” taught by the Dress Doctors for present seekers of style. As a dressmaker and frequent user of vintage patterns, I read the book looking for specific references, which would apply to my sewing and fashion sense, and to help me answer the question “Just exactly why do I find the fashions from the ‘50s, ‘60s, and ‘70s so captivating?” To say that I found much to savor is, indeed, an understatement. However, certain “Aha” moments stood out for me, so that is what I will try to cover in my remarks here.
1) To be successful and enduring, fashion should emphasize one’s face. When I look at vintage patterns, so many of them have details at the neckline, or unusual and flattering collars, or necklines cut gracefully to frame the face. This seems like common sense, doesn’t it? Fashion should bring attention to one’s face – and therefore, one’s person – so that YOU are remembered rather than your attire (although the proper fashions can help you be remembered at your best). Jewelry is one way to help emphasize a face, but, of course, it should not overpower your countenance. Prior to 1965, wearing hats was commonplace, adding another point of emphasis to the face. Now we are not so lucky, save for some very special occasions.
2) Black is fine to wear for evening, but think again for day-time wear. While I am not naïve enough to think that black is going to leave the wardrobes of American women (after all, what is more classic than the Little Black Dress for after-five?), most of us would do well to consider adding more color to our fashion sewing and wearing. Color is a powerful enhancer to complexions (of all hues) and moods.
3) Older women were once considered at the apex of elegance and style. Women and girls younger than 30 were expected to dress in a more youthful manner that mimicked their elders, rather than the other way around! (Isn’t it interesting that 30 was considered the age at which women were expected to assume a more polished appearance?) Vogue Pattern Book Magazine contained the occasional feature on young girls and college girls, and Vogue even had a pattern series called Young Fashionables. But the majority of their patterns were for the 30 – and – older crowd, showcasing models and fashions which were demure but elegant, feminine but refined.
Here is one “Young Fashionable” pattern, to illustrate the type of style designed for the younger-than-30 age group.
This page from the October/November 1955 Vogue Pattern Book Magazine shows many of the ingredients of a polished look, the norm among American women at that time.
Even fashion illustration included all the elements of a polished look. (From the same VPB magazine as above.)
4) The Dress Doctors were not only concerned with fashion, but also with how fashion could influence the rest of one’s life. First and foremost, one should buy, or sew one’s own attire, which is appropriate for the life one leads. Buying on impulse is rarely a good idea if the item you are buying has no use in your weekly or monthly calendar. Further, if you find a style or look which works for you, repeat it – easily accomplished by those of us who sew. And those of us who sew know that tweaking a pattern, adding or subtracting a detail, and choosing diverse fabrics can make any pattern look new. Hooray for us!
5) A final point – and it is about many women’s favorite fashion accessory — shoes. According to Linda Przbyszewski, shoes have taken on much more significance than they once did – and should. Shoes should never be the focal point of one’s outfit. They should be chosen to enhance the overall look and to be functional for the occasion for which you are dressing. Shoes used to be just one of the accessories adding to the complete outfit, along with gloves, hats, scarves, handbags, jewelry, and coats. As gloves and hats and coat “wardrobes” have receded from the recipe for a “fashionable look”, shoes have filled that gap for many of us.
The last chapter of the book is devoted to the “demise” of the Dress Doctors in the 1960s and ‘70s. The emphasis on “youth”, starting in the ‘60s, and the women’s liberation movement in the 1970s changed mainstream fashion dramatically. Not addressed in the book is the continuance of some of the standards, established by the Dress Doctors, by the pattern companies in these two decades. Although my experience is mostly with Vogue patterns, I continue to be inspired by many of the fashions, Designer and otherwise, featured in patterns during these two decades. Once again home dressmakers were at an advantage – and continue to be.
The author leaves the reader on a positive note, stressing lessons for all of us to be learned from the wisdom of the Dress Doctors, and crediting the home sewing movement NOW for the beginning of a return to standards and style in the art of dress. I look at this as a responsibility. How about you?
Vogue patterns from the 1950s, ‘60s, and ‘70s never cease to amaze me. The intricacies of construction, the detailed instructions, and the artistic styling of so many of the patterns from those three decades make sewing from them such a pleasure. Each one is like a mini sewing lesson, neatly packaged with beautiful photos and/or sketches and precise line drawings.
Such has been the Emilio Pucci Designer pattern on which I am currently working.
The unusual construction of the jacket caught my attention as I was trying to lay out its lining pattern pieces along with pattern pieces for the dress. As I mentioned before, the front of the jacket is cut on the bias. However the interfacing and the lining pieces for the front are cut on the straight of grain. How, I wondered, is that going to work? The answer to that question is one of the most fascinating construction methods I have ever come across.
The interfacing and the lining both have deep darts to form the bust line. Of course, the jacket front, cut on the bias, is going to have built-in give for the bust. But in addition to that, there was a “cup-like” pattern piece for adding to the front interfacing, clearly with the goal of enhancing the bust line, and defining it.
The “cup-like” pattern piece is in the lower right. Notice the large dart in the piece next to it.
Here is the instruction page for assembling these interfacings. In effect, it is a process for making an interior bra.
Click on the diagram to read it more easily.
Here are my front interfacing pieces with the darts sewn.
Here I am reinforcing the darts in the bust (cup) interfacings.
Here they are ready to be added to the base interfacing pieces.
And here are the front interfacings assembled and ready to be attached. Looks kind of risque, don’t you think?
Note also the detailed instructions for making the bound buttonholes on the above instruction sheet. I did a practice run on a bound buttonhole, being careful to layer the fabrics exactly as they would be layered on the front of the jacket.
My sample buttonhole.
The right jacket front, marked for buttonhole placement.
Another detailed instruction was given for the sharp angle under the sleeve. The instructions called for a 2” x 2” square of fabric to reinforce that corner. I used black organza.
The organza patch is sewn on the right side of the jacket and pressed to the inside.
The organza patch makes a very secure and precisely sewn corner possible.
And here are just a couple of photos of the interior of the jacket with the rest of the interfacings attached.
The right front of the jacket, with buttonholes sewn.
Thje front of the jacket. Note the “stays” made out of seam binding. They are loose except where they are attached at the underarm and at the neckline.
The back of the jacket – simple compared to the front!
There is something else that never ceases to amaze me either about these sophisticated vintage Vogue patterns. That is – how stylish and current so many of them are. Here’s an example of what I mean. Take a look at these recent jackets from current designers.
I clipped this out of The Wall Street Journal sometime within the past year, but I unfortunately forgot to note the date. Click on the photo for a close-up.
The article rightly makes the reference to Balenciaga, but look how similar these are to the Pucci jacket on which I am working.
These thumbnail sketches also help to show the similarity to the current jackets.
Well! I am looking forward to sharing some more details about this outfit when I can show it completely finished – in my next post – and answering those nagging questions, “Did piecing the lower sleeves on the jacket lining actually work? Will anyone guess my secret?”
Once I get into a project, especially one that has some complicated decisions or construction to it, I tend to think about it during many of my non-sewing hours. (I wonder if other sewers/dressmakers do that?) Now that I have finished my Pucci dress, I’ll be spending both sewing and non-sewing hours on the jacket.
First, however, some details about the dress are in order.
The dress is finished!
There are a few design aspects of this dress which set it apart from a simple A-line or sheath dress. Notable to me is the effect that the curved front yoke makes on the bustline. It gives it more definition than it would have with just darts.
If you look closely, you can see the yoke seam.
The back yoke adds some “surprise” interest by being split in the middle. In addition, the back of the dress would not be quite so clean looking if the zipper were placed in the center back below the yoke. Its location on the side seam is one of those hallmarks of a carefully planned Designer pattern.
The “open” yoke on the back of the dress.
I made some changes to the dress, based on the muslin. My six alterations are:
1) I decided to incorporate curved armholes into the two back yoke sections. On a younger person, the more revealing back arm would be fine, but I was not so comfortable with it! Please see the photo above.
2) I took out some of the A-line from the dress. I wouldn’t say I actually “pegged” it, as I left a slight taper, but the effect is now one of a straighter skirt, which I think is a bit more “current.”
A side view shows this alteration best.
3) Taking out some of the taper meant I had to give myself a bit more ease in the skirt, so I left a slit at the center back.
The center back slit at the hem line.
4) I added two small darts to the back sides at the waist, which adds some definition to it.
5) I lowered the neckline to accommodate a particular necklace that I want to wear with this outfit. Isn’t it just lovely that sewing allows us the ability to make these kind of custom alterations?
6) The pattern called for a hook and eye at the center back neck. I decided to add a loop and small button instead, although I added an interior hook and eye to help the back neck lay flat. Adding this button and loop can definitely be called a “dressmaker detail”.
The button is one I have had in my button box for decades! Its faceted surface seemed perfect for this dress.
Of course I underlined the dress with silk organza.
This back view also shows the extended armhole line.
And this side view shows how the front yoke adds definition to the bustline.
Then I lined the dress in black crepe de chine, and under-stitched the neckline and armhole seams with turquoise silk buttonhole twist, just for fun.
The dress turned inside out.
Under-stitching in turquoise. No one will ever see it, but I love what it adds! Click on the photo for a close-up view.
So – that’s it!
Now here’s a phenomenon that seems to happen to me frequently. I’ll be using a mid-century designer pattern for a project, and I’ll come across a current magazine or newspaper article, which in one way or another relates to what I am sewing or planning to sew. So it was this past weekend, when I was catching up with reading the April WSJ. The Wall Street Journal Magazine, delivered the weekend before. Right there on page 84 was an article on Laudomia Pucci, Emilio’s daughter, entitled: Fortress of Fashion. It is a fascinating account of her commitment to preserve the “fashion legacy” of her father, by reinventing an ancestral estate in Tuscany into an accessible-and-preservation-minded archives. On view are fabrics and fashions, and “already Pucci has hosted several educational events… Two groups of students … have come to study sewing and print design…[would not this be wonderful?! – my addition]. Laudomia is hoping to extend the educational activities to international fashion schools for longer visits.” Her goal is to encourage the “next generation … to find inspiration for innovative fashion.” Now this is a place where a Preference for Pucci is definitely a way of life!
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