Finished Project: Vogue Sundress Hack Attack Take 2

If I kept all my failures to myself, what kind of (virtual) sewing bee buddy would I be?

Because we all have them (right, people? Right?). And if my M.O. is anything, it's keepin' it real. So check out this, my second sundress sewn (partly) from Vogue 8766 — a scroll-down nightmare.

Try it. The bodice looks great...lovely fit...nice spaghetti halter straps....cute daisy print...sweet button placket detail...and then (scrolling down), oh dear, that skirt:

My husband tells me it's adorable. I think he likes that it's, er, defining through the bodice. I do love the daisies. I choose the print because it had a Sassy magazine-circa-1992 sweetness to it.

But that gathered skirt...I thought I swore those darn things off a few years ago? On a lady like me, they just look dumpy. And, if this dress looks shorter at center front, that's because it is. I was trying for something...but it just looks like a mistake. Also, that white eyelet trim is a little twee. (However, if I were a Sassy magazine stylist, I would pair this with combat boots and a beekeeper's hat and maybe it would look cool.)

I once again used shirring to gather the back bodice. This time I used a single large rectangle for the back bodice and skirt. Last time,  I cut the bodice and skirt separately, and it turned out much better. I think the fabric choice this time around had a lot to do with it:

Also, I should iron more

I like this dress just enough that saving it somehow is important to me (After all, it's a lot of work shirring all those rows!). But how? Swap out the skirt entirely? Chop the hem straight and use some other kind of trimming to add length? What would you do?

Finished Project: LBJ Dress

Like the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, Butterick 4029 took more time than expected. 

I started sewing this vintage 1960s pattern weeks ahead of a planned night out on Broadway with my husband to see "All the Way," the play about Lyndon Johnson's unscrupulous (but ultimately admirable) efforts to push anti-discrimation legislation through the United States Senate in his first year as president. My husband is fascinated by LBJ; he prays every night that Robert Caro lives long enough to write the next volume in his epic biography on LBJ. The play was incredible (but it closed last night so if you're interested, you'll have to wait for the revival).

The dress was also pretty incredible. My husband may be as obsessed with it as LBJ. He told me a dozen times it was his favorite thing I've ever sewn:

The Hunchback of Butterick 4029

Did women used to have far broader backs? In this modern era are we so weakened by our easy lives that our upper body muscles are practically atrophied in comparison to our 1960s sisters?   

I just don't know what to make of vintage Butterick 4029, which in its semi-finished state, fits me like this:

Seriously? I could stow a second set of boobs on my back in this thing.

I do remember from my patternmaking classes at FIT that the older dressforms had broad backs, and anything I made for class fit me poorly. Still, Butterick 4029 seems to have been drafted for a hunchback. Or maybe I need to start working out my trapezius muscles?

My five-year-old took these photos for me, hence the lack of focus, framing, and all the rest. The dress fits pretty well elsewhere:

Lying flat, it looks normal, I suppose.

I posted a pic of this dressmaking disaster on my Instagram account and got some very helpful suggestions (you, my sewing pals, are truly the best). Plenty of you have had the same issue with other patterns. My immediate thought was to add darts to the back neckline, which Diary of a Sewing Fanatic so nicely described:

I think, however, I may go with Lisa G.'s suggestion:

A deep V or a scoop would eliminate the excess and make this dress a little sexier. But I would have to draft a whole new facing and I only have scraps of fabric left. A V back seems more authentically '60s, to me (hey ladies who have had babies: does calling it a "V back" make you laugh too?). I'm also guessing double-scoops can be tricky; the whole thing could slide off my shoulders, right? (Note to self: work out deltoids too). I may need to do some engineering to make this work. Ugh. Want to see it again?

What in the??

Anyone else have this problem? How did you fix it?

Finished Projects: From a Frumpy Fail to a Fine Dress Indeed

Last night at Workroom Social's Sewing Swap & Party in New York's East Village, the talented Gingermakes kindly told me she enjoys my tales of parental failure — that it's entertaining (and refreshing?) to get the real dirt on raising a daughter (and sewing for her occasionally) — not the edited-for-maximum-Pinterest-appeal version.

I can relate. As much as I find Pinterest to be a useful tool for bookmarking, it also makes me yearn for a time when the word "tablescape" was not widely used. It makes most of us feel terrible for the fact that our mantles aren't currently decorated with Mason jars stuffed with seasonal flowers, that the light fixture over our dining table is the same one the super installed before we moved in (and not, in fact, made from reclaimed Mason jars), and that our salads are served on boring old plates rather than (you know where this is going) in Mason jars. 

So in the interest of my earnestness cred, I'm sharing with you two finished versions of the same dress pattern: Pattern Runway's Easy Short Sleeved Kimono Dress. But, as you can see, one is what the kids today call an epic fail:

My husband suggested I stand like that, with my hands clasped together, because apparently every other pose was so unflattering....I looked in the mirror. It wasn't the poses that were unflattering; it was the dress.

I am not amused

Two sizes too big (I cut a medium based on what the pattern's measurements suggested) and sewn in the wrong fabric, I look like a full bag of laundry. The pattern suggested shirting as one fabric option, but the stiffness widens me. I mourn the loss of this fabric. It was so nice and clearly should have been used in some other, more appropriate way. The armhole is halfway to my waist. Blergh.

I went back to the Pattern Runway website. I still like their version of the dress. So I sized down to a XS on top and graded out to a medium on the bottom (I also added flare to the skirt because their straight-up-and-down skirt did not fit over my hips nicely at all). I found the perfect fabric at Metro Textile — a striped poly that actually feels like a heavy silk: 

Happy now?

So much better. The armhole is a decent size. The shoulders don't stand at attention like a row of tinted Mason jars just ready to be filled up with your love and homemade yogurt:

And this fabric, I think, actually looks like it wanted to be this dress. 

(Did I manage to fool your eye with my stripe placement? Do I look taller than 5'3"? I made my husband stand on the bed for these photos. No rest for the husbands & boyfriends of sewing bloggers).

The covered button (and my stripe-matching) are pretty great: 

What about you — Have you ever given a pattern a second chance after a first fail? Does Pinterest make you want to smash all the Mason Jars?

Me Made Meh?

I'm not participating in Me Made May though I do respect the concept (and will probably steal some style ideas from your blogs throughout the month! Muahaha!).

I have enough me-mades to get me through a month. But I reckon it would be hubris for me to assume my taste is at a level that seeing what I wear every day is in some way inspiring. After all, check out my latest pants-in-progress...they might just be the most hideous pants you have ever seen:



Barf-colored, tie-dye-print stretch denim? What was I thinking? I am too far gone now to turn back, however. So finish these I will. And, I hope, at some point these pants will cross the threshold from awful into awesome. It could happen yet. (Couldn't it?):

I was inspired by Project Runway winner Michelle, who frequently makes use of the above color palette, and has a knack for making the putrid look pretty. Michelle is my middle name (truly, it is!), so hopefully I can pull this off without making everyone sick.

I am again using the pattern I drafted using Kenneth King's Craftsy.com "Jeanius" class, which I cannot recommend enough.

Anyway, back to Me Made May: even my successes are nothing much to write home about. Last week I sewed another version of Grainline's Tiny Pocket Tank, this time with a short button placket. It turned out beautifully and I have worn it three times already. But would anybody be impressed by this simple tank?

The other big reason I can't do Me Made May: the only person who could conceivably take pics of me everyday is four years old. And she chops my head off. Every. Time.

Are you doing Me Made May? Why? And do you enjoy reading others' daily outfit posts?

Finished! Peg Bundy-style Leopardish Print Pants

I'm in a bit of a snit right now, mad at myself for not trusting my instinct to make a contoured waistband. Because I went ahead and followed Kenneth King's instructions for drafting and sewing a straight waistband (using steam and heat to create a curve), but it does not look good.

Now I am going to have to unpick the waistband for a second time (the first time I applied it, it looked terrible, so I redid it once already), which I'm really worried will end up distorting the top of the pants. These are the things that keep me up at night.

I took photos this morning because I am going to wear them tonight anyway. I'm going out for dinner with some friends to celebrate my birthday (which was April Fool's Day, no joke), and that nearly never happens, so I want to dress cool. (Peg Bundy was cool, right?):

I loved them paired with my burnished gold oxfords, to play up the menswear-inspired tuxedo pant details (which are kind of hard to see, but I know they're there and I love them). And in reality, the waistband doesn't matter all that much. I don't wear cropped shirts. No one will see it. Here's a reluctant back view:

Here's the leather trimmed pocket detail:

I know you care to know more about the waistband debacle, so here's a pic of the straight waistband, after I curved it using heat and steam (from my iron, obvs. I'm not a dragon):

Pretty curved, right? I think for many women, this would totally work fine. But I have a round butt, and the waistband sits pretty low on these pants, so I definitely need a more curved waistband. In the spirit of full disclosure (because this is a teachable moment), here's my back view so you can see the problem. It gapes a little all along the length of the back waistband, and does a weird little pucker thing right at centerback. That could be due to distortion caused by picking it out once already. I'll probably have to take a little extra out at center back now. Sigh:

But, like I said, I am wearing them tonight anyway. And I will fix them eventually. I just may need a stiff drink to do it without falling into a funk. Also, I think I may turn to David Coffin's trouser book for advice on how to face a curved waistband, and use petersham to give it more stability. I would like to wear these with my head help high eventually. For now, the botched waistband can be our little secret:

McCalls 6404 Re-do

Sadly, in the world of sewing (as in nearly everywhere else), you get what you pay for. (Except when it comes to bargains like Craftsy classes on sale or McCall's $1.88 pattern sale, both which are happening right now. You're welcome).

I'm sure there are exceptions to this rule, but in my experience I'll always regret using cheapo fabric — especially if I want, you know, to, like, actually wear the garment in question. 

Today's Exhibit A is my leather patch leggings, which I sewed from McCall's 6404, a pattern I liked even though it had a wacky amount of ease built-in (I took them in to reduce wrinkling after this picture was shot):  

Ease-y rider

But then I was riding the bus with my preschooler on a rainy day when I noticed little black specs all over her hands. "What have you been touching?!" I asked her, alarmed. 

"Nothing!" she insisted. And that's when I noticed, it was all over my hands too! Looking around, it became clear that the culprit was my leather-patch leggings, the knees of which were shedding a layer of ...what? plastic? Ick!

So I threw them in my sewing bin, hoping something could be done to salvage them eventually. I loved the main fabric (a soft and lovely double knit) too much to toss them. But clearly the el cheapo pleather patches were not up to the task of actually being worn. Rage!

Luckily, I had just enough of the gray double-knit left to make knee patches (hurray for hoarding!). Unpicking all those seams last weekend was an unpleasant experience. In the middle of it, I was considering other hobbies. My sister-in-law just began log-rolling classes. That sounds fun.

Incidentally, that double-knit cost twice as much per yard as the faux leather. And when I re-did these leggings with knee patches made in the same fabric, I finally got what I paid for:

Not the best photo in the world (I suck at selfies!), but I'm very happy to now have a pair of very wearable leggings (though the back rise on this pattern is dangerously low for me; I have to wear a looooong top to keep my underpants under wraps when I bend over or sit down):

I like the subtlety on the seaming now. To anyone considering this pattern, I would suggest adding a few inches to the length (and the back rise if you have a round butt!), and sewing the smallest size you think woud fit you. There was so much excess in these after my initial pass at this pattern.

Is there any case in which cheap fabric doesn't come back to burn you? What's your biggest fabric fail?

Finished: Lauren Moffat top (And how NOT to take photos of yourself!)

I finished my Lauren Moffat knock-off top before the holidays but have yet to blog it because I haven't made the time to take proper photos. (This past weekend I was planning on having my husband shoot me in this chartreuse silk top, but he was in a foul mood that didn't break until late Monday night. Even watching Obama's incredible speech at the inauguration couldn't cheer him. It was Blue Monday after all. At the best of times our photoshoots end in a squabble).  

Last weekend when I met up with Gingermakes, Oonabaloona, Nettie, and Peter, we talked about the challenges of self-shooting. I have a Canon digital SLR, which takes really amazing photos — except when I am trying to get off a few solo shots of myself. 

IN the mirror worked best for me this morning:

Rosy skintone!

The necklace I am wearing is by Native Clutter, Stephanie of Makesthethings.com handmade jewelry co. Before Christmas she sent it to me as a gift with a sweet note saying she thought my blog was funny. It made more than my day: I've worn it so much since then, it's amazing that I don't have a triangle-shaped indentation on my chest. I've been meaning to write about it and link to her — just as I've been meaning to blog about this top.

Sigh. This top:

Behold, the lovely back detail

I blame the lack of photos for not posting, but I've also been putting off writing about it because it was a bit of a failure. A particularly disheartening failure given how much time I put into making this. I made the pattern myself, ripping off the design of this top, a Lauren Moffat black silk tunic top I've had for years:  

 I muslined it, made changes, and was pretty happy with how it was turning out. But then, sweet heavenly grainlines, I forgot to cut the back pattern piece on the fold — a tragic error because I had just enough of this chartreuse silk left to eke out the pieces for this hip-skimming top. And because the back piece had some flare in it, having a seam run down the center back makes it look odd from behind. It just doesn't hang right. Of course I realized my fatal flaw immediately, but proceeded to sew it anyway in the hopes it would still be wearable:

Sigh. I haven't worn it. And here are a few more self-shot photos just to illustrate why it's worth testing the strength of your marriage to get quality pics of your bloggable garments:

Overexposed (and cut off at the shins)

Underexposed and badly composed

No head!

I need someone to tell me, "Stop doing that weird thing with your mouth!" 

So that's my confessional for today (and a reminder not to listen to particularly captivating episodes of "This American Life" while you are cutting your fabric. Double-tasking is asking for trouble when you have a pair of sharp scissors in hand).

Anybody have tips for successful self-shooting with a DSLR?

"Not Tonight Dear" Nightie?

 I'm trying to figure out how to cover the unsightly holes in this lace on the tunic I'm sewing. This embellishment (a number of lace circles, folded twice and then pinned on for now) does the trick of covering up the holes, but it may be having the unfortunate effect of making this top look even more like something Betty Draper would wear on the nights she doesn't want to be intimate with Henry. Maybe if the lace was black? It could use a little edge. Any suggestions?

More Works-in-Progress

I'm not sure who this blouse is for. Prissy librarian? Office administrator by day, Pride & Prejudice-role-playing secret sex nerd by night?

Either way, I'm not sure this top, which is another class project, is right for me. Maybe it will depend on the styling. We'll have to see whether this work-in-progress will get hung in my closet. My pattern worked well, and I think I did a good job sewing it. It's a size 10. Do you think it's perfect for you? Let me know.

Here's another work-in-progress: the Lace Ruffle Tunic from Sew Daily. So far it's looking very '70s sleepwear to me. Again, maybe it will be redeemed in the styling: skinny jeans and suede boots....a halo of light on my feathered hair...oh wait: it is '70s sleepwear!! (Except it's cotton jersey, not some icky poly blend).

 

I've hit a snag though — literally. After sewing together the yoke, ruffle and front, I realized there were holes in the lace that were not there when I cut the pieces. So I think the lightbulb on my sewing machine melted the synthetic lace. Yargh! (see up close)

So I'm going to have to figure out some means of covering this up. But I need to come up with something that will make this less precious — not more so. Some sort of applique? But no flowers. Any ideas? Comment!