Recently, somebody told me, “Smile, you never know who’s watching.” Remind me – am I supposed to care who’s watching? Is it my job as a female to go around looking like a lunatic so other people won’t think negative things about me? Is this the part where I give two fucks? Can a person ever really give enough fucks to make ‘other people’ happy? I guess I didn’t respond quickly enough, so they said, “A pretty girl like you should smile more.” Pretty girls are required to respond and tend to the egos of surrounding somebodies. These are the rules of being female. We must acknowledge all who need to feel acknowledged. We must do penance for the wounds of pretty-girls-past.

I was so inspired and uplifted by this reminder of my true worth. I immediately started walking with a spring in my step and a desire to break into song; high-pitched, operatic, heavy-on-the-vibrato song. I think cartoon birds flew out of my ass right at that moment and started circling my head singing show tunes as little cartoon bunnies frolicked at my feet. It is my job, after all, as a female, to show all of my teeth all the time and decorate the world with my delightfulness. I am responsible as a female for everyone else’s happiness. Because someone might be watching. My value as a pretty girl is to be adorable. Welcoming. Charming. Positive. If I’m going through something difficult, I am responsible for putting a smile on my face and being inspirational to others, or I might be accused of…gasp…negativity.

If I break down and cry sometimes, someone might shove a kleenex box in my direction while they say deep, philosophical things like, “Big girls don’t cry,” and “If it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger.” Yes, I know! Life has fifty-fifty shot of killing me. Actually, a one-hundred percent shot at some point in the journey. I wasn’t concerned about my mortality relative to what I’m feeling at this exact moment. Can I just be messy for five minutes of my life? Can I just be however I need to be to survive this moment? Because I know the future will probably work out, but this is me right now. Just let me be me today. But I digress… What’s important is other people’s perceptions, not my emotional health and authenticity. Not my ability to buy eggs at the grocery store uninterrupted. Focus!

Maybe if I try hard enough to make ‘other people’ happy, I will win their approval, then they will like me and a handsome prince will fall in love with me and rescue me from a life of sure loneliness in a house full of cats and endless reruns of 90s sitcoms. But here’s the problem. I love cats. And my ability to score very high on 90s sitcom trivia is a source of great pride for me. Throw in a jigsaw puzzle and we’ve got a winner. Here’s another problem – I already have a handsome prince who loves me very much and let’s me be my messy self and continues to love me. The problem, you ask? He was standing right next to me, not smiling, looking every bit as solemn, tired and stressed out as ever, and no one gave a fuck whether he was smiling or not. But that’s okay, he has a penis and facial hair. No smiling required. Keep emitting those male pheromones and all is right with the world.

And the biggest problem of all? I am not a pretty girl. I am a grown ass woman. I have accomplishments. Opinions. Feelings. Depth. Complicated grown-up problems like everyone else. I have a heart full of joy and passion about many things, whether I’m smiling or not. But I also battle PTSD, which causes depression and anxiety, and I have a complex chronic illness that has caused me pain every day for the better part of 20 years. Getting up every single day and getting out of bed is hard for me. But I do it. I dig deep each day and tell myself I can do it. I may be standing there not smiling because I’m trying to shop while in pain, not because I’m unhappy. Or maybe I’m contemplating the price of tea in China. This is nobody else’s business but mine and the ones I love.

I don’t have cartoon birds flying out my ass, but I crawl out of bed sometimes at the crack of dawn and go into the woods to say goodnight to the owls and coyotes as they eat their bedtime snacks, then sit with the deer, the bunnies and the chirping birds as the sun breaks through the trees. I connect. I connect with them, I connect with me, I connect with the trees. And, no, I’m not doing it while singing, “With a smile and a song….” There is no frolicking – just stillness. I connect with my divine source. I tell myself, “You can make it today. You can make it step by step by step. You’ve done it before, you can do it again.” And I do. I go home and put on the coffee. I pick out my clothes, and I choose them carefully, because I fight hard to be here everyday so I deserve to feel beautiful. Who doesn’t? I take time to put on my makeup, even though most days no other humans will see me. I do it for me. I smile for me. I laugh for me. I cry for me.

Once in a while, I go out into the world. I do the shopping, run the errands, have a little fun. No one can know as I walk through the store, how hard it was to get there. How hard it was to do all the steps involved. How happy I am just to be out. Until one person decides to single me out among the ‘other people’ to judge my facial expression while I’m doing normal things like a normal person, simply because I have a face that draws their attention and they have attached expectations to that face. Thank you, random stranger for emotionally hijacking me in the middle of my day out, treating me as though I stand out from the masses around me, yet rendering me invisible all at the same time. You meant well. But the moment it becomes about what-you-meant, it becomes all about you-and-your-intentions, not me and my feelings. I suppose one could say, “Quit caring so much about what other people think,” but it’s not about what ‘other people’ think. It’s about what happens when opinions become words; how well-meaning words can be hurtful, objectifying, unnecessary and dismissive. Next time, instead of someone telling me that I should smile, maybe they could smile at me and say, “Hello.” It would really make my day.

Don’t Fix Me
About Me

I’ve been wading in shallow waters
But I think I’ve been wasting my time
As I try to belong to the shifting sands
Of a shore that is no longer mine

I’ve been crawling across the ocean
And peering into the deep
At a land that exists far beneath me
That I never will touch with my feet

Now I’m watching the sun rise above me
As this day of my life springs anew
And I’m wishing to reach across the ocean
And touch the horizon of You

I’ve been crawling around in the shadows
To search for the missing part
Of a tattered and shredded spirit
Of a shattered and broken heart

I’ve dug in the darkest corners
Of the darkest place in my soul
To uncover what may be lurking there
That keeps me from being whole

But I’ve discovered the tiniest flicker
A ray of light to cling to
That keeps me from total obscureness
It is the sunlight of You

— 1993

About Me

Well, here is what I’ve been up to since mid-September. I’m wrapping up a few more projects before focusing on outerwear for the rest of the year (and whatever surprise tidbits of inspiration barge in). This is what I’ve done so far this Fall:

Blouses and knit tops have continued to be the overriding theme (there always seems to be a theme), including the New Year’s sweater I procrastinated on forever. Using the same pattern multiple times also seemed to be a theme (good theme!):

I also threw in a couple of dresses and a skirt:

I’m so glad I panic-bought fabric this Summer. No looking back.

I only anticipate one more post like this before the end of the year, but you never know…

Thing I Sew

Well, these fabrics were not intended to go together, nor to be used with this pattern. That’s usually how it goes.

A few weeks ago, I made McCall’s 7900, View B:

I really like the pattern, though by no means did I get the fit just right. Even so, one night  as I stood there talking to my Fella, I was staring blankly at the stack of fabric sitting on the table. These two were randomly stacked on top of each other, and it just so happened that the prints and colors coordinated perfectly. I knew they’d be just right for another version of this blouse.

This time, I kept the bust measurement the same, but graded down one size everywhere else. It still gapes a little through the upper bust, though it’s much improved. I want to make the other views of this blouse, so I’ll have more opportunities to figure it out. In the meantime, when Spring rolls around again, I’ll be armed and ready with an arsenal of puff-sleeved blouses, ready to channel my inner Anne of Green Gables.

Thing I Sew

 
The size of your body at this moment is the right size to be. Your natural shape is exactly the right shape to be. You deserve to wear beautiful clothing that makes you feel great, exactly as you are in this moment.

This is not a conversation about physical health, nor is it a conversation about fitness goals. But it’s going to feel that way for a bit. Bear with me. This is entirely a conversation about the externally imposed, and internally driven, feelings about ourselves right here in this moment. So, let’s take a second to shut the door to all the bitchy, nagging voices telling us we’re never enough. I mean it – visualize yourself marching them all to the front door, shoving them out onto the front porch, slamming the door shut, and letting them nag at each other for awhile. Now, let’s grab a nice cup of tea and then stop, drop, and sink into this moment and embrace ourselves with compassion. Ready? Okay, then…

In July 2013, I stood in a local gym talking to one of the male trainers, whom we’ll call ‘Jeff.’ This was someone who specialized in training women to compete in figure competitions and who I had known casually for a while. I respected Jeff because he really knew his stuff and seemed like a nice person. We had crossed paths at gyms around town and I would have considered working with him if I’d been able to afford it. At the time, I was working part-time at a different gym and had recently earned several upper level fitness certifications.. I had been bodybuilding for about two years, trying to gain weight and rebuild muscle mass after years of Lyme disease treatment. I was thin as a rail when I started and so weak that my first day back in a gym, I almost had to call my mom to come pick me up because after three sets on the leg press machine with no added weight, my legs wouldn’t work for a little while. But I persevered, and by this time had what appeared to the outside world to be a very impressive physique, otherwise known as #fitnessgoals.

Weight lifting was really the only medicine I had to fight against Lyme disease at that time, to force those bugs out of the cells of my body (literature supports this). But there was always a war going on with the bugs who fought back. I was fighting for my life. Others were only noticing the details of my body. I was skinny-shamed by people constantly, who seemed to assume that all women want desperately to be skinny, so that makes it okay to say whatever the hell they wanted to someone if they fit some sort of societal ideal. Then there were those who assumed that the only reason a woman goes to the gym is to try and lose weight, so if someone is already thin, they must indeed intervene. Is it really too much to ask that a woman be able to just go to the gym, regardless of what she looks like or chooses to do for exercise that day, and just enjoy doing something she loves in peace? (Add reading a book alone in a coffee shop). Know what I mean?

“I never see you do cardio machines. You should be doing cardio.” This can kill a Lyme patient due to chronic inflammation of the heart muscle. “I’ll be sticking to my doctor’s recommendation. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Walk away before the inevitable prying into my health background.

“Here, let me show you how that’s really done.” Usually some beefy know-it-all doing some dumb ass maneuver to get attention. This is his back-up move when you ignore said maneuver. “Actually, this IS the correct way to do it. I’ll be happy to teach you another time if you’d like. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Unsmiling – immediately sticking earphone back in ear and resuming activity, eyes focused on self in mirror. Don’t worry – Mr. Beefcake has more than enough self-esteem to weather the cold response.

And on and on and on…

So, there I was that day, trying to take what I was learning about fitness and parlay it into something that could help more people like myself. It was a way to not only help my own health, but to redeem the years spent working toward a profession I didn’t get to have. I was sitting on a wealth of medical, wellness, and nutrition expertise that was yearning to burst out. That day in the gym, Jeff struck up a casual conversation. I told him I had gotten my certification on the first try and, no, I hadn’t gone to weekend seminars or used expensive tutorials (he had told me this wasn’t possible for a certification at this level. Oops.) I told him how I was trying out something called female phase training, where my program is broken up into two intervals depending on whether or not I was in a pre-ovulation or post-ovulation phase of my cycle (total science nerd, here), and doing it all entirely naturally. The whole point was to figure out a program specifically designed for a woman’s body and hormones and eat a whole foods diet. So far it had gone great. He asked if I’d been able to measure my body fat percent and get any recent measurements. I didn’t have access to this sort of equipment, so he offered to do this for me. It was really generous of him to offer to do all of this for free, something his clients paid for. Afterward, he wanted to take photos. I’d seen him take client ‘before’ photos, but I had been at this for a long time and was in great shape, so it didn’t really seem to pertain to my goals, which were not really about looks but performance. I didn’t think about it until it was already happening, so I asked why he was taking pictures. He replied, “So you can remind yourself what you look like right now. This way, you’ll never have to look like this again.”

He never sent me the info. I’m confident he just forgot. And I’m confident he didn’t quite mean it as anything more than a chance to look back and see how well my program worked as I surveyed the outcome. But it spoke very clearly to me of mindset – some of the damaging underlying assumptions we have in our society about beauty, health, fitness, and wellness. I’d watched some of the women he trained, strutting back and forth before the gym mirrors in clear plastic heels, practicing their walk for ‘game day’; sitting in the locker room, reduced to angry tears because someone looked better than they did. It was weird and juvenile to me. Their bodies were the types held up as #fitnessgoals, the example of what someone in peak health would look like. But they lived on powders composed of chemicals (one ended up in the hospital for three months on dialysis); they were forcing themselves through days of dehydration during competition season, to look as cut as possible. I said no to plastic heels and sashayed out of the gym that day in my sneakers, determined to embrace my body every single day exactly as it was, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part, because I had come too close to the latter to ever care that much again what I looked like in stilettos. I was just happy I could walk.

The bottom dropped out from under me that day. I realized that this was not a world I wanted to be a part of. This was not the way in which I wanted to use my knowledge. My relationship with my body was a healthy one, after everything I had faced, and I wasn’t going to let anyone or anything change that. I quit all the gyms. The exercise program I had designed didn’t require it, and it wasn’t worth the 5+ hours per week of toxicity. Don’t get me wrong – there is NOTHING wrong with going to the gym. I clearly love fitness. But I was fighting my way back from a long battle, was very fragile in many other ways, and wanted to take the best care of my emotional health possible. This moment was a gift. It helped me see that this wasn’t the right path for me. A major Lyme flare up a few weeks later, resulting in severe joint pain and the inability to walk for a few weeks, solidified everything. A career in health and fitness might very well be in the future, but this wasn’t the way for me. Moving on.

So… what does this have to do with sewing? If I haven’t lost you at this point, I’ll tell you! In all of fashion, I don’t believe there is a more body-positive and supportive place than the sewing community. Why? Because when I make my own clothes, they are always the same size: size ME. I have the opportunity to know and understand all the nuances of my physique in a way that allows me to create what will make ME look great, make me happy, and suit my own personal sense of style. Sewing is a celebration of my body. It is entirely in the present moment. I may have looked a certain way in the past, I may look different in the future, but none of that matters. I am creating for the body that sits here in this chair right this second. No one else is ever going to wear these exact same clothes. I’m not competing with the friend who was able to get the same one in a smaller size. I’m not standing in fitting rooms with bad lighting and mirrors that add ten pounds, dealing with 18-year-old sales girls named Taylor who say things like, “Let me get you a bigger size,” and “You look really good for your age.” I am part of a community of other women who are getting to embrace their own body geometry with full acceptance of where they are in this moment, fully express their sense of style, and share it with other women who can truly appreciate the love that went into creating it. Because it’s very hard to put that much love into custom-making a garment and not love the body wearing it. I can put a butt shot of myself in my me-made jeans out there and learn to love that butt and the pocket-stitching that adorns it, knowing that all the other butts of the sewing world are going say, “Job well done.” It’s a far cry different than strutting through a gym in clear stilettos, trying to reduce one another to tears because no matter how hard we work at our goals, it’s never enough.

There is no wrong size for your body to be if it’s how your body needs to be in order to keep you alive, keep you here, keep your newborn baby nourished, keep you aging in a healthy fashion, keep you vital and happy. It’s not simply a matter of size that determines your health – this is different for everybody. There are a variety of factors, and none of them are anyone else’s business. Maybe you’re where you want to be, maybe you aren’t. But no matter what, you only have today. So put on whatever it is that makes you feel free. Alive. Happy. Whatever. Maybe it’s cute pajamas. Maybe at the moment it’s scrubs as you do a career that helps others. Maybe it’s Lululemons because your relationship with the gym is better than mine or you just want to be comfy and strut your righteous booty. Maybe it’s being fully decked out in 1950s regalia, complete with shapewear, turning heads at the grocery store, a la Dita Von Teese:

Do it. Don’t second-guess yourself. Beautiful clothing is not just the domain of people who look a certain way. Do you have a body? Check. Do you love wearing clothing that makes you feel beautiful? Check. That’s all the information needed. You deserve to feel good about yourself. You’re here, you being here matters, and there is only one you. You are a gift to the rest of us. Keep creating, because whatever you create, dear woman, is a drop in the cosmic pond, an expression of your own voice, adding to the pool of inspiration. Whether you sew your clothes or have to endure Taylor’s well-meaning critique, go ahead. Adorn yourself however you desire, if it helps you to feel beautiful, free, and truly you. Today is all you have. If I drop dead this afternoon, the ghost of me is going to be floating over my corpse going, “Nice butt. Great job with that top stitching. And the lipstick was on point.” I promise you I won’t be saying, “Pretty enough, but she could stand to lose five pounds.” I’ll already be asking Saint Peter to hook me up with my heavenly bling so I can be well-accessorized in the great beyond.

We can fret over what we were like in that long ago place called, “back then,”or we can obsess over that magical land out in the great beyond called, “someday.” But the only thing that really exists is now. We can make goals for our health and fitness, but in terms of our emotional health right here today, we can stop and make peace with ourselves in this moment. The more you love the body that encases your wondrous soul, right here, right now, the more likely you will be to do wonderful things for it. None of us really wants to do something good for someone when we can’t stand the sight of them. This is true for yourself. Love that woman in the mirror. She has been through so much, she’s a tough cookie, she deserves to be treated well. You are enough. You have enough. You do enough. Those bitchy voices out on your front porch? Just leave them there. They have no business taking up residence in your home anymore.

Thoughts From My Creative Journey

I finally finished my retro shirtwaist dress. ‘Tis the season of projects that take twice as long as they should. There’s some weird juju in the air. It better clear up before I tackle my upcoming outerwear projects…

Okay, enough complaining. During my fabric binge at Austin Creative Reuse last month, I grabbed this cute little country print. I almost passed it by, but my Fella convinced me to get it. We’re both country people at heart. It’s a little expensive for thrift store cotton, but whatever. In the grand scheme, my retro shirtwaist dress will be a bargain.

In an inspired moment where the goddesses of sewing rained glory upon me, I selected this retro blouse pattern, deigned by the incredible Gertie, to transform into my perfect Thanksgiving dress:

Haven’t heard of a Thanksgiving dress before? Well, why should Christmas get all the focus? You hereby have my permission to have a dress for every holiday. I selected View B, not only because it was awesome-looking, but because the goddesses of sewing reminded me that I had an assortment of random rust-colored kona cotton scraps sourced from my mother’s scrap bag:

I had exactly enough fabric to make the dress, and exactly the right-sized scrap to cut the funkily-shaped (funkily? a word?) insert piece. I am going to pause briefly to dance a little country jig, giving thanks to the sewing goddesses… (giving thanks – see what I did there?)

When using a blouse pattern to make a dress, the main alteration (aside from shortening it) is to take it in along the seams and make it more fitted, tapering it more from bust line to waist. The skirt is a basic gathered skirt, using the remaining yardage (about a yard). You take the full width, cut it in half – one of the halves will be the back. Then, you take the other piece, cut it in half lengthwise. These will be the two front pieces. You will put in a self-placket (using the blouse placket as guide for width), complete with strip of interfacing. Simply leave the portion that will contain the placket ungathered. It is very simple and straightforward, yet leads to an extremely wearable and nice-looking addition to your wardrobe.

I think the retro shirtwaist dress is now going to be a thing. I am already thinking of all the other possibilities and variations. And I gotta say, they are extremely easy to throw on and wear while looking put together. I don’t see myself needing anymore of them until Spring, so we’ll put a pin in it for now.

Thing I Sew

Get out of my house
These cells of mine
This body in which I live
You’ve stayed far too long
Made a hostage of me
Inside the walls of my home

You lie in wait
For the moment I’m free
Then break everything in sight
I kneel in the glass
Crying, I can’t
Leave and go to the dance

You kicked in the door
I screamed, you just laughed
Invited all of your friends
My house, my rules
A mockery now
You take what I don’t have to give

Look, there’s the door
Leave what remains
In this lonely room that’s still mine
Pack all your knives
Your bullets, your chains
Your shackles are breaking me down

Get out of my house
These cells of mine
Stop wasting my precious time
There’s somebody here
Inside of these walls
Whose dreams just refuse to die

About Me

I finally finished my Mary Quant skirt, vintage Butterick 5895 from 1972. What an ordeal. It should have been so simple and straightforward, this basic A-line skirt with faux pockets. I should know by now, that the minute I think, “Oh, this will be easy,” I’ve instantly jinxed myself. First, there was the fabric, another great find from Austin Creative Reuse:

It’s a basic poplin in forest green, and the tag said 1.5 yards. This is an ideal amount for a simple skirt. Except that they measured it wrong, and there’s no way to know at the store because they roll the fabric and wrap it in the blue tape. The person who tagged this piece folded it in the wrong direction, cut edges together instead of selvages together. It was actually 58 inches wide by 34 inches long, with a weird chunk out of one corner. So, of course, I chose a pattern that required a minimum of 1-5/8 yards! All I needed to do was defy the Laws of the Universe with a strategic layout:

I made it work with a few tricky maneuvers as follows:

First, I folded the fabric in half, just to where the weird cut-out began, intending to squeeze the skirt front and back pieces out of the main body of the fabric. I chose the midi length plus one inch. Just right lengthwise, yet the width was an issue. Initially, it did not fit. There was a wide front facing:

To shave off some yardage, I decided to face the center front of the skirt with a contrasting print, adding whimsy and conserving fabric. I removed the front facing, drawing a 5/8″ seam allowance along this line. As a result, enough inches were removed to make the pattern pieces just fit!

Then, I used the weird part to the right for the waistband and pocket flaps:

In order to reduce the required yardage even more, I decided to do contrasting facings for the waistband and all four pocket flaps just like the center front. At the top fold line of the waistband pattern piece, I added a seam allowance, then folded it along the new line. More yardage gained! Ditto the pocket flaps. They don’t need to be self-faced. I cut two of each, instead of the required four, and had exactly enough yardage to make my skirt! Cue Freddie Mercury singing, “We Are The Champions…”

All I needed now was a print to use for the facings, and in my mother’s scrap bag I found a small piece of fabric that was exactly enough for what I needed:

Done and done. I got to sewing and everything was going great. The whole thing was coming together, fitting beautifully…until I went to attach the waistband. Now, I was the one who misjudged the length. It was too short and there was no extra fabric. This is an impossible color to match, so I was at a standstill. Then, in an inspired moment, I thought to myself, “Self, why must every waistband be thick? Why not embrace the skinny wiastband?” I cut everything in half lengthwise, used tiny seam allowances, and the rest is history. Take that, Universe!

I selected buttons that coordinated well and fit my budget. Matching wasn’t really possible. There’s always a way to make something work. With a little creativity, ingenuity, some basic math, and a willingness to mix and match, you can create something great! I personally think an item is more fun and special with secret, pretty details inside, even if they weren’t in the original plan. Sewing is full of surprises, and all’s well that end’s well!

No looking back! Only off to the side a little. No matter how many years you do a thing, every project brings lessons of its own. This one was no exception. Now, my Thanksgiving dress needs buttons. This slow poke has got to get moving.

Thing I Sew

Growing up, we didn’t have a lot of money. We were a working class family – blue collar dad and stay-at-home mom. While my mom yearned for the white middle class dream of owning a big McMansion in the fancier part of the burbs, my grandmother was teaching me the art of canning veggies from Grandpa’s garden in old mason jars to store in her walk-in pantry, the wonders of exotic foods like okra and black-eyed peas, and the importance of double coupons. I was getting the traditional mid-western country upbringing right in the heart of a gang-ridden neighborhood of Los Angeles. (My house was actually tagged as territory by one of the area’s biggest gangs. Saving that story for the memoir.) Considering that everything we owned was second-hand, down to the cars we drove, the skills I was learning would be invaluable to me in the years to come. From the moment I took my scrunchy business from mom’s scrap bag in the sewing room to a small table in the driveway at age 9, to the moment I stood in the grocery store with food stamps at age 34, discovering that soap was inedible and I could no longer afford to buy it, going a long way on a little has been my mantra. I like knowing I can get along just fine with a jug of vinegar and a box of baking soda.

What my mother didn’t realize as she sat brooding over the fact that her peers could afford to put a down payment on a house while we ate casseroles containing government cheese, was that I was watching her. I saw the way she crafted beautiful slipcovers for those old, hand-me-down sofas. My friends slept in expensive canopy beds, but our bedroom was made pretty with homemade dust ruffles, pillow shams and comforter covers. Her cross-stitched samplers adorned our walls. At the holidays, a pan full of cloves, cinnamon sticks, nutmeg and orange slices simmered on the back burner of the stove top, filling the air with the smells of Autumn. We couldn’t afford the designer clothes the other kids could afford, but somehow we were always among the best dressed. No, we didn’t have a big expensive home to show off, yet everyone wanted to sit in front of our fireplace, sip our Swiss Miss cocoa, and eat the big pot of “leftover soup” while sitting around our crammed dining room table. We had something that many modern people lacked. What was it? Creativity and ingenuity, something that money can’t buy (though it sure helps out!) What more could we possibly need?

Sustainability is only a ‘thing’ now because so many of us have lost touch with our own ability to be resourceful. Quite frankly, we haven’t had to be. Everything we needed, whether we could afford it or not, has been available. Why darn a sock when Target is down the street? We may not be able to afford the big McMansion, but it’s there if our situation improves. We are surrounded by options. “Why would you make it if you could just buy it?” This has been said to me several times over the years, with some people simply not understanding why in the world you would make something yourself if you could go to the mall and pick it up on the cheap. In fact, making things can be perceived as a step away from progress for many people who grew up in genuine poverty and never again want to be forced to upcycle anything, ever. This makes sense to me. My Fella comes from a poor border town. He grew up in a tiny adobe house, each brick formed from the desert soil in the capable hands of his uncle, in the third poorest school district in the state of Texas. This is a culture where the struggle to rise above poverty is real and palpable. Wearing name brand clothing from nice stores and buying one another expensive gifts is a source of great pride. It should be. I will never, ever, ever judge this, and if I was rich I would buy all the expensive things in the world for them. And myself. I don’t walk on water, here. Sometimes, though, I have to acknowledge that having a discussion about sustainability at all is the luxury of privilege. We have to take a look at our habits, because we’ve had the luxury of indulging them, even if we have struggled along the way. Make do and mend has been a necessity for many people as the result of generational poverty, perpetuated by institutionalized discrimination that has made it hard to rise above. Discussing sustainability at all means that I have privilege. End of story.

Okay, but the global issues are there, and we can’t ignore them, regardless of background. Which leads us back to the topic at hand…is sewing sustainable? No. However, YES it is! How can I be so contradictory? Because sewing, like anything else, is what we make of it. It’s simply a skill set, a tool that I can use in any way I choose. Whether or not the outcome is sustainable depends on the mindset I bring to it to begin with. Anyone can pick up a hammer. If I’m wanting to hang a picture on the wall, I’ll use it accordingly. If I’m a psychopathic serial killer, like Mrs. Sew-and-Sew in the picture at the beginning of this post, I’ll use it differently (I’m so glad she’s not holding tailoring sheers; and I really want her outfit). Is the hammer inherently problematic? Should we stop owning hammers because some people have icky intentions? Of course not. The point is, mindset is key. And where does mindset come from? Our core values. This is the issue. 

We need to be less wasteful. There is much discussion regarding the fact that individual choices are no longer enough to turn the tide of disaster. Recycling is broken – we won’t jump off that cliff today. Countries outside of the western world are experiencing middle class prosperity, luxury goods and the opportunity to be upwardly mobile for the first time ever. Our mid-century post-War prosperity is now being experienced elsewhere for the first time. We started this ball rolling and it is still rolling with abandon. This is so much bigger than me, sitting at my little sewing table, making a blouse from thrift store fabric, while a batch of bone broth stews in the background. So, should I just give up and quit trying altogether? Or – more fun – throw caution to the wind, run over to Joann’s and hit the cutting counter with stacks of adorable made in China prints covered in licensed characters? Not saying it won’t ever happen. It definitely will, but why bother trying? I might as well make a dress covered with Sleeping Beauty, strictly to wear one time to the new Maleficent movie, where I sit drinking a ginormous soda with a massive plastic straw that ends up in the ocean. What difference will it make?

I believe it makes a difference because adult women in the western world make the decisions for our households. We drive the global economy more than we realize. I once heard a comedian joke that the moment a white 30-something woman moves into a neighborhood, a Starbucks will show up on the corner. And probably, I would add, a Lululemon. Western women (ALL, not just white) are powerful. We are movers and shakers. Our choices matter, which is why corporations toy with our emotions to drive our spending habits.

I believe this. We have the choice to use our power for good. Narratives continue when we buy into the myths they perpetuate. We can say, ‘no.’ Industries survive by the power of the almighty dollar. Let’s be honest. Who buys the new underwear for the members of your household? Who has the most input, really? We drive many of the financial decisions in one way or another. We are the ones corporations target in ad campaigns. We have the choice to opt out of the narrative. Whether we realize it or not, one little rebellious act like choosing to make our own clothes instead of walking into shops and buying them, or repairing our socks when they get a hole, is radical. We are saying, “No, thank you.” We may not do it perfectly, but every little thing we do makes a big difference. Industries have no choice but to shift in response, since we are their livelihood. We are their future. Many are changing how they do things as we speak.

“But, I’m poor,” you say. “What difference do my little choices make in the grand scheme?” Imagine for a moment that you are standing in a coffee shop right now about to order a cup of coffee for $3. The man standing in line behind you is about to order an identical $3 cup of coffee. You both chose this particular shop because they serve organic, fair trade coffee and you share the same set of principles regarding the treatment of the laborers who harvest coffee. Now, let’s say that you have a total of $30 in your bank account and the man behind you has $30 million in his. Does his $3 cup of coffee have any more importance than yours? It’s the same purchase. It was an empowered and mindful choice for both of you. Your $3 matters every bit as much as his. Never ever think that lack of money makes your spending any less important than someone with more. Money is money. Money talks. Your voice matters. 

So, here we are, sitting at the sewing table, feeling a weird mix of shame and personal empowerment. Is what I’m doing sustainable? Yes. In the end, in all its messy imperfection, it is. It becomes sustainable, because you are sustainably minded. If you’re asking the question, it’s because you care. If you’re currently reading someone’s opinion on the matter, it’s because you’re thinking about it. I’d bet, if we looked at our lives in a holistic way, we’d see the myriad of little micro-choices we’re making daily to better the world, reduce waste, and stop the cycle of pain our consumption is causing to others. It’s simplistic, I know. That’s okay for today. How is my sewing helping make the world better? Here are some things:

• My clothing was not made my child slaves. Nobody talks about this enough. Yep, this is a thing in many global industries. There are more slaves on the planet as a percentage of the overall population than ever in human history. That’s a LOT of people, when you do the math. I refer you to the work of professor Kevin Bales, an expert on the intersection between modern slavery and climate change.
• I am personally connected to the garments I wear. This is important, because the more personal the connection I have to what I own, the more likely I will be to preserve it with care, prolong its life, wear it with pride, and really, really think about what comes into my life. My choices have a greater likelihood of being informed by firsthand experience. Which means…
• I am consuming less. Even if I am still a part of the cycle of consumption, I have reduced my impact significantly. I don’t have to buy underwear, actually. The scraps of knit from other projects are more than adequate. Every time I pull the zipper out of a pair of ruined jeans and use them in a new pair, pull the buttons off an old blouse, turn my boyfriend’s old shirt into a jacket, I’m making a difference. I’m prolonging the life of something that still has years of wear in it. Museums all over the world have clothing items from periods throughout history that have stood the test of time with some careful curation. Modern clothing falls apart in a few years at best. Sewing is incredibly important. This cannot be overemphasized. Things used to be made to last. Not anymore.
• My stuff doesn’t have to travel across the globe. Every time I find a way to create something that didn’t have to travel across the ocean in a ship, I’m not contributing to pollution. In addition, my stuff doesn’t have to be sprayed with chemicals in order to enter our country from another country. We can talk about the impact of growing the fibers and producing the garments, but the finished product is very polluting, as well. Walk through the mall; you’ll notice the smell of chemical sizing on the clothing now that I’ve said it. Except when you pass by Bath and Body Works. Or use the bathroom by the food court (I don’t recommend it; go to the fancy section at Neiman Marcus and use the ‘lounge’). Have you noticed, after you spend a few hours in a shopping mall or major department store, you feel low-grade icky, and faintly as though you have a film on your skin? Well, you will now.
• I have the ability to help my community, especially when times are tough. We all say that it annoys us when people ask us for alterations, or to make them a gown for a gala event if they’re “willing to pay for the fabric.” Super frustrating… But, in my heart, I know that I am sitting on a very useful skill that enables me to participate in my local economy through barter and trade, serving others in love, and helping local businesses by keeping my money within my community. My locally owned sewing shop is where I purchased my overlock/coverstitch machine. If Joann’s is the only shop in town, no biggie. But it’s nice to keep my money local. Also, I’ve had the opportunity to mend things for people in need. I don’t mind saving a friend 10 or 20 bucks to do a quick fix-it job that I can take care of in minutes. In all likelihood, they would probably just replace the item with something new. The sewing renegade strikes again! Take that, corporate America!

This list is far from comprehensive. It’s just a basic overview. I look forward to hearing other people’s idea of how they feel sewing contributes to sustainability in a positive way. I’ve already received some great input through comments. At the end of the day, I look at the totality of my daily life and see many positive things, many things I can do better, and a tired woman with a chronic illness who is doing the best she can. Sometimes the sustainable choice is not the reasonable choice when dealing with financial or health issues, or whatever your own daily struggle may be. We can’t send the sands of time back up the hourglass and fix human history. We can only take personal responsibility for our own choices and work on making better ones to the best of our ability. In our house, our favorite mantra is “progress, not perfection.” Onward and forward.

I will be posting an epilogue to this very soon, outlining the ways that I keep my own sewing practice low-impact. I’ve touched on them throughout this conversation, but I thought I’d sum up with some of my own specific methods.

By the way, the minute I typed it, I couldn’t stop thinking about a Sleeping Beauty dress. I just got the Liz Dress pattern from Charm Patterns. Yep, I’ve got an uphill battle ahead of me. This is what I get for being a person who has time to think about things! Maybe I should get a hobby to distract myself. No, wait. That’s the problem. Damn.

Past articles on related topics:
Why I Love Thrifted Fabrics
Things I’m Not Sewing For My Wardrobe, and Why
Why I Am Not a Minimalist, Even Though I Sort of Am

Is Sewing Sustainable? The Me-Made Wardrobe Starts to Unravel…Part One
Is Sewing Sustainable? – Part Two – The Effects of Personal Branding

Thoughts From My Creative Journey

In 1992, I was hired as a full-time management trainee at Limited Express. Actually, it was known at that time as Compangie Internationale Express. As a full-time associate, I had to have a pretty full wardrobe of Express clothing. The problem? I had been recruited from their sister company, the Limited, and had just accumulated a nice wardrobe during my months there. While we weren’t required to wear only Express clothing, we had to at least look like we did. When I wore something from the Limited and an Express customer asked, “Where can I find that?” things got awkward. If I was going to advance with the company, I had to look the part. Which meant looking current. Which meant buying clothes constantly. Which meant NOT sewing. There was little time and almost no opportunity to wear my makes.

This was an opportunity for me. I had quit fashion design school two years before because my parents had filed bankruptcy and I lost all of my funding. At my young age, their credit impacted my ability to get funding to go to school anywhere. It felt like my fashion career was ending before it even began, so I took the part-time job at the Limited in the hopes that I could continue working in fashion and work my way into a full-time opportunity as a visual display artist. When the associate manager from Express recruited me with the offer of a full-time management training opportunity, I jumped. But my wardrobe was expanding in the age of conspicuous consumption, and there were new collections constantly coming in. I felt stuffocated. When I fell in love, got married, and ran off to a mountain town in Oregon, it was the perfect opportunity to stop for a while and reevaluate my relationship with fashion. This is the moment I began my grown-up journey into sustainability.

It would take me a while to get there. I still worked in fashion retail off and on over the years, which made it difficult to sew, keep my wardrobe the size I wanted, and be true to my own preferences. We know fashion as we’ve created it in our society is not sustainable, and I experienced it first hand as someone who had to represent a brand. Now, in this social media era, people have become their own personal brand. We are no longer ‘persons’, we are personas. More and more people are finding a way to make a living as bloggers and social media influencers. An influencer doesn’t have to be someone who has a million followers. It can be anyone who is finding economic opportunities using their social media profiles. What does this mean for the sewist? It can mean free product in exchange for blog posts and reviews, the opportunity to test patterns and/or be featured on the pages of various companies, and invitations to teach or present IRL.

In order to be someone who represents a brand, you have to be creating and sharing content that keeps people engaged – ACTIVELY engaged. To beat the Instagram algorithm, you have to find unique and ingenious ways to keep people interacting with you on your accounts. I know this, because Instagram has all but murdered my account since the June update (I used to get 800+ likes on posts; I posted an hour ago and have 7 likes so far). It’s been an ongoing problem, but it has also led me down this current rabbit hole, asking myself if engaging with other sewists so regularly on social media is inherently problematic when it comes to sustainability and slow fashion.

I believe creative people have every right to get paid for the content they create. It takes a LOT of time to create a blog post, Instagram post or Instagram story. It involves photo shoots, multiple apps, photo editing, and tutorials – all in addition to the hours of sewing. If you can get paid a little bit or score some free fabric, go for it. Also, for those of us who have lifestyle factors that keep us at home and out of the traditional workplace, the digital world provides a wonderful showcase to eek out a living from one’s own inherent talents and interests. This is a wonderful thing. The ability to have quick access to so many other humans to share, and ultimately get paid for, creative work without having to move to NY, LA or somewhere else is downright miraculous. As a former budding fashion designer, back from the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth, I say this from my heart.

However… I’m going to point out some tough things. When I set out to post pictures of myself and my creations online last year, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. It’s been great to see all the different takes on the same styles and patterns; to be in-the-know when it comes to all the indie pattern companies and small fabric boutiques around the world; to see ingenious tips and tricks for doing something differently than how you’ve done it. It goes on and on. But the updated algorithm is having an effect on the Instagram sewing community. We are having to work harder for engagement, and if you don’t respond quickly to all the engagement, Instagram will drop you from people’s feeds. Let’s face it – I get more likes on new makes than I do on any other post. The temptation to constantly create new content goes from being a passion to being pressure, and it affects both the pocketbook and the planet. Many of us who started out with frugality and slow fashion as our foundation are simply becoming over-consumptive fashionistas with more clothing than a Dallas socialite. Our clothing may be thrifted or frugally-made, but we just have so much. I am guilty of this myself, and I’m not saying I’m going to suddenly stop creating. But it’s good to take a look in the mirror sometimes, and not just to check my awesome lipstick!

The other day, I took the time to scroll through some of the accounts of people who would be considered sewing influencers. The follower count ranged widely in numbers, depending on the person, but these individuals post regularly on behalf of various retailers and as guest bloggers. I’ve watched accounts grow from about the size of mine to these high numbers in a pretty short amount of time (not sure what I’m doing wrong). I wanted to scroll back to their earlier posts and see how many of these pieces are being re-worn. Here’s what I discovered:

• Repeat outfits don’t get the same attention as new pieces. In the hundreds of posts on a page, I rarely saw repeats. There were many lovely pieces. At the very beginning of the feed I would see some awkward pictures of beginner level sewing attempts, or nervous first steps into the wild west of the digital frontier, but the feed would quickly morph into make after make after make (mine too!). You really do have to post daily. And if I’m posting daily, but my feed has very few repeats, then I’m basically wearing something new almost daily. Yikes. Following the trends in fashion is often at odds with environmental preservation, and the sewing community is no exception. Should I be grabbing the latest ‘it’ pattern if what I really want to make for my wardrobe is very different? Should I be pattern testing if the gaps in my wardrobe aren’t being addressed and I’m making a piece that won’t actually get worn much? Yet, how else are you going to grow your personal brand if you aren’t snatching up every opportunity you can? I mean, the rent has to get paid, and I feel you.
• The Instagram algorithm requires you to post VERY regularly. Instagram is a business. They need to make money, which is why the algorithm has been altered so much over the past few years. Staying relevant to one’s followers is essential to staying relevant to Instagram the company. We are becoming full-time, on-call employees of Instagram, and it can be a bit exhausting. This external pressure can really push the sewist to keep creating and posting, because your livelihood depends on it. Unlike sellers of products like, for example, a vintage clothing dealer, we are not cultivating an inventory of items that will exit our lives. We are basically selling ourselves in the sense that we are showcasing what we create for (mostly) our own closets. This naturally breeds excess. I’m sure my followers are tired of seeing my collection of Ginger jeans, but I intend to wear them to death. My blouse collection is a whole other story…
• There is a definite style aesthetic with sustainable clothing and slow fashion. The desire to be relevant on Instagram can be at odds with sustainability UNLESS you brand yourself that way. This can pigeonhole you into an aesthetic that may not be YOU, because the followers who share this value will be expecting a certain look. I am not interested in wearing flowing, boxy, linen dresses with big pockets and perfect stitching. That’s not me, though I love the sewists who rock this aesthetic and follow them with joy. Case in point: My most popular post ever (over 1200 likes) was the one item in my wardrobe that comes closest to this aesthetic, a pinafore with big pockets. It was shocking. I didn’t really love the dress, I was having a bad hair day, and I didn’t like the photos. But I said, eff it, posted them and the rest is history. It was a success. But I NEVER wear that dress. It was made with thrifted fabric, it was relevant to modern trends, everyone else loved it. But it’s hanging in my closet as we speak. Now I know what people go ape sh*t over, so I could just make this sort of thing. But I’m not going to, because it’s not me. Somewhere on the spectrum between free-the-nipple chicks who writes stream-of-consciousness poetry while standing on desert mesas and Dita Von Teese, some of us are a little more on the side of Swarovski crystals and red lipstick. Sustainability and slow fashion are simply a fashion aesthetic of their own. That’s fine, if it’s how you like to dress. But if you have to post a lot of new, relevant content in order to be successful, and the content that is most desired pushes you away from your true self, this can be at odds with actually living a sustainable life. 

The selling of sustainability as an aesthetic is a whole other topic, much bigger in scope than the sewing community alone. I just think that sometimes, as is the case in much of fashion, the desire for likes in the hope of growing one’s page into something with economic potential can push us toward creating pieces that aren’t really true to who we are. Sustainability requires that we be absolutely be true to who we are. The relentless pursuit of stuff is about measuring up to external ideals, and the more true we are to ourselves, the less driven we’ll be to accumulate stuff. If we aren’t wearing it, we aren’t living sustainably, no matter what the origin of the item. It is more sustainable to buy your clothes at Walmart and wear them to death than it is to own a closet full of sustainably created and sourced apparel that doesn’t get worn. Period. And if posting on social media is going to breed the latter, then it doesn’t matter what aesthetic a feed represents. What happens in real life is what helps the planet, not what happens in my social media feed. At this point, does it really matter if you thrifted, were gifted, or upcycled? Aren’t we back to square one?

Whew, okay. Before I get excommunicated from the Instagram sewing community, bear with me. I promise to bring it back to the positive side of it all, because the positives really DO outweigh the negatives, as recent comments have brilliantly pointed out, and there are ways to approach this sustainably. Whether or not you can accomplish those things and be social media relevant is a tough one. I have no easy answers. But I believe it is important to ask confronting questions when it comes to the things I do all the time, because the things I do all the time are going to make or break my most dearly held principles. This is where the rubber meets the road and all my core principles become real, true, bonafide lifestyle practices. Next time, I will re-ask the question “Is sewing sustainable?” Next time, the answer will be… stay tuned!

Is Sewing Sustainable? The Me-Made Wardrobe Starts to Unravel…Part One
Is Sewing Sustainable? – Part Three – Weaving It All Together Again

Thoughts From My Creative Journey