Well things have been pretty quiet here on the blogging front, especially when it comes to sewing, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been busy. I didn’t feel like I’d been productive, especially since I spent a week of August on vacation, but I really surprised myself. Here are the results of August and the first half of September:
This is the breakdown:
Left:Simplicity 8375 with a self-drafted, bias-cut yoke on both front and back, and a faux placket with button details. Made from thrifted fabric and buttons.
Right: Simplicity 8601 View D, upcycled from an older make (a tunic dress) and the scarf that I made from the leftovers.
Left:Butterick 6563 View C, a Gertie retro pattern, hacked into a Western-style blouse using vintage McCall’s 2118, a men’s pattern from the 1950s. Made from thrifted fabric.
Right: McCall’s 7959 View A, made from thrifted fabric.
Left:Briar Tee from Megan Nielsen Patterns, hacked into a bow blouse by using the neck facing as a neck band, then adding a tie to the front. Made from thrifted fabric.
Right: McCall’s 7360 View A, with pearlized snaps. Made from thrifted fabric.
Left:McCall’s 7961View D, made from black stretch poplin, a 5 yard for $5 fabric from Walmart.
Right: Another Butterick 6563 View C, made from thrifted corduroy, with pearlized snaps.
I didn’t write a blog post about most of these pieces, but I did go into detail on Instagram. For more details, the links to each item are on the ‘Things I Sew‘ page. See the link at the bottom of this post.
I’m so ready to move on to Fall. I absolutely LOVE Fall. How about you? If only the weather would cooperate…
Don’t fix me
I’m not a problem to solve
For I am not you
My path is my own
It’s okay that I’m not okay
Tonight I make camp
In a place called Unknown
A vigil I keep in the moonlight
You fear the moon
For the shadows it casts
Searching for somewhere to hide
You shine a light that can never replace
The sun that has yet to rise
You blind my eyes
But I must see the night
There are things
I am here to discover
“Show me your eyes.” Earlier today I was walking down the street in Santa Fe with my Fella. A vendor stopped me, telling me how much she adored my style. I won’t lie – it was a good accessories day. I have been looking forward to this vacation for a long time and packed accordingly. We arrived last night, and I was so excited to finally be here. My guard was down, so when she said, “show me your eyes,” I lowered my sunglasses, thinking we were discussing makeup. We weren’t. She proceeded to point out all the little puffy places and lines and all my tiny flaws. I felt the inside of me shrink. She had a product to sell me. And, like every effing other thing corporate America wants to sell, it requires me, a woman, to be painfully aware of my supposed inadequacies and hate myself, so I’ll buy products I don’t need in my search to feel like I’m enough.
I was already feeling conspicuous and vulnerable at this point, so when she asked, “What products do you use,” I froze. No matter what I said, she was going to tell me how they were inferior to whatever it was she had to sell me. Here’s the thing – I make all of my own products. I have years of experience and education behind it, too. So, in addition to being made to feel like there was something wrong with the face in which I already felt pretty, and the complexion of which I am quite proud, I was not going to subject my wellness expertise and years of hard work to her harsh scrutiny. Eff that. EFF. THAT. “You know what,” I told her, feeling mad at myself for not stopping this interaction sooner, “This is all just designed to make people feel bad about themselves. I need to leave.” I felt embarrassed and deflated. The truth is, I have just passed through some very difficult months. My eyes are puffy because I’ve been sick and that’s just the way it is when your body has multiple infections going 24/7 and you’re too broke for the rich people medicine. What I needed more than anything was a vacation. What I didn’t need was some vendor chick pointing out the one thing about my appearance that I WAS feeling bad about but was perfectly okay with having in my life regardless. I don’t have any driving need to measure up to any standards. Quite frankly, I don’t have the precious life force energy to give to that sort of mental torture. I’m okay with looking like a real person with real life struggles. What I’m not okay with is someone else using this to bring me lower and take advantage of my vulnerability. I do not give my consent.
And, you know what? For eff sake, I’m a 46-year-old woman. I’m a human being. I’m allowed to be tired and look that way. I’m allowed to have genetics. I’m allowed to love myself despite the struggles. Hell, I’m allowed to love myself even more because of them. I AM NOT required to erase anything because I’m female. My boyfriend was right beside me, eyes puffier than mine, and no one cared. Why not? Why wasn’t he subjected to this scrutiny? Because I’m pretty, I’m female, and the assumption is that this is the thing in which I find my value. Cha-Ching. We walked to the end of the block, and as he pulled out the map to look for the Georgia O’Keefe Museum, I grabbed his arm. “Stop,” I said pulling him to the side. And I cried. I stood right there in the middle of the sidewalk and let the tears flow down my cheeks right in front of other people. I let him hug me, comfort me, and tell me I’m pretty. I wiped my eyes with his Star Wars bandana as other middle-aged ladies walked past me looking concerned. But I really only had two choices: Push the feelings way down inside along with the millions of others that I have had to shelve over the years in the interest of decency, sanity, professionalism, appearances of emotional stability, yada ya…or just get them out of my body and into my boyfriend’s handkerchief. My body is already enough of a battlefield. I’m already fighting a hundred tiny battles at any given moment. I don’t have any room in my heart for this.
Later – longer than I care to admit – I stood in the museum gift shop looking into the wrinkled face of a very elderly Georgia O’Keefe on the front of a post card. I made peace with myself; gave myself permission to continue being my eccentric self. Gave myself permission to be messy in public and let that be okay; permission to give a crap about this stuff and have feelings about it. Sometimes doing the strong thing as a woman means you may look weak in the moment to other people. But it’s okay to be misunderstood sometimes in order to take care of yourself, to heal yourself. There will always be someone who cuts you just so they can sell you a Band-Aid. No thanks. I’m a woman. Women are healers. I can tend to these wounds just fine, thank you very much. I’ve had plenty of practice. Show me your eyes. All I see is strength.
Sometimes a project is challenging because it’s a complex design. Sometimes the design is super easy, but the fabric is a pain to work with. This was one of those projects…
I bought this chiffon fabric five years ago at Joann’s. It was one of those moments where you’re browsing, something catches your eye, and you spontaneously buy it with absolutely no plan in mind. I bought about 2-1/2 yards of this 45″ wide yardage. Having no plan, I decided to make a simple tunic. I basically made a boat-necked, sleeveless tunic that hit mid calf, with two side slits. It was the most basic garment I could possibly have used this fabric for, and it looked great belted with sandals over a simple black slip. I knew when I made it that this garment was a placeholder for a better idea, I just didn’t have any other ideas at the time. This way, I got to wear the fabric, yet preserve the yardage for future projects.
I had some yardage left over, so I used it to make several scarves, an opportunity to practice using my narrow hem and differential feed settings on my Serger. Many scarves were made at that time. The differential setting on the overlock machine is magical and addicting. I ended up with a large square scarf and a fun ruffled version:
Amazing what a narrow hem and chain stitch can do! Scarves are a great scrap buster.
I only wore the tunic twice. It was pretty but not very easy to wear. Apparently, stretch is key in a long, straight fitting dress. The first time I wore it was to a Catholic mass. Can you imagine doing all that standing/sitting/kneeling in a dress like that? It wasn’t easy to sit or move in, and I ended up wearing the scarves far more often. Lesson learned. What a disappointment, considering how much I loved the fabric! It deserved to become something better.
A few months ago, I bought Simplicity 8601 for use with another fabric I bought that fateful day five years ago (story for another day):
I was all set to use View A, when View D caught my eye:
Was it possible to squeeze a blouse out of the tunic and square scarf? Guess what! It was exactly the right amount of fabric for this blouse. Finally, my awesome fabric got to become something pretty. And I still get a pretty scarf out of it.
This is the before and after. It’s hard to tell, but the photo on the left is a LOT of yardage draped around my neck. I basically used the tunic as a scarf during the colder months by wrapping it around my neck several times and using the arm holes to loop the ends through, then I threw the gathered scarf over my shoulders to make it look like the whole thing was ruffled. Not a bad way to get off-season use out of a piece of clothing, but the fabric deserved better. The photo on the right? I get to wear the better-looking scarf AND get a blouse out of it! Can’t complain.
So, like I said, the pattern was simple, the type of design that you can whip out in a few hours. But considering that this is chiffon (all slippery and drapey) and that the main body of this blouse was cut on the bias, I struggled. It took an entire week. I worked in small sections, little by little, completely unmotivated by the process. I’m thrilled with the outcome, but in no way did I enjoy making it. That’s the way it goes sometimes. These sleeves were the bane of my existence to assemble, but they came out so pretty.
Here’s the result:
Moral of this story? It’s important to pull things out of your closet if you aren’t wearing them. It’s worth the effort to re-make a me-made item into something wearable. It sucks to take a seam ripper to something you already put time into, but if you aren’t wearing it, can you really consider the garment finished? I say not. That being said, I’m currently in the process of making more things over. Stay tuned…
On Saturday, we went to our local Saver’s Thrift Store with the intention of shopping for fabric. I have no idea what was going on, but when we pulled into the parking lot the place was insanely busy. People were circling the parking lot waiting for a spot. No, thank you. I wasn’t dealing with that. I haven’t been to any of my thrift stores this summer, so I was a little disappointed. But we were headed north to one of the big Walmarts on the edge of town, so it wasn’t a total bust. We had a random list of necessities, one of which included a new ginormous mug for me (my favorite thrift store mug broke last month, sigh…). What is the deal with coffee mugs these days? Why are they all 20 bucks? I set my outside window at 5 bucks and was not disappointed. Look at this pretty Pioneer Woman mug I found:
It’s huge, heavy duty, and so, so pretty in real life. AND it was $4.78. Mission accomplished. Morning coffee can continue to be a lovely ritual. Okay, focus…
I had forgotten that this Walmart had a fabric section. Someone on Instagram had mentioned a while back that they found 5 yards for $5 bolts of fabric at their Walmart, and suddenly there I was. No, it wasn’t thrift fabric, but it seemed meant to be, because between this rack and the 2 yards for $4 rack, I found exactly the fabrics I had envisioned for some recent pattern purchases. The gods of sewing have smiled upon me and my budget yet again. I must be doing something right. The fabrics I chose will be perfect for Fall. Here’s what I found:
They are each 60 inches wide!
The first piece is five yards of a black bottom weight fabric, with a wonderful sheen and some stretch. It’s exactly what I was envisioning for McCall’s 7961:
I’m planning to make View D, but make them higher waisted:
There is going to be a lot of yardage left over, and I can’t wait to figure out what else to make from it. Next, I found two yards of this great medium-brown suiting:
It will be so pretty! And, finally, I found two yards of this sweater knit in a sort of heathered black:
I’m thinking of doing McCall’s 7722, either View C or View D (ick! is my response to the other views; no apologies):
Of course, plans always change, so we’ll see. But this is a good direction and definitely perfect as Fall rolls around. I have so many projects on deck before I can even get to these! It’s good to have goals.
I must note – as I was in my local Walmart early Saturday shopping, people at my favorite El Paso Walmart were experiencing one of the worst mass shootings in our country’s history. Words can’t express the sorrow I feel over what is happening in our country and in my beloved El Paso. I am thankful to be alive, thankful my loved ones are alive, but I ache for the ones whose lives have been permanently changed. That is all I can say. Anything else feels inane. God help us all.
As a vintage makeup aficionado, one of the items I’ve never quite warmed up to is cream rouge. After struggling through some serious acne in my teen years, I shy away from anything creamy or thick that seems like it would clog my pores. As a result, I’m a powdered blush kind of gal. Lately, though, I’ve become curious about trying it. If it worked for all the glamorous startlets, maybe it could work for me. I’m ready to give it a shot, but rather than shell out 18 bucks for the Besame Cosmetics version, I decided to experiment first to see if it was something I’d actually enjoy using.
As I was organizing my lipstick collection the other day, I set aside a few that haven’t been been getting much wear this summer:
The first was was Almay Smart Shade Lipstick in Pink-Medium. The second ones were L’oreal Infallible Lipstick in Always Apricot and Forever Fuschia. All three were at least halfway used, but they all have a similar glossy texture that never really worked for me. Rather than waste what was left in the tubes – let’s face it, they don’t improve with age – I decided to try my hand at creating my own rouge using the remains of all three as pigment. I figured that the combination of colors would create something in the coral family, a very 1950s look.
Based on my past lotion and balm making experience, I decided that, in addition to the lipsticks, I would need a little beeswax and some castor oil, which I already have on hand. This would give a waxier, more structured consistency with a fairly matte finish. Really, any beauty oil would work – almond, jojoba, etc. I like the thick, emollient quality of castor oil for a lip/cheek product.
I removed what remained of each lipstick and put them all in a small glass dish. All total, I would say there was the equivalent of 1/2 to 3/4 tube of brand new lipstick. The beeswax can always be adjusted relative to the amount of lipstick present. It’s a bit subjective, I know.
Farewell, old friends! Thank you for your service.
I added one teaspoon of beeswax pellets and 1/2 teaspoon of castor oil. This was a total experiment, but I was trusting my instincts. I really had nothing to lose here. To melt everything, I placed my tiny glass dish on a wire mesh strainer sitting over a pot of boiling water. Yes, I narrowly avoided steam burns. I was trying to make do with what I had, and I won’t lie – it was a messy process. Look at that color, though!
Whenever my Besame products run out, I always save the containers for my homemade beauty products. I still have the empty compact from my Agent Carter powder, and it looked to be just about the right size for the amount of product created.
It is very difficult working with such a tiny amount of something waxy because it wants to harden immediately upon leaving its heat source, making pouring a challenge. There was a little bit left over, which I put in a tiny jar in the fridge, but for the most part the quantity was just about right. Good guess!
When I first poured it into the compact, it looked so pretty and smooth, but it hardened before it spread all the way across. Drat! I took some more and spread it in there with a butter knife and smoothed it out as best I could. It could be prettier, but it wasn’t going to stay that way, anyway. I am now brainstorming a better way to do this with tiny amounts of product. What equipment would be better? How do I avoid burning myself? I’m open to suggestions.
It can only get better, right?
All things considered, the color and consistency is spot-on! It’s almost a watermelon red; so summery. It makes a pretty sheer matte lip color, too. What do you think?
Subtle, yet colorful. I like it.
Waste not, want not. Next? My own homemade cake mascara is already in the works. Stay tuned…
I was already planning to write this, then National Lipstick Day happened. I didn’t know there was such a thing. So, here are my reflections on how I came to love lipstick so much.
My happy obsession
It was July of 2007. I had recently left my doctoral program after 4 years (out of 6) to focus on Lyme Disease treatment. At the time, I was renting the basement apartment in the home of a classmate and her husband while I underwent treatment. I had very little energy to do much. Most days, it took me a long, long time to get going. I began losing weight, not just from the treatment, but from the severe fatigue that made it hard to prepare enough meals. I was alone in Seattle without anyone there to help me. The friends I had made in medical school were busy with school and clinic shifts. Almost all my friendships came to a screeching halt when I got that sick, as everyone vanished into their busy lives.
Earlier that year, I had begun going to a large church near my home that had a thriving group of single adults of all ages, and I was quickly making new friends. There were services on both Sunday morning and Sunday evening, and a casual midweek service. I went to everything I could, desperately in need of building a new support system. At this frightening and lonely time of my life, the upbeat, positive energy was like a cold drink of water on a hot, sunny day.
It was a Wednesday, around 1:30 pm, when I finally got myself out of bed. I showered and dressed. I always DRESS, even when shlumping around the house, even when gravely ill. This day was no exception. I was losing my career, I was losing my health, I had lost many of the relationships I had fostered for the previous five years, feeling the bottom fall out from under my life without a safety net in sight. What happens when you have no safety net, but you suddenly find yourself in free fall? Anxiety clamped me in its vice grip and I was holding on for dear life as everything slipped away and the bank account emptied out, no one calling to check in and no one to reach out to in the darkest moments. I was so alone.
Life could take away a lot of things, but it couldn’t take my style or my creativity. I couldn’t sew or knit very much, but I could adorn myself. Looking my best uplifted my spirit. People in crunchy Seattle had their opinions about my use of mascara and Burt’s Bees lip shimmers. Geez. Church people always quoted bible verses to me about vanity and modesty, so I would just tell them, “Well, in the Old Testament God told Solomon to decorate the temple, and by the blood of the new covenant my body is the temple, so as for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord.” I made sure to flash the rose tattoo on my shoulder as much as possible.
That day, I flat-ironed my hair (who didn’t back then?) and put on my mascara and lip shimmer, then drove to the Starbucks down the street from church where I spent many afternoons curled up in one of the comfy chairs, drinking chai, reading, and people-watching. If I could do nothing other than sit around, I wanted to be somewhere where I didn’t feel completely alone and isolated, where I could watch people bustle through their ordinary lives and feel a connection to normalcy until it was time to head over to the church for pre-service tacos with my new buddies. No one ever understood what it took for me to get there at all, much less walk in put together. Many people questioned the validity of my health concerns, dismissing me because I was “too pretty to be sick,” and commenting on my extremely svelte physique, saying things like, “God must have given you these problems to keep you humble. You obviously need it.” No, really, these things were said all the time. Many people were supportive and helpful, don’t get me wrong, but none of us really knows the inner workings of other people’s lives. As a result, as I sat there in Starbucks that day, I was feeling lonely. As much as the positive energy around my many new friends and new church helped me get through, I was still alone and isolated in my illness, looking the picture of perfect health as I watched my life slipping out of my grasp.
“But you don’t look sick.” Thanks. I’ll be sure to let my doctor know your expert opinion on the matter.
I sat curled up in the chair that today, staring out the window, my heart heavy with sadness, as hungry for hope as I was for a square meal. A mini van pulled into a parking spot in front of the cigar shop next door. The driver’s door opened and a middle-aged woman jumped out and ran into the shop. The engine continued idling, and in the passenger seat sat the most elderly, fragile woman, completely hunched over from severe osteoporosis. She was wearing a lovely, bright red blazer. I’m sure it had fit her perfectly at one time but, like my own clothing, her failing health was causing her clothing to swim on her diminishing frame. As she reached up and pulled down the mirrored visor, her hand trembled severely. She was clearly in the late stages of Parkinson’s or some similar illness. The next thing I knew, she pulled out an aged tube of red lipstick in a wonderful gold metal casing and began the painstaking task of putting it on, her hands shaking uncontrollably, trying her hardest to get her hunched over spinal column straight enough that she could see her reflection. I watched, mesmerized, as she struggled to get it in the lines, some of it getting on her face. Then she pulled out a beautiful, ancient embroidered hanky and wiped away the messy parts as best she could. The other woman returned from the cigar shop and they drove off.
I sat there fighting back tears. I looked down at my own hands, tremoring slightly from the neurological toxins attacking my central nervous system, thinking of the mascara I had wiped off my face with a tissue because those hands refused to cooperate with me. This little old woman had no idea I was watching her; had no idea that the effort she was making was changing the heart of a total stranger. I wondered who was watching me as I lived and moved through my own life, seeing the things about me I thought no one else could see, being healed as they observed my pain at times I thought I was completely invisible. I wasn’t. I was yet one more soldier among so may others, fighting through my suffering in mascara and lip shimmer, a walking testimony masquerading as one more random pretty girl. This woman hadn’t stopped prioritizing her beauty or treating it as shallow, and I determined that I wouldn’t either, no matter what anyone else thought about it, because I was fighting hard to be here, to be able to get up yet one more morning and have the privilege of wiping wayward mascara off my cheeks. I decided that I would work up the courage to wear real lipstick, not just lip shimmers, no matter what random people had to say about it. Because red lipstick wasn’t shallow; it was deeply important, powerful medicine, a triumph in the life of a woman for whom just getting it inside the lines was a major feat. She believed she was worth it. I decided to believe I was worth it, let the chips fall where they may.
As I sat in the fellowship area a few hours later eating my taco, laughing with my friends, I knew that I had already received my sermon. I was not alone, I was not invisible, and I had not been forgotten. I was radiant with the knowledge that I was seen, whether it felt that way or not. Blessed are they with eyes that see. “Wow, you sure don’t look sick,” the guy said to me, standing there with a plate of tacos. “Thank you,” I replied, smiling. “Today is a good day. Would you like to join me?”
Note*** Before anyone out there decides to tell me that I’m going to get cancer from wearing lipstick – don’t. In my former life, I worked in an oncology clinic that specialized in breast issues. Many, many people died from cancer who never wore lipstick, and many people who wore a shat-load recovered beautifully. Not to mention the many lipstick-wearing folks who never get sick at all. Before you predict my death with your ‘expertise’ think about it. It suggests that the many lipstick-wearing folks who have died of cancer are at fault for their own illness. Just don’t go there.
July has been a busy month! And my plans have not gotten any less ambitious or numerous for the rest of the summer! Here’s what I accomplished this month:
I’ve stopped making #makenineandthensome collages in advance. I’m too much of a fickle artist, and get flashes of inspiration in between time. It’s better to do them as a recap. Live and learn…
It’s been a season of pretty blouses, as well as the endless pendulum swing between classic/retro vs. modern bohemian:
I love lots of color and southwestern-inspired prints:
I’ve had fun with directional prints, and a new obsession with bias-cut yokes, faux plackets and buttons:
My Fella got an addition to his large collection of Star Wars shirts:
Retro, full-skirted happiness and some hand-sketched border print details:
I’ve already moved on to my August projects. Stay tuned!
My favorite vintage eras are the 40s and 50s, but since my hair adamantly insists on remaining in the 60s no matter what I do, I have to make room for 60s styles. I find that in the cooler months, the late 30s and 40s are my go-to styles and in the warmer months, the 50s and 60s come into play more. I have no idea why, but such is the way.
This summer is no exception. The shift dresses of the 60s, with their bright colors and easy silhouettes, are perfect for the Texas summer weather. They’re easy to wear, quick to throw on, and so much more fun than shlumping around in flip-flops and shorts. So, when I came across Simplicity 8375, not only did I see endless top/dress hacking possibilities, I saw 60s-style shift dresses with a modern, comfy twist:
I found this thrifted knit at Austin Creative Reuse a few months ago, and the rest is history:
I cannot seem to do anything with a directional print lately that doesn’t involve bias-cut yokes and a faux placket. I’ve never cut a knit on the bias, but why not? I drafted the yoke off of the main body of the dress, using the side notch at the bust level as a guide, then curving the line slightly using a hip curve. On the front, the curve went upward, and on the back it went downward, so the bottom of the yoke would mold to the natural curves of the body for a perfect fit. I really like the result:
The buttons have a diamond pattern identical to the plaid! And, I already had them in my stash!
In addition to the obvious hacks, I also left the neckband off and simply turned the neckline under and finished with a cover stitch. To think, I almost didn’t buy this piece of fabric that day! So glad I did. Next project on deck? A blouse, unless I get sidetracked by sudden inspiration. We’ll see…
There is going to be a lot of yardage left over, and I can’t wait to figure out what else to make from it. Next, I found two yards of this great medium-brown suiting:
Simply Melanie Rose 