It’s been an interesting and informative year. If you’re hungry for more FOTR action, go see Ali at The Wardrobe, Reimagined, who’s taken up the torch. Can’t wait to see what she comes up with in her year shopping and sewing on the ration.

Meanwhile, Imma go buy me some SOCKS!

Red and White Queens

Bowling with bear-mauled Sarah Palin

AND THEY CALLED IT ZOMBIE LOOOOOOOOVE

At the start of the Fashion on the Ration project, my sewing was about exploring history by reconstructing 1940s clothing, much as I like to walk the streets of London and imagine I’m crossing the footsteps of Boudicca, Thomas de Quincey or Samuel Pepys. I did it as a hobby, just for the hell of it, and made random garments too flamboyant to wear for work and too uncomfortable to wear for play. This was because I mentally divided my clothing into Normal Wardrobe (modern, sensible, boring, inconspicuous) and Dress-up Chest (anachronistic, colorful, exciting, impractical). Normal Wardrobe clothing was, obviously, too boring to sew myself or otherwise pay any attention to.

But as the year on the ration unfurled and I began confronting gaps in my everyday wardrobe that needed to be filled, I started thinking differently about this supposed divide. Fabric, time and money were precious — why should I waste my coupons and labor on a fantasy piece I wouldn’t wear? And why did I assume everyday clothing had to be boring — too boring to sew myself or spend much money on? Everyday clothing is, after all, what I spend every day in. Didn’t it deserve the kind of attention, imagination, enthusiasm and budget I’d formerly reserved for my showier sewing projects? Shouldn’t I be able to look and feel good at the office, around town, on the couch? Wouldn’t it be great to open my Normal Wardrobe every morning and see a bunch of garments I could get as excited about as the stuff in my Dress-up Chest? Being on a ration forced me to put way more thought into my everyday clothes than I’d done for a long, long time.

Starting from scratch, I’ve studied up on what styles, colors, fabrics and eras suit my shape, coloring, personality and lifestyle and resolved to bear those firmly in mind whenever I sew or shop in order to keep my wardrobe wearable. There have been some surprises and some disappointments — for one thing, I’ve discovered that the puff-shouldered 1940s dresses and wiggle skirts I love so much do absolutely nothing for me — but it’s reassuring to see my own sense of what I like and what suits me emerge slowly. It’s now much easier to resist a 1930s pattern, for example, by repeating to myself the mantra that we will not be happy together because the strong shoulders will make me look like a linebacker.

My ambition for 2011 is to sew 90% for my Normal Wardrobe without letting my projects lose the magic and fun of sewing for my Dress-up Chest. This will probably mean incorporating and adapting a lot of vintage elements, and treating myself to deluxe fabrics and construction methods whenever possible. I think it’s pretty amazing that we live in an age of unprecedented sartorial freedom and have all of human history from which to draw style inspiration, so I still get to roam happily through decades — even centuries — of fashion. But from here on in my sewing and shopping — 90% of it, at any rate — will be street-wearable. (Which, in very conservative London, is more stringent than it sounds.) Hopefully it will make me as happy as my first bedsheet princess gown did.

Because everything I’ve bought or sewed in these 12 months has had to pull its weight, probably the #1 most important thing I’ve taken away from FOTR is the 90% rule: 90% of my wardrobe needs to equip me for my real life, not my fantasy life. Therefore, no matter how fun it is to perv out on patterns for 1930s bias-cut evening gowns and whatnot, I need to focus 90% of the money, time and effort I put into sewing and shopping time on clothing for my real life. This has been a hard lesson to internalize.

Living on a clothing and fabric ration has forced me to look hard at what clothes I actually wear in order to make every clothing purchase and sewing project count. It turned out that I’d bought and sewn a lot of clothing I never wore because it didn’t suit me or wasn’t comfortable. Mostly I’d bought or sewn it out of wishful love for for the fantasy lifestyle or body shape it suited.

[You mean I will never actually wear that pink chiffon ballgown with 6-foot detachable train??]

For most of the year, this clothing sat in my wardrobe moldering gently.What I reached for, day after day after day, was clothing that fit a few basic criteria:

It must keep me warm and dry. This meant layers, natural fibers and, for most of the year, wool. Underneath, merino tights and base layers were a clear winner, as were cashmere sweaters on top and wool skirts and trousers. I fell madly in love with wool this year, actually; it really is the secret weapon against the cool, damp, changeable British climate, and generations of grannies were right about the invulnerability conferred by wearing wool next to the skin. Single violin: the legions of pretty cotton frocks, summer sundress patterns and sleeveless blouses my fellow bloggers model so beautifully will never be practical options while I live in the UK.

It must allow me to go about an average day in comfort. Unless you are Kate Middleton and can afford to take taxis everywhere, daily life in London throws a lot of unexpected physical trials your way. You can end up freezing at a bus stop, smothering in a Tube tunnel, struggling with a load of grocery bags, running for a bus, cycling on a Boris bike or standing for hours in queues, trains and crowded pubs. Your clothing must be able to cope. I love darling little heels and pretty dresses as much as the next girl, but they can become instruments of torture if worn incautiously. The vast majority of the time, comfortable shoes and warm, layerable pieces carried the day. Single violin: this effectively rules out most heels higher than kitten height, or ever leaving the house without a sweater.

It must be versatile. I adore my 1940s jitterbug dress and it is one of the prettiest things in my closet, but the situations in which I can wear it are few and far between. The two Jalie tops I made from ivory bamboo interlock, on the other hand, I have worn over and over, with skirts, work trousers and jeans.  Unsurprisingly, the most mixable items got the most wear. Single violin: farewell to most of the really drool-inducing sewing projects on my wish list, like the 1870s cuirass bodice and skirt.

It must suit my coloring and actual body size and shape. Harder to accept than it sounds, especially if you’re an inverted triangle who’s just spent hours painstakingly sewing a dress designed for an hourglass. Single violin: the wiggle dress, she and I will never be right for each other. Ditto obi belts, ruched sleeves and anything orange or purple.

It must be low- to medium-maintenance. This means no uncomfortable underpinnings, pantyhose, painful shoes, anti-static spray, elaborate hair and makeup or tit tape. The outfit must not be excessively vulnerable to wind, rain or red wine. I know this rules out huge swathes of women’s clothing, including the vintage looks I love, but what can I say? I will probably go to my grave an unregenerate tomboy. Remember Britches Dottie from the Great Brain books? That’s basically me. Single violin: Even on my super-motivated days I still don’t look as ladylike as Casey Brown phoning it in.

It must suit my actual personality. Frills are out — way out. As is pink, soft pastels, chiffon, ballet flats, Mary Janes, Alice bands, floral prints, puffed sleeves, super-slutty looks or anything uncomfortably juvenile. Like I said… tomboy. I do like feminine looks, but I like them womanly rather than girly, and with a strong spike of the masculine. (I’m digging Steph’s current interest in androgynous women’s fashion in Weimar Berlin. )

This is how frilly makes me feel inside.

Although these basic principles have long been floating murkily at the back of my mind, it feels good to make them explicit and start altering my behavior to follow them. I feel like the 90% rule will focus my efforts and save me a lot of time and money in future sewing and shopping.

Only 5 days left to go!

As the end of the ration approaches (only 10 more days to go!), I’m happy to report I’m still on target. This is all the clothing I’ve bought since my last update:

• 1 pair boots (Cole Haan Brookings — tomboyishly chic! waterproof! walkable! You can pry these boots from my cold dead feet!): 5 coupons



• 1 moss-green pashmina (65% pashmina, 35% silk) to combat chilly neck issues and add a splash of color to a black coat: 2 coupons

Seriously. Seven coupons. That’s all. Which leaves me coasting into the end of the year with a startling 15 coupons to spare.

WTF? I was expecting more drama. Crises over pantyhose runs! Weeping in front of shop windows! The anguish of self-denial! It’s been anticlimactically easy not to buy clothes. Why?

For one thing, being on the ration didn’t change the fact that London doesn’t make it fun to shop for clothes. It’s crowded, hectic and exhausting, and much of what’s on offer is of only fair-to-middling quality, variety and value for money. Meaning that on the occasions when I had a day off and some cash in my pocket, I could usually think of half a dozen things I’d rather do than head out to Oxford Street or Covent Garden in a quest for a decent sweater. I comfort myself with the thought that time-pressed and cash-strapped women shopping for clothes in wartime shortages must have felt much the same.

Your new shoes are here...somewhere.

Being on the ration also made me think hard about the quality of the clothes I bought. Probably much harder than the consumer for whom the typical garment is made. Every time a twinge of attraction pulled me towards a garment in a shop, I started asking myself all sorts of fatal questions. This may be the only new top I buy all year. I will have to wear it maybe twice a week, in various situations. Is it well-made? Is it worth the money? Does it suit me? Will it keep me warm? Can I dress it up and down? Will it go with other things I already own? Much of the time, the answer was No. Being on a ration made me demand a lot more from my clothes — maybe too much for me to keep shopping in the usual way.

Once I started thinking about style and quality in clothing, it also became impossible not to notice that in London it doesn’t really matter if you’re well-dressed, because Londoners ignore each other religiously. This has both advantages and drawbacks. I am profoundly grateful not to have to put up with the kind of ugly street harassment women in America regularly undergo, but I’m not sure I enjoy being Ms. Invisible either, especially in social settings like bars and parties where mingling is half the fun. It’s great that I can stagger around un-made-up and with my unwashed hair in a ponytail without attracting comment, but on the other hand I could also step out every day looking like Coco Chanel without attracting comment. It does take a certain amount of wind out of the sartorial sails.

Don't expect this to happen in Hoxton.

The nicest discovery was that I already had treasure in my closet. Being on a tight clothing budget forced me to look again at what was in my wardrobe and see what I could restyle or refashion. As a result, I salvaged a lot of garments I might otherwise have thrown away — unflattering T-shirts, shapeless sweaters, tired tops, not-so-successful previous sewing projects etc. Some of them are now wardrobe staples I wear weekly or more.

I’ve learned a lot in my time on the ration — I’ll be posting my year-end reflections shortly.

It’s nice to be back!

Most of the garments in my Please Try Harder drawer have needed little more than refreshing and reshaping to bring them back into play. This green cardigan started life as a soft and lovely but rather frumpy thrifted Brora sweater — round-necked, demure and with a bow under the chin. Sweet on somebody, but not on me.

I unpicked the bow, slit the sweater up the front and cardiganized it — stitched a length of ribbon to each cut edge, turned it to the wrong side and worked buttons and buttonholes through center front and ribbon. It’s a fast and easy conversion, but it does require some nerve to take a pair of shears to cashmere. I also reshaped the side seams to be more figure-hugging, as Brora sweaters tend to have a mumsy silhouette. This is a mod I perform on most of my sweaters now — all it takes is a simple straight stitch with a ballpoint needle, and you’ve instantly got a much more nipped-in and flattering shape.

Then there was the beach cover-up I bought from Zara in 2004 and the monstrously unflattering ankle-length linen pants I bought from the Gap in 2006. I lopped several inches off the hems of both, shortened and elasticized the shirt sleeves, reshaped the pant legs and accessorized. Total garments bought: 0. Totally new outfit: 1. Valid grounds for a little smugness.

Next on my list: my new skinny jeans demanded a voluminous top. The Japanese are particularly good at this — until I got my hands on my first Japanese pattern book recently, I had no idea “loose” didn’t have to mean “shapeless”. I decided to convert one of James’s old shirts to a Japanese-inspired smock top.

I embarked on this project freehand. After all, I’ve screwed up the classic man’s-shirt-to-woman’s-blouse project enough times with a pattern to feel I could hardly do worse without one. I removed the sleeves, unpicked the fronts and back from the yoke, cut the yoke narrower to fit my shoulders and then reattached the fronts and back, adding some red piping and dart tucks over the bust and at center back to fit them to the new smaller yoke.

My modifications had made the armscyes smaller, so I redrew the sleeve caps more or less freehand, without ease, and stitched them on. This is against all the rules, including mine, but seems to have worked okay; I’m not sure what the moral is here, unless it’s “Don’t sweat the sleeve caps.” Then I cut a new neckline and finished it with bias binding folded to the inside, put on some new buttons, hemmed everything up and voilà! It really was that easy, mostly thanks to the shirt’s check print. I highly recommend using stripes or checks — it’s like having graph paper to guide you all the way. Cutting, pressing, tucking and seaming can all be done with mathematical precision.

In our next installment: dresses from things that weren’t meant to be dresses!

Summer’s half over and I’m still confused about what wardrobe strategy to adopt. The idea of the season demands brighter, lighter, flowier and more relaxed looks (Already Pretty’s Summer Blackout was a brainwave), but summer weather here in the UK is still cool and variable, so it’s best not to let your guard down. The only place where it’s warm all summer long is on the Tube. I’m fine with a civilized maximum temperature of 85°F – any hotter and my IQ starts dropping anyway — but the unpredictability of the weather makes traditional summer essentials like sweet little dresses and short shorts a gamble.

In the end, I decided it wasn’t a wise use of coupons to buy clothing I could only wear in hot weather, so I made my “summer” purchases a matter of palette. I bought one sleeveless ivory top from Anthropologie (2 coupons) and one beige cardigan from Brora (5 coupons). I also splashed out on 2 meters of ivory bamboo jersey from Eco Earth Fabrics (7 coupons) to make into more tops to carry me from summer into winter. I also spent several weeks attempting to buy a pair of shoes that met my criteria — my budget went all the way up to a desperate £250 at one point — but I eventually gave up and muddled through with what I had in my closet. The UK is Shoe Hell.

Here’s the Anthro top and the Brora cardigan. I have styled this outfit as though the upper and lower halves of my body live in opposite hemispheres, because this is a Thing You Do in Fashion.

Also seen: make & mend jean shorts, 1940s utility shoes

Another Thing You Do in Fashion is to stand like your spine has collapsed. Here is my best J Crew slouch.

Coupons spent: 14

Coupons remaining: 22

Coming up: My make & mend roundup of new clothes from old; dresses made out of things that weren’t meant to be dresses.

This was my exact "model" pose when I was 5 years old.

My stash included some black silk jersey I bought on Goldhawk Road and had been hoarding for over a year. Silk jersey! What a fabric! It was so slinky, flowing, smooth and lovely, and I’d draped it around and over myself so many times in my bedroom mirror with such satisfying results (goddess! Amazon! homewrecker!), that I was reluctant to cut into it, thereby committing to an actual garment. But the time had come — I needed an oversized black top to fill a wardrobe gap.

This is the first garment I have ever sewn that made up in less than a day. I can definitely see the allure of the serger — it lends itself admirably to quick and dirty sewing. It cranks out seams at a spanking pace, and it allows me to work with knits, which don’t require the desperate precision or hours of fitting I associate with wovens. Little machine, where have you been all my life?

This pattern is designed for a thicker, much less fluid knit than silk jersey (see the Slapdash Sewist‘s stylish rendition), so I modified it to play up the drape of my fabric. I cut the bodice and sleeves 1-2 inches longer than marked for a blousier effect. I also cut the hip yoke longer and ruched it at the side seams with clear elastic, because I need all the extra hip circumference I can get. I omitted the self-fabric belt entirely. The result is a roomy, snug-at-the-hips, incredibly comfortable top that works at the office and pairs nicely with skinny jeans and stilettos to create the capsule wardrobe I call “cocktail-sipping woman-about-town”. Because it’s big, black and billowy, it also puts me faintly in mind of the Dread Pirate Roberts.

My companion here will have the iocaine Bellini.

Hence, “the Revenge top”.

(Because I’m bored of shooting on my bare concrete roof terrace, I’ve elected to start making the most of the perceived glamor of a London lifestyle and photograph my finished garments on location instead. This is cocktail hour at the Royal Exchange.)

Lessons learned:

• Don’t be afraid of the serger. So easy to start on, I’m kicking myself for waiting this long.
• Watch out for permanent creases in jersey. There’s a faint fold line along the back of this top that no amount of pressing will eradicate.
• Believe the folks at Pattern Review. They said this pattern’s kooky neckline facing and construction were difficult to wrangle. And they were right.

Fashion on the Ration update: new jeans!

My jeans situation was dire. All my jeans were secondhand and ill-fitting. I hadn’t bought a new pair since George W. Bush’s first term in office. The affordable jeans I tried on — Gap, Levi’s, H&M — were only so-so in fit, which felt like a waste of coupons. So, annual pay bonus in hand, I decided for the first time in my life to try on some non-affordable jeans. You know… just to see.

What a revelation. The jeans pictured are 7 for All Mankind from Liberty. They cost about 2.5 times what I’ve been prepared to pay for jeans in the past — O wicked, decadent, sinful Susannah! — but I do not feel ripped off or guilty, because they are the first pair of jeans I’ve ever actually, unqualifiedly loved. They are made for grown-ups, with a high waist and room for actual thigh muscles. They function like body armor for my self-esteem. And, for what it’s worth, they are made in the USA. They’ve also jailbroken the rhinestone Poste Mistress stilettos I bought two years ago and have only worn twice since then. Hurray for throwing money at the problem!

Coupons spent: 5

Coupons left: 36