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

The lack of any bottoms in light neutral tones is a serious gap in my wardrobe, especially in summer when black just won’t cut it. As in, I have a stupid amount of stuff I like but can’t wear because I have no beige pants. Enter EvaDress 3322, a multi-sized modern reissue of a 1940 Simplicity trouser/overall pattern.

Simplicity, you say? I know, I know. Barely two months into my no-Simplicity vow and already I’m backsliding. I tried, really I did. I ordered this sweet Hollywood slacks pattern from the unimpeachable Mom’s Patterns in March and waited weeks for it to arrive, but thanks to the vagaries of the transatlantic postal service, it never showed up. Are Royal Mail in league with the devil? Who knows. The clock was ticking — it was late May and the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it English summer was due to arrive any day now. I couldn’t afford to wait for another pattern to ship from the US; I had to put shears to cloth. The Simplicity pattern was in my stash, so back to Simplicity I went.

Just to be on the safe side, I checked the measurements scrupulously to make sure there weren’t any of the wild discrepancies I’ve come to associate with Simplicity patterns and made a rare muslin before cutting into my fabric, a beige cotton/viscose twill I bought from Cloth House in Soho. It needed surprisingly little tweaking, although of course this didn’t stop me from compulsively tinkering with the fit later to the point of courting ruin. However, for my first ever pair of pants, I’m fairly happy with the result. I added big patch pockets and belt loops to soften the spartan look of the original design and give me more wearing options.

Thanks to my project dysmorphia, I could point out a whole host of problems and defects that render these pants torturously unacceptable in my eyes. BUT I WON’T, because when I debuted the pants to the two main men in my life and started to moan about all their flaws (the pants’, not the men’s), they (the men, not the pants) very sensibly told me to STFU, the pants looked great. So instead, I will tell you what I like about them and what I got right and leave my FAILs to the “Lessons Learned” section below.

I love the comfort of these pants. I cannot remember the last time I had a pair of pants that hung from my natural waist rather than from a point below it. Starting from the break at the fullest part of the hip, these pants have a lot of ease. They also have a very low crotch relative to modern pants and jeans — there’s plenty of room in there for a girdle, for instance, or a pair of old-timey French knickers. (Ooh, swishy!) These elements, combined with the drapey fabric I used, make the pants feel flowy, full and unconstricting. They churn fascinatingly along the pavement when I walk and allow a much freer range of motion in hips and legs than I’m used to after years of tight, stretch and low-rise pants. I can high-kick in these if the mood takes me (although probably not while wearing the girdle). Great for lindy hop!

I love their versatility. The high waist makes them ideal for wearing with all my 1940s blouses, and I can pair them with modern tops and sweaters to make them work- and street-appropriate, like so:

Paired with restyled thrifted Brora cashmere sweater, £12 (no coupons!)

I like the fact that I got the topstitching on the patch pockets right. “Simple” tasks like stitching a straight line are usually a minefield for me. I also like the fact that I wore these out of the house for the first time today and two people complimented me without suspecting that I’d made them.

I like the secret banjo I embroidered on the inside waistband (a detail shamelessly cribbed from the blog now known as Adventures in Couture):

I like the fact that these pants have jailbroken about half a dozen items in my wardrobe. After a year and a half of ownership, I can finally wear my vintage 1940s utility shoes!

These shoes are more than 60 years old and still going strong. They may not be dainty or elegant, but they were certainly built to last. Here’s the maker’s mark, complete with the CC41 “cheeses” to indicate that the shoes comply with British utility standards:

Like Tabby, the original owner was smart enough to have a cobbler attach protective half-soles and heels to extend the life of the the shoes themselves:

But back to my pants!

This is the most practical piece of clothing I’ve ever made, and definitely the first I’ve made with the presumption that I’d be wearing it regularly in situations requiring me to look normal and presentable. Ooh, pressure. But it is a challenge in its own way to make something that has to stand up against our RTW-trained aesthetic standards for street and workwear. I can see the appeal. Maybe Self-Stitched September isn’t out of the question after all!

I think I’m starting to understand the Simplicity problem (wacky drafting aside). As its name implies, Simplicity marketed itself in the 1940s and 1950s as the easiest and most accessible pattern company for novice seamstresses — its promotional film Pattern for Smartness, which I’ve featured before, emphasizes how easy Simplicity patterns are to use because the brainiacs at the company have done everything for you.

However, simplifying design and construction that much must involve sacrificing some quality in the finished product. Beautiful garments require finesse on the part of the maker — more finesse than can possibly be included on a single instruction sheet without printing it on monster A0-size paper. Therefore, a lot of vintage Simplicity patterns, because they favor easy-to-explain or apparently easy-to-master techniques, make it easy to sew a finished garment that looks homemade.

However, some of these “simplified” techniques actually involve false economies of effort. It’s easier to illustrate and explain how to make a “simple” straight waistband than a faced contour waistband, but I loathe and dread straight waistbands because they are never simple. The necessity of easing the garment into the waistband, for instance, often isn’t mentioned. You need to account for turn of cloth because it is physically impossible for three layers of fabric cut to the same length (waistband right and wrong sides + interfacing) to curve neatly around the waist without buckling or bulging. The traditional methods given for finishing the waistband (fold both seam allowances under and topstitch or handstitch to secure them) nearly always create too much bulk. And it is often fiendishly difficult to topstitch through multiple layers of fabric without creep, even using a walking foot. And on and on. I’m not sure this deceptive simplicity in patterns is helpful to those just learning to sew.

Anyway, despite the fact that I’m learning to understand Simplicity instead of just, you know, hating it, this will be my last. I really mean it this time!

Lessons learned:

• Apply a twill tape waistband for fitting. Any garment that hangs from the waist needs a stable waistband for accurate fitting. Sandra Betzina’s tip in Power Sewing about using twill tape for this is invaluable — I used a marker to draw the waistband “notches” on the twill tape and basted it just inside the seamline before trying on. This also gave me a better idea how much easing I’d have to do when applying the waistband to the garment (in this case, none).
• A method that looks simple on the instruction sheet may conceal hours of struggle. In this case, “topstitch waistband through all layers”.
• Avoid the Colombo Effect by resisting the temptation to tweak “just one more thing”. In my quest for the rare and novel sensation of snugly fitting trousers, I made one last impulsive fitting adjustment that nearly ruined the whole project. I took too much off the hips, distorting the fit and causing seam slippage, and had to let it out again. In the end it left permanent and visible flaws in the project. Ouch! Leave it alone!
• Use the best interfacing you can find. This may mean importing. You can have any interfacing you want in Britain as long as it’s Vilene (made with real paper!), which means I often come up empty-handed when searching for suitable interfacing for projects. So I didn’t have anything in my stash for interfacing the button and buttonhole plackets on these trousers (not mentioned in the instructions, by the way) and my buttonholes are already distorted. Waaah.
• Hemline brand anorak snaps are total crap. I had three people working on the problem and none of us could get the male half of the snaps to stay in the fabric. Avoid avoid avoid. In the end I used jeans buttons.

Coupons spent: 6 (2 less than a pair of store-bought pants!)

Coupons left: 41

Various readers have offered various tips to help me look smart on the ration. Melissa of Fehr Trade documented everything she wore for a month in order to see what garments she really ended up reaching for every morning. Other readers have suggested trying-on expeditions to the shops to discover what suits me. (This works great, although it requires serious discipline.) And several people suggested reading Dariaux’s Guide to Elegance, which, although dated in places, has many invaluable tips, such as not underestimating the importance of accessories, calculating the true cost of a garment by considering how often you wear it and using color intelligently to maximize wardrobe possibilities.

I have yet to catalogue my wardrobe, but a cautious color scheme for the season seems to have presented itself: navy, white and red. Is that staid? I’m thinking it doesn’t have to be.

They’re not necessarily my favorite colors, but personal choice is restricted by what’s available, and the question of fabric selection aside, UK high-street color palettes are particularly dire this year. (Royal blue and coral? Seriously?)

So. Purchases made for spring:

• Cherry-red 1940s heels from Fraulein Marlene on Etsy. Pros: These fit beautifully, go with much of my vintage and modern wardrobe and fill the gap labeled “reasonably comfortable high-heeled summer shoe”. Cons: They cut my feet up eventually if I don’t wear stockings and dye my stockings red if I do. Verdict: Not perfect, but what women’s shoe is? Worth the points. Coupons spent: 5.

• Navy blue cotton pique from Fashion Fabrics Club. I’m using this to make up the 1940s Bestway dress I’m entering in the Pattern Review vintage sewing contest. But whoa! I didn’t realize before I purchased that the pattern yardage given on the envelope was for fabric only 36″ or so wide, while the fabric on the website was 60″ wide… meaning that I way overbought. Pros: Now I have enough to make a blouse, too. Cons: I’m not sure that’s what I wanted. Verdict: There’s no point crying over cut yardage. Coupons spent: 9.

Coupons spent: 14

Coupons left: 47

As Bruce Sterling says:

It’s not bad to own fine things that you like. What you need are things that you GENUINELY like. Things that you cherish, that enhance your existence in the world. The rest is dross… The items that you use incessantly, the items you employ every day, the normal, boring goods that don’t seem luxurious or romantic: these are the critical ones. They are truly central. The everyday object is the monarch of all objects…

It takes a while to get this through your head, because it’s the opposite of the legendry of shopping. However: the things that you use every day should be the best-designed things you can get. For instance, you cannot possibly spend too much money on a bed…

Expensive clothing is generally designed to make you look like an aristocrat who can afford couture. Unless you are a celebrity on professional display, forget this consumer theatricality. You should buy relatively-expensive clothing that is ergonomic, high-performance and sturdy.

Anything placed next to your skin for long periods is of high priority. Shoes are notorious sources of pain and stress and subjected to great mechanical wear. You really need to work on selecting these – yes, on “shopping for shoes.” You should spend more time on shoes than you do on cars, unless you’re in a car during pretty much every waking moment. In which case, God help you.

(The whole essay is worth a read if you have the time. My favorite line? “Someone may accuse you of ‘indulging yourself’ because you possess a chair that functions properly. This guy is a reactionary. He is useless to futurity.”)

Shoes are a challenge, mostly because I’m a woman and finding women’s shoes that are attractive, functional and good value for money is extremely difficult. I can’t take foot pain for granted as a fact of life. I don’t know how other women do. Foot pain from lousy shoes makes me angry, because uncomfortable shoes, like all bad design, are the consequence of choices made by somebody who either didn’t know how to design a good shoe and thus doesn’t deserve their job, or knew how to design a good shoe but deliberately chose not to. Uncomfortable shoes don’t just happen. They’re something somebody else does to you. With that in mind, I approach shoe purchases warily.

I love the tall black leather boot, but standard-size knee boots look like wellies on my skinny legs. Last week, however, I finally acknowledged that the lack of boots was a gaping hole in my wardrobe. I bit the bullet and made my first purchase out of my clothing ration for the year — a pair of knee-high black boots from Duo, in a narrow calf size.

So far, so good. I ended up walking an unexpected mile today (thanks, TFL!) in these boots and experienced no discomfort. The leather is okay quality for boots these days and is certainly acceptable for the price (£50 on sale). And these boots will jailbreak half a dozen pieces of clothing I own and like but have not been able to wear because I had no shoes to go with them. So I am pretty satisfied with my purchase. It was hard letting go of my first coupons, though.

Coupons spent: 5

Coupons left: 61