I wrote a big ‘ol post months ago about the Ginger Jeans I made…
Side bar: I made jeans!
Side bar subheading: the Lander Pant disaster of a muslin I made doesn’t count and we’re Not Talking About It.
…but I can’t get decent photos of anything on my body, least of all light-sucking black-on-black denim. I’m really struggling to get photos. I had hoped this was a skill that would improve over time, but there’s no light when there’s time and no time when there’s light, and there are no uncluttered rooms or pretty backgrounds.
Ah, well. Here’s my messy, cluttered front porch. And my not-jeans.
Pattern: Mercury Collection by Marilla Walker, view C
Size: 3 waist graded to 4 everywhere else
Mods: I must have short legs. I chopped a lot off. I might shorten them even further to a couple inches above the ankle. Then again, I might not.
It seems fitting (ha ha, pun intended) that after making jeans I would do a 180 in just about every pants-making respect possible. Linen instead of denim, an elastic waist instead of fly, clownishly wide legs instead of slim, a style whose only fit requirement is that the elastic is snug enough to stay at your waist while being wide enough to go over your tush. They feel ridiculous to wear, but they were super easy to make and I’m pleasantly surprised to find I can wear them without them wearing me. Good enough! One office-wear garment done.
Toys are deceiving. I know from personal experience that beginning knitters misidentify toys as “small projects” that will be “quick” and underestimate the skills they require. Toys are actually really difficult projects to get right – there can be more techniques used in a seemingly simple toy than a simple sweater and when you scale down a project’s size you’re often leveling up its difficulty. I don’t say that to discourage anybody from knitting or sewing whatever they like – do it! Toys can be excellent learning tools for all the same reasons that they’re difficult! – I say it in case you don’t have me in your life to (loudly, probably) reassure you, “Toys are HARD!” if you’re embarrassed to find that, for example, the stuffed pig you made with ad-hoc fun fur wings turns out to have more of a sneer than a smile, crooked bum, asymmetrical snout, and 4 differently shaped and sized legs that collectively cannot support the creature’s weight.
Point is, it takes a little more time and practice to develop the chops to throw a toy off one’s needles that you feel proud to gift to anybody but the cat. The good news is that except in cases such as the crocheted hanging clown doll that lived in my childhood closet terrorizing me at night, the trade off to “perfection” is often “character”. And so even though I knew I didn’t have the sewing skills or attention to detail that would make these dolls keepsake-quality, when MJ picked cooed over, clung to, and generally delighted in the Goldilocks and the Three Bears samples at Craft South (well played, Craft South, well played) I thought, well, what the heck. Why not?
Uneven, imperfect, and who cares? They’re cute and good enough and MJ won’t get them until her birthday, but I hope she loves them to literal bits after years of use and abuse. Aren’t keepsakes that retain their condition the ones never enjoyed? Or is that a lie I tell myself because we don’t take good care of our things?
I’d put off the Ogden Cami because I felt sure it wouldn’t work on me. All those pretty floral Ogdens during Me-Made-Made May coincided with a sharp rise in outdoor temperatures (in the Midwest you can go from snow to 90’s in the span of a week) and suddenly the temptation to take a chance on a loose-fitting tank was too great to resist.
I dutifully worked up a muslin and was pleasantly surprised: all I would have to do is shorten the straps. I’ve had a string of successful muslin-ing and superstitiously started to believe that whether I make a muslin or not directly impacts how well a pattern fits out of the figurative PDF envelope. The “logic” goes that if I make a muslin a pattern will fit better than if I don’t. My streak ended with a muslin of the Lander shorts, but that’s a story for another time if and when I go back to that pattern. Trust me, you don’t want to see a picture of my too–small muslin in white-on-white printed quilting cotton.
Pattern: Ogden Cami by True Bias
Size: 6? I think? I made this pre-vacation. Details are only faintly remembered.
Sewists go on about what a great pattern this is for using up odds and ends. To my surprise the only suitable remnant in my stash was the blue linen from my Forsythe Dress. Every other remnant was quilting cotton or too little which left me wondering *again* why I’m keeping it. I was excited to make a wearable version of this pattern and jumped the gun: not only am I tired of this fabric 3 projects later, but it’s a bit too heavy and remember how I was inspired by the light, airy, floral versions? This in no way resembles them so I find myself disappointed even though there is no possible way an Ogden made out of teal linen could resemble one made out of liberty lawn.
The benefit to having made this weeks ago is I’ve worn it and I can report that I need to shorten the straps another smidge. I might even size down; this tank seemed OK at first try-on, but has a mind of its own when I’m actually trying to live life and I can’t abide constantly adjusting, lifting, and tugging so my bra cups don’t show. I’m not sure if this is a sizing problem or a high/small-bust fitting problem, but it’s exactly the issue I had anticipated that made me so reluctant to try this pattern in the first place. Muslins, like swatches, can lie.
Don’t you hate it when a blogger logs in only to tell you how busy she’s been? Yeah, me too. Instead, here’s a silly thing I made, the perfect thing to quickly show you since there’s really not much to say about it. It was an impulse purchase from Jo-Ann. I made it up over a couple evenings and offered it to MJ who didn’t much care. Fair enough, kid, fair enough. I’ll claim it for my own, then.
Chuffy snuck (spellcheck, why do you not like “snuck?” Is this an example of me making up an irregular past tense of a verb or is it an example of me using an antiquated version of one? Leapt 4lyfe!) his Mr. Fox into daycare, one of the unanticipated temptations of having a pocket-sized buddy. Mr. Fox was well received and his friend asked me for a pocket-sized buddy of his own. I took his order, promised to work on it every day (which I did, only some days just a tiny bit), and after what felt like a long time to both the recipient, who had to wait, and myself, who had to do quite a lot of stitching, here it is:
This was the first time I’ve used long and short stitch. A while back I looked up a satin stitch tutorial which, I’m paraphrasing here, included instructions to put your work down and not look at it again until the next day because all the imperfections you see while you’re stitching will not be obvious or even noticeable when you’re not staring at and over-analyzing the piece. Good advice! I knew I wouldn’t think my long and short stitch was up to snuff, but I set what perfectionist streak I have aside and told myself done was good enough and that while my long and short stitch would improve with practice it could not improve without.
When I was all finished I unveiled it with a proud flourish to my son who said, “Where’s Noah’s tiger?”
I’ve cooled on this fabric since I saw that someone online used it to make a privacy curtain for her cat’s litter box.
Also, it wrinkles like, well, like cotton would. I’m not usually bothered by that – I love linen and live with its characteristic wrinkles, and I’m bad at laundry and choose to wear wrinkly clothes rather than properly micromanage the dryer-to-hanger pipeline – but these wrinkles are deep and right across my lap. Meh.
I rather like its fashion’s style, but I’m not sure it will fit into my life’s style so well. I don’t tend to “dress”, which here means owning a variety of clothes suitable for various specific occasions and, this is the part I’m bad at, remembering to use them rather than wearing the same dress over and over because it’s comfortable and already ironed (I refer you to my statement above about being bad at laundry). So while I look at this and think it’s perfect for a BBQ or pool party, I haven’t been to a BBQ or pool party since finishing this dress and probably wouldn’t have thought to wear it if I had been.
I haven’t worn this once since the day I finished it excepting these photos. It seems too casual for the office, too short for chasing after kids, too loud when I’m wearing it, and yet when I look at these pictures it isn’t too casual or too short or too loud, is it?
Maybe if I can disassociate this print from kitty litter boxes it could still stand a chance.
The last time I wore my Wiksten Tova Tunic I had a series of revelations:
Hey, this style is pretty flattering!
Didn’t this pattern have a dress option?
That fabric I bought way back when for a skirt that never happened would be perfect!
I should make a Wiksten Tova Dress!
And I did and it is SO GOOD.
Pattern: Tova Top + Dress by Wiksten
Mods: added 2 inches to the length*
Last week I found myself awake at 2 a.m. too angry and upset to sleep (work stuff) so I got out of bed and sewed it up but for the cuffs. I coulda gotten it all done, too, if I hadn’t tried to get back to sleep between 4 and 5.
I just love this. It’s comfy and casual, but nice enough for the office. I wore it to work with my red saltwater sandals and on my walk to the car after work I saw another woman wearing a denim dress with red sandals. “We match!” I said without thinking, immediately relieved I hadn’t instead blabbed “we’re twins!” to a black woman.
*Folks, as written this dress would be seriously mini. I was surprised when I pulled out the pattern to see that the dress was not a whole lot longer than the tunic. I wonder if the dress is actually an extra-long tunic intended to still be worn with leggings? Or could be that I’m a prude who’s uncomfortable in short skirts; with the extra 2″ this is as short as I can imagine comfortably sitting in. And I really like sitting! I do it all day! Preferably without feeling the seat on the underside of my seat.