So What?

I got a really interesting comment from Xan this morning on the McCardell Update I posted a while back:

First, it has been with great difficulty that I have found time to finally comment on this post.

A real travesty indeed-silk charmeuse sprayed with sizing for this Claire McCardell dress? Not only does it give me the willies, I bet the fine designer of the pattern is rolling over in her grave.

I have had the gut-wrenching experience time and again seeing sewing projects online over the last couple of years borne from people sewing something just to sew something rather than do it in a respectable if not correct manner.

Yours here is obviously such a project. I understand wanting to sew from one’s stash of fabric, but first to mutilate charmeuse with spray sizing and then to do so in order to ‘shoehorn’ it into a Claire McCardell dress pattern for which limp, draping fabrics were never meant, what’s the point? What happened to taste? Do you go anyplace wearing this dress? Is it usable as a garment?

Never mind the fact that the print was not matched along the centerline of the front as San Antonio Sue pointed out on Nov.13-it is simply awful.

As always, I totally support anyone's right to be appalled by what I wear, and to be vocal in their disapproval. De gustibus, and all that, but I did want to respond to this comment, and not just in the comment thread.

(First, I wanted to clarify one thing -- the silk was not sprayed with sizing, it was treated with Sullivan's Fabric Stabilizer Spray, which is washed out before wearing. The Sullivan's makes the fabric easier to cut and sew, but doesn't affect the fabric's "hand" after washing.)

This is the part I really wanted to respond to:

I have had the gut-wrenching experience time and again seeing sewing projects online over the last couple of years borne from people sewing something just to sew something rather than do it in a respectable if not correct manner.

It is the fear of encountering this snobby attitude that I think keeps so many people from sewing, and I think that's such a shame. Yeah, that dress was not the best I ever made, but -- so what? I did wear the dress (to a wedding) and I got some nice compliments on it (from people who didn't know I made it, btw).

More importantly, I learned something from making that dress. It was an experiment. It was an exploration. You learn a lot more from trying something new than from doing everything in the "respectable if not correct" way.

I'm not saying "throw all the rules out the window!" (I wouldn't have made that dress out of plastic grocery bags or polyester double-knit) but I'd rather live my life trying new things (which are not always guaranteed to work) than making sure I only did exactly what's been done before, what's "respectable and correct," and nothing else. If you're only going to follow a recipe, why not invest in a few paint-by-number kits? (This is why I always ignore those "Copy Ready-To-Wear!" articles in sewing magazines. If I wanted "ready-to-wear", I'd BUY "ready-to-wear," people.)

It's the garments I make from weird fabrics, in fact, that have made me the happiest. Camouflage and stripey skirts, and curtain-fabric dresses, and on and on.

But, really -- "gut-wrenching"? If seeing other people's not-quite-right (by your standards) efforts gives you actual intestinal pain, you might want to take some deep breaths and repeat "This isn't my problem" until it goes away.

The designer of the pattern, Claire McCardell, was herself an innovator. She pioneered ballet slippers as shoes, which would have been neither respectable nor correct in some people's eyes when she first did it -- but she didn't let that stop her.

If you're just starting to learn to sew, and you're worried about attitudes like Xan's, think for a minute about what you want more: Making something that's "perfect" by someone else's standards? Or the experience and pleasure of planning, sewing, and ultimately wearing something that's a reflection of you, and not the equivalent of packaged cake mix? I know what my answer is.