Another cautionary tale

This is a dress I made I-don't-know-how-many-years-ago, and actually didn't ever wear more than once. I was in a hurry to make something out of this length of gorgeous vintage linen that a friend gave me. (Her parents were clearing out their house to move and she gave me some lovely fabric that had been her mother's.) It wasn't a long length, if that makes any sense, and this was the first dress that fit it. (I think it's an old Calvin Klein Vogue pattern from the early 90s.)

Well, the dress fit the fabric, but it didn't fit me. Its shape and my shape don't get along so well. There are a lot of catty comments and rolled eyes when they get together. Sigh. Which reminds me that even if you are just longing to use some gorgeous fabric, it doesn't pay to jump at the first halfway semi-suitable project that comes along.

This poor dress has been in storage ever since, and it's finally time for it to get out and have a full and independent life, so I've listed it on eBay. (Click on the picture to go to the auction.)

Here's a closeup of the fabric -- can't you see why I wanted to use it?



I hate to cut up a dress to make something other than another dress (or skirt, in a pinch) out of it. So, yes, I know this would make a lovely pillow/handbag/matched set of antimacassars, but I can't bring myself to do it. If you want to, more power to you!

Here's the back:



Hmm. It looks like I should have pressed this again before I took photos! Well, it is linen, after all -- so call this 'truth in advertising': it will wrinkle!

Jane Tise pattern aka "best midriff ever"

Nora sent me this, under the subject line "one more midriff for you." I love the email I get from A Dress A Day readers; the subject line never reads "URGENT PROBLEM!!!" or "REPORT DUE TODAY." In fact, there's a remarkable lack of shout-case all around, for which I thank you.

Anyway -- this dress, by Jane Tise for Butterick. Just as Nora suspected, I *adore* this midriff band. The shaping! Although I bet that point is hard to have come out exactly right. Better make it in a busy print so any bobbles aren't so obvious. I also like the pockets, and the collar. The sleeves ... eh, not so much. But I have come to learn, with y'all's help, that my disdain for puffed sleeves (or, in fact, of anything but a smooth and unobtrusive shoulder line) is a personal and idiosyncratic quirk and not a general guideline for humankind, sort of like my extreme dislike of bananas. (The instantaneous and uncontrollable murderous rage I feel upon hearing someone pop their chewing gum, though? A universal constant.)

Had any of you heard of Jane Tise before? I hadn't. But a couple quick Googles turned up that she was one of the founders of Esprit, back in the day! And that Esprit was called The Plain Jane Dress Company first, which, while cute and having that fakey-homespun feel of the late sixties/early seventies, probably didn't have the marketing ooomph that "Esprit de Corp" had. Or the little inherent pun.

And speaking of marketing, how did I never notice the Butterick tagline "The Fashion One" on their patterns before? I am afraid it doesn't speak to me (of course, thirty years after the fact, what marketing catchphrase would?). It seems slightly off. "Which pattern company do you prefer?" "Oh, you know, Butterick -- the fashion one." Because all the other pattern companies are strictly utilitarian, of course. Only coveralls and aprons to be found there, my friend!

(Did anyone notice that the shoes on the red-dress version are a lot like the black ones I posted yesterday? Oh, and for the person who wanted the style name, they're "Cloudey" by Steve Madden.)

Back to the pattern -- this is up on eBay right now, but work fast, because the auction expires in less than 14 hours. Tick-tock!

We interrupt this dress blog to talk about shoes.

The only problem with the Duro dress is that none of my closetful of carefully-sought-after full-skirt-friendly round-toed kitten-heeled ankle-strap girlie pumps look right with it. I have a couple pairs with sturdier, stacked heels that look okay, but they're not very summery. What the Duro really needs is wedges. So I've been on a shoe hunt. I like ankle-straps (you can walk faster in ankle straps) and heels lower than 3 inches, which are surprisingly hard to find. And NO pointy toes!

The first ones I found were these, from Bandolino:



They're a very nice orange and are very comfy. But they don't look good with the black Duro dresses I made, so I had to go and order these from Zappos:



They were a little pricier than I like, but all the cheaper wedges were, I'm sad to say, fugly. And why on earth is every.single.manufacturer making those Louboutin knockoffs? They're really cute, and make you look like an adorable baby ostrich, but honestly, I think they're going to be dated faster than a beer-commercial catchphrase. Of course, while I was looking for those wedges, I stumbled across these, which I had to buy because they were only $23:



I think they'll look okay with longer A-line skirts in the fall. Right? (I don't think I've ever gotten over my college-days Kinderwhore stage, since I immediately want to wear these with a ratty vintage dress and messy red lipstick. I think probably fun tights and A-line corduroy skirts would be more age-appropriate at this point.)

And lastly, I grabbed a pair like this, only in blue, because 1) it's LIBERTY FABRIC! and 2) I have a skirt that matches it. I have only worn them together once, but of course now I am plotting on how to get more of the blue Liberty (it's a pattern called "Mark") to make a dress that would go with them better than the skirt does. Yes, it's an unhealthy obsession ...




(I'm linking to the only pair of these left online, in "Tomato" in a size 9 1/2).

What shoes would you wear with a Duro-style dress?

Luly Yang Butterfly Dress

Miss Maya sent in this photo from Seattle. Holy butterflies, Batman! I have been thinking about this dress for a couple of days, trying to figure out if there would ever be a situation where I was called upon to represent a marabou-topped butterfly, and sadly, I can't think of any.

The only thing I came up with that was even close was checking if there was ever a butterfly-themed superhero who needed to attend a ball at Wayne Manor, but the DC Comics Encyclopedia let me down. No butterfly-themed superheroes (or villains). There's a Bumblebee, and a Blue Beetle, but no Butterfly. Okay, I admit it, butterflies aren't very tough, and I'm sure a butterfly hero's secret weakness would be GIANT LIGHT BULBS, or possibly small boys with nets, and if you brushed her wings she'd fall out of the sky, but still. You'd think that if there was this character, there'd be some kind of butterfly being.

This idea somehow really appeals to me, except I think that the monarch detailing and the marabou take it so far over the top that you'd need directions and a bus pass to get back. Now, if it lost the marabou (maybe a matte satin ruffle, instead, if you needed something at the top of the bust?) and was made in a heavy greeny-gray with tone-on-tone flocking and beading to look like a moth's wings, and not a butterfly's? That would be something. Maybe something Gypsy Moth would wear. Or Arthur.

NOTE: enough folks have emailed me about this dress that I have to make these disclaimers. I DID NOT MAKE THIS DRESS. More to the point, I CANNOT SELL YOU THIS DRESS. Try this site: lulyyang.com. Good luck!

Super-Rats.

Christie's is auctioning the "Breakfast at Tiffany's" dress. But this picture of it is the dumbest thing I've seen for some time. Why, for the love of all that's holy, would you shoehorn a random employee into this iconic dress, when you could simply pay a few bucks and license one of the official pictures from the movie, showing it in all its glory? Because here the damn thing looks like a dishrag.

Not to mention that often the people who buy these things are not fashion collectors (who want the dress as a Dress) but hagiographists who want something that touched a notable person. The idea of some entry-level employee wearing it impinges upon that aura, I would guess.

Not to mention (as Mary Beth, who sent me this link, pointed out) that shoving a real person into this dress increases the likelihood of accidental rips, tears, and stains, possibly lowering the value.

Feh. Some people have no sense.

Boneheaded move all around.

Manifesto: Dress

Many thanks to Dottie who sent the Manifesto: site to me (I even don't mind their little opening animation -- if you MUST do animation, a tiny movement is best and least likely to make me jump, scream, and drop the laptop). And yes, that is a colon there. It's part of their name. Hey, at least it wasn't an internal colon, like "Mani:festo". (Remember, only PEOPLE have internal colons.)

This is their "farm dress", and, although I really would prefer it with sleeves, I like the bands set on the bias. Am I going to "steal" that technique, now that I've been reminded of it? You bet.

Manifesto: also has a section of their site called "The World of Pants," which made me laugh and click -- always a good sign. And the pants there were pretty darn cute (yes, I can't believe I'm saying this, either). Maybe I'm just a sucker for tuxedo piping.

dress stationery (note that's with an 'e')

Isn't this adorable? Like all right-thinking people, I love notecards. LOVE them. I have an enormous box of them. (And I just bought some fifties-fabric themed ones from the V&A ...) I probably spend more time deciding which ones to use than I do writing the actual notes.

I keep meaning to save my pennies and get some traditional name-across-the-top, letterpressed-not-laserjetted plain note cards, but in the meantime, I might just have to order a set of these, from Rock Scissors Paper.

They also have a lot of other dress-themed cards, including this one, which is my favorite:




It must be the midriff band.

London Fabric Shopping Day Two

Well, I went to Liberty today, where I drove the salesclerks to distraction by wandering around in circles thumbing the names of fabrics into my Treo (to find them again, in case I wanted to buy them at some later date), and by looking at Every Single Bolt on the sale table and Every Single Cut on the remnant table, before buying three meters of First Prize. (The picture here is to an eBay auction, in case you want some for yourself.) I've often hesitated over the "Buy It Now" button on First Prize auctions before, but it's MUCH nicer in person. I am going to make (surprise!) a Duro dress with it. Dark red banding, I think.

After that I managed, smugly, to find the right bus to the V&A, and (not so smugly) to miss my stop (there's some kind of "How do you get to the Royal Albert Hall/Practice, practice, practice" joke to be made here, but I'm not the one to do it). Thankfully, after I beat my way back against the tide and made it there, my friend S. was still waiting, having not given up on the Hapless Yank, which is my preferred archetype when traveling abroad. We gorged ourselves on the fashion exhibition (there was a little tv documentary from the sixties on "swinging London/Carnaby Street fashion" and the thing that shocked me was that they were smoking! In the stores! How times have changed.) Then we ransacked the postcards and went and had a nice cold drink and a poke round Harvey Nichols to pay a polite call on the Marc by Marc Jacobs line (some VERY cute dresses).

S. kindly got me to the right Tube station and I rushed back for the last part of The Plan of the Day -- roller skating. Yes, a city full of theatre and art and every kind of culture imaginable, and I chose ... roller skating. It's a sickness. I found my train and managed to be asked for directions which I couldn't give, a favor I returned after I got out of the Kings Cross station and accosted two of what I thought were the most local-looking women around and asked them where York Way was. "We're tourists, dear," they explained patiently. (I didn't find out from where.)

Anyway, I bought directions and a pack of gum (the price of the directions being the pack of gum) at a newsagent's and was soon pointed the right way. I could hear the music pounding from a block away; always a good sign. I was frisked for weapons (I think they did this to everyone, not just people who looked American) and made it in without incident, where I got my rental skates. They were horrible wobbly things with the kind of speed-closures that cheap rollerblades have, so I asked politely if they had any "old fashioned lace-up skates" and lo, they did! I tipped mightily. They were total early-eighties throwback fake-hightop-sneaker skates but they could be laced tightly and their wobble was completely manageable.

The actual skating area was no bigger than what I could probably manage at home if I made my neighbors move their cars out of the garage (which come to think of it might be a pretty good idea if I sweep it out), and the floor was spotted with pieces of black tape which I think masked dents or rough places. I was looking mostly at the tape the first couple of times round until then all of a sudden I saw the boards of the floor. They must have been a cubit wide -- I think they probably predated the invention of roller skates by quite a few years. That gave me pause (metaphorical, not literal, although there were plenty of people who felt that the skate floor was a perfectly appropriate place to pause). Sometimes you just don't understand how OLD the rest of the world is, when you come from a place where a house built in 1920 (or even 1950) can be the oldest in the neighborhood.

It was a good night for skating. The music was excellent, although what people responded to was funny -- there was an exhilarating Amerie/Beyonce "1 Thing/Crazy In Love" mashup which fell upon a nearly empty floor, but Olivia Newton John's "Xanadu" had all three bachelorette parties rushing to stagger their way around in circles, singing hard. There were quite a few hen parties, which were easy to spot -- they were wearing devil horns, or makeshift nurses' hats, or the bride-to-be had a balloon tied to her butt and was being accosted by a male stripper in the middle of the skate floor. No, I didn't believe it either, but since I was the only one who seemed to find it anything out of the ordinary, I sat out that song and got myself something to drink.

There were many more people wearing dresses and skirts to skate in than I see in New York, too, even if you discount the people hired to skate in drag. They (the ones in drag) were dressed in a kind of cocktail waitress/stewardess-of-the-future getup, very shiny, but it looked a little warm for skating. (I took it as more evidence that OF COURSE people who like to wear dresses -- who, in fact, go out of their way to wear dresses -- like skating.)

I only fell once (trying to avoid someone who stopped stock-still to wave at their mates in a kind of "hey ma, lookit me" moment) and even that was just a skinned knee, so no real harm done, but I figured that even though I was having such a good time that time itself stopped (not really -- it was just my watch that stopped, but close enough), I regretfully turned in my skates and left. I walked back to the station and decided to squeeze the last juice from my day pass by getting on a bus, instead of the National Rail. I find that I really prefer the bus to the Tube here in London. I can't really put together the neighborhood jigsaw pieces unless I see where they match up; coming up from the Tube station I might as well be landing on the moon, I'm so disoriented. With a bus (or better yet, by walking) I can stitch them all together so that the disconnected pieces of the city become a whole quilt in my head.

Unfortunately, as with most quilts, I'm going to have to leave the rest of the pieces in a box for a good long time, since I'm headed home tomorrow. Sorry this is so long; I didn't (as the saying goes) have time to make it any shorter!

London Fabric Shopping Day One

I think I'm going to be sending Stephanie Z. some flowers when I get back to the States, or at least emailing her and pressing upon her an invitation to coffee/dinner/ice cream next time I'm in NYC, because it was HER excellent directions that led me to this insanely great fabric store on the Old Brompton Road. Here it is (note the sign in the window):



I went in at first and was a little disappointed; there's a wall of Liberty remnants, but nothing quite big enough for the kinds of things I like to make:




I dawdled around for a bit and pulled some things off the shelf, but I didn't feel very encouraged. I got up the nerve to ask if they had any Liberty on the bolt, and the salesclerk said yes, forbiddingly adding that it was MUCH more expensive. She beckoned me to the back of the store and down the stairs we went, into what Ali Baba's cave would look like, if it were filled with fabric.

I wish I had a picture of that wonderland, but just as I stopped hyperventilating a pod of women dressed head-to-foot in black chadors floated in, and I thought me snapping a bunch of pictures of the CEILING-HIGH shelves of fabric would be taken amiss, as they would be inescapably in the foreground.

There were plenty of bolts of Liberty, but the shelves were mainly filled with three-meter cuts. I think if you had laid them all out end-to-end there would be enough to encircle the planet, Christo-style. The chadorines and I drifted past each other, pulling down cuts and making little piles here and there; as they made their selections a salesclerk would bag each piece carefully in a preprinted plastic bag, like the kind pillowcases come in. Mine were left unmolested. As soon as I thought I was getting to the end, I'd turn a corner and realize that there were still the wools, or the silks, or another entire wall of lawn, and I'd have to sit down with my head between my knees, metaphorically, until I'd recovered sufficiently to go on.

I finally bought four pieces of lawn (the top four in the first picture above), a piece of silk in one of my favorite patterns (the dot, zigzag, and star print), a piece of wool/cotton Jubilee (the blue floating bars) and some other fabric (not Liberty, I don't think) that I bought just because it was blue and green chevrons in a heavier cotton. (That is going to become the circle skirt to end all circle skirts, if I can cut it right and if I have enough.)

Here's a closeup of some of the fabric:



I did try to pick out things for which I had patterns already in mind, but after a while I discarded that approach and realized I had to just pick up things that shouted "pick me, pick me!" Of course, some things shouted loudly, but still didn't get chosen: I had to leave behind some white silk charmeuse with a red and black abstract chrysanthemum design, as being something that I would have to manufacture an entirely different persona to wear.

When I was being rung up the proprietor (after ascertaining that I was from Chicago) let me know that Allah wanted peace for all peoples, with which utterly sensible statement I found I could not but agree. If he had told me that Allah wanted beautiful fabric at very good prices for all peoples I think he would have also found me in complete accord.

I didn't feel up to any more fabric shopping after that ... perhaps if I eat some more milk chocolate Hob Nobs, I will be strong enough to go to Liberty tomorrow and see what's in the new line. I hope to buy one more spectacular piece of fabric there, and then I'm done fabric-shopping until at least Halloween, and possibly until Christmas. I did think of going out to Shepherd's Bush to see the fabric market there, which was recommended by several people, but I think now that will have to wait until my next trip.

(Oh, and I found a place in London to roller-skate! It's in Kings Cross. Can anyone tell me if that's a bad idea? I mean, the Kings Cross part, not the roller-skating part.)

Infinite Recursion!

Sbanks and Chelsea both sent me this fabric this week. I don't usually wear sewing-themed fabric (it's not that I necessarily wouldn't, it's just that my search for polka-dot, gingko-leaf, alphabet-print, and robot-themed fabric takes up nearly all my time) but I would wear this, on one condition -- that I make it up into one of the dresses featured in the fabric. Infinite recursion, here I come!

The only thing holding me back is that I'm not sure which pattern in the fabric to use as the pattern for the dress, and because it's SIXTEEN DOLLARS and NINETY-FIVE CENTS per yard. (I don't usually pay that much for silk!) I know, I know, it's imported from Japan, but still ... Click on the link to take a look at it in a larger version, at ReproDepot.com.

[Also, sorry not to be responding to comments, but I'm in the UK and the time-shift plus the intensity of packing all my meetings into four short days means that I see most of your comments around midnight, when I escape the work/pub continuum ... I hope to catch up this weekend! I do read and cherish every one of them, rest assured.]

Dress-Buying Behavior of Consumers

The next time I'm at the Regenstein Library I will certainly be logging in to JSTOR and checking out this paper, by John E. Jacobi and S. George Walters. (In Journal of Marketing, Vol. 23, No. 2 (Oct. 1958), pp. 168-172.)

Here's the abstract:

"The objectives of this study were to explore the nature of consumer dress-buying behavior, and to develop hypotheses for future research. Three hypotheses are described: the narrowing process; the symbol-acceptance concept; and the critical-attribute phase."

The "narrowing process" seems pretty clear -- you can't look at every dress. (Well, maybe YOU can't, but I'M giving it the old college try.) And "critical-attribute phase" also seems transparent; I personally won't buy a dress with spaghetti straps, for instance. But what the heck is the "symbol-acceptance concept"? Minds inquiring nearly fifty years after the fact want to know.

And as long as I'm thinking about the hows and whys of dress-buying, take a look at this one that Ju sent me (at Anthropologie). The class assignment is to discuss why one would or would not buy this dress instead of the Tiki Boutique one.

you know, there's another meaning of 'necklaced'

And that meaning is even direr than this one. In fact, I might, in a fit of inexcusable hyperbole, prefer to have a flaming tire slung around my neck than this dress-necklace combo, but that's just because dresses with unnatural and undetachable jewelry (as opposed to beading, which is natural) are one of the (many) things that set me off on a rant. To wit:

Why? I just don't get it. Is finding and putting on a necklace such a chore that one needs to be relieved of it by one's other garments? Half the time the necklace isn't necessary, anyhow, which means that you have those occasions to rest up for the times when you absolutely have to wear one. Anyway, a dress with an embedded necklace is never as nice as a dress without, quality-wise; ditto the attached necklace versus one that leads its own independent life.

I suppose that this is yet another violation of one of my basic rules, which is "be what you are." If you are a dress, be a dress; if you are a necklace, you should be a necklace. If you are a button, button. If you are a belt, you should loosen and tighten; a drawstring should draw and a tie should be able to be untied, should circumstances warrant. If you are thinking about adding something that is only for show, and which doesn't actually function, that's a good sign that you don't really need it.

Thankfully, these dreklaces are akin to other species crosses, such as zedonks and ligons, and can't breed.

"We find our clothes, our clothes find us"

We find our clothes, our clothes find us: they save us from being lost. At home in dress, we enjoy its touch, its crispness, smoothness, softness, texture, its feel on the skin it fits: these pleasures serving the larger pleasure of being at last, or hoping we are, our more glamorous and more potent self. In dressing we enter an inheritance, which may include a new self, which we feel to be a 'true' self, revealed or rather realized by the donning of these good clothes.

From Men in Black by John Harvey (U of Chicago Press, 1996).

Sigh. Another book to add to the burgeoning to-read list. But -- it's a history of the color black! What a marvelous world we live in that has such things in it! Nothing makes me happier than finding and reading books like this one, or the history of the pencil, or the history of welding.

You never forget your first dress, especially when someone puts it up on the Internet

Okay, everybody clap for Sharon, who has made her first dress! It's a Duro, and it's really lovely, especially for a very first effort. (Someday I will put up a picture of me in the first dress I made, as soon as I can figure out a way to Photoshop out not only my unfortunate braces but also the handful of ribbons I'm holding, so as not to have to explain that I was incredibly happy about spending a week of my summer vacation taking tests in and about Latin. Oops, too late.)

She says there are "lots of little errors" but I don't see any worth pointing out (plus it's not like ready-to-wear is ever perfect) and the colors really suit her, so I say again, brava! Sharon, go forth and do it again. The next time isn't so painful, I promise.

The Secret Lives of Dresses, Vol. 5

I think anyone can tell by looking at me that I'm a Tuesday dress, but that's okay. When I was new I didn't like being a Tuesday dress so much. It's not glamorous, like being a Saturday night dress. Sometimes a Saturday night dress would come home (late, they're always out late) and start whispering and giggling with the other Saturday dresses, and I would wonder how it would be, to go out at night, and to be around so many people, all at once. I used to try to ask them, you know, to tell me what it was like, and what they saw, and what a party was like, but they would just laugh at me, so I gave up. I'm not a great talker, anyway.

Now I'm pretty happy to be a Tuesday dress. The Saturday dresses, they don't last long -- especially the night ones. They get worn hard, and they get so tired out. It's okay for a Tuesday dress to get a little worn, but not a Saturday dress. One day they just never come back to the closet, and then a little while later there's a new Saturday dress. The Sunday dresses, the ones that go out Sunday mornings; they last a long time because they don't get worn hard, but they keep themselves to themselves, and don't chat much. They sit a lot, I think, because of where the creases are when they come back. I don't like sitting so much; I like to be up and doing. And of course the suits, they get to go to the city, and ride trains, and have the best hats and even gloves, but they only get to do it every once in a while, so I wouldn't want to be a suit, either. I don't like to be cooped up.

I say I'm a Tuesday dress, but of course I get worn other days. It just seems like I see a lot of Tuesdays. I like Tuesdays. Tuesdays are new library book days, and George the butcher days (he always says how pretty we look, and I know he says it to all of us but I do like to think he means me especially), and carpool days. Lots of Tuesdays we go to old Mrs. Hewitt's, and see if she's doing okay, now that her daughter's married and moved away. Those Tuesdays we often bake in the morning, so we have something sweet to take to her. "Oh," we'll say, "These were left over from bridge group, and I thought you'd like some." I know it's a lie but I also know it's a nice lie. Mrs. Hewitt wouldn't feel right if she knew we baked just for her.

Tuesdays we're usually in a good mood. Sometimes we'll swing by the drugstore, give the kids a dime each for penny candy, and spend a while talking with the pharmacist. His wife died in the spring. We brought him a pie once, about a month or so after, but he cried and couldn't help it and it was awful. So we didn't do that again. But we'll go by and talk to him about the weather and how the high school team is doing and whether they're going to build the new town swimming pool finally this summer, while the kids decide how to spend their dimes.

Tuesdays our man usually comes home on the right train, too. I don't see him very often, because a little before that time we'll give ourselves a shake and say "Time for glad rags, girl!" and off I'll go into the laundry pile, and then a different dress, a dinner at home dress, will come out of the closet. If I do see our man it's not good, usually. It means that the repairman didn't come or the dinner burned or one of the kids did something terrible, like break a window or come home with a note from a teacher or jump off something high and have to see Dr. Michael, and so the whole day is out of whack and just wrong. So I don't really want to see him, if it means something like that has to happen.

So I don't mind being a Tuesday dress. I hope I'll be a Tuesday dress for a long time yet.

Secret Lives of Dresses Update

Lately I've been getting a lot of very kind email saying nice things about the Secret Lives of Dresses series (one, two, three, four) and asking me, with various levels of plaintiveness and expectation, whether I'm going to write any more of them.

Well, the answer is yes, I do want to write more of them. Thank you for asking! The problem is that I haven't been able to spend enough time looking for pictures of dresses that are itching to tell me their stories! My Real Job(TM) has been hectic, my Other Real Job(TM) is sadly neglected, and my family is thinking that in six more years they'll be able to declare me legally dead and collect the insurance.

So -- if you come across a dress that you are SURE has a story woven into its fabric or clinging to its buttons, please send me a link. (Please don't send me pictures as attachments unless they are pictures you took of dresses you own; if the pictures are online please send me the URL.)

If I use your picture as the basis for a Secret Life I will credit you as the finder, of course!

I know there are lonely Ancient-Mariner dresses out there trying to tell us--bursting their seams to tell us--their stories. Won't you help me find them?

The goal is to do one every week or two, while supplies last.

An interview with Stephanie Waddell of AgnesandHoss.com

Stephanie Waddell, of the website Agnes & Hoss, designs fabrics that press my "instant covet" button, and turns them into pillows, handbags, and scarves that are perfect foils for the textiles. She agreed to answer five questions for A Dress A Day ...



1. How did you get into fabric design? Was there an "aha!" moment where you knew this was what you wanted to do?

Ten years ago I had no idea this is where I would end up. I graduated from college with a degree in studio arts, specifically painting and drawing, and moved to Chicago. For several years I worked in the Chicago gallery scene as an administrator while always taking classes of some sort (art history, languages, sewing) in the evenings to keep myself alert and stimulated beyond my job. Sewing was the one that really stuck with me and as my skill level increased I started experimenting with some of my own designs and patterns ... and this led to the handbags. While still working other jobs full-time and then soon only part-time, I launched Lily Starr, a hand-made handbag line using printed and woven silks (at this point store bought). I was just completely drawn to silk because of the material's ability to receive a print and reflect color so well. Because I was hand-making this line I kept distribution down to about 3-4 stores, but it only took about 6 months of slaving away at my sewing machine before I realized that what I was really passionate about were the fabrics themselves, and not the making of a handbag. This, combined with a lifelong obsession with mixing color and pattern in both my clothing and my home, made me realize that I should really pursue the textile angle, which in turn could open doors to a enormous range or products and ideas ... from clothing and accessories to rugs, wallpaper, lighting and so on. This felt so much more freeing to me and so I just dove into it head first. Fortunately I had an art background, which really comes in handy, but I had no textile design experience and just taught myself how to develop repeats, work with mills, etc., on my own. I really wanted my first line of fabrics (and likewise the first range of products ... handbags, scarves, pillows and lighting) to be something special so I took my time developing them. I think in the end that paid off. I officially launched Agnes & Hoss at the New York International Gift Fair in January 2006.



2. The patterns in your collection seem to straddle the line between abstraction and naturalism -- did you find it hard to get to that "sweet spot"? Were you trying for that feeling?

I suppose I was trying for that feeling but hadn't thought about it in those exact words. I always respond to and am drawn to create natural and organic imagery, but also enjoy seeing the artist's hand in a design. I like that you don't necessarily see the imagery in my work right away for what it really is. For example, most people are not able to recognize my Seaweed as it actually is...they see trees or flowers. Likewise, upon first viewing the Starlings print, most people do not see the hundreds of little birds perched on the branches ... they just see a jumble of branches or who knows what. And maybe that's all they ever see ... it doesn't actually really matter to me ... because it is what you want it to be. If you respond to the pattern you respond to it in your own way, like a Rorschach test, and that says something about you and how you see the world. But then there is a secret "truth" behind each design which always brings a smile to people's faces when they hear it. I always include a tag with each of my products telling the "story" of the corresponding print ... what it actually is and how it came to be. It gives a little insight into the print as well as myself and what I'm inspired by.


3. What's your process from going from idea to finished fabric?

I spend a lot of time collecting natural material like shells, flowers, weeds, leaves, etc. I've trained my mind to be extremely alert to these things and particularly to unusual ones. I also look at a lot of books and online images. Often the images are a result of something I became interested in for completely inexplicable reasons ... could be an article I read, a story someone told me, or something I found. The seaweed design, for example, is derived from a piece of seaweed I found on the beach in Cape Cod. On the beach, it was one of a million pieces of seaweed that had washed ashore, but for some unknown reason it just completely jumped out at me. There was something about its winding stem and flowery leaves (if that's what you call them) that seemed almost poetic. Then, once I really glom onto something (currently it's aerial images of river systems) I move into the pattern development phase by working on different drawings, bringing them into my computer and playing around with possible repeat systems, and color combinations. Once I've got the design nailed down, I send it off to one of a few domestic fabric companies I work with that farm the printing out to mills in China and Korea. The rest of the process takes about 8-10 weeks -- 4 weeks to see and approve 1 yard strikeoffs from the mill, and another four weeks to make corrections and receive the production yardage. I'm very particular about color, so if a color isn't right the first time around and they have to adjust it, that could end up adding another 2-4 weeks onto the process.


4. Are there fibers or materials you'd like to work with but that aren't practical now? What's your dream fabric?


I would love to do a line of woven fabrics, where my designs are woven into the fabric. These could be used for upholstery or fashion. I would also love to do a line of rugs, made in Tibet or Nepal, because it supports the weavers and would also allow me to travel there! Regarding my dream fabric -- I may already be working with it! Silk charmeuse (and I use a particuarly heavy weight charmeuse) will always seem special to me. I could invent a dream fabric, it would be a silk charmeuse that doesn't wrinkle.



5. What advice would you give the hobbyist or "prosumer" who wants to start out making fabric in smaller quantities?

If you want to start out making fabric in small quantities the best solution is to hand-print it yourself or hire a hand-printing studio to do it. If you work with a large print mill, as I do, you have to meet their minimums, which can occasionally be as low as 100-200 yards per design but are often much higher. This is a big upfront cost to take on. While I do love the look of hand-printed material and may eventually produce a line myself, I currently have my designs mill-printed overseas because I like the crispness they can achieve with line and repeats.

A One-Dress Play.

INT. ERIN'S SEWING ROOM. DAY.

The room has no windows, and an inadequate standing FAN oscillates arthritically. The walls are covered with half-a-dozen wire SHELVES, on which are piled stacks of messily folded FABRIC. Hanging from the ends of the shelves are several half-finished DRESSES on hangers. An IRONING BOARD and IRON are the to the right, and a green DESK LAMP shines on ERIN, sitting behind an old-fashioned SEWING MACHINE.

ERIN

(muttering) Where's my seam ripper? Dammit.

She rummages around beneath the table.

Got you!

Now I know why I don't sew more silk. Especially in July. Jeebus, it's hot.

THE PHONE RINGS.

ERIN

Good morning, sweetie! No, I don't know where your scuba-diving Batman is. Is Daddy awake? Did you check in the bathroom? Go check the bathroom. No, go check in the bathroom. Did you find him? Great! I'll see you in a little bit. Go wake up Daddy. Love you.

ERIN hangs up.

Arrgh, I cut the midriff upside down! I don't want to recut it. We'll just call it "wabi-sabi," if anyone even notices.

THE PHONE RINGS.

ERIN

This is she. No-- no -- NO, we are not interested in any toner. Please take us off your call list..

ERIN hangs up.

Now I know why they didn't extend the band to the back. I hate easing outside curves together. Feh.

Where's my seam ripper, dammit?

THE PHONE RINGS.

ERIN

Your new bag of coffee should be in the bottom bin of the freezer. BOTTOM bin. Do you see a bag of frozen blueberries? Behind that. No, behind that. Got it? Love you.

ERIN hangs up.

Bobbin, I will hurt you if you do not cooperate. I mean it. I have a hammer, and I will use it. Ah ... that's better.

NEIGHBOR sticks head in doorway.

NEIGHBOR

Is that your load in the washing machine? What are you making?

ERIN

No, it's not my stuff in the washer. This is going to be a new dress, unless it kills me, in which case it's a shroud.

NEIGHBOR exits uneasily.

ERIN bends over the dress in her lap, her mouth full of pins. She guides a pile of fabric through the machine.

ERIN

Don't catch in the seam, don't catch in the seam, don't catch in the seam ...

ERIN pulls fabric out, peers at seam.

Dammit. Where's my seam ripper?

One more time.

ERIN runs machine, finishes seam. Snips thread with tiny scissors.

THE PHONE RINGS.

ERIN

I'm just done -- I'm on my way upstairs.

No, no, it's been a great morning! Wait until you see this one ... see you in a minute!

ERIN turns off iron, light on sewing machine, and desk lamp. She disconnects an iPod from a tiny speaker and puts the iPod in her pocket. She leaves the room with the fabric, now revealed to be a DRESS, over her arm.

The FAN moves from side to side.

This is only a test.

Janet at Lanetz Living has offered us a special Dress A Day discount at her excellent pattern site! 10% off; just enter "dressaday" in the coupon box.

Since I am a conscientious blogger I would never publicize a discount without trying it out first, thus, this pattern, now wending its way to me:




I am happy to report the discount works just as advertised. Couldn't be easier, especially when your fingers just naturally type "dressaday" without thinking.

This is a great pattern to test out the discount (cough) since I never have enough of these easy bodices. No darts, just gathers and tucks, a nice deep vee, and the front facing is actually in one piece with the bodice -- it just folds under. Nothing could be simpler, really. I often take this kind of two-piece bodice and just slap it on whatever circle skirt pattern I'm using at the time ... it's a lazy solution, as there are only two seams in a circle skirt, vs. six here. Just be sure you mark the center front and back of the circle for when you are attaching it to the bodice. (I do it with a tiny snip in the seam allowance.)

This makes up nicely with light cottons, especially voiles and lawns. And if you accidentally buy a little less fabric than you needed for a full circle, there's always those gores, just in case!

what? who? where?

Check out this dress, shot by the Sartorialist in Milan at the DSquared show.

Is it even necessary for me to say I want it? Well, I do. I'm assuming, since it was worn in the vicinity of a fashion show, that it costs eighty bazillion dollars and you had to sign up on a waiting list five months ago (probably in a stark white boutique somewhere) to get one. Well, I say "feh!" to that. Find me a better picture and I'll make one. Except mine will have a slightly fuller skirt. And will possibly be olive with paisley, instead of maroon.

So, anyone know anything about this dress? Other than how great it is, of course.

I also like how (unlike most people I see in fashion show photos) she doesn't seem to be someone who considers three cigarettes and ten minutes of sunshine "lunch".

Go on. You know you want to.

This dress is just so wrong it's right, like dumping a bag of peanut butter M&Ms into a bag of pretzels (try it, you'll see), or like Paula Abdul's "Straight Up," or like Robert Downey Jr. (That last link MOSTLY safe for work.) Like all of the above, I want it badly, but in the interests of NOT filling up my closets with dresses that I won't wear but will instead just haul out from time to time, try on, and leave in a heap on the bed (to the mounting irritation of Mr. Dress A Day), I'm posting it here, instead.

This is from Birdsong Vintage, a seller on the new Main Street Vintage collaborative listing site. (And I have to say ... from what I saw, their prices are really really good. More of those folks with time machines! Why doesn't somebody hook me up? I won't step on any butterflies!) I'm showing you the back because otherwise you can't really see the print; don't worry, if you click on the image you can also see the front.

Anyway -- the lurid pink and green and the busy, busy print featuring geishas and what look like triffids (not that you could tell without invading the wearer's personal space) call to me ... but the tight waist (it's B38, but W26) says "no, no!" (or maybe "cut down on the sweet potato fries!") Either way, it's not for me, but at $45, it might just be for you.

A masochist is someone who

... despite really only liking to make full-skirted dresses (and abhors sewing gores or tiers) continues to browse kimono fabric online. Did I mention that kimono fabric is FIFTEEN INCHES WIDE? No? Well, it is. At best. But look at these!













I either need to find a pattern that calls for ten yards of fifteen-inch-wide fabric (and don't be cute and say, brightly, "why not a kimono?" you wiseacres), rethink my aversion to gored and tiered skirts, or stop checking that website.

must ... resist ... nostalgia ...

Jen B. sent me this eBay link and I am in LOVE. Not only is this taffeta, in a gingham check, with fancy buttons and binding and POCKETS, AND in very good condition, it's 40B/30W. Usually stuff like this is much, much smaller than that. Go click on the image to see the closeups -- they're really worth it.

This dress really reminds me of one of the first "fancy" (non-cotton) dresses I ever made, about ten years ago now, or more ... a silk dress in a very lightweight (too lightweight for the pattern) brown and cream gingham shirting. (I think I even bought it at Paron's, on one of my first fabric-shopping jaunts in NYC.) I used this pattern, Vogue 1573 (sorry, bad picture, good pattern):



And I made view A, which is the lace version (only mine wasn't lace). I did everything to the letter: used silk organza to interface the midriff and the collar, found perfect brown glass buttons, hand-rolled the hem, invisible zipper ... and that was when I was sewing on the dining room table and always had to pack everything up before dinner. (Well, it was either put everything away or convince Mr. Dress A Day that he really wanted to walk down to Arturo's Burritos with me ... we ate a lot of burritos.) I'd be wearing that dress still if it hadn't lost a heated argument with a leaky pen, dammit.

That does it -- the next fabric I buy (that's not Liberty) will be a nice crisp brown and cream gingham shirting, and I will make a handsome, full-skirted shirtdress in honor of Brown Check Dress the First. And I'll restrict myself to pencils when I wear it.

What to Wear: A Book for Women

I have no image and no link for this title: try googling it yourself and see how far you get! I checked this out on a whim from the library, and not fifty pages in I had made half-a-dozen notes (not IN the book -- jeez, what kind of barbarian do you think I am?). It's a treasure.

Belle Armstrong Whitney is the triple-named, strong-willed author, and all I know about her is that she looks in her photographs as if she dearly wants to come take the camera away from the photographer and show him how to do things RIGHT. The book was published in Battle Creek, Michigan, in 1916, and if that is not evocative of an overwhelming urgency to tell other folks how best their lives might be arranged to the satisfaction of all concerned (but primarily to the satisfaction of the advice-giver) I don't know what would be.

Belle (I will take the liberty of such familiarity, since I know that if I had been lucky enough to meet her we would have been fast friends immediately) says such things as this: "There is no reason why when we go shopping we should take what is set before us to take, providing the standard of what is set before is common, and our standard is higher."

She also quotes Redfern ("the head of that dressmaking house in Paris") as saying "Fashion without art is snobbism." Sing it, sister!

And how about: "We need not apologize for our love of dress if we love what is worthy of being loved." (I have a sneaking suspicion that there's some kind of logical fallacy there, but so be it.)

And: "One of the reasons for the kaleidoscopic changes in styles is because so many women wear the same thing at once that everybody becomes tired of it in a hurry. If women would choose their own style, instead of trying to wear what they--the wholly mythical they -- are supposed to sanction, fashions would be much less unstable."

"Every woman who buys poor fabrics helps to discourage makers of fabrics from producing better ones. Every woman who buys ready-made clothes that are vulgar in design, helps to increase that type of designing. Every woman who buys ill-made garments, assists in adding to their number."

"The woman who knows what she wants is not common, and the woman who knows what she ought to have is positively rare."

"Women are not uniform in size, shape, complexion, and social requirements, and when they dress as if they were, the result is most unsatisfactory."

Of course, Belle is not without fault. There are many, many pictures of her in what can only be called "draperies", some with that touch of self-conscious exoticism that makes the modern reader wince. She also devotes three pages to instructions for making a maternity CORSET. (Don't worry, the steels of your regular corset "may be broken quickly when their covering is ripped off.") But all in all, her advice of ninety years ago is better than anything I read in this month's Vogue.

It's been a while since I raved about a collar.

I bought this the other day from VintageCassandra on eBay. I'm sure you can see why. Who could resist that collar? It practically reaches out and grabs you by YOUR collar. (Which of course you are wearing. A day without a flamboyant collar is like a day without chocolate.)

I feel, however, much like the dog who chased the car and caught it. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what to do with this now that I've got it -- and by "what to do with," I mean: what fabric should I make this in? When I clicked on "BuyItNOW" I had a dozen ideas of what would work for this, all from my stash; now I have nary a one that doesn't involve a trip to the fabric store for wide black and white stripes, and that is Right Out, seeing as how I'm going to be at Liberty (that is, at liberty AT Liberty) in London in just a hair over two weeks, and every fabric penny must be saved for that momentous occasion. I suppose I could wait until after my trip to sew this up, but of course I want to sew it NOW.

I think Saturday morning will see me spreading yardages all over the ironing board, trying to make a good match. I have some bright seersucker stripe which would be cute--maybe too cute for a matron like myself; I have some blazing scarlet with large white polka dots which would be tremendously overbearing; I have a kicky abstract floral that might be just a little too busy (hah -- like anything's too busy for my taste!). I'll line 'em all up and see what comes to mind. I'm sure I have something perfect that I've forgotten about, and, if not, I will put this in the box with the other patterns that are waiting for the arrival of Fabric Charming.

What would you make this in? (Don't say "a nice solid," please, it's too, too dispiriting.)

make this dress!

Rowena, over at Rostitchery, not only shows this dress, but shows you how to make it. Cutting instructions, sewing instructions complete with diagrams and on-the-machine photos, further information about fabric choice and variations ... everything you need to DIY. And I love the color!

This is one of those "convertible" or "infinite" dresses that were really big in the late '70s-early '80s and that seem to be making a don't-call-it-a-comeback now.

In addition to the instructions, Rowena shows about five different ways of tying it on her mannequin (plus, for all you "I need to see it on a PERSON" people out there, on herself, playing with her adorable little girl).

I really want to try this. I have some funky stretch pink camo jersey that would be hilarious for this. The only modification I'd make is to cut the skirt into two half-circles so that I could put in side-seam pockets ... this would also be totally disco-vamp in some kind of stretchy lurex, wouldn't it? Break out the blue eyeshadow!

Thanks Rowena for sending me your link!

Happy Fourth, Y'all!

I have no idea where this image came from (and no idea where it's going, either) but I have to say that the idea of having a long, flag-striped TRAIN is startling. The whole effect is "Daughters of the American Revolution Go to the Circus".

Where on earth could this be worn? Pageants? Prom at one of the service academies? (Who wears a train to prom -- oh, don't tell me, I don't want to know.) Is it a wedding gown? I got married on the Fourth (Happy Anniversary, Mr. Dress A Day!) and even I wouldn't have worn this ...

If you want one of these, you should be warned that wearing a flag dress in the wrong place at the wrong time can often get you in trouble. There was the boneheaded teen who decided that her prom would be a spiffy place to wear her CONFEDERATE FLAG DRESS. Heritage, schmeritage, she just wanted to piss off a bunch of people. Also, I believe she shouted "Sequins today ... seqins tomorrow ... sequins forever!" while she was wearing it:



And then there was the Indian designer whose dress incorporating symbols from the Indian flag was confiscated, although she did get to keep her drink:



Not to mention the Chinese pop singer who wore a dress printed with the war-era Japanese naval flag. (That went over about as well as the Confederate flag dress.) Can't find a picture of that one, sadly, although I have to say English-language Chinese movie star gossip is way more fun than the Star or US Weekly or whatever.

As well as this: "... a lecturer at Birmingham University by the name of Sue Blackwell, described as a former Christian fundamentalist now turned socialist. (Her website was found to recommend a link to the site of a neo-Nazi activist.) At the AUT meeting, Blackwell wore a Palestinian-flag dress ..." She was arguing for a boycott of Israeli universities by British scholars; no picture of that one, either. I can't imagine that it was successful as a dress, instead of as a rhetorical device.

So, where were we? Yes, flag dresses are really, really hard to pull off. Even DVF had some trouble:



(I know there are better pics of that dress out there but I love DVF's MySpace-style photo, so there.)

But Dame Shirley Bassey managed it, at the Rugby World Cup's opening ceremony in the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff (it helps to be in front of thousands of enthusiastic countrymen):



Do you have a favorite (or un-favorite) flag dress? Send me a picture. This one right now is my fave:

from my closet to yours (via Holly)

Last week I was ruthless -- vicious, even -- and decimated my closet, in the classical, grammar-prig definition of 'decimated' as "killed one of ten". I rounded up all the vintage that I never wear, and I trundled it over to Holly at Lucite Box Vintage.

"Find this stuff a good home," I pleaded. "I don't wear it, and it looks at me reproachfully every time I open the closet door. Also, I think the vintage dresses and the dresses I sew myself are fighting with each other. Every time I turn around the hangers are all tangled again."

Holly talked me down (and showed me amazing things from her own personal collection, none of which looked like it had been fighting when the closet doors were closed) and took some things for her vintage adoption service (otherwise known as her eBay store).

This one I really loved when I bought it -- it was new old stock, tags still on. I ended up never wearing it, though. First of all, I bought it when I was nursing my son and, well, you can't really nurse in a dress like this, without removing it entirely. And then when we stopped nursing, I no longer had the chestage to support it (it's a 42B).

Anyway, if you can pass the background check and the home visit, you might be able to adopt this dress. Promise me you'll wear it out to snazzy places ...

[Note: I sold these to Holly outright (money which I'll probably spend on fabric; I'm incorrigible) so I don't make a percentage or whatever from her auctions ...]

There are some other ones that need a loving home, too. This one I bought in New Orleans, on a whim, and then when I came out of my oyster-induced delirium, I figured out it didn't quite suit me. This one I adored, but had trouble accessorizing properly (a problem I often have but that Holly doesn't seem to!). There's more to come ...

Wrap and Duro Roundup!

I love it when y'all send me photos of dresses you've made from patterns I've shown here ... I suppose it's like being an elementary school teacher when your grown-up students come back to visit!

Here are two really great versions of the Butterick Wrap Dress 4790 from Rebecca (check out her site for her bridal designs!). This is the fancy one -- I never would have tried this pattern for a dressy dress, but it's really gorgeous:



And this is the "picnic" one -- she changed it to have wrap ties, instead of the front button closure, and shirred the shoulders:



Sbanks made this gorgeous black-and-white version. She says the bottom band was an "I-ran-out-of-fabric" decision, but I love it -- it really works. (Also, I'm of the opinion that "more gingham" is like "more cowbell" -- always appropriate.)



Yvette in San Diego made this Duro -- the color combination is just lovely. She says: "The dress is silk chiffon, lined with some silk I had left over from a UFO, the bands are rayon georgette. I made a few alterations: lengthened the sleeves 3 inches, took out all the superfluous seams (back center seams, side panel seams), extended the facing around back. The next one is going to be in cotton, I’m in no hurry to sew chiffon again, and I am going to lengthen the ties so that I can wrap and tie them in the front if I want."



I'm going to do that "lengthen-the-ties" trick myself for my next one. (And oh yes, there will be a next one ... I found a serendipitous fabric match that has me chortling in gleeful anticipation. "I gloat! Hear me!")

And one last one -- check out Erica B's version.


(She didn't send it to me, but I found it through trackbacks ...) Gorgeous! And go read her blog, Hook and Needles.

Mouret, your way.

I'm sure you've all seen this Fall 2005 dress from Roland Mouret -- if not on the runway, then on innumerable starlets on the red carpet. (I leave the googling up of those links as an exercise for the reader.)

Now, my friends, you can make your own! Melissa sent me this Vogue pattern:




At, one must assume, a fraction of the cost of a "real" Mouret. (Actual math, again, left as one of those pesky reader exercises.) The Vogue pattern, as well, has a long-sleeved version, and one with a pleated hem, both of which variations appeal to me. I also like it as shown, in a Prince of Wales check or some other menswear fabric; much less obvious than a single bright vampy color. And while we're firmly in the realm of hypotheticals, I'd want to adapt the skirt to have welt pockets, with flaps matching those on the sleeves.

What would you do with this pattern?