Pink: C’mon! What does it say? Let me look, why dontcha?

Blue: Shhh! The transmission is very faint. Those egghead boys in tech didn’t realize the powder would futz with the receiver.

Pink: I told them that would happen. Remember when the lipstick camera didn’t work because they didn’t realize the lens would get all smeary?

Blue: I think it’s coming in now … “Proceed to rendezvous. Ignore any Leprechaun people.”

Pink: Goddamn it, they’re drunk again. Oh  … wait!

Today’s dress from Janet at Lanetz Living …

Thanks to all of you who sent this. Also, I was lying about the “without comment” … how do you make these? On second thought, don’t tell me, I will spend way too much time making them if you tell me.

Blue: Well, I told her. But would she listen? No. I even offered to take her shopping for one.

Yellow: I know! You’ve been a saint. Nobody else would have taken as much trouble. I mean, it’s ridiculous for her not to believe we all have invisible couches.

Black: There! In the sky! It’s Superman!

[Pattern on Etsy from Sandritocat.]

I went through a couple of Giant Plastic Tubs of Doom before my recent move, and realized that there were some alterations projects, UFOs, and just plain WTFs that had been languishing, untended and uncompleted, for two moves now.

Looking through the bins, I realized that a lot of these projects felt like obligations, rather than opportunities. Time to LET GO.

If you’re having trouble letting go of some projects, here are some of the handy rules I used:

• Did I think about this garment, even once, with anticipation, since it was put in the bin? If not, OUT.
• Was this supposed to be a present for someone? Did they know about it? If not, OUT. If they did know about it, offer to take them out for ice cream in lieu of project. Win-Win. And … OUT.
• Would fixing this garment involve taking it completely apart, and then figuring out if it could be saved? If so, OUT.
• Am I saving this because I think that someday I will find a pattern that will use the fabric that I will carefully salvage from around the stained/ripped/worn parts? If so, cut it up for bias binding & pockets RIGHT NOW and be done with it. OUT.
• Even if I finished this project, would I need to be a significantly different size than I am RIGHT NOW to wear it? If so, OUT.
• Can you even find the instructions (where applicable)? If not, OUT.
• Is this project “too good to toss,” yet just makes me yawn? OUT. Donate it asap, and think about how happy someone else will be to pull it from the racks of the thrift store.
• Relatedly, if I did not already own this project/item/garment, would I buy it for $2 at a yard sale? No? OUT.
• If this garment were magically finished by the brownies tonight, would I be super-excited to wear it tomorrow? If not, OUT.

I did save a few things from the pile — a few garments that need Pocket Upgrades, but mostly stuff that just needs buttons or a new zipper, since those are easy to bang out. (I’ve got a pleasant afternoon of button-shopping ahead of me some Saturday … )

Should we declare this Project Amnesty Week? Got a zombie project moaning at your brain? (Remember that there’s this thing called the Zeigarnik effect “the nagging feeling that you’ve left a task incomplete” that will wear on you FOREVER until the task is done.) I hereby declare that you can donate it, break it down for parts, give it away, leave it on someone’s doorstep in the middle of the night with a note that says “please love this project” or even (where possible) compost it. Whatever you need to do to get it off your mental stack, you can do it. No judgment, no guilt. Go forth and tub no more!

Isn’t it, though? I wish this were yardage, but unfortunately it’s a vintage dress. (I say “unfortunately”, because it’s in pretty bad shape.) [Thanks to Robin for the link !]

I was unpacking all my fabric over the weekend and even though there’s quite a bit of it, it hasn’t really sated my fabric-love. I think having lots of fabric actually creates a desire for EVEN MORE fabric, since you start thinking “oh I’d love this weight but in this pattern and wouldn’t it be great if …” Lately I’ve wanted (and not been able to find):

• large (like, 2″) gingham check in gray/white
• large (like, 4″) red stars on a pale blue background
• a cute conversation print of tiny red and gray tools on a mustard background (not “Welcome to the curtains for my little boy’s room!” tools, but like those 1930s prints that are so adorable). I want little hammers and screwdrivers and hacksaws …

I know I should just um, find another eight hours in the day and teach myself textile design, but I haven’t found those hours for all the other stuff I need eight extra hours for. And anyway, while looking for those fabrics that don’t exist, I found this one and this one (and this one and this one), and they’re all really nice! (Although I only bought one …)

What’s the most heart-stoppingly gorgeous fabric you’ve found recently? (I’m asking for a friend.)

As much as moving sucks (and it really does suck) it also can be the occasion to re-find things you forgot you had. Like these buttons:

and these:

and these:

The “e” buttons were from this dress, which died a terrible stained death; the black flower buttons were used on a different dress that I can’t remember now; the others are all still waiting their turn with me (although as vintage buttons they’ve had full lives up until now).

I don’t usually start dresses at the buttons; they’re always added in a desperate flurry at the end, where I dump out all my button boxes and hope to find the perfect buttons somewhere in my stash. (I only add buttons in that window between thirty minutes after fabric-store closing time to three hours before fabric-store opening time.) This means that it’s better — actually essential, truly optimal — to have as many buttons as possible, to increase the chances of finding a good match.

As I pack (and unpack) I’ll try to take more pictures …

Yellow Dress: I wonder what it’s like in there. In the capsule.

White Dress: She looks so vibrant. So alive. So … three-dimensional. It must be wonderful, to be able to feel like that.

Black-and-White Dress: When I get out, I’m definitely going to eat the yellow one first.

I tried an experiment last week, and it looked like this:

There’s a lot (and I mean a lot, as I am finding to my dismay as I prepare to move house) of stuff in my closet that I don’t wear — not because I don’t like it, but because it doesn’t EXACTLY go with something ELSE in my closet. So last week I took a look at a few of the favorite things that I don’t wear as much, and thought “oh hey, why don’t I just wear all these things at once?” So that’s what I did. It’s not like they don’t go together, it’s just not the level of obsessive color-matching that I usually aspire to. (Or maybe they don’t go and I’m just fooling myself? But no kindly people came up to me in the street to commiserate with me in my affliction, so I feel okay about it.)

So this was: peacock Land’s End sweater, orange scarf that I think was a gift, although I’m not sure who from (Kate, was this from you, maybe?), black-and-gray gingham 9929 dress (which I don’t wear as much because it only EXACTLY MATCHES either a red, black, or a gray cardigan), and  Fiorentini and Baker buckle boots that I saw on Pinterest and then obsessively searched for on eBay for months, because they are truly unconscionably expensive when new. (I don’t think of them as “used shoes,” I think of it as “outsourcing the breaking-in period.”) I also have them in brown, because they are that awesome. They increase the badass quotient of any day by 37-42%.

I expect that there will be a few more random outfits than usual in the next few weeks, as I’ll be both packing things from and unearthing things in my closet. I really don’t mind packing, and I actually love unpacking — it’s the schlepping things from place to place that isn’t that much fun. But expect a post about my new sewing space — it’s slightly bigger than my current space (if not as blessed with electrical outlets, sigh) and I have BIG ORGANIZATIONAL PLANS for it.

I finished that Echino 9929 I postulated a while ago. I’m quite pleased with it but I haven’t managed to take a full-on picture yet. Here are a few glimpses for you!

The zipper (notice my lovely, even basting and careful clipping of loose threads from the waist seam — uh, actually, not so much):

A fuzzy view of the skirt:

Bright pink pockets:

I’ll see if I can’t post a pic soon, I’m definitely wearing it this week!

I made Simplicity 2226 this weekend (pics coming soon) and it’s a nice pattern — very straightforward, which is good as it’s intended for beginners. (I liked it because I wanted something that in my head I was calling “a Modcloth-esque bike-friendly skirt” — something that looked kind of kicky and cute, but had good pockets and wasn’t so full that I had to worry about it getting caught in my bike spokes.)

Because it was so simple, I pretty much ignored the instructions. (At this point, I can make a waistbanded skirt in my sleep. Actually, if I could be a sleep-sewist, that would be the best thing ever. Wake up to find myself hunched over the sewing machine, having just finished hemming something? Awesome!)

But in folding up the instruction sheets to shove them back in the envelope, my eye fell on this:

INSTRUCTION WRITERS: DO NOT DO THIS.

Leaving aside the slightly unidiomatic “what’s the fuss,” telling someone “oh yeah this thing you heard was hard is just a matter of simple steps” is step one on the list of ways to make people 1) fail and 2) feel bad about themselves for failing.

Because, honestly, zippers don’t just “appear complicated”, they ARE complicated. They require you to have both spatial eptness and patience, which are two things that it took me years to develop as a sewist. Sure, putting in a zipper is simple, but simple ain’t necessarily easy.

I’m not saying that beginners shouldn’t attempt zippers! I think you absolutely should — I think everybody should. Zippers for all! But underselling the difficulty is not the way to inspire confidence in beginners — because when they screw up (and they most likely will, I end up unpicking zippers at least ten percent of the time and I’ve been doing this for DECADES) they won’t think “oh hey zippers are hard, let me cut myself some slack and try again,” they’ll think “oh hey the instructions said this was simple and I screwed it up and oh noes I will never learn to sew!”

Lest you think I am overstating this, I regularly have this conversation:

Would-be sewist: “Did you really make that dress? I would love to learn to sew! I tried to make a skirt once … but I couldn’t put in the zipper right.”

Me: “Zippers are hard! They take a lot of patience.”

WBS: “I guess I just don’t have the knack!”

Me: “It’s really just practice.”

WBS: ::disbelieving stare::

It’s much better to be upfront about it. “Zippers can be complicated, but with careful attention and patience you can get one inserted straight on the first try 90% of the time.” I’d also include a list of things you can do to make zipper-insertion less painful, like hand-basting (some people have luck with gluestick basting, I’ve heard), making sure you have a good zipper foot, always sewing in the same direction on both sides, marking where seams should cross on both sides of the zipper tape (I always do this, it makes a huge difference in getting waist seams to line up), increasing the seam allowance if necessary, and so on. (Has anyone written a “Troubleshooting Your Zipper Insertion” blog post or YouTube tutorial yet? That would be genius.)

TL;DR summary: telling people something is simple makes them feel stupid if they don’t get it right the first time. Telling people something takes hard work but is worth it makes them feel great, even if they get sub-par results. (Psychology geeks: this is probably related to the “Fixed mindset/growth mindset” paradigm.)