A year ago last September, I started a little linen apron project. Very simple. I took a length of handkerchief weight linen, terribly carefully drew threads to make some straight lines, double-folded the hem, and pulled more threads to make room for some lovely, delicate hem-stitching.
Hemstitching. I might die.
And hated every second of it. Mostly I find hand-sewing fairly meditative, but the hemstitching on slubby linen threads (tiny ones at that) was utterly maddening. I should’ve started with a coarser linen. I should’ve used a blunt needle. I should’ve… not done it.
As soon as I could distract myself with another project, I did, and while I’ve tried to return to the hemstitching a few times since, I’m barely past the halfway point.
But, I still did kinda want an apron. A nice full one to wear while cooking (which, much as I try to avoid it, is still something I end up doing with distressing regularity.) and keep my fancy skirts or dresses clean… or just to make the tedium of domesticity a little bit less irksome.
Fast forward to last Sunday, when my friend Diane was bestowing some pieces from her stash on the Victorian Sewing Circle. Being a glutton I took just about everything (oops), including a generous mètre of wide white slubby fabric… I’m guessing a linen/cotton blend. And, desperate to reduce what I was adding to my stash, I decided to transform this piece into a quick and dirty version of the long-coveted apron.
I started (again) by pulling a thread to square the one end (the other end was already neatly torn and I definitely could just have done that but somehow I feel the urge to be fancy with linen aprons?)
I tore two strips from the torn end, the width of the ties I wanted, give or take a seam allowance or two. I cut a piece from the end of each strip the width I wanted the pleated part of the apron to be (in hindsight a little bit longer would have been better, so the apron covered more of my sides. But anyway.) The plan was to have this front piece be double-layered to encase the pleats, while the ties themselves were single layered to conserve fabric.
I hemmed the edges of the long strips on the Rocketeer in my bedroom with my rolled hem foot, which should’ve been quite simple except that something was up with the tension and I had to turn it down to 2 and even then every so often it would birdsnest. It was working perfectly last time… I wonder sometimes if lifting it in and out of its table shakes things around. Anyway, I stubbornly persisted which means there are some parts that look like this:
Spot the stitching disaster.
Other than machine issues it was a quick project.
I wasn’t too precious about the pleating; I wanted a small flat space in the middle and then knife pleats pointing away on each side. They’re… roughly even.
I finished the inside of the waistband by hand, and also the big hem at the bottom, and it was so insanely fast compared to the hemstitching, and now it’s all done!
I was a bit boneheaded and sewed my waistband on the wrong way around, so that the rolled hems are pointing out when the ties are tied. But again, I’m not prepared to undo a bunch of stuff to redo it. It’ll work.
I haven’t had an apron before… I’m curious how I’ll like it. Is it too long? Will I wish it had pockets? Will I wish I finished the hem stitched one? Only time will tell…
Not so very long ago Wearing History put out a new “Archive Collection” pattern based on a McCall’s original from around 1900. And, rather impulsively, I bought it.
Equally impulsively, I decided to get it printed in time for my little Christmas break. I didn’t get as much sewing done as I might have liked, after one of the twins brought home yet another virus just in time for Christmas, but I did eventually start on a tester version.
Now, this isn’t exactly a pattern I needed. In particular it’s very similar to the Scroop Fantail skirt I made in September. But I thought a detailed pattern comparison would be fun! So here goes.
See the more intense waist shaping on the Wearing History pattern.
Both patterns are five-gore skirts with smooth fronts and added fullness in the back provided by pleats. Both have narrow straight waistbands and a centre back placket closure. The fullness in front and side panels is almost identical, although the Wearing History pattern is a little more full in the back panel, particularly towards the hem.
The Wearing History pattern differs mainly in three ways: the back placket is cut on, additional shaping for the waist comes from wide side darts, and the shaping of the flare, which is quite straight in the Fantail, and subtly fluted in the Wearing History pattern, narrower through the knees and then flaring slightly more below—though the difference is only a cm or two per pattern piece. There is a lot more shaping from waist to hip in the Wearing History skirt, something I had to increase in my Fantail by grading to a smaller size at the waist.
The grainlines of the patterns also differ, with the Fantail having a more modern style of grainline falling in the middle of the gore while the Wearing History original grainlines are the old fashioned type where they parallel one edge of the gore. However, the Fantail instructions also mention the variability of grainlines in the period, and when I made my version I used “old style” grainlines to get the pattern to fit on my limited yardage.
The side darts, incidentally, are features of my self-drafted 1880s skirts, based on period instructions. It’s neat to see the mix of older features and sharp new skirt shape in this pattern.
I’d rather the under placket didn’t show here, but that requires a larger waistband.
In my version of the Wearing History pattern, I decided to omit the cut on placket and do a sewn on one. This matches the directions I’ve usually read in period sewing manuals. And that whole back seam is on the bias so trying to keep a cut-on placket square just seemed like a nightmare. Instead I did the back placket basically exactly like the Fantail skirt, except for just making it rectangular instead of a fancy angle.
I tweaked the darts quite a bit to get a hip shape I liked, making them longer and a more sinuous shape. I also wound up making them deeper, at least partly because the waist was stretching out in my thick but weirdly soft fabric; I overshot a bit and currently it’s really too small so the back pleats aren’t lining up quite right. If I redo it, I might sub in a different fabric, like a thin cotton, for the waistband. This upholstery fabric is beefy and where all the pleats stack at the centre back my machine completely balked, although not before I had broken three or four needles trying.
Speaking of the fabric, I almost forgot to mention my favourite feature of the whole skirt. Since the pattern has no seam or hem allowances, you add your own. However, when I was laying my fabric out, I had distinctly less than needed for the skirt, and I wound up basically not being able to add hem allowance.
So, since I basically had no hem allowance, I decided to do a faced hem. This is a legit period way to do it, although mine is a pretty simple facing, and they often jazzed them up in period with additional layers of velveteen binding or stiffening or braid. I would have to double-check if bias was appropriate at this point in history; certainly a little earlier they were perfectly happy to cut their facings straight and just ease or pleat the top edge as necessary to have them fit. But I also serged all my seams here, I wasn’t in the mood to be too precious about historical accuracy.
I dove through scraps and eventually settled on the remnant from this dress (man that was a while ago!), a linen/cotton blend that is beefy but still a lot thinner than my main fabric. I evened my remnant into a nice rectangle, cut off the diagonal on one side and sewed it back on the other… then sewed it into the offset tube and cut a truly massive amount of 10-cm-wide continuous bias. So hopefully there’s another skirt worth of it. Probably it would’ve been faster to cut the strips flat with a rotary cutter and then sew them together, but anyway.
I’ll confess, I wasn’t super sure about the skirt when I first made it. The hefty fabric seemed too sculptural and stiff (despite actually being pretty soft). It sat on the dress form for weeks just waiting for that hem (probably a good idea since there was a lot of bias stretch to work out, but still). But this faced hem makes me love it! it’s such a nice finish. I love the facing fabric and how it makes the hem feel. I think a self-fabric hem in this fabric would just have been bulky.
Oh, and the skirt is drafted for a 41” front length (from the waist) which is pretty much perfect for me but probably a little long for many people. The pattern does actually include original instructions for lengthening or shortening at the hem, but if you want to maintain the fluted shape you should probably shorten by overlapping in two places, above and below the knee. In a perfect world, anyway.
I picked my size based on waist size, mainly out of curiosity as to whether I could make that crazy waist-hip variation work, even if it took padding. And I’m not sad I did, although a more rational way to fit the skirt would be to pick the size by your hip size and just adjust the waist. Those side darts give an immense amount of room to play with the fit, four or five inches, at least, and you can always pick a wider seam allowance if you’re worried about having to let out the waist or adjust the shaping there.
All in all, it was a fun exercise! I wouldn’t mind trying it again in a more appropriate fabric. Though I should really get back to the blouses for this kind of period…
Many years ago now, (like, early 2015) I made a Very Boring Corset. And then wore it To Death. It got altered at least twice (taking in the tummy then adding more shape to the hips via a gusset… possibly undoing the first alteration?
Grommets popped out at least twice; I patched and darned the holes and reinserted them. I gained about twenty-five pounds, and wore it with an unreasonably wide lacing gap in the back. It was the first corset that I ever really broke in, and frankly it’s still one of the comfiest I own. Though the part last summer where it got stained with bright blue splotches from a punctured ice pack moved it a few rungs down on my preferences list.
I re-altered my very altered pattern again last summer to make my Summer Corset, which fits about as well as a girl could ask for. But.
I’ve been wanting a simple underbust version—my other underbust corsets are all very fashion-y, not underwear-y, and I wanted a plain underwear-style corset I could wear with a regular bra, when I don’t want quite such a “historical” silhouette.
So, I took my new pattern, subtracted the bust part, and got sewing.
Mainly last Saturday.
Looks not too bad for no bones
By Saturday night, I was doing my first (no bones) try on. If I did it again I would maybe not cut down quite as low under the bust (raise it 1 cm?) but otherwise I’m super happy with the shape.
Once I got the boning in on Sunday, I was super desperate to get it bound. So I wound up trying to attach very narrow pre-made bias tape (I didn’t have wider in white and didn’t want to take time to make more), in a single pass. I like the low-profile edge it makes, and it might even have worked sewing it on in two passes (as I usually do) or hand basting first, but I was in a rush and with the narrowness of the binding there was no margin for error. So I had to unpick and redo several sections where I somehow didn’t even catch the corset at all, and there may be more to come that are hanging by a few threads.
So yeah. Take your time. Do it right.
I didn’t do a waist stay this time (yet, anyway). I wanted a slightly softer shape. Not sure I like it, but I can always add one later.
Oops, pulled the hips a little tight.
Not much else to say. I like it. The busk sits low enough it doesn’t push the underwires of my bra up into my chest, which my other underbust corsets do. I didn’t have to take this coutil version in in the way I did my summer mesh corset from the same pattern, so that was definitely caused by stretching, as I kind of thought.
It’s comfy, y’know, as corsets go, by which I mean it’s fine for standing, walking, and sitting upright, but definitely not what you want to wear bumming around on your couch. And with any luck it will be perfect for that “fantasy heroine” aesthetic I’m so fond of these days. I’m also excited to try it under some of my 1950s style dresses, but it’s a bit chilly for them right now, as winter has finally arrived.
I fell hard for the Persis Corset by Scroop Patterns the first time I saw it, in the call for pattern testers back in the early summer. I put in my name to test (something I don’t think I’ve ever done before!) but sadly got declined. (In hindsight, I think I’m the same size as the original draft. So, um, probably they had that size tested already.)
(Image from scrooppatterns.com)
Anyway, when it finally came out in about August I bought it most promptly, and ordered a metre of lovely grey coutil from Farthingales…
And then I did about five other projects, but really, in the grand scheme of things, not too much procrastinating.
So, the Persis is designed to be an Edwardian kind of shape, accurate to about 1907-1911. The silhouette at this point was still quite curvy but beginning to tone down on the hips—no more padding or extra structure there. The longer shape helps create a smoother line over the hips. My black Princess Skirt is from much the same period and would benefit from a corset like this to go underneath, because my other corsets tend to leave a visible bump right where they end on the hip.
The pattern has a lot of good fitting information, which is really nice. It has two fit options for the hips, “Average” and “Slender”, and each has three options for the bust size. (And for those who get the pdf copy shop printed, each sheet is one complete pattern so if you’ve decided which hip version you want you needn’t print both, like I did). To my surprise the bust measurement instructions put me in the largest size of the bust gores, since I have more than 5” difference between my underbust and full bust.
However, I also do not have the slimmest of hips, despite them not being terribly visually wide. Based on my measurements, even with the “Average” hip version, my hips were a size up. So I made the size 36 for the bust and waist and graded up to the 38 for the hips.
I also decided to preemptively do a small swayback adjustment. I don’t always do this in corsets, but I find that if I don’t I have a tendency to slouch, and I’ll just be more comfortable overall if I do it.
And then, wildly, rashly, I decided to cut right into my coutil and just go for it.
Why would I do such a silly thing?
Well, on the one hand I trust Leimomi and her detailed sizing instructions. In particular, I wasn’t too worried about length; I’m a smidge short-waisted but corsets of this era are starting to edge towards the underbust so if it wound up too tall I could just trim it down and if it’s too short, we’ll just call that a design choice. Also, corset pieces are small so I figured if major changes were necessary I would just recut a couple of the side pieces. This corset also features both bust and hip gores, too, which can be fairly easily swapped out if needed. (Although I then went and promptly finished the reversed felled seams as per the pattern so, maybe not so easy.) Additionally, I don’t often find corset mock-ups super useful, as the fabric and boning never seems to behave quite the same.
Grommet chicken. No, there were not enough.
However, this decision to fit as I went played hell with the order of construction, which is designed to give a really nice finish with negligible ability to alter. So I was kinda winging it, which led to some maybe not ideal decisions. in particular, it wasn’t possible to nicely tuck the waist stay in behind the boning channels. I also inserted the busk first, as I tend to, but that made sewing the swooping curves if the front panel a little extra tricky. The cardboard-like texture of this coutil doesn’t help either. So I ended up with a pretty large jog at the hem. There may also have been a cutting error involved that I didn’t catch, since the unevenness is so symmetrical on both sides. I’m pretty sure it’s not a pattern error. My stitching is definitely not the best I’ve ever done, either, but I love the overall look enough that I’m refusing to dwell on it.
One more set of bones will support the bust, but I didn’t want to add that casing until I knew what the bust fit was doing.
The whole construction was delayed a fair bit as I got halfway through inserting the grommets and ran out (apparently this can still happen even when you order grommets by the gross, who knew.) I had to make an emergency corsetry order to Farthingales Corsetmaking Supplies. I had hoped to have the whole thing ready for hand finishing by my Victorian Sewing Circle in November, but as it played out the package with the grommets didn’t arrive until about an hour before Sewing Circle. Which was still a full day early, and on a Sunday no less, so no complaints, really. I raced to set the last ten grommets, threw everything I thought I would need to cut the bones and finish off the corset into my bag, ran off to Sewing Circle (a whole other fiasco involving a train and a parade)… and forgot several key items. But still, progress was made, and eventually I got it to a state where I could try it on.
The hips fit like a glove. The swayback adjustment—total success. Might even make it bigger if I made it again. Back lacing gap—perfectly even.
There was a little bit of extra room in the bust and maybe a bit too much height at the bust and under the arms.
So I unpicked one edge of the gusset (the one that wasn’t yet a flat-felled seam), trimmed off about 1/2” of width, tapering to nothing at the base of the gusset, and then went ahead with flat-felling all the seams.
This corset calls for 1/4” plastic whalebone boning, and since I had to do a corset order anyway, I ordered some. It was my first time using the stuff, though a lot of online costumers seem to swear by it. And I will say, it was fantastically easy to cut to size and insert, especially nice when I decided at the last minute that the bones over the thigh area needed to stop an inch or so higher than they did. However, I think the bone to space ratio has to be a bit higher. The pattern includes instructions for increasing the boning in larger sizes, but the size I made still fell within the “base boning amount”. However, there was still some wrinkling over the bust, so I added another single bone there, and I kind of wish there was another row in the back and maybe the one side seam.
I found the busk I had ordered a little disappointingly floppy, so I wound up using a spring steel bone beside the busk, and another one would have been a good idea; the pattern calls for two in this area but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to fit them into the space designated on the pattern. This may have more to do with imprecision in my stitching than anything else mind you. My one complaint about the patterns is that the facings have very little wiggle room if your channels are even the slightest bit larger than the pattern calls for. In particular, if I made it again I would widen the front facing to include the two boning channels that are supposed to flank the bust. This would be much easier than trying to fit a separate boning channel into this small space.
Anyway, I did eventually get the waist stay inserted and the top and bottom edges bound with twill tape.
It’s a fantastically comfy body hug of a corset. The long line takes a long time to lace up, but does look great. I should probably add a hook and eye to hold the extension below the busk a little more closed.
I would have liked to add a drawstring to the bust but discovered at the last moment that I was down to about 10” of the 1/4” cotton stay tape I like to use for this. So I skipped it, and I think it’s fine in this case.
I waffled over the top lace for a WHILE before deciding to go for broke with the last bit of this heavy-duty scalloped lace. It took me a minute to get used to it
On the whole I think it’s a pretty fabulous pattern. The swoop of the seam on the front is unique and lovely; the fit is pretty much spot on. There is a LOT of information provided on fitting, which is nice. The construction as given makes for a gorgeous finish inside and out, even if I didn’t follow a lot of the methods since I wanted to fit as I went.
The worst part, in the end, is that now I have to wear clothes over it!
I probably haven’t mentioned here that my sewing room underwent a huge reorganization back at the end of summer. We desperately needed another bedroom for the twins, which meant moving both Tyo and Syo around; Syo wound up moving into the basement bedroom (which had been the sewing room), and the basement living room became the new, somewhat more cramped sewing space.
While the bulk of this reduction was accomplished via a major fabric purge, a few pieces of furniture needed to leave as well. One of these was my Rocketeer, my grandma’s machine, which got relocated to my bedroom. Its little cabinet tucks nicely under a window now that the space isn’t occupied by the twins’ mattress. I also cleared a little cubby in the closet to hold sewing supplies while not in use.
Closet cubby
Now, sewing in the bedroom is a bit of a fraught issue for my husband and I. He is a tidy (I might even say, neat freak) kind of person. I am a tornado. Sewing is not exactly the tidiest of crafts, either. And yet we both feel a little sad that I’m always running off to the basement instead of spending time together.
Pressing station atop the dresser.
So really, this bedroom sewing setup is an experiment. Can I keep my mess contained, and tidy up at the end of a session? Can I keep the dresser top clear enough to throw the ironing pad on it? Can I sew without every single notion I own within arm’s reach?
We tested it out last night, sewing up a little doll’s dress. (If the twins had their way, this is the kind of thing I would sew exclusively)
It was really nice, actually, with the twins playing around underfoot (and “helping” lots) and my husband playing his video game on the bed. The downside is that 9:00 rolled around WAY too quickly. And then I had to pack it all away, even though I still want to add a ruffle to the bottom of the doll’s dress. I should maybe do the thing where you time your setup/teardown time so it feels a little less daunting.
And the rocketeer really is a pleasant machine to sew on. It’s perfect to have up here since, as my only slant shank machine, it doesn’t share its accessories.
Oh and as for the doll’s dress… the main pattern piece is from a rag doll pattern that wasn’t put away properly. I didn’t have the sheet with the sleeve so I drafted a sleeve to fit the opening. That part went well enough, but this particular doll seems to have extra-chunky arms because the sleeve (and whole armscye actually) is a bit too tight. But also—this doll dress is designed to gather in to the neck; there’s no normal shoulder shaping. Given that, why wouldn’t you just make it a raglan style sleeve, and save yourself the annoyance of setting a tiny capped sleeve? The final look is basically identical. Doll clothes could be a whole other thing, I suspect.
Around this time last year I started puttering gently, barely consciously, toward a mental image—-a romantic, layered, quasi-Victorian-undress look executed in all black. I made my black corset, and then a black petticoat. In between, I also started a black shift, from the same Simplicity 2890 as the corset. Alas, the very first seam I went to sew on the shift, I sewed the yoke piece on upside down. I folded everything up, tucked it in a plastic zip-lock bag, and didn’t look at it again for, well, another year.
But at our Victorian Sewing Circle in September, I finally pulled it out and unpicked the seam, and the damn thing finally started to come together. It’s got a very lovely, shapely yoke, once you finally get the right edges sewed together.
I leaned into the hand-finishing techniques for this piece, if only because the slightly loose-woven fabric has a lovely textured feel to it. I hand-stitched down the underarm facings, and the inner face of the yoke as well. I hand rolled the sleeve hems, and hand-felled the side seams, and hand-stitched a wide bottom hem. I wanted to add lace to the yoke, but had trouble finding one that would follow the elegant curves. Maybe I should just try embroidery.
I find it pretty odd how differently I feel about different hand-stitching processes. Rolling the little hems on the sleeves made me want to kill myself. Hand-felling the (much longer) side seams and bottom hem felt more like an exercise in meditation. And it’s practically the same stitch? Similarly, I can hand-sew the binding of a quilt without a blink, but sewing the binding on a corset fees like torture.
This chemise pattern is geared towards 1860s, and it’s a very off-the-shoulder style. Which I knew, having read several reviews, but still didn’t adjust for. Silly past Tanit. So it’s, um, WAY off the shoulders. I think I may go in and take 4” or so out of the back so it will sit a little better.
Just a LITTLE off the shoulders.
I added a button a little higher up than maybe designed for, in the hopes of keeping it SLIGHTLY in place. (I may go back and change the button, though, this one is glass but it just looks white which wasn’t what I wanted. Now I just need to find my black corset, which has been mysteriously AWOL for several months, so I can model it properly. Though I suppose this too-small costume one will work in a pinch
But no whimsical Hallowe’en ensemble would be complete without…
I’m honestly not sure when or where I acquired this pattern. I am quite sure I didn’t purchase it. But it looks like good solid fun.
It is, um, a little quirky.
The first glitch came with the cutting layout, where the pattern instructions show it being cut out on the lengthwise fold. These gigantic pattern pieces are not being cut on the fold for any normal-width (by which I mean 60”) fabric. Incidentally, the best idea wound up being to fold my (non-directional, thankfully) fabric in half crosswise, and arrange the two main cloak pieces going in opposite directions, then cut the hood from the remnants. I wound up with around a metre extra for the outer fabric, and the merest scraps of my purple lining.
There are three views, each with its own hood. One has a square back forming a small point, one an exaggerated point with a tassel, and the third is… unlike any hood pattern I have ever seen. It’s shaped more like the petal of a flower. I can only imagine it is meant to create a wide, fluttering kind of hood. I might even try it out sometime. Just not for this one.
Ok the hood is still pretty extra.
I wasn’t super into the square back hood of View A, but I figured I would just round off the little point into a smooth curve and all would be fine. Which it is, but really I should just have pulled out the hood for McCall’s M6800, because that is my favourite hood of all time, and this one ended up being just a little bit short of it. They’re very similar, with a pleat to tuck the extra fullness into the neckline, but the Simplicity hood is just a little less voluminous. It’s fine, just not quite as extra. Which is odd considering this is a costume pattern and McCall’s 6800 is an everyday kind of coat pattern. I do love the body the combination of coating and Kasha lining has.
Oh and I noticed as I was putting away the pattern pieces that the hood I used (view A, again) was actually supposed to be cut on the bias. Weird, but again I can’t help wondering exactly what difference that would’ve made. Something to try in the future, perhaps.
There isn’t much to say about the rest of the cloak construction—it’s a lot of long, straight seams. The shoulders are a wee bit wide but then I was cutting the XL size since it was already cut out and I always hate to lose the larger sizes but also there’s no way I was tracing out those giant pattern pieces. I figured I would narrow them if I felt it was a problem (which wouldn’t be hard) but honestly if I wasn’t looking for the problem I don’t think I would have noticed.
The length is GENEROUS. The envelope pictures show a cloak trailing artistically on the ground and they are not wrong. I’m more likely to be adding at least 2” in length to stuff, and it still trails on the ground on me; I’m wearing 2” heels in these photos and took a roughly 3” hem and it still brushes the ground.
I decided to use some purple bias binding from stash to cover the edge of the hem, since what else am I going to use it for? It’s a lot brighter than the lining, though. I tugged on the binding and eased the wool underneath as I sewed it on by machine, so it gathers my curved hem in nicely (maybe a little too much? My tension wasn’t terribly even, either). Then I took a deep breath and hand-stitched a good 4m of hem. Ouch! I machine stitched the lining about 1/2” shorter than the outer hem, and if I am a good girl I will make some little thread chains to connect the two at the seams, but I haven’t done it yet. I didn’t even look at the pattern instructions for hemming; I opted for separate lining hems as this is what I use in coats with wide, flowing hems and I think it lets the fabrics move the best.
After much waffling, I decided to close it with a button and buttonhole; I didn’t want to do the ties the pattern calls for. I would’ve loved a metal sew-on clasp but didn’t have one on hand, and some kind of tab and button seemed a bit overworked.
You have no idea how much time I spent trying to shoo cats out of this picture.
I’m more used to sewing coats than cloaks (I say as I haven’t sewn a fullblown coat in at least five or six years) so some parts of the construction felt weird, like the lack of interfacing and facings. I’m glad this pattern didn’t have facings, as it’s a huge fabric hog already, but it still felt weird to be understitching the lining right at the edge of the cloak. Yes, it will peek out. Yes, that’s ok.
It’s not a very full cloak, actually, despite being a massive fabric hog It’s a half-circle, actually. I don’t even want to think about how much fabric a full circle this size would take). You can’t put your hands on your hips without it gaping open. However, it does hang nicely closed with arms at sides. And looks best thrown back over the shoulders anyway, I discovered.
And now that it’s done it might be making me the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.
The black corset showed up at the last possible second, after I had turned most of the house upside down looking for it, in a place I had checked several times before. So here’s a quick peek at the final look, or something like it:
Still need to decide if I want to add witchy hat or vampire fangs.
And also figure out how to be so extra I can wear this cape in everyday life.
Once upon a time, long, long ago, back around the beginning of summer, the twins stumbled on McCall’s M6141 in my collection. Why did I show it to them? I’m not at all sure. I think I had just watched Angela Clayton’s video about a “historically accurate Rapunzel” outfit and thought they might enjoy it, as that is one of their favourite princesses, after Elsa and Anna of course.
At any rate, the demands were instant. Tris wanted the pink version and River wanted the blue. They haven’t really figured out that pattern envelopes are just a jumping-off point. Anyway.
By some miracle, we found fabric more-or-less appropriate for each look, from a variety of remnants and ends in stash. Note: despite the small size and contrast elements, this is not a remnant-friendly pattern. The skirt is large and sweeping and so are those sleeves. River’s fabric was a couple of different cottons with embroidery (why I picked up those pieces when I never wear those colours, I couldn’t tell you). For Tris, I pulled the last of the fabric from this costume of Ebi’s for the contrast, and then cried a little as I cut into an assortment of pink satin remnants for the main fabric, because man I hate sewing with satin. (Please note:: most of these remnants were actually pieces given to me, which I had hemmed and kept in the twins’ dress up box, where they served any number of impromptu functions. I do not stash pink satin if I can avoid it.) I used white broadcloth for the lining, because I have a ton of it purchased for just such uses.
I set to work tracing out the pattern, since I needed the smallest size. Except. Have I mentioned how much I hate Big 4 costume patterns? I generally hate all their costume patterns. Not for the designs, obviously, but for the shortcuts they almost always take in their drafting. Halfway through my dutiful tracing out I realized that the shortcut the company had made with this pattern was to completely bypass grading the skirt and the larger pattern pieces of the sleeves, relying instead on the gathering to have the same size pieces fit from a kids size 3 to 8. Not even “cut here” lines for separate lengths—just instructions to use the lengthen/shorten lines to get the right length.
Not impressed, McCall’s.
Anyway, once my irritation had passed, I moved on to cutting out. I wanted to make the dress considerably more adjustable than intended, so I modified the front quite a bit. Instead of cutting the princess seams, I made the side front piece into an over-layer with grommets for lacing at the front, and then Frankensteined a single-piece under layer from the contrast fabric.
I ran into some hard limitations on fabric for River’s and had to omit one of the back panels of the skirt. Thanks to the fact that the skirt was drafted in a size 8, though, this worked just fine, though she doesn’t have much gathering in the back. I did take up a little bit of fullness by adding a pleat where the contrast fabric joins the regular fabric, to hopefully add to that over layer/underlayer illusion.
The rest of the construction didn’t irk me too much. The pattern calls for lacing up the back. I was not going to do that. So they are pull on at the moment but may get back zippers added at some point. The puff sleeve was constructed pretty much as expected, though I did modify the length of the “ribbons” to make them a little shorter than the layer they are on top of.
The puff also made setting in the sleeve easy. I also skipped lining the lower sleeve. Due to fabric limitations I had to cut the sleeves from the “contrast” fabric, but I think the look works fine this way.
Tris’s dress was all the same except on hard mode: slippery satin (some of which is terrible quality) that frays at the slightest touch.
I had a remnant of pink jacquard with this black and gold pattern in stash—only enough for the bodice, however. The skirt is cut from two different satin pieces, one of which was a pretty decent crepe back satin but the other one (the back of the skirt) is that crappy and terrible Hallowe’en satin that makes me want to cry. Maybe I’ll replace it someday. (Not likely)
I had hopes of finishing these in time for their birthday at the end of summer, and I came close, but then the day of their birthday we took them to Costco and they saw the princess dresses there and were super excited and their dad is a pushover and bought them four. And despite all being made of nasty polyester they are actually really intricate and well made, and I’m pretty angry on behalf of whatever skilled seamstresses (because it’s almost certainly women) who were paid a pittance so that Costco could sell the dresses for $40. But anyway, that’s a different rant. I was a bit annoyed that the purchase basically undercut my hard work on their dresses, but also I’m not sure what the theoretical maximum number of princess dresses the twins would wear if they could is… it’s definitely higher than six. I did, however, give myself permission to not push to get the dresses finished. So it took until, um, not quite Hallowe’em. Except not really because River’s dress is still lacking trim, but I think she’s forgotten that’s a problem so I’m not going to bring it up.
Anyway, they are pretty happy with the dresses, though I doubt they’ll fully displace the beloved Elsa and Anna dresses. I, of course, prefer River’s since it isn’t polyester, but they each seem to like theirs best which is always the hope now that they don’t like wearing the same thing.
I was not about to do back lacing as the pattern called for, but I probably should have added a back zipper. Because they were pretty oversized (even cutting the size 3 for my four year olds), I just made them pull on and then tighten with the lacing, but it takes some wiggling. Tris’s is “zipper ready” in that it has a back seam I finished and just zig-zagged up. River’s, though, due to my fabric shortage is cut on the fold. But that’s problem for future Tanit.
I also didn’t hem River’s dress quite as ridiculously deep. I cut the full length as drafted in the pattern, which as I mentioned didn’t grade the skirt length, figuring it would be better to be able to lengthen the hem as they grow. Which is true, in the theoretical case where I actually do it. We’ll see how that plays out. Anyway.
I am definitely glad I added the front lacing, as it makes the fit so much nicer and more adjustable, though it doesn’t really play well with the necklines of the under-layer. You can see some of the size difference between Tris and River, even in bone structure, in the fact that Tris has a nice wide gap in her lacing, while River’s still laces closed.
So, were they worth it? I’m glad to have used some scraps from stash, especially the pink brocade. They were a LOT of work, to still end up less fancy than the ones from the store. But I’m also glad we purchased the other dresses. Because I really don’t want to create a whole wardrobe of princess dresses.
I mean, let’s not get too deep into the definition of “need,” especially when discussing costuming.
The Fantail is an 1890s-1900s five gored skirt pattern. Which is also totally wearable as an everyday skirt… at least if, like me, you’ve strayed far down the garden path of “WTF is she wearing?”
So wearable, in fact, that I have several others almost exactly like it. The Edwardian Walking Skirt (Folkwear pattern) that my mom made back in the 80s or early 90s, for one. (And yes, i still have the tissue pattern she traced off the original she borrowed from the library.) The grey gored skirt I made a couple of years ago that I wore like crazy last winter, for another. And three or four more long, gored skirts of various iterations.
But it is also a skirt style I wore constantly last winter and, well, winter is coming. And I had purchased the Fantail back in the spring when Scroop had a big sale to raise money for some unexpected expenses. And then one of my Victorian Sewing buddies was destashing some this gorgeous twill “denim” (not really denim, it’s fairly loosely woven and very soft. But it does have a twill weave, and white threads in one direction.) And it just really needed to be this kind of skirt.
So, just before my birthday, I got the pattern printed out. I didn’t actually get to work on it for my birthday, but not too long after I started poking away at the project.
This kind of skirt is really, really simple, and it went together quite quickly. As per the instructions, I graded between my hip size and the waist size I wanted, and I’m glad I did as it meant I didn’t have to fuss with adjusting the perfect pleats to fit a different waist size
The fabric wasn’t overly wide, and I wanted to use it as efficiently as possible. This style of skirt straddles the evolution of grainlines from the gored skirts of the 1880s where it was standard to have one edge of the gore on the straight grain and one on the bias, to something closer to a modern, centred grainline, to allow the fabric to hang better. Maybe I should care more about the hang of my skirts, but as the pattern says, grainlines are suggestions. So I angled my side and back gores so that they fitted best on the un-folded fabric. No regrets so far. It’s not zero waste, but the amount of waste is minimal.
Back placket, two sides.
It took me a bit to figure out the instructions for the back placket, and I did manage to cut one of the facings wrong way round (though it’s on the inside so I didn’t bother to recut it). It isn’t hard, or even unclear, particularly, but everything is very side specific and there are some acronyms in the instructions that aren’t instantly comprehensible. Once I understood what they were getting at it was fine.
Other than that? Easy peasy. And those back pleats? To die for.
Pinned closed at not quite the right angle in this pic. Still gorgeous pleats.
I did use some very modern construction shortcuts: overlocked seams, machine blind-stitched hem, leaving the selvedge exposed on the inside of the waistband.
We were (are) in the process of moving the whole sewing room, so I didn’t have a lot of bandwidth for authentic detailing.
I also couldn’t find the heavy-duty hooks and bars I bought specifically so I would have them around next time I made a skirt like this, but hopefully these two traditional (and vintage) hook & eyes will do the job. I was waffling a bit about adding a touch of topstitching to the skirt, just as a nod to the denim look of the fabric, so when I realized that topstitching was an integral part of the placket, I just went with it, a little line along each vertical seam (except the centre back.)
To hem, I used my favourite trick (when I don’t feel the need to be historical) and cranked up the differential feed on the serger while finishing the bottom edge. This gathers in the lower edge for you, which makes folding up and easing in the hem super easy. Unfortunately (?) I was doing it on the new-to-me serger handed down from an amazing reader, and the differential feed on this machine is a lot more effective than the one on my old serger, so it wound up gathered in a bit too much, which took some massaging. But it made the machine-blind-stitched hem super easy!
One thing the pattern lacks is a pocket. I’m honestly not sure how common they were in this period, with the narrower skirts clinging over the hips, but there’s still room to tuck one under the pleats in the back, so I did. I used the same method I always do, which comes from an 1887 sewing manual—so potentially a bit dated for this skirt’s era but not unreasonable. I didn’t manage the tidiest insertion (particularly when trying to topstitch along that seam) but it’s tucked around back where I don’t have to look at it so it doesn’t bother me at all.
I did forget a couple of little touches I wanted, including the tape that is supposed to go from the top of the pocket to the waistband, and hanging loops under the waistband. So I will have to go back and add those.
I serged off about 1/4” in length and then did a 2” hem, and I’d say the length is an excellent walking length for me, though I perhaps wouldn’t mind an extra inch if I were going for a more formal historical look.
While I was intending this skirt to fit over a corset, it turns out I can also still wear it without, though it doesn’t lay quite so nice and smoothly over the hips. It does mean it’s another thing I can and will wear to work this winter, though, which has me thrilled to bits.
I’ve been in love with the idea of doing a summer, mesh corset for a WHILE. I picked up a chunk of Aida cloth for the exact purpose back circa 2015. And when I made my Victorian Sundress (better pictures still pending) it occurred to me that this might also be the perfect time to make a light, aerated summery corset. So I set to work… and then summer blazed past in a blur of everything-but-sewing, and here it is just in time for the weather to turn chilly.
But back to the inspiration: I swear I saw one in a corset book somewhere, but damned if I could find it when I looked recently. This one from the Victoria & Albert shows the features I was interested in, though: solid bits, mesh panels, “waist belt” piece.
Now, Aida cloth (the stuff for cross-stitching) is nowhere near as open as the mesh used in the inspiration corset, nor is it, frankly, particularly stable. It made this an interesting project, and I’m not at all sure how long-lived the results will be.
Auditioning materials
Materials: aside from the Aida cloth, I went with some fairly beefy white denim for the details. I liked the white and cream contrast. Probably coutil would’ve been better for those parts but I was hesitant to sacrifice good coutil when the main fabric was a bit dodgy. I also decided to use my last spoon busk, just to make my life harder; the inspiration piece doesn’t have a spoon busk but it is right for the time period I’m roughly going for. I used 1/4” spring steel boning but given that my boning channels are single and not the double ones I’m used to (and the rather shifty Aida cloth) I’m thinking maybe a slightly wider, more stable boning might have been preferable.
The pattern is a veritable saga of its own. The kernel, as with most of the corsets I’ve ever made, is Butterick 4254 view C, a basic six-panel corset. but over the years I’ve altered, traced off, and re-altered the pattern so much I couldn’t even tell you how much it resembles the original. I still wear my old white corset from this pattern regularly (despite it being technically far too small and, more recently, badly stained with bright blue after an incident involving a gel ice pack and a cat), and the shape is pretty much perfect for me, but I wanted to make sure that the various layers of alteration I’ve added to it over the years were reflected in the pattern I used, while re-sizing to be closer to my current measurements. This involved adding quite a bit of width to the front, and substantially re-shaping the side seam to mimic the effects of a hip gusset I had added to the white corset at some point, as well as an inch or so of height to the top. I had shortened the corset pattern initially, as I’m short waisted, and the top had always been a hair low, but somehow as my bust has gotten larger the last few years this problem got worse (even though I’m pretty sure my bust point is lower than it was). So this latest version aimed to incorporate the added width and side-seam shaping, while adding the missing height to the top.
I don’t think I’ve quite nailed my revamped pattern (and a test in real coutil, or at least ticking, is probably needed to really tell), but I do think it’s a step in the right direction. The bust height is great; the side-seam needs a little more refinement in the shape of the hip flare (which I accomplished in this piece by playing with the seam allowance), and I had to take out some excess width in the back, though I’m not sure if that’s just due to stretching. I might try to adjust the fall of the side seam above the waist forward a little; below the waist it’s perfect.
Construction
Original has solid outer on top of mesh inner at corset front/back
Overlay solid portions over mesh around busk, lacing panels, and bust area, plus shaped waist belt
Seams to the outside, covered by bone casings
Cording on bust solid parts (in hindsight the original may just have been quilted)
Waist belt added after main seams but before adding busk and lacing panel coverings
One bone per seam, in bone casing, applied to the exterior
Extra bone just beside the busk for added support (not necessary for spoon busk)
The trickiest part about this project was coming up with the order of operations. (Spoiler: I messed this up, more than once.) I added the “bust cover” patches first, with cording. Then sewed the panels together. Next I should’ve added the waist-stay panel, but instead I did the back lacing area so I could test the fit before I stitched over all those seams. It’s good I did—I had to take the back portion in significantly, and tweak the hip curve at the side seam. I’m not sure if I had added too much or if the Aida cloth just stretched; it definitely wasn’t as stable as would be ideal. But it also meant I had to unpick a portion of the back lacing panel to tuck the waist stay under it.
Cording the bust area wasn’t hard, though it was a tad tedious. I was pretty sure within the first few lines that I should’ve used a thinner cord, as my channels are VERY raised. Looking back at the inspiration piece, they may actually have just been quilted, not actually corded at all. Oh well. If I were to do it again I’d move the entire corded section higher by a good inch, as it mainly sits below my bust. But that was pretty much impossible to determine in advance.
The trickiest part of the construction was wrapping the busk covering panel close around the busk pieces, but still with enough room to edgestitch it down, without breaking a needle. Especially while getting the busk in place over the bulk of the corded patches. I used a fairly thick string for the cording and in hindsight I wish I’d used a thinner one. Those parts are VERY thick and were really hard to sew over, even for my Pfaff 360, and I’m a little worried all the trimming I had to do may have left these seams vulnerable to fraying.
(Laced a little too tight at the upper back. More comfortable when laced more straight.)
Even with the width I removed, the corset is not really “tight”… I can lace it very nearly closed, although I wouldn’t want to wear it like that all day. If it stretches any more with wear it might still become too big. Although, I’ve also lost a little bit of weight this summer; if that reverses come winter I may be glad of a little extra room!
Maximum lacing tightness
I had planned to use the same white denim for my binding, but at the last moment decided to go for a lighter-weight cream twill, for less bulk at the edges of the corset. No regrets, although the texture of the heavier denim would’ve been nice.
I also remembered to add drawstrings in the upper binding, using more of my 1/4” stay tape. Which is possibly my favourite notion at the moment and I may need to just bite the bullet and buy it in bulk.
Anyway, I’m cautiously thrilled with the results, imperfect and experimental though they are in many ways. The shape is very much what I wanted. The bust height is so much better than previous versions. The size is a pleasant change from nearly-too-small corsets. I love the solidity of the spoon busk. How will it be as it breaks in? Don’t know. Will it self-destruct after a few hours of wearing? Could be! Will it be fun to sew? Definitely.
Having finally completed, more or less, my Victorian Sundress, I promptly started a corset. Then I realized summer is slipping away distressingly quickly, and I hadn’t even made anything for me to actually wear on the everyday.
So I pulled out some linen I got last year from Pure Linen Envy, spent some time paging through my pattern database, and finally, on a rare full sewing day* during my vacation, got to work.
* fully sewing by hopping between my own project and two different projects for the twins, plus cleaning off the dining room table so I could cut out said projects, oh, and trying to keep said twins entertained, too.
My inspiration was this linen sundress I made back in 2016. Which has turned into a sturdy summer staple, even as the always-dodgy bust fit got worse and worse over the years. So I was excited to give it a companion, but, um, not with that same pattern.
However, perhaps ironically, I went with another McCall’s pattern, M8177. I have a much more successful history with this pattern, though: my blue big-sleeve dress from last year. I have always wanted to make the sundress version, and this seemed like a great chance to do that. Except. I had only three metres of my linen, and according to the pattern the long version called for 4.5.
Now, the long version includes both short, puffy sleeves and a self-fabric belt, so I was pretty sure I could get away with less, but the only way to find out for sure was a fun game of pattern Tetris. Since my linen wasn’t directional, I folded it cross-wise, as this can really help maximize fabric usage for flared-skirt patterns like this. Things weren’t looking good, until I realized that the back piece actually ISN’T meant to be cut on the fold. Suddenly I had enough room even for the facings.
There is a cat under my skirt.
What I didn’t have quite enough room for was the pockets. This pattern comes with inseam pockets, which I thoroughly enjoy on my first version, but either I lost the pattern piece or it’s folded up in with the sleeve pieces I didn’t use this time. Either way, I forgot about it when I was first cutting out, and I didn’t have quite enough fabric left for them anyway (although the nice thing about inseam pockets is you can always substitute something else.)
I did, however, have just enough left for two patch pockets big enough to hold my phone, so I went with that option.
After some contemplation I went with a selection of more-or-less matching vintage shell buttons from stash. It was either that or similar-looking plastic ones, but I’m pretty sure I’ll enjoy the shell more.
I thought the shell buttons gave it a bit of a shabby-chic look, so I pulled out some lace appliqués I’ve been stashing since Fabricland closed and started to play around. I gave them a quick tea dip to take the edge off the bright white, and eventually went with an asymmetrical arrangement on the front.
And that’s about it. Linen is easy to sew. I don’t super-love the process of attaching the facing on this pattern. I think I should probably sew the underarm portion of one seam, then line the straps up against that and stitch them down. But that’s my own issue with the style, not an issue with the pattern.
When I made the first dress I was annoyed that the back facing had a CB seam, as that kind of just adds unnecessary bulk, but given my fabric limitations this time I actually needed that seam, so win?
The straps are as drafted on the pattern (shortened about 1/2”, not surprising for me). They are a sturdy, bra-covering width, but I must admit I’d probably make them a touch narrower next time.
After wearing the linen has stretched out a bit, so I may take it in a touch more. And the front facings do flop around below the buttons so I should really stitch them down before I catch a toe. This linen is a lighter weight, which is delicious but may not be quite the indestructible workhorse that my black linen is. But I absolutely love the feel and colour, and the shell buttons and lace add a slightly shabby elegance that I’m all in for.
Now to just wear it as many times as I can get away with before the weather changes.
Tanit-Isis Sews 