Sewing: Dorset Buttons on Victorian Drawers

The waistband fastening consists of two 

buttons and buttonholes, and a larger opening 

for the drawstring.

A while ago, I was rummaging through my boxes of languishing projects, attempting to find a spark of inspiration to pick something up and either finish it or re-work it into something else entirely. I like to think that I have a pretty good memory of most of my unfinished projects, but I'm totally ashamed to admit that on this particular rummage, I found a project that I had absolutely no memory of ever starting, and have absolutely no idea why I stopped working on it. It was a perfectly serviceable pair of Victorian drawers, made from the Laughing Moon Mercantile Ladies' Victorian Underwear pattern (#100).

I'd cut out the leg pieces and stitched a series of tucks around the hem, and then just stopped. I have no idea why. I have another pair of drawers made from this same pattern in black cotton which I've worn on several occasions, so it's not a problem with the pattern. The drawers aren't particularly complicated to construct, with just one seam on each leg, a drawstring waistband, and a bit of hemming.

In other words, this project was an easy win.

So of course I found a way to make it complicated.

Mending: Sashiko/Boro Backpack

Several years ago, I bought a backpack from the Surplus Store on the corner of National and Venice in Culver City. (I love that store. I still go back every time I visit family in L.A.) I carried that backpack to work daily for five years, which is a very respectable lifespan. It had enough room for a packed lunch, a crafty project, and a book (three things I never leave home without) AND a bunch of groceries besides. Alternatively, it could comfortably accommodate clothing, toiletries, and entertainment for a 3-day business trip or, stretched to its limits, a week-long backpacking trip. It had plenty of separate pockets of different sizes so that I never had to go fishing for my keys, wallet, or work ID in amongst the jumble of other random crap. It was a good backpack.

At long last, however, the fabric started to tear around the top of the right shoulder strap--the one I use to pick it up all the time. I no longer trusted it to carry heavy loads without ripping farther. I removed it from service but couldn't quite bring myself to throw it away. After all, we'd been through so much together, and none of the other backpacks I could find offered the same carrying capacity, or so many convenient pockets. I bought two other backpacks whose zippers ceased to function in less than a year, and they barely had enough room for my sewing, lunch, and book, let alone a week's worth of clothing. As Steve and I were packing for a week-long stay on a hippy commune, my eyes kept straying to my poor injured backpack, and I decided it was time to give it a new lease on life. I got out my trusty sewing kit and set to work.

Sewing: Grey Linen Tunic

Despite the fact that I resolved in January to try to do more pottery, what I've been in the mood for lately is sewing. I'm still under a fabric-buying embargo, so when the sewing mood is upon me, I try to think of projects that can be made from fabric I already own. My stash is predominantly a mixture of velvet/satin/taffeta and linen. The fancy fabrics were great when I was going to the Riverside Dickens Fest every year, but less great in the UK where I don't go to any Victorian events. So that leaves linen. I have three pieces of linen in my stash that are destined to become tunics or tunic-dresses. I enjoy making tunics because they're easy, comfortable, and can do double duty as SCA garb and (slightly eccentric) weekend lounge/casual wear.

Sewing: Brown Herringbone Smokkr

Tablet weaving at an
event in simple garb.

When getting ready for the 2017 Raglan Fair, I started working on a new Viking smokkr or apron dress. I got as far as drafting the pattern and cutting out the pieces before finding my old smokkr, at which point I decided to spiff that one up instead of rushing to finish the new one. In the weeks that followed, I slowly chipped away at the new smokkr, picking it up and putting it down as my energy levels and free time allowed, and it's now in a wearable state.

I have very mixed feelings about the smokkr as commonly reconstructed in re-enactment circles. It's a garment that has become more or less the uniform for re-enactors portraying women of the Viking period, but all of the information we have on this garment is based on a few tattered fragments, and minuscule fossilized loops of cloth preserved inside of metallic brooches. Those tattered fragments and scraps can tell us a lot about what the smokkr was made from--fibers and dye plants used, thread count, weave, amount of twist in the yarn--but they can't tell us much about the shape, fit, length, or degree of ornamentation of the finished garment. We do have some visual representations of Viking women on runestones and gullgubber, but they are heavily stylized and difficult to interpret. And yet, there are plenty of re-enactors who will happily criticize any interpretation of this garment that differs from their own. I have some very strong feelings about this, which I hope to write up separately one day, but for now I'd like to focus on the garment that I put together as an expedient way of expanding my wardrobe for a week-long SCA event.

Problem-solving: embroidered early 19th century shift

The University of St Andrews' special collections department has a rather wonderful blog, Echoes from the Vault, on which I was an occasional contributor between 2012 and 2015.

In 2014, their blog had a theme: 52 Weeks of Historical How-To's. Every week, a member of staff (or some enthusiastic volunteer) would choose an item from the collection and use it as an instruction manual to do or make something, and write about the experience. Some people baked, others brewed, some made paper cut-outs, others took baths, some made ink and paper, and still others went on holiday.

For one of my contributions to the blog, I dug up an 1825 tailor's manual and followed the directions to make a lady's shift. That blog post is here.

A few weeks later, I decorated it by following (more or less) an embroidery pattern in an 1825 ladies' magazine. That blog post is here.

Unlike when I write for this blog, however, I have deadlines when I blog for work. And hand-sewing and embroidery are not particularly conducive to meeting deadlines.

Recycling: black lace insertion tunic

I have an awful lot of unfinished projects.

Most of the time, I can trick myself into thinking my backlog isn't all that bad because there are only four or five things that I've actively been working on within recent memory, forming the top layer of clutter in my sewing room. I've been pretty good about following my "finish two projects for every one you start" rule, so the front of my brain thinks that I'm doing okay. Managing my addiction. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that's a lie.

Every once in a great while, I'll go through aaaaaallll of my unfinished projects, one by one, and find things I'd completely forgotten. This is one of those things.

Event-based Motivation: Spiffing Up Garb for Raglan

One of the good things about moving to Wales is that one of the biggest SCA events in the UK is (relatively speaking) right in my backyard. Raglan Fair takes place every September, when hordes of SCAdians descend upon on the grounds of Raglan Castle, set up camp, and proceed to cook, craft, shoot, and bash each other with sticks for ten days straight. For me, the upshot of this is that, for a week and a bit, I get to hang out with a significant number of people I adore but have very few opportunities to see in person. Last year (our first in Wales) I spent just one afternoon at the castle as a member of the general public, not as an attendee, but this year I decided to take a week off work and register for the whole event.

I've had friends in the SCA for most of my life, but I've always been more of a Renaissance Faire kind of girl. This means that most of my garb is a.) not overly concerned with historical accuracy, and b.) designed for 100+ degree weather. In other words, throwing together enough SCA-appropriate garb for a multi-day event was going to require some creativity and a little bit of sewing.

There's nothing quite like a looming deadline fuelled by fear of mockery to motivate me to finish a project. In this case, I used the few days before (and during) Raglan to spiff up a couple of old costume pieces and start one new one.

Really, Actually, Completely Finished. For Now.

*note: more/better photos coming.*

Among costumers, it is known that a sewing project is never actually finished. It is "wearable," or possibly "good enough," but there is always something that gets left off because it's 2am and your fingers are bleeding and the event is tomorrow morning and you have to wake up in 4 hours to drive another 4 hours to the event.

So maybe you get all of the construction seams done, and plan on binding the raw edges later. Nobody but you is ever going to see them, right?

Or you leave off that last bit of trim that would take it from attractive to fabulous, because nobody needs to know that you actually intended for there to be TWO rows of knife pleats and a line of beaded lace around that 6-yard hem, instead of just one.

Or you opt for the quick-and-dirty modern construction method instead of the well-researched and documented historically accurate method, because only the snobbiest of costume snobs will know the difference.

But there's always some little niggling thing that you mean to go back and finish later, once the time pressure is off.

So it was with my wedding dress.

Sewing Project: Viking-Victorian Shirt, part 1

I hate shopping for clothes.

I'm 5'11" and 205 pounds, not terribly curvy, and I have an abnormally long abdomen. This means I'm too big for "normal" sizes, but don't really fill out most plus-size clothes. Store-bought clothes are invariably too short in the legs, sleeves, and waist and too tight in the thighs.

Mmmm, stripes.

In the US, after years of trial and error, I found a few shops that carry basic items that don't look horrible on me, but in the UK, I'm at a loss. Up to now, my solution has mostly been to not buy new clothes, but after nearly five years, my work wardrobe is now looking a bit shabby.

In an attempt to remedy the situation, I looked through my fabric stash to see whether I had anything that could be turned into business casual attire. After a bit of rummaging, I turned up five yards of cotton shirting with a subtle woven stripe. I originally bought it thinking I would make a Regency gown, but I've carried it for something like 8 years across two continents, and I don't really have any 19th century costumed events to attend here, so I might as well use it for something a bit more practical.