Thoughts While Sewing on a Button

Over the last year or so I've been watching the conversations on the social media sites about the hidden costs of fast fashion, from the exploitation of garment workers to the environmental cost of cheaply-made clothing that ends up in landfills after only a few wearings.

I've never been a fashionable person. I don't have the mind-set for it, and I've never really had the money, so while I can observe the social and advertising pressures that drive people to purchase fast fashion, I don't really understand them.

My parents have vivid memories of the stories the adults in their lives told them of the deprivations of the Great Depression. They also remember the shortages of World War II, so they have a good sense of what you need to get by versus what's nice to have, and they passed this along to their kids. Largely, I buy or make the clothing I need in order to present myself to the world as a decent, rational human being. Now and again I'll buy or make something just for the fun of it and let me tell you, I've gotten a lot of joy out of these garments.

A few weeks ago I lost a button off a shirt I made in 1998 and wore several times a month until quite recently. I had spare buttons put away, so in a couple of minutes one of my favorite shirts was ready to wear again. It's become a little too faded to wear outside the house, but it's fine to wear around the house on a chilly day over a purple t-shirt. And those bright purple grapes just make me so happy.

Should everybody know how to sew on a button? Absolutely. Maybe those little sewing kits we all steal from our hotel rooms should also come with instructions on how to thread a needle, repair a length of hem, and sew on a button. This would be at least as useful as the Gideon Bible.

Should everybody make their own clothes? That's not realistic for a number of reasons. But I think that everybody should know that making clothes is an option. Everybody should know how fabric and clothes are made and how to distinguish good quality.

We've been talking about this for over a hundred years. The book Clothing Choice, Care, Cost was published in 1920 in response to high clothing costs after World War I.

While some of the information is outdated, there is still plenty of good basic information on textiles, fibers, budgeting clothing purchases, and clothing care and repair. 

Possibly the most intriguing idea is that of a Clothing Information Bureau, designed to educate the consumer (pp. 217, 218)

My copy of this book spent some time in the library of the Hudson City YWCA, and it's intriguing to imagine this Y having their own Clothing Information Bureau. Woolman also suggested that department stores could house Clothing Information Bureaus.

There are some significant hurdles to updating the concept of a Clothing Information Bureau to our more-or-less virtual lives today, from the tactile element of fabric, to being able to inspect seam finishes, grain line, and pattern matching.

In what physical space could a Bureau reside? Who gets to decide what information is included, and if it's accurate? But most importantly: is it even feasible to counteract the overwhelming social pressures driving fast fashion?

Physics

 

Physics is proof that God loves us and wants us to apply straight strips of fabric to curved edges.*

Woven cloth is composed of threads on two axes. Let's call them N/S and E/W.  (Technically, they are warp and weft.) If you pull the N/S threads or the E/W threads, there is very little give in the fabric because you're pulling directly on the structure of the fabric.

Bias exploits the weakness of the spaces between the threads. If you pull the NW and SE corners of the fabric - the red arrow - the little square spaces between the threads deform into little parallelogram spaces. (The same applies for the NE/SW bias axis.)

The gray fabric above is a straight strip that has been deformed to lie smoothly along a curved neckline. While a bias strip can be deformed with just the fingers, a little coaxing with a steam iron assures a very smooth curve.

Bias strips can be deformed on both inside and outside curves. In the example below there was a lot of questionable language as I repeatedly steamed my fingers.

Bias tape or binding is available commercially, but only in solid colors, and typically only in a cotton-polyester blend, so I almost always cut my own. I'll cut more than I need for the project at hand, so over time I've developed a nice back stock of bias strips. In many sewing projects, the bias strip isn't visible from the outside of the garment, and it gives me great joy to use several different prints in a single garment.

The edge-stitching in the black example a little wobbly - I'm between cataract surgeries, so I can only really see close work out of one eye.

*I've borrowed liberally from "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy," which is wrongly attributed to Benjamin Franklin.

Slightly less boring than sorting the button box, but not by much

As part of my effort to start drawing down my strategic reserve of fabrics and quilt batts I recently decided to re-organize my scrap bin.  I do this every seven or eight years, but until now I never had any clear goals in mind.

This time I had some rules.  I even wrote them up.

The 5 1/2" square rule is based on my plan to use up some small quilt batts that will make up perfectly with 108 5" squares (9 across by 12 down, quarter inch seam allowances.)

The fabrics in this picture, however, failed the "large enough to produce a 5 1/2 inch square" test, so they've been put into their own little box, on the theory that they might come in handy someday for mending (I have a real talent for tearing out the corners of my apron pockets.)

This all reminds me of a lovely book, String Too Short To Be Saved.

When running away to join the circus isn't an option

At the beginning of the month I had a few days off, so I did what I almost always do when that happens - I sewed something.  I like to sew, and this year I've started an effort to draw down the stash of fabric I've accumulated over the years, so there is no excuse too small for me to start a sewing project.

Years ago I got a wonderful deal on twelve yards of lovely Three Cats fabric.  Well, "lovely" may be in the eye of the beholder.  While I love the indigo blue and the hand of this 36" wide fabric, I'm not sure that I'd ever wear big white polka dots outside the house.

So I made an apron, using an antique sewing pattern from my collection.  I finished it just a few days before the eclipse, and while I didn't wear it on the day, it will be my memento of the eclipse of August 2017.

Spring in Name Only

I made myself a new shirt to celebrate Spring, and I wore it on the first day of Spring, and I was cold all day.  Heck, we had a frost last week.  Still turtleneck weather, I guess.

On the Edge of Transformation

This is one of my favorite moments in sewing: the place where one can take a deep breath before construction begins.

The pattern has been selected and altered.  The fabric has been purchased, washed, and ironed.  The layout recommended by the pattern company has been studied and possibly improved a little.  The box of pins has been accidentally dropped on the floor, sworn at, retrieved, and reloaded.  The contortions required to cut clean inside curves have been negotiated.

This stack of pieces begins to reveal the garment it will become.  After a cup of coffee, I'll cut the notches and thread-mark the dots, squares, and other landmarks.

And when the signs are auspicious, I'll start sewing.