Romancing the Dress Part 2: California Romantic Considers Realities of Life When It Comes to Sewing a Dress

Forever fantasizing about sewing the perfect dress
But do skirts really fit into my active and arty modern life?

I spent a lot of of my little girlhood playing with dolls. I also spent a lot of time drawing girls. Drawing girls merged into drawing paper dolls. The most important part of drawing paper dolls was creating their clothes. I particularly enjoyed creating patterns and textures for these outfits, which I made by rubbing my crayons over the paper atop a rough surface. Of course none of my paper dolls wore pants, trousers or slacks as bi-forcated womens clothing was called in the nineteen sixties.

If you weren’t around in that time, especially if you missed the early, pre-groovy part of the era, images from the time might lead you to think that American females wore mostly skirts or dresses. In fact, shorts and pants were nearly as much a part of our daily wear as they are today. However, when it came to creating artistic duds for dollies, I didn’t see any point in designing the sort of togs I actually spent most of my own time in. On television, in magazines, coloring books and  movies, and in my favorite modern and historically themed stories, girls and women wore fluffy dresses and glamorous skirts. The clothes I created for my dolls were those I imagined I’d wear myself as an adult, and they came from what I drank in from my culture. They came from images of traditionally skirted women.

As a sewist, I’m still faced with the eternal challenge of an imaginary, idealized female lifestyle, versus the reality of my own activities. What I put on in the morning reflects what I'm expecting to do. Right now that involves walking or hiking, classes, study, a lot of computer time, and (unfortunately) a little housework. I'm usually pretty darn happy, and comfortable, wearing my most attractive tee shirt and a pair of long pants or shorts, both items that style up great with a pair of sturdy walking shoes or hiking boots.

Despite what I actually wear, when I plan time for my favorite hobby, I'm tempted to sew dresses. In point of fact, I've sewn only two within the last few years. I'm relatively happy with the way both of them turned out. Yet, I’ve worn each of those frocks two or three times, both times to events, to which, I could easily have worn some of my most feminine pants with a lovely blouse, a rope of pearls and a scarf.

Still, when I open the pattern book, you know what section I turn to first.

This summer I just couldn’t resist the how-to-style examples for Vogue pattern v8810 shown in the Vogue pattern magazine. You can just guess I imagined myself hurrying off to an important meeting with a friend in that denim dress with those lovely heels and the model's jewelry. I don’t actually wear heels, and the jewelry she was wearing wasn't my style. In point of fact, I usually plan on fitting in a long walk or bike ride when I go to a meeting, but I still saw myself togged out like the gal in the spread.

Well, maybe I could still figure out a way to fit that duster style dress into my lifestyle…

Earlier in the month I created a toile of this pattern. Some stained home dec ex-curtain fabric was the perfect muslin for the fit I was looking for. I’ve also pulled a heavy black houndstooth print out of my stash, and I think there’s enough for the short-sleeved version. I’m imagining it as go-to summer and fall garment, in our temperate California San Francisco Bay Area climate. It could even extend into our mild winter as a kind of jumper over my pale pink quarter-sleeve tee or my petal pink cowl neck long sleeved tee shirt.

But when it comes down to it, even if the dress turns out exactly as I imagine it, will I really get much use out of another dress to keep the others company in their far end of my closet? I hope those girls have an active social life back there, because they rarely see the light of day.

In the meantime, I've sewn a nice new pair of shorts and another cute tee. 

But the black houndstooth print is eyeing me from the back of my sewing table.


You may also enjoy.... Romancing the Dress 1: Dainty

Part 2: Retro Polka Dots, Why I Don't Love Lucy

In my last blog post, I wrote about my recently sewn polka dot tee shirt. I’m a brand new convert when it comes to these retro-style spots, but I also knew there was some vaguely uncomfortable memory, that I associated them with. When I put on my new sleeveless tee, with it’s draped neckline,  I really liked what I saw in the mirror. The wisps of what I disliked were the the shades of a far-from-favorite old television show, in those vibrant polka dots.

Though I’ve come to love that tee shirt, what I still don’t love is the I Love Lucy television show, because Lucille Ball's portrayal of Lucy Ricardo was no role model for a budding, mid-twentieth century, feminist kid. In my modern-woman household, those polka dots represented some pretty old ideas of woman's place in our society. And they were ideas we were still fighting through in the sixties. In my mind, those old-style feminine behavior patterns were linked with images of the ubiquitous polka-dot dresses* that Lucy wore on the show.

I’m the first to admit there are things to admire about the television and movie comedienne whose career in film, television, stage and radio spanned a period of over forty years. No pawn for the film moguls, Lucille Ball was a hard-working woman, driven to succeed on her own terms. For those of you gals who weren’t around in the fifties and sixties, I can tell you that wasn’t an absolutely stellar time to stand up for yourself if you were born female.

Lucy made the most of her unusual looks. Instead of fitting into a standard style, she created her own. Her personal-style sense back then, is an example for us sewists who are always working to create fashions that make the most of what we were born with.

Besides that she was the first obviously pregnant woman on television. Before that, maternity was considered not very nice. Children were great, but the evidence of where they came from, and the affects of gestation on the body of a stylish woman, were something that weren't on display on the box.

My problem with the show is Lucy Ricardo's relationship with her husband. As a television star, Ms. Ball was in the role-model business, and the model of married womanhood that she represented was one that made irrational, dependent, subterfuge looked cute. Lucy, as the center point of the show, was always doing something silly because, apparently, she didn’t have any wits. The show made it clear that husbands really adored a lack of brain in their women. Cute, huh? 


Almost as cute as the fact that Lucy needed to wheedle money out of her man whenever she went beyond the financial parameters he laid out. Another great life lesson for the sixties-era female, particularly those like more than a few of the adult women in my extended family and town, who were married to somebody who were physically or emotional controlling. 


There’s also nothing cute about fooling your spouse to get what you want (instead of discussing important issues and finding ways to compromise on the priorities for a joint partnership) Pretty much every episode played up this amusing angle.

So what does Lucy’s story leave me with?  


Just fashion.


The women I see around me these days have come far enough from the dependent, ditsy, second class role that we saw on the screen back then, that we can begin to have a little fun with Lucy's style.

Nowadays, when I think of Lucille Ball, I'm just going to see spots - polka dotted spots that is. 

~

* And I’m not the only one. In an article in “Flaunt” (“A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE POLKA DOT”), Jake Levy says that a polka-dot dress was a staple wardrobe item in the “I Love Lucy” show. I would go so far as to say that Lucy was the Queen of polka-dots.

Part 1: Retro Inspires Sewing with Polka Dots

Associating Them with Skin Problems,
LR Shimer's Never Been A Fan of Polka Dots Before
Until She Picked Out the Wrong Fabric and Decided it  was So Right

A couple of months back, I was searching for a tee shirt knit with a print of white pin dots on a black background. I was so happy to find my black with white dotted cotton interlock material at Fabric.com, that I didn’t think to check the online sample image that showed the size of my dots. So I was disappointed when my order showed up, to realize that my pin dots were polka dots. I also wasn’t crazy about the fabrics hand, that tactile response we sewists get to the heft and feel of our yard goods.

How is a pin dot different than a polka dot? For me, the individual spots in a pin dot print are about the size of the head of the basic little flat, metal pins I use for marrying a couple of yards of cotton to it’s tissue paper pattern. The tiny points on a piece of stiff dotted swiss are about the right size. (Does anybody sew with dotted swiss these days? When I was a child, that was a real glamour material.)

On the other hand, I would say that a polka dot is a bigger spot. Anything the size of the rubber eraser on the back of a yellow number 2 pencil and beyond, qualifies as a polka dot in my book.

And what I had ended up with were four yards of polka dots, a print I wasn’t at all fond of, because they reminded me of the story about moucheron, the tiny patches that historical ladies like Marie Antoinette and her court wore as a fashion statement, a practice that originated in times even before those stylish gals came along, as a way to cover pimples. (Talk about making lemonade when you’re handed a lemon!)

Polka dots also reminded me of some of some aspect of my childhood I didn’t like, but couldn’t really identify. I just didn’t like them. What's the story there?

The material’s price had been right, why not use some of it to make a test garment out of my new McCalls pattern, M6078?  I fashioned view B, a sleeveless tee with stitched front pleats, neck drape and shaped sides.  That test garment changed my entire attitude about polka dots. When I put on my new tee shirt I felt suddenly glamorous and pulled together. The shirt cried out for some earrings that mirrored the dot shapes and a string of pearls. I have twice worn my pearls with the tee shirt to parties, but for my usual walks and school work they stay at home in my jewelry box and I just pop on some dropped, jiggly multi-pearl earrings that echo the shapes on my tee. The top goes with my black capri jeans and my straight legged black pants. It would go great with a slim-fitting black skirt if I possessed one (or indeed ever wore skirts) . 

Despite the fact that I intend to make a new version of the tee with some of the remaining fabric, (see Planned Alterations* below ) my polka-dotted tee shirt has really worked out for me. It's become what sewists with a plan call a '... go to wardrobe item'. And oddly enough the fabric's hand feels fine to me now. I've gotten used to the slightly stiff fabric that doesn’t stretch unexpectedly over time, like some of my other knits. It also seems to breathe just fine on a warm day. It’s not what I was used to but I’ve grown to like the feel of it and the way it works.

But what was the story from my childhood that affected my attitude about polka dots? More on that in my next blog piece, Why I Don’t Love Lucy. 

* Planned Alterations

I like this tee so much, I'm going to sew up a new and improved version from my remaining fabric. Next time:

• I will definitely not use a white fold over elastic to cover the armhole edge. I plan to try a self-fabric band using the same techniques as I use for self-fabric tee neckline bands. I learned how to do this from Lori (of Sew Forth Now fame). Here is her tutorial for neckbands. I sew it out of a slightly stretched cross-grain strip and I always, always baste these first, and test it folded down with pins in place, as every knit stretches differently. 

• I'm going to add 1 -2 inches to the torso length because I'm long waisted.

• I'm going to cut a deeper (higher) self-lining part on the top of the front piece. The entire front is one piece and the top part falls back and lines the drape. But the drape wasn't quite long enough to hide a glimpse of the wrong side of the fabric at the neckline. I added a strip of selvage and it could still use a bit more inner lining. I will probably add another 1-2 inches to that curve.

• I will add more to the sides and make it a tiny bit less fitted. I have a rectangular figure (I don't go in much at the waist or out much at the hips) and the shaping on this top fakes a waistline. More curvaceous ladies wouldn't need to do that.

Romancing The Dress Part 1: Dainty

Though I was only five when this photo was taken, I remember standing on the porch of the rental house in Lansing Michigan posing for it. I remember telling my mother that I "...looked dainty". And I remember her laughing at me and asking me where I had learned that word.

We're not a 'dainty' family. We're midwestern stock - large and robust, arty, and folksy. But I can recall just how delightfully feminine and romantic this much beruffled dress made me feel. Despite her somewhat sarcastic response to my words, my mother had absolutely filled the pale blue bodice with those ruffles when she sewed it for me. And despite the black and white-ness of the photo, I remembered the exact soft shade of blue of the dress, when I was photoshopping the old snapshot.

Whenever I've sewn a dress, I've been just a little bit influenced by the memory of that dainty blue frock.