The Spring Suit: What Cost Beauty?

You may recall, when I offered up a bit of "sewing advice" a couple of weeks ago, I suggested that using good fabric is worth its weight, literally. That's a lesson I learned long ago, when it comes to buying RTW clothing, but one I struggled with in my first year or two of sewing.

I don't struggle so much anymore. In truth, it's always a bit of a moment right before you cut into your fabric, whether it costs $3.99 a yard or $39.99. It's that point when potential becomes reality. Sometimes cutting is an easy affair. Sometimes it's a bit of a challenge. But I can't let that dictate the quality of my fabric because, really, I'm gonna have to wear that thing. More to the point, I'm gonna have to sew it for 2 months and then I'm gonna have to wear it.

Furthermore, as I've discussed in the past, making a suit is not a cheap project (particularly), though it's much more cost-effective (if not time-effective) than buying one. To buy a RTW suit of good quality, you're likely to spend at least 800 bucks (full price). Here's what I've spent to make this suit (you can find some photos of the fabrics here):

• 3 yards of merino faille suiting at $25.00/yd
• 3 yards of silk charmeuse for lining @ $18.00/yd
• 1 yard of hair canvas and 1 yard of weft interfacing - already purchased for last suit but would be $8.00 each
• 2 yards of muslin for toiles (in addition to the yard I already have) @ $4.99/yd
• 5 Self-fabric-covered buttons (sending these out to be made, approx 20 bucks)
• 2 yards silk organza for underlining @ 15.00/yd
• Notions (shoulder pads, thread, stabilizing tape etc.) $10.00

Presuming I'm not leaving something out, which is entirely possible!, my total cost to make this suit will be $215.00. That's actually slightly less costly than the last suit so I guess I'm making progress :-)

No, I didn't need to spend 18 bucks a yard on lining. That price is vaguely high on drugs (till I wear the jacket, that is). (Brief sidenote: I ended up using the most beautiful silk to line the Tailored Jacket, gifted to me by Mardel. That's when I knew I could never use anything else again...) The organza was not on the cheap side either, even in this market. However, the suiting was very reasonably priced at $25.00/yd. It's just beautiful and I suspect/hope it's going to drape beautifully (but maintain its shape). Sending out to have the buttons made, which I did last time, is a totally smart idea, and really, quite worth the expense.

I suspect you could (in America, where shopping is less expensive) make this suit out of these materials for @ $125.00, but that's not the reality here. I also know you could make a suit for closer to 100 bucks in Canada, but (unless you seriously luck out with some crazy sales the likes of which I've never seen in TO) you won't get to work with quality materials.

So... today's questions are these: If you've made a suit, what was your budget for materials? Did you stick to it or spend more to find more desirable fabrics? On that topic, do you generally budget for projects or do you let your fabric passions guide you? Have you ever regretted spending lots on fabric? Have you ever regretted not spending enough? Let's talk!

The Spring Suit: My Work Plan

Last time I made a suit, I started with a work plan. I made the suit in 6 weeks, which shocks the hell out of me, because that was a fuck of a lot of work to do in that period of time. I lived and breathed The Tailored Suit project. Every waking moment at home was spent on it (sorry, family). I worked on math elements over my lunch hour. I considered its numerous, convoluted elements as I walked to and from work. Often, I couldn't sleep for problem-solving. Seriously, at a certain point, I started dreaming about it.

It was a creative and structural undertaking of the first order and, even as I was constantly trepedatious and hateful, I LOVED it.

Last time I had an online course to see me through. Alas, it was a suboptimal course (though there was a lot of good information contained within it), but it was organized in very knowable segments. This time I'm working with a pattern having 106 steps (for the hand-tailored version S and I will make) - the fusible version has less than half that number of steps - and there are no clear segments.

Having perused this pattern, which is to say studied it with my eyes glazing over, I can see that there are some new learning opportunities:

• A notched collar - which is apparently "easy"

• Pockets (I omitted them from my last suit, but these pockets seem more in keeping with my style)

• Hand-worked buttonholes - egad?! What is it with clothes and buttons?? Mind you, I've decided, having done them in 3 projects, that I really don't like bound buttonholes. I mean, I don't like making them but, more to the point, I don't like looking at them. They're fussy, IMO.

• Slightly different construction techniques than those I've used before aligned, one supposes, with Ms. Schaeffer's Couture Sewing Techniques "bible".

So, how best to plan things out?

I don't know that I want to give time lines this go round. The part of me that is so outcome-focused bristles at the thought that I might work without an end date. But the part of me that's been pretty kicked around in the last 6 months, between reno and sickness, doesn't want to be all crammed into a box.  So here's what I'm going to say right now: It's a suit for the spring. Spring, in these parts, doesn't start till April (at the earliest). So I'm aiming for an early April completion. That's 11 weeks. If it gets done sooner, well won't I be fab. If it doesn't get done on April 1, by noon EST, then I'm not going to stick my head in an oven.

And, with small amount I know of a) tailoring and b) V8333 - here's how I imagine things might break down:

1. Buy all of my materials, review the pattern, cut the pattern, prep all of my fabrics.

2. Cut the first muslin, assemble, begin the fitting excitement.

3. Spend as long as it takes, with S, to fit the muslin optimally. (Please muslin goddess, be kind.)

4. Cut the fashion fabric, lining and other materials for jacket assembly.

5. V8333 Steps 5 - 14 - Tailoring the front jacket up to pad stitching

6. V8333 Steps 15 - 24 - Tailoring the front jacket, pad stitching and other tailoring elements

7. V8333 Steps 25 - 33 - Side front tailoring and pocket insertion

8.  V8333 Steps 34 - 42 - Facing the front

9. V8333 Steps 43 - 49 - Side back, back and hem tailoring

10. V8333 Steps 50 - 62 - Constructing and tailoring the collar

11. V8333 Steps 63 - 67 - Set the collar into the jacket

12. V8333 Steps 68 - 77 Sleeves

13. V8333 Steps 69 - 81 - Sleeve lining

14. V8333 Steps 82 - 84 - Setting in the sleeves

15. V8333 Steps 85 - 88 - Shoulder pads

16. V8333 Steps 89 - 98 Lining and finishing the lining

17. V8333 Steps 99 - 105 Buttonholes and buttons

18. V8333 Step 106 - Final finishing of the jacket

19. Make a skirt or pair of pants to go with the jacket. That comes with its own 18 steps, I'm sure.

Presumably, I'll write about these steps in some kind of excessive detail, potentially with vitriol, as they occur. BTW, thank you all so much for your feedback on the question from my last post. Now I can say with confidence: You asked for it! :-)

OK, gotta go take some pics of fabric to update my last post. If only it weren't pouring with rain and approximately as dark as dusk. I'll have to make do with some serious flash.

Next post will talk a bit about my fabrics, how I chose them (rationale), how I'll deal with buttons, costs of things and I know I've got to follow up on the "Short Girlz Who Sew, Win" topic. Sorry, tall peeps, you'll just have to find your primacy in the rest of the world :-)

Today's questions: Have you made this jacket and, if so, what are your thoughts about this breakdown? If you haven't made it, what are your thoughts about this break down? What part of the jacket-making process seems most fun to you, even as a casual observer? Which part has you running for the hills? Let's talk!

Updated with Pics: Time Well Spent

Just a very quick post - as I am exhausted having started the sewing and social excursion at 10 am and finishing at 6! (I am hardcore, people.)

We had such a fun and profitable day. All fabric and notions are purchased and you know what an extensive list that is:

• UTTERLY GORGEOUS fashion fabric (3 yards of 60 inch wide as I'll be making pants or a skirt in addition to the jacket)
• underlining (silk organza, 2 yards)
• lining (silk crepe, 3 yards)
• hair canvas interfacing (1 yard)
• shoulder pads (2)
• thread (lots)
• new needles for hand sewing

Photo Update: OK, here are some pics but pls. note that the colour is not so accurate given the fact that it's January in TO and there's basically no natural light.

It's merino faille suiting- so drapey (but not too drapey to hold it's shape in a jacket). In this photo it looks slate grey. In fact it's a blue with grey undertones, not a grey with blue undertones. You can't see the depth of colour, the richness, here.

This gives a slightly better sense of the blue, if your monitor cooperates, but it still misses the depth of colour...

The lining is silk charmeuse (the other side is matte but I'm showing off the shiny) in the most bizarre shade - like green meets sand. My mother says I must have a hankering for the seaside right now, given this combo of fabric and lining. This is where I kind of broke the bank, but in keeping with my resolution when making the last suit, I will only use silk as lining until I find something I like better. It has much more integrity than bemberg, IMO, which frays like a bitch.

This isn't something you'll see, it's the underlining of the fashion fabric - some silk organza. I just think it's so pretty in this shade, so I'm showing it off...

Of course, I also had to get some denim and wool jersey while I was at it but, Lord, it seems I have stash issues cuz when S very graciously helped me to reorg the fabric cupboard to make more space for new stuff, I discovered I already had a yard of that wool jersey. Happily it's fantastic.

I also had to buy a sewing box (interesting birch stacking boxes I found at CB2) for all of my new darning supplies (on their way from various parts of the world):

Then I had to buy frames for the new pics I bought myself a while back.  Throw in some lunch and I've come to realize I am not safe with a credit card. I am such a capable shopper, it's sick.

Did I mention how useful and excellent everything all of these things will be?

OK, here's tonight's question: When organizing my fabric, it came to light that I have numerous scraps that are too small to make something with and too big to throw away. Serious fabric users, who abhor waste, would no doubt piece these gorgeous textiles together, but that's not my scene. S mentioned, as I was bemoaning half a cupboard full of unusable (really beautiful) material, that she always buys enough to make a garment twice or to get 2 items out of one piece i.e. 4 yards, on average. So she never ends up with quarter and half yard ends in weird shapes, though she does - she concedes - have lots of fabric she's not using on second garments.

What do you do? I know this is an age-old problem for the average sewist, but it's kind of a bummer either way.

As it happens, S, a font of helpfulness, assisted me by setting up an anonymous Craig's List entry so that I can, hopefully, give the bag of scraps - which includes a few full pieces of fabric I just don't like - to someone who will be able to use them. For free, of course.

In the future, I think I'm going to adopt S's strategy, if for no other reason than that my own is not working, and buy twice as much fabric as I need vs. just a bit more, so that at least the ends will be big enough to re-purpose on another garment.

Next post will contain some fascinating, IMO, musings on the benefits of being short (especially short-waisted) when you sew your own stuff. You don't want to miss that one.

Tailoring: The Spring Suit

So, my friends, the time has come, once again, when I will undertake a tailoring project aka the only thing I'll likely sew for a couple of months and which will probably test my resolve in numerous, skill-building and life-improving ways.

Lucky y'all.

I've been thinking about how to chronicle this journey, one which will be more exciting because S, my fitting friend, will make the same jacket at the same time - in something like 18 sizes smaller than me?!? - and then I'll be her fitting friend. Now S is a private person, unlike (ahem) some other people we know, so it's likely any specifics will centre on me. Happily, that works with my solopsism.

Because I did with the last suit, I don't want to drag you through the metaphoric mud. How much appetite, really, do you have to hear about a muslin, much less 3 (or 7)? And yet, as you may know, when one embarks on a tailoring activity, it is a) intense b) labour-rich c) frequently repetitive and d) requiring feedback, love, support, commiseration.

First question of the day: Do you prefer the blow-by-blow or the high points? Note to reader: I may be incapable of doing anything other than what appeals to me in the moment. I'm kind of known for that. But I would like to start this off with your perspective.

Let's get the high-level details out of the way:

The Pattern: Vogue 8333

The Claire Shaeffer Custom Couture Collection Single-Breasted Jacket

As luck would have it, my link feature is once again fucking up (why does this happen on occasion, I wonder??) so you'll have to navigate free-form, sorry.

This weekend, S and I are finally going (this has been planned for months but we have been derailed) to get all of our supplies. Do you know how long it takes simply to figure out what you need to buy??

Having done this before, I will now remind myself of the following important considerations:

• I've done this before, and I'm doing it again, so it's probably not as bad as I'm going to think it is in a month.

• I have a very short memory for project-pain.

• Beginning a large-scale project - of any description - is daunting. Trust me (she says to herself), I've planned many a complicated project in my career, in my life and when crafting and the first moment is scary. It's the point at which everything is everywhere. But my job now is to herd the sheep.

• What the fuck does that mean? It's my fancy way of describing that I need to corral my mental processes to gain my clearest awareness of all of the elements. That's how I can a) demystify them (to make me calmer) and b) work methodically to address them.

• You can't know all of the elements. Just most of them. The others you can fear quietly or wait for with the hostess spirit.

• Tailoring is alchemy and starting with a bunch of bits which turn into a finished jacket is a fine magic.

• I'm on a trajectory of skill-improvement.

Keep in mind, if you want to exercise fiscal restraint, then complicated projects are the way to go. For starters, they take a long time, so your output goes a long way. But they also tend to produce garments that would be expensive, were you to buy them, due to the workmanship that goes into creating them.

My fingering weight cashmere sweater? Still in process! A tailored suit? Merely cutting out the pattern pieces takes a week :-) I choose to view this as an example of the financial prudence I'm, no doubt, known for in these parts. :-)

Lingerie Shop Along: The End.

Guess it’s time to close the loop on the online lingerie purchase disaster of 2012. It doesn’t end well, but I’m officially done. 

The Fantasie Smoothing Balconette bra arrived – it’s the right model – but the size is off. Based on the horrifying bigness of the full-cup version (see post linked to in the para above), I opted to order the balconette version (purchased many times in the past) one size smaller in the cup, and one size smaller in the band, than that which I usually wear.

 

Though that's worked before, this one is too small, if just barely. What I mean is that it fits in the cup but the back is leaning towards too tight and it pushes the flesh up under my arms and at the side of the bra. To qualify – the underwire fits and the cups fit, there’s just not quite enough corollary fabric at the side band. It will probably stretch and be just fine. Or maybe it won't. I don't care.

 

I’d cry from frustration if this weren’t sort of funny.

 

I’m not returning it. I’ve already spent twice the amount the bra cost on shipping alone (6 returns?!). At least now I know for sure what size to order in this bra should that occasion ever recur. Note to self: Write it the fuck down. Along with the model number (vis a vis this wise comment).

 

I’m changing gears. Next time I order bras – when discretionary spending is back on the table - it will be to test for a new basic. (Pls. recall that I intend to write about the process, it just hasn’t fully come together.)

Point is, I had a hideous online shopping experience but I'm happy to move on. I mean, it's the only one that's ever fit that description. I won't let it deter me in the future.

Mending My Ways

Circumstantial convergence really is the strangest thing. To wit:
 

Last night I watched this fascinating TV program on TVO which profiles the real experiences of some modern people who live as if in wartime (WW2), farming in the English countryside, conserving to protect their resources and to promote their country’s ability to beat the Nazis. (Note: This is the third in a series, the other 2 timeframes covered were Victorian and Edwardian – which is all a bit gaslight and misery for me.)
 

Then this morning, when I got to work, a colleague pointed out that my (expensive) super-slender, machine knit Ca Va de Soi cardigan had some little holes. Perhaps they're the result of moths – we don’t have a big moth problem and I do use cedar in my sweater drawers, but occasionally these holes appear. (Sidebar: These holes appear less and less now that I’ve stopped going to the drycleaners. Hand washing all sweaters of all yarns in Soak with a few drops of lavender or eucalyptus essential oil in is a fantastic way to a) actually clean b) reduce chemical exposure and c) protect from bugs all one’s much loved knits.)
 

You’ll recall, on the weekend, I swore never to darn anything – which seemed a bit brutish to me, even as I wrote (and meant) it. I’ve lingered over the claim ever since.

Today I found this (fab and very inexpensive) pdf for download on Etsy. And this darning egg. And this thread.
 

Here are a couple of links that show you how to darn knitwear and other garments, I found online in 30 seconds:

Make Do and Mend: Darning 

Darning Tutorial

So, it seems, I take it back. (Man, I’ve been wishy-washy lately.) I’m going to darn things (maybe even homemade socks?!?!) rather than taking them up to the seamstress or letting them languish.

It occurs to me that the biggest limiters of all activity are lack of knowledge and the proper tools. Why have I threatened never to darn a hole or build a telescope or reupholster a couch? Sure, there’s a part of me that hasn’t the time or interest. But there’s a much larger part that hasn’t the knowledge. I wear sweaters every day of all gauges and many textiles. Why the hell can’t I spend a few minutes – which is really all it will take once I know the method and have all of the materials ready and waiting at my access – to protect them for future generations. Isn’t this ground zero for environmentalism (about which I am hardly extreme, just ask the people who know me).

I wonder if, were we find ourselves (horrifically) in another wartime scenario, could we manage with the grace and capability that so many of the English did during the second world war? Sure, there was much less industrialism at that time – so a large part of the general population had actual subsistence skills. But that aside, citizens attended government-organized classes about the conservation techniques they’d be required to know and apply. They learned so they’d have the means to undertake risk and to function in circumstances we likely cannot imagine. An entire country came together in, perhaps, the most organized, large-scale show of community that ever there was, and it thrived. Would we?

Five years ago I had never heard the term Make Do and Mend. (I know! I lived in post-war England and I studied history in high school yet I’d never actually heard it said. Really, I am a child of the 80s.) When I started reading blogs, particularly the craft ones, the culture of self-sufficiency amazed and, truthfully, amused me. How crazy, I thought, that people make stuff and then they fix it. To add to this rich mix, my husband has always been profoundly "handy" (his people are engineers) and he’s a first-wave environmentalist of the most irritating order. As a result, I’ve had 20 years to acclimate to a philosophy that seems increasingly second nature: How can I respect and protect what I have because it’s worth having?
 

I guess I can learn to darn a freakin’ pair of socks.

Thoughts?

In Which I Unwittingly Convince You of My Insanity

Oh Lord. There I was all sock-hateful and then something happened.

It might have been the (fortuitous, apparently) 2mm needle breaking - which liberated me to move to a 2.25mm needle. It might have been the moment when I actually stopped caring and gained a rhythm. No doubt it had everything to do with your chorus of comments - each of which gave me key information in moving forward.

Sock 1 took 20 hrs. Sock 2 took 10.

Here's the result:

Yeah, they're really blue...

Yeah, I realize these are not the best socks in the world. They don't have the smoothest stitch, the yarn (I now know) is suboptimal for socks; it's too spongy. I don't much like the pattern.

But my kid took one look at these and it was like someone gave her a puppy for Christmas. OMG - she LOVED them. I made her an entire freakin' sweater and I got a respectful thanks. These socks, I sense she would have cut me for them. What with my not liking them particularly, it was a win-win. :-)

Then it occurred to me that if I'd never made another sweater simply cuz I didn't like the pattern, outcome and process (each of which has occurred at times) then I'd never have got anywhere!

So, grudgingly, here's to the merits of socks:

• What appeals so much - I suspect - to so many people is the formulaic nature of sock-knitting. Don't get me wrong. You can make super-complex socks in zillions of ways. But once you've cracked a code, you can make them again and again and again and again with nary a second thought. My own disastrous first sock experience followed by a relatively smooth second sock experience proves that point - and I've only ever made one pair.

• They really are much beloved. You sock-makers are like a cult! :-) And you've somehow inculcated my kid! There's got to be something to these "handmade socks". I owe it to generations of wonderful sock knitters - and my excellent commenters - to investigate further.

• Can't get more practical than a pair of socks, no? And I am a pragmatic woman, after all...

• Apparently - and I can't defend this yet - they last way long and keep you toasty warm.

Moreover, here are some things my excellent readers have recently taught me:

• The best sock yarn is 75% wool and 25% nylon.

• 10 stitches per inch (horizontal gauge) will knit an optimally strong fabric, though anything above 8 stitches per inch is fairly strong.

• Regia is a very respected sock yarn brand, from Germany. It's not exciting, particularly, but it makes the most durable yarn and the first-wave knitters really appreciate it for that reason.

• Plain is good. I mean, if ribbing seems too showy, maybe I've got off lucky. Cuz stockinette socks are much easier to knit than crazy patterns. That's ok.

• Variegation (and patterns) keep the project interesting. I want to say they're the only thing that keeps it interesting, but I don't want to incite mutiny! I suspect, if I get to watch some kind of colour-work emerge, I'll be more excited to go from beginning to end. And, who knows, under boots I may just wear them even if they're not black!

Which is why, crazy-compulsion style, I went out and got new yarn and needles.

Here's a (somewhat wan) pic of the yarn, which is actually pretty snappy in that crazy variegated way I don't understand:

Photo source: Mariannes Wolle

The new needles are another set 2.25mms - this time pointy Addis. I know that some say one should avoid metal with socks and magic loop at all costs (Katy I hear you), but I worked the other pair on bamboo and, with the gauge of the needle paired with the loop, I just found it all too much effort to go from one stitch to the next. I think I need the slip to get a groove. Which, let's face it, is the primary thing that makes the process of knitting fun. We're about to see...

I don't want you to think I'm a sock convert. This may well be the last pair I ever knit. But at least I'll have given it the college try.

So, what do you think of my new stance? Am I seemingly schizophrenic, what with the sock hate and then the sock acceptance? Do you think the new yarn is utterly hideous - no leading questions here, the photo really isn't flattering. Let's talk!