Oh Donny Boy

If the last three shirts I’ve sewn are anything to go by, it’s safe to say that I’m squarely in my camp-collar era. It all started, of course, with the Gilbert. Next was the Donny.

For months, I kept seeing Friday Pattern Company’s Donny Shirt while perusing other people’s finished objects on Instagram. IG’s algorithm definitely has me figured out; all it feeds me are posts related to sewing and books, with the occasional cat video thrown in, and most of my targeted ads are for fabric and other craft stuff I shouldn’t buy. Even when I was lost in Gilbert euphoria (I still am—I’ve already made a second, and I’m currently working on a Gilbert shirt-dress hack), I didn’t stop adding social-media-suggested patterns to my to-be-sewn list, nor did I cease impulse-purchasing said patterns. God forbid I finish a project without having another ready to go! The Donny was one of these, and given that it’s a different spin on a collar construction I’d just successfully sewn and very much loved, it seemed an ideal follow-up to Mr. Pizza. (Side note: I definitely gender camp-collared garments as male in my head. I blame the patriarchy.) Needless to say, by the time the last button was sewn onto Gilberto’s magnificent chest, I was itching to get a start on Donny.

Being the brazenly reckless individual I am, I didn’t measure myself to determine sizing. This is an idiosyncrasy of mine that I probably shouldn’t cop to in a sewing blog and highly suggest you don’t mimic. Instead of taking five minutes to whip out a tape measure, my strategy—again, do not recommend—is to ask the print shop to include three of the layered sizes when I order an A0 copy of a pattern. Laziness plays into this, yes, but at the core of it is a battle of duelling desires. In an perfect world, I’d be covered head-to-toe and yet have no cloth actually touching my skin. At the same time, however, one of my goals this year is to force myself to wear clothes that don’t make people wonder how a giant potato sack is able to operate a power wheelchair. As a compromise, I start big and then go smaller after I’ve expended a whole lot of time and energy sewing a garment that even I consider too baggy. Since this was my first stab at the Donny, I unnecessarily sized up and necessarily lengthened the bodice by two inches. No crop tops for this tall, body-conscious gal.

Having just worked with a rather in-your-face fabric (see Gilberto), I decided to opt for something more neutral this time. A taupe-ish 100% cotton sheet with a lovely drape that I’d been excited to snag at the thrift store a week or so earlier fit the bill. I’ve learned to resist buying linens to add to my stash if I don’t have a clear idea what I’ll do with them; it’s not a good deal, I tell myself, if it’s just going to sit in my fabric closet gathering dust and eliciting guilt every time I look at it. It helps that I’ve developed a decent feel for what I’ll use versus what I think I’ll use and keep a relatively good inventory (in my brain and in Threadloop, a project-planning app I obsessively update) of what I have and what I “need” as to avoid stockpiling fifteen flowered duvet covers. Darker colours are harder to come by in the sheet department, and so, thrilled to find such a beautiful specimen, I grabbed it with the enthusiasm one might marvel at an exotic bird spotted from afar or pluck a rare mushroom in a magical forest. My plan was a matching set: short-sleeved collared shirt, flowy pants. Donny would be half of that duo.

This sheet also seemed a good choice for this project since the top is drafted to have a front-centre seam. Though I’d briefly considered a striped cotton, the prospect of simultaneously attempting a new pattern and trying to pattern match a print was too daunting. A Donny sewn with a bold design that’s very deliberately not matched might be amazing, in the “messy hair that required an hour to style” way. Unruly, errant stripes, on the other hand, would be hard to pass off as an intentional fashion choice. This also streamlined the cutting process, which didn’t take long since there were only seven pieces, plus a few pieces of interfacing, to deal with. This’d be a great pattern for large remnants; I’d guesstimate that I used a total of around a metre and a half of 54″ fabric. Approximately half a queen-size sheet, if that unit of measurement means anything to you.

I was a little intimidated to begin sewing because the Donny’s neckline construction looked kind of complicated to my amateur eyes. I soon relaxed into it, though. The instructions were clear enough that I could follow along with few issues. To ensure success, I simply took my time with the pocket, collar, and front facing. I’ll acknowledge that I was tempted to skip the pocket because I knew that I’d get all perfectionistic with the topstitching, but I’m glad I pushed myself through that anxiety and did it. Having a better machine certainly helped in that regard—topstitching with my clunker of a Janome was a nightmare. What didn’t help was that I was too lazy/cheap to buy coordinating thread. I wasn’t overly concerned about this since what I had was close enough for interior seams; it didn’t occur to me until the needle had already penetrated the pocket that I’d have to pretend that I was going for a contrast-stitching effect on purpose, which made it all the more important that I nail it. Uh, wait: the contrast stitching was definitely, 100% a deliberate decision. Yup.

When I modelled the finished product for my husband, he declared it my finest sewing triumph to date, criticizing only the fact that it’s a few sizes too big. This is what he says with every new garment I reveal to him, so either I’m steadily progressing in my sewing skills with no ups and downs, or he’s a super nice and supportive guy who’s too afraid to be anything but enthusiastic. Or both, I suppose, but the stack of unwearable experiments in my sewing closet suggests that the former is a stretch. At the risk of being overly egotistical, however, I will say that I agree with him in this case. My Donny—the first, I think, of several (I’m not a shirt monogamist)—is a good balance of comfort and style; a perfectly loose hug from a very handsome fellow.