Birthday Suit

Having radically accepted that it’ll take even longer than anticipated to get to the post on becoming an old(er) person I foolishly claimed I’d finish and publish in a timely manner (I swear I need to tattoo “underpromise, overdeliver!” on my forearm), I’m opting to procrastinate with a palate-cleansing project recap. In my own defence—not that I owe one in a blog I maintain primarily because I’m addicted to the arbitrary sense of accomplishment I derive from maintaining my own little corner of the internet—I’m sticking to the birthday theme by documenting the shirt I sewed to wear on the big day. Promise somewhat fulfilled?

August and September weren’t my most productive sewing months. I was away and/or really, really busy for much of them, which was good for my racking up new experiences but bad for my racking up finished objects I’d wanted to get to. This was particularly true before my longest summer trip, to PEI, when I was rushing to complete a few gifts to deliver and a pair of last-minute shorts to wear on the red-sand beach and made no progress on bigger projects that had been languishing on my list. And then, upon my return, came two failed garments in a row. Not incredibly motivating, to say the least.

Once I’d managed to get over myself and reframe those binned garments as opportunities to learn from my mistakes, I refocused and reset by reminding myself that I sew because I like it. Of course, I sew for the clothes, too; no use pretending otherwise. While I genuinely enjoy the process, the product is a visual representation of the work I’ve put into building a skill set that I’m increasingly proud. By extension, it also represents the work I’ve put into building a life that I’m pretty darn happy with. It was thus important to me that my outfit for my fancy dinner out with my husband, a meal meant to celebrate that life, should consist primarily of me-made garments.

My bottom half was taken care of. I’ve sewn two pairs of Pietra pants, one in denim, which has become my everyday go-to, and one in a navy-blue cotton panama that can be dressed up or else paired with an oversized grandpa sweater—the ultimate in versatility! Navy-blue Pietra pants it would be. As tempting as it was to pull on my most handsome wool cardigan, though, even my fashion-challenged self realized that a special occasion called for something not screaming “my sole consideration when selecting clothes in the morning is whether or not they cocoon me in a warm, baggy hug.”

As previously documented, I considered several options before settling on Daughter Judy’s Genra shirt and sewing a toile. I was happy with it besides some obvious sizing issues, so I adjusted the pattern accordingly and set aside an afternoon to do the prep for a non-muslin version.

While choosing the pattern took little effort, selecting the material was harder. The primary issue with those late-summer flops, cautionary tales in the form of discarded tops, was the fabric. In each case, it was thrifted and of an unspecified fibre that was definitely not right for the garment in question. The overall quality was moreover lacking since I’d bought both pieces in my early thrifting days, when I was overly excited about finding any metreages secondhand and wasn’t discriminating enough about what I brought home with me. Though I try to be compassionate to my earlier, more naive self, I’m now pretty set on being pickier about what I use. Bad fabric makes me feel as if I’m devaluing my skills and time, and I’m too old for that. With age comes wisdom, I guess? In any case, it made sense, on multiple fronts, to break out the nicer (but still thrifted) stuff for this Genra.

That didn’t prevent me from leading myself astray yet again. My original plan (as mentioned in the aforementioned post) had been to use a rayon I’d been saving for something special. This seemed a safe choice because I typically sew with wovens and assumed that rayon would be at most half a step more challenging than working with linen is. The few minutes it would’ve taken me to Google “sewing with rayon” would’ve saved me hours of time, a few metres of fabric, and a whole lot of grief. But did I? Of course not. Indeed, instead of doing my research and thereby avoiding several mini breakdowns, I forged ahead and made a few major errors, most critically in the cutting, which I did on the fold rather than a single layer. Due to the rayon’s shiftiness and my grievous misstep, I ended up with three irredeemably off-grain pieces that I did my best to trim, adjust, etc. before accepting that I’d need to start from scratch. (Luckily, I had enough fabric to accommodate this.)

I was three days into the project at this point and had nothing but dubiously OK pieces, resentment, and a rapidly approaching deadline to show for my tear-provoking labour. One might argue that I should’ve stopped there and reconsidered the wisdom of attempting to sew a high-stakes special-event garment in a few days out of fabric that had already given me an incredible amount of grief. The thought crossed my mind but didn’t immediately result in productive action as I madly scrambled to salvage the sinking ship that was this particular Genra.

I got there eventually, though, and am I ever glad I found it in me to change course. After a particularly frustrating sewing session, and desperate to find a replacement that wouldn’t feel like a compromise, I dug through my stash and rediscovered a piece of cotton-linen twill in ochre I purchased from Blackbird Fabric last year, before the commencement of my “buy only thrifted fabric” period (that ship has officially sailed, friends—new decade, new rules, new fabric policy). Like the rayon, it matched well with the blazer and pants I’d planned to wear. Unlike the rayon, it was a dream to sew with. I again took my time, slowing things down and making sure that I was satisfied with the quality of my work at each stage before moving to the next. Turns out that it’s much easier to be happy with the quality of your work when you’re working with quality fabric—who’d have thought?

I was two small steps from finishing when my husband and I left for a week up north with friends. The morning of my birthday, after this distance-imposed pause, I made the buttonholes and sewed on the buttons I’d preselected from my collection. I’d saved them, too, for the right project, and this was it.

Trying on the shirt and admiring myself in the mirror was one of those “aha” moments. Everything had come together. I felt polished, comfortable, accomplished. Yes, I sew because I like it; yes, I sew for the end product. I sew for the confidence it gives me in what I wear, in my whole being, and in my abilities. There’s truth in that proverb “the clothes make the [wo]man,” I’d say, and especially so when the woman makes the clothes.