Enough with the weather. Enough droning on about my mobility challenges. I’m ready to set both aside and inaugurate a new series of posts, this one shifting attention back where I want it to be and away from a winter that’s keeping me inside yet again (I’ll stop myself there).
Last summer, when my ambition wasn’t as frozen as my feet currently are, I wrote a sewing manifesto in which I challenged myself to start inching away from elastic waistbands. My intention was to get comfy, or at least comfier, with my body by forcing myself to feel it. Months later, I’ve come to realize that this goal, though noble, was also somewhat misguided. I’ve thus decided to lean into the elastic.
It isn’t as if I completely failed to meet my objective. Indeed, I now own pants with a button and a fly. I even wear them on occasion. Rather than investing a huge amount of time and energy sewing a garment I wasn’t totally sure I’d bring myself to keep on for more than five minutes before changing into sweats, I thrifted a selection of jeans in what I approximated my size to be, thus lowering both the financial and emotional stakes of the experiment. The first pair was a dud; the second was ok; the third is honestly great, but only when I’m standing—not something I do much of. After an hour of grudging tolerance, I’m so annoyed by how the waistband sits that I have to fight myself not to swap them for one of my several elastic-waisted alternatives.
And that’s the thing: I do have alternatives, and they ultimately make me feel better about my appearance and about myself more generally. I’m not talking about dowdy polyester slacks or even trendy athleisure wear or the nicer kind of sweatpants, either, though there’s certainly a time and a place for them (the sweatpants, not the slacks—give me a few decades—or the atheleisure wear—I’m not the type). No; these are relatively stylish me-made options, as I’ll get to once I finish this lengthy preamble. Why, then, should I force myself to endure an entirely unnecessary struggle?
Granted, it can be hard for me, in situations such as this, to tease apart what’s unnecessary in the truest sense of the word from what might feel unnecessary but would be worth getting used to for reasons having to do with mental-health and body acceptance. That said, I’m now confident that I can and will reach for my jeans when the mood strikes—but that my strong preference, fully separate from my sense of being a disgruntled, miserable tourist stranded by ill fate in a flesh vessel I didn’t ask for, is elastic all the way. This plays into the idea of adaptive sewing, too, since much of my aversion to zippers and button flies is due to the way my body is built and functions. Unless they’re positioned in exactly the right place, they irritate a stomach zone that’s been sensitive since my G-tube was removed; furthermore, I don’t have fantastic dexterity in my fingers because of contractures, making the zippering and buttoning a pain. In other words, I have medical excuses to avoid traditional pants and am able to begin/continue my hunt for the perfect-for-me elasticated pair with a clear conscience and a relaxed tummy.
As I proceed with my quest to flesh out a wardrobe of garments that work for my particular configuration of human meat while also making me look like I haven’t freshly emerged from an seated-aerobics class, I’ve come up with a basic set of criteria.
- Must look equally good on me in seated and standing position. This is important since I do more of the former but some of the latter.
- Must be comfortable. In the public imagination, elastic waist = guaranteed bliss, but years of experience have taught me that this isn’t the case. Elastic can dig; pant legs can constrict movement. I will have none of that.
- Must fit my aesthetic(s). It’s been unexpectedly empowering to figure out what those are—more on that later—and I’m unwilling to accept that I can’t have it all.
- Must be fun to sew. Ideally, I’d like to alternate more complex projects with a few go-to patterns that are enough of a stretch (ha) to be interesting but don’t make me want to hang up my shears.
You might be wondering how many pairs of pants one woman needs. I would argue that this is about so much more than “need.” It’s about building skills. It’s about gaining self-confidence. It’s about developing that sense of style I keep rattling on about. It’s about distracting myself from the still-here winter and my still-barely-functioning power wheelchair.
In any case, my plan is to document my journey of self-growth through pants via projects recaps and pattern reviews. I’ll start with the pairs and patterns I’ve already made—some more than once—and then work my way through those in my ever-growing queue. If you have suggestions (preferably by independent designers, but I’m open), send them my way; I’m always looking for reasons to buy more patterns, fabric, and, of course, elastic.
De Morbo Sacro: Life and/with Epilepsy 