Post Apocalyptic

My mother-in-law gave me this yarn years ago. I’m generally happy to accept yarn, even when it’s yarn I’ll be dropping off at Goodwill the next time I (eventually) go. You never know where your next skein of qiviut might come from. Probably not from the hamper of acrylic your co-worker thoughtfully procured from an estate sale, but let’s stoke the fires of optimistic treasure hunting.

My MIL, though, has good yarn taste and knows her stuff and has never given me anything I’m not interested in knitting up. This yarn is gorgeous in a very non-traditionally-yarny way which makes it both appealing and confusing. It’s heavy, dense, cool to the touch, ropey, and has absolutely no give at all. Its unusual qualities are what make it attractive and also make it it hard to know what in the world to do with it which is why, I’m guessing, MIL passed it on to me way  back when. It screams post-apocalyptic dystopia. That or chain mail, a knitting trend that based on a cursory google and ravelry search has not managed to catch on well at all.

It knit up at a gauge that seemed to defy all ravelry pattern database records, which is not unusual in itself for the twilight zone experience of gauge, but the limitations of this yarn’s characteristics combined with a gauge heretofore unmeasured in our physical world meant that despite my best intentions and interest this yarn languished. I started and ripped out a project that was’t going to work and wasn’t something I would have worn anyways and proceeded to put the yarn away for , no exaggeration,  another 5 years after that failed attempt.

I *finally* realized that one of the things holding me back from using this yarn was that there was just so much of it. I didn’t want to make anything with sleeves because the yarn was so heavy and inelastic, but I was unconsciously holding out for a pattern that would use it up. Using some is better than using none, and I finally settled on a simple, appropriately zombie-apocalyptic pattern that required nowhere near the yardage I had on hand.

Me, looking to alien-infested skies. I don’t know what it is about my husband’s photography skills, but I am not this thin in real life.

Pattern: Slope by Shibui Knits
Size: Cast on smallest hoping for medium
Yarn: Blue Moon Fibert Arts Koi, Indigo Nights (discontinued)
Needle: 4

Gauge remained an issue, but the simpler your garment the more flexible a measurement gauge can be. I cast on the smallest size hoping for something in the middle. In this case it worked fine. It only needed to fit my shoulders and it does. The rest of it is a matter of personal preference.

Cloned dinosaurs, oh my!

Mixing genres, the dramatic slops is almost cape-like.

I flubbed the length measurement. It’s longer than it should be because I was measuring from the wrong place. You can see how a measurement from the front v. side v. back would vary significantly. I also shorted the armholes some by starting the neckline decreases a smidge earlier than the size medium called for.

And now I am ready for the technological singularity.

I know it’s been point out a million times, but how can knitwear so prevalent in post-apocalyptic hellscapes and yet nobody has the skill to repair it? So many holes and running stitches. Get it together future-dwellers.

Temp Tempt Tank

I’d put off the Ogden Cami because I felt sure it wouldn’t work on me. All those pretty floral Ogdens during Me-Made-Made May coincided with a sharp rise in outdoor temperatures (in the Midwest you can go from snow to 90’s in the span of a week) and suddenly the temptation to take a chance on a loose-fitting tank was too great to resist.

I dutifully worked up a muslin and was pleasantly surprised: all I would have to do is shorten the straps. I’ve had a string of successful muslin-ing and superstitiously started to believe that whether I make a muslin or not directly impacts how well a pattern fits out of the figurative PDF envelope. The “logic” goes that if I make a muslin a pattern will fit better than if I don’t. My streak ended with a muslin of the Lander shorts, but that’s a story for another time if and when I go back to that pattern. Trust me, you don’t want to see a picture of my too–small muslin in white-on-white printed quilting cotton.

Pattern: Ogden Cami by True Bias
Size: 6? I think? I made this pre-vacation. Details are only faintly remembered.

Sewists go on about what a great pattern this is for using up odds and ends. To my surprise the only suitable remnant in my stash was the blue linen from my Forsythe Dress. Every other remnant was quilting cotton or too little which left me wondering *again* why I’m keeping it. I was excited to make a wearable version of this pattern and jumped the gun: not only am I tired of this fabric 3 projects later, but it’s a bit too heavy and remember how I was inspired by the light, airy, floral versions? This in no way resembles them so I find myself disappointed even though there is no possible way an Ogden made out of teal linen could resemble one made out of liberty lawn.

The benefit to having made this weeks ago is I’ve worn it and I can report that I need to shorten the straps another smidge. I might even size down; this tank seemed OK at first try-on, but has a mind of its own when I’m actually trying to live life and I can’t abide constantly adjusting, lifting, and tugging so my bra cups don’t show. I’m not sure if this is a sizing problem or a high/small-bust fitting problem, but it’s exactly the issue I had anticipated that made me so reluctant to try this pattern in the first place. Muslins, like swatches, can lie.

Ruffles Have Ridges

I inexplicably love ruffles. Inexplicable because the ruffles I gravitate to are not ones that balance my pear shape, but emphasize it. I love a big ruffle at the hem of a shirt, but I’m pretty sure ruffles don’t love me. Not that this has stopped me from making and wearing the heck out of a View Ridge by Straight Stitch Designs… 

Photo from last summer featuring Chuffy’s pincushion sculpture that says “oOoOh”

but the cropped length of the Peplum Top gave me pause. So I made a muslin! Just to try it out and see if it would work! I hurriedly tried it on and it was so ill-fitting that I decided I would use it as a PSA about how making a muslin is useful because sometimes that little bit of extra effort will prevent you from wasting time and money on a garment that just isn’t going to work. So I was shocked when I put on appropriate undergarments to take photos with the express purpose of showing you how bad it was and…

*Spit take*

It turns out trying a muslin bra-less over the oversized t-shirt you sleep in is not going to give you a fair assessment of a garment’s fit. WHO COULD HAVE KNOWN? Obviously I didn’t. It fits and I stand in disbelief. But would it flatter? I certainly wasn’t going to wear an 80’s-athletic-wear-inspired crop-top out of the house (or around the house, for that matter) so I attached that ruffle to get an idea of what this style would look like on me.

I’m a definite pear-shape with short-ish, muscular legs. I love the volume and the movement of this top. But it’s a style that favors the slender-thighed and narrow-hipped and, dare I say, the youthful. Does it work on me? Do I care?

This is what I’m self-conscious of looking like:

What is even happening up there by my head?

And yet I know that people don’t look the widest part of me straight-on from the angle that unflattering photo was taken while I stand stock still so they can take in all the lumps and bumps. In real life I think I might present more like this:

In my mind I aspire I look like this:

So I don’t know. What do you think?

Wearable Schwearable

I’ve lied to myself over and over telling myself I was making a “wearable muslin” when in fact I was too lazy or uninterested or intimidated to make the adjustments that are implied by the term “making a muslin.” I wasn’t testing the pattern – I was making it as drafted in a hail-Mary pass and living with the consequences. Sometimes it was fine. Sometimes it wasn’t exactly fine but I wore the garment anyways. Sometimes a garment was unwearable. I mean, if you make a “muslin” and it’s wearable it qualifies as a garment, right? So what does “wearable muslin” even mean? That you got lucky?

I’m on a mission to make some loose, easy fitting summer dresses. Enter my “wearable muslin” of the Willow tank from Grainline Studio. True to habit, I made it up as drafted. Also true to habit, I used french seams. And finally, true to habit, I was shocked – shocked! – when it didn’t fit.

I unpicked those french seams, swore to myself I would use my serger to finish seams on untested garments in the future, and moved the bust darts up an inch. This was the result. Wearable? Yes! Improvable? Yes!

 

Pattern: Willow Tank by Grainline Studio
Size: 6
Fabric: Cotton something from Jo-Ann

I’m just sure the neighbor’s crew is coming over to drum tonight.

It looks OK, but the neckline gapes a bit. Not a big deal by itself, but when I use it as a layering piece it bunches a lot. I thought about tearing out the bias tape finish and putting in a small gather or pleat at the center bust, but, true to form, I forgot.

The opportunity of a simple pattern is that I get to try different adjustments to see what works best. I can try, for example, a square shoulder adjustment and see if that does the job, and/or a small bust adjustment, and/or a gaping neck adjustment. If I were a more organized person I might try each of these to see what the results are. Hold that thought, Mom gave me yards and yards of white-on-white quilting fabric she wasn’t going to use and I’m suddenly thinking it would be a terrific idea to try each of these ideas in turn. Some things I have to learn by doing and this may be one of those times.

Digging Out

To quickly reprise: in this post I will discuss the alterations I made to attempt to salvage a long-ignored ill-fitting top I found stuffed in a drawer:

Before…

Emboldened by my recent forays into fit I analyzed the problems here. Clearly this pattern is drafted to someone with a larger cup size than I have. Fabric that would be crossing and cascading from my ample bosoms instead puddles and pools around my waist and belly.

I’ll spare you the exhaustive detail and cut to the chase. Blathering on about trying to get clothes to fit my body is entertaining for me, but I don’t expect it to be entertaining for anybody else. One thing led to another and this was what I ended up with:

…After

Oh, no, too tight. Perhaps I over-compensated for my under-endowment. Not uncomfortable, but not pretty. Especially across the back:

That’s a lot of yuck across the yoke.

It’s impossible to know if I’ll reach for this when the weather is warmer than this mornings 3-degree windchill… but I think not. I can’t get over how terrible the back looks. I still like the idea of this pattern and might try it again with proper sizing and adjustment. After ignoring it for another spell. I’ve had enough of Ella for now. I say this even as I’m contemplating inserting gores under the arm add fabric back in around the bust and back. Hmmm.

Poorly executed pleat.

I told you this fabric frayed like a mother.

The series of ambivalent events follow if you want them.

When you do a small bust adjustment you cut width and length. Ideally I would have sliced and diced from the front of this shirt (where my boobs are) and not from the back (where my boobs are not). I also ideally would have cut at the bust and graded to the hip which actually fit well. I didn’t trust myself to grade symmetrically on both sides so I took the lazy route used my rotary cutter to cut a full inch off each side and hoped for the best. I sewed over the existing bust darts to extend them, serged the sides together, and tried it on. Now it was too narrow at the hem (picture me shaking my fist at my past-self. I knew that would happen!). I couldn’t undo that serger seam so I folded the top in half length-wise and ad-libbed a scooped hem to release the side seams without shortening the front or back. My hem is wonky and homemade looking: I barely turned it up at the side seams, but it’s turned up an inch at the front and back. This is probably Wrong, but it accommodated the curve while shortening the top so whatevs.

Musing about the shoulders and if there was any possible way to shorten them after the fact made me realize how much better the back fell when I lifted it up. Since I couldn’t shorten the back from the shoulder I got to wondering if I could shorten it at the back yoke. I hated to lose the piping trim detail, but I decided the best way to shorten the back without increasing bulk was to fold at that seam and serge it together, cutting off the the piping in the process. I topstitched my new seam down, finished the armholes, and called it done. It seems I traded a shirt that bagged in the back with one that is stretched thin across.

The more I talk about it the more I think maybe I’ll experiment with gores and get back to you. I’ll stuff this in the drawer again until then.

Digging In

Look what I found stuffed in a drawer!

I am thrilled.

It’s an unfinished and long-forgotten Ella Top by Liola Patterns! I started this sometime last year. The fabric is a double gauze that frays like crazy and I had french-seamed everything like I like to do. French seams would normally be a prudent choice for a frays-like-crazy fabric, but in this case their use backfired. There was no possible way to tear the seam without tearing my fabric. I couldn’t even discern the seam from the fabric’s warp and weft. When I tried this on and it looked awful I just didn’t know what I could possibly do to try to salvage it.

If I hadn’t had an attachment to the fabric I may have chucked it. But this is the same print that I selected when I was inspired to make a tiny baby baby jumper from 1 Yard Wonders for my first baby years and years ago in a sewing-as-nesting jag that didn’t take hold.

Exhibits 1 and 2

I don’t think I ever put her in it. I was intimated by buttonholes. I used to be embarrassed to admit that buttonholes intimidate me, but having recently used my mother’s borrowed Bernina with a programmable buttonhole function to finish Hubs’ shirt I challenge any of you to use a nearly-40-year-old machine to make manual buttonholes and tell me it isn’t intimidating. The gigantic snaps I sewed in (badly) as a substitute were bulky and awkward and it turns out that jumpers are simply not my go-to garment when it comes to dressing an infant.

You can also see that I made some curtains with that print. I made those for my last baby.

And it was a gift! I would hate to not use a gift. It makes sense that I would choose the same print myself, but in this case my mother-in-law chose it for me! Thus this print has turned into a bit of a theme just as dandelions have become a personal metaphor for accepting life’s small frustrations. I think that’s not typically the way people read meaning into dandelions, but I am my father’s daughter. His lawn preservation battle rages on.

I was able to eke out two sleeveless tops from the two yards of coordinating fabric she gave me. A Ruby top came together well enough:

I’m not sure about that sagging in the front, but I don’t care enough to do anything about it, either. Is it a bust fit issue or did my fabric stretch? Dunno. Don’t care.

This Ella one, though. Nope. Not working. Tune in again to see if my hacking and fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants alterations helped.