I’ve just finished reading Deluxe: How Luxury Lost Its Luster by Dana Thomas, and if you are at all interested in the world of fashion and the drastic changes it’s undergone, you should definitely pick it up!

Luxury used to mean the best money could buy. Luxury products were expensive and totally out of reach for most people, but they carried with them a tradition of exquisite craftsmanship, perfect presentation, and an unrivaled experience of service. Some of the large luxury companies still stand by these principles (she shows how Chanel and Hermes, for example, still go above and beyond in the pursuit of quality).

{images above: women in Dior in the 1940s/50s via sacheverelle}

But most luxury brands have changed dramatically. The businessmen at the helm have realized that they can make a killing by focusing on marketing “entry level” products to the middle market. That means handbags, sunglasses, perfume, cosmetics… the things a middle income person could afford to splurge on to get a taste of that fancy brand. Meanwhile, the quality has plummeted and most products are secretly produced in Chinese factories (while being stamped “made in Italy”). Some of these factories are sweat shops. Some employ child labor. The companies make a lot of profit.

{image above: Louis Vuitton ad}

Luxury brands used to be owned and run by designers. For the most part, they are now part of giant conglomerates and totally focused on the bottom line. Designers are almost expendable, and the clothes are in some part just a vehicle to sell the brand and thereby sell more handbags. Couture clothing has only gotten less attainable, because it’s not meant to be sold to many people. Instead, we get “fast fashion” versions of the designs. I was fascinated to learn this tidbit:

“More than two hundred thousand women worldwide wore couture in the 1950s. It was an expected part of a bourgeois woman’s everyday life. Today, in comparison, a mere two hundred women worldwide buy haute couture.”

So this left me with a question: What is luxury now, to you and I? Are there still real luxuries available to normal people? Is sewing one of those luxuries?

Personally, I would like to think that I appreciate craftsmanship, detail, and quality. I like things that last a good long time and look beautiful. Sewing is one of the few ways I have to attain that. Of course, there are other reasons I sew, but I do like being able to create a perfectly tailored silk dress in my own home.

But I don’t think it’s the only answer. One of the interesting points she makes is that there are small businesses who are able to stay small and, because of their scale, maintain that attention to quality. Louboutin is a wonderful example of a very small company run by the designer who has managed to stay small, make amazing products, refrain from even advertising, and not sell out. I liked almost everything he has to say:

“Luxury is the possibility to stay close to your customers, and do things that you know they will love. It’s about subtlety and details. It’s about service [...] Luxury is not consumerism. It is educating the eyes to see that special quality.” -Louboutin

This could be a mantra for my own business, in a way. But I think there are other, even smaller artist-run companies like Louboutin, carrying the flag for quality and originality, not merely reaching for money and growth. I can think of some in my own community, in fact.

What do you think? Is luxury a farce? A marketing gimmick? Do you think it’s different than it was 60 years ago? Does it mean something to you?

Yesterday I went to a massive flea market here in Barcelona called Encants (where I previously picked up the amazing vintage hand-painted buttons), with a sewing friend of mine who was on a mission to score some supplies from the haberdashery stalls. I was only going to keep her company but ended up getting in a frenzy at one stall that specialised underwear elastic, lace and buttons. The stall was lorded over by an incredibly ancient lady who was in possession of a wonderfully crumpled face and sharp wit. After my initial button-induced buzz subsided I noticed that the lady was chatting to a heavily pregnant woman who was browsing. The old lady asked the pregnant woman when she was due, to which the woman replied ‘Tuesday’ (well, ‘Martes’ actually, but you get the idea). The old lady then proceeded to raise the question of whether the woman had been sewing babies’ clothes in preparation, and the woman replied that no, she hadn’t had the time. The old lady then exclaimed ‘You do know they come out naked, don’t you?!’. Fantastic! I laughed for about ten minutes.  

Later on back at my flat, after retelling the exchange to my boyfriend, I was reminded of the section in my Make Do and Mend book about preparing for a new baby. I’m not speaking from personal experience, but the arrival of a new baby seems overwhelming enough, without the added difficulties that living within a time of rationing would throw your way in the UK during the Second World War. I imagine a lot of community spirited ‘chipping in’ went on to help provide the necessities for a new baby. However, if a growing family still found itself unprepared, the Government had some advice regarding what could apparently be omitted from traditional preparations and the most efficient methods to produce what couldn’t.

The advice includes simultaneously making babies’ clothes from ‘as little material as possible’ as well as in styles that are able to be worn for ‘longer than he would have worn his first clothes in peace-time’. Such extra considerations would certainly force an expectant mother to be more thoughtful and creative than most seamstresses would need to be today. The Government leaflet offers suggestions for styles which could have an extended lifespan, for example by adding deep hems and tucks that could be unpicked and the garment let out as the baby got bigger. What these leaflets show me, more than anything, is how the rationing and restrictions forced the effected populations to experience privations in almost every single aspect of day to day life, in ways that today we would difficultly to perceive. Life was undeniably tough, and it is humbling to realise how good we have it these days.

Speaking of these days, making clothing and toys for babies and children is of course another great way to use up some of the smaller pieces of fabric in your stash. This super cute skirt (image found here) is a great combination of a little fabric and a healthy dose of imagination.

Pictures is a collection of photographs by Tim Walker, perhaps my favorite modern fashion photographer. It’s a large tome that includes a huge array of his brilliant work and, perhaps even more fascinating, glimpses into his artistic process.

Readers of British Vogue are, I’m sure, familiar with Tim Walker’s work. His photo are distinctly romantic and striking, often making use of outdoor locations or big elaborate sets. What I love best about his work is that each photo seems to capture a certain theatricality, like a tiny play condensed into a single moment. They’re unapologetically staged and totally unreal, but the characters he creates are so compelling. That seems to me the heart of fashion, in a way.

I also loved looking into his sketchbooks and seeing the formulations of ideas and inspiration.

I had a hard time picking my favorites as I flipped through the book, so here are a whole bunch.

{ Tim Walker Pictures on Amazon }

This dainty little book from 1928 was written by a woman named Laura I. Baldt, who held the title of Assistant Professor of Household Arts, Teachers College, Columbia University. Here’s a picture of Ms. Baldt:

She looks like a knowledgeable sort of woman, does she not? Inscribed in the front of the book in tiny cursive is the name “Francis M. Morey, Dryden High School, 1928-29.” I suppose this book must have been used as a home economics text of some sort, as the tone is quite teacher-ly, and the lessons fairly basic. But the advice is sound and straightforward in that particular way you find in vintage books written by and for women:

“The subject of clothing from one or another point of view, claims the attention and interest of all women. Some view it as a means of self-gratification; some as a means of artistic expression; others from the viewpoint of economic pressure; while others try to give it the true place in their thinking, for if ‘we express our thinking in our clothing,’ whether it be disorder, beauty or ugliness, or harmony, depends really upon the thought we expend upon it.”

My favorite section of the book is the chapter dedicated to “The Home Sewer’s Workshop.” Among other things, it lists a range of equipment and tools that are vital to the home sewer. By and large, it’s not very different from the things you’d find in a sewing room today: a cutting table, a sewing machine, a dress form, an iron, along with pins, scissors, pinking shears, needles, and tailor’s chalk. It’s amazing to me how little has changed in the world of sewing.

In Sarai’s previous post she very sweetly expressed that she enjoys vintage sewing books because ‘They give a glimpse back into the daily lives and skills of everyday women’. Recently I have been reading a book on Make Do and Mend, the skills and techniques employed by women in the UK during the Second World War to cope with the hardships that were enforced upon them, and have subsequently found myself struck by a similar feeling.

The book actually is comprised of reproductions of official instruction leaflets issued by the British Government but also has a well written foreword which puts these leaflets into the context of the times with some fascinating information. The privations women experienced in regards to resources begun as soon as the war started in September 1939 when petrol was rationed. The rationing system consisted of household ration books which contained coupons that had to be presented at the time of purchase. Before long, the restrictions began to encompass almost every item that pre-war could have been purchased with ease, including food, domestic fuel, clothing, fabric, cooking wares, footwear, furniture, soap, pens, and many, many others, and the rationing of some things continued long after the end of the war right up until 1953, in the lifetime of my own parents. These allowances took into account the circumstances of each family, including number of children and even what part of the country you lived in (Northern British dwelling families required more fuel). What’s more, rationing not only grew to encompass more and more products, but also became increasingly stricter with the number of coupons issued becoming less and less, or stopping all together. For example, the meagre amounts of petrol allowed for private cars and motorbikes stopped completely in 1942 unless your car use was essential for the war effort.

The rationing of clothing, fabric and knitting wool begun in June 1941, continuing until 1949. Every man, woman and child were issued coupons books. Initially each person was issued with sixty six coupons a year, but this eventually dropped to just twenty. With a woolen dress requiring eleven coupons, you can imagine how important preserving existing garments became. In response to this, the Government distributed more and more leaflets to offer women advice, tips and tutorials. These included topics such as how to avoid moths attacking your clothes, darning techniques for socks and knitwear, reinforcing areas of garments that suffer the most wear and making childrens’ clothes from adult cast-offs.

It is amazing to think that these concerns were an everyday reality for my grandmothers and their mothers. How society has altered so drastically from such scarcity that we tend to associate only with developing nations today, to finding our high streets and wardrobes awash with an abundance of cheap ‘disposable’ garments. But arguably parallels can be drawn between living with the threat of destruction through bombing and invasion in the 1949, to the comparatively safer yet still very real threats to our ecosystem through the climate change largely brought on by destructive industries and irresponsible production. I firmly believe that cutting back on needless and mindless consumption of manufactured goods is as relevant, essential even, today as it has ever been. Except, until our Governments can get together and agree on and then enforce changes in the causes of emissions, it’s up to everyone to personally take some of the responsibility by making necessary changes to the way we consume. We don’t have coupons or rationing today to force us to do anything, but should we chose to, those of us with sewing skills are at an advantage.

I will be looking into Make Do and Mend further, and will feature the most interesting and relevant tips and techniques from the campaign in future posts. I regret not talking to my grandmothers about the inventive things they did to keep themselves and their families clothed and looking as nice as possible, but hopefully by researching and sharing, we can all ensure that what those generations went through and learnt doesn’t get lost with their passing.

I have a small but growing collection of vintage sewing books. I treasure them not just because they showcase wonderful techniques that are less common today, but also because they give a glimpse back into the daily lives and skills of everyday women. I thought it would be nice to share some of these books with you.

The Art of Dressmaking was published by Butterick in 1927, and is aimed at both the “successful” home seamstress, and the beginner.

The first page says:

“It is not a book of current styles – those you will find in Delineator and the Butterick Quarterly – but it has been prepared with the hope that it will be useful and helpful all the time whenever and wherever clothes are being made.”

When the author wrote that, I doubt she imagined someone reading it and still gleaning hints and advice over 80 years into the future. It is really hard for me to believe sometimes how little garment sewing has changed in the last century. Nearly all of the advice given in this book would be useful to a home sewer today.

The illustrations are just gorgeous, showing lithe, deco women elegantly picking fabric and creating flowing garments.

I especially love these images of completely shapeless clothing being “fitted” on a narrow, androgynous body. It looks so simple! But of course the clothing of that decade was rich in detail if rather uniform in silhouette.

I do wonder what a woman naturally shaped like me would have thought looking at illustrations like this, and trying to apply them to her own sewing. The thin, 1920s ideal figure is so exaggerated here that it’s rather strange to my modern eyes. I suppose in the context of that decade though, it would have just seemed modern and chic, if not totally realistic.

The book covers a large range of topics, and seems a good introductory text. Chapters include everything from selecting a style and fabric to cutting to various seams and trimmings. There are even sections on maternity wear and men’s clothing. Above you can see wonderfully illustrated instructions for creating a welt pocket.

I’ll be sharing several more vintage sewing books over time, stay tuned!

If you make garments (and chances are you do, seeing as you are reading this blog) you may already be on familiar terms, however if you are not, allow me to introduce you to Winifred Aldrich. She is the author of a series of books on flat pattern cutting, and on this subject she is a major authority. My ‘relationship’ with Aldrich began ten years ago when I received a list of recommended texts for the start of my Fashion Design degree course that included her Metric Pattern Cutting. Initially I bought one of the other texts, but once my course began and I took a look at my classmates’ copies of Metric Pattern Cutting, it became obvious which was the weightier tome and I swiftly corrected my error by purchasing my own copy.

My copy is the third edition, published in 1994, but little of the book’s foundation has been altered since the initial 1976 version. And that is the key: it has a solid technical foundation which has been informing students for a third of a century. It provides instructions to create all the basic blocks someone who wants to design their own patterns would need, plus directions of how to adapt the blocks in a myriad of ways. This book is aimed at beginners, but with the sheer quantity of garment shapes, styles and detail variations achievable through its explanations, I find it hard to see why a pattern cutter would need to turn to any other volume unless they were trying to attempt very avant garde or sculptural work.

‘The basic rules of pattern cutting are based on sound principles, a student must learn those thoroughly so that when the rules are broken, it is a creative decision allied to sound reasoning’.

Aside from the basic block creation and adaption that form the core of the book, I have found sections on drafting blocks for individual figures, correcting fit issues, and grading rules for different sizes keep me coming back to glean new knowledge.

However, its sections on computer aided design and pattern development do now appear dated, if they hold any interest for you at all. Equally, some might also argue that many of the garment shapes or details it shows you how to achieve are also a little unappealing these days, but as this book perceptively acknowledges, a lot of fashion design is the result of a sensitivity to proportion. Therefore, if the reader looks beyond some of the particular shapes illustrated to the principals being imparted, each and every section contains knowledge to add to your arsenal of pattern designing skills. I will also concede that this book relies heavily on its pleasantly stylised illustrations and crisp diagrams to impart information rather than through reams of detailed text.

Many of the style options this book offers up are really interesting and things I would never have imagined, let alone have the first clue of how to achieve, for example gusseted cap sleeves and raised seam sleeve heads (What? Exactly!).  It makes me realise how banal most manufactured garments and commercial dress patterns are these days.

If you are interested in starting to create or adapt your own garment patterns, or are looking to expand your existing skills and inspire you into new and interesting directions, then finding a copy of Metric Pattern Cutting would be a strong move.

Take a look at this little gem. It’s a book about pattern cutting, published in Barcelona in 1929, entitled ‘Corte Parisien Sistema Martí’, in other words ‘Martí’s Parisian Cutting System’ by Doña Martí de Missé. At this point, I must point out that nowhere after the front cover is there anymore mention of ‘Parisien’! I’m predisposed to think that this word was added at the publisher’s insistence, in a bid to raise sales by aligning the book with the trends of the day, a bit like adding ‘Organic’ on something today!   

If our translations of 1920’s Spanish into 2000’s English are at all accurate, the fascinating content goes a little something like this: On the first page, the book sets out its intentions to lay down methods for cutting patterns through the direct application of your body measurements, which in turn can be transformed into infinite pattern possibilities.  Immediately after this statement of intent, Señora Martí goes on to state that she has created the ‘irrefutable base’ upon which the professionals have focussed their methodology of teaching pattern cutting. Bold claims indeed!  

She then goes to further expand upon the evolution of pattern cutting up to 1929, which she breaks down into four disciplines. The first is ‘Corte Intuitivo’, which appears to translate as ‘intuitively’ draping fabric directly onto the body of the client; a method described by Martí as difficult and annoying and requiring much practise to master. To relieve the client of the annoyance of having to standing up for far too long that resulted from ‘Corte  Intuitivo’, Modistas (fashion designers) developed ‘Corte Libre’, ‘Free Cutting’. This method used a mannequin or cutting by eye, tracing the clients without making measurements and then perfecting the garments at the fitting.

Señora Martí clearly had no truck with the third pattern cutting method ‘Corte Geometrico Proportional’ (by now I’m sure you can guess, ‘Proportional Geometric Cutting!). Although she concedes that this method of creating a 2D plan traced with the clients measurements is ‘an improvement on the old methods’, she criticises the tweaking which then takes place by applying prediscribed calculations and equations pertaining to the proportions of the shape of the body. Her scorn of this method is enraged by the calculations which are based on averages, which she wisely notes, don’t exist. In fact she perceptively furthers to state that fashion itself obliges women vary the proportions of their form and shape. She delivers the final nail to this method’s coffin by venturing that intelligent pattern cutters had already renounced these limited and antiquated rules.

And so we come upon her fourth, and clearly beloved method, ‘Corte Mathematico’, the method Martí claims evidently appears to be exact and perfect, by logically excluding the proportional variant of the ‘Corte Geometrico Proportional’. ‘Mathematical Cutting’ contains nothing but direct measurements from the person to the pattern. Martí clearly had some form of epiphany when discovering this method, as she has based her own teachings upon it.

“Since fashion became popular [!] women have felt a need, as a complement to their intellectual and artistic culture, to be familiar with the art of creating their own garments, and when women truly entered into this terrain, commercial patterns surged forth”. I must add where all these historical pearls were discovered. This book belongs to my flatmate, who was given as a gift from his friend who had, in fact, found it on the street, where it had been left for the rubbish collection!

As and when I uncover further nuggets of ‘Martí Method’ wisdom, you’ll be the first to know.