I don’t know how useful they are, but these antique thread caddies from KathysSewingRoom are awfully adorable.

Earlier this week, I wrote about the late 19th and early 20th century American tradition of using feedsack fabric for clothing, quilts, and household goods. Obviously, that was an early and innovative form of fabric reuse, which many of us continue to practice in our own ways.

There are many reasons to use recycled fabrics. Cost is a big one, as is keeping clothing and fabric out of the landfills. But another major reason for me is that you can get some really lovely fabrics this way!

I love soft cottons and large-scale florals, two things that I find really difficult to locate in most fabric stores. My solution these days? Vintage sheets! 100% cotton sheets are soft and comfortable with a lovely drape and hand, and often come in some amazing prints, from nautical stripes to sweet 60s florals. Youd be surprised what you can do with them, and for a fraction of the price you’d pay off the bolt.

Here are some other beauties I’ve found via Etsy, for a fraction of what you’d pay for a nice cotton. But I’ve found thrift stores to be the absolute best for finding sheets. I especially like to stock up on plain white sheets, as they can come in handy for lining light garments!

{images above via Etsy: sosovintage, JaneSaysVintage, tessimal, VintageUrbanGirl, RememberMeMonCherie, LemonBlooms, JaneSaysVintage}

The feedsack dress is one of those objects indelibly linked in our minds to rural life in 1930s America. While I often feel conflicted about the glamorization of this difficult period and place, there is no denying that the feedsack dress represents some of the most uplifting and hopeful aspects of craft: creating something from nothing, and the desire for color and beauty even in the grittiest of circumstances.

In the mid-19th century, sewing technology had advanced to the point that manufacturers of grain, feed, and other dry goods began to sell their goods in heavy canvas sacks, simply printed with the manufacturer’s name. Farmers’ wives began to use these sacks for creating household goods, such as linens and kitchen towels. The manufacturers, recognizing the bags as a potential selling point for farming families, began printing the cloth with patterns. Because it would take a few feedsacks to make a single dress, the farmer could be enticed to buy several from the manufacturer to get matching patterns.

Though the feedsack was used for sewing before and after the Great Depression, it’s become a symbol of that time. The 1930s were in fact the heyday of the beautiful, colorful prints manufactured by these companies. With their beautiful floral patterns and bold feminine colors, they remain an example of beautiful frugality, self-reliance, and creativity.

To learn more about feedsacks, check out this history of feedsacks, and be sure to take a gander at this beautiful feedsack gallery and the feedsack Flickr pool.

{images above: Primrose Design feedsack gallery}

I started sewing in part because I wanted to know where my clothes came from. I remember merrily shopping at Forever 21 in my first year of college, only to have my better-informed friends react with horror. Learning to sew my own dresses made me more confident in what I wore, in so many ways. But the story doesn’t start at garment construction; the fibers must be gathered and twisted into thread, the threads assembled into a solid piece of fabric.

How does this happen? Is it possible for me, or anyone, to start at the very beginning of the process?

… Probably not. The lovely bolts of fabric that we wander through in the stores are made by machines like the crazy monster pictured above. It’s a knitting machine, and it creates one of the two basic types of fabric that we use for sewing.

However, most of us start sewing with wovens. A woven fabric begins with a sheet of vertical, or warp, threads. Horizontal, or weft, threads are laced through them to form the solid material. There are three basic weaves, each with variations:

Plain weave is a simple pattern in which the warp and weft interlock, with each horizontal thread passing over one vertical thread and under the next. Some examples of plain-woven fabric are lawn, batiste, and gingham.

Twill weave involves feeding the weft threads through alternate warp threads, forming a diagonal design. Denim is made with a twill weave, as are other sturdy fabrics.

Finally, satin weave has a smooth face. The warp and weft interlace fewer times, creating a shiny surface.

Knits are a very different beast, made from interlocking loops of fabric. They generally stretch, and lots of our clothes are made from them — T-shirts, socks, underwear. You can also make lovely dresses and skirts from knits. They can be very fun and very quick to sew; if you have a serger, you can whip out a shirt in an afternoon. Even using a conventional machine, knit projects can go very quickly, since they tend to have fewer pieces and may not require facings or closures.

However, learning how to manage stretch, select thread, and create a garment that looks truly professional is a challenge indeed. Wendy Mullin’s Sew U Home Stretch is a good primer, and for expert advice check out Alyson Clair’s series at Gertie’s blog!

I don’t know how to knit much beyond a scarf, but it seems like a great hobby and I’d really like to learn. I also hope to start doing some basic weaving. While I know I can’t actually make the fabric that I’d use for sewing, creating my own knitted and woven projects seems like a great way to better understand how my fabric is constructed and how it may behave.

Image credits: Knitting machine from SHISHLLONGBAO MACHINE CO, examples of various weaves from Fiber Materials Inc.

Fabrics with nap require special handling, but with a few basic principles in mind, you can easily add them to your roster of sewing favorites.

If you’re unsure what I mean when I say “with nap,” think about fabrics with a raised pile to them, such as velvet, corduroy, or velour. When you run your hands along these fabrics in one direction along the length, they feel smooth. When you run your hands the other way, they feel a bit more bristly. This is because the pile goes in a single direction.

How does this relate to sewing? Well, if you were to hold up a piece of velvet with the pile pointing down it would look one way, and if you were to turn that piece of fabric 180 degrees so that the pile points up it would look slightly different. The light reflects off the pile differently, causing it to look lighter or darker, or perhaps appear to have a different texture.

And then there are fabrics that do not have that tell-tale thick pile, but still have nap! For example, there are many satin fabrics that look different when held in different directions. To check for nap, just try examining a couple pieces of your fabric when held up from opposite directions to see if it the two pieces look at all different.

Cutting napped fabrics

When you’re cutting a fabric with nap, you want to lay out all of your pattern pieces so that they face the same direction. This is called a one-directional layout. If not, you risk sewing two pieces together that, while cut from the same fabric, appear to be slightly different.

Here is an example of a regular, two-directional layout that is designed for any old fabric. Note that the top of the pattern pieces, though they are all aligned with the grain, face different directions:

And here is a one-directional layout that would work for a napped fabric. Here, the tops of each pattern piece face the same directions, so that the pile will look the same on each one:

Pressing fabrics with a pile

Pressing seams on a fabric with pile can be tricky. You don’t want to crush the pile with your iron, which would result in odd shiny spots, but you still want pressed seams.

First, lay your fabric down with the pile on top of something stiff and bristly. This will hold your pile in place while you press, so it doesn’t get flattened against the ironing board. Some people use a fluffy towel, but for deep piles you can use something called a needle board. This is a sort of mat with needles sticking out, and the pile falls between the needles so that it doesn’t get crushed.

Second, try to get as little contact with the iron as possible. Use just the tip of the iron along the seam, rather than laying the whole iron down. If possible, just finger press the seam by flattening with your finger tips, and apply some steam without actually letting the iron touch the fabric.

Caring for your garment

Be careful when removing wrinkles from your garment. Generally, fabrics with pile like steam but not the pressure of an iron, so try steaming them to remove wrinkles. You can use a steamer, hang them in the bathroom when you take a hot shower, or place them in the dryer with a damp towel.

Washing will vary depending on the type of fabric. Some things need dry cleaning, others can be washed by hand or machine. If you’re uncertain, test it out before sewing on a scrap. If you plan to wash your fabric, be sure to pre-wash it in the same manner before sewing.

If you do end up with any flat or shiny spots, they can be hard to remove. But applying a little steam while gently brushing the pile out can work wonders.

{images above: (1) kbaxterpackwood, (2) Colette Patterns, (3) Colette Patterns (4) Timeless Vixen Vintage}

Probably because of this painting, I’ve always felt compelled by muslin. Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun painted the portrait of Marie Antoinette in 1783. Word on the street is that it thoroughly scandalized Antoinette’s public, who said the casual, breezy garment wasn’t appropriate for a queen. Muslin still seems like a rather humble fabric — it tends to be used for important-but-less-glamorous functions of designing and sewing, like draping and testing patterns. It’s even given its name to the process of making a mock-up prior to cutting fashion fabric.

What factors do you consider when you’re choosing fabric? Any basic sewing book worth its salt should touch on this subject, describing the concepts of hand and weight, giving us examples of various weaves, and warning us not to make a pair of pants from a turquoise paisley print.

But there’s so much more to learn, from how to keep silk charmeuse from skating all over the cutting table to the capricious but powerful demands of fashion and style. I couldn’t begin to be definitive in a blog post; in this one, I’m profiling a few fabrics that I like, and hopefully that will start a discussion about fabrics you all like! Look for later posts on other fabric specifics, such as wovens vs. knits.

For each fabric, I’ll say a few words about what it is, how to use it, and where it came from. This last is something I often wonder about. I’m not sure I can think of a practical reason to know our fabric’s history, but it still seems important… I wonder if every yard we buy carries the weight of its past, just as the words we speak are weighted by their origins.

Velvet. How can I wear velvet and not feel like a queen? The soft pile and generally deep colors spur thoughts of sensuous, storied luxury. Velvet results from a dizzying array of fibers, both natural and synthetic. There are many different velvets, and they are all finicky and challenging to some degree, and so there are approximately seven million tips to help you deal with them. (For a concise version, check out “35 Secrets for Successful Velvet Sewing” in Threads Issue 116.) The overall message is: get to know your velvet before you cut in. Buy in a fabric store or order a swatch online. Think carefully about how you’ll care for the garment and whether or not pre-washing is necessary; even with those velvets that are machine wash- and dry-able, a trip through the Maytag will still affect the pile. Always test a small portion before you wash the entire piece. Mark the direction of the pile on the wrong side. Make your seam allowances just a bit wider for ease in sewing.

A bit of personal history on this one: in my childhood, the two most beautiful things were a) the shiny tap shoes that my sister wore for dance class and b) a velvet dress. I remember the first one I had, which was black and came from Kohl’s in St. Paul. I can’t quite shake my love for velvet and consequent desire to sew with it, but I had a long, hard time figuring out what to make that wouldn’t end up looking like Eight-Year-Old-Me’s midnight mass dress, circa 1991. Now, I am aching to make a black velvet Oolong.

Corduroy. Supposedly, we can thank the French for corduroy, with the word deriving from corde du roi, or “cord of the king.” However, this may be a myth — it’s more likely that corduroy originated in 19th-century England, and the word, too, may be English. Like velvet, corduroy has a soft pile that stands up from a base fabric, but it’s much more casual. I won’t go on too long about what corduroy is… since we all know what it is. However, it does require a certain amount of care and consideration when selecting and sewing. Look for wider wales (fewer cords per inch) for pants, narrower ones for jackets. Again, test a small piece when washing, and consider hanging up to dry. Don’t use a tracing wheel on corduroy, as it will squash the pile.

Bamboo. Perhaps this doesn’t quite fit in this list, since bamboo is not a fabric but, like cotton and silk, a fiber from which fabric is produced. It is a recent and seems to be a very positive innovation in textiles, as it’s soft but strong, hypoallergenic, and even antibacterial. I find bamboo jersey to be especially lovely, and I’d highly recommend it to anyone who wants to venture into stretch fabrics.

Bamboo fiber was first used for clothing in China in the twentieth century, and it seems to result in sustainable, “green” fabric. Bamboo is quick-growing and doesn’t require pesticides, and fabric can be produced from it with little chemical treatment.

What fabrics do you like? How do you decide what to use for your projects? What sources have helped you learn about fabric?

I don’t know if you will agree, but I find the freedom that sewing my own clothes provides can at times be as daunting as it is liberating. By applying a few basic pattern cutting skills to the plethora of sewing patterns available, virtually any style, shape or detail that you could find within ready-to-wear is within our creative capabilities. With near-infinite possibilities, how do you make decisions about what projects you will undertake?

Many sewing blogs recently have been addressing issues of body shapes and figure types and the ‘rules’ that state what is meant to suit each variant. In particular, many sewers interested in vintage/retro styles  have been investigating what decade’s style of dress is most likely to flatter them. Personally, I tend to distrust rules that restrict women and discourage them from experimenting and having fun with any look that they may enjoy. I would argue that any style or garment can suit all but potentially the most extreme body shape, with some modification to the proportions or detailing. Having said that, I do see how these general guidelines can help some people see the wood for the trees and I must admit to having found some truth and direction myself from the discussions that abound.

Of course, an entire industry has sprung up to provide guidance on what shapes and colours to wear. Many individuals and companies claim to possess the ‘secrets’ then charge considerable amounts to divulge them. But whether you chose to follow or reject the guidelines that these categorisations imply, few genuinely find no interest in them altogether, even if you then chose to disregard the advice.  

Many of us our are aware of what silhouettes we are apparently meant to be aiming for in our shopping and garment sewing, but what about fabric choice? With the incredible variety of fabrics available to the home sewer, particularly with the advent of the internet, how on earth do you make a selection? I think most adults already have well defined colour preferences, as colour is such an emotive sensory stimulus. However, last year when I was scraping the barrel for topic ideas on which to base an English language class with a particularly awkward teenage girl, I came across an approach to personal colour categorisation that puts you within one of the four seasons that sparked my interest:

The Woman of Spring

If your season is Spring, your skin has a peachy complexion and most likely freckles. Your hair is light blonde or reddish. A black blouse makes you look pale because the contrast is too strong for your skin. Warm, fresh colours cast a positive light on your face.

The Woman of Summer  

Your skin has a somewhat cool, slightly violet tone. Your hair colour ranges from ash blonde to dark brown. That’s why warm colours are not suitable for the woman of Summer. Cool, subtle shades draw attention to your face.

The Woman of Autumn  

If your hair is dark brown with red highlights and your skin has a peachy to golden yellow shade, then you’re a woman of Autumn. Bad colours for an autumn are pure white or black because they cast dark shadows onto your face, making you look older than you are. Warm, earthy tones are much better because these natural colours enhance your complexion.

The Woman of Winter  

The dark or black hair of a winter is contrasted by her fair complexion with a cool undertone. Natural and earthy colours do not complement this contrast. Clear, bright and strong colours accentuate the cool aura of a winter’s skin.

After some thought, I realised that I am a ‘Woman of Winter’ (!), and actually the colours I naturally gravitate towards for clothing (red, blue, black, turquoise, navy) are the strong or bright shades that my categorisation prescribes, and my general dislike of muted subtle shades seems similarly well-founded. So, what about you? Do you think you fall into one of these categories and, if so, do you already generally follow the rules of that category? What do you think about these types of categorisation? Are they useful or restrictive?

{click to enlarge, and feel free to repost!}

Weight and Drape

Most of us understand the concept of fabric weight. Even neophyte seamsters can tell the difference between a heavy fabric like denim or a wool coating vs a light fabric like silk crepe or chiffon. You can feel the weight of a fabric easily by the thickness when you feel the fabric in your hand: it feels either light or heavy.

I think the concept of drape is a little more elusive. The drape of a fabric is the way it flows over things. Stiff fabrics have less drape, and fluid fabrics have more.

But drape is often confused with weight. This makes sense, because the two are highly correlated. In other words, heavy fabrics often have less drape and light fabrics often have more drape. BUT (1) this is not always the case and (2) the relationship may not be proportional. It’s often the case that a light fabric can be stiffer than a heavier fabric. So when choosing a fabric, be sure to consider both drape and weight.

To illustrate, I made the chart above of several natural fiber fabrics. It is admittedly unscientific*, but I think it illustrates the concept. You can see that fabrics like organza and organdy, even though they are light and sheer, are quite stiff, whereas a light fabric like chiffon has a great deal of drape. Denim is usually both stiff and heavy. There aren’t many heavy, fluid fabrics, but wool crepes and suitings can be.

Choosing Drape and Weight

When you choose a fabric for your sewing project, ask yourself these questions to decide on an appropriate weight:

1. Should my fabric be sheer or opaque?
2. Will a light fabric be difficult to sew for this project?
3. Will the fabric be sturdy enough to tolerate stress on the seams?
4. Will the heaviness of the fabric cause bulky seams?

And to decide on an appropriate amount of drape:

1. Will the fabric have enough drape to flow the way I want?
2. Will the fabric have enough stiffness to have the structure and crispness I want?

Test for Drape

To test for drape, unroll a little fabric from the bolt and gently drape it over something (other bolts of fabric work, or you can drape a little around your neck or waist if your fabric store has a mirror). Examine the way it flows (or stands out), how the folds of the fabric lie, and the general appearance to get an idea of how it will look in garment form.

I’m interested to hear whether drape is a big concern in your sewing already. Are there other questions about drape and weight you ask yourself before deciding on a fabric ?

* The placement of the bubbles in the chart isn’t exact, so no need to quibble! I placed things based on their most common weight/drape in my experience, but some of them vary considerably.

For the next several months, we’re going to cover some important sewing themes and concepts here on the blog. For the next few weeks, we’ll be talking about fabric, a subject I am particularly passionate about. We’ll be talking fiber, structure, and choosing the right fabric.

Feel like contributing a guest post or tutorial on the subject of fabric? Get in touch!

{image above: Silk fabric, Chatuchak Park Weekend Market, Bangkok by winklerw}

 Since I learned to sew from my mom, I had a lot of tools available to me from the get-go, and I could then acquire other things on an as-needed basis. This was good because, in most towns where I’ve lived, the only place to get sewing tools is Jo Ann’s. The store has a quality that my dad would refer to as “Wal-Marty,” and so I’m never very inclined to hang around browsing. If I’d had to go in and build a kit from scratch, I don’t know if I ever would have started sewing. Most likely, I would have gotten muddled and left with three dusty fake flowers, a pair of embroidery scissors, and some puffer paint.

 Instead, my essential toolbox looks something like this. The list is gleaned from personal experience and from sewing book recommendations, particularly Diana Rupp’s Sew Everything Workshop. Pretty much everything on it can be bought at Jo Ann’s CrazyMegaCraftopolis. It’s best to make a beeline for what you want, then get out before you’re hypnotized by the acres of polar fleece.

 (Of course, these tools are also available online, or at an independent fabric store, if you’re lucky enough to have one!)

 Rotary Cutter and Mat. I wouldn’t want to live without my rotary cutter, which allows for much greater precision while cutting. If you plan to continue sewing for a long time, it’s an excellent idea to invest in a Gingher.

•  Looking a little bit ahead of your cutting wheel as you work (rather than right down at it) will help you cut straighter lines.

Scissors and Shears. Use the rotary cutter for the fabric, and a pair of dressmaker’s shears for trimming seams and hems, slashing pleats, and any other cutting you do while sewing. Keep the scissors for cutting paper. A pair of little embroidery scissors is nice for notching seam allowances and trimming excess thread.  

Tracing Wheel, Paper, and Pattern Weights. This is an example of how a small investment in the right tools can make a huge difference, in terms of both process and results. When cutting, I like to keep the pattern and the fabric as straight and flat as possible. These three tools facilitate that, and they’ll also keep you from tearing up your pattern the first time you use it.

• Before you start sewing, and even before you start making a muslin, use the tracing wheel to copy the pattern in the size you need onto lightweight interfacing or butcher paper. Save the original in a large manila envelope.
• You can buy nice, compact, aesthetically pleasing pattern weights, but a can of beans works just fine if you’re not particular.

Ruler. Use for measuring hems and seam allowances, altering length, placing buttonholes, making bias tape… A small investment can get you the 18-inch, clear, bendable kind.

Pencil, fabric pen, or chalk. You’ll spend a lot of time marking your fabric, and finding something that’s comfortable for you and safe for the garment is well worth the effort. I usually draw lightly with a pencil and then flick away the marks with an eraser. However, tailor’s chalk is an even better option, and a nice, smooth fabric pen is wonderfully pleasant.

Pins and pincushions. I like to have a set of very narrow pins for silk, and I’d love to have a Scrooge McDuck-style swimming pool full of standard dressmaker’s pins, if that weren’t a bad idea in so many ways.

• Bonus points if your pincushion is something other than the Dritz tomato.

Seam ripper. For my money, the actual construction of a garment is by far the most fun part of the process. Unfortunately, I tend to enjoy it a little too much; things go well for a while, and so I daydream. The next thing I know I’ve stitched the bodice front to the skirt back. Enter the seam ripper, pure genius distilled into metal and plastic.

Where do you get supplies? What would you add to this list?

Image credits: Lovely toolbox from Sharingneedles.com, snazzy Gingher Seam Ripper.