Voice from the past

If you were reading my blog (or if you were reading the New York Times) during the summer of 2020, you may remember the silly series called Designer DIY that ran off and on in the Times, in which famous fashion designers came up with adorable sewing and craft ideas for readers to do at home.  Mending and embroidering garments were popular repeat subjects, but making flimsy "jewelry" and handbags also showed up, as well as making a dress out of a pillowcase.

One of my favorites was the feature in which you were instructed on how to embroider your name on your sock.  You were told to use an embroidery hoop, and here's a helpful drawing of work in progress:

from NYTimes Style section

You (unlike the artist or the editor) will notice, of course, that it will be impossible to put the sock on your foot, since the sides of the sock are now sewed together.

I came to love these features, because it enabled me to write snarky comments about how lame the ideas were, and more egregious, how awful the directions were.  If you have 15 minutes to fritter away on the internet today, you might want to read or reread these blog posts, guaranteed to give you lots of laughs.

The posts led to a bunch of comments from my readers, many of whom urged me to write the Times and tell them how awful the series was.  So I did.  Sometime in the summer of 2020 I wrote a long letter that spelled out all the things that they were doing poorly, and urging them to clean up their act.  

I wrote, in part: "If your purpose in this series is to win brownie points in the fashion community and give some designers a bit of free ink, then you have probably succeeded, especially among readers who don’t actually try to do the projects. But if your purpose is to give your readers projects they can succeed at and feel proud of, you are failing miserably. I suspect that the great majority of readers who do the projects are also failing miserably, which I can’t imagine is building warm feelings toward the Times.

"Perhaps things would work better if you let the designers come up with the ideas and let somebody who does actual handwork write the instructions. Better yet, let somebody who does actual handwork come up with the ideas too, so you could present projects that are doable and attractive." 

I received no response, until this morning!

When I found an email, saying "Thank you for contacting the newsroom of The New York Times.  We appreciate readers who share their feedback and help us report thoroughly and accurately.  Someone will read your note shortly, but because of the volume of notes we receive, we cannot respond individually to each one."

I am so gratified that someone will read my note shortly.

Meanwhile, if you want to embroider your sock, please use a darning egg, not an embroidery hoop.

Masks and the New York Times

After all the masks I've made, the subject of whether you should in fact wear them is always top-of-mind.  I've closely followed the story of whether masks do any good (early word from the medical establishment: don't bother if it's not an N95) and how it has changed.  Now the docs are agreed that yes, we should all wear masks.  Meanwhile, a substantial segment of the population agrees that no, masks are a symbol of tyranny and besides who wants to wear a mask when out having fun in a crowded bar or swimming pool.  Now I'm focused on how you can get the attention of those in the second group, and have become convinced that we're doing it wrong.

A couple of weeks ago the New York Times carried an op-ed piece on wearing masks, which prompted me to write a letter to the editor, and the letter was printed on yesterday's editorial page.

This is the first time in decades that I've had a letter published in the Times and I was interested in how carefully it was fact-checked.  I was asked where I got the 70 percent figure, and I sent two cites (here and here).  But revisiting these articles got me crabby again about how so many people use technical textile terms without properly specifying (or perhaps without even knowing) what they're talking about.

One of the articles cited showed the effectiveness of different materials in blocking 1-micron particles.  The surgical mask caught 97%; on down the line we find a dishtowel at 83%, a scarf at 62%, "linen" at 60% and "silk" at 50%.  I've seen several how-to-make-a-mask articles that similarly cite dishtowels and scarves as good raw materials.

But what is a dishtowel?  Are we discussing a cotton huck weave?  A printed linen souvenir tea towel?  (If so, a cheap one or an expensive one?)  A terry cloth hand towel?  (that's what I use to dry dishes)

Even more confusing, what is a scarf?  The graphic that accompanied the article showed a teeny weeny drawing of a fringed plaid scarf that might be wool, but might just as easily have been acrylic or who knows what.  And if you didn't look at the teeny weeny picture you might think "scarf" meant a cotton bandanna or a silk wrap.  I'm sure the particle-stopping power of those different materials varies hugely.

The second article was far more technical, and measured "different types of cotton (80 and 600 threads per inch)" as well as chiffon, satin, flannel and others.  The 80-thread-per-inch cotton was described as "Quilters Cotton" and I wondered what that was, since 80 threads per inch seems pretty flimsy to me.  It took several clicks through supporting tables and sections to discover that this material was totally unidentified.  While other materials were tagged as coming from Walmart, Jo-Ann or Wamsutta, the Quilters Cotton was N/A.

Interestingly, one of the materials tested in this experiment was a quilt -- two layers of 120-thread cotton with a 90% cotton batting.  As if many people are going to make masks out of a quilt!

I'm sure the scientists who did this research thought they were being highly precise in telling us that the thread pitch of the Quilters Cotton was 460-500 µm, while that of the spandex was 200-480 µm, but what is thread pitch?  Can I use this information to figure out what Quilters Cotton is?  More to the point, how does that help me decide what to use in sewing a mask?

I'm still waiting for some research and direction that combines scientific rigor with information that will help actual sewists make effective masks.  Rather than ask us to cut up a high-thread-count sheet -- and who knows exactly what the thread count is for a given sheet in their linen closet?? -- wouldn't it be better to provide information that would let us buy the right kind of fabric from the fabric store?  Aren't most of the people who sew masks going to be people who will work from fabric yardage rather than cutting up their fancy sheets?

I would like to know, for instance, if it's really better to use batik fabric rather than Kona cotton (I have yards and yards and yards of each in my stash).  Brand names would help.  Terms that we actual sewists actually use in talking to one another and in purchasing fabric would help.  Just because some guy in a lab says chiffon has a porosity of 3% while Quilters Cotton has 14% doesn't tell me whether I should be making my masks out of chiffon instead of the batiks and cottons in my drawers.

Hey, public health people!!  Now that you have told us that we should indeed be wearing masks, help us come up with the best ones to make.  Consulting a person who owns a sewing machine and uses it frequently would probably make for more useful research projects, as well as more useful construction directions.

DIY fashion of the week

I know you've been waiting for the New York Times Designer D.I.Y. and today's is a big change -- it's an idea that actually might lead to some decent home craft.  That is, if you already know how to sew, and thus would not need the "directions" supplied in the story.

This week's famous designer is Todd Snyder, who makes "torqued all-American classics," whatever that means.  (Maybe the sleeves are all twisted between the shoulder and the cuff -- I made a shirt like that once....)

His idea is to sew patches on your jeans!  Functional, and totally original!!

Here's how you do it.  Todd, the story reveals, "dusted off my old sewing machine -- the same one I used in college to make shirts, and I used it to patch some jeans."  But the directions mostly show you how to do it by hand.  You should cut your patch from an old shirt, boxer shorts or bandanna, and make it at least an extra inch bigger on all sides so you can turn the edges under.

I think we're all with him so far, but then comes an offhand remark, "Place a matching piece of fabric on the inside of the patched area for reinforcement.  Affix the two patches to the jeans with straight pins to hold them in place."

As the 50-year proprietor of a three-male household, I have probably mended a hundred times more holes in pants than Todd Snyder has, and even I have to think twice about how to get that bottom-layer patch in place before sewing.  Especially when using a machine.  If you want the layers of fabric to properly enclose the hole and reinforce the mend, and lie neatly in place, you probably should stitch the bottom patch on first, then place the top one where it belongs.  Even if you're feeling bold and want to do them at the same time, it's going to be tricky to get them both in the right place, and "affix with straight pins" doesn't quite cover it in my opinion.

Anyway, let's say you get everything pinned in place.  Now it's time to sew.  "Using a whipstitch every quarter of an inch, or with a sewing machine, sew around the perimeter of the patch."  What is a whipstitch, you might ask, and the drawing shows you:

illustration from New York Times Styles section

Hmmm... what exactly are you looking at?  There are three horizontal lines in the drawing.  Presumably one is the folded edge of the patch.  What are the other two?  The drawing makes it look like you're sewing onto the edge of the jeans, which is obviously not what is supposed to happen.  No, actually it looks like you're supposed to insert your needle between layer two and layer three...  huh?  Anyway, let's be optimistic and assume that you figure it out.

Wait, what about that patch on the back side of the jeans?  Are you supposed to catch that in the whipstitch too?  (Good luck on that part, even having affixed it with straight pins.)  Let's be optimistic and assume that you figure THAT out too.

The directions for this step conclude:  "Don't worry: the sloppier the better." (This is the part of the directions that guaranteed, will be followed most accurately.)

OK, now to the fun part.  "Using the same technique as above..."  (above where?  you mean whipstitching?)  "...stitch back and forth across the patch in parallel lines."   Here's the helpful drawing:

illustration from New York Times Styles section

Hmmm... the top drawing makes it look like we're still whipstitching the patch onto the jeans, which I thought we had finished in step 3, but what is that double row of stitching to the left?  Where did that come from?  And whoa -- what are those fancy stitches in the bottom drawing???  How in heck would you go about making them if you wanted to?  .....Crap -- NOW you tell me to knot the thread?????

illustration from New York Times Styles section

And how great are these stitches going to look executed in sewing thread, which is the only stuff called for in the supply list?

Oh well, at least they didn't show us a drawing of putting both sides of the pants leg into an embroidery hoop, the way they did when they showed us how to embroider socks a couple of weeks ago.

In mocking previous articles in this series I have thought that the designer idea was dumb to begin with, but in this week's installment I am just sad that a perfectly excellent idea -- patching your clothes -- was given such a kissoff treatment.  These have to be the most feeble and confusing "directions" I've read in a long time, compounded by the kissoff illustrations that not only don't show the right way but seem to show the wrong way.

I suspect that 99 percent of the people reading this blog post could easily put a decorative patch on their pants despite the crappy "directions" in this article, but you're not the people the New York Times is presumably trying to reach.  Giving directions to people who have never tried a technique requires a lot more precision than the fashion-drawing style, which shows the ambiance but not the detail.  This is the place for photographs, not watercolor or pencil sketches.

I find it pathetic that the only one of the Designer D.I.Y. articles to use photography in its step-by-step directions was the one that showed us how to cut up beets.

 New York Times Styles section

Bad DIY fashion of the week

Good news!  It's Thursday, so we get another installment in the New York Times Designer D.I.Y. Series.  You will be happy to know that for the fifth week in a row, the great newspaper has maintained its quality standards in finding designers who will provide silly ideas and incomprehensible directions, guaranteed to nip readers' sewing/crafting impulses in the bud.

This week we're making a tote bag out of a linen or cotton dish towel, because "we have so many dish towels around and are always in need of reusable totes that we can also use as storage."  So says Laura Mulleavy, half of the design team Rodarte.

First we fold the dish towel in half, sew a Y-shaped pleat in the bottom to make a floor, and sew up the sides.  So far so good; the illustrations even show us how to do this, even that we should do this "so that the inside is on the outside."  When we're done sewing, they tell us to "invert the bag," which I guess means turn it right-side out.

Now comes the hard part -- handles.  We need "two costume jewelry necklaces, like the plastic beaded kind that are handed out at Mardi Gras, or one chain-link plastic necklace."  Step one: "Fold each necklace in half."

illustration from New York Times Styles section

The illustration, beautifully pencil-sketched, doesn't give much guidance on how we do this, since we can't tell what's happening.  Is that one thickness of necklace or has it already been folded?  Does the half-link on the right indicate that the necklace actually extends out of the picture?  What do the arrows show?  What if you started with one necklace instead of two Mardi Gras strings?  Beats me.

illustration from New York Times Styles section

Step two:  "Cut a ribbon in four pieces, each piece four inches long.  Loop each ribbon through each of the four ends in the two lengths of necklace..."

(I don't know about you, but I had to read that direction four times to figure out what was going on.  Again, the illustration didn't help, because you can't see exactly where the ribbon is going, nor can you see what happens offstage to the left after the necklace disappears from the pictures.  What has happened between picture 1 and picture 2?  And I still have no idea what to do it I started with one necklace instead of two.)

Now we stitch the ribbon loops to the top of the tote bag and we're done!!  The drawing shows only the most impressionistic idea of what it's supposed to look like, except don't you suppose a dishtowel with no reinforcement along the top edges is going to droop down past the handles instead of sticking out so crisply?  It does seem to go well with the dress and hairdo, which is pretty much what I'm wearing during quarantine.

illustration from New York Times Styles section

I couldn't find any Mardi Gras beads in my stash so I couldn't test out how much weight the cord can handle without breaking, but I suspect not much.  Even without actual beads I can easily imagine how those "handles" are going to slip and slide around, and how easily the folded-in-half string of beads is going to become one tight strand stretching from loop to loop and one very long strand drooping off to the side.

I was interested in how the Times has used fashion-type illustration for four of the five articles in this series, even though this style of drawing is lousy for how-to directions.  With the right artistic style, drawings can do an excellent job of showing people how to do things -- like this example from David Coffin's great book "Shirtmaking" -- but they have to show the details clearly, not gauze them over.

If the purpose of this series is to showcase prominent fashion designers and make them appear all warm-and-fuzzy helpful and concerned, then perhaps it is a great success.  If the purpose is to make the New York Times appear all warm-and-fuzzy helpful and concerned, then ditto.  If the purpose is to encourage quarantined readers who may have never done a craft project before to pick up a needle and thread and make something fun and useful, then I think it's a total failure.

The good old days of bias tape

In the course of making lots and lots of face masks I had occasion to delve into my stash of sewing notions from the previous century, all of which have been carefully saved because you never know when you might need them.  Indeed, for 30 years I have found no use for inch-wide bias binding, or "quilt binding" as some of it was labeled, because if I wanted to put binding on a quilt I would use actual fabric, and if I wanted to face a hem (as the wider bias was labeled) I would use nylon seam binding (of which I also have a boatload).  But who knew it would be perfect for the ties on face masks!

As I surveyed the whole box full, I noted how the price has gone up over the years, while the quantity in the packet has gone down.  Not all the packets have dates, but the pink one is 1966, the second from the left is 1969 and the yellow one at the right is 1986.  Meanwhile the quality has changed too -- from 100% cotton to 50/50 poly/cotton.   

Surprisingly enough, there has been a whole lot less price inflation in the last 34 years than in the 20 years between the four packs in the photo.

Between 1966 and 1986 the price went up from 6 cents a yard to 63 cents -- a 950% increase!  But from 1986 till today, it's only gone up 57%.  Today the fabric is 55% polyester, which I wouldn't worry about, since poly blends are much more wrinkle resistant than 100% cotton.

As the price was going up, the width of the binding was going down.  The pink stuff from 1966 was a full inch wide, the yellow looked to be about 1/16" narrower, and according to the JoAnn Fabrics website, today's binding, which costs $2.99 for three yards, is only 7/8" wide.

Probably today's bias tape would work just as well for face masks as my wonderful stuff from the past.  But it wouldn't give me the immense satisfaction of using things I bought more than 50 years ago and are still the perfect solution.

And some of it was even on sale!!

The ultimate mask tutorial, I think

Over the last couple of weeks I have made several masks, each time changing the technique and approach to make the process easier and faster.  Here's my perfected technique for making a mask, although it may improve even more as I do it again.  If so, I'll share my new plans.

Cut two pieces of tightly woven fabric -- I like batik because it's really dense.  If you have a choice between two different kinds of fabric, hold them both up to the light.  The one that blocks the most light is the one you want.  One piece will be 9 inches by 8.5 inches.  The other will be 9 inches by 7.5 inches.  Cut a piece of interfacing 9 inches by 7.5 inches.

Sandwich the three pieces with the large one on the bottom and  the interfacing in the middle.  You will turn the top and bottom edges up and over the other two layers and stitch them in the next few steps.

Fold one edge of the taller piece over the other two and stitch a neat hem.  This will be the bottom side of the mask, under your chin.  If you're feeling obsessive, go back and stitch the seam again, a little ways closer to the edge to really hold that sucker down in place.

You will note that I left the raw edge of the fabric open.  Because batik is so tightly woven, I'm not worried about it raveling.  But if you're worried about your fabric, feel free to turn a tiny hem before you sew down the edge, or zigzag the seam down instead of straight-stitching it.

Find a piece of wire approximately 3 inches long that you can bend to fit tight over the bridge of your nose.  I used a six-inch length of 30-gauge wire doubled in two, but any weight of wire that can bend easily will do.  A twist tie or telephone wire would also work, and I see no reason why any of these can't go through the wash.  If by any chance your wire rusts, so what? 

Turn the mask around and fold over the top side to hem it, just as you did with the bottom side.  Mark the center, which will fit right over your nose.  Hold the wire against the edge and eyeball where the ends will be -- about an inch and a half out from the center.  Mark those places too.  You are going to make a pocket to slip the wire into, just a little bit wider than the wire itself.

Stitch along the folded edge until you get to where the pocket is going to start.  Stitch in and back to make one end of the pocket, then do the same for the other edge.  Keep going to the end of the seam.

Slip the wire into the pocket.  Push it snug up against the top seam.

Stitch the top side once more, this time farther away from the edge.  When you get to the pocket, slow down and be careful that you don't sew into your wire and break your needle.  If the wire has been pushed way up toward the edge of the mask, it shouldn't be a problem.

Pleat the mask so the side is about 3.5 inches tall.  You can use three or four pleats, whichever seems easiest to make.  It doesn't matter if all the pleats are the same depth, but they should all point in the same direction, and try to keep the two sides symmetrical.  You may want to mark the pleat lines in the margin, or you can just eyeball.  You can gently iron the pleats in place, or finger press them, or just pull them taut, whatever makes you feel most secure.  You can pin them in place (pin heads toward the center of the mask, pin points toward the edge) or stitch across the pleats to hold them in place.

I am fortunate to own a lot of one-inch bias binding from the previous century.  If you don't, you should cut some fabric 2 inches wide and make your own binding.  If you have some fabric that's lighter in weight than the batik you used for the mask, it will be easier to work with. 

You will need two 40-inch strips of binding.  If you don't have a piece of fabric that long, you can seam two pieces together.  You can cut straight across from selvage to selvage, or parallel to the selvage; it doesn't matter.  But don't cut on the bias.

Fold the strip in half and press it. 

Open the strip flat.  Now fold each of the edges in again, almost touching the center fold, and press. 

Cut two ties, each 40 inches long.  Mark the center with a pin or pencil.  Fold the two sides together and stitch from one end.  When you get close to the center mark, insert one side of your mask.  Eyeball it so the center of the mask is at the center of the tie.  Fold the binding/tie so it encloses the raw edges of your mask and stitch.  After you clear the mask, continue stitching to the end of the tie.

The mask will fit better if the ties don't extend straight up and down from the mask edges, so pleat the ties and stitch them at a better angle.  The top ties should extend slightly upwards at an angle.  The bottom ties should extend straight out.  Just scribble-stitch across the pleats to hold them in place.

Flip the mask over and look at the front side.  Make sure the line of stitching has caught the entire binding firmly.  You can run a second line of stitching inside the first line to make it stronger.

Inspect the rest of the mask, front and back, and if you see any places where your stitching veered off the edge go back and stitch again to reinforce.  Clip off any dangling threads.  But don't be too precious about it.  These masks are not going to be entered in the state fair where the quilt police would tut-tut your construction techniques.

If you didn't have two colors of fabric, write "inside" on the inside of your mask.  That way if you have to take the mask off and put it back on, you can be sure to put the clean side next to your face.

Now comes the hard part -- you and your loved ones have to WEAR IT!!  Wear it when you go to the store.  Wear it when you go to work, if you still have a job.  Wear it when you go to the park, unless you are absolutely sure there's nobody else in the park with you.  Wear it when you drop groceries off for your mom.  Wear it when you ride on the bus.  Wear it when you pick up hamburgers at the drive-through window.  Wear it when the grocery-store girl brings your stuff out to the car.  Wear it when you open the door for the pizza guy. 

You are protecting yourself and you are also protecting your co-workers and your mom and the bus driver and the pizza guy.  And you should probably even wear it when you read my blog, because I don't want to catch it either.

Wear it in good health!!

  

Who was that masked man?

My husband was determined to go to the fruit market last week, and I was equally determined that he not do it unprotected.   I made us each a mask with just two layers of tightly woven batik fabric.

Then came the directive/suggestion that we all wear masks in public (good guidance for all of us plebs to follow, but apparently not good enough for the president or all the minions lined up behind him on the daily dog-and-pony show).  I made several more for friends and family.  My son brought me a fancy air filter that is rated effective against virus particles, and thought I could take it apart and use the innards for masks.  Sounded like a good idea, so I proceeded to dissect.

The working part of the filter, which looks a whole lot like loosely packed nonwoven interfacing, is adhered to a grid of metal, because apparently the metal lends some electrostatic properties that help in air filtration.  But the metal is too stiff to be pleated into a mask, so I peeled the fiber away.  This was a slow and not entirely satisfactory process, with a fair amount of fiber left on the grid, and it felt as though the fibers left behind were precisely those with the glue coating, the smooth outer layer that held the whole batch of stuff together.

Nevertheless, I extracted a rectangle of fiber that I put inside the mask.  I made two masks like that, all the while thinking of how I could improve the process.

I concluded that the air filter fiber is the moral equivalent of plain old interfacing, maybe even morally superior because it's more firmly stuck together, and heaven knows interfacing is a heck of a lot easier to work with than this rigamarole with the air filter.

So my second batch of masks contained one layer of batik on the outside and one layer of medium-weight interfacing next to the face.  Since batik doesn't ravel much, I just turned the raw edge over and stitched it down.  This time I pleated the edges before finishing the side seams, and encased the pleated edge in a fabric binding.  This meant way less time in sewing and fiddling.

I also realized that stitching fabric for the ties was taking a lot of time, even after I found a lot of inch-wide bias tape in my stash, probably dating back to the 1970s.  I thought maybe I could substitute tightly woven selvages or ribbon, eliminating 72 inches of seams per mask, but then I thought to look in my stash again and found some sturdy nylon cord that required only knots at each end.

Plan A: sew a pillowcase, with our without inner layer of fiber, catching the ties at the corners.  Turn it inside out, finger-press seams smooth, pleat and stitch.  Counting the seam allowances in there, you sometimes have to stitch through 12 thicknesses of fabric to secure the pleats.

Plan B: turn batik over interfacing at top and bottom edges, topstitch.  Pleat edges, add binding (yes, just like a quilt).  Position cording inside the binding. 

Fold binding over and stitch, making sure to catch the cord in the stitching so it doesn't escape or slide to and fro.  Add a second row of stitching all around the mask. You still have to stitch through 10 layers of fabric, but four of them -- the binding -- are extremely lightweight instead of heavy-duty batik.

After I made four masks with this model, I saw an online report that gave me an even better idea.  Finish and pleat the mask as described in Plan B, up until you need to finish  the short edges.  Cut a piece of fabric or bias tape 36 inches long, center the mask on the binding, and stitch the whole length over on itself just once.  Finish the mask and make the ties, all in one step!  Why didn't I think of that?  So that will be my new plan C.

I would rather be in the studio making art than making masks, but when I contemplate my non-fiber art pals, not to mention my sons, trying to produce masks without even a sewing machine on premises, I think it's time for me to step up and take one for the team.  Perfecting my technique every time I make a new batch.

I'm still not sure what degree of protection these homemade masks offer.  You would think it's a lot more than zero, because even though viruses are small enough to sneak through porous materials, the glob of snot the viruses are riding on should be stopped even by a simple bank-robber handkerchief mask.

If this keeps up for months and months, I fervently hope that some materials scientists and microbiologists will start testing all the different fabrics and patterns circulating out there and tell us which ones work and which ones don't.  Otherwise I'm afraid that millions of sewists will have spent millions of hours making things that make us feel warm and fuzzy but don't actually protect anybody very much.

How to make a face mask

No, this is not a tutorial.  This is a critical review of many tutorials out there.  In times of trouble, sewists are always happy to step up and do something helpful, even if it might not be all that helpful (see my previous crabby posts about sending quilts after earthquakes here or here).  But now there's an opportunity to do something that might even be helpful -- make face masks for healthcare workers who can't get them from the normal supply chain.  The New York Times devoted a full page in today's paper to writing about the phenomenon.

Many hospitals across the country are asking people to sew and donate masks, and many sewists are responding with patterns and tutorials.  I spent a discouraging couple of hours looking at some of the directions and videos out there, and I think a lot of time and fabric is going to be spent in aid of masks that aren't going to be all that effective.  (What a tragedy that the president won't sign an order to mobilize production of masks by people who know how to make masks, instead of expecting us to straighten out paper clips to make shapeable nose bridges.)

First off, there's a huge range of quality being pushed in these directions and tutorials -- and by that, I mean the quality of the mask in actually blocking virus particles.  At the low end, fabric masks that kind of fit sort of snugly across your face, probably a little bit nicer than just tying a scarf bank-robber style.  At the high end, masks made from HEPA filter vacuum cleaner bags that match N95 respirators for efficacy (click here for the video).  In the middle, a whole range of patterns and materials that are probably better than the bank robber approach.

Second, there's a huge range of quality in sewing techniques and directions.

Low end, how about this PDF posted by a hospital in Indiana that begged for masks from the community.  Apparently the sewists figured out how to operate despite these "directions," because two days later the hospital begged people to stop bringing masks and give them to some other place.

I'm not sure what that rectangle at the bottom of the page is supposed to be -- a pattern?  Do you think a diagram or two would help people figure out how to put it together?

I found it interesting to watch how the sewists in the various videos actually sew.  You can sure tell the difference between people who sew a lot, and people who get roped into sitting at a machine to make a video.  In one video made by a hospital, the woman at the machine was sewing elastic into the corners of a mask.  Of course, she had the right sides together and when she neared the first corner, she stuck one end of the elastic in between the layers and sewed it in.  Then when she got to the next corner, she had to reach her fingers in between the layers to fish out the other end of the elastic and get it in position, which took her a painfully long time, since she couldn't see what she was doing.  Guess she hadn't thought to pin both ends in place while everything was in full view.

In a video made by another hospital, they got a young guy from the local maker space to sit at the sewing machine.  He carefully stitched back and forth once or twice at beginning and end of each seam to make sure everything was tight, never mind that in two minutes he was going to secure those seams with another seam crossing them.  And he spent at least a minute carefully snipping off the thread ends from every seam before he turned the mask inside out and sewed it shut, where the thread ends could have happily lived undisturbed forever.

Other tutorials showed good sewing technique but faulty clinical insight.  One sewist said that masks should be made in two colors so nurses can wear the light side out, and then when they go to see the next patient, they can turn it and wear the dark side out.  NO! NO!! NO!!!!  More than 140 people left comments to set her straight -- the two colors enable the nurse to put the mask back on correctly if it has to be taken off for a minute.

Masks seem to come in two general designs.  One is a simple rectangle, with pleats at the sides to gather in the vertical fullness that goes down over your chin.  The other is a "duckbill" -- think a bra cup over your lower face -- that is shaped with a vertical curved seam from your nose down.  The duckbill apparently provides a little more protection but requires a little more sewing.  Some designs have interior pockets that can be stuffed with additional filtering materials, such as paper toweling or tissues.

The good news, according to one of the videos I watched, is that firmly woven cotton alone will filter out about half of the virus-sized particles.  And that regular nonwoven interfacing, sandwiched into a mask, provides an excellent additional filter.

I'm not ready to start sewing masks, although I might make some for my family if things progress badly.  But if I were going to, I wouldn't just grab the first tutorial directions that popped up on my google search.  I'd kick the tires on several before deciding which one would give the most bang for the buck.  And I'd use up some of those beautiful batiks in my stash.  Lord knows, they're tightly woven...

Sewing -- an obsolete skill?

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about my daughter-in-law's attempt to make a dress for the two-year-old and how we were both frustrated by the slipshod construction methods specified in the Simplicity pattern.  Well, mainly it was me who was frustrated, and wondering whether good sewing technique is a thing of the past, and whether I should just relax and enjoy it.

Several readers who, like me, learned to sew in the previous century, shared my angst.  Stitchinscience wrote: "I too am surprised at modern patterns and their "quick" construction techniques.  Particularly anything to do with curves -- new stitchers really need to understand curves and bias edges."  QuiltGranma wrote: "I agree with you on the sloppy pattern directions and their way of finishing!  I've seen readymade just as sloppy.  Wear out and need repair in no time!"

Sue wrote:  "In the late 60s, I spent a couple of years in a fashion design program, learning pattern drafting, garment design and tailoring.  Recently I thought I'd take a break from art quilts and make myself some garments, but found commercial patterns so disappointing that I have decided to make my own.  If I had a daughter who was interested, I would be so happy to pass on these skills, and I can't tell you how many times my advanced garment making skills have come to my aid in making complex art out of cloth!"

A couple of readers suggested I just move on.  Helen wrote:  "Step away.  You'll only get hot and cross..."   Dixie wrote:  "I'm with Helen on this.  So much has gone the cheap and easy way.  Sewing, cooking, spelling..."

But Idaho wrote:  "Do not succumb to letting this go!  If Kristin is willing, I say teach the next generation proper garment construction with patterns having decent instructions.  Otherwise, if she continues to dabble in sewing clothes for the little one, she's just going to become frustrated, and just like in quilting, think it's her fault (as has already happened).  And you will continue to stew about this, I'm sure. "

Carol homed in on the patterns themselves:  "When I look in my stash of patterns I have saved there are VERY FEW Simplicity and most are McCalls, Vogue or from independent companies."

I told Kristin, my daughter-in-law, to read the blog post and the comments, and she in turn shared
it all on a Facebook group of people who sew, and asked "Did I choose a pattern from their half-assed line, or is it all patterns?"  Here are some of their comments:

"They're mainly half-assed.  They've always been half-assed when it's Butterick or McCalls.  I went to fashion design school and just shake my head at their instructions."

"I just want to wish you good luck.  I thought I might sew a pattern once and I opened up the envelope and my brain stopped working.  I watched YouTube videos to figure out what it all meant but decided maybe I was just too daft for it."

"I haven't had an issue but I like to search hashtags for patterns on Instagram to see other people's makes and if they have any feedback on the pattern.  I support a lot of smaller pattern makers and if you want some suggestions, I love Friday Pattern Company!"

"I hate the big 4 tissue paper patterns.  I've been sewing since the early 90s and the greatest invention ever was the independent PDF pattern companies."

"This is why I only use PDF patterns, they come with better instructions, pictures of each step and often links to videos for the really hard stuff."

"Patterns for Pirates and their sister site, Made for Mermaids have much better patterns."

"Look for patterns from indie companies instead of the big 4 (Vogue, McCall's, Simplicity, Butterick).  Indie pattern designers usually have sewalongs, hacking guides, etc. and their instructions are way more in depth.  My favorite indie pattern companies: Friday Pattern Co., True Bias, Megan Nielsen Patterns."

These comments from a younger generations of sewists opened my eyes and made me realize that since I gave up garment sewing in the early 90s, I've missed a lot.  Such as PDF patterns (I don't even understand how these work) and getting sewing advice and directions from the internet.  Almost makes me want to make a garment again!  As to the independent pattern companies: I think in my whole lifetime I only once bought an indie pattern.  I never had problems with the big companies, and I really enjoyed looking in the pattern books, then going to the big drawers to root around and try to find the pattern in the right size.  So last-century.

Kristin hasn't raised the issue of making another dress so I don't know how she/we will proceed.  She did amaze the two-year-old the other night when said child wanted a tutu and Kristin produced one.  (No, she didn't make it -- she had gotten it as a hand-me-down from a friend but not brought it out yet.)  If the kid is going to keep putting in fashion requests, home sewing may be the best answer.  I'll keep you posted!!

I help make a dress -- after 25 years

One day in the early 1990s I had an epiphany.  The universe spoke to me as I was sitting in my sewing room making a dress (I sewed most of my own clothes for decades; in addition to wardrobe enhancement it was my therapy, my time to be alone, my respite from a hectic 60-hour-a-week job and two trying teenagers).  The universe said to me that if I wanted to get serious about making quilts, which had been in my mind for some time, I had to devote my scarce free time to what was important -- and to do so I had better stop making garments.

So I did.  From that day on, no garment sewing other than the occasional mending or small alteration.  I didn't even finish the garments already in process, and I still sometimes come upon a half-sewed blouse or cut-out-but-not-sewed dress that was stowed away, never to be revisited.

But then came Vivian.  I never had a little girl to sew for before, and this particular little one happens to be a 2-1/2-year-old clothes horse.  But still I didn't succumb.  Her mother and the other grandma were doing a fine job of keeping the kid in fashion without my help.  Recently her mother decided it would be fun to sew clothes instead of buy them, so she enrolled in a sewing-brush-up class, and then bought some fabric and a pattern and came over to use my facilities and equipment to make Vivian a dress.

We agreed that my role would be strictly limited to giving advice and support, NOT sewing.  I cleaned off the worktable and the cutting mats so Kristin could cut out the pattern, put new thread in the bobbin, and then it was time to sew. We read the pattern to determine step one -- and I had a conniption.  Apparently a lot has changed in the world of garment sewing since the early 1990s.  Specifically, the dress had no facings!

The raw edges of the yoke were just going to sit there unfinished, as were the raw edges of the placket.  The neckline was supposed to be finished with half-inch bias tape.  The underarm seam allowance would be turned back and stitched as it merged into the armholes.

This was not up to my standards, and although I wasn't supposed to be doing any of the sewing, just offering sewing machine time, I couldn't let this project continue.  I sent Kristin home and drafted some facings for the neckline that would also cover the yoke seams, then sewed them on.  I pitched the placket (which would have required making buttonholes, which would have required finding my buttonhole foot and remembering how to use it -- too much trouble) and simply faced the slit we had already cut.

Kristin came back a couple of days ago to finish the job.  She serged the seam edges.  She followed the pattern directions to finish the armholes, and after she stitched, she said "What did I do wrong?  Look at how this is all wrinkly!!"

Well, no, dear, that's what happens when you try to turn back and hem a curved edge cut on the bias.  In other words, when you follow the pattern directions.  We tried to mitigate the bulge by running a second line of stitching inside the first to give a bit more stability to this fragile, unsupported edge.

I put the last touches on the dress on Sunday and here's Vivian modeling it.  It's really cute, accented with some of Kristin's hand-dyed fabric.  But it has put me into an existential crisis.

What's with these low-end, sloppy construction methods?  Why is Simplicity telling people to make garments so slapdash and flimsy?  What happens when a dress goes through the wash without any seam finishing?  I know that "unconstructed" garments are fashionable, as well as much cheaper to make, but is this the right way to go for a two-year-old's dress?  Don't mothers hand down clothes to other little girls any more?  It offends my sensibilities to think that garments get worn six times and sent to the landfill, which seems like the inevitable result of this approach.

Am I just too old and curmudgeonly?  Are well-sewed garments so twentieth-century?  If you buy Simplicity's higher-end line of patterns, instead of the cheap fast-fashion line, would you get better construction methods?  Shall I try to mentor Kristin in the traditional sewing techniques that served me so well in the past, or shall I just get with the program and embrace this brave new (sloppy) world?

What do you think?????

A reunion with my handiwork -- too soon

Several weeks ago I wrote about making a piece of liturgical linen for my sister to give to her church, a small pall to cover the funeral urn if the decedent has been cremated.  There didn't seem to be any huge urgency in the project, but I was looking for something doable to jump start me out of a creative funk and get me back into the studio.I found an old linen tablecloth, beautifully woven with a pattern of stripes and roses (don't know if you can see them in this photo), and hemmed it. 

My sister was going to have a butterfly embroidered on the pall, but changed her mind and had them do a cross instead.

Much to everyone's surprise, the first user of the pall turned out to be my sister's wonderful husband, unexpectedly taken ill earlier in the summer.  After one long hospital stay and then two weeks in hospice, he died on August 6.

Here's the pall, in front of the altar at the funeral service.  (I like the cross better than the butterfly, so I'm happy they went with Plan B.) 

(So glad I didn't procrastinate on the project.)

A small project -- finished!

Yesterday I finished a small "commission" -- from my sister, to make a piece of liturgical linen for her church.  It is 26 inches square, made to cover a funeral urn on the altar if the decedent has been cremated.  She's going to have a butterfly, symbol of new life, machine-embroidered on it (although I offered to hand-stitch one -- she probably thought it would take me forever, which is probably true).

I asked if she needed new linen and she said no, a repurposed piece would be just fine, and symbolically appropriate.  So I rooted around in my stash and found a beautiful old tablecloth, with a woven pattern of roses and stripes, acquired from who-knows-where, obviously well-used in its past life because the hemstitching is frayed and there are a few faint stains.  But I found a large enough clean patch in the middle to cut my square.  Actually, I tore it, because I wanted to make sure it was on grain.

I cut it four inches bigger so I could turn back one-inch hems.  Pressed carefully, mitered the corners of the hems and stitched them shut so they would not gap after being washed and pressed. 

In all these years of making fun of the quilt police, my favorite example of silly "rules" is that mitered corners on bindings should be sewed shut.  I always say that if your corners need to be sewed shut, you have done a lousy job of mitering them in the first place.  But that is for bindings, not for hems.  When you open up the hems and make a diagonal fold across the point of the corner, then bring the two diagonal edges up to butt against each other, there's nothing to hold the butted edges permanently in place.  I could have run several rows of machine stitching along that outside inch, but it seemed easier to just stitch the corners.  A first in my history, and with any luck, the last time I'll make anything this carefully.

It goes in the mail this afternoon.  And dividends: to get ready to work on this project I first had to clear off my large work table so I could put two large cutting mats together.   I had to clear off my sewing machine table of all the paints, glues, carpentry and wireworking tools, beads and junk that had accumulated over months of not actually sewing.  Finally, I had to get a scrubby sponge and some heavy duty cleaner to remove all the dried-on acrylic medium, paint, dirt and accumulated gunk from the sewing machine table.  My work place hasn't been this clean and bright in years.

Maybe this will give me the impetus to work on another sewing-machine project -- maybe an actual quilt. 
 

Crabby about pockets -- amen!

One of my art pals sent me links to a bunch of articles about pockets -- namely, rants about how the pockets in women's clothing are always much smaller than those in men's clothing.  I read them all and found myself getting madder the more I read.  Because they are so right!!

Read the best ones here, and here.

Fortunately those of us who know how to sew can remedy the situation.  I can't count the number of readymade garments that I have augmented with better pockets, or pattern-made garments that I have improved with more pockets.  Among my greatest hits was a pair of pants that I cut off to knee-length, then used the cut-off fabric to put huge cargo pockets on both thighs.

In my closet right now are a pair of jeans with the shallowest pockets I've seen in ages. 

I added five inches in length to the right-hand one just before I embarked on a trip (but never got around to doing the same with the other one).



And a suede-like shirt that had no pockets at all!  What were they thinking!!  Even if you carry a handbag, which I don't, where do you put a Kleenex or a Chapstick?

Fortunately the shirt had a horizontal seam right about where the top of a pocket should fall.  I opened the seam, added a big pocket in a matching batik palette, made a button loop out of the batik and used the extra button from the little plastic envelope.

Hah!  Outsmarted the product police!