A few years ago, I had a dress. It was exceptional. My mom and I had spent the day shopping together, and we capped it all off with a stop at our favorite store, Dillard’s. This is where we found The Dress. It was straight out of the 1950s: it was fitted in the bodice with an enormous, tea length full skirt and side seam pockets and a belt. It came in pink and blue; I bought blue and my mom bought pink. We were so delighted with ourselves trying it on and twirling around in the fitting room, talking about how quickly we could come up with an excuse to wear it. (Pretty sure that’s when I started saying “I don’t care! I’ll wear it to the grocery store it’s so good!”) This was circa 2004, before camera phones and social media, so I regrettably never got a picture of this dress. I wasn’t a big picture taker back then to begin with. Anyway, somewhere along the way I lost that dress. At some point I probably thought it was too mature for me, or maybe it just got lost during one of the dozen or more times I moved in my 20s. Either way, I sure wish I still had it.
I took an international politics class in college, and a requirement of the course was participation in a mock UN meeting. I chose to represent Monaco, and I thought my new blue shirtdress was the perfect thing to wear. I will never forget the feeling of wearing that dress. It was like I was floating. I remember sitting at my table listening to the international relations majors engage in mock debates, and all I could do was daydream about my dress and getting back to tailoring class to finish the blazer I was working on. My thoughts were soon interrupted when I got a note from Spain, sitting at the table behind me. This too, I wish I still had, because it one of those things that has stuck with me. It read, “Hey, Monaco, I love your dress.” There may have also been a smiley face doodle, I can’t remember. Spain was represented by a male classmate of mine, and that whole exchange stands out in my mind all these years later. The power of clothing and style and your confidence in clothes is real and cannot be overstated. Was he flirting? Did he just really like the dress? Did I look better in it because I felt so good in it? Maybe a little of all of it.
Here’s what I know: a shirtdress is classic, and it looks good on everyone. A few months before I closed my business I started thinking about shirtdresses again. So once I was free and clear to start sewing just for myself again, I was on a mission to make a few. At first, I had trouble finding the right pattern, but eventually I discovered Vogue 9077. It’s not the truly full skirt I’m ultimately after, but the details were too good to pass up. I love the front bands and the gored skirt. The first time I made it was last spring, and I used an eggshell linen/rayon blend. The skirt swishes and sways like you would not believe.
The second time I made it I used a pink linen/cotton blend, and it’s nothing short of lovely. The third and most recent time I made it was in olive sateen, and I love it. The swish factor isn’t there as much as it is with the others, but you lose some of that movement with sateen–and I’m okay with that. I went with long sleeves, and I adjusted the button placket so that I could sew a facing. Just to change things up a bit.
I’ve spent the past few years ignoring a couple things that make for some pretty comfy garments: elastic and knits. Elastic was for pajamas and bathing suits, and knits, well, they just weren’t my thing. What was I thinking, you guys?! The turning point for me came one day a couple years ago when I designed a few easy, classic skirts for a collection–and they happened to have an elastic waistband. The ease in making them coupled with the ease of wearing them was a revelation for us, especially me. Remember that for a long time my aesthetic had little to do with weekend wear or elastic or knits. In my defense, there’s nothing wrong with dressier tailored pieces–which is my true love language–but there’s also room for casual stuff too. In fact, I’m finishing a dress right now that has me excited to make more knit garments this winter. They can be just as fabulous as a dress in a woven fabric. But more on that later.
Today I can finally show you another finished piece from my group of fall projects, Butterick 5878. I first made this dress over the summer in a delicious pink floral challis, and I loved it so much I included it on my list for fall. I love this pattern for a lot of reasons: it has sleeves, it has a comfortable and forgiving elastic waistband, it’s quick and easy to sew, and a suggested fabric is rayon challis–only one of the greatest, yummiest fabrics ever.
Have you ever seen a garment online or in a store that immediately catches your eye, and then you think to yourself, “Huh, I can make that, and I can make it in a better fabric”? I have. I can’t remember where I spotted it originally–maybe a fashion blog?–but a few weeks ago a camel colored, knee length, shawl collared cardigan got my full attention. It was gorgeous with its rolled up sleeves and effortless, cool aesthetic. I called to me. I know for certain that it was an acrylic blend, which turns me off faster than you can say “Emily hates acrylic.” Acrylic isn’t horrible, and it’s getting better as fiber technology ups its game, but it has a tendency to look blah after just one washing. It can be scratchy and holds static electricity badly sometimes. Acrylic doesn’t scream “quality” to me and I steer clear of it whenever I can. So I walked away from this gorgeous but cheap acrylic cardigan on a mission to find fabric and make my own.