I arrived at my first Thursday sewing session with a plan – or at least a pattern in hand: a simple pair of trousers, advertised as a “2-hour sew.” That meant I’d stroll in at 7:30 and by 9:30, walk out wearing my freshly made creation…
If you’re not prepared to be optimistic at the outset, then when else! But the lessons started to fly in thick and fast – which is the whole point anyway right?. Within minutes of looking at the pattern sizing, I realised it wasn’t even remotely my size. First lesson on reading patterns acquired – many more to come.
After some searching through the library of patterns for alternative options, I landed on a dressing gown pattern (Simplicity 1562A) – a substantial project that would feel like an accomplishment, but one that didn’t require a great deal of precision or complex technical skills. I can just about use scissors and turn on a sewing machine so seemed like a fair match.
Fabric: The Good, the Bad, and the Frayed
Contents
The fabric I recovered from the treasure trove piles of fabric I dove into (pretty literally – a small stature does have its advantages) was a forest green, speckled woven material – it had a tweedy, vintage feel, and a lovely weight that felt perfect for a cosy dressing gown. Plus, it felt like it was made of natural fibres, which I always prefer.
I knew that the open weave would fray, but I also knew that finishing edges is something I’m going to have to adapt to whatever I sewed, and with no time like the present decided to give it a go. Turned out that in this case, simply touching the raw edge would make it unravel which was alarming initially, but I found that ignoring it helped. Slightly more practically speaking, Zigzag stitching did help, although at first it made the fraying look heaps worse – seemingly chewing it up as it went, but pressing the seams open seemed to lock it into a state of petrified chaos.
That said, the fabric did have its benefits. Due to its thickness I could skip interfacing, and my stitches practically disappeared into the weave, meaning I didn’t need to worry about precision sewing. A fair trade-off I reckon.
The Cutting Table: A Lesson in Notches
Another small but valuable lesson: momentum while cutting is both a blessing and a curse. I wasn’t used to such nice fabric scissors and got caught up in the satisfying slicing and swooshing through long pattern pieces, and I found myself missing notches.
Although I originally planned to cut notches outward, I found that cutting them inward helped me stay more consistent. A tiny change, but one that made construction easier later on.
Construction: Minor Mishaps and Small Wins
For the most part, things went smoothly, except for an early pocket mishap where I stitched closed the wrong side of the patch pocket. Thankfully, it was an easy fix, just unpicking 15 cm from one edge and sewing it closed on the other. Crisis averted in under a minute and good to get the first mistake out of the way.
The open weave of the fabric kept catching, leading to a hour of gingerly feeding in each cm through with a pin to keep it level under the foot.
Another challenge was handling the sheer size of the fabric pieces. I was making an ankle length gown for a man a foot taller than me, so the front and back pieces were longer than I am tall. This meant it was surprisingly easy to sew things the wrong way up. A willing fellow sewist modelled the gown as each piece was stitched together so my process became – stitch pieces, press seams, place on model – rinse and repeat.
Then there was the presser foot. When I started, I used whatever foot was already on the machine. The open weave of the fabric kept catching, leading to a hour of gingerly feeding in each cm through with a pin to keep it level under the foot. I assumed it was due to the fabric weave, but turns out the foot was a stitch-in-the-ditch foot. Who knew? Not me. I don’t even know what a stitch-in-the-ditch is, let alone that it has its own a stich-in-the-ditch-foot. No matter, because when it was swapped out for.a standard foot, it felt like a breeze.
The Grand Reveal
After two Thursday evening sessions and a Saturday at home, the dressing gown was finished, just in time for Valentine’s Day. It made a great gift, and it’s already been worn plenty for cosy evenings, so I’d call that a success.
Lessons Learned
- Vintage pattern sizing needs careful attention and every pattern is its own code to be deciphered. A colourful highlighter pen to mark just the key and references you need helps.
- Big pattern pieces make it hard to visualise how it all fits together. When the fabric is taller than you, triple-check before stitching (and find a willing volunteer).
- The right presser foot saves frustration. Sewing is hard enough without tripping up on your feet.
- Notches matter. Find a way to mark them that works for you.
- Fraying fabrics need patience. Have faith that the right pressing and finishing could make all the difference. (I also double stitched all the joining seams just in case…)
Final thoughts: Sew It Begins
I’ve been an aspiring sewist for years, reading books, watching tutorials, collecting beautiful fabrics on my travels. But I hesitated to actually start. Getting things wrong felt too daunting, the fabric I collected was too lovely to ruin, and finding projects that I didn’t mind messing up, but also wanted to be proud of were hard to come by.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, mistakes are proof you’re trying.
This dressing gown isn’t perfect. But it’s finished, and it’s been worn and enjoyed – which is more than I could say for all the fabric I’ve hoarded over the years.
So here’s to more imperfect sewing, more lessons learned, and more finished projects. And as I’ve already started on a second dressing gown (this time trying to do it without using the instructions to test how much I’ve learnt…) this feels like a good start to becoming the sewist I’ve always wanted to be.
