Piecing together the unsewn
As I return to my study, I see the pile of unsewn pieces, and decide that I will sew this weekend.
Image Credit: Nandini Dhir
In the corner of my bedroom there’s a brown paper bag filled with clothes I’ve thrifted, clothes that don’t fit me anymore, or clothes my friends didn’t want. In the corner of my study room — where my sewing machine and fabric hoard lives — there’s a chair with an overflowing pile of half-sewn sleeves, dresses without a zipper installed, and skirts that are too tight at the hips but too loose at the waist.
Every morning when I unplug my laptop charger and pack my bag, the pile stares at me. It’s like watching those books collect dust and cat hair on your shelf over time — the ones you bought when you said, “I’m going to get back into reading.” Sometimes half-finished projects fall onto the floor, and I perform a balancing act of trying to put them back onto the chair. I think to myself, “I’ll sew this weekend; I’ll finish up one of these garments.”
As the weekend rolls around, my body clock wakes me up at 7:30am, and I think about what I can make. Sometimes I dream about certain pieces; these ideas normally never turn out as well as I hoped, in fact, it’s these dreamt-up pieces that pile onto the chair. Other times, I scroll through Pinterest, a beautifully-curated cluster of outfits and fashion looks. However, the danger of Pinterest is that any aesthetic board featuring clean white backgrounds, rattan details, baby’s breath, or a low ISO shot in a street of city lights, will convince me that the garment featured in the image is one that I must recreate. Of course, I am fooled by Pinterest’s illusory, and I create one of the most ugly dresses I have ever seen in my life. It constructs a shameful but strong foundation for the growing pile on my chair.
One of the blessings of sewing is the ability to create clothing tailored to your own proportions. I can make a dress to suit my shorter torso, or sew a pair of pants that fall perfectly over my shoes, but still fit well at the waist. However, the curse of sewing is not knowing what the garment will look like on you before you make it. Like with online shopping, you see a photo of a garment, but when you put it on, it doesn’t always give the look you had envisioned. There have been many times where I’ve spent six to eight hours locked up in my study, sewing a garment, only then to put it on and realise, “Wow, this is kind of not-a-look.” And so I start to unpick the sleeves, I might try to alter the length, or add in some darts, and it becomes a work in progress — a work in progress that ends up on the cursed chair.
It is this process of numerous dead ends that makes sewing a game of patience. It tests my limits as I try to make a fitted top, and after many hours I am left with a piece of fabric sewn to half a sleeve. Of course, I then come across a similar top at Glassons, retailing for $29.99, and fitting better than one I’ve tried to make. The temptation settles in. When you have access to a more sustainable or ethical means of fashion there’s this unspoken obligation to abide by those values (for good reason too). But how tempted I am to tap away with ApplePay, and instantly have this top. There’s a frustration in how affordable fast fashion is, how it gleams through every shop window and storefront. It’s effortless and instant! Which is in much contrast to the difficulty and time-consuming nature of sewing your own clothes. So, as I return to my study, I see the pile of unsewn pieces, and decide that I will sew this weekend.