Today, I'm gonna try a new format for my project diary... I think it'll be useful for people learning to sew to have a clearer idea of how long something takes and how much it costs, so I'll start including those details as accurately as I can.  I also know that a lot of people stop reading when they see a block of text (not sure why, since I like blocks of text, but the world is diverse!), so I'll try to put vital stats in bullet points to make them easier to read. 

A year or so back, a woman late of Hawai'i asked me to make her puletasi, a two piece Samoan ensemble of fitted blouse and wrap skirt.  She was unhappy with the work of her current seamstress, who didn't finish seam allowances in any way.

We had a brief email exchange, in which it quickly became clear that we had very different ideas about a fair price for the labor, and it ended amicably with us agreeing not to work together.  But it was such an interesting exchange, especially in light of my previous ruminations on money, that I want to examine it. 

I will not be betraying any personal or identifiable details here, just the bare bones of our disagreement, and the broader question of pricing and the value of time/work. 

When I was sorting my clothes using the KonMari method, I held each garment in my hands and asked myself "Do I love this?  Does it spark joy in me?"  Quite a lot of things went west, but the ones that stayed taught me a little about what my style actually is*, and made me determined not to settle for clothes that were "almost" right but not quite, when I could have things that are perfect for me. 

Today I'm going to show you one of the few things I kept even though it had a ton of little problems with it, and what I did to make it perfect for me. 

Like most frugal people, my family was green before it was cool.  Every Christmas, we re-used wrapping paper from previous Christmases (no ripping or tearing allowed!) or used the colorful Sunday comics from the newspaper.  This year, as everyone seems to be ordering from Amazon, I see lots of the Amazon gift bags under the tree, which are some sort of outerwear-type chemical fabric covered with sparkly polyester organza.  Naturally, I'm saving them for next year, too! 

When I was a kid, I used to drape curtains and sheets and such on my sister, using every safety pin I could get my hands on to get her "dressed".  The best materials always got used first, on her, and as an afterthought I'd drape myself with the leftovers.  So when people at work ask me if my draping is a skill or a talent, I think it's both.  It's a skill because I've acquired techniques through practice, but it's a talent because the practice comes naturally to me. 

My lovely co-worker likes to take pictures of my "drapes", and I love it when she does, because I'm super proud of them!  It's nice to have a fan, and nice to have a record of my work!  Manikin-draping is otherwise a very Dadaist art... fabric pinned into a simulacrum of clothing, then taken down and sold with no hint of its past pretending! 

My niece has requested a muff for Christmas.  (I'm guessing this has something to do with her long-standing love of Frozen.)  For color, she wants pink.  Then--because her mom doesn't like velvet--she requests velvet.  I consider it my bounden duty to help her tease her mother, so I consent to the velvet!  But I don't have pink velvet in my stash, so coral-red is what she'll get.  ;)  I also have some pink charmeuse for the lining, and brown faux fur (a knit) from an old hat that I disassembled.