If your pattern calls for "gabardine" fabric, what is it, exactly, that you need? When we talk about fabrics, we usually describe them by fiber, fabrication (weave, knit, felt?), and finish. We don't always use these in a predictable order, though. For example:
sueded silk charmeuse (FINISH/FIBER/WEAVE)
wool flannel (FIBER/FINISH)
cotton twill (FIBER/WEAVE)
cotton/spandex jersey (FIBER/FIBER/KNIT)
polyester crinkle chiffon (FIBER/FINISH/WEAVE)
The term "gabardine" is a little slippery, though, since it can encompass both fiber and fabrication.
While I was researching my Anne Adams pattern (Anne Adams 4882), I found myself on the Vintage Patterns Wikia. They did not have an entry for my exact pattern, but they had quite a few other patterns by the same company. I started clicking through, delighting in the inspiration. After all, now that I know I can make my own, perfectly fitting patterns from my sloper, I can make any of those, and not need to buy patterns for them! Wow!
Today's post will be a collection of Anne Adams inspiration pictures... things I'd like to make or learn from, as well as some thoughts about the internet. I do not own these pictures; they were made available on the Vintage Patterns wiki by other folk, for the purposes of study and inspiration, which is exactly how I'm using them.
Almost two years ago, I got excited by a vintage pattern that was far too large for me: Anne Adams 4882. I set it on the back burner of my brain, thinking I'd try grading it down someday.
Combining my new sloper with the nice pattern illustrations for Anne Adams, I was finally ready to make myself this dress! This won't be a comprehensive project diary, just a highlight reel.
This will be a long post, mostly concerning the fire in 1911 and the pro-labor legislation that followed in America, but also touching on the global sweatshop problem today. Make some tea and join me for a talk.
I'm calling this project my "Red Fox Vintage" dress because I bought the original dress at Red Fox Vintage in Woodstock, Portland. I tried it on because I was intrigued by the collar, which has two long lapels that criss-cross in front and are held by a buttoned-down tab. I found it fit perfectly, and I loved the silhouette (late forties, early fifties is my guess), but not the color. Still, I brought it home, because it fit my back in a way that I have a lot of trouble getting patterns to fit my back. (I'm high-waisted with a slightly forward shoulder).
The more vintage clothes I see, the more curious I get about the labeling practices of our grandmothers' generation. Nowadays, a ready-to-wear garment usually has two labels: a brand tag that says who was responsible for its production (GAP, Lord & Taylor, or the like), and a care tag that says what it's made of and how to launder it. Sometimes they're clustered together; other times the care tag is in the side seam.
Vintage clothes, however, often have more tags, and in different places. I'll show you two examples from my own wardrobe.
In which I make a Victorian-inspired plastron or dickie... and end up looking like I work at Grace Brothers!
(Sometimes when I title my posts I amuse myself wondering what Google searches will yield these confusing word combos, and what the searchers will think...)
A "plastron" is a chest covering. If you're a turtle, it's your shell. If you're a fencer, it's your padded vest. If you're a Victorian era lady, it's a lacy faux-front that you tie around your neck to change up the look of your dress. And if you're me... well. Read on to see what I came up with!
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