What Works, What Doesn’t: Five Versions of the McCall “Mannish Jacket” from 1941


Remember this jacket pattern? Of course you do.

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From 1941, McCall pattern 4065, the “Misses’ Mannish Jacket”

In 2015 I used it for a project following Kenneth King’s “Old School” instructions on his Smart Tailoring DVD.

From 2003 to 2015 I made up this jacket five times.

Don’t ask me why, but I always loved the jaunty pattern illustration.

The actual jackets? I didn’t love them, exactly, although I was proud of the quality of work I did on parts of them.  Only recently (like five minutes ago) did I make this crucial distinction.dark_tweed_jacket_1712-247x460


If I had seen well-lighted, full-length photos of this first version of the jacket on me I could have perfected the fit.

I made the dark tweed one first, starting it in a Palmer-Pletsch sewing camp in Portland, Oregon in 2003 and finishing it at home with guidance from my sewing teacher, Edith.dark_tweed_jacket_1721-460x363dark_tweed_jacket_1722-460x403

In 2006, in a stunt of sewing bravado, I sewed burgundy plaid, green heather, and red plaid versions. purple_plaid_jacket_1732-244x460



The only jacket I’ve ever interfaced with fusible canvas. I know Kenneth King isn’t a fan of fusible canvas, but it turned out to work well in this garment.




I need a little posture-correcting here!

Defiantly shaking my fist at the sewing gods, and with Edith’s encouragement and coaching, I cut the pieces for all three jackets (two requiring meticulous matching) over that Labor Day weekend.  Relaxing, right?


I have always liked this plaid for its colors and scale.

I just didn’t want to be intimidated by tailoring anymore, so I cut and sewed the three jackets, with different pockets, over the course of several months.


It’s fun to cut some plaid pieces on the bias. I cut out a hole the shape of the finished flap from stiff paper, and moved the “preview window” around on the yardage. Then I cut the flap pieces.



It’s nice when you can find the right buttons in the right sizes. These are a souvenir of a visit to Edinburgh.


Bound buttonholes are not my forte.


I had a few tutorials with Edith and also used Jackets for Real People by Patti Palmer and Marta Alto extensively.heather_jacket_1780-460x331


The bound buttonhole is coming apart. But–I love the subtle coloring of this fabric! I picked it up as a remnant for about $3.00 at the Minnesota Textile Center’s fabulous annual fabric garage sale.


I’m happy with the shoulders and notched collar job I did. This wool was a breeze to work with.


Holes in the lining created from carrying tote bags of books to and from the libraries I used to work at. Of all the jackets, I’ve worn this one the most.

I did learn a lot, and achieved a lot, and am still impressed by the ambition of the goal as well as the results.red_plaid_jacket_1808-460x357



I settled for this style of button but think there are better choices out there. Something subtle and matte.


Shoulders are okay, but I keep wanting to subtract a little roominess from the upper bodice.

But if the point of sewing clothes is to wear the clothes, then I didn’t succeed as much as I assumed I would.  I didn’t follow through with planning outfits around these jackets, let alone making the jackets the pivotal pieces they deserved to be.

Even though my now four “Misses’ Mannish Jackets” were underemployed in my wardrobe, yet again I turned to this pattern when I wanted to try Kenneth King’s brand new Smart Tailoring DVD last year.blue_tweed_jacket_1818-252x460

I wanted to try all of Kenneth’s techniques–for a notched collar, felt undercollar, mitered sleeves, and a vent–and the Mannish Jacket met all those specs. blue_tweed_jacket_1856-460x384


This is Kenneth King’s “hidden pocket”: a nice addition to the lining.


The patch pockets on this 1941 jacket are slightly asymmetrical, which I like.

I did consider many other patterns I’d been dying to try for years–but the prospect of going through the whole muslin, fitting, and pattern-altering rigamarole before getting to the tailoring was just too much. I wanted to finish my jacket before attending Kenneth’s weekend workshop in Cleveland a few months later. (And I did.)


This fabric, which I bought at a Textile Center of Minnesota sale, may well date to the 1950s. It likely came from somebody’s stash. The button dates to the 1940s, according to the owner of Taylors Buttons in London.

So that’s how Mannish Jacket 5 came to be: I sewed it as a learning exercise. And the fabric?  I chose that only because I was willing to sacrifice it, if the jacket was a dud. So, looking back, I see just how much learning technique took precedence over making myself something I wanted to wear.

In fact, just now I’m realizing that each of these Mannish Jackets may have been taken on a little too self-consciously as An Exercise in Sewing Self-Improvement.

I suspect this because, when I see these jackets hanging in my closet I hear myself saying:

  • “I put a lot of work into that.”
  • “I did a good job [matching the plaid/sewing the pockets/choosing the buttons].”
  • “I learned a lot.”
  • “I wish I hadn’t padded the shoulders so much.”
  • “Are they too long for me?”
  • “My bound buttonholes are too flimsy!”
  • “I do love the fabric.”
  • “If I just sew the right coordinates, I’ll wear them.”

In other words, I still see them as projects more than as garments.

I don’t notice myself saying:

  • “I love these jackets!”
  • “When can I wear them again?”
  • “What can I sew now to make new outfits?”

Don’t get me wrong: the Mannish Jacket series wasn’t a waste of time. I did learn a lot–and not just how to sew a notched collar without flinching.  But there will be no Mannish Jacket number 6.

What I had only vaguely felt–a sense that, however hard I had worked on these garments, they still fell short, without my knowing precisely why–became clear to me when I saw the stark reality in properly lighted photos.

These jackets were wearing me more than I was wearing them.  The shoulders? Wider than I’d realized before, and not in a flattering way.


I am very dissatisfied with the prominent sleeve caps; they interrupt a clean, straight shoulder line. It doesn’t help that the shoulders are too extended for me. This is the same pattern I used for the preceding four jackets, yet this one turned out so different.


This is too big! So exasperating. Also, I wonder whether I made the best interfacing choices. They are so hard to get right.

The length?  Disproportionate on me. The back? Too roomy.  This is the 1941 version of–yes, a boyfriend jacket! Of course!

I could alter the pattern pieces for future jackets, narrowing the back and shoulder and taking three or four inches from the 26 1/2″ finished length.  I could make a better-fitting Mannish Jacket. However, I think I’d be removing much of what makes the 1941 design distinctive. I also think my appetite for this style has been satisfied.

Instead, I’ll reassign Jacket 5 from bench-sitting as a garment to active duty as a tailoring resource.  And jackets 1 through 4 can serve occasionally as light coats flung over sweaters or flannel shirts and jeans to wear on crisp, dry, fall days.

There are critical points on the way to getting things sewn, where, if I do make the extra effort to identify the lessons, I can reap the full benefit.

As I look back at what my Mannish Jackets could teach me, some lessons are:

  • Photos of myself in muslins and garments give me much better data to work with than squinting in a mirror or getting feedback from well-intentioned helpers.
  • If the point of sewing most garments is to wear them in outfits, I should pay a lot more attention to the outfit level of planning.
  • Planning outfits is a skill in itself. If I plan outfits before I sew the garments, I’m more likely to enjoy really successful outcomes.  If I sew the garment and then only hope I can incorporate it into an outfit, then I’m more likely to be disappointed.
  • It’s okay to sew something as a rehearsal for the next iteration–as long as I’m aware that what I’m producing is just a practice piece. If it does become part of my wardrobe, that’s a bonus.

Lessons learned.  Now to incorporate them into new practices and put myself on an even more rewarding path.

(Thanks to Cynthia DeGrand for all photos.)


A Perfect Vintage Jacket


Last week I brought home a very special souvenir of Jack’s and my visit to Portland, Oregon: a vintage jacket with a mysterious past. GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2941 (460x432)It came from a lovely little shop, Living Threads Vintage, on Taylor Street opposite the Multnomah County central library.

I was actually on my way to the Button Emporium next door, which an antique dealer had recommended to me, but I couldn’t resist stopping to examine the dress hanging on a mannequin outside Living Threads. IMG_9753 (345x460)

And the next thing I knew, I was chatting with Christine Taylor,IMG_9752 (345x460) co-owner with her husband, Travis, while browsing a rack of jackets.

In short order I was telling myself there would be no harm in trying on this very interesting jacket made from Pendleton wool.GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2943 (460x307)This jacket intrigued me–and Christine, too–and we both wondered who made it, when, and for whom. It was beautifully made and in perfect condition.

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The seaming and darting are so beautiful.

The front facing is finished so elegantly.

The front facing is finished elegantly.

Was this jacket custom-made by a dressmaker or tailor for a specific customer?

Or could this have been sewn as a sample for a clothing line, never manufactured, instead ending up languishing in an archive for decades? We may never know.GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2894 (313x460)

The buttons were fantastic.  I admired the bold and yet restrained combination of buttons, fabric, and garment style. They seemed to be made for each other.  GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2907 (460x381)

GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2955 (460x307) I would love to work out such wonderful combinations using the buttons I’ve bought at vintage fashion fairs and shops in the UK and Europe. It’s so inspiring to learn from real-life examples.

We wondered when this jacket was made. Could it have been the late ’50s, when more patterns were appearing without the cinched waist?

Another great in my pattern pantheon.

From 1959, this has a big collar and an unbelted version. I made the leopard-collar version a couple of years ago.

The fabric suggested 1940s or 1950s to me. This Pendleton wool was the color–no, colors–of stone-ground cornmeal, with beautiful variegations of grays or browns.

My trusty 3 in 1 Color Tool suggests that this yellow has been lightened with white and shaded with gray.

My trusty 3 in 1 Color Tool suggests that this yellow has been lightened with white and shaded with gray.

The tag read “Extra Small.” The fit was nearly perfect on me–a rare occurrence.GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2954 (307x460)

I love a big collar–and this one could be worn a couple of ways: wider and flatter,GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2918 (312x460) or higher and closer to the face. Interesting.GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2891 (303x460)

Christine liked this intriguing Pendleton jacket on me, too. Still, I wanted another opinion, and I knew where to find it: at the Heathman Hotel, just a few minutes’ walk away. That’s where most of Jack’s fellow Peace Corps members and their wives were staying for our biannual reunion.

I told Christine I’d be back shortly with my friend Rosa to make a final decision. At the hotel, I managed to snag not one but three judges–Rosa, Dora, and Kathryn–who eagerly returned with me to see the shop and the mystery jacket.

Even though I modeled the jacket for my review community over a summery white t-shirt and seersucker pants, the vote was a unanimous and enthusiastic YES. Okay, so there was a little extra room in the shoulders; I could live with that, we agreed.

The inside is perfect. This seems never to have been worn.

The inside is perfect. This seems never to have been worn.

Back home, I pondered what garments I could pair with this jacket to create outfits. Tops, skirts and pants should be simple, I thought, to support this jacket in its starring role.

I scooped up some hats, gloves, and an alligator bag and made the two-minute journey to my sister’s photo studio, where I experimented in front of the camera.

First, with a beret in a hard-to-pin-down mushroom brown color that went with the shading in the fabric:

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The sleeves are longer than three-quarters length, but short enough to call for longer gloves. I wouldn’t mind laying in a supply of long vintage gloves. It’s interesting to me that although the collar points down, I perceive the collar as bringing the eye up, which is a big plus. I can’t explain why, but the shape and color of the beret look right to me as part of this ensemble.

Next, a kind of Loden green felt hat, maybe a cousin of a Homburg. (I bought this Eric Javits hat in 1990, I think.)

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Carrying my pretend purse. I will never make a living as a mime.

The color of the hat is nice with the jacket, but the shape is not. There’s no relationship with the jacket.

How about with this burgundy rabbit-felt hat by Ignatius Creegan? I love this hat.

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There’s my purse! Much better!

The combo is promising and worth pursuing. I see burgundy gloves in my future.

Next up: a Harris tweed hat I bought at a vintage stall in East London on a chilly, drizzly Sunday a few years ago. Quite the workhorse, this hat, keeping me warm, dry and moderately fashionable through several winters.

GTS-Pendleton-jacket_2986 (238x460)I think this is a nice combination.

That I could wear a plain neutral beret; a luxurious, plush, rich-colored felt cloche; or a rough-textured plaid tweed fedora with this style and color of jacket was quite exciting.

Lastly, I tried a whimsical beret in an eye-popping orange-red.

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Both items had plenty of personality but seemed willing to work together.

A jacket that can deliver on whimsicality, practicality, and beauty, too? That’s something worth celebrating!

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And with this silliness, this photo shoot is now concluded.

After spending decades in storage, it’s time this jacket started doing its job in the world, don’t you think?  I certainly do.

Thanks to Cynthia DeGrand for studio photography.

Project: Vogue 7711 (1952), Waistcoat, Version 2


Remember that black linen big-pocketed waistcoat I made a while back? That was my wearable test, sewn from stash fabric I was willing to sacrifice.  The test turned out very well. That waistcoat was perfect to wear browsing in New York’s garment district. I can stow a lot of swatches in those pockets!

A wool-silk version of a waistcoat I made in linen in the summer.

A wool-silk version of a waistcoat I made in linen in the summer.

A few days ago I cut out another waistcoat, from the same wool-silk blend I used for the McCall’s coat (pattern 8814, from 1952).  I finished the waistcoat this afternoon.

I made this as a relatively quick wardrobe-extender. I’ve also made a skirt and pants from this very same fabric, and with the waistcoat I can now create ensembles.  I can wear the waistcoat with solid complementary colors, too.

This waistcoat can be worn with contrasting solids, or...

This waistcoat can be worn with contrasting solids, or…

I’m showing this with a black skirt and top so the lines of the waistcoat show up better.

...with a matching skirt.

…with a matching skirt.

I really like the waistcoat worn with the matching skirt, which has a smart-casual feel to me. In this I can feel like I put some thought into getting dressed without sacrificing practicality. I can push up my sleeves and cook or do dishes in this (wearing an apron), which I’d never do while wearing one of my jackets.

The lower sections are unlined and the wrong side of the fabric is exposed.

Back view: the lower sections are unlined and the wrong side of the fabric is exposed.

Construction was straightforward. I just have one quibble. There is a point where you expose just a little raw edge, where you clip into the seam allowance. Below the clip you fold the seam allowance to the front and above the clip you fold it to the back. That point of the clipping is a weak spot where raveling could occur. Maybe there’s a professional trick to avoid the homemade look. Until I learn the trick I’ll dab some Fray Check on that point.

Following this instruction exposes some threads to raveling and an unsightly homemade look.

Following this instruction exposes some threads to raveling and an unsightly homemade look.

Closeup: Clipping into the seam allowance to fold it to the back and to the front exposes some threads to raveling. What's the garment industry solution to this?

Above the clip, the seam allowance is folded to the back. Below, it’s folded to the front. Right at the clip are threads threatening to come loose. This doesn’t look professional.

For anyone making this waistcoat I’d suggest interfacing the fronts for additional stability for the buttons and buttonholes. The fronts don’t have facings, only lining, so they risk being a little too soft and floppy.

Back view: the darts of the waistcoat and skirt line up perfectly!

Back view: the darts of the waistcoat and skirt line up perfectly!

It might also be wise to use just a very light interfacing, or an underlining like an organza to give a little more body to the lined pockets. You don’t want the pockets to be stiff, of course, but they’re so big that they might need just a little more support so they don’t look collapsed.

This looks to be one of those patterns worth perfecting for its ease of construction and wardrobe versatility. If I crave some easy sewing between bigger challenging projects I might make up another of these waistcoats–perhaps with bound buttonholes, vintage buttons, and a fancy lining next time.

This pattern is a keeper.

This pattern is a keeper.


Field trip: Costume Rentals, Minneapolis


A dress Kristin Chenoweth wore in a production of Babes in Arms at the Guthrie Theater in 1996.

A dress Kristin Chenoweth wore in a production of Babes in Arms at the Guthrie Theater in 1996.

With the sewing domain unavailable due to the start of improvements (about which, more to come in future posts), I did a field trip to Costume Rentals in Minneapolis Saturday.

Costume Rentals occupies 17,000 square feet and stores about 70,000 items belonging to the Guthrie Theater and Children’s Theatre companies in Minneapolis, representing about 500 productions. Costume Rentals stores costumes between productions and handles (naturally), the rental of costumes to theater companies across the country, documentary makers, and even publishers designing book covers.

This mannequin is too large for the diminutive Ms. Chenoweth's dress.

This mannequin is too large for the diminutive Ms. Chenoweth’s dress.

Costume Rentals also rents costumes to the public. So if you want to dress as a pirate, a princess, a gypsy, Santa Claus, or a Roman soldier (all frequent requests), you can be easily accommodated.

And there are so very many other possibilities for dressing from different periods (medieval, 18th century) or parts of the world (Russia, China), in different roles (a ballerina, a peasant), or even as different species (lions, insects) that you can’t help but think that your own wardrobe is pretty dull.

At least that was the case with me. I’ve toured Costume Rentals before. I’ve also taken extensive tours of Angels the Costumiers (home of 4 to 5 million items for the stage, film and television) and the costume-making facilities of the National Theatre, both in London. Each time I’ve concluded that my wardrobe and sewing ambitions are frightfully predictable and modest.

T. R. Knight wore this in the leading role of Amadeus at the Guthrie Theater in 2001.

T. R. Knight wore this in the leading role of Amadeus at the Guthrie Theater in 2001.

Visiting a place like Costume Rentals reminds me of the multitude of choices I have as a sewer.

There's a world of embellishment to tap into.

There’s a world of embellishment to tap into.

Even if I don’t want to look just like Marie Antoinette or a harem girl, I might enjoy quoting from their design traditions, embellishing a simple jacket with passementerie or sewing a dress from something sparkly. As a sewer, I have that freedom.  Why not use it?

Another thing I’ve experienced during each of these tours was exuberance. I’ll bet that any security cameras in these warehouses and workrooms would show me grinning, and it would probably be equally true for my fellow tourists. Even when looking at a (theatrical) blood-stained Julius Caesar costume it’s hard not to feel surprisingly positive. Strange, isn’t it?

Only one category of many for headgear at Costume Rentals.

Only one of many categories for headgear at Costume Rentals.

Every wardrobe could use some sparkle.

Every wardrobe could use some sparkle.

A casual, hand-lettered sign for an exotic category.

A casual, hand-lettered sign for an exotic category.

The Cleopatra costume is a popular rental.

The Cleopatra costume is a popular rental.

At the end of our 45-minute stroll through the stacks and racks our tour guide gave each of us a coupon for 20% off our next costume rental. I hadn’t seriously thought about using it.

It would never cross my mind to sew with peacock feathers.

It would never cross my mind to sew with peacock feathers.

Heck, why not?

Why limit yourself to your own species? Wear an animal head!

Why limit yourself to your own species? Wear an animal head!

Summer Sewing


My muslin in the process of being pinned and fitted at a Treadle Yard Goods salon.

My muslin in the process of being pinned and fitted at a Treadle Yard Goods salon.

Summer sewing. For various reasons I have never given it its due.

Summer’s not very long in Minnesota, so I don’t wear my summer clothes so much that I get tired of them. Soon enough they get packed away again.

And until recently, in the summer when I wasn’t working I was probably traveling and away from the sewing domain.

And then in colder weather I turn my attention to sewing warm things.

I have managed to sew Jack a lot of summer shirts, though.

Jack sports a shirt I made him last summer.

Jack sports a shirt I made him last summer.

Hmm. I guess that’s because the decision is so simple: “Wow, what great shirt fabric for Jack for summer! I think I’ll sew him a shirt!” Boom. Done.

For my wardrobe, though, the decision process can go on indefinitely. Which patterns shall I use? Fabrics? Buttons? What shall I coordinate with? The curse of the divergent thinker: infinite possibilities.

I’ve tried to narrow down the possibilities recently to several simple summer blouse and pants patterns. They’re at the muslin stage.

I'm making the blouse, but aren't the jacket and big-pocketed skirt great, too?

I’m making the blouse, but aren’t the jacket and big-pocketed skirt great, too?

I’m about to make a wearable test of the blouse from Advance pattern 5455, from 1950. There are no illustrations of the front of the blouse completed, by itself. But the collar appeals to me.  It can be made with three-quarters-length sleeves or sleeveless. I can see both in my summer wardrobe.

I brought my muslin to yesterday’s Treadle Yard Goods salon, where Michele worked her fitting and pattern-altering magic on it.

The next step is making a wearable test from stash fabric. I will try this cheerful posy-strewn stretch woven that just shouts summer. I have a lot of it, so I can afford to “waste” some on a test.

A cheerful, summery print for my wearable test.

A cheerful, summery print for my wearable test.

I like this fabric, but am a little conflicted about it: I want to keep the happy feeling but skirt cuteness and sweetness. Is that possible?

The cuteness factor can certainly be turned up or down by the cut of the garment and the colors of the coordinating pieces.  I’ll see how it goes.

I’d better get cracking. Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Transferring changes in the muslin to the paper pattern at a Treadle Yard Goods salon.

Transferring changes in the muslin to the paper pattern at a Treadle Yard Goods salon.