News of the passing of Hubert de Givenchy reminded me that I have a pattern dating from 1960 for a suit he designed, as the envelope proudly proclaims, “exclusively for McCall’s.”
I bought it in an eBay auction about fifteen years ago, and while I don’t remember what I paid, it couldn’t have been more than $10.
I have never sewn this pattern. The waist definition and neckline are flattering for my figure type; the “sleeves in one with jacket,” not so much for my sloping shoulders.
Maybe the right shoulder pads would remedy the problem. (Or is that wishful thinking?)
Whenever I happen upon this illustration, rifling through my pattern stash or leafing through my pattern catalogue, I imagine myself in this chic ensemble. It’s funny–I just realized that when I look at many of my other patterns I look at them more objectively as projects, as construction challenges, as units in outfits and capsules.
But without fail, when I look at this suit by Givenchy I am transported to a smart restaurant that’s worthy of it. I imagine feeling well dressed but not upstaged by what I’m wearing.
Best of all, I always imagine feeling wonderful in this outfit.
I can’t explain why, but this design captured something special for me when I saw the pattern, and it still does.
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.
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.
In 2006, in a stunt of sewing bravado, I sewed burgundy plaid, green heather, and red plaid versions.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday evening I found myself saying “Nooooooo…!” to the computer screen as I read the news on Peter Lappin’s blog, Male Pattern Boldness, that Paron Fabrics in New York’s Garment District was closing in just a matter of days.
Dozens of readers have left comments expressing their sadness at the passing of another source of beautiful, reasonably priced fabrics and nice service.
When Paron Fabrics started, this pattern was in the current catalogue.
If there is one type of information I can recall with mind-numbing precision it’s where and when I bought each fabric in my stash. As I read about Paron’s folding I thought of the happy hours I had spent browsing its yardage on numerous visits and clearly recalled the three pieces of fabric that came home with me over the years.
The first fabric I bought, back in May, 2003, turned out to be even more special than I ever expected it to be.
Yesterday, digging around in a file folder of New York trip souvenirs, I found this account of that morning spent shopping the Garment District:
Before lunch I fit in one more store–the Paron Fabrics annex, where every bolt was 50% off the lowest ticketed price. Somehow, it’s a lot more exciting to see an Italian wool with the original $24/yard price marked down to $12 than to see only “$12/yard.”
Having become very particular, I fingered wools and scrutinized colors waiting to see something sensational, not merely beautiful. A red and gold Italian herringbone wool, reduced to $12/yard, fit the bill. Really wonderful, rich colors. I imagined another 1936 suit made up in this fabric.
The saleswoman easily talked me into buying the rest of the bolt when I’d wanted only 2 1/2 yards. I ended up with 5 1/2 yards, but she charged me for just 5. She said, “You can make a gift of the rest to a friend who sews.”
I briefly reflected sadly on my dearth of friends who sew but thought I could make a dress, a weskit, or a winter coat with contrast facings. Maybe a hat.
Looking back, I now see how optimistic I was to buy such a distinctive fabric that would call for greater skill than I’d had before to do justice to its beauty. Only two months earlier I had started working with a really good sewing teacher. Edith’s guidance paved the way for me to sew much, much better, and to buy beautiful fabrics with more confidence.
It wasn’t until 2010, however, that I worked up the nerve to cut into the Italian wool. I challenged myself to sew an entry for the Minnesota Make It With Wool competition. I did finish the jacket and skirt ensemble in time but didn’t participate in the contest. (It was a couple of hours’ drive from Minneapolis–in December–and the day of the contest there was a blizzard, so I wasn’t sorry I had withdrawn my entry.)
However, my jacket did end up in the Reader’s Closet feature in the August/September 2012 issue of Threads magazine. That was gratifying.
And now my jacket takes pride of place on my home page.
My next Paron’s purchase came in July 2010. It was a Swiss cotton plaid shirting in colors that suggested watermelons and sunny summer skies: pink, green, white, watermelon-seed black, and blue.
It said, “Take me home and make me into a shirt for Jack!”
So I did.The last piece of fabric I bought at Paron’s was in late June this year.
Jack and I were visiting friends in Westchester County and took the train down to Manhattan for the day. From Grand Central Station we made Paron’s our first destination.
This time I wanted us to look at shirtings together, hoping that Jack would find something he’d really like. And he did. He unhesitatingly reached for a bold, large-scaled yellow, black and white plaid.
I liked it, too.
It was fun to look at the shirtings together, fun to discuss the merits of several, and fun to see Jack pick the one to come home with us.
Most of all it was fun for me to be able to say to Jack, “Pick anything you like, and I will sew you a new shirt!”
Reading of Paron’s closing made me realize that it had become a not-to-miss place to visit when I was in Manhattan. In its unassuming way, it had assumed an important place in my life.
When I see Jack in either of these shirts I think back to my happy memories of buying the yardage at Paron’s.
The same goes for my 1936 McCall jacket. I vaguely remembered that I bought more yardage than I needed and that the saleslady was very nice to me. But I had forgotten her generosity and her suggestion. I’m glad I wrote down that story to find again, thirteen years later.
I could so easily lose myself in a nostalgic remembrance of temps perdu, but–
I still have a sizeable piece of that Italian wool waiting to be turned into something wonderful.
And now I have a stash of vintage buttons, many on their original cards from at least the 1950s, patiently waiting for me to wake up from my sentimental torpor and put them to work.
I can’t go back to Paron’s, and I can’t save it from closing. But I can build on what Paron’s has given me.
Paron Fabrics: To this sewing friend, you were the gift. Thank you.
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. 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.
And the next thing I knew, I was chatting with Christine Taylor, 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.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.
The seaming and darting are so beautiful.
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.
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.
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?
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.
The tag read “Extra Small.” The fit was nearly perfect on me–a rare occurrence.
I love a big collar–and this one could be worn a couple of ways: wider and flatter, or higher and closer to the face. Interesting.
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.
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:
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
That humming sound you hear is coming from my head, which is still spinning from spending last weekend at Janie’s Sewing Corner in Cleveland, Ohio.
Students gather around Kenneth for a closer look.
That’s where I joined 31 fellow sewers to see Threads magazine contributing editor, adjunct professor at New York’s Fashion Institute of Technology, and self-described “couturier to the stars” Kenneth D. King demonstrate tailoring and couture techniques for about 11 packed hours spread over two days.
The class description on Janie’s website read, “Kenneth will teach a workshop on tailoring details, focusing on old-school techniques the first day and more modern techniques the second day.”
Actually, Kenneth led off on Day 1 with his “new school” tailoring innovations–not that it mattered, since nearly all of us had signed up for both days.
I had e-mailed Kenneth earlier in the week:
I thought I would drop you a line to say how much I look forward to meeting you Saturday and Sunday at Janie’s Sewing Corner.
I also wanted to tell you that I bought Smart Tailoring the day it was announced on the Taunton website, and made a jacket following your “old school” methods. I was going to follow up with a “new school” jacket, but remained confused about the collar-lapel pattern adaptation, so I will learn from you this weekend and then produce a “new school” jacket—the first of many, I think.
I documented the process of making my jacket using Smart Tailoring on my blog, Getting Things Sewn. In this post, https://gettingthingssewn.com/tailoring-with-kenneth-king/ I explain why I took on this project.
Sewing is not easy for me, but I’m capable of good work, especially with expert help. I look forward to getting my questions answered this weekend!
Thank you, Kenneth,
Minutes later Kenneth replied:
Be sure to bring your pattern, and I’ll show how to adapt the under collar to the body for everyone else to learn….
See you this weekend!
So in class I was prepared when Kenneth asked me to retrieve the pattern pieces for the under collar and front of the pattern I was trying to adapt for a “new school” jacket. He pinned the front to his flip chart, and then pinned on the under collar at the notch on the neckline. He pinned the collar to the chart at a second point, showing a gap between the two pattern pieces.
I was watching intently and scribbling notes at the same time and didn’t even think to take a picture. Here are my notes, in their entirety:Okay: “gap…curve…take out there…add back here…make a muslin…my jacket does have a peaked lapel…this adaptation does work for peaked lapels…” I have fragments here, but not a clear picture.
I don’t write fast enough, and I barely grasp patternmaking principles, which are both big impediments in a fast-paced sewing class.
In short, it is still a mystery to me how to combine the under collar and the front into a single pattern piece to simplify making a notched collar. How to “finesse some of that gap” remains beyond my grasp. I doubt a photo of the flip chart would have provided the solution to my puzzlement. I needed one-on-one instruction, and that wasn’t going to happen with 31 classmates that day.
See this? No seamline between the undercollar and the front, which means one fewer pesky, bulky seam to deal with. This is the result I want to achieve with my own jacket pattern pieces.
When I do adapt my pattern at last, I’ll post a step-by-step process. Promise!
(See my previous three posts to read about attempting to adapt my pattern.)
On both days Kenneth taught at a steady, swift pace, frequently checking our faces for comprehension. One time I must have been staring back blankly, because he asked again if I was following him, and I said “I’ll have to practice to lock in the knowledge.” It was an honest answer, and it seemed to satisfy him.
When I looked at my notes I was astonished at all the ground Kenneth covered. For example:
How to make a muslin framework to suspend canvas inside a jacket front, providing support but avoiding bulky seams
How to tape a roll line and machine-stitch it in place through the canvas and fashion fabric
The stay tape is stitched in place through the canvas and fashion fabric along the roll line.
How to steam, press, and baste in the turn of cloth in a lapel
How to stitch a notched collar with a minimum of bulk, avoiding the usual “train wreck” of seams meeting in one place
A notched collar “new school” style.
How to make mitered cuffs
How to make a “hidden pocket” in a jacket front lining
How to remove bulk from a pocket flap pattern piece by cleverly relocating the seams
The “origami” pocket flap means no bulk at the edges because the seam allowances have been shifted out of sight. This is the back.
This is the front of the flap. The edges are free of bulk.
How to make a bulk-free seams and welt pockets in nonravelly materials like felt or leather
Sketching a pocket for nonravelly materials like felt and leather.
The pocket in felt. Nice.
The pocket bag of the felt pocket.
When a three-piece sleeve is better than a two-piece
How to draft a notched lapel from a shawl lapel
How to reason out the proportions of a garment in a fashion illustration or photograph from knowing the average neck-to-shoulder seam measurement and knowing that the elbow bends at the natural waist.
How to make a surgeon’s style jacket cuff with working buttonholes
Surgeon’s cuff, with working buttonholes.
The surgeon’s cuff, neatly finished inside.
How to make bound buttonholes and welt pockets of consistent dimensions and quality
Kenneth demonstrated bound buttonholes and neatly finishing the facing. That’s silk organza.
How to smoothly install an invisible zipper
How to make fell stitches, tailor bastes, and pad stitches
How to stay curves even before cutting out the pattern piece
Why cut some seam allowances 1 inch wide and how to press out the ripples along the edges
How to make a Hong Kong finish the couture way
Both days Kenneth produced samples from scratch or finished ones he’d started and then passed them around for us to scrutinize and photograph.
Kenneth King demonstrated sewing a notched collar, “new school” style.
What a nice looking felt collar.
He brought several jackets, familiar to users of his DVDs, books, and Threads articles, that we could look at inside and out.
The “new school” jacket that appears in the Smart Tailoring DVD.
His tool bag lay open on the table. It was fun to see the tools he had amassed or created over the years and how he used them.
Kenneth King’s tool bag.
I’d never heard of a Florian pinker. “Pinking shears tend to chew some fabrics,” Kenneth said, as many of us nodded in agreement. When I saw how neatly this gadget trimmed edges, I wanted one for myself.
The Florian pinker
“I’m all about having the right tool for the job,” Kenneth told us, and sometimes that means adapting a tool to improve it. He did not hesitate or apologize when removing a spring mechanism from a zipper foot, pronouncing it useless, and dropping it with a “plunk!” into the wastebasket.
We got more advice on equipment, tools, and supplies:
Don’t use a Teflon ironing board cover, which repels moisture rather than allowing steam to move through a garment
Collect and use good pieces of pressing equipment–tailors’ hams, a point presser, a clapper, sleeve rolls, a sleeve board
Get a really good iron. (Kenneth has a Reliable i600, which has amazing steam–and runs up an equally amazing electric bill.)
Have at least one pair of Gingher tailors’ scissors, and ship them back to Gingher to be sharpened.
A vacuum table? “Not really. Good for a dry cleaner. Too much for me.”
Use a trimmed shaving brush to remove chalk markings.
Iron thread for hand sewing, and it won’t twist
“Don’t cheap out on needles.”
Then there was the quotable Kenneth:
“I wasn’t formally trained except for patternmaking.”
“Know the rules.”
“Know when to break the rules.”
“I’m not wild about wearable art.” In couture, the wearer is more important than the garment; with wearable art the garment is more important than the wearer, he said.
“I believe in spending the time you need to get a beautiful result.”
“I’m lazy–I don’t want to do any more than I have to.”
“You need to put your time in where it shows.”
I’m very much about repeatable and reliable.”
“I’m known for handouts at FIT.” (And at Janie’s, too: We all got to take home a CD of Kenneth’s ten handouts for the classes.)
Drafting a notched-collar jacket from a shawl collar pattern. Kenneth makes it look easy.
“When it’s all said and done, if it gives you a good result, it’s correct.”
“There’s this whole thing on directional sewing…” Kenneth disagrees: “I have a life…”
“A lot of Bemberg lining you can read a newspaper through, and I hate that.”
A tedious or time-consuming task is “a nosebleed.”
“I tell my students, ‘I started when I was 4; I’m 57–do the math.”
Sewing purists who endlessly debate fine points are “clutching their pearls” or “wrapped around the axle.”
Quoting Fred Astaire: “If you make the same mistake long enough, they assume it’s your style.”
Kenneth takes his own photos for his Threads articles.
His next DVD in Threads’ “Smart” series will be about sewing fake fur.
He loves Fortuny fabric. (Shocking, I know.)
He takes a dim view of mimes.
Better Dressmaking by Ruth Wyeth Spears is “one of those good all-around books from the forties.”
Check out the great content on Threads Insider, where Kenneth’s beautiful “bark coat” can be seen.
Support your local independent fabric store, which can provide supplies and services that the big chains can’t or won’t.
It’s been six days now since Tailoring Details with Kenneth King ended, and I’ve been thinking about what I got out of it.
I got to meet and listen to a master. I find being around any kind of mastery has a good effect on me.
I saw with my own eyes techniques demonstrated with successful results. (I am a little bit skeptical of most sewing directions–and directions in general.) I’m much more likely to try these techniques now.
I made, or renewed, the acquaintance of fellow sewers.
I bought myself an impressively large sleeve board.
It would be a shame, though, not to invest a little more effort to yield richer, longer-lasting rewards. Like:
Researching irons and buying a much better one
Making or buying the right ironing board cover
Seeing how far I could get following Kenneth’s handouts for his FIT students
Trying Kenneth’s bound buttonhole method
Trying his “origami” pocket flap, not only to reduce bulk but as a pattern-drafting exercise
Using my Threads and Threads Insider subscriptions more, and more strategically
And, most of all,
Continuing to amass experience and knowledge making jackets and coats.
Although I brought my “old school” jacket to class to show Kenneth and to ask questions about it, I may have given him a mistaken impression. If I had listed my specific questions in that e-mail earlier in the week, Kenneth probably would have woven those topics into his talk.
My jacket made following Kenneth’s “old school” methods still needs a final press.
Instead, my jacket waited in the wings and never got onstage. And when we wrapped up Sunday afternoon and Kenneth had a plane to catch, I thought it would be insensitive as well as untimely to press him for advice about–pressing, among other things.
But you know what? I’ll just look at my jacket again on my own and figure out what to do next.