I, uh, what? Butterick 4237 baffles me:
The shape of the "doll" is odd enough, but after some consideration I can get behind round pillows with yarn fringe and eyes. But what's with the group of characters? I can find no rhyme nor reason to "Lovey Lion," "The Mess," (who seems a little angry, don't you think?) "Bunny Hug," "Moody," "Worry Wart," and, strangest of all, "C. Urchin." That's not "View C, Urchin" but "C. Urchin" (view E).
What, oh what, am I missing here?
If Monday featured floral appliqués done right, today features them done so, so wrong. Keep in mind that Butterick 9550 is a pattern for women, not girls:
Wearing this, I'd imagine you'd get a lot of comments like, "Wow, I had no idea they made Garanimals for adults," and "You must really love flowers, huh?" Easy living, indeed!
One of the things I love finding on vintage patterns are notations made by prior owners. Sometimes they're as mysterious as a secret message. Other times they offer a glimpse of a seamstress' well-laid plans. Yet other times they're the final trace of that rage that comes with a failed sewing project.
McCall's 9780 belonged to a "Verna Stein," according to the name one the envelope. At first I assumed that Verna was a very exacting child and this pattern was part of a careful negotiation with her mother. The note reads:
I would like this one, but with a big sash tie in back & lace around the neck and sleeves. How does that sound?
But the writing is so neat, so precise -- this isn't a child's scrawl. I think Verna hired a seamstress, and these were her written instructions to her.
Still, I prefer to think of Verna as a precocious little girl, mouth twisted in concentration as she consults her penmanship book and underlines all the important words in her oh-so-polite fashion note to Mother. I wonder what kind of fabric she chose.
Ah, the vintage Vogue Paris Original patterns. There's nothing like them to inspire delight and pattern lust. They're so elegant, so stylish, so...French!
Except...wait a minute. What is that sophisticated French couple in Vogue 1213 up to? Dressed in their elegant suits, chawing down on...is he shoving a chicken bone into his maw? Or is it a pork knuckle? Is she enjoying corn on the cob?
Mon dieu!
First of all...hello again! It's been too long (over a year since posting?! Bad blogger! Bad blogger!) I won't bore you with the story of lack of work, a plethora of work, etc. For too long patterns have gone unadmired and unmocked.
But first...a digression. To me one of the interesting questions artists who work for others face is how to put their own spin on work-for-hire projects. I grew up in Denver, and in the natural history museum there, you can find about eight elves hidden in the painted dioramas. According to museum lore, diorama Kent R. Pendleton wasn't allowed to sign his work -- so the hidden elves serve as his "signature." I love his solution to the work-for-hire dilemma.
What about pattern illustrators? How did they sneak bits of themselves into their work? Are the little quirks in illustrations -- like a random chair or a floating mini-helper -- actually an artists' way of saying "hey, this is me!"?
Or were the illustrators just drunk?
Imagine, if you will, the bar across from Simplicity headquarters. It's 1968 -- but while free love reigns outside, in here it's whiskey and cigars. Two grizzled pattern illustrators are delaying returning home.
"Joe," says the first. "I got one you'll never get past management."
The second chuckles. "You mean like 8806 when I made two of the girls float and lost one of their legs?"
"Child's play," Frank tells him. "This is even tougher than those girls we made look possessed."
"2971 and 2995, yeah. They never could figure out why those didn't sell well."
"They didn't sell 'cause those girls looked like they were gonna eat your soul. A pretty notched collar can't undo that."
"What's your challenge, Frank?"
"8190. The Jiffy pattern."
"I'm listening."
"Put one of the girls in brown. With a rope belt."
"Hood up or down?"
"Hood up."
"You want me to make her look like a Benedectine monk?"
"Yup. And no hiding her in the back. I want her right in the front."
"Why don't I just put her arms out to the side while I'm at it? Make her look like she's on a cross?"
"Nah, they'll catch that. Just tell them the kids these days are into it. Kids these days are into all kinds of weird shit."
"It'll never work."
"No, it won't. But it'll be worth it to see the look on their faces when we turn it in, won't it?"
It's summer, and my thoughts have turned to sun hats.
Actually, let me clarify that. What I really mean is that I've become obsessed with searching out one very specific hat pattern. One that's been marked in my etsy favorites for quite a while:
I don't think I need to explain the siren-like call of the hat. I mean, what's not to love? The baggy top! The oversize pleated brim! It's REVERSIBLE! Clearly I need to make one or twelve RIGHT NOW in the brightest colors imaginable. I live on one of the streets doomed to be clogged due to this weekend's "Carmageddon" in Los Angeles, so if I'm going to be trapped in my house for the weekend I might as well hunker down and make obnoxious sun hats while drinking mojitos.
But...the item listed as "Lady's Vogue Reversible Sun Hat PDF Pattern" is on Etsy no more. The seller no longer exists, so the ghost of the item can't even be viewed. Only this scrap of information remains. I scoured the Vintage Sewing Pattern Wiki and have yet to uncover it, although after stumbling across Vogue 6805 I feared to explore summer hat territory further:
Is it a bandana? A veil? A veindana? Are those fake flowers on view 3 -- and could it be a wedding version? I'm very, very confused.
While I ponder the conundrum of Vogue 6805, please report any sightings of the Vogue Reversible Lady's Sun Hat to PatternJunkie HQ. Do not approach the hat or make eye contact with it, as it may be armed and dangerous!
I always love patterns with notations on them. Jottings about hem lengths, fabrics, adjustments...all are peeks into the lives of the seamstresses who used these little pieces of history.
And then there are the notes scrawled in frustration and madness...those moments all too familiar to anyone who sews. McCall's 6079 from 1961 has both:
"Dark print," "Summer or winter," "Make in suiting or washable tweed." Such great planning, don't you think?
We all know what they say about God and plans.
Check out the note to the left of the brown skirt:
"do not make this in brn, short sleeves, looks like an overgrown brownie!"
I'm assuming she meant a Girl Scout-type brownie, but it's just as amusing to imagine someone laboring over the washable tweed just to put on the finished dress, gaze in the mirror and think, "Shit. I look like a giant pastry."
Like the pattern? You can get it in a B32 -- complete with the notes -- over at DellaJane!
Ah. To be as hip, as cool, as "with it" as these women in their gowns from Vogue 7148:
They don't merely walk. They slink. While your hair is sliding out of place and sticking to your skin, theirs remains perfect. Their champagne glasses are always filled. Witty bon mots and sly double entendres drop from their lips with ease.
Yeah, I hate them too. But I do love their outfits.
Vogue 1561, 1966
She backed against the faux bois wall, doing her best to affect a casual tone. "Microfiche?! I don't even know what that is! How could I possibly steal it?"
They weren't buying it. She could tell that. Why oh why hadn't she listened more carefully to Q when he explained how to use the hidden compartment in her dress collar? It wasn't fair. They'd never make James wear something that made him look like one of those stuffy American pilgrims at Thanksgiving.
I loved slumber parties when I was a kid. Loved them. Eating lots of junk food? Screaming because...well, screaming just because you're a tween girl jacked up on sugar? (One memorable slumber party of mine featured the lot of us laughing and shrieking in horror when our Irish Setter drooled in the chip bag. The "ewws" and "grosses" probably carried for miles.) Staying up as late as you can manage? Heaven!
So in my mind pajama parties are generally pure, innocent fun. But when I look at McCall's 5649, I'm concerned about what Pink Ruffles and White Nightie have planned for Pink Gingham:
Ruffles and Nightie seem to be having a discussion about what medical procedure to perform on Pink Gingham. (What IS Ruffles hiding in her pockets?) Sadly, Pink Gingham -- who, I hate to say, looks about as dim as my aforementioned Irish Setter -- is right on board with the shenanigans. She's prepping by taking her own pulse!
McCall's 5693 is more of the happy PJ vibe I remember -- but damn if it isn't WAY BETTER than any slumber party I attended:
Here Flowered Muumuu and Green's conspiring have resulted in something fabulous: Pink is FLOATING! And I thought "light as a feather, stiff as a board" was fun!
(But...what is up with Pink's left hand? It's freakishly long and quite possibly double-knuckled!)
