Against a sun-dappled backdrop, my son artfully plays with a wicker, um, whatever the hell that thing is
I love to sew. If you’re reading here, you probably know this. I learned to sew so long ago I don’t remember not knowing the craft, but when my life turned to child-raising and home-life this desire simply asploded from my loins like a flaming, golden hawk. Some days it’s an effort to think of other things; think of them I must, however, as I do believe it’s both an honor and respectable, satisfying work to do – you know, everything else (kids pets cleaning dishes laundry mending planning shopping cooking playing cuddling reading bathing scrubbing vacuuming; Ok, my husband vacuums, not me, but still).
As I said, I love to sew. So you can imagine how much I enjoy flipping through the latest of a sheer glut of craft books and finding all these wonderful ideas, fabrics, products, tutorials, kits, trims, embellishments, machines, notions, and supplies.
But wait, you can’t imagine it. Because the truth is, I kind of hate these books, websites, and blogs. Shocker! No, I personally find it exhausting to consume or be exposed to the world of Unbearably Tasteful Craft, even for the bits and pieces of know-how I pick up.
Look, it’s only recently I’ve become frustrated. I, like many before me, was taken in by the first little celebratory crafts-for-laydeez blog. I saw a white woman, her hair tied in an artful kerchief, sitting demurely on a sun-dappled hardwood floor. Her adorable children’s (clean) hands hand-felted winsomely-flawed baubles and she sewed them to a vintage linen tablecloth. Maybe there was a bowl of apples sunning themselves on the shelf of shabby-chic armoire, right next to a striking display of hand-wound wool yarns (Red Hart, get thee out Satan!).
Awwww. So sweet. I want that life, I thought to myself.
Then there was another. This time the (white, young, beautiful, slim, hipster/urban ingenue/sweet hippie) posed in a halter dress she’d made from her husband’s old cotton dress shirt, her hands carelessly dipped in flour as her happily docile child licked the spoon to messy and cutesy effect. Across the door threshold fluttered hand-cut wool banner flags in a muted colorset as this duo of mother-and-child enjoyed an apparent blissdom of epic, Unicorn-making-out-with-Johnny Depp, proportions.
I’ll spare you further examples. There have been, and continue to be, a germillion of them.
Here’s the thing: I’m not going to pick on a single author, website, or publishing house. I don’t have the expertise or knowledge base to do so, nor judge any particular person’s intentions. When a blog turns from a “hey, I made this” site to first sponsorships, then little ads in the sidebar, and eventually a resultant book deal - yay! I guess. I mean if it makes someone a living it’s no more right to criticize that individual than anyone else who earns. These books and sites do, obviously, inspire and to some extent instruct (although I’ve yet to see much “new” invented in the field of stitching that our grannies and great-great-great grannies didn’t know how to do). People who know how to do stuff should write it down and share it, absolutement.
However, in the sheer volume of these bewitching tomes ($15 to $40 for each hardcover, lest ye forget) and sites (cluttered with ads to niceties we hadn’t originally planned on buying, and perhaps can’t afford even if we want them*) we get a sly underwhiff of nastiness: bit by bit they build an aspirational picture**: white, classy, pure, “natural” (whatever that means), beautiful, clean, tidy, creative, tasteful***, and in the case of kids, cute-but-well-behaved. A book I currently have on loan from the library happily sighs, “Take nothing into your home that is not a thing of beauty”.
Because, really? Most who know me would likely think I am a selective consumer – heck, we currently lack a table to eat on because I’m waiting for the right one (affordable and well-made, probably used). But the concept of a household only displaying items that are “things of beauty” is not the world nor the lifestyle most people find themselves in (A. if they could afford it and B. if they shared the aesthetic). The people I know around these parts, they have like three jobs and four kids and juggling exes and daycare and t-ball fees and stuff. These people shop at Walmart because That’s What’s Here (we literally have no apparel fabric store in a community of about 25,000) and They Haven’t Yet Learned Less Is More (and perhaps they will never be interested, P.S. even “simple life” peeps have a heck of a lot more shit than lots of other people****). A little compromise, perhaps? Or do we really have to all have the same sun-washed linen-curtain lifestyle in order to proceed, you know, learning how to stitch?
Buying only “the best” fabrics and threads, etc., is all well and good if you can do it; any stitcher knows the sheer bliss of handling well-made fabrics, thread – heck, even well-made needles (see Unicorn/Johnny Depp reference above). But most people I know buy sweatshop-manufactured clothes and inexpensive fabrics because A. that’s what’s predominantly available to them, and B. many of them can’t easily afford otherwise. Ever taken apart a Walmart t-shirt once it’s worn out to make something new? You probably should proceed carefully as this may not be worth it, depending on your skills in re-stitching and the item’s intended purpose.
And this brings us to the the (time-honored, but currently undergoing green-wash and trendy revival) subject of repurposing. “Simply take items you love and when they’re worn, recycle them into your life.” Fair enough. I do this: tons. Yet the book I have on hand that details the process and end results is not altogether relatable: picture after picture (several dozen models, all thin, all beautiful, all able-bodied, all young, and all but one white) in their repurposed and time-intensive garments literally standing in cornfields looking into the distance. Aw yeah… that’s the shit I usually do in my hand-sewn stuff. Stand on red-dirt roads looking awesome. This same site features a hand-stitched coat for $4,400 (worth every penny, and I’m not kidding, but a bit out of the ken for… you know, lots of people). Re-purposing, a subject I could write many, many more words on, is both time-intensive and often necessitates a competence, if not expertise, in knowing one’s fabric needs (more in a minute), style preferences, sturdy construction techniques, and time management (how many “re-purposed” projects are currently sitting unfinished, stuffed in someone’s closet?).
About those models and those lovely pictures from this book and many, many more: the race-fail is obvious. Some are better than others but it’s basically a white-fest. So there’s that.
The sizeism gets to me more than most other -isms; not because I, at 5′ 5″ and 190 pounds, feel especially butt-hurt or fat-shamed (I’m over it), but I know just how many women do get tripped up on the sum-total message that to be beautiful and expressive you need to be small or slim (in fact last week I received an email from a big girl who wants to sew but can’t find patterns in her size and her style. She is currently – surprise! – not sewing). The “repurposing” site I mentioned above? They put out a book with a lovely pattern – that goes up to a women’s size 12. Just so you know, the average American woman is a 14. So, if you’re fatter than a size 12 you don’t exist. Or you don’t deserve to look fashionable. I’m not sure which one.
And don’t give me that, “Oooh but they couldn’t possibly draft up every size, ever”. Um, yeah, they could, or a heck lot more of them could: Jalie immediately comes to mind for improved size ranges. Besides, I’m not suggesting every single garment come in every imaginable size from premie baby to the World’s Tallest Man*****. But maybe, you know, a woman’s pattern could include the same size iterations from the size 14 midpoint. If you know, you’re going to bother making a pattern at all.
Another bit of subtle-yet-dealbreaking sizeist undercurrent in the urban/indie sites: okay, here’s a simple tutorial instructing you to cut up your husband’s dress shirt and make an a-line skirt. Um, hello, unless your husband is much larger than you or prone to baggy fashion, you will not have enough fabric. The act of cutting a garment apart leaves you with significantly less yardage to create from given the design lines in the original garment. Example: this week I started t-shirt corset. It took 1.5 t-shirts in a men’s 2 XL to cut the pieces along the appropriate grainline (I am roughly that “average” size 14). I am an expert at pattern layout; your average newcomer won’t be.
The abovementioned yardage question is Sewing 101 (OK, maybe 102) but, to a newbie, constitutes frustration and bad crafting experience. Is it too much to ask the 101 “repurposing” folks write up some general guidelines so you don’t have average-to-fat ladies happily bringing home that Stones t-shirt thrift score only to be defeated when there’s not enough to go around?
(I realized I lapsed into seamstress speak in those last two paragraphs; stay with me now.)
Look, the books and websites I speak of are, ultimately, full of lovely DIY, inspiration, occasionally current links to sources for materials, and lots of pretty pictures (if you read nothing else here, please do read Kate Harding’s “aspirational” piece as linked below). Sometimes attendant to the books and sites are great communities for help and comradery.
Let’s not forget one thing, though: a huge component of the websites’ and books’ existence is to make money. If they can paint a lovely lifestyle picture they may be able to make a buck. Why else waste page space on a scone recipe smack dab in the middle of sewing tutorials? Listen ass, first off, who doesn’t know how to make scones, secondly, I can find my own tried-and-true recipe, you know, elsewhere, perhaps in the field of cookery.
Here’s my point, in case it’s not obvious: the canon of craft pr0n seems less about helping you make things as it is promising you a lifestyle if you buy things. Supplies are necessary to create but the acquisition of them is no substitution for the creative process. (And don’t forget how many crafts and disciplines have their roots in creating for next-to-nothing, currency-wise.) There are too many women (and men) who buy fabric, print patterns from a trendy online site, grab curtain lengths at a garage sale or thrift store, save up the money for a sewing machine…:
Then they simply don’t create. I see it, often. I am stopped in the street by people who know I sew: they want to, they can’t. And I want to be a force for the Good in changing this for anyone who wants it.
A coda: I had the opportunity a few days ago to attend a workshop by international spoken-word artist Desdamona. She was asked her work’s purpose and she said, “To empower people to create”. This simple phrase was powerful for me to hear. The drive to create is within us; the empowerment? Not always. This is why I call myself a Sewing Activist. This is why I assist as many who ask for my help.
True craftivism can be assisted by any material, book, tutorial, or blog, but it’s most effective at the grass-roots when we help one another along using what they have; even if our neighbor, yes, her entire works have thus far consisted of tie-blankets from JoAnns fleece printed with the Seahawks logo. She’s my peeps just as much as the fashionable “good things” set, if not more so.
Mentioned/Futher Reading:
Google image search for “new craft book”
Red Hart yarn, acrylic and therefore gauche
* Ad-free blogs, a concept
** Kate Harding sums up my objections to the “aspirational”, a simple must-read
*** “Tasteful” should not be the of order of how we express ourselves; this is why I dislike Regretsy and I some others do too
**** Material World: A Global Family Portrait
Zenning my house, a process (blog post)
Vagzilla: All Genitals Great and Small, a wee bit OT but a great perspective on human size variation
Jalie’s scoopneck top pattern in a 27-size range, from 18 months to a woman’s size 22
***** Robert Wadlow, the world’s tallest man
Fashion/fat police in the stitching world: BurdaStyle’s “Marilyn Pants”, 74 comments and counting along the lines of: “Ugh, only thin people can wear this” and “Even that thin model can’t pull this off”, and “P.S. don’t be fat. EVAR.”
Leslie at Fatshionista briefly discusses the “trapeze dress” fashion-Gestapo
“Obsessed with Martha Stewart”, a blog
In response to compliments and a query on my daughter’s “wolf suit”, I performed a search for barkcloth on Reprodepot.com, yielding prices of $10 – $15 for a half yard. Lovely fabrics, to be sure. Affording them is a small feat.
Desdamona, a performance artist
No-Sew Fleece Blanket, a how-to