I should have known better than to buy fabric off the internet, untouched. But I saw it and thought it had a lovely soft texture and would work well for a lined yukata for me. I was delighted when it arrived. It is ultra soft and light, and has the most amazing drape.
Yes… the drape. Lovely and flowy and feels like it has a life of its own. And had I been a more experienced seamstress, that would have been a hint that maybe – just maybe – it was not going to be the easiest fabric to sew with.
This bitch was the squirmiest, slipperiest, springiest fabric I’ve ever worked with. It wouldn’t sit still. It looked like it would take a good crease, and lose it ten minutes after the iron hit it. Moreover, I hadn’t considered the problem of matching the pattern at the seams, and this is one big, bold set of geometric lines, so either it needs to match EXACTLY or, as I came to learn, you practice some intentional carelessness and just join those pieces together willy nilly and make damn sure they don’t match or meet at all.
I realized I was in for an adventure when I started cutting out the pieces. This fabric acted like it was being cut on the bias no matter how faithfully straight I cut it. Trying to maintain good crease marks at the kata-yama and sode-yama was blood impossible. With steam, without steam, even with starch, didn’t matter. It was spring and raining and a few minutes after ironing, the creases would disappear. I finally resorted to marking them with a basting stitch in red thread.
I had been diligent. Seeing that it was a big pattern, I had decided to buy an extra half meter so that I could line everything up on the side seams. But little did I know that just keeping the fabric still as it went through the machine was going to be a nightmare. I was pinning every two centimetres, and that wasn’t enough. And Dora wasn’t helping.
I guess she knew she could shed on this fabric with joyful abandon and it was never going to show.
I never managed to actually get a seam where the lines met exactly. I should have had the confidence to make a statement and intentionally NOT match them, which would highlight the structure of the garment. But I wasn’t as brave then.
Hardest of all was getting the collar on. Well, it always is, but even though the collar was cut with the weave, it was stretching like a knit. Take a look at how many pins I was using to try and keep it anchored! I did baste the collar on by hand, but I made the mistake of thinking I had to override the nature of the fabric with a nice tight machine stitch. It was a bad, bad call. The seam puckered and rippled all over the place. Indeed, it is still not as neat as I would like it.
Now I am more experienced, I know this should have all been sewn by hand. I could have used the machine for the white cotton I used for the lining, and perhaps any raw edges that needed finishing. But for the entire construction, I should have done it by hand.
This is what I’ve learned: don’t try to fight the nature of the fabric. Let it live the way it wants to. Hand stitching will always ensure I ‘ride’ the truth of the fabric instead of going to war with it.
All that being said, this is the most comfortable, lightest but cosiest dressing gown I’ve ever owned. I will wear it until one of us dies.
