I love the intersection of sewing and story.
How that dress you just finished making isn’t merely a cute addition to your wardrobe but also a funny reminder of how you refused to wear anything but dresses for a whole entire year of preschool. How the pants you’re constructing in corduroy from your grandmother’s stash remind you of her pantry each time you press a seam and that certain nostalgic scent is released.
When we make our own clothes, we have the unique opportunity to construct for ourselves mobile shelters, second skins. They keep us warm, show the world who we are, and also hold our stories.
As for my own story, it feels as though I’ve always known how to sew. I suppose I must not have really known until I was old enough to handle sharp objects…safely. Sewing was just a way of life in my family–my mother, grandmother, and aunts all sew, and I grew up following my mother around fabric shops as we picked out material for quilts, clothes, and Halloween costumes. My older brother even got in on the action for a while, completing a few pillows and one memorable stuffed pig back in the day.
Still, it wasn’t until a few years ago that sewing (specifically clothes) became a passion for me. A passion of passions. An I-can’t-sleep-because-I’m-dreaming-of-clothing-I-want-to-make passion. It came out of nowhere, and I hope it never leaves.
See more of my projects on Pattern Review and BurdaStyle.
