Inspiration: Maya de Mexico

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What do you all think of tourists' souvenir garments from the 1950s? I always suspect there's something not-quite-politically-correct about it, but I do love the Mexican garments of this ilk. I've recently seen a few by Maya de Mexico, and they're lovely. I can't find a lot of info on the company, but it's clear that all the pieces were made in Mexico City and were brought home by American tourists.

I'm majorly coveting this skirt, mostly because I love the combination of cotton and sequins.

Here's another lovely Maya de Mexico piece, a two-piece separates set that presents the appearance of a dress.

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Many Mexican skirts of this era were handpainted, which is an interesting sewing puzzle. The pieces must have been embellished post-cutting because they manage to create perfect border prints on a circle skirt, which is an impossibility with a traditional printed border fabric. The skirts also have a lot of sequin embellishment, like this flamboyant example:

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Here's another example of a separates set, this time in a kitschy matador/sombrero print.

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Aztec motifs were also very popular.

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What do you think of these designs? I love the mixture of humble cotton day pieces with exquisite embellishments. I'm particularly taken with the idea of hand embellishing a print circle skirt with sequins.

I'm especially interested to hear what you all think of the politics of these garments. Back in my grad school days, this is what we would have called "cultural appropriation," a convenient borrowing of minority customs and dress as a novelty for the tourist classes. (I try to shy away from grad school language these days, but sometimes it can't be avoided.) Of course, post-war America took fashion inspiration from all over the map. (Just think of sarong dresses and cheongsams worn by American military wives.) And these appropriations made for some of the most fascinating styles of the time, teh rare pieces that we love to talk about today. Whatever your thoughts on the political connotations of Mexican souvenir garments, I don't think it can be denied that these are incredibly interesting pieces of fashion history. What's your take?

When a Genius Turns Out to Be a Jerk

Sooo . . . how about that Galliano stuff? In case you've been living blissfully under a rock, you probably know that he was fired from Dior after spewing awful anti-Semitic, misogynistic stuff.

At first I just hoped it wasn't true. After all, in this post I called him a genius. And one of my favorite sewing writers calls him "a god." Sadly, it seems he's all too human. And a pretty despicable human, at that. Galliano has since gone off to rehab (I guess that cures you of being a terrible person now?) but denies the accusations against him . . . even though they were caught on video.

It's been interesting to watch the public reaction to all this. Celebrities can take a stand by boycotting Galliano gowns for red carpet events. But what about the average fashion-loving fan? We haven't lost the opportunity to wear couture gowns, but something intangible instead: the inspiration that Galliano's amazing designs provided, which are now pretty much tainted forever, at least in my mind.

Of course, we can try to make the distinction between the artist's views and the art itself. After all, the designs themselves were not anti-Semitic or sexist. But I think all too often talented men get a free pass when it comes to their personal lives and views (think of Roman Polanski or Charlie Sheen, though I hesitate to call the latter talented). The best we can do is condemn him and move on, I suppose. (Rather than, say, giving him a line of t-shirts with his awful soundbites.)

The most fitting farewell was the one given, I think: at the last show, after Galliano's dismissal, all the house's seamstresses and tailors were brought out to take a bow in place of Galliano himself. After all, the many shows he put on were not only his accomplishment to claim. I'm going to console myself by thinking of these women and men and all the hard work they put into their craft.

What do you think? Can you separate the man from the art?

Betsey Johnson's Gun Dress: Yea or Nay?

I love this dress. I've actually had it in my inspiration folder for a couple years, and I keep coming back to it. It's from Betsey Johnson's 1985 collection, and she showed it again for her fall 2008 show to celebrate her 30 years in the biz.

I've always thought this gun print was so amazing and have often contemplated imitating it with graffiti-style stencils on fabric. There's something so badass about the image of a handgun, especially when combined with a feminine silhouette like this one. It makes me think of Bonnie Parker, especially with the long, lean skirt. It balances punk and glam perfectly, and let's face it—it would look awesome with tattoos. As evidenced by this short pink version:

But in a strange moment of synchronicity, I came across this picture on my computer the day after the shootings in Tucson. I'd already been thinking that day about gun laws and the ways we seem to let the mentally ill fall through the cracks. To be clear: I don't know the solutions to these issues, and I'm not saying I know how the shooting could have been prevented. But the images of the guns on the dress struck me as more sinister than I'd seen them previously. Of course, this got me thinking about what we say with our clothes. What exactly are you saying to the world by wearing this kind of dress? That guns are cool? That violence is awesome? Or just that you have a sense of irony about the way you dress?

I know I must sound really bleeding-heart liberal right now, and that dresses with guns printed on them are the least of our problems in the U.S. And it's not really any different from, say, a dress with skulls on it. And I am still leaning toward the dress being badass and a total "yea" and worth taking the time to replicate on my own. I just think it's interesting when the semiotics of fashion breaks down a bit and becomes suddenly strange to the viewer. And fashion has always had a fascination with the play between glamorous and macabre, so perhaps that's all that's at play here.

What do you think: yea or nay?

Sewing and Intellectual Property

The amazing—and often copied—Galaxy Dress

Wow, I loved all of your insightful comments on my post about the $348 Nanette Lepore dress. (For the record, I haven't bought it—yet.) I especially enjoyed the differing opinions on what is considering "stealing" when it comes to knocking off designer clothes. It was fascinating to me that everyone seems to have their own personal moral compass when it comes to copying designs, and the range of what's considered acceptable varies hugely.

For instance, lots of people were (rightly, I think) shocked that someone would suggest buying the dress, taking it apart and copying it, re-stitching it and returning it. But many of these same commenters had no problem with buying and returning the dress to copy it, in a less invasive manner. Still others found the very idea of trying to copy the dress repugnant and a form of intellectual property theft.

The fashion industry itself has not set a very good example in this area: knockoffs are rampant because there's no real way to copyright a garment design. (Yet, anyway. There are proposed laws that would potentially change this.) And the sewing pattern companies have followed suit. While the Big Four pattern companies do license designs from designers like Michael Kors and Tracey Reese, just as often designs are copied without the designer's consent. Take the famous Roland Mouret Galaxy dress, which later cropped up in the very similar Vogue 8280:

And several of the aforementioned Nanette Lepore's designs have been copied as well, like this bow lapel jacket.

 Here's McCall's 5815. Look familiar?

 

But then there's the question of the home seamstress knocking off designer clothes for themselves with a little ingenuity and spunk. While I'm not an advocate of stealing intellectual property, I have a hard time getting too worked up about this as a moral issue. Knocking off unaffordable designer clothes is the very reason many people get into sewing. I certainly do it! My yellow dress design was taken directly from an Anthropologie dress. (For the record, I didn't buy the dress and return it; I just took some stealthy pictures in the dressing room and adapted the details.) Furthermore, as long as you're not mass producing replicas or selling the patterns you drafted off another designer's work, is there any harm in it? That's an honest question; I sincerely don't know for sure.

What do you all think? Where does this issue fall on your own moral compass?

Wartime Glamour: An Oxymoron?

Thanks for all your insightful comments on my thoughts about 40s fashion! One comment in particular really resonated with me and I wanted to devote a post to the subject. Anita said:

I agree with you - the garments of the 40's have a unique charm. So many world-changing events in a short space of time - your point about creativity in the midst of restraint is interesting. Just as an aside, does it feel a little frivolous to enjoy the clothing of a war-era? It's something I think about...

I instantly knew what Anita meant: it's kind of strange to look back, from a position of comfort and luxury, to a time that was so incredibly dark and to want to co-opt it. And just think about how we talk about the era. We praise the glamour, the fabulous styles, the lovely hair and makeup. But pick up any book about wartime fashion and it's impossible to avoid the treacherous undercurrents: you can only imagine the type of environment in which women were wearing siren suits and Red Cross volunteer uniforms. (Side note: here's a great web resource on wartime fashion.)

But ultimately, I think embracing the fashion values of the 40s can only be cause for celebration: after all, so much of the modern craft movement parallels the ideal of "make do and mend." And in some ways, it's easy to find similarities between the 40s and today: as my husband aptly put it, both eras are marked by "a confluence of events that make us all feel like the world is going to hell." And it can't be avoided (as much as we might try), that in my country it currently IS a wartime. I actually think we would do quite well to strive to imitate the ideals of the 40s. I mean, what's really frivolous is the fact that the U.S. is fighting two wars and dealing with major economic and environmental crises, yet we act like everything (fashion and otherwise) is business as usual.

So yes, I do find it a bit frivolous when a designer like Diane Von Furstenburg takes inspiration from 40s wartime fashion and turns it into a $600 dress. But to take the inspiration and to follow in the footsteps of the women of the 40s - to do it ourselves - well, that must be the opposite of frivolous, right? Not that sewing your own clothing today makes one a saint and automatically immune to the evils of careless consumption (just look at my fabric stash and shoe collection, for goodness sakes). But it's a start.

Those are my thoughts for now, but I know this is an a topic that I'll continue to ponder. So many thanks to Anita for bringing it up.

Now, let's hear from you please!

Fat and Fashion

I woke up yesterday morning with a weird combination of nausea and a fever, so I took a sick day and spent it in bed with a good book: Hungry: a Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition, and the Ultimate Embrace of Curves by Crystal Renn. Luckily, my strange malady passed quickly, but the book will continue to stay with me for a long time, I hope. Hungry was written with a collaborator and isn't a perfect memoir by any means, but it is stunning in its truthfulness. (Perfect for National Honesty Month!)


Crystal Renn once lost 70 pounds to achieve her dream of becoming a high fashion model. She got the big contract, along with a severe eating disorder. Eventually, she (and her body) rebelled against the pressure to be extremely thin. She's now the highest paid plus-size model working today. But her work hasn't been limited to Lane Bryant fliers. She's done editorial work in Vogue and Glamour, and she walked the runway for Jean-Paul Gaultier in an amazing couture dress designed specifically for her.

This book is a fast and compelling read, despite the gravity of some of the topics. I identified with Crystal quite a bit. While she obsessed over Elle Macpherson's workout tape and Oreos as a teenager, I have memories involving a Cindy Crawford exercise tape and a batch of peanut butter cookies. I've been a yo-yo dieter since my teens. I've always wanted to be super skinny, though it's gotten to the point where I'm not really sure why I want that anymore. At this very moment, my weight is at a high point on the yo-yo's arc, and now is, historically, the time I start running for diet books and new exercise classes. In fact, I bought a copy of The South Beach Diet just the other day.

There are very direct correlations between sewing, body image, and fashion. As I discussed in this post, sewing my own clothes has, to some extent, alleviated a lot of my body issues. But sewing is hardly a happy fuzzy land disconnected with the grim realities of fashion: in fact, they go hand in hand more often than I would like. Vogue Patterns relies on big name designers, and many of us follow the runways religiously so we can knock off the looks on our own. The point is: we're certainly not immune to the workings of the fashion industry, just because we make our own clothes.

And it's hard to ignore that there's something about the whole culture of fashion that makes most women feel bad about themselves (just check out this article for proof), and Hungry gets to this point in a concise way, exploring how the fashion industry employs a certain amount of victim-blaming and lack of humanity in their continued support of models with disordered eating. And to the people that automatically screech, "But being fat is unhealthy!" this book offers a lot of solid research on why health actually comes in many different sizes. I also found Crystal's take on health to be very refreshing; she's an organic food enthusiast and seems to eat more healthfully than many skinny women who, in our culture, appear to be the "picture of good health."

Health at Every Size is a book that Crystal recommends for replacing weight obsession with healthy habits. I think I've found the perfect book to replace my new copy of the South Beach Diet . . .

Scraps: Waste Not, Want Not?

After last week's discussion about green sewing and refashioning, I've been thinking a lot about salvaging materials. And I realized that one of the things that has always bothered me about sewing is all the leftover scraps.

Did you know that in the U.S. during World War II, it was actually a federal offense to throw out waste paper? I wonder if the same rules applied to waste fabric. There are so many interesting parallels between the U.S. of the 40's and today, considering that at both times our nation has been at war and there are new movements to conserve. The "Make Do and Mend" of the 40's has become the "Reuse, Reduce, Recycle" of the new millennium. But for all the similarities, there are just as many differences. With a nation so politically divided, the idea of rationing to support the war efforts seems unlikely.

As a modern gal, sometimes I think the biggest waste product in my life is fabric scraps! When I first started sewing, I read in a beginner's book that you should always save your scraps, since they might come in handy for other projects and for testing out techniques and such. I dutifully followed this advice, filling bins and bins full of odd-shaped remnants. And then I stashed them away and promptly forgot about them.

The real problem, though, is that I don't have room to store all these scraps. So now I've just started throwing scraps away after each project. I hate how this feels, though. It's so awful and depressing to see nice fabric scraps in the trash can along with grody old food scraps. Ugh.

I know there are about a gazillion small projects to make with scraps like quilts and pin cushions and necklaces and brooches and etc, etc, etc. I even found a tutorial for making thumbtacks from scraps and another for a beautiful butterfly mobile. But that's not really what I want to spend my precious sewing time on, and again, it feels like refashioning just for refashioning's sake. Another option is to try to make money off your scraps: fabric Designer Anna Maria Horner sells her scraps for $10 a bag!
So I'm coming to you for advice. What do you do with your scraps?

Refashioning Fashion: the Forties and Today

Unsung Sewing Patterns is a blog you really must check out. It looks at "utilitarian" clothing patterns from the early to mid 20th century, or as the writer puts it, "the less fashionable side of home sewing." She's introduced me to several pattern gems that speak to my nerdy little desire to know all the nitty-gritty details of the history of home sewing.

For instance, take a look at the blouse and jumper pattern above. It looks like a run-of-the mill 40's pattern that you could easily find on eBay, right? Well, Unsung Sewing Patterns reveals a thrilling hidden side to this pattern: there are actually instructions included for making the blouse out of a men's dress shirt and making the jumper out of an old dress. See the cutting layouts below:

Isn't this fascinating?

Of course, this sort of clothing makeover was de rigeur during the Second World War, the era of rationing and "Make Do and Mend." I have a sewing book from the 40's that offers similar advice.

What's interesting is that there now seems to be a definite return to these thrifty ideals of the 1940's. Sewists and crafters are interested in refashioning old clothes for two reasons (which are pretty obvious, but I'll point out anyway): first, to be economically responsible, given our current financial crisis and second, to be ecologically responsible, given the damage we've done to the environment. And, oddly, men's dress shirts are usually the item being refashioned. Sewing Green is a recent craft book release that shows you, among other things, how to make an apron from an old men's dress shirt. Countless tutorials on the internet show you how to make tops, dresses, and even laptop cases from shirts.

I'll admit that I'm a bit reluctant to jump on this bandwagon. First of all, I don't have piles of old men's dress shirts lying around! Secondly, I'm always adding to my fabric stash, which, I know, is just needless consumption of its own. But I hope that by not always purchasing from mass retailers, I'm at least doing a little bit of good.

And, also . . . I hesitate to admit this, as I fear I'm gaining a reputation as a major snob. But some of the refashioning projects on various "hip" crafting websites seem so slapdash to me. Why bother turning an old shirt into something different but low quality? It just seems like the idea is "take this old thing and cut it up and throw some fabric paint on it and ta-da! Green sewing!"

I guess my point is this: the idea of salvaging usable fabric from worn items is an excellent and important one, and one that speaks volumes, historically and culturally (just look at any quilt from the early 20th century, usually cobbled together from worn-out dresses and shirts). But I don't understand the idea of refashioning for refashioning's sake, and that's what some of the green trend seems to be about to me.

What do you think? I am more than eager to be called out on my snobbery, so please: have at me!

Vintage Sewing: the Anti-H&M?

Several commenters rightly brought up the idea of "fast fashion" last week, and I can't pretend to have an unbiased opinion on the subject. Stores like H&M and Forever 21 just make me feel . . . gross. The ugly fibers, the poor workmanship, the clothes strewn sloppily all about, the trends that will be over in five minutes. Ugh. It depresses me just to step foot into one of those stores.

And yet, I am the demographic that these retailers are targeting. Female, urban, professional, 30 years old, childless, interested in fashion, and with a certain amount of "disposable" income. (Problem is, I would much rather dispose of my income in a fabric store.) The attitude among my peers seems to be that anything cute and cheap is a great thing. But, as many people have pointed out, this kind of fast fashion isn't harmless. Its victims are the people who make the clothes for less than a living wage, as well as the environment.

I was interested that commenter Hanna brought up the idea that perhaps vintage fashion/sewing is a reaction to this fast fashion culture of disposable clothing that we live in. She resisted the notion that raunch culture, as I proposed, was at play here and made a very compelling argument for her point of view:

I've really enjoyed reading this discussion and the older one about vintage fashion and gender politics. Can I suggest another modern trend that fans of vintage clothes might be reacting against? It is 'throwaway culture' or whatever you like to call it - the way you can buy items of clothing (or indeed lots of other things) for astonishingly low prices, the kind of prices that make it cheaper to replace something when it wears out rather than repair it. As several other people have pointed out, sewing vintage patterns is a way of connecting with the skills of the past . . . Perhaps we also like to connect with the attitude of that past, when even mass-produced clothing was generally of a higher quality and cost more relative to other household goods than it does now, and was therefore less disposable and more cherished.

Well said, Hanna!

I think she's on to something. Have we perhaps gotten so fed up with the unethical way stores churn out cheap clothes that we've turned to sewing to counteract it?

Of course, it's also easy to get into a mindset of fast fashion even when sewing. As I pointed out yesterday, I often get into the mindset of "fast sewing:" trying to make more and more projects, and practically turning my sewing room into a sweat shop. And many pattern companies seem to be gravitating more to "one-hour" projects. Are we really in such a hurry?

But, at the heart of Hanna's point is the idea that when you sew something, you cherish it and honor it. When you buy it at H&M, it's more likely to end up as a cleaning rag (or in a landfill) by the next season.

Thank you, Hanna, for your excellent points. If any others have theories on the return to vintage fashion and sewing, you know I'd love to hear them.