Fashion Rescue Remedy

There comes a time in every fashionista’s life when she has to make a speedy decision in order to save a garment’s life. Like, for example, once I walked home from work on tippy-toes, for fear the loosened heel of a favourite shoe would snap off. Happily I made it home: heel intact, instep sore.

Last weekend I handwashed a mountain of wool garments. I separated them properly into colours, and threw a mound into the water. As I watched them sink in, I suddenly realised a little mohair scarf was in dire danger. A length of loosely knitted fine mohair and wool, the scarf is sculpted into little bobbles of ‘negative-space’ at each end. In dismay, I watched them collapse in the water, deflating like balloons.

But – as in any emergency – I knew it was important to stay calm and not to panic. As my hands gently swirled the woollen garments through the eucalyptus-scented water, my mind was busy formulating a plan to deal with this unforeseen catastrophe.

In dismay, I watched them collapse in the water, deflating like balloons.

Fortunately I have had experience in felting wool, and reasoned I should be able to re-form the bobbles through a similar method, with the aid of moulds and the application of heat. But what should I use for the mould? Something round. Marbles would be too small. (Besides, I didn’t have any to hand.) Cedar balls? No, they were impregnated with oil.

Monster scarf: balls of tissue are fastened with elastic hair bands.I eventually decided on balls of tissue paper. But I knew they would need to be held in place, so that the wool could dry naturally and set in place again.

I rolled up my little tissue paper balls and found a box of those miniature snag-free hair elastics*. There were many bobbles, and it was a tedious job. I grew bored.

There were many bobbles, and it was a tedious job. I grew bored.

But, if you’re going to repair something, it’s best to do it properly (a stitch in time saves nine etc), so I persevered. When I was done, I put the scarf in the microwave. Two minutes should do it, I thought. When the oven beeped, I opened the door and was not only treated to a complimentary mini facial, but the invigorating odour of freshly heated wool. I lifted out the soggy mass (it looked like a bit of roadkill) and took it to the clothes airer, spreading it out lovingly (and hopefully). Then I left it to dry.

A couple of days later, (I wanted to be sure it was really, really dry) I began to undo the elastics. That moment of breathless anticipation was akin to when you first take the curlers out of your hair (will the curls hold, or will I be unringlety within half an hour?)… But HA–LE–LU–JAH! It worked!

Never underestimate the power of creative thinking when it comes to rescuing or repairing ruined garments.

*Rubbish! They are as snag-free as those supposedly tangle-free headphone cords – that aren’t tangle-free at all. 

The Big Tragic Hole

A favourite pair of wool trousers – chocolate brown with thin pink pinstripes – sported a big tragic hole in the knee. I had fallen over while racing for a train. It was apparently imperative I catch that particular train, not the one that was due to arrive two minutes later.

As I ran up the ramp, one foot was caught up in the flapping trouser of the opposite leg, and down I went. And all I got for my pains was a bloody knee and an enormous hole in my pants.

Did I at least make the train, you ask? I actually can’t recall – the mental affliction of the ruined trousers has obliterated any other memory of that day.

…one foot was caught up in the flapping trouser of the opposite leg, and down I went.

However, I decided I couldn’t possibly throw these pants out before attempting their repair. (I have done this in the past with other holey trousers to my regret. But then, those holes were chewed by moths, and I cannot be held accountable for fashion-rage caused by evil winged creatures of the night.)

So I sat down one evening recently and inspected the hole. It was, I saw (at about the size of a 15¢ piece, if such a coin existed), too vast a chasm to simply sew the edges together. The hole would have to be filled with something.

I trimmed the frayed edges and made the hole even bigger. My heart dropped. I brought out the iron and placed some brown ‘iron-on mend-it’ material (the fabric equivalent to spak-filler) on the inside. The heat of the iron forged the nice wool and ugly mending fabric into one.

Next I brought out an assortment of frills and furbelows and sundry other fripperies. Giant poodle? Cute, but No. Pretty cream lace flowers? They stood out like the proverbial, and besides, were not big enough to hide the eyesore. Black lace leaf it would have to be. At about 3cm wide and 2 high, it would just cover the atrocity.

I took pains to sew it on with the smallest stitches I could muster. It wasn’t easy I can tell you. I had to stuff one hand up the rolled trouser leg and force the needle through several thicknesses of fabric. I got quite sweaty and cross, but many pin-pricks and a sore neck later, voila! Ze trousers, she is finished!

The final result is much more subtle than the picture shows; one doesn’t notice the patch at first glance. (Although the first few times I wore them, I kept going to brush off the black thing attached to me.) I have decided they are fine: just a little quirky. After all, nobody’s perfect. 

A Round of Crochet

I have a sneaking fondness for crochet.

There, I’ve admitted it out loud. Crochet does have a grandma-ish reputation, conjuring up visions of crocheted blankets and doilies; it is not of those multi-coloured relics I speak.

I don’t like crochet quite as much as lace, but there is a style of Irish crochet lace that very much resembles the Flemish needle lace that I so love.

There seems to be some controversy amongst fashion historians about the origins of crochet, but most agree that there is no record of this form of needle art prior to the 1800s. Certainly it was not until the 1840s that written instructions were published. It was the Irish who became world famous for their crochet or guipure lace in the mid nineteenth century, because of the need of the people to supplement their income due to the great potato famine.

My version of multi-coloured crochet.

Over the years I have managed to collect a few crocheted items: heavy vintage cardigans made from silk or rayon thread, a multicoloured skirt, a pair of gloves, and even a bag that appears to be crocheted from plastic wire. Sadly antique garments are beyond my purse (and I have seen a few beautiful boleros and jackets on eBay in recent days go for well over AU$400) – although at least I can still afford to buy a few potatoes.

Some antique and more modern samples below (click on image for larger version):

(Clockwise from top left) Doily, Sweden (Wikipedia); Marcel Wanders Crochet Table (bonluxat.com); Portuguese tablecloth, c 1970 (Wikipedia); Titanic era linen batiste gown (cocardesandcorsetry.com); Irish crochet lace, based on Flemish needle lace, late 19th century (Wikipedia); pendant lamps (stores.rianrae.com); Irish crochet lace, late 19th century (stitchinfingers.ning.com). (Centre) Crocheted chair by Marcel Wanders (marinsawa.wordpress.com).

Autumn’s Over

The leaves haven’t finished falling yet, but tonight autumn’s over. It’s been cold for a while, and I’ve been holding off doing the seasonal wardrobe shift, but I can no longer put off the inevitable. It’s time to put summer in storage and haul out the winter woollies.

But don’t think I’m too disappointed. There is far more opportunity to play with fashion in winter: all those lovely layers to peel off one by one – a bit like the dance of the seven veils, only not (it’s far too chilly for those kinds of shenanigans) – each time revealing a new piece of fashionable deliciousness.

It’s time to put summer in storage and haul out the winter woollies.

Coats, hats, scarves and gloves; warm belted cardis, woollen tweeds and fine merino knits – what cosy fun there is to be had.

This winter I am looking to add some fingerless gloves to my sartorial arsenal. Try these on for size:

Etsy stores (from left): Charmed I'm Sure; Pure And Cosy; J Rose Atelier; PerknitiousAs for autumn, I’m honouring it with this vintage hat, covered with feathers in harvest hues and topped with an iridescent green pompom. A fitting autumnal adieu.

SUI: Shopping Under the Influence

I rarely make grave errors in judgement when shopping these days. I am certain enough of my own style that I do not purchase things that are destined to hang on a rail, or languish in a box in my closet.

However, on one occasion I did make a mistake – so ludicrous as to be humorous – while shopping sleep deprived and in a hurry. A double whammy.

One early evening with some time to kill, I wandered into a ‘designer’ warehouse sale shop, and pounced on a pair of patent sandals in cherry red (a colour always sure to attract my attention). They literally glittered! They also were flat(ish), a rarity for me. I tried them on. They fit, and they were cute… but what was that unpleasant chemical smell?

…they were cute… but what was that unpleasant chemical smell?

I flipped them over and stared owlishly at the perfectly legible maker’s hieroglyphics for quite a long time, trying to decipher their meaning. A diamond meant leather, right?

Relegating the horrible stench as a mere bagatelle, I paid $30 for them and trotted off to meet a friend at a bar.

The next day I wondered why that awful reek from the night before was still lingering in my closet. It didn't take long to track it down to my new shoes. When I turned them over, of course I discovered they were not leather at all.

I aired them for days, to no avail – they stink to this day. I did wear them quite a few times however, and received many compliments on my gorgeous Dorothy shoes. (I always said ‘thank you’ politely and abstained from apologising for their unwholesome odour.)

And I only wore them a few times because the cheap PU (peee-ewww!) shoes broke: one of the heel tips went AWOL. Now, not only am I reluctant to flush good money after bad, but I am too embarrassed to take the stinky things to a cobbler for repairs!