Exploring a tried and true pattern felt safe until I left my comfort zone

I have rules when I set out to design and make something for myself. For one, I hate to repeat a pattern. This might seem ridiculous considering the hours that are spent developing and truing a pattern to fit with complete accuracy - but so much of the thrill and excitement of developing a new wardrobe piece is lost when its cut and sewn on repeat. Already having used my original bustier pattern in both the Hawaiian Tropic dress and the vintage-inspired 1950’s playsuit, the thought of using it once more was hardly a desirable option, but it felt safe. Having just recently finished the Hexie Cloud Baby Quilt, I was in need of a palate cleanser. I missed making garments. And my brain hurt from the hurdles of conquering unfamiliar territory within my first quilt. I acquiesced, and with a few garment tweaks began to create a new summer dress.

Again, the rules. In exchange for using the same pattern once more, I decided it was time to upgrade the details of the dress. I rarely (read: never) use printed fabric. It’s something I can barely wrap my mind around, and the last time I tried was at four in the morning, my senior year of college, trying to understand a lesson in matching patterns from my best friend. Matching the pattern at every seam would be essential. More than that, I wanted straps that would tie and taper at the shoulders, a pair of quintessential inseam pockets (once again, the fabric had to match at every seam) and the pièce de résistance - a fabric covered belt buckle.

What I could recall from that lesson in pattern matching, I used to begin in my pattern cutting. Aligning the patten of the gingham checks at the stitch line, rather than the seam allowance ensures for level sewing. With ease, I was able to cut and sew each panel of the bustier together, marveling at my own skill (however if you look closely, the tops of the bustier features chevrons pointing in the same, not opposite directions). When I developed the skirt, opting for an a-line silhouette better suited for the narrow yardage, I quickly realized a critical error. After cutting a back panel once, twice, thrice, and a phone call to said best friend later, it became clear that the angle of the seam needed the same trajectory for that fickle gingham to align. From the front panel I was able to modify a center back with matching flare, and again my gingham was perfectly placed.

For someone who determines many garment purchases on the availability of pockets, I myself am shocked that I have never bothered to include them in my own designs. For this dress I decided on delightfully hidden inseam pockets, with pattern matching facings. Each pocket was additionally French seamed, adding stability and durability to anything that might be stowed there. Most critical of all however: that my pockets fit my hand and iPhone with reasonable room and ease.

After more than a decade of sewing, it’s not often that I can admit to using a new tool for the first time - but this garment is full of firsts if anything. For my entire sewing career I’ve struggled with turning straps or loops of any kind - so it was time to finally invest in a loop turner! What a magical device it is, truly. What normally would have been an abysmal struggle with a safety pin became a fully turned strap in seconds. How and why I struggled for years is beyond me - but I can’t wait to use my loop turner again.

Rules are important, and transparency is essential. At this point I should also divulge that if there ever was a sewing project that necessitated a glass of wine, it was this one. The alignment of each gingham check in the bustier proved to be effortless, and I credited my years of sewing to that. Installing the invisible zipper was another story. I find it’s often when you think you have mastery over a particular skill that you are quickly proven false; for me, aligning an invisible zipper within a gingham check proved to be my own kryptonite. After a dozen (at least) failed attempts, some wild combination of hand basting, machine basting, pinning, hand basting, machine basting, and finally stitching secured the zipper evenly. It was no walk in the park, and I’m still unsure how the fabric was able to shift ever so slightly to require so many attempts.

My most lofty aspiration for this dress was to create a matching fabric belt, complete with a fabric covered belt buckle. About ten years ago I purchased a Sophie Theallet for The Limited housedress - a cotton dress with rainbow hued satin stripes, and the most chic fabric belt that cinched it all in. Over years, the belt buckle has become damaged in the wash, and I’ve been meaning to remake another, but needed to learn how first. After consulting plenty of sewing blogs, I found the holy grail of belt buckle kits - a very vintage looking buckle kit from Mood Fabrics that fit the width of my belt (1” - its really all I had remaining of the fabric) and followed the step by step instructions. It couldn’t have been easier, and after all of the challenges of this dress, I couldn’t be more thrilled. For the eyelet, I used an awl to create a hole, and bound the raw edges in the same thread used for all the topstitching - a Gutterman thread in matching pickle color.

From the onset, I might have been disinterested in this project if it weren’t for the fabric that I loved so much. Even by implementing some basic additions to a tried and true pattern, I thought sewing this garment would be a breeze. In reality, it took about three weeks, and I learned something each day I picked it up. Im incredibly proud of my pockets, straps, and especially my belt - and truly learned more on this dress than I have on any other.

Dress: designed, patterned, and sewn by Kylee Alexander

Photography: Bobby Loncar