Repairwear

Remember when I was bemoaning my lack of sewing skillz, despite my stellar pedigree? Well, I'm hit upon a foolproof solution--that also coincidentally allowed me to, um, acquire some necessary frocks in the name of self-improvement.

If you're as big an eBay fiend as I am, you'll have seen your share of repair and pattern lots in the Vintage category. If not, a primer: repair and pattern lots = vintage clothing that have condition issues, anything from a split seam or a missing zipper to gaping moth holes and serious rust stains (the worst!). You can either try to fix 'em, or take them completely apart to use as patterns.

Well, I've been bidding up a storm on some injured lovelies, and my first box came last week! Out of eight dresses, only one is completely beyond recall; the others just need some timely intervention, although probably from more skilled hands than mine. Still, I feel much more comfortable operating on these dresses than any of my own... I've already ruined my share of pristine shirtwaist dresses, so it's best for me to learn on pieces that are already unwearable.

These are my two favorites--fingers crossed that I can revive them! The first, a '40s or '50s faille gown (moth holes, broken zipper, burst seams, stains, needs new hem, etc.). Given some of the awful stitchwork, it looks like someone sewed on the peach and baby-blue panels afterward, or possibly botched a repair job themselves.

But lord, she's a beauty, no? Just looking at her, as shabby as she is, makes me think about rustling across a dance floor, fanning myself with my gloves, and waiting for my date to return with some much-needed champagne punch.


I'm in similar raptures over this '40s floral number (moth holes, stains, burst darting, small tears, etc.). The ribbon-and-bow shoulder strap just slays me, and o, that pattern! Tell me you're not suddenly thinking about drinking tea from willowed china in an ivied garden, or perhaps wandering through some botanical grounds, straw-hatted and smelling the roses on the arm of your beau.


Or, you know, just hanging out in your apartment in Brooklyn because you're too embarrassed to leave dressed to the nines in fancy duds from days past.