The fashion world takes itself very
seriously. Look at all the hoopla about the Panetone
report on color. The idea of color, as a discipline in itself, is fascinating to me. What do you have to do to become a color expert?
It makes me wonder about my own
discipline when it comes to knitting. Have I been taking it seriously? When I think of craft work, I think of making lace or cables. But what about garment construction? Shouldn't that craft be my highest priority, if my goal is making clothes?
CHEADLE, STOCKPORT
My knitting friends were
talking about big cable sweaters, like Cheadle and Stockport, and the whole concept of knitting a sweater just to show off your knitting skills. One of my friends said she took Cheadle out of
her queue when she realized that she had chosen it to amuse herself because she is fantastic at knitting the cables. But thinking about the "craft" vs. "clothes" issue, she realized she might never wear the resulting sweater. I face the same question all the time now when I think about knitting lace. Am I using the lace tops I make as walking
demonstrations of my lace-making skills?
Have you ever noticed how many lace
patterns have an unfinished look, as if the sleeves or straps were just sort of
thrown in? It’s like we lace enthusiasts will knit anything with a clever pattern, and a sweater is just an excuse to try out an interesting motif. Finishing the lace pieces into a garment is almost an
afterthought. Perhaps that’s why ribbon is so often used to complete lace sweaters—just thread the ribbon through some holes, and voilà, it's a waistband, or neckband. Unfortunately, the result is often something that would look lovely on an eleven year old girl, but the fouffy patterns with little bows (which often start drooping) is not always an appropriate look for a woman approaching forty.
Here are some of the lace offenders
I’m talking about:
A lot of cable patterns are the
same way—you end up with an intriguing fabric, but it's so heavy that it adds 20 pounds to your waist and hips:
Talk about bulk! Don't get me wrong--there's something magnificent about these dramatic and inventive cable creations. As costume pieces, they are unmatched. There should be some place for fantasy in our knitting. What these knitted pieces are to me, though is simply pieces, not clothes. The first two designs on the top would make great wall hangings, if they were knitted in that form. And perhaps that's what they should be. I'm beginning to come to the conclusion that if what I want to knit is a fantastic piece of lace or cable design, then perhaps I should make just a fabric--a wall hanging, blanket, shawl. But if what I want to wear is a tailored top, I need to bring a different set of expectations to my knitting.
So what should those expectations be? I have to ask that question as I'm starting from scratch here, with an empty knitting wardrobe.
Here are my questions, as I start my knitting makeover:
1. 1. What must I do to make a garment that is fitted to my shape? What tools do I need for this?
2. 2.How can I design a garment that reshapes my figure—highlighting the good parts, sucking in my stomach, and disguising the unflattering bits, like wide hips and upper arms?
3. 3. What finishing skills are required to produce a tailored sweater that actually looks like a garment, not a craft project?
4. 4.What are high quality yarns that I can rely on over time to achieve these goals?
My, this sounds like a tall order! The prospect of
mastering these skills is a bit overwhelming, but perhaps I can look elsewhere
for guidance. Tim Gunn always starts his makeovers with an assessment of his
victim’s proportions and figure. I guess that’s the first place to start. I have to understand my body better in order to make fitted garments to wear. Eeek! Is it just me, or is anyone
else a bit nervous about looking at themselves in a three-way mirror?