Two refashions

So I realize this outfit is a bit 2010 and all, what with the skinny jeans and tunic and plaid, but hey, I made it the weekend of my 29th birthday, and I figure one of the privelages of turning 29 is that you get to dress like you wish you were still 27.

 

Refashion # 32 // Twenty Nine
Pattern: Colette's Sorbetto
Fabric: Mens XL button down, spotted while sourcing costumes for a short film in the Castro Thrift Town
Size: 4

Mods: Lengthened to tunic-esque proportions and added 2" total in width (measured down and out and then redrew a narrower hip flare "rate" than the pattern called for).
Lowered armholes ~1/2" because sleeveless is often drafted with higher armholes.
Used Sew Weekly sleeve pattern, which is ... interesting ...
Added back darts.

Used 1 sleeve to cut both sleeves on the bias, used other sleeve to cut bias tape and bias panel for center pleat.

 

I wish I could claim credit for centering the bias pleat against the pop of white in the plaid repeat, but that was plain ol' dumb luck.

 

I haven't done tunics much, but I recently found a pair of skinny jeans on mega sale and switched to a job with a more casual dress code (plus, casual Fridays!) and figured, why not?  This here, super comfy.  I am endlessly infatuated with refashioning mens button downs.

 

And, since I was on a bit of a roll with the Sorbetto, I fished out the Fauxbetto II that I was tinkering with to test the fit for last year's ridiculous sensation, Spectacle.

Blouse #11 :: Refashion #33 // Mrs. Draper
Pattern: sloper "Fauxbetto"
Fabric: pillowcase, thrifted during Seattle trip, July 4th weekend 2011

 

Inspired by Mad Men Season 2, when Betty was still Betty Draper.

 

 

I am still not entirely sold on how it fits in the back, which is probably why I am retiring this pattern.

 

And since this is me, I figured I should invite 29 in with a celebration of all that 28 brought.  28 was not the easiest year in my life, but it certainly was not the hardest, either.  My old roommate once said that 28 was special because of the position of Saturn relative to where it was where you were born ("Saturn's return" or something like that), the implication being, she said, that at 28 things either really come together for you, or they really fall apart.  "Pish," was my mom's response.  I think things kindof came together for me at the end of 28, but they also certainly fell apart several times on the way towards getting there.

 

But the only way to get to where we want to be and to become the person we want to be, is to walk the path that will take us there.  And sometimes that path is joyous and sometimes it is difficult, but shying away from the difficult won't make it go away, you'll still have to pass through it eventually if you really want to get on to the other side.  So.  Just take it as it comes.  There were still many great things about 28, which I think I'll take a moment to reflect on before I dive into 29.

 

28 was the year I joined a film-making cooperative, got my own imdb page, met a really great friend, and discovered that yes, I am the girl who will stick her hand into a plugged toilet and dig out toilet paper wrapped around shit, because we are borrowing this house as a film location and we cannot leave the #$%*@ toilet clogged.
28 was the year I learned to accept where I was in life, with all the good and the bad that goes with the territory.
28 was the year I got 3 new roommates in 3 months, and loved them all.
28 was the year I scored a great new job.
28 was the year I moved back home with my parents.
28 was the year I visited friends in Korea and China on a 3 week jaunt.
28 was the year I realized the secret to happiness sometimes lies not in cramming in more, but in selectively doing less.
28 was the year I reconnected with some dear friends from the past.
28 was the year I tried out bellydancing and a writer's group.
28 was the year I finally cleared out 8 years' worth of crap from my parent's place, accumulated from successive moves back home and halfhearted attempts at unpacking and because I friggin' hate organizing.
28 was the year I indulged myself in some Liberty of London sewing.
28 was the year of Downton Abbey.
28 was the year I let myself buy myself flowers.
28 was the year I visited friends in Baltimore, Boston and New York.
28 was the year I gave a speech to 400+ people and realized, you know what?  I'm pretty good at this kind of thing.
28 was the year of solitary bike rides to Lake Merritt, walks around the block, ice cream cones at Icee, forays into Mrs. Dalloways.
28 was the year I stopped making "just because" refashions.
28 was the year of the hot tub.
28 was the year I began, in earnest, to make an effort to still my mind.
28 was the year of crispy shrimp tacos at Cactus.
28 was the year of knitting while people watching in casual carpool.
28 was the year I stood barefoot in my parent's garden, eating tomatoes off the vine.  The first year my dad grew tomatoes, he didn't realize you were supposed to cage them, so we had fields of tomatoes.  The second year, he forgot to prune them.  This year, we have tomatoes that would be sweeter if I didn't get so overeager and prematurely pluck them as they started to redden.
28 was the year yellow reappeared in my wardrobe, mostly in the form of mustard.
28 was the year I relearned patience and delayed gratification.
28 was the year of Clara's Cottage, sand dunes, baths under 100+ year old trees, and my first real appreciation of the zen aesthetic.
28 was the year of countless walks through sun-drenched North Beach.
28 was the year of Brown Boot Thursday, purple fuzzy shoe day, and dressing up in themes.
28 was the first time I made a major life decision primarily with my head, instead of with my heart.