All the Secrets of Operation Make Not Suck Laid Bare, that You May Make Your Costumes Not Suck as Well

 

                This week, I'm a quilting fiend.  All the quilt tops got finished a  few weeks ago, and I did the pinning of the layers today for Tiny and Kiddo's.  Tiny is getting a brightly colored quilt I made from a jelly roll with flowers and bugs on the prints.  Kiddo will (finally) be receiving the quilt I intended to make last year--a Harry Potter panel from the era of the very first movie with coordinating prints I bought last year on a whim.

                 Getting to finally make this one is a side reward for cleaning up the fabric hoard, as I couldn't make it last year when I couldn't locate my bin of fabric panels.  It turned out that I had transferred them to another box when the first bin for panels had gotten overwhelmed, and I hadn't labelled it, which, in hindsight, was deeply stupid on my part.  We have stopped buying anything new related to Harry Potter, as we have no interest in enriching the author any further, but using stuff we bought in the past is fair game. 

                Now that those two are pinned, I'm machine stitching in the ditch to marry the layers together, then binding them on the edges, just as I was taught in 4-H last century (shout out to my unbelievably patient quilting and sewing teachers, Sheryl, Sue, and Diana!).  Confession--I have to look up how to miter a corner when binding a quilt every single time.  I just can't seem to keep that in my head. 

                I'm waiting for the fabric I ordered for my sister's requilt, so I anticipate doing her project sometime next week.  I finally sat down and did all the repairs on it this weekend, and it got me to thinking about doing the "there's too much wrong to write it all down" notes in theatre.  Each place I worked used different notations--"Check for Repairs,"  "Needs Restoration," "Remove the Suck."  I call it "Make Not Suck."

                Something that is not always apparent from the stage is the condition of some of the costumes, especially rentals and vintage clothing.  Sometimes, the right costume is in really rough shape, with shredding fabric, evidence of multiple alterations, drooping hems, non-functional closures, and barely-attached trims. 

                When attempting to make a piece not suck, you first spread it out on a table to look it over, inch by inch, for holes, thin spots, fraying, and split seams.  I usually mark all the issues with safety pins.  Check the entire hem and neckline for handstitching that has disappeared, and take a look at the closure.  Sometimes a zipper just needs to be waxed, or a hook needs reinforcement, but quite often, I see a full replacement there.  Be good to yourself, and insist on YKK zippers, as they control their entire supply line, guaranteeing a higher quality zipper.  If it involves an invisible zipper, consider a bridal weight one, as they have a better chance of survival.  Zips are a pain in the tail to replace, so you might as well replace them in a proactive way.  It's also worth talking with the powers that be about if this is even feasible.  I have had garments with fabric shattering so badly that there was no hope for a day of good wearing, much less a three week run.

                Now, start the repairs.  Stitch the seam splits closed, by hand or machine, depending on the demands of the garment.  Rplace the zipper or closures.  Restitch split buttonholes by hand.  Find fabric that reasonably matches or festively contrasts, depending on the design and intended use, for patching.  Whenever you can, back the hole with the patch fabric, then turn the rough edges of the hole in and handstitch them to the patch.  With good pattern matching, it can be pretty invisible, especially from stage.  Use threads raveled from a similar fabric to darn thin spots, especially on drapey or sheer fabrics.  Depending on where this costume came from, you can also do the time-honored machine darn, in which you back the hole with a piece of fusible interfacing and then stitch short lines, back and forth, over the hole to cover the interfacing.  If there are major wear issues on the edges, consider new binding, or release enough stitching to lay the edge flat, darn it back together, then restore the stitching.  I've also used trim to cover tragic issues as well, though it must be done thoughtfully to add to the design.  Now, flip the garment inside out and do the entire process over again.

                There's nothing too miraculous about any of this.  It's all patience and resourcefulness.  I've had a few of these projects take several hours.  In those cases, it was a sentimental piece that needed to troupe just a couple more shows, or a part of a rental package that we simply could not replace for one reason or another.  This was usually a fine opportunity to point out to the rental company that our shop had put in quite a bit of time on their piece, so a discount on the rental package would be appreciated. 

                I have some people in my life who think that "Operation Make Not Suck," as it's known in the Dickens Fair shop, is wondrous and stunning.  For me, it's soothing, like a little Zen meditation--find the hole, fix the hole.  I have to imagine that vintage garment sellers and museums do lighter-handed versions of this same process.  It's tedious, but rewarding. 

                For my sister's quilt, I restitched seams and darned spots where the fabric had frayed away from the seams.  I'm hopeful that the more intense quilting will support the seams a little better, preventing some of the current issues.  Just in case, though, I'm handstitching a rod pocket on the back.  It might be time for this one to be admired on the wall instead.