Four Faux Fronts.

It's been a minute since I posted a What Was I Drinking, but it's certainly not because it's not happening. I'm just not documenting it. Last weekend, however, I had the pleasure of cutting out a center front bodice for a strapless halter dress FOUR TIMES without a satisfying result. I snapped a pic, I threw my arms up in the air, I stomped away before I did more damage. 

Three were cut on the bias to create a chevron effect, one was cut on the fold, all are going in the "figure it out" pile. 

It's a Dutch wax print, actually labeled as a "Kente print" on the selvedge. This printed fabric is very different from a true woven Kente cloth, which hails from Ghana, and is made of interwoven cloth strips (here's a very cool short video on how Kente cloth is woven). It was originally reserved for Asante/Ashanti royalty only. And damn if I didn't end up making some sort of plaid tartan out of it. Not that I'm not down with plaid. Or tartan. Or mixing up cultures and races. Peanut butter and chocolate. Sauvignon and steak. Whathaveyou. I'm down with it. Obviously. 

BUT UGH WITH THOSE CENTER FRONT PANELS. I think what's really tripping me up is that forest green, a color I've never really gone for. So I must have been drinking something super strong when I put this jammie in my cart, because forest green is ALL OVER this stuff.

I'm probably going to cut my losses (a phrase borne out of sewing if I ever heard one, but probably having origins in accounting) and make a voluminous maxi skirt out of it, to keep the green out of my immediate sight. If I can work out how to keep just that orange up near my head, I'll go maxi dress. But that's another great thing about wax print, with all that yardage at hand, you have some room to play...

And play I will, as today looks to be all weather and not much else. I'm thinking of building a blanket fort out of all the ankara I've got. It would be like Planet Color. Where it is perpetually summer. 

Have you experienced a true Kente cloth? I'd love to fondle the real thing someday!

What Was I (Drink)thinking #3

No one, including me, should be seen in this TRAIN WRECK OF A COAT.

I have therefore altered these photos to protect the innocent, although I am, most assuredly, also the guilty party. Hey, what can I tell you, I'm a Jekyll 'N Hyde sort of gal. I'm every woman, it's all in me.

And what a sexy woman! HEY BABY! Check out those quilting lines! What curves you have, Mizz Jekyll!

YOUR TRIM IS EXQUISITE!

OH MAMA! THE CARPET MATCHES THE DRAPES!

But wait.... there's more....

MEET HYDE.

Listen, I can't with. I can't with MYSELF. I CAN'T WITH EVERY INSANE SIDE OF MYSELF.

What Was I Thinking:

Well, Ruggy and I had been binge watching Marco Polo last January, and actual historical events not taken fully into consideration, I wanted to be Kublai Khan. Go on, watch it, you will too. The costumes! The textures! THE FLOOR PILLOWS! It was the winter that Ruggy dubbed my style "Genghis Chic." I didn't get to throwing the button loops on this reversible monstrosity (A 2008 Burdastyle magazine pattern, the pattern itself should not be blamed) till very late in the seasonal game, so I put it aside. Threw it on a few weeks ago to run out for cocktails, and couldn't stop laughing. It did not come out drinking with me.

What Was I Drinking:

Gin, chilled, straight. Broker's, I believe. This is my drink of choice whenever Ruggy forces me to watch a new show that I am certain I will loathe. When I am that certain, I am usually proven wrong, as was the case with Marco Polo. FOR REAL WHEN DOES THE NEXT SEASON START. I did admit defeat, and I did make Ruggy pause episodes repeatedly, while I eye fondled costumes and hollered Mongolian style.

What I Learned:

Even when it doesn't work out, faux fur is fun. Hacking up trim is fun. Quilting curved lines is fun. And Photoshopping censor bars is MAJOR fun.

What was I (drink)Thinking #2

This dress was destined for the chop shop, like its rainbow striped predecessor. A full on What Was I Drinking in effect. But then this happened...

AND NOW I KIND OF LOVE IT LIKE I LOVE MY MAMA

WASSUP BRUNO! HOW YOU IZZZ?! 

This Closet Case Nettie dress was stitched last summer, intended for a Brooklyn block party. After spending many hours on it, including figuring out how to fully line it in one continuous unbroken swoop (don't ask, my memory does not go back that far, I blame it on the booze), I donned it with glee...and couldn't stop guffawing. 

Considering I chose a body con dress for this bodacious print, I'm not sure what I could have done to avoid the questionable pattern placement on display. Perhaps that's why Brain raised the white flag and just decided to go gorilla on it (GET IT?! GORILLA!! Yeah, I am the last person on the planet to discover Bruno Mars.) 

I labored to make sure a wreath of sunshine infused flowers adorned my neckline...

And, um.... my fallopian tubes. 

(I also have dangerous boobs. BEWARE MY BOOBS, MY BOOBS WILL CUT YOU.)

HOT DAMN. Can I get a witness for a seaweed covered booty? Come on, you can't go wrong with a seaweed covered booty! All the men like a seaweed covered booty! Except Mark Ronson, he's not really into algae.

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT here you go, the dress with normal boring backdrop, for your careful consideration. Loses something here...makes you rethink its wearability factor without the posse, no? 

THAT'S BETTER.  It's one hundred percent a "What Was I Drinking," don't worry, I am fully aware of that fact, but FRIG IT. I'M WEARING IT. It will certainly require a beverage or two when sporting, again, don't worry, I'll be sure to adhere to that rule. But I will rock this like Bruno rocked gold hair rollers on live television. Don't believe me? Just watch. Put yo theme song on and own it.

If you see me stomping around in it, do join me for a glass and a chorus of Uptown Funk. It'll be on repeat in my head. My do-rag covered head. 

What was I (drink)thinking #1

So! Welcome to What was I drinkthinking, a little series dedicated to wadders. This gem has gone to the great Thrift Pile In The Sky, so it's of no use to tell me how cute it is. ALSO I WILL NOT BELIEVE YOU. I MIGHT EVEN CALL YOU A LIAR! FRIENDS DON'T LIE TO EACH OTHER! (Of course, there's the danger that someone out there might truly think a wadder is cute, in which case, no offense, but this thing felt like I was wearing a candystriper's hairshirt.)

Let's begin, shall we?

In one of those recycled fashion stores that are all the rage in LA, I was in the dressing room, going through the aggravating experience of finding appropriate audition attire. It wasn't always so vexing. 

But at that point I knew a bit more about fit. A BIT. Because this romper, this janky carnival ride, this was what I thought photo worthy. Come on, y'all.  Feast your eyes on that front crotch curve and the sumptuous excess baggage. FEAST. Plus too tight legs! I WAS A POSTER CHILD FOR FIT!

Even so,  I had just enough knowledge about how things should fit to make me dangerous, and the RTW dressing room was therefore not the Candyland it used to be. Mais, I had no desire to sew audition appropriate clothing (still don't). So there I was, looking for bargain priced designer hand-me-downs.

(Ooo look what a badass I thought I was. I invite you to gaze at my crotch. That's not a shadow. Hey oona, for all your careful placement, how'dja manage to get the two DARKEST STRIPES in the yardage RIGHT IN YOUR FRONT CROTCH? Embarrassing tampax commercial every time I stood legs akimbo. Which I often do.)

Where's my waist. Anyone?

How does my butt look?! How many calories were in that dessert?! Did that guy from last night call you?! This was the stimulating conversation wafting from the dressing room next to me. Well, honestly, it wasn't that inane, it's absolutely appropriate dressing room talk. But I was so utterly disgusted, I could feel my eyes roll back in my head. The kind of roll that makes your eyelids twitch from the force of it. Dressed in my ridiculous attempt to look like a lawyer, I caught the roll in the mirror, and laughed at myself. I hated those chicks because, at the time, I had zero girlfriends in LA. And I wanted to go shopping with my girlfriends, and laugh in dressing rooms, and go eat ice cream.

I bought zilch, called a girlfriend on the walk home, and yammered about every silly trivial thing possible.

It was a good reminder that most people who are hating on you for seemingly no reason have reason of their own, usually having very little to do with you. 

This romper ended up on the counter at that very same store, along with a pile of clothing I couldn't imagine carting back across the country. Unsurprisingly, the buyer behind the counter did not bite.

What Was I Thinking: 

The fabric was way too heavy for this pattern (Suede Says 2222), a medium weight cotton with zero drape.

The print placement! EGADS!
Extending the crotch curve out and crossing my fingers didn't work.

The Armsyce extends down to Mexico.

What Was I Drinking:

I believe Ruggy was very into perfecting the perfect Manhattan at the time. Mostly due to the fact that we missed New York.

What I Learned:

Even though I failed miserably on that crotch of questionable color, I did take my time with those stripes. I was starting to think seriously about print placement (and doing lots of failing. No really, lots). And I was beginning to figure out where my real waist sits, and where the pattern should sit in relation to it. For a while after this, I was hiking errrrrrrthang up to my natural waist, a la Ed Grimly. Also, I learned that Suede Says he is not the pattern maker for me (although that lesson took some time, and several more tries of several more Suede Says patterns). 

I sincerely hope you found this little gem as catastrophic as I did! And lest you think all the candidates in this series will be ghosts of stitches past, just wait. I've got a wadder from last week that's amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing.