So, let’s start with The Principle.

The principle is to add volume without adding width to the whole skirt, thusly the fishtail is forced to go all crenulated and flouncy. Individual results may vary according to the drape of your cloth; jersey and the like will flop down completely, while a stiff woven will stick out impudently. The fabric I used was somewhere in the middle, interlined with voile. Cutting on the bias is critical to optimise the hang.

You start with your pencil skirt back piece (Fig 1). I can’t help you here, you’ll need to have one you’ve prepared earlier. Next you mark about an inch or two below your bum. This is the high point of the curve you’ll carve out the back. By starting the fishtail a bit below your most protruding point, you’ll get a sassy little curve in and out. Huzzah. Werq. Gently curve down out to the side seams, cutting on the fold to make sure you’re symmetrical (Fig 2)

Now you’ll draft your fishtail piece. I’m going to get a bit symbolic here but fear not. Its top edge (x) needs to be the same length as the curve you’ve carved out but should be flatter. The sides of the piece (y) are the same length as the sides of the bit hacked out of the skirt back, only they are angled outwards so they’re on grain, or almost on grain. I’ve paired the lines in Fig 3 in purple and orange so you can see what I mean.

The big difference that gives you the flounce is that the hem of the fishtail is a big, sweeping curve. You can experiment with all three parameters – top curve, side and bottom hem curve – to increase and decrease the flounciness of your fishtail. I’ve drawn in three possible hemlines in back to demonstrate. Obviously, the deeper this curve, the lower down the hem will fall. Be careful not to make it so deep that you’ve got some bridal trail action (unless that’s what you’re after) which will seriously impede your dancing.

The last step is to add seam allowance to your fishtail. And lo, you have a pattern.

Principles are all well and good but if you’re like me, the Practice can be quite different indeed.

More diagrams. Fig 4 shows you a nice piece of fabric perfect for making your fishtail piece. The green checks show the grainlines. Then in Fig 5, I show the easiest way to get a bias fold: start with a perfect square then fold in half, matching all the edges, to get a triangle. The hypotenuse will be a perfect bias fold, 45 degrees to the fabric grain. (Ha, and you thought you’d never use high school geometry again.)

Finally, on to marking out the fishtail piece. If you’re principled, you’ll have a paper pattern to lie out here and cut out. Enjoy your lofty position because here come the scrappy method. For my skirt there was no pattern. I just hacked at the skirt back itself and used that to mark a fishtail piece directly on to fabric. Bold! Lazy! Half-arsed! But brilliant! I stretched out the folded skirt back piece to get the flat curve at the top, angled out the hacked-off straight edge to get the fishtail edge, and just eyeballed the hem curve. The critical thing is to get the first section of your edge at a perfect right angle to the bias fold (see the wee red squares in Fig 5.). If you don’t, you’ll have a V-shape in the fishtail piece. Too hard. Stick to gentle curves.

Then, sew curves, then sew skirt back to skirt front. Done. Time to sashay.

OH. I also nipped in the edges of the skirt front an inch or two, so the front skirt was tapered. You can do this because of all the extra room your fabulous fishtail grants you. It’s the mullet of skirts… business at the front, par-tay at the back.

Do tell me if you use this tutorial! I wanna see your fishtail!

You know that Vintage Vogue 8728 that’s doing the rounds? Lots of folks have made it and loved it. Including one Erin McKean, maven of A Dress A Day. I was among hoards of fangirls at her appearance at a Melbourne Frockshop and I’d like to confirm she’s as charming, funning and delightful in person as you would imagine from her online writings. Yay Erin, thank you for coming out to meet your public so we could gawp at your awesomeness. She was wearing a V8728 and looked smashing, and if you follow ADAD you’ll know it’s the new Duro (as in, she’s made approximately 35,264 of them within a very short space of time). So Erin’s rave review, plus the other folks, make me think I was onto an easy win.

I followed Erin’s advice about the organza underlining on the bodice, cutting the neck two sizes smaller, and adding pockets. All very sound advice. I added a bit of length to the bodice* and chopped it out of a piece of Japanese lawn I’d earmarked for a shirtdress.**

There was much faffing about with gathers. BORING. Then the bias tape neckline. YAWN. The result was utterly underwhelming.

Thing I do not like, the first: baggy, blousy, puffy bodice. Gathers are not my friend. I needs me some structure. What was I thinking? The worst is when you lean forward and it looks like you’re shoplifting pillows or something. Even when I stand straight as a board, I still look like a sturdy, multicoloured peasant wench.

Thing I do not like, the second: Even cutting the smaller size and then taking in the shoulder seams more than an inch, the neck was gapey and the bodice was too long. I think the extra room made to accomodate shoulder pads is phenomenal. Rather than redo the midriff (topstitched! Who wants to unpick and resew that nightmare?!) I took a bit off the bottom. Thusly, I have me a stumpy midriff. Le boo.

Enough blather. See for yourself. I’ll wear it, but probably only with a cardie over the top. And I would never make it, or its ilk, again. Take that, internets. You must have some kind of sewing alchemy that means this frock suits you, but me? I spurn the Vogue 8278. Hissssss.

*first mistake. See: Thing I do not like, the second.

**second mistake. Stick to plan A, always.

I took the bodice of the 117B dress from Burda magazine 5/2009 (thank you, Yarra Library), cut down the back neckline, and frankensteined a pencil skirt from elsewhere, but stole the darts from the Burda pattern so they’d match the bodice. Cunning. Cunninger still, perhaps the cunningest thing I’ve ever done, I hacked off the back of the skirt and drafted a fishtail. I’ve always, always wanted a fishtail dress. Always. Probably came out of the womb demanding one. But the perfect pattern evaded me and I thought it would be tricksy to do. It certainly isn’t.

I may now fishtail every dress I make.

The fabric here is part of the Nina Wish collection – a huge haul of fabric I bought when Nina Wish moved out of Melbourne and sold everything she didn’t want to move. Giant yellow dots! Huzzah!

The construction was a bit trial and error with lots of basting, trimming, basting, trimming, until it was right.

I wore it out dancing for New Years Eve and it was ace. Happy new year, folks!

Twas my birthday. One of the new things was a present. It was this:

That be an impressively sturdy and handsome rack for my many spools of thread. NO MORE must I suffer the diabolical thread entanglement that keeping all your spools in a drawer engenders. How deluxe! Twas from my Ma who knows of spool-related chaos herself, being rather skilled in the sewing arts. Hooray!

The other new things were impulse gifts from me to me. Top two from the interwebs (did you know the $AUD is back under the $US again? Bummer. I missed that prime shopping window) and bottom one from a real bona fide book shop.

Here comes the slapdash review. The top two I bought more out of curiosity than necessity since I’m familiar with the beginner/intermediate sewing concepts therein. At some stage I’ll make something out of them and will be able to report back on the instructions. Burda’s instructions are notoriously bad, and Colette’s are notoriously good, but I expect Burda will have lifted its game for the book.

Both have that rather spiffy spiral binding that allows the book to lie flat. We like that. Colette’s patterns are tissue for cutting (yay!) while Burda’s are paper for tracing (less yay, but ultimately more resilient I suppose). When I heard Burda was doing a book full of variations on their patterns, I thought that was a good idea. In actuality, it’s based around 5 basic patterns with detailed instructions for three variations of each, then a photo gallery of variants. I would have liked some more info about each… the pictures are quite small and a few words about each modification would go a long way. But, overall, a killer reference for a newish sewer who wants to experiment a little.

Colette’s book is a far more sophisticated operation. The tome is so cohesive – while Sarai’s style is much pinker and prettier than my own, it is a delight to see it perfectly integrated throughout. The Burda book looks a bit piecemeal in comparison (but of course, you get a sprinkling of different styles/approaches which has its own benefits). There’s a lot more info here about fabric types and I like her ‘do it properly, get it right, here’s how’ approach.

Now, the third book: Pattern Cutting by Dennic Chunman Lo. Here’s a review at Fashion Incubator with an industry perspective and some corrections. This book is a corker for the over-achieving home sewer. I have a bucket of pattern cutting books and this is the only one I’ve read cover to cover. The combination of paper geometry, modelling for a 3D mannequin and *gasp* a real, flesh and bones human, makes it outstandingly clear why you do the things you do. It assumes that you already know a thing or two, which I like, and the book design is very clean and clear. Me likey.

Cut out top. Made modifications to suit her (she’s tall). Gung ho, I started testing on scraps… AND MET MY NEMESIS.

This mofo WILL NOT SEW. Not on my machine, anyway. I’ve tried jersey needles, which were worse than the regular ol’ universals. It slips and slides, it skips stitches, the length is irregular, it won’t sew straight, and sewing through tissue doesn’t help. Oh, and the Singer 201-K and the overlocker hate its guts, too.

While I’m hardly a master of the stretch, I had no idea that this would be so diabolical. Anyone got tips? I’ve sewn wool and cotton jersey with no problems at all, so I’m not a complete knit fabric dunderhead.

UNTIL THEY RELEASED A CYCLING JACKET. Genius. I might never have known had it not been for this post by Did You Make That? (which is making me think serious thoughts about the funnel-neck coat, too, but we’re coming into summer here so I’ll sit on it for now.)

I reckon I’m forking out for the Minoru. I might even sew-along in January. Gives me plenty o’ time to find something showerproof to make it from. And time to ameliorate its only apparent failing: its distinct lack of [external]* pockets. For where am I to put my keys, Sewaholic? Pfft.

*correction: Heather pointed out there are interior patch pockets. Anyone interested in an external pocket modification during the sew-along? I am!

I also loves me some frankensteining because I’m already being disrespectful in so many ways, what’s another middle finger to the pattern designer to tell them I think they I can do a better job on that skirt?

The best projects combine all three of these misdemeanours. A friend of mine is getting hitched next weekend and she’s a particularly sunny character. What to make to wear? I plundered the stash and considered many, many options. I kept returning to one bit of op shop curtain that I’d always loved for its extreme awfulness, but thought, ‘nah. Too far. This is just one step too far. That print is larger than my head, and it has more acid colours than a citrus grove.’

Yet, I took that step. You might want to don your sunglasses roundabout now.

IT BURNS, IT BURNS….

I had two pieces, one full-width about 2m long, and a thin strip that had been tacked on to widen the curtain. Just enough for a dress If I cut carefully. I unpicked everything and gave it a wash. I used two patterns: the bodice was from a cheapie 1950s(?)  mail-order (instructions include how to make it up for any size from 32″ to 38″ just by fudging your cutting and seam allowances. Nice.) and the skirt was pulled from a 1970s hippy-gypsy-folksy-leg-o’mutton-maxi dress. Seemed a wise choice to keep the skirt as simple as possible to really showcase the ridiculously large blotches of the print.

It was a wise choice and it look smashing on Headless Esme, but what you can’t see is that I haven’t bothered sewing up the back because the skirt is too narrow. She no fit. I added a bit of width but not enough, and it kills me, because if I’d just flared out an extra inch either side, she’d be apples. WOE! To the Pile of Shame you go, frock.

I didn’t know Joan’s pink dress had a shawly sailory back. Intriguing.

Then, we went to Glen Huntly. You know when you’re at Glen Huntly because there’s a model of the Glen Huntly stuck to the Safeway.

Across from the ship is Darn Cheap Fabrics, purveyors of affordable fibrous goods. And these goods were good. I went a bit nuts in the $4/m quilting cotton:

How could I not go nuts? All boxes ticked: kitsch kitchenalia patterns, great colours, tiny rice bowls, multiple patterns in each colourway… Did I mention $4/m?

Also at the Posh Opp Shoppe on the corner, I bought a pricey but lovely bit (4m) of silk crepe de chine. I was sunk as soon as I saw the tiny ladybirds. It was labelled “1970s silk from Georges” (which, for those of you who aren’t from Melbourne and aren’t as ancient as I am, was a superdeluxe department store, now defunct, where my mother bought a tartan umbrella in the late 1980s for an exorbitant sum, but does she still have it? Yes. Did it ever break? No. There you go. Premium price worth it.)

Conclusion of the day: Moggy and I need to go on more adventures because they are awesome fun. The end.

We went on a jaunt far far away into the ‘burbs to see the Mad Men frocks at Chaddy and felt it our duty to visit shops of op and fabric while we were on that side of town. Full update about all that in next post… for now, we’re staying true to the pink poly and its pleasing palm-tree pattern.

Inspired, I came home that evening and began chopping into it, schnippety schnip, unwashed. The pattern arrived in the post last week from etsy, a sterling example of a genre that I’ve been seeking for many months – frock with an  extravagant shawl collar.

There was a wee bit of alterating. I alterated the bodice length by 4cm and the collar accordingly. I shortened the sleeves to reduce dowdiness. I took the back neck in a bit because I have pissy shoulders. I was flummoxed by one of the front skirt pieces which was missing a whole 6 inches or so of width, which I had to improvise and add on (was it snipped off by previous owner? Were pattern pieces confused? Who knows?) but it all came good. There’s a bit of extra room in the back I’d take out next time.

The biggest surprise was the toxicity of the fabric. Oh, the stink of it… add an iron and it smelled like burning rubbish, an odour that clings to the throat. I was wrong about the pre-wash – it would have helped. It still smells plasticky but after a wash and an airing in the sun, I’m no longer choked by a dense cloud of putrid hydrocarbons. It will probably take weeks to cough up the deposits from my lungs.

In happier news, the buttons are flippin’ awesome:

I’m definitely making this pattern again. Maybe from one of the 23,523 other metres of fabric I bought on this trip… I might even treat myself to natural fibres. I’m worth it. And a straight skirt, even.

In wedding recap news: frock worked a treat, as did the hair doodad I whipped up on the morning of, from scraps of the Post-it Dress and some plumulaceous barbs of peacock, to wit: