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Illustration by Chelsea O'Byrne
I’ve loved to sew all my life. I started sewing clothes for my dolls when I was seven years old. My mother showed me how to stitch with a needle and thread and it was my favourite pastime when it was too cold and snowy to play outside. As a teenager I began to design and sew my own outfits. I cut out paper patterns to construct dresses and skirts and I’d sit at the old Singer sewing machine for hours.
In my late 20s, I began to buy used and vintage clothes to upcycle and refashion. I have redesigned cocktail dresses, transformed jeans into denim skirts, added ruffles to blouses, recut necklines, added cuffs to sleeves and had fun all the while.
My favourite venues to buy vintage clothes are thrift shops and church rummage sales. When I flip through the hanging clothes and sort through piles of sweaters and knits, I imagine how I could change each garment to suit my tastes. I have transformed hundreds of pieces of second-hand clothing into stylish outfits for myself, my daughters and other family members.
At one thrift shop, I bought a beautiful satin and lace bridal dress, which I redesigned for a friend’s wedding. When my daughter graduated from high school, I repurposed a vintage maxi dress for her by shortening the hem and adding black lace sleeves. One Halloween, I even created a costume for my son by turning a long black skirt into a Batman cape. By upcycling, I felt I was creating unique clothing while being environmentally friendly. I was doing my bit for Mother Nature by saving clothes destined for the landfill.
But, about 10 years ago, when I was ripping out the silk lining from an elegant long blue evening dress, I paused. There was a hidden pocket in the front bodice that I failed to notice as I merrily ripped at the seams. I pulled out a small black and white photo of a young woman wearing the very same blue evening dress. A long silver chain necklace hung gracefully down the front of the dress, and she was holding a black sequined purse. She had a soft smile and she looked to be in her early 20s.
I put down my seam ripper, turned off my sewing machine and sat down. This evening gown had history. It was speaking to me. Somebody else wore this dress many years ago. Who was she? Did she wear it to the theatre? To a fancy dinner party? And I was now tearing it apart. I felt guilty.
Another garment revealed its history in a side seam pocket. As I ripped out the front zipper of a purple wool cashmere jacket, I put my hand in the side pocket and pulled out a pale green silk handkerchief. The initial W was elaborately embroidered with colourful thread in the corner and a pink lace trim outlined the outer edge of the hanky. My imagination soared. Who used to own this jacket? What was her name? Winifred? Wendy? Where did she wear it? To an upscale restaurant? Out shopping? Again, I felt slightly guilty as I unstitched the seams of this cashmere jacket that I have no doubt looked stunning on the woman who wore it.
I mentioned my concerns and guilt to my daughter. She said, “Mom, you should be proud about upcycling and your sewing creations. You are keeping clothes out of the landfill and you’re creating new fashions from old. Consider it a bonus if you find objects in the pockets. The clothes are talking to you!”
I agreed with my daughter. The garments were indeed talking to me, revealing intriguing details in the pockets. Of course, most of the upcycled clothes that I alter and refashion don’t have surprises within. Sometimes I find mundane items such as paper clips or pennies. However, over the years, some curious mementos have amused me or made me pause to reflect. Once, in the back pocket of a pair of linen trousers, I found some golf tees and a score card. On another occasion, I discovered an old theatre ticket to a musical in New York City in the breast pocket of a duffel coat. In a flapped patch pocket on a colourful square-dance skirt, I found a small brass key. What was it for? A diary? Jewellery box? I’ll never know.
All these sewing discoveries have made me enjoy refashioning and upcycling clothes even more. But I have learned to be a little gentler when I rip seams open with my scissors and I approach pockets more carefully. I decided to pay homage to all my upcycling discoveries by displaying them on a bulletin board in my sewing room. Family members and friends ask questions when they see my collection. “What garment did you find the opera ticket in?” “How old do you think this photo is?” “Do you think this small silver charm fell off a bracelet?”
I smile. Even though I don’t know the answers, the pocket mementos are still quietly speaking to us.
Jerri Carson lives in Victoria.