Daydreams and fairytales

Who knew that it would come to this. Long held dreams of finding a creative outlet, whether through the medium of print (as long as I can remember I wanted to be an author), through buildings (why else spend years years attempting to become an architect) or some other fancy (yes, I once thought I had a hope as an artist, as a singer...I soon came to the realisation that I was sadly deluded). But here we stand, and it turns out that the thing that I may be passionate enough to actually follow through on, the area where doubtful, dowdy and occasionally even frumpy little old me may have a creative bone, is in fashion. Specifically, in vintage.

Yes, my obsessive buying of old patterns over the years may have a good outcome. The sewing skills carefully harnessed and nurtured over the years actually have a purpose. I may be a nerd, but with any luck, I will be one who can pay her rent, and do it in style. I may sit in trackies or leggings and simply awful shirts while I work on it, and I may lack the motivation, but I may also make money off it now. All thanks to a little website called Etsy.

Forgive the excitement. It's not the first time I've used sewing to make ends meet. I've done bits and pieces for friends before, but never in areas that have interested me - making curtains is not an exciting occupation for someone with a short attention span - or that I've been happy with the outcome (turns out I need a bit more practice before making pants for other people). And work - my regular, every day office work, that is - has reached a particularly low point. So low that I've followed through on the threat to start applying elsewhere. So I am ridiculously happy at the thought that I may have my own thing, if I can make it work.

At the moment, it's just working with vintage patterns, but I have expansion plans. And there's been enough interest in my initial efforts to make me think that there could be something there. Here's hoping, because I'm moments away from losing it completely with customers at work. Or with the small children playing with a repetitive noisy toy outside my room right now. Thank god for itunes and for sewing...It might just be enough to get me through, and it might save my sanity. Not to mention L's nephews...

After a fashion

There's something about a good costume drama that sucks me in every time. I'm currently fathoms deep in love with Downton Abbey, and the love affair is showing no signs of easing. Whether it's the ability to sit and gloat as Lady Mary gets thrown at any man with a suitable fortune and/or title, safe in the knowledge that I do not have to worry about such things, or the poor footman, William, being subjected to the sort of workplace bullying and victimisation that we have laws to stop these days, or from some deeper enjoyment of watching things which recreate a by-gone age - supposedly more innocent, but really just different - I don't know.

Actually, I do have some idea what part of it is. It's the costumes. I'd love to have an excuse for wearing something like the gorgeous gowns they showcase - although perhaps not the corsets required to achieve the tiny waistlines. God knows I have enough problems at the moment without adding a tendency to faint due to lack of oxygen because I've been laced too tight. Instead, I've been trying to figure out ways of updating the look, getting some of it into my own wardrobe, at least my work wardrobe, which has become surprisingly ladylike for a girl who didn't own a skirt or dress that wasn't a uniform from the age of 15 through to 19.

I hate the expression ladylike, though. Or I should, as a believer in women's rights and equality. But somehow even though I don't want to live my life in a ladylike fashion - all staying at home and looking after the children, being subservient and second class, swooning at the drop of an embroidered handkerchief - I love the concepts associated with it. My favourite periods are almost all those where women wore "ladylike" clothes, yet still managed to show that they were up to whatever task was thrown at them. The suffragettes, the flappers, Rosie riveters, they all had awesome fashion. And dear god, what does it say about me that I've reduced some of the women who pushed the boundaries of society to the dresses they wore? Ah well, tis sad but true. We are what we eat, but we're also what we wear. And what fabulous things they were.