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Sparkle (0)
I once fell in love in the vintage section in the back of American Rag in San Francisco. The dress that called to me was sweet and simple; 1950's, red velvet, short sleeves, slightly full skirt. Even though it was red - a perfect red, in fact - most shoppers might have passed it by because it wasn't looking for attention with anything fancy or showoffish.
And that is exactly what hooked me, propelling me to the cash register after a quick visit to the dressing room to be sure it fit right.
Not long after I bought the dress, I had to stand up on a stage and read in front of a group of people. To make it more bearable, I decided to wear my new dress. I still had such a crush on it; it helped me forget about how nervous I was. I wore it with a pair of black and white striped tights, tall black boots, and a red Superhero necklace, and decided to repeat that look for our upcoming family photo session that was booked with my good friend Jen for Mother's Day morning.
But, on the way home from the reading, a horrible, terrible thing happened. I was driving, all alone, and I needed to reach into the backseat for my purse because I was having a moment and really needed some Dr. Pepper lip gloss. So, I reached back with my right arm, and stretched my hand out to hook a finger under my purse strap. I heard a funny noise, but it didn't really register at the time. I finally pulled into my driveway, got out of the van, and went to walk in the house, when I felt a draft on my ribs, right under my arm. I looked down at the big gaping hole in my dress and nearly passed out. I'm not kidding.
The rip was so distressing because it was not on the seam, but was just a jagged tear in the fabric. I went inside and carefully took the dress off and then stood there in my slip trying to google my own brain for articles on reweaving and fabric repair. I came up with nothing, so I called my mother. She suggested that I take the dress to the fabric store and seek advice from the employees there. The women I spoke to were kind, but not helpful. (Like my 7 year old daughter, I define "unhelpful" as "not telling me what I want to hear." heh) They suggested that the entire panel (the tear was in a panel that made up the bodice) would need to be replaced, but pointed out that I'd never be able to match the old fabric, which they also told me was NOT velvet, but velveteen.
Okay, then.
I knew I didn't want to replace the panel, and the fabric was too delicate to do any kind of sewing repair. So, in keeping with the simple nature of the dress, I went for a simple repair: a red iron-on patch to go on the inside of the dress. Amazingly, it came out alright in the end, though if I want to wear the dress and not have the rip show, I'll have to stick to dimly lit parties. Probably dimly lit parties where lots of booze is being served. But, really, it's okay. I still love my dress, and I was able to wear it for our photos and the tear didn't show.
Here's a close up shot of the repaired damage (I see I need to clip some loose threads):
After all this heartache, I decided that I'd better do some studying up on how to care for my vintage pieces. I've also got a lovely black wool skirt suit from the 1930s, a 1960's slinky Bond Girl dress with rhinestone straps, and a 1930's black dress with a lovely lace collar, along with a bunch of other funky things like old fake fur coats and leather shoes with Minnie Mouse bows. Oh, and the handbags. Lots and lots of vintage handbags. And gloves. And, possibly, a bit of a vintage clothing addiction.
I looked up articles on caring for older fabrics and well-loved
