In the sixties, I sewed my own clothes. Before that, my mother did. There was no onus to wear home-sown clothes. It was the pattern, the habit of the times.
Everyone did it. It was the norm in the Midwest. We’re weren’t odd or considered poor. Further, we lived in small towns in Indiana, far from department stores to purchase the clothing we desired. Thank goodness we purchased – and didn’t have to sew – our winter coats.
Neither did my mother attempt to sew my dad’s and brother’s pants and shirts.
My sister recently shared this photo of our family, likely taken in the ’60s. I’m in the middle back, my hair still strawberry blonde and not yet lightened by the California sun. I recognize a dress I’d made, another in my favorite shade: blue.
I vividly recall the crowning achievement of my homemade clothing era, the high school years before college, when I had time and inclination to sew. Jackie Kennedy was our style icon, our cherished first lady of Camelot. I emulated her A-line style dress with a hip-skimming jacket to match. Only I chose the color that most flattered me: teal. The fabric my mother and I selected had a knobby texture, and it was wool, perfect for dressing up for church each Sunday in style, come winter and fall.
While fall was my favorite, winter seemed to last forever in the Midwest, then as now.
Perfection was prime in my 4-H days, so my dress, with its matching jacket, won first place at the county level, earning the opportunity for placement at the Indiana state fair. The 4-H club leader suggested that I enter the dress review, too. Sort of like being a runway model in Paris or New York. a big opportunity.
The August heat cooked me good inside the wool, and I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. But breathe I did, in time with my careful steps. I didn’t often wear two-inch pumps.
I won grand champion ribbons at the Indiana State Fair for my sewing and my sashay. My style equaled Jackie’s in middle America.
Even my freckles were proud.
Recent Comments