You may not believe it but I think about style, mine in particular. I lay my clothes on the floor, drape them over chairs wondering how they all fit together. 

When I was young I played bag lady, a game of wearing all my favorite clothes at once and stuffing bags with all my favorite things. ‘I always knew you would be in to fashion’, my mom told me when I started my business those years ago. Ha! 

The second collection I made had hand painted silks sewn in to sleep sets and hoods. I was an abysmal sewer at this point and found someone in town with a business near the overpass and close enough to the Mass General clinic in Boston to make you keep your wits about you. Seeing this sketchy business plan overlaid on mine made me rethink farming out my work.  *it changed the way I shop for readymade clothing* 

I am an avid thrift store hound, peruser of yard sales and a hand me down queen. To gain more control over fit and style I am now a regular sewer. And as a sewer I struggle to not consume patterns. I am light on the criticisms and heavy on the indie pattern purchases. 

I guess what I am getting at is style isn’t bought even in sewing, especially in sewing. 

I am coming up for air after more than a decade of baby birthing and nourishing. All code for my body while still similar is so vastly different as to be a stranger. I use my style to become reacquainted with it. Every season I am reintroduced,’Hello, this is your bum in jeans’ and ‘Welcome to your body in a swimsuit.’ 

I still like the same general silouettes and have rediscovered that I am not a jeans and tee shirts type. Skirts and dresses are a mainstay. Patterns call to me but are always left to molder in the back of the closet. A good button up casuals shirt will be worn to death and freckles are my accessory.


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