I listed this pattern in the Etsy shop this week and thought who in the world is Leona Rocha. Well, first and foremost, she is apparently not related to Coco Rocha, who is the first person who came to mind. I went looking, and here is what I found.
Leona Rocha was a fit expert. Born in Hawaii, she originally enlisted in the Army’s dental technician course. She used her GI bill benefits to train as a designer at the FIT, she was a past president of the American Home Sewing Association, and even wrote a book about fitting with simplicity. She was a founder of a sewing notions company called Fashionetics, and was the inventor of The Fashion Ruler while still a student, and it is still sold today. In the early 80’s, she partnered with Simplicity to do seminars about fit. At that time, she also hosted a TV show called The Sewing Show on cable four days a week, twice a day. It was a thirteen week series about how to sew at home and properly fit home sewn clothing. She later became an executive at Vogue-Butterick patterns — and married one of their executives. She ran for office on Maui, where she still lives today.
Seems like with all of these accomplishments, I would have known something about her, so I’m glad that now I do. She has left a great legacy to the sewing community.
I just added this pattern to the Etsy shop, and I am surprised. It’s from 1980! When you think of the 80s, you probably think of huge shoulders and Dynasty-esque fashions. That is partially right, as those types of styles started showing up around 1984 or so, but the cusp of the 70s and 80s had some very soft, beautiful fashions. The most popular Gunne Sax patterns were from 1979-1981, so there was a lot of gorgeous stuff before it got all serious.
That being said, I would’ve put this one in the late sixties or early seventies. It has a Game of Thrones or Renaissance vibe to it because of that cape, and those weren’t seen commonly in the 80s. If you take the cape away, it’s a distinctly Victorian vibe as was common in that time period. That cape definitely IS the look. Make the dress in a deep color with metallic trim and it could be Mother of Dragons cosplay. Am I wrong? Maybe, but it’s a stunning combination nonetheless.
I came across this pattern the other day and learned something new. I noticed the note at the bottom: NOTE: the may also be used as a regular pattern. What the heck? I’d never seen that before. I noticed that at the top it is labelled an “Easy-Mark Pattern.” Turns out that McCall’s put out Easy-Mark patterns starting in 1961, starting with 6004 (a dress), 6098 (blouse) and 6050 (skirt). I guess these three were a test balloon to see how well they did. They premiered the concept at the American Homemaker’s Association Convention in Cleveland, Ohio in July of 1961. The patterns hit stores shortly afterward.
The premise was that a transfer was included so that you could easily transfer the pattern markings to your fabric. As noted, you could use it as normal too. Using the transfer meant you could use your iron to press the markings onto the wrong side of the fabric, thus avoiding the use of tracing paper, carbon, or tailor’s tacks, and avoid damaging the patterns with pins. The transfers were blue, so they were made for use with lighter colored fabric, where the marks wouldn’t be lost. The transfers were able to be used twice, which meant that if you relied on them, you could only reuse the pattern one time. Of course, patterns could be used infinitely if you didn’t need to use the transfer.
These patterns were marketed at the same time as the “Instant” patterns by McCall’s. I suspect that the Instant line may have had more longevity, as I’ve seen tons of them over the years, and this is the first time I’ve seen an “Easy-Mark” pattern. The concept would never fly today because of the cost factor. I’m sure that this likely was the root cause of why we don’t see many of these: sewists don’t like redundancy, and once they have learnt how to sew by transferring markings, they likely didn’t feel the extra step was needed. Ads for the Easy-Mark patterns were few, and totally disappeared by 1965.
What do you think? Would you use these as a regular pattern, or would you like the transfer option?
I used to read Seventeen Magazine back in the day. It was aimed at mid-to-late teens, hence the name. Generally 15-17 year olds. I bought a stack of 1974-75 ones a few weeks back, and was looking at them the other day. Who knew that they had a bridal section occasionally? Not me. I had no idea that they would aim wedding stuff at that age group. The more you read, the more you learn.
I was looking through a Christmas gift section and came across this little gem. It’s an apron made from Handi-Wipes! Here are the instructions:
Take four Handi-Wipes. Make a waistband by cutting two strips the length of a cloth and two and a half inches wide. Stitch the ends together to make one long strip. Make the apron’s skirt from one cloth, stitching a 1/4 inch hem on three sides. Center it on the waistband face to face, raw edge up. Stitch together 1/4 inch from the edge. To add the pinafore, hold a cloth against you lengthwise, measuring from collarbone to waist. Cut off the excess (there may not be any — this is aimed for teenagers, remember). Fold right and left sides in at a slant; hem top and sides 1/4″ from edge; trim sides. With right sides together, stitch top to waistband. Hem raw edges of waistban ties. Make a halter strap by cutting one long strip. Hem edges. Adjust to fit around your neck and sew ends to apron top. For pockets, stitch a four by five inch rectangle (edges turned in 1/4 inch) to apron front.
This is a super inexpensive way to make an apron that is washable, if not totally durable over the years. Let’s get to the dollar store now!
PS Speaking of aprons, I listed this one in the Etsy store today — a hard to find XL apron pattern. I think I’ve only seen two XLs over the years.
I listed this pattern the other day in the Etsy shop. I’d never seen this series before. It’s called the Sew for Fun series, and the patterns came out in 1974 and early 1975. The styles are the cute boho/cottagecore patterns so popular in the time. This one features a maxi dress with Gunne Sax vibes. It can be made in the shorter mini length as well.
Note: I had a pair of clogs exactly like the ones in the photo.
The patterns featured mainly dresses and tops, are were made in both Miss and Misses’ sizes, with different pattern numbers for each. There are at least two that are unisex: one is a top and the other is for a swimsuit/swim trunks. But the funny thing is those little extra patterns.
This particular one features a stuffed mouse, because every cottagecore girl of the seventies wanted a stuffed mouse, right? I thought at first that it was a pincushion, which obviously any sewist could use. And a young beginning sewist might be pleased to create her own personalized mouse pincushion, right? Only it’s not. It’s a stuffed animal, which seems a little odd paired with the cute dress. But it gets weirder.
Some of these patterns are paired with hats or purses, which makes sense to me. Hats were big in this era, and everyone can use a sun hat. Purses are also a no-brainer. But there are also odd items like garment bags, a wind breaker (for sitting on at the beach, not the jacket), and even a tent. Each of them has a little sewing lesson with it, which is great, but the projects they include are so weird. Like the wind breaker one. If you want to teach someone to make a casing, have them make a pair of elastic waist shorts. But I don’t make those decisions.
I wonder who came up with these little extras, cause they just seem so odd. I get that they were trying to make sewing fun, especially for the Miss crowd, but somehow I am not sure that they thought it all the way thru. It’s one of the more random ideas put out by the sewing pattern companies.
I came across this pattern in a 1906 issue of New Idea Woman’s Magazine. “For stout figures the bust supporter is almost indispensable, as it gives a trim, firm effect to the figure. It is worn over a corset, and may take the place of a corset cover, though many women prefer to wear a chemise or corset cover with it.”
The front is two sections, a top yoke and a lower boned portion. There are five bones which are eight inches long each. The back buttons at the top of the back, and the tape wraps around from the back to tie in front. I’m not sure the purpose of that tape? It is shown plain but some would also embroider it to make it more dainty, as per the dainty fashions of the era. These were made from coutil (corset fabric) but could also be made from heavy linen or heavy muslin.
Edwardian women wore so many layers, I really don’t know how they could survive in the heat. I am NOT a summer person at all, and never have been, and I think I would’ve been in a swoon all the time. I would like this as a stand alone undergarment if I were not a stout woman though. I think it looks super comfortable if it were made without the boning. God knows it looks more comfy than a bra, yes?
I’m still reading my 1940s book about the fashion industry. It’s been very interesting in reading how mass manufacturing happened, the differences between US and French fashion industries, and how different styles came into fruition. For some reason, this little gem of knowledge was tucked into it. Read the fine print and then say WOW.
Vogue Magazine (US) started in 1892. When it first began, it was a weekly magazine, which I did not realize. These snippets from 1901 advertise weekly patterns that were put out in each issue, so that in the end, you had 52 different outfits, all curated to work together. That’s some fascinating stuff, and boy, do I wish I could see all 52 together. Can you even imagine?
I wonder if this was the only year that they did this, or if it was a one-off. Sadly, I ordered a 1903 Vogue Magazine — the earliest I’ve ever seen — from Facebook Marketplace, and it never arrived. That might have given me some idea, but alas, it was not to be. I’m still mourning that loss, but it may still arrive, since I only just got a birthday card mailed to me from the next town over in early July. If it arrives, you know I will post pictures here.
It’s interesting that the pattern numbers are three digit, not four. It’s also amazing to me that they cost $1, which was really pricey at a time that most patterns were five to ten cents. I’d love to see the entire grouping, but Anna Wintour and I aren’t on speaking terms right now (she needs to retire and refuses), so I guess there’s no hope.
It’s these little details about sewing pattern history that intrigue me, as well as the fashion itself. I hope that you enjoy it too.
This is one of those moments when you know you have gone full on sewing pattern geek. I came across this pattern in my stash. Pretty amazing, yes? It’s got those classically huge leg o mutton sleeves from the 1890s where you could carry a ham home on one bicep and a rump roast in the other. I was perplexed though, because the pattern front is stuck to one of the pattern pieces. I didn’t want to damage it but couldn’t figure out how — or if — to remove it, because it’s fixed in such a way that you could still use the piece perfectly fine whilst it is still attached. That being said, I didn’t even know if it was complete (though I thought it was) because there were no instructions.
But then it happened.
See that patent number down there on the bottom? I did a pattern search and voila! I realized what I had. The patent isn’t for the pattern. Patterns are not patentable, as they are considered “useful items”. When you see patents on patterns, it is for the art and the directions, not the pattern pieces. But I digress. Like I said, I’m geeking out. The patent is from 1897 and is for how the label is stuck to the pattern! It is titled “Fastening Together Paper Dress Patterns,” and shows the pattern cover attached to a pattern piece, with a perforated part at the bottom which, when you cut thru it and lift up, the instructions are underneath! I hadn’t lifted up the cover I have, so I didn’t realize that the instructions were underneath. Now I know that my pattern is complete, and I have the instructions!
Frank Koewing submitted the patent. He was a “pattern manufacturer” and “style publisher who founded the Standard Fashion Company for a number of years. His reason for submitting the patent was that this invention avoided the cost of a pattern envelope to the manufacturer, but also avoided people being able to open and damage or copy a pattern without purchasing it. The full patent information is here. It talks about the inability to open it or see the directions without it being obvious that it was done. It’s really pretty ingenious in protecting their sales. I can’t see if Mr Koewing submitted any other patents because of the way that the archive works. I’d be interested to see if he did. He died in 1933, at the age of 79.
Of course, the patent date isn’t necessarily compatible with when the pattern itself was printed, but now I know that it is no earlier than 1897, and since these “carry a ham from the grocery” sleeves were classic 1890s, I can be pretty sure that that they are early 1890s. Pretty awesome, yes? Or am I the only one who geeks out on stuff like this?
I like to read vintage magazines with my husband. He loves to cook, so we have lots of interesting discussions about the recipes and presentation ideas women’s magazines have. I was thumbing through an issue of Good Housekeeping from 1946, and wow, was it interesting. It is a thick issue — 334 pages! It includes everything from short stories to recipes to the macabre articles about how to avoid suffocation (!) and what you should do if your house is on fire.
Important side note, from someone who has had a house fire in the middle of the night: the fire department said that sleeping with your bedroom door closed gives you and extra ten minutes if a fire breaks out, because it decreases your exposure to smoke. But I digress.
I was looking, of course, at the sewing patterns they advertised which, surprisingly, were Simplicity, not Good Housekeeping. Since McCalls and Ladies’ Home Journal had their own lines of patterns, I’m surprised that they weren’t doing the same. They did at some point, because I have a few from the sixties, including this Geoffrey Beene delight:
But what I found most interesting was that Good Housekeeping put out their own clothing line. I thought at first that the article was just hawking different designer labels, like most do, but when I read it in detail, I realized that they had their own Good Housekeeping Facts First label. In looking around, they applied this label in some of their ads for patterns, and I can’t find any clothing for sale with this label. Interestingly, the article does not tell you where you can buy them locally, or even by mail order. You had to write to the magazine to ask where they were available locally. This seems very cumbersome, especially in today’s click and buy world, and I wonder how long this sales model was sustainable. In looking around, they applied this label in some of their ads for patterns, and I can’t find any clothing for sale with this label, so perhaps it was not for long.
I’m reading a 1940s book about the fashion industry, and am learning all kinds of things about lesser known (now) designers. Case in point: Fira Benenson. I’ve seen Fira Benenson patterns before. They are generally 1950s Spadeas, sometimes very early 1960s, but I’ve never heard of her name outside of this. Turns out she’s an interesting person.
I always thought, given her first name, that she had to be Italian, but she was actually Russian. She was a driving force for Bonwit Teller and got her start as the director of imports there before World War II. During the war years, she was the one who designed Bonwit Teller’s collections. She was one of the first retail buyers to return to Paris after the war.
She was very much a team player, saying that no designer designs in a vacuum. “A designer works with the assistance of many people — the fitters, operators, fabric people and her other workers. I would be helpless without my staff.” This is so true, as you’d be surprised how many designers can’t draw, sew or make patterns. Many of them, of course, would never admit it publicly.
Ms. Benenson was noted for elegance. She used rich fabrics and embellished with embroidery, shirring, tucking and intricate seams. In 1941, she used a rounded shoulder technique she terms the “hug shoulder” to accentuate women’s curves. That same season, she showed a “soupcatcher” waist, with horizontal looped draping below the waist that created a shelf -hence the soupcatcher name. It was basically a front pannier and based on a Victorian fashion, and created a beautiful, draped effect that accentuated a tiny waist.
“Miss B”, as her staff called her, was soft spoke and gracious, always wearing black, and generally a shirred dress of her own creation. She always wore a huge black pearl left to her by her mother, surrounded by ribbons of diamonds. She was born in Russia in 1898, the child of the Czar Nicolas’ banker, and came to the United States in 1921, after the death of her mother. She opened her own dress shop and was recruited by Bonwit Teller in 1934 to head up their Salon de Couture. This required frequent trips to Paris to view the collections, as she did not design at this point. She only began designing again in 1940 when the war made it necessary. She opened her own shop again in 1948, going into the wholesale business. She maintained both couture and ready to wear collections, as she felt that women wanted clothes that looked “made to measure” to be widely available.
In private life, Ms. Benenson was the Countess Fira Ilinska, married to a Polish nobleman. She spoke seven languages, collected Belgian blown glass, and was known for her dinner parties, where she did much of the prep and cooking herself. The count and countess celebrated 30 years of marriage in March 1961 with a posh dinner party at their apartment that included many of the same guests who originally attended their wedding, including diplomats, artists, writers and businessman. Four months later, the count died in Paris from heart disease. He was 64. Ms. Beneson died in 1977 in the New York apartment she had called home for many years.