Sometimes its sewing
On doing something imperfectly and with great enthusiasm
My mom in her workshop circa 1997, photo by me
My mom is a highly skilled haute couture seamstress. I… am not. She made a living sewing from home when I was little, and I absorbed a lot in between falling asleep to the sound of the machine. And while I didn’t take in enough to become highly skilled myself, I did become wildly, some might say, undeservedly, confident with a sewing machine.
“I could do that” is a sickness, and I have it bad. I also have an obsession with beautiful dresses I see on Instagram, and an allergy to paying $300 for one.
My solution: thrift some bedsheets and dupe a pattern. I probably could buy a pattern, but then I’d have to like… follow rules and stuff. What I come up with isn’t perfect, but I’ve worn every piece I’ve made until it became rags.
Because we live in the age of the side hustle, when I’ve shown my friends the fruits of my labours, they often respond with the highest praise one can get these days: “you should sell them!” Aside from the fact that it’s good and healthy to have hobbies, the product of the work isn’t the point. Neither is the point having them nor keeping them for myself. It’s the satisfaction of having an idea and making it real. That’s the purpose of the creative act of the creative act. The therapy of it. Creation is next to godliness (sorry, cleanliness).
The clothes (costumes) we get to wear every day are a grand opportunity for self-expression and play. Sewing gives me a way to have fun with it beyond curating and consuming.
What hobbies do you have that make you feel like a powerful wizard?
