My first real sewing project – The Skyline dress

Why am I taking up this new, intricate and sometimes expensive hobby when I already have enough hobbies to fill a lifetime?

Posted: 16 April, 2025

Why am I taking up this new, intricate and sometimes expensive hobby when I already have enough hobbies to fill a lifetime? There are a few fundamental reasons why sewing has climbed the hobby ranks; the primary one being that I’m nearly 5”11 and clothes are not generally made for women over 5”9.

I have never in my life owned a pair of trousers that fit right. As a teen in the early noughties, I couldn’t understand why everyone else looked so cool in their bootcut jeans and I looked ridiculous. Much later, when I’d learned about standardised sizing, I saw a photo of myself in those unfortunate jeans and realised the problem. Everyone else’s cuffs were dragging on the ground; mine stopped above the ankle. A bootcut jean that didn’t even reach the boot.

My primary driver for learning to make my own clothes is the dream of trousers that fit me properly. 

I bought the Tapioca Trousers pattern from Jessilous Patterns, but realised pretty quickly that the most complicated step was the first one: adding a zip. If I attempted this in one of Make Town’s late-night sewing sessions, I’d need Brooke to hold my hand the entire time, which wouldn’t be fair to the other people in the class. You don’t need to be an expert sewer to join these sessions, but you do at least need to have the basics down so that Brooke can assist everyone. I needed something easier for my first independent project. Enter: the Skyline Dress.

This is a much more beginner-friendly pattern without the zippers, darts and pleats of the Tapioca Trousers; much better for someone still finding their way around a machine. As a maxi dress, it’s also something that would traditionally be too short on me, so I can still practise making adaptations for my height, and add new skills to my repertoire, like gathering and making bias tape.

I have no idea how to buy fabric, but I was promised the people at Ray Stitch are always happy to help, so I walked 40 minutes there, immediately got overwhelmed and left without speaking to anyone. Instead, I wandered through the vintage shops nearby, wondering why sewing intimidates me so much. Perhaps it’s those barriers to entry that I mentioned in the first article.

Learning a new skill means learning the language that goes with it. The instructions for the Skyline Dress suggest a ‘woven cotton with a moderate drape between 3-7 oz per square yard’. It feels too vulnerable to approach someone who speaks that language expertly when the only word I understand in the sentence is ‘cotton’. I decided this would be easier to do online, where I have the space to Google what each thing means. So I took to Fabric Godmother and ended up buying 3.5 metres of red gingham cotton poplin. When it arrived, it was a little stiffer than something I would have chosen in a shop, but I’ll look like a picnic blanket wearing it, which is what I want.

I was dismayed to find, on showing up my first late-night sewing session, that I’d have to iron all 3.5 metres of my fabric before I could do anything with it. I’m too lazy to be a perfectionist and would normally take a rip, shit and bust approach, skipping most of the ironing stages, but Brooke makes me do things properly – which I admit is a good thing as I have many knitted jumpers with weird necklines because I got impatient and wanted to be done.

Cutting out the pattern pieces takes nearly the entire session. It’s amazing how long cutting takes, even though these pattern pieces are fairly straightforward. I also forgot to cut a single notch, leading to much confusion later in this journey. After the first three-hour session, I have most of my cut pieces, I’ve ironed some bias tape together, and that’s about it. I head home, realising I might not have a new dress as soon as I thought.

The following Thursday, it was finally machine time, and I once again had to relearn how to fish for the thread – something I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to do without assistance – then pinned my handmade bias tape to the torso section. This pattern rewards you by immediately looking like an item of clothing, meaning you get the ‘I made something’ thrills from very early in the project. After two sessions, all I have is a torso, but it looks enough like a thing that I can send pictures to my mum and have her tell me I’m a genius. I’m also training my boyfriend to act excited about each new stage. After a few false starts, he now knows that he’s supposed to say ‘Wowwww’, maybe point to a particular seam and say ‘Look what you’ve done here.’ A small faint wouldn’t go amiss, either. He’s getting there.

This is a billowy-as dress so over the next few sessions I gather gather gather. Brooke gives me lots of good tips, like adding basting stitches in different colours so you can tell them apart. I immediately forget to do this and spend most of my time trying to find the right thread to pull. It’s often a full house in these sessions and while we work, we talk about who’s seen Paul Mescal in real life, what we’ve been watching on telly, and about getting into fights at concerts, and I’m always a bit devastated when 9 pm rolls around and it’s time to go home. I lay out what I’ve done on my kitchen table, hoping maybe I can find one more little thing to work on at home where the only equipment I own is some pins and an unpicker, but there’s rarely anything, and I have to wait a whole torturous week until the next Thursday session. 

I’ve realised that sewing stretches out the dopamine I get from buying a new thing. If I bought this dress, I’d have had my happiness shot for maybe an hour. By making it, the dopamine lasted weeks. I get a new hit of it each time I arrange a nice gather, create my own bias tape, and start to see a new part of the shape coming together.

Near the end, I make a few adjustments to the sleeves because the pattern has a bow on one side and wearing a dress that’s held up by a bow is way too much admin. I put the top half over my shoulders and cut the third tier to the ideal height (I still wish I’d made it a bit longer), and after a quick hem job, it’s done! With the leftover fabric, I make a matching scrunchie for a full ensemble.

I now have a breezy maxi dress in the depths of winter, but I find ways to adapt it so I can wear it through all seasons. If I pair it with a white shirt, a thick blue jumper, and my Blundstones, I look like Jo March, which is all I’ve ever wanted. 

The more I learn about sewing, the more outrageous it seems that the labour of sewists is underpaid and exploited. Sewing is complex, skilled work. I’ve learned exactly how long it takes to cut fabric, line it all up, finish raw edges, unpick my mistakes and start again. This dress isn’t even a difficult project, and it’s taken me four late-night sessions, each three hours long. This dress is now the most expensive item of clothing I own by quite a bit.

The terms ‘worth’ and ‘value’ are used interchangeably, but they actually mean slightly different things. Worth is inherent; value is what someone will pay. In an ideal world, value would flow from worth. You can value a Picasso at £2 and sell it, but the cost doesn’t change the inherent worth of the artwork. If, however, Picassos were commonly being sold in Primark for £2, we would come to believe that was what they were worth.

Clothes, through exploitative processes, have cheapened in value, which has caused us to mistake their worth. We’ve been tricked into thinking a pair of trousers is only worth 20 quid. Because we’re dissociated from the process of making clothes. We don’t see the work required to grow flax and pound it into linen, or the expertise necessary to sew that linen into a garment. If we did, we would understand that the worth comes from its craftsmanship, its quality and its utility.

Learning to sew doesn’t save you money. It isn’t cheaper than shopping, and it shouldn’t be. You can’t make anything for less than Primark prices because Primark prices are corrupt. When you make your own clothes, you pay their true worth. The worth of this dress is not only the cost of the fabric and the late night sessions, but the things that can’t be priced: the advice I get from Brooke’s years of expertise, the work of the pattern maker, my own time, and one day, the physio bills from hunching over a machine. It may be the most expensive item in my wardrobe, but it should be. 

A week after finishing, a friend came over for drinks. When I swung the door open she said, ‘Nice dress’, and I finally got to say those wonderful words: “Thanks, I made it.”

Alie Benge

I met Alie in London, through friends of friends because all expats eventually find each other and realise they are indeed all connected and get along like a house on fire!

Alie is a published author and I highly recommend you grab a copy of her book Ithaca and also Otherhoodwhich Ali co-edited and is a must read!

You can find more of her writing at Burnt Toast.

Follow her journal about learning to sew at Make Town.  She is gonna be dropping these entires like hot potatoes x

📸 photo credit Ebony Lamb

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