I began with Vogue 1192, an Anne Klein design.  I checked Vogue’s size table, and this is what I discovered:   My measurements are 37-28-36.  Size 14 in Vogue is 36-28-38.  Pretty close, right?  I realized I might need to take in the hip, but, on the other hand, maybe not, as the dress looked a little slim.  The critical measurement was the bust, so I cut my  muslin in a 14, realizing that the bust might need some tweaking.  (This dress is the muslin; matters went no further.)

And whoa, Mama, did it need tweaking!  I whipped up the muslin, and it looked like a sack.  Everywhere — bust, waist, hips.  You could have wrapped me in several layers of cotton wool, and it still wouldn’t have fit.

So I re-cut the sleeves and shoulder seams to a size 12.  Then I removed nearly 3 inches each from the waist and the bust!  Yep, the very same bust that was supposed to fit one an inch smaller than mine.   And that hip?  It lost two and a half inches, and there’s still plenty of ease.

This fit, nicely

and still with plenty of ease.

I realize that the dress is supposed to be lined, but this amount of ease is absurd for lining, isn’t it?  If I’d lined the dress, I still would have been swimming in the thing.

Not to mention that the size chart wasn’t the only issue with this pattern.  There’s something seriously strange about the left side bodice piece.  Part of the problem is the giant, one-size dart which is on the left bodice only.  One size, Vogue?  For women who wear Vogue sizes 8 to 14?  How on earth could all those busts get a proper fit with a one-size dart?

Not to mention that the complete lack of a taper leaves a cute, pointy little pocket.  If you’re wearing a Jane Russell bra, this might work, but, in my case, I was grateful for the busy print, which makes the ohh-la-la point a little difficult to see:

It’s only on the left side; there’s no dart on the right.  I couldn’t help but notice that the woman modeling the dress on the pattern envelope has no bust at all.  This would make fitting simple, as long as you 1) ignored the dart or 2) buried it completely under the pleats, and just hoped for the best.

The other part of the problem has to do with the cut of the left bodice.  It floats strangely; if I’d lined the dress, I would have had to anchor it to the lining.  It’s boxy where the dress, and  my body, aren’t.

The right crossover goes across the fullest part of my breast (if the Vogue’s model had one, it would go right across hers, too); and the left cross-under bunches weirdly under the bust.  In order to keep the bodice smooth, I had to tack the two layers together at the center front neckline.  It’s a fakeout, though, not a real solution.  I was waaaay too sick of this dress to even consider re-drafting the left bodice.

I added two small darts at the back neckline, but that probably wasn’t a Vogue problem — I may be a little round-shouldered.  A lifetime of wearing knits may have successfully obscured this.

The pleat actually falls nicely; I’m standing with my left leg forward for some reason.  Art?  Perhaps.  Also, I haven’t hemmed the skirt yet, and probably  never will (it’s just basted here).  Enough, already, with this dress.

There’s another little bit of deception on the pattern envelope:  The hem appears to fall mid-knee on the model.  I’m going to go out on a limb here, and guess that the model is not 5 feet, 3 inches tall; they never are.  This dress, cut in Vogue’s size 14, goes to my mid-knee.  Unhemmed.  I claim I’m 5-foot-3, but it’s not really true.  I’m 5 feet, 2.5 inches on a good day, which, you’ll understand, this wasn’t.  The size 14 length  hits just above mid-knee on me, and that’s with a 3/4ths inch hem!

Also, can anyone explain why there are different cutting lines for the front hem in all size versions, but only one cutting line for the back hem?   Is there a reason why you’d cut the front to a size 8 length, but then attach it to a size 14 length back?  Just asking, because, d’oh, that just makes no sense at all.

Auntie Allyn made this dress in a knit; the pattern calls for woven yardage.  Allyn’s version worked very well for her; maybe using a knit is part of the secret.  Hers looks fantastic; she didn’t line it either, and just finished the edges by turning and stitching.  I used bias tape to finish the neck and armholes on my woven fabric; it was quick and clean.

Pattern:  FAIL

Dress:  It’s just kind of meh.  I thought it would be a more chic version of the ubiquitous wrap dress, but it’s just kind of neither here nor there.  I will never, ever make it again.  Kludgey fixes do not make for good repeat projects.  And Vogue?  Favorite pattern-maker of my youth?  I’m not loving you so much these days.

That’s because there is no top at “back of the top”.  Although my hatred for bras exceeds nearly every other prejudice I hold, this is not a dress I could wear without a bra of some kind.  Strapless is not an option for me, so I decided to use the bodice from Burda 7658 instead:

It was nearly a perfect trade-off, facilitated quite a bit by the open front of the Vogue pattern, which has you simply turn the skirt edges back to  make a facing.  Lots of fudge room there.  Here it is, completed:

That belt’s all wrong, but I still can’t decide what to do about it.  I don’t really like the look of the Vogue belt (just not nuts about hemp around the waist), but I can’t deny that it looks better than the black ones I’ve tried so far.  I’ll have to give that some thought.

I cut a ten through the shoulders and waist of the bodice, and a twelve at the bust and for the skirt (I made modifications there as needed to fit the bodice).  Although I’m short (5 feet, 2.5 inches to be exact), I did not shorten the skirt, since I love this length.

I knew that the skirt would be a bit of an issue, since it has what looked like huge, draped pockets.  Here’s the secret to success with this pattern:  Those drapes aren’t pockets!

The instructions, and the pattern tissue, are full of references to something called a “belt”.  That’s what those drapes are — fabric “belts” that drape across and over hidden pockets.  Hard to visualize?  I pinned the skirt tissue together so that I’d have a look before cutting into the fabric:

Wonky, no?  And so exciting!  Angling off over toward the upper right is the facing edge of the skirt front. Attached to it is the skirt side, with what looks like a rounded, squarish piece bulging weirdly out from an otherwise fairly normal-looking pattern piece.  That’s the belt.  Eventually you’ll pick it up, attach it to the straight edge on the tissue over on the left, and it will drape nicely.

Construction is actually surprisingly simple, as long as you watch your notches and check each piece as you add one to the other.  The pockets are supposed to be welted, but I preferred zipper pockets, and I also deepened them so that they’d be more useful.

Here’s a view inside the belt. looking down toward the hem.  You won’t want to mistake the belt for a pocket; it’s completely open across the bottom edge:

You can just make out the zipper.  Yes, that is a light dusting of environmental fuzz.  I live with an angora cat.  I’m completely resigned; there’s really nothing that can be done about it.  At least I have no carpets; you have no idea how that helps.

The belts are just wrapped around and inserted into the back side seams.  Easy-peasy.  Here’s the way the belt looks as the dress is worn:

You  can’t see the pocket itself at all, and, much to  my surprise, the belt draped very nicely even in this unforgiving fabric.  In fact, mine looks virtually identical to the Vogue shot.

I loved being able to put in over-sized pockets; the skirt is so full that you can actually use them without anyone being the wiser.  The Vogue pockets are rectangles; if I make this again, I’ll make them a teardrop shape that follows the hip a bit better.  If you use the smaller Vogue pockets, that won’t matter.

There’s a huge amount of edge- and top- stitching, which I happen to love.  If you don’t, this may  not be the pattern for you, as it’s functional in some crucial areas.  Bliss!

The Burda bodice has the same feeling as Karan’s, but looks just a bit more vintage-y.  And, of course, it has that full back.  Here it is before I added buttonholes:

The bodice fit almost perfectly into the skirt, although I should have adjusted the curve at the waist facing to accommodate the bodice a bit better.  I had to make a quarter-inch adjustment in the circular rise on each side there.

At least that’s what I thought as I got close to the finish line.  However, something went seriously wrong with the back, and I nearly finished the dress without ever  noticing.  Fortunately,  Mr. Noile did, though, and described it to  me.  Although the armholes fit the way I wanted them to, and both the neck and waist did, too, halfway between the top of my shoulder and my armpit, on either side of the center  the back didn’t work at all.

I don’t really know how to describe what was wrong, but, trust me, it was very, very wrong.  I think my unfamiliarity with Miss Bedelia contributed to my failure to see this.  I may have been guilty of some misinterpretation of some of the lumps and bumps of her wire frame.

In any case, I took a day to consider what to do about it. Should I just chuck the whole thing?  But, ohhhh, I do love that skirt!  Should I just make the dress into a skirt, and call it an interesting separate?

In the end, feeling like a neophyte surgeon, I performed a whole-back-transplant.  Yep, I removed the whole back (and only the back) of the bodice, and replaced it with a newly-altered, newly-cut piece.  I hadn’t ever encountered this kind of fit issue before, so I winged the alterations.  The final result isn’t perfect by any means, but it’s much better, and certainly wearable.

This was my first Burda clothing pattern, and I wondered what I’d think of the bias-strip finish on the armholes.  I think it’s a “no” for me — there’s just way too much bulk when the trim is folded over; I’m worried that it won’t stay in place (on this slanting shoulder seam, anyway, which is longer than the average armhole) without more aggressive topstitching than I want on this dress.  I really like a nice, smooth facing. That’s what I’ll do next time.

I did continue the edge-stitching down along the facing edge to keep the edge crisp; Vogue doesn’t have you do that.

I strengthened the buttonholes by using heavy duty thread in my buttonhole foot; I’ll post about that later.

I’m a little a lot too squeamish fastidious to adopt Peter’s attitude toward thrift-store sheets, but I did make this from a (brand-new) cotton/poly sheet, so Peter’s example was not completely lost on me. A sheet was perfect since I didn’t want to spend a fortune on an experiment, and I knew it would it let me be wasteful with my cutting layout, if that were necessary.  Not to mention that I could cut the large skirt pieces, doubled, flat, without having to do each one individually.

Yes, this is a “wearable muslin”.  I hate to jump into the controversy about that term, but, for what it’s worth, here’s my take:  When I did proper tailoring, I made a proper muslin.  You have to; it’s part of the process.  A tailor’s muslin isn’t ever worn, or even “finished” (as Ann points out).   However, now that I sew things that are much less structured, I often make them up in a fabric I feel free to toss if it doesn’t work out — or to wear, if it does.  That’s what I call a “wearable muslin”.  Times change, terms change.  We can adjust.  Or defend your terms, as Ann does, very well and amusingly, in her post, which you should read!

Making this dress did remind me of how utterly awful cotton/poly blends are.  Gag.  The next sheet’s going to be 100% cotton.

Related:  I made a different belt for this dress — see Quick Belt

Well, maybe not quite 1952 — the wacky print I chose is strictly modern, especially since it’s enhanced with my favorite ingredient: spandex. Love that stretch! As for the black trim? What can I say? I was going for drama.

The pattern’s great, truly easy-to-sew, and the dress makes up quickly. I loved it from the start, but my spouse didn’t. He pointed out that the neckline wasn’t really becoming on me. He was right. That’s not a neckline that looks good on everyone. It took several months before I decided what to do about it, and my decision was radical. I took the sweetheart neckline from this pattern:

and re-cut the front of my dress.

The result’s pretty nice, I think, and much more becoming on me.

I changed three other things as well: Instead of letting the wrap-around tabs meet end-to-end in the middle front, I overlapped them. I used two larger buttons instead of the three suggested.

Since I noticed that the under-sheath (the nearly-hidden front of the dress) tended to ride up when I wore the dress, I sewed the buttons to the bodice, and made buttonholes in both sides of the overlapping tabs on the skirt. This keeps everything in place nicely.

One last note: I made a narrow hem, faced with bias tape. I much prefer this type of hem when the skirt is this full and the fabric has some substance.

(The New Look pattern is 6723.)

Update 18 July 2008:  Vera, a reader from Portugal asked if I could provide more information about the way the dress is constructed.  Here’s the line drawing from the back of the pattern envelope:

The dress is made just like a sheath in front, with a slim, straight skirt.  This slim front skirt wraps around to the back and fastens at the center back waist. It ends up under the back skirt, which wraps over it.

The skirt that is attached to the back isn’t gathered — it’s almost a circle skirt.  This back piece wraps around to the front, over the sheath, and fastens at the center front waist.

I hope this helps, Vera, and I apologize for the delay in responding.  This has turned out to be an event-filled summer here, and I’m way behind on Noile dot Net and about a hundred other things, too.