Using a Pizza to Help You Make Historical Costumes

Using a pizza to help you make historical costumes [article] | HistoricalSewing.com
Mmmmm…. cheese pizza
So it’s a bit cheesy (sorry…) to compare pizza to sewing. I mean, how alike are they really? Not very much. The only thing I know of pizza being even remotely good for helping you sew is when you’re on a deadline sewing crunch and you order out. (Here’s hoping you keep it FAARRRR away from the fabric!)

So how exactly is this Italian pie supposed to be a guide to making a Victorian costume? Or say you dreamed of wandering into Jane Austen’s garden and thinking of a large Veggie Lovers would, naturally, inspire you to make an ethereal gown so you’re appropriately dressed.

Come on now! It could work, right…..?

The other day my musician husband and I were discussing how he taught a group of 3rd graders to play Jingle Bells. He used a pizza to help the kids visualize and break down each section of the song into playable parts.

Being the brilliant instructor I know and with my mind *always* on sewing I immediately applied the same mode of thought to a historical sewing project.

You know what? It worked. Beautifully.

1885 Silk Taffeta Dress from LACMA
1885 Silk Taffeta Dress from LACMA

A large pepperoni is not consumed in one bite. It’s cut into slices first. But you don’t eat each slice in one mouthful either. You take it one little bite at a time.

So it is when you are facing the journey of bringing your ultimate costume to life. It’s not made overnight. And it isn’t made as one piece all at once.

It is sewing one seam today then the next seam tomorrow. It’s gathering a sleeve here and ripping out the stitches there.  It’s pressing up that hem allowance in the afternoon then tacking down the hook & eyes tonight.

The entire outfit is nothing more than a grouping of seams and hand stitches and notions.

If you concentrate on the entire dress you get overwhelmed. The sheer difficulty in how you’re going to do it causes the mind to freeze up. “How in the world can I make that?”

But you can. Yes.

1876 Pink silk evening dress with ruched trim
Pink silk evening dress with ruched trim from Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1876

You start by cutting it up into slices. There’s a foundation skirt. Then some kind of overskirt that’s draped up on the sides. The bodice (that’s easy, you say) comes next.

But even in the bodice and the skirts they can be broken down into bite size sections to become more manageable. THAT’S where the work is. That’s where the clay of soft fabrics molds in your hand to start revealing its shape to you.

And not every bit of a pizza slice is yummy. Some of the crust can be hard and over-baked. Sometimes you get way too much cheese right in the middle (yeah… the best part!). Your garment will have the same hard parts and easy bits.

If you have one of those dream projects that eludes you to all its complexity, try the Pizza Concept. Whether it’s a fashion plate, a sketch, or a museum artefact you want to reproduce, start by breaking it down into its components and building back up.

But really, what are clothes but seams in fabric and metal bits for closures?

 

Challenging projects have a way of making us step back, look at the big picture so we know where we’re going, then drill down with a magnifying glass to see the beautiful details. Because we know, the devil is in the details – and that’s where we must overcome the fear that tells us we can’t move forward because we don’t know how to proceed. Of course we do!

Next time you dream up a historical project, don’t put it on the top shelf to collect dust. Order a pizza and let your mind wander on which slice to eat first.

 

Have you ever made a historical piece that forced you to break it down before even beginning?

10 thoughts on “Using a Pizza to Help You Make Historical Costumes

  1. Diane Ullman says:

    This is how I worked my way out of a sewing funk that was seven months long. Now I give myself a goal. Today I’m going to cut out my pattern pieces. That’s all.

    Sometimes I don’t make it. There’s an interruption. There’s an emergency. My back gave out from bending over the table. Whatever. But if I got SOME of it done then it’s all right. Even if all I get done is cutting out ONE piece, then I’ve done something to advance my project.

    A long time ago I came to the realization that it’s not in the accomplishment that the pleasure lies, it’s in the doing. If my focus lies in the finished product I’m going to get overwhelmed. True, I’m not going to love every step of the process, but as long as I love most of it progress will be made. Maybe I can’t see it yet (some weeks my physical status won’t allow me to do more than sew one single seam–but that’s one seam done and tomorrow I’ll do another.

  2. Wendy says:

    Our violin teacher used a similar analogy: playing a violin was like eating a bicycle. You wouldn’t try to take a bite out the handle bars – broken teeth and indigestion! You take it in tiny steps, and while it might take long, the bicycle will eventually disappear, and presumably you’d play like the big kids. Why one would want to eat a bicycle was never asked, but the kids loved the mental image.

    Preparing and attaching trim comes to mind…

  3. K. Winter says:

    My biggest pizza so far was the first corset I ever made, from an 1871 Harper’s Bazaara pattern. It terrified me, but I got it done, and learned a ton. I’m currently pizzaing my way through the biggest, most complicated embroidery project I’ve tried yet, and I wouldn’t have even dared start if I hadn’t sliced up the pattern first. Next pizza up is my first bustle dress!

  4. Leanne says:

    Excellent analogy! I’m planning my first costume, and feeling totally overwhelmed. I’ve been pouring over your articles, and they are helping me enormously, but this post clinched it. I can do this! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  5. Varika says:

    I’ve never really thought of it in terms of a pizza metaphor, but pretty much every project I make is broken down into stages, even if it’s as broad as “cut-pin-stitch-iron.” Even the most basic smock or partlet–even the baby bib I made!–break down into parts. How does one function if one doesn’t break it down into manageable bits?

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