Except I think I did that one last week. For avoidance of doubt: panromantic, asexual, genderqueer; or, interested in people, not interested in sex, thinks any kind of attempt to put people into binary categories is basically bollocks.

Today was also the first day of full term, which meant back to in-person teaching for the first time since last autumn, and even a couple of in-person lectures for the first time since February 2020. Amazingly (mostly thanks to the amazing C), it all went very smoothly, and we did not, as we'd feared, have far more students turning up than could fit in the lectures (our lecture theatre only fits about half the year group, so that was a very real concern). Only another 39 days of term to go...

I'd been thinking that I'd like to make a waistcoat ever since waistcoats were the pattern challenge on the Sewing Bee, and I managed to find a women's waistcoat pattern which had what looked like a classic enough option (Jalie 3129) that it seemed worth giving it a go. I printed off the pattern last weekend, and cut out the pieces in a tweedy fabric I bought from John Lewis years ago intending to make a skirt out of it. I remember the label saying it was a wool blend, but from the smell and handle I'd say it was mostly polyester. It was also quite thick and textured and altogether a pain in the arse to work with, and I couldn't press it properly without risking melting it.

I decided I'd try to do proper pockets rather than the mock welt pockets from the pattern, which wasn't entirely successful, mostly because the instructions in my reference book were unhelpfully vague on exactly where you should place the pocket lining over the welt and the pockets ended up much shorter than I'd intended (though I also came to the conclusion that waistcoat pockets are probably never going to be particularly functional unless you have a pocketwatch - too small, too high).

Sewing the waistcoat together was quite good fun (you sew everything together inside out and then pull the waistcoat through a hole in the lining, like a magic trick - on the Sewing Bee they referred to it as "bagging out", and it seems to have been the technique of the last series), but once I'd finished assembling it I realised that either I'd found it harder than I thought to sew straight on the nubbly fabric, or it had slipped when I was cutting or stretched after cutting, or possibly a combination of all three, because the front points had ended up all wonky and the tweed pattern made it very clear that it had strayed off-grain. It also turned out to be slightly too small to button up comfortably, and I also realised that the style that had looked like classic menswear on the pattern was actually more femme than I wanted - the v-neck too low, the tailoring lines accentuating curves. Basically, a fail from start to finish, but good learning: next time I try to make a waistcoat, I'll use a smoother fabric which can stand up to pressing, and I think I'd be better off starting with a men's pattern (probably the Belvedere Waistcoat) and adjusting the fit than assuming I can short-cut with a women's pattern. (Also a useful data point for the debate I'm currently having in my mind about whether I want to go for a more tailored look or stick with looser, more fluid garments; tailored clothes tend to be more strongly gendered.)

As those of you who know me in real life will be aware, I possess a rather substantial bust. This is not something that I particularly like (the me in my head is flat-chested and generally androgynous, and it's always a bit disturbing to be reminded how different the me in the mirror is), and it's compounded by the horror that is bras. Bras, in my experience, resemble torture devices whether they are frilly lacy underwired ones (which (a) scratch, (b) poke into your ribcage and (c) are so femme just looking at them gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies) or sports bras (which are plain and sensible and even a bit compressing if you get the right kind, but which require the skills of a contortionist to get on and off). For the last few years, I've been wearing beige or white t-shirt bras from Debenhams, which have soft microfibre fabric with only a tiny bit of lace at the sides (and, inevitably, a small bow on the front, because apparently it's impossible to make a bra without a small bow on the front), and whose underwires only occasionally poked into my ribcage. They didn't make me particularly happy, but they didn't make me actively unhappy either, so I stuck with them.

Recently, though, I started seeing pictures of the Muna and Broad Banksia Bralette on Instagram, and I was intrigued at the idea of a bralette designed for larger bodies and a range of cup sizes. I decided that making one would be my Christmas holiday sewing project.



I've just finished sewing my fifth*, and now I have enough that I can get from one laundry day to the next without ever wearing an underwired bra. And, wonder of wonders, I actually like how I look in these. They're colourful and fun, and utilitarian, and comfortable, and not at all femme or "sexy". I'm so happy to be able to make them.

*actually, sixth, but the second version I made was in a fabric without enough stretch and the seams ripped almost straight away