Wednesday, January 13, 2010
A few months ago, I bought Custom Knits by Wendy Bernard, a book about knitting items that actually fit your body. I have only glanced through it, but the concept is rather earth shaking for where I am as a knitter. I have knit one sweater for myself, and the fit is horrible. The picture in the book, Stitch 'N Bitch, is very flattering on the model. On me, it’s just a giant fuzzy box. I thought I had done something wrong, but it’s actually a very natural phenomenon. The pattern is a tunic sweater with no side shaping. A more advanced knitter would intuitively understand that for a project to have a shape, you need to knit the shape into it. Custom Knits actually discusses altering patterns to make them more flattering and how to read patterns without getting duped by the model shot.
For fear of repeating my disappointment, I have been sticking to accessories (hats, gloves, scarves, and slippers), and I knit objects following patterns in the strictest sense. Even yarn substitutions are made with much trepidation. I typically will scour Ravelry to see what other people used to verify that a yarn is suitable for a given project. I’ve had one horrible experience where I substituted a yarn for a project (the yarn was recommended by a store employee as suitable for the gauge) and the tank ended up being twice as wide as it should have been. What did that experience teach me? Always check your gauge. Do not knit 90% of the project before doing it, either. This project was a special case because it was all in a ribbed pattern, and it was just really hard to figure out. I kept trying to stretch the finished part over my body, but without pinning it to myself, how could I really tell. Maybe if I had a dress form or even a mannequin, I could have checked the sizing sooner.
I spent a day looking at dress forms on the internet. Starting at $100, I could get a nice Singer adjustable dress form. They come in different colors and seem pleasing to the eye with their uniform shape and fabric. I could totally use it as a decorative piece, and it wouldn’t be an eyesore if left out. My hoarding instinct keeps nagging me that I NEED a dress form.
A much cheaper alternative is the make-your-own variety. For the price of a roll of duct tape and a disposable t-shirt, you can make a mold of yourself. When all is said and done, making a mold of my body is definitely the more accurate approach. The mold will capture the true placement of the waistline and bust instead of the estimate a generic dress form will give you, even an adjustable one. The downside? Do I really want to stare at my body wrapped in duct tape and mounted on a pole. That is just so Silence of Lambs.
An alternative object d’art would be a mannequin. The hubby and I have always wanted one. We used to decorate our old apartment with heads wearing the multitude of wigs we collected over the years. When the baby experiment began, we decluttered and donated the heads to my stepson. I’ve since stolen one back for hat making purposes. Heads are good, but a full mannequin would fulfill one of those muddled childhood fantasies I still carry around with me. When I was thirteen, I saw Lady Beware with Diane Lane about a window dresser that lives in a loft and gets stalked. From then on, I wanted to live in a converted warehouse and decorate my place with mannequins. The warehouse dreams have been squashed by the loft trend. It’s just not cool anymore if everyone is doing it. Besides, I wanted to have 10,000 SF so I could drive my car into it. Not realistic these days.
At least the mannequin idea is still available to me. I can dress it, pose it, take pictures of my FOs and maybe even freak out my elderly neighbors by placing it in the window to stare back at them. If I can find a cheap source of parts, maybe I can collect a large enough stack to make a gruesome display for next Halloween.
So today, I will begin my search of a reasonably priced mannequin in earnest. Updates to follow.
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