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Oslo Coat + Phillipa Pants + No Frills Sweater

Whoah! Long time, no blog, eh?? Excuse me while I get comfy and settle into these old digs…

I will not bore you with what a busy, roller coaster of a couple months it has been, but if you are on instagram you will know that I have been busy making and planning and storying, but not at all busy taking photographs. Thankfully Claire helped me rectify this yesterday in which we had a perfectly cloudy afternoon to take photos of all my blog-worthy makes from this far into the new year. Today’s blog post brings you not one, not two, but THREE makes that I am really happy with and have been wearing like crazy the past couple weeks.

First up is the Oslo Coat by Tessuti Patterns, a really popular coat pattern that I added to my list of to-makes last year when I decided I was ready to sew up this gorgeous plaid wool from The Fabric Store (I do not believe they carry this fabric anymore because I got it a couple years ago when the LA store closed down, but they have plenty of other exceptional wools to choose from)! Having already made a couple of coats/jackets for myself in the past (like this Kelly Anorak and this Vintage Vogue Coat), I was familiar with coat making but definitely want/need more experience and techniques under my belt, and I knew that Tessuti wouldn’t disappoint. Tessuti has a way of simplifying patterns that might otherwise be complicated by the instructions of a different designer, and I always enjoy sewing up their designs. I was particularly drawn to the Oslo Coat because of it’s subtle cocoon shape. Los Angeles winters are never so cold that you need a heavy parka to get through them, so I knew a casual, relaxed fit such as this would serve me well, and it has (although it has been uncharacteristically rainy this season, which no wool coat is perfectly suited for, but that’s another story)!

As expected, the instructions for the Oslo were straightforward and easy to apply almost all the way through. This coat is designed to be lined and I decided to quilt the blue-gray silk I used with cotton batting, a choice I am oh-so happy with. No, it technically doesn’t get that cold here in LA- particularly if you are visiting from the east coast. But if you’ve been living here for a while, your tolerance of coldness changes and 50 degrees can feel like it’s absolutely freezing (yes, there is a scientific reason for this, something to do with the way your blood changes over time in certain climates, so don’t @ me!). Anywho, I didn’t use full-on Thinsulate, but I wanted a little something to beef up the coat and keep me warm on the chillier days. So I cut out cotton batting to fit my cut of silk yardage, pinned the layers together like I was making a quilt, then spent a few hours on my straight-stitch vintage Singer with my quilting attachment, sewing straight lines in one direction and then again at 90 degree angles across the whole length of fabric. There were definitely some wobbly lines and less-than-perfect angles but I knew they wouldn’t be obvious once inside the coat. After all my quilting was done, I cut out the lining pieces from the pre-quilted fabric and I serged the edges to keep the silk from fraying too much (I also serged my wool pieces once they were cut out because this wool wanted to fray like crazy as well).

I didn’t make any adjustments to the pattern other than in length- I cut off about an inch and a half from the sleeves and a little bit more from the body of the coat, but I missed one important detail here- the body of the coat has it’s lengthen/shorten lines at the hem instead of somewhere further up the coat, like at the waist or hips, which means that when you adjust the length, the pockets stay exactly where they are. This becomes an issue if you are more petite like I am, because the length will shorten but the pockets will stay at the height of someone much taller. The result is that once I inserted all my side pocket details and finished them up, I tried the coat on for fit and the pockets were so far down that my fingers couldn’t even touch the bottom. This was awful news, for what’s the point of having a pocket if you have to literally hold the pocket up with one hand and fish around with the other to get the contents out of it?? Totally my mistake, of course, but I guarantee you I won’t ever make it again! There was no way I could remove the pockets without sacrificing the integrity of the fabric in those areas since the wool got so fray-y and there was so much topstitching that would rough up the textile once unpicked, so I left the pockets as they were and sewed the pocket bags of the lining a couple inches shorter so that there was less depth- thankfully they are drafted with a ton of room so losing that area didn’t affect the functionality of the pockets at all. They are still quite a bit lower than I would prefer, but definitely still usable.

My other snafu is a two-parter that involved inserting a bound buttonhole on the coat. Bound buttonholes of course are meant to be applied before the lining goes in but this meant that I had to base the button placement on where the pattern says it should go vs. where it fit best on my body. Because I made a straight size and didn’t grade up at the hips like I normally do (I figured there would be plenty of ease in the coat to accommodate my butt), the coat gets tighter at my hips- not so much so that it doesn’t fit or isn’t comfortable, but it means that the closure needs to be further to the outside so there is more room in that area. As designed, the button placement makes the coat tighter around my hips which becomes apparent because of the straight vertical lines of the plaid that- when I buttoned it with the original buttonhole, got wavy and shifted inward instead of staying vertical. Ah, hindsight! To remedy this, I just added another bound buttonhole on the other side of the jacket (meaning it closes the opposite way it was intended to) in the proper place that made sense on my body, and I sewed the unusable bound buttonhole closed and covered it with a button (the original design is only supposed to have one button but mine has two, lol).  Although I would love to have foreseen these issues from the beginning, I am totally happy with how I ended up fixing my mistakes and I don’t think the average person would recognize that there was any issue with it at all. I used fabric-covered buttons for this coat which I think looks really sharp and makes the two buttons look more intentional and I also added a loop to the back center neck so that I hang it on a hook if necessary

Before bagging out the coat, I decided to add an inside welt pocket to the lining (which I was contemplating doing, then decided against it at the last minute cause I just wanted to finish the damn thing, but then I saw that llaydybird was making a coat at the same time as me and she made herself an inside welt pocket that came out beautifully, which felt like a sign for me to not be lazy and just get her done!) and I am so happy I did because this pocket is a bit easier to use in terms of putting stuff into than the side pockets of the coat (see above snafu number 1).

The only other issues I had with this make were at the very end when it was time to bag the coat out. There is an approximately 2 inch allowance required for bagging out the bottom of the coat and the sleeves, and for some reason unknown to me, that allowance just didn’t work. 2 inches created a bubble at both hem and sleeves meaning there was too much fabric folded up in there, so I had to go back in, unpick all the hand stitching at those areas and decrease the allowance. I am assuming this has to do with something I did (or didn’t do) and not the pattern drafting, and I think it just comes with the territory of getting familiar with new techniques and working with thick fabrics like wool and quilted fabric. Regardless, I was able to fudge the bagging enough that it mostly lays smooth at the hem and the sleeves are perfectly flat.

All in all I LOVE how this coat turned out- I love the easy, relaxed fit of the raglan sleeves, I love the dramatic fold-over collar, and I love the roominess inside- you can wear a super bulky sweater or even a light jacket underneath and it won’t feel too tight or uncomfortable, and I end up mostly styling this coat to wear open with a lot of layers underneath. Although this is designed as a big comfy cocoon-type coat, I actually prefer it more as a jacket- this is not the garment I reach for when it’s super cold outside. Because I beefed mine up with a quilted lining, it’s certainly warm enough to endure some very chilly Vancouver days (which is where I first wore this make), but because it doesn’t close at the neck, it is not an ideal cold weather coat for me. My preferred coat is actually just a giant scarf that covers up every inch of my chest and neck, lol. For me, to provide adequate warmth, I have to layer this coat up with turtlenecks and scarves, and even then I find myself clenching the collar closed with my hands so no cold air will touch my neck. I considered adding a hook and eye or something to the neck to close it up should I ever need to wear it for colder temps, but I might just relegate this make to cool-not-COLD weather wear and call it a day!

Whew! That was a lot of coat talk! Okay, next we have the Phillippa Pants by Anna Allen Clothing, sister to the Persephone Pants that everyone (including myself!) went gaga over last year. These pants did not disappoint at all, although I did make some changes to them that I should probably continue to work on for my next pair. I love both these designs because of the high high high waist! High waists are not for everyone, but as someone with a long torso and shorter legs, high waists make me feel like I am taller than I actually am and I just love the silhouette on me. They also make me feel more comfortable than lower-rise pants do- there is no risk for buttcrack peepage and I don’t spend my days pulling the pants up by the belt loops to keep them from riding down. The leg shape on the Phillippas is very interesting- it’s a totally straight side seam allowing you to use selvedge denim which is awesome, but it also means that the legs don’t curve at all to your body’s shape, and although I like the idea in theory, I am not quite sure it works on me. When I basted the side seams up and tried them on I immediately thought they needed some work and got to molding the legs to fit my thighs and calves. I might try and leave them as-is next time though- it’s a style I am not used to but it might just be because of habit rather than preference (fine line, ya know?). Because of my tinkering, I think the area around the knees could use a bit more attention- I feel like they look baggy and wrinkly, which is actually an issue I experience a lot of with close-fitting pants, so I should probably look that up in my Pants Fitting For Real People book and see how to fix it.

With these pants I made a size 2 graded to 4 at the hips, and I lowered the opening of the button fly 3/8″ to give my hips plenty of room to get in and out of. Like with the Persephones, I had to take the back darts in about an additional quarter inch, but I kept the waistband straight instead of making it curved like I normally do for pants. Because these pants sit SO high on the waist, and because I already have a low butt, I actually don’t need the curved waistband at all- my body is pretty straight up and down where the waistband of these pants hit. I decided to give the button fly technique used on these pants a second try even though I disliked it so much the first time with the Persephones- I thought maybe I had made a misstep in the construction or something and I wanted to give it another go. Nope. Still don’t like this technique at all. It came out better than my original pair of Persephones which were so bad I had to take the whole thing out and start over with a different technique, but that’s not saying much. I prefer the Closet Case zip fly method or even the Lander Pants button fly method, and if I am not mistaken, both of those employ the “basted closed” method, which I think ends up looking much neater and cleaner.

As far as a woven, non-stretch high waisted pant goes, this pattern is pretty terrific, and I am eager to compare it to the Megan Nielsen Dawn Jeans which are a more traditional jean style with the same high waist as these. I don’t remember where I got this black denim from but I believe it’s Cone Mills, and it’s very good quality. As suggested, I made these pants really tight so that they wouldn’t bag out after wear, but I could have made them even tighter- I have only successfully nailed down the ‘non-bagging tight woven pants’ fit once before, with the yellow Persephones I made last year. These are close, but not quite as good at not bagging out after a day of wear. After a few hours I notice that the main place they bag out is in the yoke area of the pants (there is no actual jeans yoke on this pattern, but it’s where the yoke would be- back of pants, below the waistband and above the pockets), and this is actually where all my high waisted woven denim pants bag out, which makes me wonder if I should take out a horizontal wedge from this area on future pairs, grading to nothing at the side seams. It’s definitely worth a try! One thing I didn’t notice about these pants until I tried them on is that they have no front pockets! I am actually fine to just use the back pockets since they are a good size and fit my phone easily, but still it’s something to keep in mind if you prefer front or side pockets on your jeans.

I dont like using jeans buttons with button flies because I think it gives too much wiggle room in the fly area where I want it to be very fitted and tight, so I used Abalone buttons from my stash for this pair. I am on the fence about them, mostly because they keep falling off! While I don’t like the extra room jeans buttons provide, I do like the stability of a hammered button, so I am on the lookout for some flat denim buttons, and in the meantime I might just have to sew some nylon thread through the buttonholes and then melt the ends closed on the other side to keep them in place.

OKAY, FOLKS, we are nearing the end! To close out this interminably long blog post, I will briefly share with you my No Frills Sweater, a pattern by a knitwear designer named PetitieKnits that I randomly found on instagram when I went down a rabbithole of handmade sweaters last year- I was itching to get back into knitting and I thankfully found a lot of inspiration on IG to bring my knitjo back. The No Frills Sweater, like all of PetiteKnits other designs, is very simple but has a beautiful shape, and I have learned that I much prefer sweaters made with thinner yarn, like fingering weight, than I do bulkier Sport and DK. Knitting in fingering weight creates more of a drape-y fabric, which fits my current style and sensibilities in a way that thicker sweaters dont (and again, I’m sure much of this has to do with living in LA).

My skin is very sensitive to 100% wool so I have been using blends with merino, cashmere and nylon/cotton/bamboo lately, which has made a huge difference. I used a Caroline Toes gradient set from Miss Babs Hand Dyed Yarns for this sweater, and it is incredibly soft, only minimally itchy, and a joy to knit up. Of course I ended up running out of yarn to complete the sweater as designed, so my sleeves are only half length instead of full, but I’m still happy with how it turned out, and because the yarn isn’t super thick, I can get away with wearing this garment almost like it’s a t-shirt. I had never knitted up a color blocked or gradient sweater before, so I had to be careful with how much yarn I used so that I would have enough of each color for the sleeves. I didn’t use any specific technique, I think the yarn gods were just on my side to have me eyeball the lengths of yarn I needed so accurately.

This sweater is very uncomplicated, but I did have a bit of confusion around the yoke area which I think comes from the pattern being translated into different languages- the instructions are in english but are written/structured a bit differently than most I have worked with, and it took me a while to understand them. I actually completed the yoke and then immediately frogged it and started it over once I got the rhythm of what I was supposed to be doing with the short rows for the back yoke. But once I had that part to my liking, the rest was just stockinette all the way through, which was nice and relaxing to come back to after such a long hiatus from knitting. I never blocked this sweater once it was complete because it didn’t seem to need it, and I am really in love with the fit. It feels loose and relaxed but not boxy or too big for my body, which has always been a struggle for me with knitted sweaters, and probably one of the reasons I took such a long break from making them.

Thanks to Claire for taking these fantastic photos for me, and thanks to you for getting this far in my blog post! It’s always a joy to share my makes here, from what I learned and loved to what I would do differently next time, and I appreciate you taking the time to read 🙂

A Walk Down Knittory Lane

I got into knitting almost 10 years ago when I was playing the title role in a musical called Chasing Nicolette at the Prince Music Theatre in Philly. Some time before I was cast in the show, I had been gifted a hardcover knitting book called Weekend Knitting, and I was immediately drawn to the gorgeous photos inside. There were close-up shots of textured, furry wools and shiny wooden needles with loops of squishy yarn lined all the way down to the tips. The models in the photos were beautiful and diverse, and they just looked so happy, like the only thing they wanted in the whole wide world at that moment was to be wearing a meticulously knitted garment while smiling at a camera. There was a really sweet (albeit completely unrealistic) shot of a woman soaking in a huge clawfoot tub while working on a long thin scarf that piled up on the floor next to her (I know this activity is unrealistic because I tried it, and steam from a hot bath makes woolen fibers feel sticky on moist fingers, especially with the added effect of fine condensation that collects on the needles; for me, tub knitting was totally weird/gross/unweildy, but the photograph was inspiring enough for me to give it a try). When packing for my nearly three month long stint at the Prince, I decided on a whim to bring the book with me, even though I didn’t know how to knit. I figured that once we were done with rehearsals and were in full performances, I would have time to learn (I ended up buying a copy of Stitch N’Bitch to aid me in the process) and time to make one of the seemingly simple and beautiful patterns from the book. I wanted to wear my own knitted things that would turn out looking just as exquisite as the projects in Weekend Knitting, and I would be so very happy, smiley, and proud of myself, and I would also be, of course, very warm, which was important when I was living in the northeast.

It was quite the rude awakening to realize, after successfully teaching myself  how to knit and purl on two straight bamboo needles, that jumping from garter stitch straight into a fingerless mitt pattern was going to be very, very difficult. I worked on my project for weeks, taking the stitches out and starting over so many times that my merlot-colored yarn became garbled and knotted and stringy. I threw my glove and needles across the room. I insisted that something was wrong with the pattern, that it was full of mistakes since it made absolutely no sense to me. I am pretty sure I shed some frustrated tears at least once. I flipped through my Stitch N’Bitch book over and over again, re-reading the same passages and trying to apply the clear steps in the pictures to the confusing instructions in the pattern.
But I didn’t give up.
I took breaks, and I got angry with myself, but I didn’t give up.
Eventually I finished my first glove. I was simultaneously elated by my success and devastated that I had to start the whole process over again to make a second one. But I did it. The glove on one hand was smooth and pretty because it was the second one I made, and the glove for the other hand was twisted and warped and imperfect, but I didn’t mind. I could see my learning curve spelled out across my palms, and it was proof that my patience with myself, however stilted, was worthwhile.

It didn’t take long for my knits and purls to become very uniform and consistent, but I was pretty stumped at figuring out how to read patterns so I just stuck to making the same 6 foot long scarves over and over. Years passed before my next attempt at trying another pattern, and interestingly enough, the impetus to dive in again came in the familiar form of a gifted book. This time, our friend Rahul had opened up an amazon package that sat unclaimed in his building’s foyer for months, and he gave it to me, his crafty-ist friend, thinking that I would make good use out of it. It was Stefanie Japel’s Fitted Knits, and, like before, I was immediately entranced by the photos in the book. I chose what looked like the simplest pattern in the book to tackle, a top down V-neck sweater in the round in stockinette stitch with knit2 purl2 ribbing at the edges. I bought my first pair of circular needles and a bright blue soft wool with a bit of shine that didn’t itch my skin. And I just dove in.
And I threw it across the room at a wall several times.
And I know I cried more than once.
And I convinced myself yet again that the pattern directions had major flaws in them, since they didn’t make sense to me.
And I wondered furiously why pattern writers insisted on using so many abbreviations. WHAT WAS WRONG WITH FULL SENTENCES?!?! And I stuffed the project in a bag deep into our closet a couple of times, waiting weeks before my fury had dissipated enough to trick me into picking it up again. But I did pick it up again. And my time away from the project worked. And at some point during this off-time, I had my first aha! moment, where suddenly the pattern instructions were understandable, and I knew how to get past the place where I had been stuck (increasing at the yoke to make room for the shoulders and sleeves had me so stumped my first time through), and I kept knitting and kept knitting, and I actually (finally!) successfully finished knitting my first sweater! I couldn’t believe it! I was so, so proud of myself! Once it was finished, I wore it all the time, with all it’s dropped stitches and wonky uneven seaming at the sleeves, and tension that zig-zagged all throughout the garment, depending on the level of frustration I was experiencing at the time of knitting. But honestly, no one could see how many flaws it had, and my friends were impressed that I had seen the project through to the end. But nobody was more impressed than me. And maybe Claire, who stifled her laughter at my rage and instead offered consolatory hugs and affirming pats on the back after each battle I lost with the sweater.

first knitted sweater, and a baby face

first knitted sweater, and a baby face

At the time, I had no friends who knit and there weren’t as many tutorials online as there are these days, so figuring out how to read a knitting pattern was a solitary, aggravating job. But it wasn’t impossible. It took hunkering down and fierce-dedication-bordering-on-obsession to figure it out, and more than a little patience with myself, and trust that not every single pattern was completely wrong and full of typos and miscounts. But it was absolutely achievable. After the success of the V-neck sweater, I made another one for Claire, to get the kinks out and right all the wrongs I had made in my own sweater, and it came out GORGEOUS, and is a sweater she still wears seven years later. Next I started going through all the patterns in Stefanie Japel’s book, choosing more ambitious projects each time, learning new techniques and challenging my burgeoning skills. And then I had another aha! moment; not all knitting patterns are created equal. This seams so obvious now that I have been knitting for so many years, but after making 6 sweaters in a row that were knitted fairly well, yet still came out kind of weird and ill-fitting, I understood that fit was just as important an element in sweater making as learning how to read the patterns. So was yarn choice. So was making swatches. Just because a sweater looked beautiful in a photograph didn’t mean that it would look beautiful on me in the yarn I bought in the size I made with my particular stitching personality. So the learning curve continued. After some online research, I realized that the talented knitwear designer was quite a bit more buxom than I was, and therefore her patterns, with the exception of the V-Neck sweater which had a tighter fit, left way too much room in the chest area on me. I wasn’t adept enough yet to know how to adapt patterns to my own measurements, so I decided to branch out and discover patterns by different knitwear designers, and then a fateful conversation with a knitting makeup artist from the first season of Fringe led me to ravelry.com, and the rest is history (I am HYMagic on ravelry in case anyone wants to follow).

I thought it would be fun to walk down knittory lane (that is so corny and I am sorry) and take a look at some of my earliest sweater knitting projects. I would never call them failures because it’s only a fail if you learn absolutely nothing from it, and that has never been the case with anything I have knitted…although it has definitely taken me several attempts at the exact same mistake to finally learn the things I am supposed to learn.

Here, we have the Puff-Sleeved Cardigan, a really cute sweater that made me look kind of like a marshmallow when I put it on. It’s too baggy in the chest and under the arms, the silhouette is frumpy, and the peplum is too short and lays down funny. My buttons were so bomb, though. I should have used smaller needles to get a tigher fit, and perhaps a different kind of yarn, because I wanted the look to be fuzzier and look more like fabric rather than a garment where you can see the distinct stitch definition.

Puff-Sleeved Cardigan

Puff-Sleeved Cardigan (I realize that this picture/angle doesn’t look all that terrible, but I never ever wore this sweater after spending months on it, so just trust me that I didn’t feel confident in it AT ALL.

This Back-to-School U-Neck Vest was another one that fit poorly- again, much to loose in the chest area and the arms, and also just kind of baggy all around. I loved the color of this yarn, and the details within the pattern were really cool, but it needed to be much smaller. I usually knit the smallest sizes available for a pattern, and it was around the time of making this sweater that I started to learn (it took many more projects to fully comprehend this lesson) that my personal tension, though very even, is pretty loose. By going down one or two needle sizes, I get the correct gauge.

Back to School U Neck, baggy-style

Back to School U Neck, baggy-style

From Stefanie Japel’s other book, Glam Knits, I fell in love with this BoHo Blouse, knitted it up quickly in a chunky wool, and was immediately disappointed. Too big. Again. Frumpy. Again. I wasn’t sold on this yarn choice either, but in my early knitting days, I found it difficult to envision what a garment would look like in different colors and yarn choices, so I tried to stay within the ballpark of what the photograph showed, in this choice using a heathered wool with different flecks of color in it. Look at how it sags so much in the back and drapes down in the shoulder area. For a better fit I should have gone down in needle size, but in general, I have learned that flowy blouses are just not my thing, and a sweater that conceals my shape on top doesn’t really suit my style. This sweater, like the first one, was never worn and was gifted to my sister-in-law.

ugh.

ugh.

blergh.

blergh.

Okay, I think this sweater is the very first one I made that wasn’t a Stefanie Japel pattern (and for the record, I don’t want this post to seem like I am Stefanie bashing- I LOVE her vintage inspired designs; she is clearly VERY talented, and without her book, I would never have been inspired to try and tackle knitting my own sweaters! One of the sad truths about making your own clothing is that not every pattern is meant for every figure unless you are willing to put in the work to adapt the patterns, and Stefanie Japel’s work was how I learned to pay attention to my personal needs and preferences regarding knitwear designs). The Minimalist Cardigan was the first sweater I made that wasn’t knit in one piece, and although it is a very straight forward and simple pattern to make in all-over moss stitch with the lapel bands in stockinette, there was STILL room for learning. I am so embarrassed to admit this, but once the whole thing was knitted up and blocked and I was supposed to sew all the pieces together, I went to the store, bought matching green thread, and I USED MY SEWING MACHINE…

greensweater_web

greencardi_web…TO SEW THE PIECES TOGETHER!!!! I didn’t realize my mistake until I tried the garment on and stood in the mirror with a puzzled look on my face. Why were the shoulders so bulky?? Why didn’t the seams lay flat like they did in the photos for the pattern? I don’t know how or why I figured it out, but as some point I realized that I was supposed to hand sew the pieces together with yarn and a thick sewing needle made for knitwear. DUH. So embarrassing. Let me tell you, ripping sewing thread out of a knitted garment is painstaking. But once I figured out the right way to do it, the garment fit beautifully, and it is currently my oldest sweater that I have made (I threw out my first blue sweater once I got better at knitting and knew that I didn’t have to wear with holes and knots in them, and all the other garments I made in between were eventually gifted to friends/family).

Almost all the sweaters/knitted items I made after this one are wearable and still in rotation. I still had a lot to learn about my personal relationship to knitted garments and what kind of things I liked knitting the most, but I finally found my knitting groove. I learned to either go down in needle size or make swatches before every new project. I learned that I prefer neutral colored, unfussy wools to bright, funky colors and wild textures. I learned that I like simple stitches with minimal details, and laces only knitted up in flat hues. I learned that I am not crazy about tweed yarn. I learned that I don’t like sweaters with bust and waist shaping, and that I really love working with cables. I hate fuzzy yarn. Knitting socks is my worst nightmare. I prefer the Magic Loop Method to DPNs. And so on and so on.

This has been a ridiculously long post that took days for me to put together, but I get a lot of questions on tumblr about my history with knitting, so now I have a post to link people to should they have any specific questions about how I got into the craft. Oh, and the sweater in the picture used at the head of this post? It’s one of my favorite sweaters that I have ever made, even though I never really wore it much cause it has some fitting issues. I wish I had used a thinner yarn, and had made the sweater longer, and decreased the neckline stitches even more so that the neckline wasn’t quite so wide. This was the first lace repeat I ever used in a pattern, and it took me a long time to get the hang of it, but the result was stunning. I hardly ever wear this garment because it doesn’t work well with a regular bra and is a little too wide in the body, but another thing I have learned over my years of knitting is that sometimes a garment is worth fighting for; I am learning to ignore imperfections and focus on the beautiful qualities of my work more often, like the soft texture and the warm shade of the wool, and how delicate the lace pattern is coupled with the solid look of the neckline ribbing . This sweater works best with a belt and a strapless bra, and it looks really cute over skinny jeans or a pencil skirt, so I am dedicating myself to wearing it more often, despite the changes I wish I had made to it. I forgot how satisfying it is to wear my learning curve, spelled out across my shoulders.

©Robin Roemer

©Robin Roemer