I snagged a 1941 Hollywood pattern for overalls a few years back, (Hollywood 694) and it was near the top of my list for patterns I definitely wanted to digitize. This pattern is kind of interesting because Hollywood released it more than once, and the second version did not include the overalls option.
When I decided to digitize it, I had not made it yet, but the envelope illustration made it look like a fantastic outfit. I sized it up to fit me before I did a “test run.” And upon sewing it, I found that…this pattern is kind of bizarre.
Specifically, the instructions, and the piecing. I have written about this pattern at least two other times, because that’s how much brainspace this pattern has occupied. I wrote about it on a blog I started a while back that was supposed to be about graphic design, (abandoned in part because I dislike Wordpress blogs, FIGHT ME) —and I wrote about it on my personal blog, which only my close-close friends read—even though they are not sewing people and could not possibly care—this pattern KEPT ME UP AT NIGHT. Oh, and I also wrote a long essay-like blurb in my instructions of this pattern, because— I felt like I needed to explain how weird it is.
It’s weird in part because the waistband/belt is in two pieces: a long piece, and a very short piece. Each belt piece is cut in two sections, (the belt itself, and the “Facing”) and these sections are seamed together on the long edge. This two-part belt design meant that there was a center back seam on the belt/waistband—which is especially awkward with the belt/facing seam.
I initially thought this was done in part because the designer was trying to emulate the design of men’s tailored slacks, which sometimes had a center back seam. However, men’s slacks also would have had a center front seam, where the front fly opening would be. Ladies’ pants at the time had to open on the side, because a front opening was considered…un-ladylike. It just “wasn’t done.” So, that meant the second belt piece was relatively tiny, as it only goes around the left-back half of the waist.
The reason this was really weird, though, was the bizarre seam allowance. Vintage patterns usually have a half-inch seam allowance except on really specific pieces, which are usually called out somewhere in the instructions. This one had a one-and-a-half-inch seam allowance on that center back seam, and also on the center back seam of the slacks themselves. This was not called out in the instructions. At first, I couldn’t get my notches to meet up on my sized-up versions. I could not figure out what I was doing wrong, until… I really looked at the perforations on the pattern.
Now, just in case you don’t know this, here’s the deal: On vintage patterns, the markings were not printed on the pattern. The “markings” were all just a series of holes punched in the tissue paper that the sewist was supposed to understand. I mean, the pattern instructions did typically have extremely rudimentary “guides” in the instructions to help you understand what those mysterious holes were for, but sometimes—it was not obvious, even with that guide-thing.
This pattern did not have a very good “guide thing.” It did have a note reminding the sewist to be sure to take up the correct amount of seam allowance…without calling out exactly what the seam allowance actually is.
I did not immediately realize that those back perforations were actually the seam allowance markings, because they were so different from the rest of the pattern. At first, I wondered if it was an error on the pattern. But no, the diagram shows that they are indeed much farther in from the edge on the back than on the front.
I measured them on the pattern, and so it was — the seam-allowance holes on this pattern indicated that there was, in fact, a weird “tapered” seam on the back crotch of the slacks. Why? I don’t know. For alterations? To allow for ladies with a high hip-to-waist ratio?
Scooping the crotch on pants is definitely a thing. I mean, check out this debate here on The Sewcialist blog about whether to “scoop the crotch” of pants patterns: To scoop or not to scoop
So, maybe it was just done this way with alteration in mind. Given that my daughter has a very high hip-to-waist ratio, and I have a very LOW hip-to-waist ratio, i.e., I got a big waist as compared to my relatively not-wide hips—I’m very aware of how much this particular region-of-the-body requires alteration. Yeah, I know, most of us ladies are “built weird,” or at least—pattern sizing makes us THINK we’re “built weird,” since so few people actually fit into the hourglass mold that is suggested with standard sizing. So, maybe this was why the seam allowance was so generous? To accommodate for the fact that most women need some kind of alteration in that particular area?
But why THIS pattern? I’ve never seen it on any other, and I do, in fact, have a few other Hollywood pants or shorts patterns from the same era. They do not have this weirdness, they are all designed with ONE belt piece, thus there is no strange back seam.
Was this because of the “make do and mend” mindset of the war era? The pattern does say “regulation slacks,” which was a wartime thing —at least, in the UK it was. “Regulation” clothing was subject to fabric rations, so it couldn’t have too many pleats, or too many pockets. In the summer of 1941, “regulation” wasn’t a thing in the United States yet, because the US did not actually enter the war until December of that year. But why did the pattern manufacturer call them “regulation slacks” then? Was this pattern available for sale in the UK? Or was the pattern manufacturer anticipating that the US might adopt fabric rationing? (They did, but not to the extent that the UK did — homesewn garments in the United States weren’t subject to the same rules.)
Who knows?
It may have been done this way to accommodate for fabric rationing in the UK — if they had used one big long belt piece that had to be folded over, instead of FOUR belt pieces that all had to be stitched together, it would require a much bigger piece of fabric. BUT, I realized just this morning, it’s possible that the strange two-part belt was done not just because of the war…maybe it was entirely in an effort to fit the pattern pieces onto a specific type of fabric, which came in small-ish pieces.
…like feedsack. You know how ladies used to sew clothes out of flour sacks in the 30’s and 40’s? No? Did you not know that? (You probably knew that.)
Well, in case you didn’t know that, I’m here to tell you! Yes, it’s true, ladies (and possibly men, too—listen, gender is a social construct, just sayin’) —err, PEOPLE used to sew clothing out of flour sacks. This became especially popular during the Great Depression, and in the 1930’s flour and feed manufacturers wised up to this—and started to actually print designs on their packaging. Here’s a li’l post about it if you want to know more. <WAIT, before you click, it’s kind of an ad-heavy clickbaity link. But it does have good info and pictures. I love me some good 30’s feedsack prints.
Well, the fact that the overalls lady on the envelope illustration has overalls made of floral fabric makes me even more certain that this pattern was probably intended to be made of feedsack. When I went to sew this pattern out of denim, that two-piece long belt and two-piece short belt seamed together created a pretty bulky back seam. This pattern was probably not intended for denim, though it is one of the “suggested fabrics” listed on the envelope. I wrote EXTENSIVE notes in my instructions about how to deal with this, along with instructions to add inseam pockets.
Meanwhile, sizing this pattern turned out to be a little bit of a nightmare, in part because the seam allowance weirdness, and in part because the belt construction was so strange. I tell you, I shed actual tears over this one (okay, look, I have shed tears over many patterns I’ve done, including the last one I did—which was really the fault of illustrator repeatedly crashing in that case—but I’ll write about that one another time…)
In the end, I did manage to get this pattern sized up to a 40 Bust size. I would like to make another version someday, but, uh, not today. This one caused something akin to Clinical Depression, to be honest. I’m not saying that with levity, either. Believe me, I know what Clinical Depression is, but let’s not get into that…
My first version of this pattern didn’t include the jacket, because I had some minor problem with the sleeve — the elbow darts were causing a weird problem with matching up the sides — and I was so exhausted from the pants debacle that I decided to save the jacket for later.
Well, HOORAY, the jacket is available now, and I kinda think it turned out great. Or at least, mine did! I made it from deeply discounted Pendleton Wool, which I think was on sale because the plaid was way off grain. I had to stretch it on the bias to get it to straighten out, which took more than a minute. I had medium-low hopes for the jacket, but it turned out better than expected. I actually like this one better than the other Pendleton wool jacket I made last fall. I didn’t expect to love the shoulder and elbow darts, but I do.