The Story of a skirt

 Eight years ago I made a skirt from the most beautiful fabric I had ever seen: a linen and cotton blend by Japanese textile designer Nani Iro of dark blue with sage and green and purple and cream and yellow gold hues. We were living in France and I had recently had my first baby. I was 23, and learning to sew clothes for myself felt exciting and daunting in equal measures. It was a gathered, high-waisted skirt with a zip, I had just enough fabric to make it. And while I loved it, I found the skirt to always a wee bit tight. 

In eight years my body changed further. I developed an autoimmune disease and lost and gained weight, I moved house five times, I became a farmer, I grew and birthed and breastfed two more babies. The skirt was sometimes worn (partially zipped), but eventually got packed away in my sewing box to "do something with one day". 

That day came recently when I decided I really wanted to modify it; extend it's waist so I could wear it with comfort (and joy!). I unpicked the zip and the gathers on one side of the skirt - I inserted a piece of dark blue linen in the waist band (since I didn't haven't any of the original fabric left) and re-attached the gathered skirt and zip. I added a little silk thread embroidery to blend the linen in - but also make a feature of the modification, a whiff of whimsy. 

The skirt reflects my body in many ways: the lines and scars of wear, of use and growth. I am softer than I was eight years ago, softer to touch, yes, but also softer in my heart and mind towards myself. I speak kindly to the face that looks back at me most of the time: the body that enables me to do and feel and sense so much life. I am also stronger than I was eight years ago, in muscle and also in resolve to stand up straight and speak clearly to the world of the things I care about, the hopes I hold. 

Making clothes is never just about the clothes, it's a story of who we are.