A friend of my mother's moved back to Macau recently, and left us with a box of fabric scraps that smell exactly like the fake vintage store located off of (or under) Robson in downtown Vancouver. An odd gift, but not completely incomprehensible considering that her husband owns several clothing factories in China; what's more amusing is that my mother's friend is emigrating back across the Pacific because this diminuative woman happens to also be a master of upper management. Now we know who wears the pants in that family.
I've been left to my own devices far too frequently this summer, and, like always, end up gravitating towards pasttimes that will inevitably end with some physical injury on my part. In the past, it's been tamer hobbies like Starcraft or the Sims, which are great for the ego but lousy on the eyes. After being 'forced' into the web design business this summer, however, playing FFVIII seems akin to a cabbie taking long drives in the country on his days off. Vocational overkill. So, as a private protest against $30 drawstring skirts at Old Navy, I have turned to garment construction. This essentially means that I dig up my mother's Vogue patterns from the 1970s, make hideous mustard-coloured bell-bottoms out of them, and go into fits of disbelief when I'm presented with physical evidence that my mother used to be a size 2 and a paragon of style. When it comes to the clothing that I make, they seem to be just ugly enough to avoid being so ugly that it's cute.
I've been left to my own devices far too frequently this summer, and, like always, end up gravitating towards pasttimes that will inevitably end with some physical injury on my part. In the past, it's been tamer hobbies like Starcraft or the Sims, which are great for the ego but lousy on the eyes. After being 'forced' into the web design business this summer, however, playing FFVIII seems akin to a cabbie taking long drives in the country on his days off. Vocational overkill. So, as a private protest against $30 drawstring skirts at Old Navy, I have turned to garment construction. This essentially means that I dig up my mother's Vogue patterns from the 1970s, make hideous mustard-coloured bell-bottoms out of them, and go into fits of disbelief when I'm presented with physical evidence that my mother used to be a size 2 and a paragon of style. When it comes to the clothing that I make, they seem to be just ugly enough to avoid being so ugly that it's cute.
