No, that's her actual job title. How cool is that going to look on her tax return?
Here's the deal. My best friend just signed a contract with IWC, the local satellite of WCE (that's wrasslin' for those of you who can't tell Ric Flair from Hulk Hogan). No wrestling involved, she's just arm-candy for the big guys who *do* get themselves beat up.
The spiffy part is, they give her a stipend to purchase her own costumes. Buy? Pshaw. That's for Divas who aren't tight with craftsters
We're just waiting to find out what persona they've come up with her to begin the design frenzy . . . I can hardly wait!
Sorry if this is inappropriate for the Craftster board, but I think it's kind of important.
There are a lot of threads about corsets, and making them, and patterns, and the like, that I see around here. Awesome. You should definately make your own darned corset, and make it to fit, 'specially if the Boobie Fairy whacked you a coupla extra times with that ironic wand of hers.
Pretty corsets from places like Frederick's or even neato little independent cyberboutiques are all well and good for some things. Serious costuming, or corseting (like it's meant to be done) for more than an hour or so, do *not* fall into that category!
Two examples to illustrate: I act, and costume (sort of, and it's a new thing). When I was a theatre major at a state university and got cast in Les Liasons Dangeruese, the costuming department made a custom, period-accurate corset for my costume. It hurt like hell and I couldn't breathe, but damn did that thing fit. My back actually felt *great* in that thing through a week of "corset and petticoat" dress rehearsal, another week of full dress rehearsal, and two and a half weeks of performance.
A few weeks ago, I had to throw together a "plantation owner's daughter circa 1859" costume on the fly. I pulled out several skirts, some leftover raverpants (72" cuffs make for *great* impromtu petticoats), and my "sometimes the kid goes to her grandma's and the husband and I get a little X-rated" corset, then proceeded to wear the whole shebang for about 10 hours a day, for two days. It made the sort-of-tea-dress-tunic-thingy drape just like I wanted, but it threw my bodacious curves into some weird positions . . .
Right now I'm a little loopy, still, from the narcotic painkillers they're giving me while trying to correct the horrendous damage done to my sacral-iliac thingy--basically, the vertebrea that connects your spine and your pelvis. Two days in an ill-fitting, cheap corset made for girls without . . . well, so many *assets*. . . are now equalling two weeks of heavy drugs, daily massage, muscle relaxers, and physical theapy involving using strange machines while odd medieval devices are strapped to various parts of my body.
So ladies, FIT YOUR CORSETS WELL. If it's a pattern that doesn't feel like it supports the gals, ditch it and use another. The Edwardian period really dug on the "mature" *read--busty* female form, and their corsets are awesome for those of us above a D cup. But for your back's sake, don't strap yourself into a cheap, ill-fitting corset designed for wispy chicks with nothing to support! The chiropractic bills just aren't worth it!
I got this fabric in two colors at our Wal-Mart about two years ago. Two fabulous skirts later, and I've got folks wanting to place orders for them. Trouble is, I've *no* idea how to find more of the fabric--especially since I don't know what it's called!!
On the "candle test", it melts and wants to flame pretty rapidly, so it's obviously synthetic. Other than that. . . . I'm clueless. Anyone have an idea?
As you can (hopefully) see, it's very irregular in its crinkly-ness, and quite slippery and shiny.
I work for a radio station on the weekends, when nobody is guarding the supply room door So among other things, I have access to unlimited supplies of bumper-type stickers with our lame logo on them. I was wondering if anyone knew of a good medium with which to cover these so I can paint my own subversive little tidbits on them instead.
So tonight I was granted entrance into Nirvana: my husband's deceased grandmother's sewing wing. You heard me. The sewing *wing*. Okay, so it's more the sewing/quilting/spinning/weaving/lacemaking/knitting/soft sculpture wing, but you know what I'm getting at.
The serger stays for all the grandkids to use, but I was given run of the fabric room, and the cutting/pressing room, and the remnant/notions room, and the library. Besides lame' and brocade and lace and tweed and tulle and about eleventy-seven yards of light blue jersey knit and an *entire royal blue silk sari with the price tag in rupees still pinned on*, I score a pair of Gingher sewing scissors. Mind you, I've been working with the lady's *pattern* scissors for the last few weeks, and now I get a hold of a *real* pair of shears. . . .I must confess, I took a ratty-beyond-repair towel and spent the last half hour cutting it to ribbons, just cackling at the way the metal glided through the fibers. My husband checked my crazymeds bottle, to make sure I'd taken my pills today. Why doesn't anyone understand how little it takes to make *us* happy??
Sorry, I guess this hasn't much relevance, but I had to go "goody-goody-goody" to people who would understand and not look at me funny!!!
I've been picking up silk/rayon/nylon scarves in the tackiest patterns (as well as the prettiest colors) imaginable for about 14 years now, at garage sales and thrift stores. And recently my MIL has gotten me into silk painting--she's an absolute artistic genius, and makes gorgeous intricate patterns, whereas I'm better at throwing dye and water and salt and glue around and making neat abstract crap.
Anyway, I've got 50+ scarves, veils, handkerchiefs, and shawls, all in differing and clashing patterns, a lot of them from the '60's and '70's. Currently, they're gracing the walls of our ghetto-tastic apartment because the white paint gave me nightmares. It doesn't look stylish, or put-together (at all!), but it does add eccentricity and color to an otherwise generic craphouse/former drug den.
I first wanted to patchwork them into a quilt, but after spending two years finishing a traditional wedding-ring quilt willed to me by my grandmother (which she had worked on with her own grandmother, which made many of the thin cotton pieces a century old), I am DONE with quilting, maybe forever.
So what the crap can I do with these wonderful, sometimes-designer bits of quality vintage textiles? Someday I'm going to have a real house that I can decorate with real paint and feathers and sequins and rickrack, and I don't want to re-delegate them all back to the Tupperware bin where they've been languishing for nearly a decade. Help!!!
So this is my first sewing project. I made the pattern from a favorite skirt I'd been given years ago. This took nearly 7 years of fabric to match the grain; the bottom has 12 gored panels in 4 different sizes.