All I know is that I realized my Easter tradition of going up through the decades of the 20th century was going to be more challenging after reaching the 1980s this year’s holiday. It all started with a 1920’s dress back in Easter of 2013. Now, my “vintage sewing” has a white elephant in the room. I never thought I could love the 80’s as much as I do this suit! Nevertheless, this is a designer pattern, to add to the appeal…a year 1985 Givenchy skirt suit set to be exact. Help me – I have fallen for a ‘new’ outdated era. Dare I call it ‘vintage’ when I was born in that decade?
FABRIC: 2 ½ yards of faux suede was used for the main body (exterior) of the jacket, with a cotton broadcloth (also 2 ½ yards) for the interlining and a cotton lightweight canvas weight (one yard) for interfacing; the skirt only needed on yard and was cut from a silk satin vintage Indian sari. A dusty grey under toned purple silk Habotai was the lining for both the jacket and the skirt, as well as being used for the top…3 ½ yards was enough for everything.
PATTERN: a “Vogue Paris Original” Givenchy designer pattern, #1665. It is dated 1986 by Vogue on the envelope and 1985 by Givenchy (as pointed out by Jessika Ahlström on Instagram). The top was made using Simplicity #1690, a Leanne Marshal pattern from year 2013 (used once before to make this lace crop top)
NOTIONS: The etched gold buttons were 80’s or 90’s from my husband’s Grandmother’s stash that I’ve inherited, while the zipper was luckily on hand in my stash. I luckily had 3 spools of the thread color I needed on hand as well. The only thing I really had to buy for this suit set was the front jacket closures – 1 inch brass hook and eyes.
TIME TO COMPLETE: Not even counting the at least 15 hours it took me to tailor some of the pattern pieces (which meant re-tracing them out onto new paper) and the cut them out of all the layers and separate fabrics needed…the actual construction of the skirt took about 12 hours, the top 6 hours, and the jacket just over 30 hours. All together that’s a total of about 65 hours! Everything was finished just two days before Easter, April 18, 2019.
TOTAL COST: The faux suede has been in my stash forever, and the sari was a birthday present a few years back so I’m counting both as free and also a stash busting win at this point. Except for the jacket hook closures ($3), even the notions were on hand so I’m counting them as a non-cost. The silk was an awesome find on Etsy from someone clearing out their stash…it was only $15. Perhaps I can also count my vintage 80’s shoes, specifically bought to go with this outfit, at $30. So my suit was just under $50…a far cry from any ballpark cost for a Givenchy suit much less one this quality. I’m so happy!
Now, I had some good preliminary practice with my Agent Carter “One Shot” 1946 suit to have so much more confidence and relaxation going into making this suit. I knew what to expect and how to figure it. Except this time, I went a bar above – this is a designer style, almost exclusively in silk, and a full three piece set. Granted, I was in so much more of a time crunch with this suit not getting to it until the beginning of April, but even still – with all the no-stops care and attention to detail that I did, it was finished in only two weeks. I think I can pat myself in pride on the back for this set both in time and quality, if only my achy hands and shoulders weren’t crying out something different afterwards!
As for the last suit, here I made the skirt – and the top – first. For being just a one yard, minimal pattern piece patterns, both skirt and top took me so much longer than imaginable. This is due to the fact that in order to match with the couture quality that a Givenchy set deserves, and to give justice to the deluxe materials I was working with, most everything here was sewn by hand. Yes, you read right. The side seams to the top were machine sewn French finished, and the skirt had machine sewn side seams with the raw edges encased in between the lining. Everything else, though, was sewn as invisibly as possible by hand. The skirt’s hem is “floating”, attached only to the lining, and the bias binding of the top was rolled and stitched “in the ditch”. I guess I’m just crazy, too dedicated, or overly meticulous, but even if I’m the only one that sees the details, I’m happy as a lark. I’m learning and growing through this, I know, and I love the source of pride and accomplishment something like suit making offers. Couture tailoring of suits is a whole separate world with new terms and skills called for completely out of the norm for general home sewing or dressmaking.
I did make a few slight changes along the way to both the top and the skirt. First of all, I cut the top on the bias grain rather than the straight grain (parallel to the selvedge) as directed. This fits the otherwise boxy and oversized shape to my body better besides making the top easier to put on and much more luxurious to wear. I actually went down from what should have been my proper size, too. The skirt did not originally call for a little ease-of-movement slit at the knee. As this is a tapered skirt – gathered at the waist and tapering down to almost a wiggle skirt from the hips downward – I feel much more comfortable and less confined with this little extra detail. It also keeps the skirt appealing and feminine to a style that could easily look frumpy, in my opinion. A little “oh la la” never hurt anything.
The original pattern didn’t call for the contrast placket that is under the buttons on my left side, either. I added this feature to break up the busyness of the print, make the purely decorative buttons appear more purposeful, lengthen the visual line of the skirt’s silhouette, and to incorporate it into the jacket for an overall harmonious suit. I actually used the underside of the faux suede for the added left side skirt placket. The underside has a nicely low-key shiny satin finish in a slightly deeper, more dusty color green (than the creamier pastel of the suede side) that I love paired with the muted, varied tones of the skirt sari satin. The only other place in my suit set where I used this satin underside is on the facings along the inside neckline and front to the jacket.
I don’t understand how a sari is worn, but it would help me understand why there was a cotton hem protecting panel running along half of the one long edge’s underside. You see, a sari is a long 4 yard rectangle. This satin sari had a big, square, artistic, highly detailed panel at one of the long ends and a matching border that ran along the rest of the edges, about 5 inches wide. So far all the saris I have seen generally follow this pattern of design layout, and it’s so beautiful and interesting, but I would love to find the reason why.
The added-on cotton protecting panel ran from the square artistic end to half way down, and was obviously there to save that edge from wear and tear looking at the fading and color distortion around it, so I assume that area was above the back of the feet. I actually used the fabric from this little add-on panel as the facing underside of the skirt’s waistband. Otherwise, the rest of the portions I used for the skirt came from both ends of my sari – the front skirt was half of the wide, detailed square end, while the back skirt is from the other plain end. The front therefore has most of the dusty purple undertones, matching with the color of the Habotai for the top and lining, while the back has the turquoise, lime green, and rich teal. If it wasn’t for the rich complexity of color in this luxurious sari, I would have never thought of pairing purple and green as I did! Luckily, I have plenty of sari left (3 yards!) to use to make something else in the future.
Inside out view of “the guts”…
Now the jacket was a bit less intense than the Agent Carter one because the faux suede was not lofty enough to pad stitch. It was much too buttery of a material (so dreamy of a hand!) anyway and most of the seaming needed smooth flowing lines…not an allover firm body pad stitching lends. However, my hand stitching game needed to be really strong because the suede also would make any thread ugly obvious. Luckily, the interlining and interfacing gave me something to catch with my hand stitching so no thread is visible yet all the layers become joined together. Thus, the credit of success for my jacket goes to precise hand stitching, seam allowance trimming, proper interfacing/interlining weight fabric, and meticulous ironing at every…single…step. When I know (and see) that all of this makes such a day and night difference in ending with a professionally tailored jacket, it is not as much of a bother as it could be, no matter how exhausting those steps can be to execute.
I must say the pattern instructions were so very excellent at leading me through the whole process but my preliminary familiarity was necessary still. Vogue designer patterns can be intimidating, but they are not impossible. Their instructions obviously step up to meet your needs but seem to assume experience on your part, too. Every piece of interfacing had its own pattern piece! I mean, this isn’t something you see too often for home sewing! I would expect no less, though, because why else would a designer pattern be special? Luckily, my particular copy of Vogue #1662 came with a clothing label…hard to come by nowadays and a rare find. I have two other labels with other patterns but this set really deserved it. I splurged. It made my home couture creation feel so verified!
What I have noticed with designer clothes (or in my case, home patterns for designer clothes) is the quality details that are low-key. For example, this jacket has no side seams. The front panels on either side of the center are stiffed and full of body. Then there is a princess seam that joins the side panel to the front. Those panels that attach to the front wrap around to the back to join a center back panel that is only interfaced across the shoulders. Last year’s Sybil Connolly suit from 1976 had something similar, as well. This time is freaking ingenious for such a fitted suit jacket. It blows my mind. Sorry, though, my seams are so smooth and flat (as they should be…) that the camera couldn’t really show it. What really amazed me was the curving that was achieved in the seam side panel. Polyester faux suede – even though this is the nicest version I have ever felt – is so hard to sew smoothly. It’s a tightly woven material with almost zero give even on the cross-grain. Preventing puckering of the seams which had extra ease (a.k.a. the princess seams and sleeve caps) was so very tricky.
There is hardly anything I changed to the suit jacket. I kept it how it was. The most visible exception is at the center front closing. The pattern called for a strip of the suit fabric to be made, four large snaps sewn on it, and then sewing it along the left side facing so the right side of the jacket would close over the extension added to the left. I didn’t like the idea of being tied down to always having the jacket closed if it was on me, something that the added front snap extension would do. The oversized hook and eyes did the same trick just as nicely and I have the versatility of showing off my top with an open front jacket. The front panels are so sturdy, I do believe the snap extension piece would have been overkill.
Other than that, I changed up the layering of the interlining. Each layer was sewn separately, ironed out and layered on top of each other, and slightly pad-stitched over the main seams before being covered up by the lining. The pattern called for each individual piece to be layered then sewn together which would only make for bulky seams that no amount of allowance clipping or ironing could fix. No pattern instruction can be better than knowledge gained through previous familiarity of what does and doesn’t work for a technique. It may be a designer pattern, but since it is in my hands, I am ultimately the final designer. I can be the one to made what I deem are the best decisions for the appearance and material I have chosen, but for the designer patterns I have sewn so far I generally stay close to the original idea just to respect the designer. Many times along the process of going from the designer’s idea to a final product the original design is tweaked, changed, and sometimes downgraded to adapt to how it is going to be made or offered, and I wonder if the instructions showing the interlining layered over each piece is something Vogue thought was more suited to a home market.
This was my first experience with suit jacket cuffs and I am fascinated. It was smartly engineered to turn out fantastic. What really helped was ironing down an interfacing piece that ran along the line where the cuff is turned under, giving a crisp folded edge. It was ironed down after doing one of the long seams to the two-part sleeves. There is a mitered corner to the cuff flap that folds over (the outside flap, not the one facing my wrist) so there is a wonderful clean finished point. I love doing mitered points and wish more patterns included this detail. The cuff buttons match with the three down the left side of my skirt and are merely decoratively sewn down to connect and close the cuff flaps, in other words non-working buttons. Something new and different has been conquered.
This completely feels like the best version of me – between the custom fit, the colors and fabrics that are all of my choosing, and the labor of love spent to have a finished suit, I am comfortable in the 1980s like I never imagined. After all, though, much of the 80’s, and especially in regards to this suit, has everything I love about the 1940s just in a different form. The strong shoulders in particular are the most obvious common point, and even I’ll admit that sometimes the padding in the era was a little too extreme. A nipped-in waist and slight peplum here save the shoulders from being overkill, as does the skinny, short, restrained skirt. I think Yves Saint Laurent, Thierry Mugler, and Emanuel Ungaro designs of the 80’s all remind me of everything I like about this Givenchy design but you can see more of my favorite 1980s inspiration here at my special Pinterest board! These shoulder heavy, hip emphasizing, leg baring styles are the friend of any hourglass shaped woman like me in particular.
Nevertheless, I think what I find so appealing about the 80’s was the attitude of the fashion, the boldness of combining experimental colors, and wide array of styles. The confidence I see in the fashion advertisements is so refreshing, compared to the sickly, no-personality, smoldering faces of many models on the runways today. The bright and fun colors, even on the ugly 80’s sweatsuits, are cheering enough to make you smile and laugh! Much of what I see in designer fashion shows do not make me expressly feel happy like the 80’s can. The stereotypical 80’s fashion is what turns most everybody off, but the more I did into the era, the more I see such a variety of styles – mermaid skirts, pencil skirts, pleated pants, tapered leg trousers, Grecian-like wrap blouses and dresses, and all sorts of past historical references such as military jackets, Victorian coats, and 20’s style French heeled shoes. If I do say so myself, the 80’s had the best music, too! (My post’s title is named for a popular tune by Pretty Poison, year 1988.)
Well, I hope I have not shocked you completely by entertaining the idea of the 80’s being appealing and even being vintage. I am optimistic that I have inspired you to take another look at an era of past fashion that seems to be the easiest to criticize and dismiss. As always, thank you for reading!