Project: Pocket square(s)

Late last year, I put together a small sewing work area and figured out how to hem pants over the course of a couple evenings. It took me several tries, but I finished up two pairs (both of which will make their debut once it warms up) before the area went into stasis as other projects rightfully pulled my attention away.

I'd been planning other things in the back of my head, though, and every since I read this post on Yankee Whisky Papa's always-informative and endlessly inventive site, I had it in my mind that I'd teach myself to sew hand-rolled edges and whip myself up some pocket squares. Heck, he'd even sent me a piece of lovely rayon crepe (among other pieces that I need to feature here) that was just asking to be turned into a square, and it had simply sat on my dresser for months.


I didn't want to ruin the lovely piece of fabric that YWP graciously sent my way, so I started out with something I could live with errors on, an old Brooks Brothers oxford with an un-salvageable hole and a blood stain (yes!). After cutting it into appropriately-sized pieces, I decided to go with some red contrast stitching, figuring it would force me to be more mindful of my mistakes and possibly even look a bit nicer if I managed to finish it without major issues.


As it turns out, doing hand-rolled edges is a little more difficult than I thought it would be. It probably doesn't help that I have the hands of an ogre, when thin, nimble digits would probably make for an easier time. And yet, despite the roll being a bit too thick and a little uneven to look truly professional, I'm pretty happy with how the first edge (which took nearly 45 minutes) turned out.

I will get faster, and I will finish this one and more. This one scissored oxford alone has enough material for 4 pieces, so I'll start with that and move forward. It probably won't hurt to have another quiet project I can work on here in the near future.

Spotting inner beauty

A couple months ago, my wife ran across an older Heywood Wakefield nightstand at a junk shop. It was incredibly beat-up, with major damage to the finish on all top and side surfaces, as well as stickers stuck all over it. As if that weren't enough, there were a couple dark marks on the top, where it looks like a candle was left burning.

It certainly didn't look like the sort of thing you'd want to bring home and put in your bedroom.


While the surface was damaged, the piece (which is made out of solid northern yellow birch, and is incredibly heavy for its size) was in fine structural shape, and for only $2 she simply couldn't pass it up.

Here's a couple more angles, just so you know what we were dealing with.


My wife started the job, and got a good portion of the old finish off it, then I spent another solid afternoon working on the piece while listening to some football on the radio.

The particular finish used on this piece (which goes by "champagne") is actually a rather impressive concoction of colors and finishes, and instructions for mixing it seemed incredibly daunting. Even then, it seemed like results were pretty hit-or-miss.

Fortunately we found a fellow on the internet who sold pre-mixed batches that he had put together using a tried-and-true method that got rave reviews from other armchair furniture refinishers. At 40 dollars for a quart, it was kind of expensive, but worth saving the headache on trying to mix our own.

After five hand-applied coats, the last coming on one of the last true nice days of the fall, our nightstand was finally ready to be re-introduced to the world (or at the very least, our bedroom).


Total cost of the piece ended up being just under $45 with tax, which is one-third or less what we would have paid for a decent used piece. Sure, it still has a few blemishes (like a small reminder of the candle burn), but I figure it gives it some character.

This wasn't the first time we've rehabilitated a cheap piece of furniture from a sale or store, and it won't be the last. For furniture, beauty is way more than skin deep, and if you're willing to put a little elbow-grease into it, a nice piece of furniture will last a long, long time.

Thread through the needle and the needle on the record

Over the course of the past two weeks, I've been easing myself back into doing some sewing. I took a class in high school ages ago, but other than repairing some buttons on a couple shirts, I hadn't picked up a needle and thread in earnest for quite some time.

My goal was to start out simple, and with that I decided that re-hemming pants would be the way to go. I have a stack that I've collected over the course of the past six months or so that needed work, and finally decided to wade in.

Bonus points to the first person to recognize the record at the front of the stack :)

This is the area that I've set up in the corner of one of our bedrooms, and it works out pretty well. I have a portable Crosley record player off to the side of my desk and a stack of LPs leaning against a chair (where I sit a glass of wine and a glass of water). In starting back at it, albums have worked best for me simply because my hands aren't used to the acute motions of moving the needle and thread in such a focused way. It's good to have the small breaks of flipping the record over every 25 minutes or so to re-focus my eyes and wiggle my fingers a bit.

Vintage emerald green Izod Lacoste pants is just the start

The stack of pants on the table represent, from top to bottom, the level of difficulty at which I plan on progessing. On the top are 6 pairs of pants to re-hem, of which I've already finished 2.

Below that are 4 pairs of pants that fit my waist perfectly, but are far too short in the inseam. I plan on cutting them off and making them into nice pairs of shorts for next summer, if for no other reason than it will hopefully break me out of my self-conscious habit of never wearing shorts, no matter what the temperature.

At the very bottom of the pile is a great pair of pants that require what will be a fairly large alteration in that they need the waist taken in approximately 2-3 inches. They're absolutely beautiful pants that I got for a song ($1), so I figure I'm not out much if I screw them up, and I can always take them to a real tailor if I still want to try to wear them.

(I know I mentioned in my last post that I was going to launch a new feature this week, but it's going to have to wait one more week, as it requires me taking a few photos that I haven't gotten around to yet. It'll happen soon, I swear.)

Blinded by excitement

When I first started out thrifting, it was more than a regular occasion that I would bring a piece of clothing home and find either a minor or even serious issue with whatever I had bought. In my excitement of finding something cheap and haste of purchasing, I overlooked holes, yucky stains, and rips that should have been obvious with even a bit of inspection. In a few cases, I was able to fix the issue and wear the garment anyway, but often it would result in said item finding its way to the trash or being re-donated.

Over time, I've learned to look things over a lot closer, but once in awhile I still get so excited that I simply don't check things as well as I should. It happened to me again this week, but I think you'll understand why.



On first glance, it's just a huge tweed overcoat. Then, you flip it open and voila!



Although it was just a bit on the big size for me in terms of girth, this huge Harris Tweed overcoat had me incredibly excited (especially considering it was $4). Leather braided buttons and thick, thick tweed with lots of little unique hints of color in it. It would have been one of those items that I'd probably only break out a couple times a year, but it would be massive.

Unfortunately, I got it home and realized that in one area on the back (closer up near the shoulder blade), there were several decent-sized moth holes that went clean through. There's enough extra fabric on the coat that I could nick some pieces off somewhere and possibly do small patches, but suddenly my dream of the overcoat lost its luster, especially considering it was a little bulky in size to begin with.



In addition to the Harris Tweed tag, it has an absolutely amazing department store tag in it, and now my thoughts have turned to other projects that could be done with it. The full circumference at the base of the coat (with inner flaps flipped out) is 68", and it's 48" in height. When you include two sleeves of 26" length and 16" circumference, there's probably somewhere in the range of nearly 3 full square yards of tweed (minus the smaller sections with the holes).

I'll have to do a little planning, but I'm thinking of doing something like this handmade patch wool scarf from the fine craftsperson at The Cordial Churchman. Mr. Affordable Wardrobe himself got crafty with something similar recently, so I can certainly draw some inspiration from one of those places.

Now, I just need to get some Singer featherweight pointers from my wife.

Sorry captain, we can't save him

About a week ago, I was out looking through the racks at a local haunt when I came across an absolutely stunning vintage shirt / jacket from Timberline, a fine company known for their wool items.



I'd seen pieces like it sell for near a century note online, and when I discovered that it was nearly my size, I started doing little somersaults inside. It was only $4, and it had huge juicy green buttons and a nice blue/green and black windowpane pattern over cream that was really sharp.

Before you chastise me for not steaming prior to taking photos, please read on...

There was only one (well, more than one) problem, though. The jacket had some staining issues. Around the pockets and the bottom of the coat was dark discoloration of some sort that made me re-think buying it several times. In addition to the darker stains, there were a couple smaller (and even darker) spots at various spots on the front. Looking the jacket over, I couldn't find so much as a moth nibble, though, so I decided to spend the money in the hopes that I could somehow convince the stains to detach themselves from the garment with a couple different treatments at home.



My first attempt at removing the stains was a cold bath with shampoo and some light agitation (my usual wool washing technique). This managed to fade the discoloration a little bit, and with some more specific finger scrubbing I was able to almost completely dissolve a couple of the darker spots.

Unfortunately, a good portion of the discoloration remained, so I squeezed some dishwashing detergent into a large bucket with some hot water and tossed in the jacket, hoping to dislodge the remainder of the stains. I let it sit in the bath until the water cooled, then pulled it out and was saddened to find that the dark areas remained.



You know the look you give when you're watching a movie and a doctor or someone else is frantically giving another character (who is obviously dead) CPR, hoping against hope to bring them back to life? That's roughly the same look my wife gave me as I pulled the jacket out of its second soak and I was trying to think aloud of yet another way to remove the stains.

Yes, it's probably about time to let this one go.

I'm sure I'll try to wear it a few times while working outside on a crisp spring day, just to make myself feel like I didn't completely waste 4 dollars.

If that doesn't work, though, I'll chop those buttons off and save them for another project. They are indeed very cool.