And I made it.
For all intents and purposes, we’ll call her Gertrude. It’s only right to give her a proper name. After all, I designed her, created her patterns, sourced her materials, hardware and sewed her for the final project in my accessories design class. Luckily, I got an A in the class, and somehow, an A on
the project Gertrude, but when it was all said + done, I was not feeling the end result “Old Gert.”
That’s how I felt. I mean Gert looked great in the original sketch. On paper she was more like a “Rebecca,” or a “Jocelyn.” At the time I selected her leather and denim, I thought she’d look cool. I wanted her to be daring + useful, so I decided to make her reversible. I even decided to keep some of the denim edges frayed as a testament to her coolness. I envisioned her a real downtown-urban-cool-girl-tote. But by the time I was finished . . . and frankly, even before I finished, I could tell the physical manifestation of Gert left a lot to be desired.
My downtown-urban-cool-girl-tote looked more like
an old-back-woods-rodeo-satchel with a zipper.
Yet and still, if I wanted to pass the class, I had to turn “Old Gert” in. Truthfully, by the time I finished sewing, glueing and hammering all her pieces together (which happened to be 4:30 am the morning the project was due) I was glad to be done with
it her. At that point, I had gone through two sewing machines and had ended up at my ex next door neighbor’s house, practically spending the night on her floor, so I could use her sewing machine to finish the project. My machine broke and basically died during a crucial point in the project, so I borrowed my Mom’s. Well, then her machine broke and I was left with no machine and only a few hours left to complete the project. So I called my friend Jessica who now lived about 40 miles away. She was gracious enough to let me come over and sew away to my heart’s content. She even helped me when Gertie’s leather and denim became too thick for the machine. Thank God for Jessica. She basically saved my life in that moment. At certain points I had to hand sew Gertie’s denim and leather together with a really thick needle and thread. Naturally, during this process, my thimble came up missing, so at 4am, I’m sitting on Jessica’s dining room floor with a wad of paper towels taped around my sore thumb while gingerly trying to pierce a stack of denim, leather + facing approximately 1 1/2″ thick. True leather craftsmen have all kinds of shavers, clamps and hammers for this type of situation, but little old undergrad moi, only had a couple of binder clips, my sewing needle and a roll of paper towels at my disposal. Nevertheless, I completed the project, and was greatly rewarded for my efforts by passing the class with flying colors.
So last week when I came across
the ugliest bag in the world, I mean Gertrude, cringing in the far back corner of my closet I had to stop and chuckle to myself. Yes, she was still ugly. But she was still standing strong! No rips, tears or ungluing had taken place in the 8+ years since she was conceived. And during most of this time, she had taken up residence in my closet . . .
Now, you may think that’s a safe place for a bag to reside. And maybe most closets are.
But not mine.
Any item of clothing residing in my closet is liable to take a serious beating. I’ve briefly discussed the horrors of the inner workings of my closet before. At any given moment a shoe, boot or belt could decide it’s “had enough of all this fighting for space” and pounce. I speak from experience. There’s been many a time I’ve opened my closet and been met with a boot to the head. (that’s the trouble with storing way too many shoes on a shelf above your head in a shallow, crowded closet) . . . it’s an “Enter at Your Own Risk” type of situation. Yet, despite her surroundings, Gertrude managed to survive in tact.
I’m not so sure about her dignity though.
There was that time I found her huddled amongst my favorite hi tops . . . (perhaps for the sake of protection) and pulled her out in an act of “reconsideration of her ugliness,” or to put it nicely, I thought I would give her a second chance. Maybe she wasn’t as ugly as I’d thought she was. Surely she could pay her way by acting as a large beach tote? I mean she was huge, and could hold a lot of stuff. That was probably her only redeeming quality . . . and her only outing. I think she enjoyed the beach. She still has a few sand grains in her pockets to prove it. Probably snuck them back home as proof to the other bags that she was good enough to hit the beach, and I guess she was right! She went, and they didn’t!
I thought about throwing “Old Gert” away, but only for a second. She has a special place in my heart. She is the product of hours upon hours of labor, possibly a tear or two, most definitely a right hand full of sore fingers + a mind full of lessons learned. Birthing her taught me what it takes to actually make a large leather bag. She showed me the painstaking error of my ways when I rushed and thought I could wing it without the proper tools. She got me where I am today. So although Gertrude may not be the prettiest bag on the shelf, she definitely has earned her place on the shelf.
Do you have any #designfail’s hiding in your closet? ☺