My Mother's Qipao

I admire my mother for so many reasons, including but not limited to the fact that she supported her family as a teenager by working in a garment factory, that she taught me to use a sewing machine, and made the dress of my dreams for my elementary school graduation. She's a gorgeous, strong woman, and when I was a child I used to watch her get dressed up for banquets and hope that one day I would be old enough to wear her dresses. Unfortunately, now that I'm old enough, I've turned into a fashion snob and have no desire to wear 80s dresses. Somehow, they never seem to mention that part in those sentimental YA novels about mother-daughter relationships. Still, there are a couple dresses from before I was born (the 70s fashions are much more acceptable to me) that she's kept, and when I was home last, I came across a silk qipao that I've seen before in her old pictures.

I love how deliciously vintage that couch is. 

These were taken back in Hong Kong. 

The qipao is actually made from a very thin and delicate material and the snaps are starting to pull at the silk a bit, but is otherwise in very good condition. I'm not usually a fan of pink and purple together, but I tried it on anyway.

I tried for the whole standing near a window thing. 

Also I didn't iron it beforehand. 

And I don't have awesome silver stilettos. 

So yeah, Happy Mother's Day, Mom! I celebrated by stealing your dress for some pictures. 

I love that I'm actually old enough now to wear this dress (she also found her wedding reception dress, but it's too late for me to wear that to get married in!), but I'm still sad that my favorites of her old clothing are long gone. Which brings me to my next long-term project (and it's going to a looooong one, since I'm in no hurry, I just like the idea of it): making my own versions of my mom's wardrobe from the 70s! I've got the wide-legged trousers covered, and there are a couple of bohemian-ish dresses that I love. Good thing there's no shortage of 70s patterns in my stash...

Interview with a Former Garment Factory Worker

My mom is one of the most accomplished, brilliant people I know. Not only did she immigrate to the US as an adult and have to teach herself English, she also went back to college and got her CPA while raising three kids (who are all upstanding, contributing citizens, if I do say so myself). What's even more incredible is that she did all that after being garment factory worker in Hong Kong as a teen.

This is similar to what the factory looked like inside. [picture]

I always vaguely knew about this part of my mom's past, but having grown up working for my dad's company (elementary school students doing inventory, packing orders, making deliveries, etc.!), I never thought much about what her work actually consisted of. Now, as someone who's only recently come to realize how much work goes into a garment, I thought other sewists might also like to hear more about her experience. I interviewed her and translated her answers from Cantonese here.

How did you start working at the factory in the first place?

I think I was thirteen...I had just finished sixth grade, and I needed to start working to help support the family. My dad was a bus driver and didn't make much, and our family had eight people to feed. A neighbor told my mom that a nearby garment factory was hiring and training workers, but you had to be fourteen. Since I wasn't fourteen yet, my mom borrowed an ID card from a friend's daughter to get me in. The ID cards at that time didn't have pictures, just names, so the whole time I worked there I worked under the name Yuen Yee Lee. The factory managers knew, of course, that some of us workers had stolen IDs and were obviously underage, so if inspectors came by they would tell all of us underage workers to go hide in the bathroom.

What type of factory was it? What garments did you work on?

I mostly worked on button-down shirts at the Lacoste factory. I started out working on cuff plackets, then moved on to other parts and pieces. After I became more advanced, I learned to sew jeans, but at the end of the first day I looked at my hands and they were all blue from the dye! I stopped working that shift because the sewing was too heavy duty and my hands would always be blue. I also tried a stint on knit garments, but that was more difficult because the fabric was trickier. 

How big was the factory? How many other workers were there? What was the average age? What kind of training was provided?

The factory was huge! There were five or six floors, and there were at least a hundred workers on my floor.  There were all ages of workers there. The younger workers would start by doing simpler pieces, then as you became more experienced they would have you work on more complex parts of the garment, and you would make more money. Actually, there were many mother-daughter pairs that worked in the same factory.  As for training, the supervisor would sew one example piece for us, then we would be expected to start right away. If it turned out badly, I would have to rip it out and redo the piece.

What were the hours like? Breaks? Pay? 

I worked at the factory for at least three years, maybe longer. I worked ten hours a day, starting at 8 am. I always had a hard time waking up in the morning because I also went to night school, so my younger sister, who worked at the same factory, always had a hard time rousing me. I had half an hour for lunch break, but I would eat quickly and then practice dance moves with my friends on the balcony. We could take restroom breaks, of course, but it had to be fast. We worked six days a week with a day off on Saturday. Usually factories would give you Sundays off, but our factory was owned by a Jewish man and so we got Saturdays off.

Every dozen items I sewed was a few cents, so I had to work very fast to make any money. I kept a watch next to me and told myself that I needed to make x number of garments every hour. From my pay, my mom would give me a very small fraction for lunch and bus money. If I woke up early enough, I could walk to the factory and save my money for movies and going out with friends.

What was the worst part of working there? The best part?

The worst part was when new shipments would arrive, the bolts of fabric had so many chemicals in them that I would always feel sick. The odor was so strong! Also, one time I wasn't paying attention and managed to get a needle through my finger. The supervisor had to take me to the factory clinic to get it taken care of. There actually weren't too many injuries, at least once you became experienced. 

Once a year the factory would sponsor a field trip of sorts to the suburbs and we would have barbeques. Also, once a year they would offer a worker discount and you could buy two garments at 50% off. This was a big deal because Lacoste or Polo or any of these other high end brands were totally out of our normal price range.

Anything else interesting you want to share?

Some people (myself included) would steal from the company. We would bring our lunch pails with us to our workstations, and they were conveniently just the right size for a serger cone of thread. They would search our bags as we left the factory, but they never looked in our lunch pails. People would smuggle out thread, buttons, and even garment labels so that you could sew the brand name labels onto your own home-made clothes. You couldn't take too many, though, or else the supervisor would notice. 

Looking back at the experience now, how do you feel about it? What is your attitude towards sewing now?

I'm glad for the experience, as I learned many skills. I still like sewing, although I don't make my own clothes anymore because I don't really have time to do so. I've also forgotten most of what I learned about pattern drafting, so now it's mostly repairing RTW clothing and easy home dec projects like curtains.  

How do you feel about the growing movement to sew one's own clothing among people of my generation?

I think it's a good thing. It does take a lot of time to learn sewing, and time is not a luxury that everyone has. But if you have the time, it's better than just playing video games. However, for people of your generation, sewing is just a hobby that you do to show your ability to learn, or so that you can make cool things. For people of my generation, it was a skill that enabled you to make a living, so it's a totally different approach to the whole idea of sewing. 


So there you have it -- the candid answers of a no-nonsense Chinese mom, pointing out that real sewing for a living > hobby sewing > video games. I love it. Thanks, Mom, for letting me interview you!

[Incidentally, while I was asking my mom these questions, my dad walked by and was all, "Does anyone even read what you write? Who are you writing this for, anyway?" The concept of blogging is beyond him. When I tried to explain about subscribers and such, he asked suspiciously, "Where do all these people come from? Do you know them all? Why do they want to read your blog?" Le sigh.]

My Mom Made My Dreams Come True

Does Walnut's face look like he wants to use an exclamation mark?

I am only the "mother" of one cantankerous, adorable, mercurial, nosy, shedding-monster known as Walnut, and that is enough for now. Seriously, sewing with cats is nothing compared to sewing with small human beings! Even after my short once a week sessions with SHB, I must confess I get annoyed by her even-smaller-human-being brothers, so I know I'm not ready to be a mom anytime soon. I am so impressed by those of you who manage multiple small human beings, especially if they are of the under-five-years-of-age category.

Anyway, after seeing how difficult it is to wrangle three SHBs, I am even more impressed with my own mom. At one point she had a 6 year old, 4 year old, and a newborn, without even the benefit of any family nearby (my extended family was all in Hong Kong). I guess it was a little bit like old hat, though, considering that she had to drop out of primary school in HK to work to help support her family, as well as watch her multiple younger siblings. And somehow, with myself and my brother and sister underfoot, she managed to go back to college and earn her bachelor's degree in her second language, and go on to become a CPA. The crazy thing is that even while she was working that hard on making up for missed opportunities, I don't remember ever feeling neglected or lacking in attention from her in any way. She was always there to make our favorite foods for dinner, to make sure we were doing our Chinese school homework and practicing piano, and even teach us how to sew (we all made bean bags as our first project...filled with red/adzuki beans, of course, because we're azn like that). She laid down the law in terms of making sure we knew our Chinese vocab, but also let us constantly uhh, redecorate the living room...with Batman and Jurassic Park promotional materials, by rearranging all the furniture to make forts, and repaving the carpet with Lego pieces. As I got older, I took to hanging out in the kitchen with her while she made dinner, trying to learn Chinese cooking, but also sorting through feelings about boys. She is a veritable font of common sense and sound advice (even if I sometimes feel contrary about it simply because it is so sensible), and while not ooey-gooey-hugs-and-kisses-my-little-pumpkin, I have so many warm feelings when I think about the ways she showed she loves me.

One of those ways (I promise I'm being relevant to the fact that this is mostly a sewing blog now) that stands out most vividly is the dress she made for me when I was ten. Back then, I loved pink and Disney princesses and ball gowns, and I had dreams of a shiny, ruffly, fancy dress for my elementary school graduation. Well, amidst the busyness of caring for three kids, working, and studying, she somehow found the time to make me the dress of my dreams. And now that I've worked with polyester satin, I know what a fraytastic nightmare it must have been to make those multiple tiers of poly-satin (all of which need to be hemmed!), to attach all the pearl trim, and make sure the insides were finished enough that the dress lasted a whole year. I remember feeling so pretty (not a common feeling for me in those awkward years) as I floated across the stage, feeling all the tiers swish around me as I stopped to get my diploma.

Oh, 90s me, with the awkwardly large glasses and cluelessness regarding how one is supposed to produce a smile!

Now, of course, I look at the pictures of this reflective, dropped-waist (a style that most definitely does not suit me), poofy-shouldered, 90s horror, and I know I will never use it as an inspiration photo for one of those "re-create a favorite childhood outfit" challenges, but I loved it at the time and still remember the wonderful feeling and overwhelming happiness that my mom had made my dreams come true. Thank you, Mom, for your never-tiring efforts and inspiring example. Happy Mother's Day!

Sew Grateful Week Giveaway

Let's start off Sew Grateful Week by thanking Debi for coming up with such a great idea! So much of my sewing is all due to other people's generosity; the week before V-Day is the perfect time to be thankful. I'll blog later this week about specific people I'm grateful to, but I want to start out the week by saying that I am so (sew) grateful for the fantastic sewing community that I've found online. Becoming more serious about my sewing and blogging coincided with moving to The City of Culver City, and while I'm making friends here, there's something special about connecting with people thousands of miles away over a common love: sewing. You guys have been so great with encouragement, fitting tips, and understanding the excitement of creating one's own wardrobe. Who else will geek out with me over fabric deals, vintage patterns, and cool notions? I've been really fortunate to not have had any snarky comments, so I'm going to continue rejoicing in the love and acceptance of my own corner of the sewing blogiverse.

I know I just hosted a giveaway not too long ago for reaching 100 followers, but I'm going to do another one. In the last few weeks, somehow another few dozen people have found my blog worth reading, which is still incredible to me. So in honor of 150+ followers, Sew Grateful Week, and the woman who originally started me sewing, I'm giving away a vintage 1971 dress pattern, Simplicity 9333, in Size 14, Bust 36. Its envelope is a little torn, but it's complete, uncut and still in factory folds.

Simplicity 9333; ©1971; Young Junior/Teens' and Misses' Midi-Dress or Blouse - (Designed for Knit Fabrics Only): The midi-dress V. 1 or blouse V. 2 & 3 with back zipper, high round neckline and set-in sleeves may be worn with self fabric tie belt or purchased belt. V. 1 & 2 with long sleeves has roll type collar. Collarless V. 3 with short sleeves has optional top-stitching.

Why a 1970s pattern, when that era seems to get very little love in the fashion world? See, it's all thanks to my mom that I'm even doing this. She taught me to use our old Singer, which has unfortunately gone to its well-deserved rest since then. She started me off with a bean bag, and twenty years later, here I am drafting my own qipao pattern! If I remember correctly, she learned to sew when she was in her teens, right around the 70s; her good friend's father was a tailor, so she learned to make her own shirts, dresses, and pants. She says she's never made a coat, though, so I guess I'll have to figure that out on my own. Anyway, since she was making her clothes in the 70s, this pattern is actually close to something she might have worn. And to be honest, I'm coming around to 70s patterns. The 80s and 90s, though, that's another story.

Giveaway Rules:

1. Leave a comment telling me who started you off sewing, and what your first project was. 
2. I'm going to have to make this giveaway North America only, unfortunately! This month's budget doesn't allow for overseas shipping. 
3. Same as last time: it goes without saying, but you really should be a follower of my blog. I'll assume that you're a follower if you leave a comment. Also goes without saying, but I hope you really intend to sew up the pattern! Please don't win it just so you can turn around and sell it on Etsy or use it as kindling or make a craft project (does anyone else feel slightly horrified by this?). 

I'll close the giveaway at the end of Sew Grateful Week, on Sunday, February 12, 2012, at 11:59 PM PST. You'll need to court the spirits of random.org, and look for the winner on the following Monday. 

Just for kicks, have a picture of Walnut, pretending to be ear-less.

I swear I didn't pose him that way. Also, his belly looks incredibly fat in this picture, but it's really just furry. If you press your hand down on him, three inches is just fur.

Some Thoughts on Body Image

If you read Gertie's amazing New Blog for Better Sewing, then you know that yesterday she posted a beautiful, honest, thought-provoking entry about body image, weight, dieting, and personal fears. It's a topic that I've mostly tried to avoid thinking about too much, but it's definitely come up more often now that I sew. When you're trying to make garments that fit your body, one of the first things you learn is that you need to be honest about your measurements...which for me can lead to embracing my authentic shape and learning to make garments that flatter it, or it can lead me to obsess about my numbers and every little change.

I've never really articulated my own journey about body image, mostly because it is such a sensitive topic for women. Even with my closest friends, discussion on the topic isn't so much discussion as it is self-disparaging comments. It's especially tricky because many of my girlfriends express envy for my body. I don't say that to be all "oh look at me and my awesomeness," but rather that it feels wrong to talk about your own body image issues when others see your body as one with errr...less issues. Which can lead to a lack of self-examination, thereby allowing some unhealthy thoughts to persist when they could've been brought to light and worked through with others. So here's my attempt to crystallize some thoughts.

I don't think I was really aware of my body or self-image until second grade, when I started wearing glasses. I was obviously the only kid in my class with glasses, and back then there was no cool hipster glasses look, just the dork look. I hated my glasses, how they marked me as a nerd (it didn't help that I wasn't good at any sports that involved round objects and would bring books with me to recess), how they made me easy fodder for bullies who thought it was great fun to steal my glasses. Once adolescence came around, I started breaking out and then I added hating my skin to the list. I went through a growth spurt that left me several inches taller than my female classmates, relegating me to the back row where the boys stood every time we had a class picture. The crowning glory of middle school was my seventh grade school picture, where I had bad skin, a sullen expression, glasses slipping off my nose, and in-the-process-of-growing-out-bangs that my mom insisted that I push out of my face with a headband, thereby causing a weird ring of spikes around my head. The one positive body thought I remember having during this time was thanks to doing martial arts -- I was grateful that my legs were strong and I could hold my own when sparring against high school guys. But even then, I don't think I had any idea what my body looked like. I was so covered up against San Francisco fog that I think I thought of myself as just a head on top of some (unfashionable) clothes.

At that time, I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman I knew. She used to model when she was younger, and looking through all of her old photos just made me wish I could look like her. I totally identified with Meg Murry's angst in A Wrinkle in Time, thinking that she was a monster compared to her gorgeous mother.

With my mom on my wedding day. Photography by The Youngrens.

High school brought about a lot of positive changes -- my skin settled down a little bit, my bangs were done growing out, and I was finally allowed to get contacts. And for the first time, I met other geeks who helped me learn to love myself and my quirks. I got into track and swimming and tennis and volleyball (all badly, but at least I tried to overcome my middle school fear of sports), and in general reveled in being healthy and active. I didn't think much about my body, oddly enough, considering that high school is when most women's body image issues come to the forefront. It didn't hurt, either, that relatives kept commenting on how much I was starting to look like my mother.

It wasn't until college that I really began seeing my body for (what felt like) the first time. Blame it on San Diego's gorgeous weather, beaches, and the fact that for three-quarters of the year, girls walked around in tiny shorts and tops. I suddenly realized that my legs, which had served me so well in martial arts and less well (but not their fault) in high school sports, were not quite the thin, gamine limbs that it seemed everyone else had. This was only emphasized by one casual comment a guy friend made (I'm sure he didn't mean it to be hurtful, but it's funny how these things stick with you, isn't it?), that I must have done a lot of running in my "formative years," because my calves were burly. And thus began the hate part of my love-hate relationship with my lower half.

Oddly enough, what helped a lot was talking to my mother. I don't know how it came up, but somehow she mentioned that she, too, disliked her legs. She commented on how sad she was that she (and I) hadn't inherited my grandpa's long, thin legs, and that she never wore skirts or dresses because she wanted to hide her short, thick legs. I was floored. My mother, the most beautiful lady I knew, had body image issues too? I began to see that these issues I had with my body were only going to be a prison of my own making if I let them continue. But even knowing that, it was still hard to let go of the lies that I'd subconsciously, accidentally absorbed from society.

Once I started working after college, my body began to change as I no longer walked everywhere, my metabolism slowed down, and suddenly became a foodie. Granted, it wasn't a big change, as teaching is still a relatively non-sedentary profession, but it was enough to get me worrying. Because as one commenter on Gertie's blog said, "When bloggers bash thin women, I wonder if they can know how absolutely unwinnable that game is. All 'thin' can ever be is 'not yet fat today,' and 'not as thin as I could be.'" At the same time that I was worrying over my (so it seemed) ever-thickening legs, I was absurdly proud of my tiny waist. It's hard not to take something so silly as what you happen to be genetically blessed with (my mom also has a fantastic waist for having had three kids) and turn that into a source of pride. It's funny and sad that one of my primary reasons for not wanting kids yet is that I would miss my waist.

Which brings me to now. I'm slowly inching closer to thirty, and yet I still find myself having a very similar battle as when I first started being aware of my body. I don't have some awesome answer to this ongoing struggle. I know, cognitively, that I am wonderfully made and that my worth is not in my body or what others think, but that's such a difficult truth to take to heart. I'm still afraid of gaining weight, although my husband's sweetness on that issue is extremely freeing and refreshing and healing. I still think about calories when I eat yummy food, although to be perfectly honest, I decide to ignore that most of the time and eat it anyway. The only difference between then and now, it seems, is that I've decided that I'm not going to be afraid to wear what I want, while still trying to make sure that what I choose is flattering and camouflaging at the same time. I love making dresses that have the retro look with nipped-in waists and full skirts, which I feel simultaneously emphasize my best feature and hide my worst. But if I feel like squeezing my legs into skinny jeans, I'll do it anyway. I know that my bust is smaller than the American norm (and the big pattern companies' sizing norms), but I like being able to shop for cheaper bras in the kid section, and at least when I sew for myself I can adjust accordingly and not be constrained to RTW sizes.

A lot of other sewists talk about how sewing helped them to accept their bodies; I don't know if that's so much the case for me as it is that it's helped me to know my body and what works for it. I think I'm still working on the acceptance thing, but as that commenter continued, "When bloggers bash thin women, I wonder if they can know how absolutely unwinnable that game is. All 'thin' can ever be is 'not yet fat today,' and 'not as thin as I could be.' Only when we walk away from it do we remember how to live and be happy." (emphasis added by me)

Recently one of my friends posted on her blog about completing the Insanity workouts by Shaun T., and she said that she was pleased with how much more fit her body was after the two-month series. I've always thought she was absolutely gorgeous, and to hear (read?) her thoughts on how her body functioned and not how it looked, made me think...it's time to start being more concerned with health and whether my body can do what it needs to, than how my body fits into some random standard set by modern society.

This entry was kind of all over the place, but I feel relieved? weirded out? catharted (you know like the verb form of catharsis :P)? to have written it all out. TL;DR Summary: being close(r) to society's standards of beauty doesn't mean you don't have body image issues; health is what's most important. I need to remember that my worth is not in my looks.

Chinese Food Plushies and 70s Fashion

During my super-short trip to SF this last weekend, I didn't get to do a whole lot other than attend my friend's wedding. No time for fabric shopping or anything like that, but that's okay, since I'll be going back again this weekend! My brother has a wedding to attend this time, and I'm tagging along for the ride since my husband will be up to his ears in business. He loves his MBA program, but there sure is a lot of reading, problem sets, study groups, and other official-sounding things.

While I was back home, though, I did get to do two things I've been meaning to do. I was able to snap pictures of the Chinese food plushies that I made my parents for the parental appreciation portion of our wedding. In most weddings I've been to, the newlyweds give flowers to their parents during the ceremony as a sign of respect and thanks. Well, considering that my parents were traveling back to the Bay Area the next day, I didn't want to give them something so perishable. Also, my dad's allergic to flowers. So instead, I made them plushies of the foods I most associate with them. Because, you know, Chinese people are all about food.

For my mom: a felt tray of dimsum (a 砵仔糕, which is a sticky red bean pudding, and a steamed BBQ pork bun), not to scale.

This is what the puddings look like in real life. Mmmmmmm. I think most people know what 叉燒包, the pork buns, look like.

For my dad: a steamed salmon steak with ginger and scallions. I was so excited to find the perfect color fleece, although the salesperson did look at me funny when I bought salmon-colored fleece, silver spandex, and green felt.

Back when I was in college (actually, she still does this now), every time I came home my mom would go out early on Saturday morning to get dim sum to go so that I could wake up at 11 and have my favorite Chinese foods for brunch. Aren't moms awesome? As for my dad, he has a very limited cooking repertoire, most of which is random things that sounded good to him at the time (let's stir fry every vegetable in the fridge together...with walnuts!). But one thing he does actually do well is steamed salmon. My dad and I both looooove ginger, which no one else in the family seems to do as much, so that means that I usually get all the leftovers to myself!


The second thing I got to do was talk to my mom about sewing! In the past, she's only seen me sew plushies (like the above, although she didn't actually see me sewing these) or other ridiculous things. Well, recently I told her about this blog, and she was surprised (pleasantly, I hope) to see all the dresses I've been making. She said she'd try to dig up her old sewing notes to see if I could make sense of them, so I'm super excited about that! She also looked over my dress and was actually pleased with its construction. She also showed me some old pictures of clothing that she made herself as a young woman in Hong Kong. Apparently, one of her friend's father was an amazing tailor, so her group of friends all learned from him. The funny thing is, she said she mostly made dress shirts and pants "because they're so easy." Um. I guess we have different opinions about easy, since the thought of collars and all those buttons and fitting pants scares me to death. Dresses are easy. Anyway, here are some of her pictures. I know, taking pictures of pictures is so gauche, but I didn't have a scanner.

My mom made the dress shirt. Isn't she gorgeous? I totally had a complex when I was in middle school and thought I was ugly. I totally identified with Laura Ingalls, Meg Murry, and every other heroine who's ever had a gorgeous mom.

She made this awesome 70s dress with cute trim and great neckline detail.

Pants! Also, we look incredibly alike in this picture. Err, I mean, I look like she did in the picture. You know what I mean.

More pants! Incredible 70s bell-bottoms.

Like I said, she made lots of pants. I got mad at her for not saving all her clothes. Then again, she would've had to move it all from Hong Kong.

Hopefully next weekend I'll be able to get her notes about sewing and get some fabric shopping in as well!