What was I (drink)thinking #1

So! Welcome to What was I drinkthinking, a little series dedicated to wadders. This gem has gone to the great Thrift Pile In The Sky, so it's of no use to tell me how cute it is. ALSO I WILL NOT BELIEVE YOU. I MIGHT EVEN CALL YOU A LIAR! FRIENDS DON'T LIE TO EACH OTHER! (Of course, there's the danger that someone out there might truly think a wadder is cute, in which case, no offense, but this thing felt like I was wearing a candystriper's hairshirt.)

Let's begin, shall we?

In one of those recycled fashion stores that are all the rage in LA, I was in the dressing room, going through the aggravating experience of finding appropriate audition attire. It wasn't always so vexing. 

But at that point I knew a bit more about fit. A BIT. Because this romper, this janky carnival ride, this was what I thought photo worthy. Come on, y'all.  Feast your eyes on that front crotch curve and the sumptuous excess baggage. FEAST. Plus too tight legs! I WAS A POSTER CHILD FOR FIT!

Even so,  I had just enough knowledge about how things should fit to make me dangerous, and the RTW dressing room was therefore not the Candyland it used to be. Mais, I had no desire to sew audition appropriate clothing (still don't). So there I was, looking for bargain priced designer hand-me-downs.

(Ooo look what a badass I thought I was. I invite you to gaze at my crotch. That's not a shadow. Hey oona, for all your careful placement, how'dja manage to get the two DARKEST STRIPES in the yardage RIGHT IN YOUR FRONT CROTCH? Embarrassing tampax commercial every time I stood legs akimbo. Which I often do.)

Where's my waist. Anyone?

How does my butt look?! How many calories were in that dessert?! Did that guy from last night call you?! This was the stimulating conversation wafting from the dressing room next to me. Well, honestly, it wasn't that inane, it's absolutely appropriate dressing room talk. But I was so utterly disgusted, I could feel my eyes roll back in my head. The kind of roll that makes your eyelids twitch from the force of it. Dressed in my ridiculous attempt to look like a lawyer, I caught the roll in the mirror, and laughed at myself. I hated those chicks because, at the time, I had zero girlfriends in LA. And I wanted to go shopping with my girlfriends, and laugh in dressing rooms, and go eat ice cream.

I bought zilch, called a girlfriend on the walk home, and yammered about every silly trivial thing possible.

It was a good reminder that most people who are hating on you for seemingly no reason have reason of their own, usually having very little to do with you. 

This romper ended up on the counter at that very same store, along with a pile of clothing I couldn't imagine carting back across the country. Unsurprisingly, the buyer behind the counter did not bite.

What Was I Thinking: 

The fabric was way too heavy for this pattern (Suede Says 2222), a medium weight cotton with zero drape.

The print placement! EGADS!
Extending the crotch curve out and crossing my fingers didn't work.

The Armsyce extends down to Mexico.

What Was I Drinking:

I believe Ruggy was very into perfecting the perfect Manhattan at the time. Mostly due to the fact that we missed New York.

What I Learned:

Even though I failed miserably on that crotch of questionable color, I did take my time with those stripes. I was starting to think seriously about print placement (and doing lots of failing. No really, lots). And I was beginning to figure out where my real waist sits, and where the pattern should sit in relation to it. For a while after this, I was hiking errrrrrrthang up to my natural waist, a la Ed Grimly. Also, I learned that Suede Says he is not the pattern maker for me (although that lesson took some time, and several more tries of several more Suede Says patterns). 

I sincerely hope you found this little gem as catastrophic as I did! And lest you think all the candidates in this series will be ghosts of stitches past, just wait. I've got a wadder from last week that's amaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing.