The stats say I’m not the only one romancing the needle. More people are canning, pickling, knitting and bowl-turning now than in the last 50 years
I sewed a button on a jacket the other day.
You probably saw nothing about this on the news, but I did.
Two buttons, in fact.
It had been a while since I’d had a needle and thread in my hand, but a handsome horn button had vanished off a favourite winter coat so, out came the sewing basket. For some reason, I decided to make a production out of the process. I decided to do it right. Generally, my inclination is toward the slapdash; I went through four years of university with the hem of my overalls stapled up, instead of sewn. In that case, slovenliness was my mother of invention.
I began with scissors. I have beautiful scissors and I am only now beginning to understand what moved me to purchase them. Using my heirloom scissors, I clipped the threads securing the spare button secreted on the inside of the coat. From a paper of needles, I selected the appropriate tool. The needle would need some heft in order to manage the heavy wool of the jacket. Among orphaned buttons and seam rippers, I fished out a matchstick. Matchsticks are useful in sewing boxes, and not just in case you want to set fire to your project or take up smoking while deploring your utter lack of basic skills. They are the perfect tool to create a shank, which provides the breathing room for a button to rest nicely when fastened over heavier fabrics. A button must never look strangled. The shank is the sign of connoisseurship; a sign of sewing savoir faire.
From the rank and file of spools of thread I found a reel of button twist. Think of button twist as the sewing notion equivalent of the Mercedes S Class; superior to simple thread and accordingly priced. It’s a special multi-ply filament engineered specifically for securing hefty buttons to outerwear. You can tell the difference between regular thread and button twist with your eyes closed. Vroom, vroom …
Sewing on a button is a small thing … hardly worth talking about. The process was, however, inordinately enjoyable. So enjoyable that I unilaterally deemed another button at risk and repeated the procedure. With the jacket and its newly tethered buttons folded over my knee, I found myself yearning for more similar projects. There was something so … calming about sitting with a needle and thread. A deep, self-contained, quiet absorption, so unlike the abyss of my smartphone or laptop.
The stats say I’m not the only one romancing the needle. Sewing is back and back with a vengeance. According to the Craft & Hobby Association, more than half of North American households produce at least one handcrafted hobby a year. Woodworking leads the way with the highest sales figures, but, piece by piece, quilters are catching up. Home sewing’s downward spiral began in the 1970s but over the past decade, sewing has become cool again. One of the major drivers in the renaissance in handicrafts is … the Internet! Image-sharing sites like Pinterest have helped crafters showcase their wares and inspire others, while Etsy, the eBay of handicrafts, has provided a marketplace for their wares. Increasingly, we share, inspire and teach each other on such sites, and throng to “maker” fairs.
It’s odd how the digital age has nurtured a hankering for its antithesis. More people are canning, pickling, knitting and bowl-turning now than in the last 50 years. It’s a welcome trend as resourcefulness and self-sufficiency are, unarguably, a cornerstone of success, individual and collective. But there’s also something sublime and restorative in the attention to process and detail. It’s unlikely I’m about to run up some curtains any time soon, but I’m checking all my coats for loose buttons … just for the pleasure of needle, thread and hand.