This is the story of my favourite dress :)

First photo taken with my colour Polaroid film…

This is the dress I am most proud of sewing so far. It took me like 6 months to complete last year because motivation came and went as I reached tricky parts and so forth.

I am a little bit in love with it! The material is so gorgeous.

From Spotlight!

A few weeks ago a girl at a coffee shop recognised it as Spotlight material and praised my sewmanship (it’s a word, don’t argue) 🙂

I love how it sits.

But yes, I love how it sits. It is so easy to wear, and is nice and modest without being boring. I really love the feel of it as well! It isn’t like any clothes you will buy, all cheap and mass-produced. It feels thick and substantial. Lovingly made 🙂 There is a nice lining to it too so I don’t get annoyed by seams and bits of thread jumping out.

So yes, I call this my Strawberry Dress. It makes me just generally happy to be alive! And by Jove!! For a serious amateur seamstress I am just so pleased that it worked and turned out well. Nothing feels better than wearing clothes you have made yourself.

When I was taking these photos these little mushrooms made me happy 🙂

So really I have so many photos to show, but nothing else to say, so an awkward stream of meaningless images will follow, leaving you asking yourself why you are still on this page, scrolling through random pictures of a random girl who honestly has nothing to contribute to the world. Have fun! 😀

Fits well!

This page must have taken ages to load. My apologies.

Oh MANNNN!!! I just found a piece of hair in the cupcake I was eating!



I need to write this annoying personal column for a uni assignment and all I can think about is blogging and having fun 😦

Flippin, floppin, flappin uni!


*Regaining composure*


I will post up what I have so far for the column. This is the second draft, which I thought I hated, but read over again and decided I could probably use.

Suggestions on improvement WELCOME.



When Your Subconscious Takes Hold


   You may be the most rational person on the planet, but unless you are some kind of alien life form taking refuge here, you will have experienced it at some stage.


   Stress. Anxiety. The terrible stomach-dropping, swirly-headed sensation whereby you are plunged into a world of inner darkness and conflict that has no rational basis except within your own confused thoughts. You assume you have control of yourself, but by Jove! You are wrong.


   I’ve always considered myself one of those ‘rational’ people. I make wise decisions: I save my money, recycle, think twice before accepting drinks from strangers. I like to think I am ‘on the ball’, ‘with it’, and impenetrable. But alas, I too am wrong.


   This recently became apparent when I experienced a panic attack. I didn’t know that this feeling could exist, that the world could dip and spin before my eyes in such an outrageous way. But there I was, a tiny speck on an expanse of orange couch, shaking, sobbing, imploding.


   Anxiety hit me, as it so often does to us, in a moment of mental fragility. I was running short on time, I was late, I was expecting guests, and I was still in line for an interview at my university. Painfully, the hands of the clock ticked by as though they weighed a tonne each. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, almost choking me. But what I didn’t realise was that my irrational subconscious was about to take over.


   It came on me all at once: a burst of sharp, jagged, iridescent thoughts. I was 19 years old. A year had already passed since I’d finished school and I felt more lost than ever. Would I continue on at university? Would I achieve anything? Would I find myself? Find purpose to my life? Was I going about it all the wrong way? I needed guidance. I needed God. I needed a sign. But more than anything, I needed to escape this feeling.


   As these stress-fuelled daggers tingled at my brain, I began to feel lightning spit from my fingertips. I actually had to physically check that there weren’t sparks shooting out of them. My heart felt constricted and tight. I became shockingly aware of how I was breathing, and that my lungs didn’t feel big enough for the air I needed. I was gasping, sobbing. The dizziness began: a slow, spinning feeling of unbalance. It started to feel that I would never escape this, that I was locked in an airless, lightless, uninhabited chamber, rocked by the thumping of my own heart.


   Though seated safely on the plastic orange couch I felt, honestly, that I was living my last moments of life.


   It can creep up at any time, this feeling. We assume we have control of ourselves, however despite the fact that panic and anxiety are completely irrational, we cannot control how they impact us. While they may not leave us perched on the edge of a couch in a trembling ball every time, feeling stress is only human. We may feel we have it all under control, yet we are all subject to that wily subconscious in the end.



 Ps. post on a dress I sewed is on its way…..

(sewed?? Is that a word?? It looks weird. I’ve never thought about it.) 




The Struggle

Today, I have nothing to say about sewing. Sadface.


My boyfriend has agreed to help me take photos for my blog, and let you all be witness to this!! He owes me good-quality photos of my sewing ventures.


So, today, I will be leaning more towards the ‘poetry’ side of my nature. Here is a piece I wrote a few days after being diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. It isn’t polished or wonderful, and my Professional Writing lecturer would be appalled that I am ‘publishing’ it in this state, but I have no time to polish it up right now. Besides, I kind of like the raw emotion that I poured into it, which is reflected in the half-hearted writing style.



   Diabetes. Ugh! The word tastes bitter in my mouth. It sits on my tongue like a heavy food that doesn’t want to be chewed and swallowed.


   You don’t think these things happen to you. Serious health problems are for the people you see on television and in newspapers. You hear about their condition and feel a small pang of sympathy before moving on with your life and never thinking of them again.


   What I hate the most is how other people think of diabetes. A common preconception is that all people who have it are overweight or will become overweight. Okay, try telling that to me a week ago, a tiny 45kg girl curled up on a bleached hospital bed, feeling every bone protruding. Type 1 Diabetes made me lose heaps of weight. Thinking about it now, I am fairly certain it was intent on sucking the life out of me.


   Honestly, I still feel like that a little. It has discovered it can no longer target my diminishing weight or my health, but now it is winding its way through my thoughts and my state of mind, sucking up every last drop of positivity. In this vacuum of diabetes-worry my mind is never far from what I am going to eat next, when my next injection will be, what my blood sugar levels are at, if I feel okay, or if I am starting to feel the hot itchy shivers of a hypo coming on…


   I was really scared at first. I knew that this wasn’t life-threatening, but I could already sense some huge changes about to take place in my previously simple, happy life. The GP really didn’t help much, his brief diagnosis being, ‘you have diabetes. You have to go to the hospital. This means insulin for life. If not treated, a risk of your kidneys failing…..’ Thankyou for the encouragement, Doc. Way to keep a girl feeling optimistic!


   I went through stages. Firstly it was absolute silence. While Mum chattered away about what I should pack, the arrangement we had to make and the possibilities of what would take place at hospital, I sat there stony-faced, unable to feel anything but blank emptiness.


   Then came the unusual happiness. Joking with nurses, offering my arm up for blood tests with a smile on my face, talking and chatting and trying to forget about what I was actually being treated for.


   This was all to be replaced after a couple of hours in hospital. It is impossible to remain even a little positive when you are prodded like an animal, hooked up to machines and not allowed to do anything for yourself. I was exposed, I felt violated and I was constantly being jabbed, syringed, forced to lie in unnatural positions.


   So began the long period of depression. I would alternate between lying there still, gazing into nowhere, and sobbing uncontrollably. My eyes swelled up to the point at which I could barely open them, mascara-laced tears stinging into them. My mum, my dad and my boyfriend took turns holding my hand, consoling me, and kissing the top of my head. But how can you be cheered up when you have just been thrust into a seemingly never-ending world of pain? How can you even think about smiling when doctors are repeatedly syringing the tops of your hands, and even your delicate wrists, trying to find a vein unoccupied by plastic tubes?


   It was hell.


I look at my bruised stomach now and know that I will never truly be the same. When I’m angry about it, I plunge the insulin in hard, not thinking about the ugly black bruises that will show up later on. I don’t want to have to do this four times a day. I don’t want to have to do this at all.


   This is what I cried into my mum’s arms in the hospital as the doctors prepared me for another hand-stabbing session. I don’t want to do this. I don’t! I never asked for any of this. I didn’t bring it on myself. It just happened. Mum knew all of this as she clutched me tightly and tears streamed down her face. I hope she knows that she couldn’t have prevented it either.


   Diabetes. Hmm. An ugly word, that carries with it a lot of painful memories and negative thoughts. But really, it’s what I have to thank for the even closer relationships I have with my parents and boyfriend now. Without Josh’s strength I would be nothing. Diabetes is what I have to thank for a somewhat miraculous recovery of my eyesight (yet to be determined if this is normal, or if I will soon appear in medical journals all over the globe). It is what I have to thank for this sudden reassessment of life, and the check I am currently doing to see if I am doing what I want to do in life. It is the reason I have such a solid trust in my God. More so than before.

And then there were skirts.

Once I had completed the simple task of making a really slap-together petticoat, I realised this ‘sewing business’ couldn’t be too tricky! So two little skirts were born!

Little Skirt # 1.

This first one is a secret pride of mine 🙂 Just Spotlight material and very simple, but the fabric is so cute! I feel like a beautiful fairy girl when I wear it.

Luckily, Mum has a button jar filled with lots of glorious buttons, from which this one was chosen.

For a beginner, I am fairly proud of my buttonhole/zip work! Okay, don’t look too closely, but still it is tricky stuff and it didn’t turn out so bad! I remember thinking at the time that it felt so natural, that the sewing machine was just doing it all for me.

Second skirt, being styled by an attractive model.

Here is my second skirt, same as the first but with heavier material and without a layer underneath. Same idea. Man! They were so easy to make… or should I say ‘sew’ easy to make 😉 See what I did there??? Okay. Sorry.

And that is the story of the first two actual garments I made. I love them and still wear them a bit, feeling like a little girl when I do.

(ps. If anyone wants the shoes I’m wearing in these photos I will legit send them to you. Size 6. Too small for me and they are so cute!)

In the beginning, there was a dress.

I am so EMBARRASSED!!! This is the worst. It was going to be all cool, it was all in my head, but everything is RUINED!!!

So anyway, piping down a little… I wanted to tell the story of how and why I started sewing 🙂

One day, there I was in Just Jeans, wanting to buy a cute white summery dress. The tag said $70, but miraculously, it was only $20! Hooray!! Problem was, when I got home with said garment, I bashfully noticed that it was rather see-through…. oh dear. So I thought to myself, ‘Stephanie, how will we solve this puzzle?’ And I smugly replied, ‘Woman, sew yourself a petticoat.’

The rest is history! But not really, as no one cares about it and it would be foolish to note it down and study it alongside Arthur Philip and Botany Bay. Hmmmm.

Here is an absolutely AWFUL picture of me showing the petticoat. It is so simple!! Just white cotton. That is all.

Here I am, sexily revealing the saucy saucy petticoat.

Ahh flip! It’s on the side. I don’t know how to change it. Okay, so I had a better picture okay??! But somehow it is gone. And this was taken on my phone by my younger brother who was incredibly reluctant to get out of bed to take it. And I KNOW! The curtain backdrop with artificial lighting makes it look like one of those ebay garments that you see and scoff at because the seller didn’t even try to present it nicely!!! STOP JUDGING ME!!!!

Point is, this is all it took 🙂 I started sewing out of absolute necessity. My dress was see-through, and I solved that problem adventurously. And, friends, I have never looked back.

A small insignificant update.

I hate blogs. And here’s why:


I don’t get how to use this, despite completing an entire course last year with the main assessment focussed on a wordpress blog (receiving an HD I’ll have you know!!!); and ALSO, I feel the need to have images and pretty stuff popping up because I know that simple words on a screen won’t cut it these days!! But, my WORD, my camera is just… awful! The photos it takes won’t do justice to my lovely creations 🙂


But okay, new challenge: for a week (starting today), I will do a blog post every day. Damnit, now I’m locked in. Great idea Steph. But seriously, I need to be motivated to share my sewing delights with the universe. I love sewing and I love beautiful things.


I was just discussing with my boyfriend before this weird thing I have…. Occasionally I will be casually going about my business when POP! An image of an outfit springs into my mind. And I see it in such detail! I see the material used in the floaty white blouse, the thickness of the grey woollen skirt, the cute heel height of the slight black mary jane shoes, and even the makeup! (Red, red lipstick and a slick of liquid eyeliner). Ummm….. is this natural?? Does this happen to anyone else? Sometimes I wish I always had a sketch book handy so I could jot down my ideas and draw a quick picture of what I see. Maybe this is what I will do too! Deal. Two challenges, and one stressful week of finishing uni assignments, taking awful pictures on my crappy camera, and complaing about life.



xoxo gossip girl


…. just kidding. Never again.