Have you ever tried to use a toddler as a fit model?

There is nothing. Absolutely nothing graceful about trying to do a fit session with a toddler.

They have no attention span. They will not stand still.

With a grown up, you get to work a little more methodically. You can get a gist for the length of the garment, whether it’s balanced, what the silhouette will do when a full sized person is sitting, getting on a bus, lifting up arms, and walking down stairs. All very handy things to know.

Little kids grow and grade very differently to adults. The system of grading is way more idiosyncratic and even the big childrenswear labels in Australia can’t decide on a standard grade rule for kids, let alone internationally. Obviously I can’t use standard dressmaking pins to alter the garment with little kids - and safety pinning at speed is a true art form that must be perfected - and fast, if you’re going to get any work done!

While these cuties run and hide from you, your task is to project how you might grade the garment for smaller or larger sizes, get a quick glance at the level of the hem, how much the proportions allow for growth, movement, and hark back to the original design successfully. Sometimes I record a video of the fitting so that I can pause and make notes, but it’s definitely not failsafe.

Another main concern is the opening of the garment. It’s important to me that it’s easy, and that the garment can be washed with no fuss, and that it feels comfortable. That nappies can be changed easily.

I must fit a garment in the knowledge that a variety of different nappies could end up underneath. Cloth - more bulky than disposable. I don’t like to see the nappy at the top edge of the pants when a baby squats, so I add length at the centre back waist, and shape to about an inch lower at the centre front. Often there is an excess of length here - little ones under about three years old tend to have a gorgeous pot belly that never, ever tolerates elastic across the middle. Pants will, without fail, end up under the belly button, at the smallest part of the waist. I might be breaking all the rules! But this is how I roll, baby.

Way Back at the Beginning

I wrote something kind of cute when I was at Fashion School.

It appeals to the terminology dork within, and might not make much sense to anyone who has never crossed paths with garment construction, fabric analysis and general fashion jargon. But with a bit of imagination, you’ll still get a kick out of it.

We were set the task of being able to describe our designs in words and not just imagery. We wanted to loosen up the experience and embrace the low-fi style of our course study. It was a truly make-somethin-out-of nothin kind of experience. in the end I nailed the State Medal Award for my course, so that tells you how much I like being resourceful and looking for the loopholes.

So the Tale of Tulle tragedy was born. We designed and made some outfits and dragged the whole class to an alleyway near the college. We had a model act as Tulle as we narrated the story, a tape player plugged in with a giant extension cord, playing music. We loved it. I wished for the same kind of camaraderie in the industry I was about to dive into and hoped with all my heart that it might be possible. That the stories weren’t true.

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The Tale of Tulle Tragedy

Tulle tragedy began her evening as many do, dressing reluctantly in her mum’s tiny kitchen/lounge room/bedroom, in a trusty little black dress. Yet another wedding to attend, this one only made special in that the bride was her old pal Bucklette Patcharmi, a wild girl with a low resistance to insects who knew she had met the man of her dreams in her third cousin, Roulette.

Her family had spent a lot of cashmere to get the correct tension.

The gathering had been held in the park near the kiosk where Bucklette and Roulette had first pashed. True to her name, Bucklette had the guests talking, dressed in her usual avant-garde garb. A jacket dress in mint green with random patches sewn on the sleeves, numerous wrap around belts with so many buckles! Tulle Tragedy could not believe her smokey eye when she spotted a classic flying V guitar silhouette appliqued 50’s-swing-skirt-style onto the hem. “A guitar instead of a poodle,” she thought. “It’s a must-have addition for a bride-to-be!”

Glad all the toasting and male chest bumping formalities were over with, Tulle Tragedy left the wedding reception early with a bottle of homemade vodka, an extra piece of cake in a napkin and a couple of mates.

Shirr Taffeta had them all drooling in an orange jersey mini stuffed at the top with nylon and spandex ruffles. She wore it with a sleeveless top with shirring at one shoulder and ribbing at the waist. Shirring was the hot new finish among Tulle Tragedy’s sewing circle and she promised herself those multi-coloured nylon ruffles in her next spend up.

Tier Zipperly had totally tried to outdo the bride in this crazy dress spiralled with a continuous zipper that tiered out with the skirt. In cream it shouldn’t have caused the ruckus that it did. Those flouro orange notions and “shout-shout-let-it-all-out” 80s accessories did the damage. An all-out punch up went down at the wedding between a drunken groom and his brother, also called Roulette, who had the hook and eye for Tier. The groom went to go the bum grab on his new wife. Unfortunately in his blurred vision of the best dressed girl, he grabbed Tier and it was all on. The groom and his brother overlocked-closed their arms around each other’s necks and almost choked. Tier and Bucklette flicked away tears with their acrylics and promised never to fight physically with each other, especially when they had put so much effort into their outfits.

The three of them headed out to Club 80-Size-Needle, a little distressed, but happy their fabrics had such good elasticity. Tulle Tragedy began to feel a little underdressed as they walked into the club.

The famous model Elektra Knot-Quite-There struck a pose with an a-line three quarter length lightning bolt skirt with a haphazard knotted jersey cap sleeved top.

The girls were all speechless with admiration and saw a pattern emerging in the second appearance of nylon/spandex ruffles that night.

“she’s such a Tartan”, said Tier.

“Yeah. They have to be synthetic fibres”, they all agreed.

Tulle Tragedy spotted a familiar facing. Mum! Sashaying across the floor with an extremely tall Jamaican!

This was typical of her mother at the time, who had just changed her name to Rouche Gatheraira and would not answer to anything else. Mrs Tragedy outdid her competitors in a pair of vertically rouched three quarter pants and a top that was to dip dye for.

It was double layered spencer-cut with a top layer of mesh nylon. Both layers had been screen printed with the same design in a different colour, which made for some amazing visual effects. “Mum!” shouted Tulle Tragedy over the sounds of Patti Smith singing Pissing In A River. “I mean Rouche! The visual effects of your top are amazing!”

“Thanks pet”, she replied. “And how do you like the high waistedness of my pants?”

Tulle smiled and gave her an air kiss, knowing the glitter from her mum’s cheeks would NOT suit her makeup or her outfit if it rubbed off onto her. Love you mum, but no thanks.

“Tulle tragedy! What are you wearing?” It was Denima Can Opener, and her matching friend Tu-tu Cut’Emup. They had both been extremely creative in their use of denim, with Tu-tu in a halter neck top actually cut from a pair of jeans turned upside down. Tulle tragedy could only raise an eyebrow when she spotted the yellow and grey striped jersey ra-ra skirt stuffed with white tulle. Denima’s denim double-breasted jacket opened at the top in a huge flap that zippered open, and cut into tails at the back. Annoyingly innovative, thought Tulle Tragedy. Both girls had strips of cloth buckled and knotted randomly around their wrists, and they swung around them as they danced.

Have you heard the rumour?” They yelled amongst the din. “The famous singer Nanas Airborne is in the club! Her outfit is amazing! A mesh sleeveless top underneath a corset decorated with vertical rivets. And the Nana-style underpants- in silver lycra - with black and white binding round the edges, and – get this – a flying V Guitar appliqued on the front! Have you ever seen such a brilliant addition?”

“Yes, actually”, murmured Tulle Tragedy, thinking of the guitar she saw only hours earlier on Bucklette’s jacket dress with all the buckles.Just then Bucklette Patcharmi appeared holding a daiquiri aloft. “I’ve left Roulette. We’re getting a divorce. He said he loved the simplicity and tradition of a big white dress with heels and thought my outfit was ill-suited for a wedding, let alone a bride. Well. He can take his bad early 90s charcoal wool suit with the button down mandarin collared shirt and his pastel pink pashmina and give it a hot machine wash for all I care! I hope he tumble dries it and it shrinks! I hope it gives off the smell of burning feathers leaving a black crushable bead when he goes to HELL!” And with a large hand gesture, Bucklette Pacharmi fell right into Nanas Airborne, spilling the strawberry cocktail all over her.

“I bought that with my last eight bucks!” freaked Bucklette. “This is the worsted wedding night ever!”

Nanas Airborne wasn’t happy that her ensemble was given an extra splash of uninvited colour. “What kind of multi-filamented delustring are you? I paid a reasonable but mildly upmarket price for this! You will pay the cost of it’s dry clean only recommendation!”

“Are you kidding?” said Shirr Taffeta. “ You could easily hand wash that in lukewarm water!”

She reached out to feel the texture of the superstar’s nylon top, only to have it knocked away aggressively. “Don’t touch me, or you’ll be de-pilling every woollen garment that you own for as long as you live!”

“Don’t make me angora!” Threatened Shirr Taffeta. “I’m known for my needle hole damage! You wouldn’t want that Nylon to ladder, would you?”

Nanas looked bewildered. “Who are you people? You all possess some serious slippage! You all look like you sewed your clothes with the wrong sides facing out! I see no style here!”

Suddenly a voice from the crowd rang clear. “That’s not true bias!”

“Mum!” Tulle cried out. Nanas’ security began to circle skirt.

“Run pet!” shouted Mrs tragedy. “I’ll keep the flouncers at bay!

“But what about your delicate mesh nylon outerlayer?”

Don’t worry about me!” Screamed out Mrs tragedy. “It’s stronger and has better return than you think! Now get out of here!”

As if body surfing at Coogee beach, Mrs tragedy seemed to float towards them on a sea of sweaty faces. The girls ran for the door. In the excitement, what looked like a Mimco handbag was swung at Tulle tragedy, knocking her unconscious.

Which brings us to the present time, where we find Tulle tragedy waking in this alleyway, feeling – actually, surprisingly refreshed.

The reason Tulle Tragedy appears to you now in a high cut pink spandex/mesh hooded swimsuit and transcending all the best elements of her pal’s outfits from that night is unknown. She has no idea how she ended up looking so great – and neither do we. She has no memory either of stealing the bride’s anti-bride tiara (perched on high).

Some kind of trash-glam voodoo transformed her outfit that night. As Tulle tragedy walked down that alleyway, she thought a couple of things: how lucky she was to be single, and how lucky she was that nobody spilled a strawberry daiquiri down her outfit.

There was just the question of how Nanas Airborne’s striking silver underpants could have ended up in her handbag….