What Big Teeth

I cut a wide swath through vintage shops; if I have doubts, I tend to buy the item anyway, unless it's ridiculously expensive. No regrets! Sometimes I just know that the piece will be perfect with some alterations—and I am always right. Unless I am planning to do my own alterations, in which case the garment languishes in my "sewing box" indefinitely.

I have no memory of having purchased What Big Teeth. As far as I know, it just appeared in a crumpled ball next to the sewing scissors one day. I almost donned it immediately, but an ugly jagged hem stopped me. Little fragments of memory started to drift back, thoughts I vaguely remembered having...

...it's a little too long, but that's easily fixed...
...why should I pay someone to do something that I could easily do myself?...
...oops, that's a little shorter than I thought...
...am I going to have to iron this hem down?...
...this lining complicates matters...
...how on Earth am I going to make this even?...
...does my sewing machine even work?...
...I'll just leave it here until I get more practice hemming things...

I got as far as hacking six inches off the bottom, but the project wasn't a total waste. For Halloween 2009, I had the brilliant idea of dressing up as the Big Bad Wolf, the one who creepily menaced Little Red Riding Hood in a story that gets weirder and darker the more you learn about it. (In early versions of the tale, Little Red Riding Hood gets right into bed with the wolf and when she says she has to get out of bed and relieve herself, he says, "That's okay, you can just do it in the bed.")

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I spent a lot of money on fake fur that year. (On a related note, does anyone need a few yards of high-quality fake fur? It freaks out the cat.)

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But anyone can dress up as the Big Bad Wolf with enough fake fur. I decided to be the beast seconds after the huntsman slits open my belly with his axe, while Little Red Riding Hood and Granny are jumping out (but before they decide to fill me back up with stones and throw me in the river to drown). I bought some red fabric to make a riding hood, but I needed a piece of material that said, "I am Granny! Hear me roar! Have a cookie!"

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So the material didn't go to waste.

A few months ago, I found the rest of What Big Teeth while I was looking for something else, and decided to stop lying to myself and get it professionally hemmed, which cost $30. (I know, right?) But look how cute it is now!

Definitely worth it. I especially love the very wide neckline

and the mysterious buttons I found underneath it.

Matching fabric-covered buttons are a perfect metonymy for what I love about vintage clothing: the care and meticulousness that used to go into garments. But here, they raise a question. Nothing on What Big Teeth buttons! What are those extra buttons doing there? My theory is that its last owner altered it as well, chopping off buttoned cuffs for a more glove-friendly look.

With a pattern like this, you aren't going to let a few niggling details get between you and the opportunity to walk around looking like a psychedelic garden.

Moral the story: if you procrastinate long enough to forget what you originally spent on the dress, a $30 hem sounds a lot more reasonable.

Photos by Claire Loeb!