I watched people making the Optimatium dress when it was offered in the Tauko magazine last year and wondered how I could get my mitts on it, and then Liz, the designer, offered it to her fans and followers and I snapped it up – apparently the first in the world to do so!

With much excitement I printed out the pattern only to find that the row numbers and letters didn’t print and I had no hope of assembling it without them. I reprinted it and they still didn’t print, but although I wrote them on. I still couldn’t assemble it, so went off to Officeworks and got it printed on A0 paper which made life much easier.

Next I traversed my stash, up and down, looking for suitable fabric. I assembled quite a selection and chose some heavy silk but then I couldn’t bring myself to cut it out and it sat on the table for two days while I cogitated. I decided I wanted to make the coat version because the denim one Liz made was so cool. I even dug out some denim, but in the process found a piece of wool that had been given to me by my friend Jenny. It is ridged, a bit like corduroy, and it took me a while to ensure there was no nap. I measured it and it seemed long enough so off I went.

Having already traced out the pattern I had to go back and add in the changes to make it into a coat. I added 3cms to the sleeve, looked at the pattern and saw that I needed to add 3cms to the centre fronts and backs. Except now it didn’t tesselate and the pattern assured me it should. I faffed around and decided if I added 3cms to the side seams it would work, but I felt uneasy. I must have looked at the illustration in the pattern ten times to check myself. I decided that I was going to give this coat an ultimatum and almost renamed it, but first I reached out to Liz and she made a really useful YouTube video which is now on the coat blog post. I had been adding to the bottom instead of subtracting! As soon as I saw the video I realised that I had concocted a mental model which said that if I added to the sleeve, I needed to add to the bottom, and once I went back to the illustration I immediately saw the error of my ways. Ah well, and thank you Liz, I’m sure I’m the only person in the world who had this problem!

You can see all my additions to the tracing vilene here.

You might notice that the pattern is slightly longer than the fabric. I didn’t notice this…

When I came to cut out the back pattern piece I noticed that difference between the fabric and the pattern, but happily my fabric was wide enough to allow me to manoeuvre the pattern so that it fitted on. Another crisis averted!

I now blithely cut out the coat and managed to chop the front neckline into the back neckline. Oh happy days!

I looked at the offending piece and decided I was just going to zig zag it back on and to be honest it isn’t at all visible.

The rest of the make went fairly smoothly, except the wool was quite bouncy and making the pleats nice and even was harder than it should have been for some reason.

I decided to thread trace every fold line, which was a fabulous idea but then I had to remove all those threads – I’ll be picking them out forever!

Inevitably I made the odd sewing mistake and unpicking was tricky being black on black so I got out the magnifying light and managed it without creating unwanted holes. I was reflecting that I could remember when seam rippers first appeared in the shops and my mother bought one with much excitement. They were called “Quick Unpicks” and were definitely easier than using the points of scissors!

At the beginning of this make my Bernina Record decided that it wouldn’t disengage the needle when bobbin winding so I pressed the Elna Stella into service. This large, heavy garment was made on a tiny machine, here is a picture showing the relative sizes of the two machines.

There were times when I couldn’t find where I needed to be and I did struggle to get the fabric under the needle. I had never created a buttonhole on this machine and I was faced with doing eleven of them. I had a quick practice and realised that it made excellent buttonholes, even adjacent to the waist intersection which is a bit bulky.

I use a chisel to open buttonholes, which gives a much cleaner edge.

I added thin shoulder pads to give a nicer finish and the only ones I could find in my stash are red, which pleases me.

I used some lovely vintage buttons which I’ve had in my stash for far too long. I needed eleven and had twelve, which meant that I didn’t use the flawed one (top right), although I was tempted. I think they are bakelite.

I was excited to wear my coat and tried it with a couple of different pairs of trousers, first up my moleskin Stokx Square Pants.

Then I teamed it with some knit Joan Trousers from Friday Pattern Company. I quite like the fluidity of these with the coat.

Reviewing the photos I decided I needed a belt, which I made rather hurriedly as I was waiting to meet a friend for coffee. It took about 20 minutes to make, but I think it definitely finishes the coat off.

The buckle is also vintage and bought at the same time as the buttons. I was unsure about the colour but I think it’s exactly what the coat needs.

Whilst I was in the coffee shop I discovered that I hadn’t caught an edge of the cuff in the seam. Normally I would unpick it all, but I decided to just tuck it under and hand stitch it. I also discovered this needle in the coat when I got home – might have been handy in an emergency!

The obligatory seated photo.

I meant to take some photos with the scarf/collar undone, but it was really cold so I waited until the next time I wore it, this time with wool ponte trousers, and it was pretty windy so I buttoned it straight up!

I didn’t take this photo of little E having lunch with a quokka, her Mum did, but I had to share as it’s so cute. Please note that quokkas are marsupials which live in the wild on Rottnest Island, our local island. It looks like a pet doesn’t it?

I thought I’d post this photo of a quokka with a joey in its pouch taken by Tom.

Early Dutch settlers thought that quokkas were giant rats and Rottnest means rats nest in Dutch. Hence the name of our most beloved island.