Beyond the doubt, one of the best feelings in the world is the embarkment on a new exciting journey. In the beginning, there’s this feeling of innocent anticipation- what will I experience? What will I see? What will I learn? Giddy begins to fester as I think about all the possibilities this new journey will bring. Then, when I finally start embarking on this journey, anticipation is replaced by muted awe as I finally dip by toe in and feel the temperature of the surroundings; the water’s temperature is no longer imagined but actualized by experience. Slowly as I sink the rest of my leg, my torso, and slowly the rest of my body, I begin to see the journey for what it actually is. The water melts away the hopeless romantic innocent perception and seeps in the fundamental reality. The truth becomes more apparent. Though the journey’s core is very basic and straightforward- more straightforward and easy than initially anticipated- it carries details with much more technical skill, style, and historic and cultural significance than initially predicted from the foray. The journey is like an iceberg- the small visible portion hides the monstrosity of content below.
This journey seemingly applies to many contexts where there are new experiences; I keep its description as general as possible. It applies to new life experiences: the core of university is studying for a diploma, but the process carry a bevy of new relationships, stressful and glorious moments, and worldly knowledge that are not foreseen whilst in high school. The journey also applies to travelling new countries: Paris not only contains the Mona Lisa and the Eiffel Tower, but also the fond memories which extend beyond what is seen on tourist sites and influencer blog posts.
In adulthood, it is too easy to allow life slip into monotony- to get captured in daily schedules and forget about the impact these wonderful journeys can have on illuminating away some small corner in the vast big dark box that is the world’s knowledge. It is too easy to only anticipate vacation as the change in monotonous schedules. It is too easy to become comfortable with the status quo and not improve some aspect of self.
This was something I struggled with throughout this year. I felt that my life was too boring. I did the same thing over and over again. I experienced the same thing over and over again. I was not growing and I questioned if this is what adulthood was: the same repeat schedule for decades on end before retirement and eventual death.
And so, after a year, I looked to start on a journey so foreign to my prior experiences in athletics, technology, and finance: sewing.
Prior to threading the needle, I was always mystified by clothes. Clothes were like veils full of magic, so powerful, in fact, that they not only distort my external perceptions, but my own internal perception of myself. These objects became a part of my identity, a canvas I can freely express my tastes and show what I find beautiful. Added to the mysteriousness of clothes was their price- a metric which seems to measure how high in the social hierarchy the wearer sits. No matter how absurd the prices may be, clothes, with all its glory, must nonetheless be purchased and were cornerstones of society’s consumerism. And I played my role.
Perhaps sewing is an antidote for my ignorance towards clothes, though it was not my raison d’être. They no longer appeared so mysterious. As I stepped on the pedal and my sewing machine’s twin needle weaved micro holes into a tightly gripped jersey cotton fabric, the concept of clothes became much more tangible. On the surface, what more is an article of clothing- a shirt, a pair of jeans, a jacket- than simply several pieces of cut fabric sewn together by thread into something worn and adorned by people? Pieces of clothes are not magically generated, but sewn by the hands of humans for the enjoyment of other humans, a bond that secretly connects two strangers until severed into unravelling fabric and thrown away.
Along with the demystification of clothes, there grows an appreciation for the craft. I understand a bit better why certain clothes are expensive. Though they are physically nothing more than several pieces of fabric sewn together, designer clothing has embedded the legacies of fabrics, the rich historied craftsmanship of artisans accumulated only after millennia, and the unique blending of history, messaging, and references conceived and executed upon by creative directors and their teams. Unreplicable by a novice like myself, these are properties implicitly included in the price of more expensive clothing.
In this sense, I understand why clothing is truly like art. If regarded with an uncynical view, they extend beyond their physical entities to tell stories and inflict emotions in onlookers. Clothing has another parallel to art. Like a fully red painting with one single straight blue line hung in the middle of a contemporary art museum valued for millions, I will never understand why some basic clothing (ie: a t-shirt) cost a fortune, much less understand the individuals who purchase them. But alas, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. There is something for anyone.
This accidental expansion of perspective on fashion only makes my sewing journey that much more rich. No longer am I sewing two pieces of fabrics together, but instead I am learning the basics of a new infinitely complex medium to transfer ideas and feelings. Peering into the distance at the artisans who walk much further ahead of me, I can only smile with every bad seem and every mistake made. I sit at the surface and peer at the depths below.
Oh, such is the delight in starting a new journey~