Tell me about it, studs.

I was in Edinburgh for the whole of August. I contemplated taking my sewing machine with me but decided that Easyjet probably hadn’t relaxed its rules on hand luggage quite that much. Having worked away from home for the whole of July too, the withdrawal symptoms were setting in before August had even arrived. I knew exactly what I wanted to make next; a bolder-shoulder-padded-black-studded-jacket a la Balmain.

So I set about making the jacket itself in late July using black satin and yellow silk for the lining. I even used interfacing for the first time, to reinforce the collar and lapels, and it is just about that most fun a person can have with an iron. Seriously. (Interfacing is a fusible fabric that, using the heat from an iron, you can adhere to a garment to make it stiff). After firming up the collar and lapels I looked around my flat for other fabric that could do with reinforcing. As such I now have very rigid curtains and my dressing gown can stand up on its own.

The jacket was made but was missing one vital ingredient: the studs. I had to order the studs online and they were being sent from Thailand. They were due to arrive the day that I was setting off for Edinburgh – fastening the studs to the jacket was going to be my in-flight entertainment, but alas, they didn’t arrive in time. Whilst in Edinburgh I had a look around Harvey Nichols and felt like I was being winked at seductively by the bevy of embellishments adorning everything from McQueen clutches, to Chloe dresses and Marc Jacobs bags to Louboutin shoes. All I could think about was smattering my latest creation with little silver pyramids. No prizes for guessing the first thing that I did when I got home. It turns out that a hundred studs don’t go far. So I’ve ordered another two hundred. But I've got me a dilemma.

Everyone who has seen the jacket thinks it looks great as it is with studs just on the shoulders and cuffs. But I have become slightly obsessed with fastening them on, and my plan was to cover the lapels in studs as per Halston. But I’m just two rows in and starting to feel a bit like a Pearly Queen.

So I’m palming the decision off on you, do I go nuts and spill my stud-like load all over the jacket as I originally intended? Or do I go (for probably the first time in my life) for the less is more school of design? Answers on a postcard please.

PS. In the time it has taken this post to load I might have added some more studs. Spot the difference.

The cost: Now this wasn't cheap - I could have bought a jacket and customised it but I wanted to make from scratch. Plus I didn't go for cheap fabric...the yellow silk lining was £30 and the black satin £20. The interfacing was around £5 and the studs all cost me around £25. The (4 pairs of!!!) shoulder pads were £1. Obviously if you get the jacket from a charity shop and just add your own studs the cost is dramatically reduced. But considering the Balmain jacket is in the region of £3000, I consider myself to have made a £2919 saving. Bar. Gain.

Old Tart(an)

Amid my wardrobe I have old favourites; pieces that, despite their age, continue to receive admiring glances and coos of approval whenever I wear them. One of these particular items is a tartan jacket. What makes this jacket especially special is that it was made by the artistic hands of my best bud, Claire. I thank/blame Claire for my dressmaking addiction. She studied textiles at the London College of Fashion and the jacket of which I speak was one of the items in her final graduate collection that I proudly modelled for her. I’m not entirely convinced that I was supposed to step off the catwalk, walk out of the venue and keep the jacket on forever more, but I did.

(Just shows how memories can fail, I was convinced that I wore this jacket but I've just watched the video back over and it was actually worn by someone else, which means at some point I mugged that Polish model of her clothes...)

Whenever Pat, my mother-in-law-to-be (well, he’ll ask me one day…) sees me in the jacket she makes repeated vowel sounds of ‘ooooh’ and invariably ‘aaaah’ and tries it on all the while declaring how perfectly it fits her. By rights I should give her the jacket. Over the years Pat has given me a sofa, several beds, crockery, handbags, furniture and her son. In fact it was Pat who gave me the money to buy a sewing machine for my birthday. I know I should give her the jacket, but I just can’t bring myself to hand it over, I love it too much.

Now when I say I thank/blame Claire for my dressmaking addiction, it’s not because her enthusiasm rubbed off on me. Hells no. There was many an occasion when I would turn up to Claire’s house with a Chinese takeaway by way of down payment and request that she make me a dress to wear to a wedding the following day. I didn’t so much as sew on a button with my own little Luella on hand. But then the unthinkable happened. A gorgeous kiwi farmer went and married Claire and whisked her off to New Zealand. Suddenly I had to sew on my own buttons (after a brief spell of thinking that clipping them on with safety pins was making some kind of sartorial statement). From buttons I progressed onto hemlines and eventually whole garments. When I found myself at the stage where I could make a jacket for Pat myself, I was still reluctant. Firstly, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to pull it off and secondly, it seemed a bit sacrilegious. With the fabric laid out in front of me I felt a bit like Frankenstein standing over the body parts that would ultimately become a monstrous creation…

Although I have changed the main fabric to a green suedette and pink tartan, and have pinned the lapels back using brooches to make it different, it still feels like a pale imitation of the original.

That's not to say that I'm not pleased with the outcome, I am, but it has taught me that one-off works of brilliance are just that. One-off.