Free Don't Sing at the Table by Adriana Trigiani Page A

American consumer. I know it would involve clothing, and that whatever she built would be of excellent quality. There’s something wrong when you can buy a new pair of wool pants more cheaply than it costs to dry-clean them. No wonder we buy so much clothing; it isn’t built to last, because we don’t expect it to. My sisters and I still wear Viola’s coats, and imagine, they are over sixty years old. It’s called vintage now. I marvel at the seams, the pocket insets, the collars, the lining, the cuffs, the covered buttons—the magnificence of an everyday garment, built American.

Chapter Four
Storefront Couturier
    Lucy with her daughters Ida and Irma, sons-in-law Michael Godfrey and Anthony Trigiani, and son Orlando. Lucy made the three dresses in this photograph.
    W hile Viola’s business trajectory went from machine operator to eventual owner, the same was not true for Lucy. She never worked in a factory again after her stint in Hoboken. Instead, she became a storefront couturier, and an alteration seamstress for hire at the local department store.
    Lucy preferred creating for the individual client. She never tired of the challenge of one-of-a-kind creations, but she fretted about pleasing her customers. In the custom clothing business, the pressure was as real for Lucy as the factory life was for Viola. A jittery bride could wield as much pressure as a buyer under deadline to deliver goods in the garment district. The stakes may have existed on a different scale, but the anxiety and pressure to please were the same.
    Lucy’s work was an ever-changing landscape, depending upon who walked into her shop. She had a stable of regular customers, for whom she regularly built skirts, blouses, dresses, and coats. Lucy handled all kinds of fabric, from the most sumptuous to the washable and workable. She used her basic knowledge to adapt to current trends but gently guided her customers back to classic shapes and styles. She enjoyed making the customer happy and witnessing the transformation of a customer who would try on the garment in the final fitting, and turn to Lucy, thrilled with the results. Lucy never missed the rote sewing that she had done as a machine operator in Hoboken. A custom seamstress, a couturier, was free to be original and manage her own time.
    It was so much fun to be with Lucy while she worked. Like Viola, Lucy would give me a magnet to collect pins from the cracks in the floor, or keep me busy sorting buttons from her button box. When Lucy tried to teach me how to sew, I was lousy at it. I don’t know if I didn’t have the patience, or that it was as simple as a preference for the outdoors, but it soon became clear that I wasn’t going to be a seamstress, even an amateur one. If she was displeased with my lack of focus, she never let on. I may not have learned how to build a garment, but the things she taught me in her workroom apply to any creative endeavor. It begins by choosing the best possible elements.
    Choose the best fabric.
    The differences between burlap and velvet, satin and denim, corduroy and silk, are obvious to the touch. It is also apparent that particular fabrics suit certain clothes created for different occasions. So, to begin, fabric creates a context for a creation. Fabric indicates where you’ll wear the clothing, whether it’s day or night, formal or sporty, to witness a sacrament or attend a fish fry. Fabric also says what colors you love to wear, and what textures appeal to you against your skin. Fabric is about climate and season, covering up, or exposing, movement and carriage. Fabric acknowledges your station in life and what you think you deserve, whether you are handmaiden or queen, farmer or land baron.
    For Lucy, there was only one choice: you should have the best , whether the end result was work overalls or an evening gown. Satin façonné should be worn by the village bride, so the gown might last for generations to