Like thousands of Kiwis during the 2020 Covid-19 lockdown, Sarah Gulley spent a lot of her time online.
Then a fourth-year law student, Gulley lived with six friends in a small, four-bedroom central Wellington apartment. The limited living space was crowded with desks as the flatmates studied and worked from home. Looking back, Gulley wonders how they ever made it work.
When Victoria University extended its mid-semester break to cope with the shift to lockdown, Gulley had to find ways to combat boredom. She spent hours each day on TikTok, gravitating towards crafting videos on the app. This led her to graphic design TikTok, candle-making TikTok and finally sewing TikTok. “The TikTok algorithm is amazing,” she says. “It was my gateway.”
As soon as the lockdown lifted, Gulley returned home to Pukerua Bay and used her mother’s sewing machine to make her first garment – a tiered, sleeved dress in an intricate black and white pattern.
“It was the Wilder Gown by the Friday Pattern Company, which I made with a cotton drill. I don’t wear the original garment any more because I didn’t quite choose the right fabric – I cut it up and turned it into wide-brim bucket hats.”
Undeterred, Gulley bought her own sewing machine – a Brother Innov-is A16 – and joined the growing number of young Kiwis turning to the craft.
A stitch in time
New Zealand’s once-strong textile industry suffered under the rise of imported ready-to-wear fashion.
Today, an astounding variety of affordable clothing is a tap of an app away, and chain stores offering cut-price clothing are in every mall. But as more attention is paid to fast fashion’s unsustainable practices, and given limited sizes offered by a large portion of the industry, at-home sewing appears to be enjoying a resurgence among Kiwis.
Trevor Hookway, 70, has witnessed the fluctuations in New Zealand’s textile industry first-hand. He started sweeping the floors of a fabric warehouse in 1969 as a young university student in need of cash. Six years and a completed degree in accounting and business management later, Hookway returned to that same company to work in range development.
More than five decades on, he is enjoying his 38th year as owner and managing director of Auckland’s Hawes & Freer, which wholesales and retails fabrics and sewing components.
“We can see from our website that if you sell one pair of shoulder pads you know someone’s making a single garment. And that volume is just increasing and increasing all the time,” says Hookway.
When Hookway entered the industry, at-home sewing was popular because it was necessary. “During the 50s I think every second or third woman in the household had a dressmaker,” he says. “It wasn’t that you could go to Glassons because Glassons didn’t exist.”
Historically, New Zealand was home to a network of textile agents who represented overseas fabric companies, selling to local manufacturers and at-home sewers. But with the scaling back of tariffs in the 1980s, New Zealand manufacturers suddenly came up against intense competition from international suppliers. Imported clothing became more affordable and the local industry contracted. A workforce of 120,000 in the 60s became about 15,000 today. It was a challenging time to be an agent, says Hookway.
“Our customers basically converted us to a wholesale company. We were swimming against the tide when all the larger factories and companies moved their production offshore. But in 2012 we set up our first website.”
This website, which targets fashion students and home sewers as well as commercial designers, has been a success, which Hookway attributes in part to the recent resurgence of at-home sewing.
“During the past 10 years you’ve seen the rise of companies like the Fabric Store and Drapers Fabrics, which are buying surplus fabric from overseas suppliers and selling it very successfully,” Hookway says. “If there wasn’t demand for fabric bought by the metre then you wouldn’t have a fabric store like Drapers the size it is now.”
According to Jasmine Cucksey, general manager of the Fabric Store, which has branches in Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch and Dunedin, its retail business has grown significantly over the past five to 10 years. She credits that to a swelling conversation about the wider fashion industry, lockdown boredom and a resurgence in interest in slower, more attention-demanding activities.
Social motivation
Social media has also played an important role, particularly among young people, Cucksey says. While accurate demographic data is hard to come by, she estimates about 70% of the Fabric Store’s customers are aged between 25 and 45.
No story about the resurgence of at-home sewing would be complete without mentioning the popularity of television programmes such as Project Runway or The Great British Sewing Bee, now in its ninth season, and importantly the wholesome corner of Instagram that is home to such hashtags as #nzsews and #memademay.
The latter encourages sewers to celebrate their homemade clothing throughout the month of May. It’s clear from scrolling through the posts that a large number of contributors are young Kiwis who have picked up the craft and are wholeheartedly embracing the fun and consciously sourced stock marketed by these fabric retailers.
It’s also a wonderful resource for a sewer like Gulley. Before buying a pattern, she will search for it on Instagram, usually using a hashtag created by the pattern company. She will often find hundreds of posts to scroll through of others who have made the garment and provided feedback. “You can get a really great understanding of what the garment is going to look like before you make it.”
Jeanette Hayes, a retired Auckland lawyer and an avid at-home sewer, is familiar with Hookway’s timeline of the industry. She grew up watching her mother sew to save money. It was a craft she learnt as a child and rediscovered later in life after her children moved out. Hayes doesn’t sew out of necessity these days but for pleasure. Her recent garments are striking – she incorporates plenty of bold colours and eye-catching florals into her craft.
“Sewing your own clothes is not cheaper than buying them,” says Jess Rodda, a Christchurch-based sewer, pattern maker and small-business owner. “It’s only cheaper than buying some kinds of clothes – if you’re on a sustainable path, for example.”
But fabrics with strong environmental credentials can be expensive. Hayes says a good-quality linen might cost $30 a metre. If you’re buying 3m to make a dress, that’s $90 for the fabric alone.
So if it’s not to save money, why are so many Kiwis picking up the craft?
For Gulley the reasons are clear. “In my opinion there are three main threads. The first is sustainability – most people understand that clothes being sold for a certain price must be inherently unsustainable. But we can opt to remove ourselves from that cycle and make our own clothing.”
Her second and third reasons are the creative outlet that sewing offers and the opportunity to create clothes tailored to fit your body, rather than having to strain to fit into sizes set by manufacturers.
Three years on from that initial Covid-19 lockdown, Gulley is now a climate-change and sustainability consultant. She has a university thesis about sustainable fashion under her (store-bought) belt and remains deeply invested in the issue. The cramped Wellington apartment has been replaced by a sunny two-bed in Auckland where she lives with her partner.
Walking around the space on a video chat, Gulley proudly points to all her “sewing corners”.
“Here’s sewing table No 1,” she says, starting in the lounge. Fixed into the table is an impressively large German Pfaff sewing machine. The “spaceship”, as she describes it, is on loan from a friend.
Panning across the room, the dining table is visible. Pieces of fabric and other supplies obscure the surface. An open ironing board and some shelves stand nearby, with boxes of zips, buttons and sewing cotton. The walkway from the apartment’s entrance is partially blocked by a mannequin – a DIY project undertaken by Gulley to match her exact measurements.
Moving into the second bedroom, used as an office, she sheepishly opens her partner’s wardrobe. “I have two huge boxes of fabric in his wardrobe!” From home, Gulley has recently crafted a warm winter coat from a wool cashmere blend and a loose-fitting dress to wear to work.
Switching to sustainable
Whereas many people have become interested in sewing because of sustainability concerns, it was the craft that opened Gulley’s eyes to fast fashion.
“When I was making my first garment, I was learning how to construct seams and do gathers and it all made me realise that clothing is constructed by people and it’s a skill that requires time, energy and money,” she says. Once confronted with this realisation, Gulley felt compelled to continue sewing. She says she no longer wants to spend her money supporting companies that perpetuate unsustainable practices, or whose sustainability policies aren’t transparent.
For her, sustainability means looking after people and the planet. She wants to remind people: there’s a hidden cost to your $5 T-shirt. “The truth is someone will have been exploited along the supply chain, and the planet will definitely have been exploited,” she says of cheap “fast fashion”.
“Products that sell so cheaply are made quickly, recklessly and often badly. If your T-shirt has been dyed, the runoff from the factory could have polluted rivers. If it’s a synthetic fabric, that’s petrochemicals, which is bad from the beginning of its life to the end.”
The concepts of slow, conscious or sustainable fashion have started to gain traction. But a lack of regulation means in many places they remain buzzwords.
According to Gulley, the fashion industry is overlooked when it comes to environmental policy. “Clothing, footwear and other textiles are an enormous part of our everyday lives. We wear clothing every day. We sleep in sheets. We wash our hands and use towels. But it’s still not present in legislative action and policy.”
The lack of standardised environmental certification means greenwashing is rampant. A 2021 report from the Changing Markets Foundation found that 60% of environmental claims by 12 of Britain and Europe’s largest fashion retailers were “unsubstantiated” or “misleading”.
H&M – one of the worst offenders – made claims that flouted market regulator guidelines 96% of the time.
For the companies that have meaningfully adapted production to operate sustainably, the price of manufacturing often restricts their garments to high-income earners.
But some are finding innovative solutions. New Zealand label Ruby started selling patterns from its Liam collection at the height of the 2020 lockdown. Originally a pandemic solution, the business decision is now a permanent, sustainable evolution. Last year the company partnered with publisher NZME to print its patterns onto end-of-reel paper that would usually be waste.
Rodda is a fan. “Ready-made Liam by Ruby are quite pricey designer clothes. But now you can buy its sewing patterns and replicate them to your exact measurements.”
However, all of this is not to say sewing is a beacon of sustainability. Harmful fabrics are cheaply available for those who choose to buy them and the process involved in sewing doesn’t necessarily reduce consumption.
“So far as sustainability is concerned, it’s actually quite a tricky subject,” says Jeanette Hayes. Natural fibres and sustainably made fabrics cost a premium and, now retired, she averages two sewing sessions a week. “To be honest with you, I have a lot more clothes now than I had when I was buying them.”
It’s a challenge Gulley struggles with too. The joy and satisfaction of creating new outfits drive her to make something for most occasions. But she knows that isn’t good for the planet and it’s something she’s working on.
“I’m trying to shop my own wardrobe more, or I’ve also been giving clothes I’ve made to my friends so they have a new life with someone else. I definitely still do impulse-makes, when I’ll make something totally impractical but that fills me with joy and, on the rare occasion I wear them, I feel amazing.”
A creative outlet
Creativity is another motivator for home sewers, many will say. “Sewing is an amazing hobby that takes me out of my brain,” says Gulley. “I get to solve problems and I’ve taught myself so many skills.”
It’s also a delight to tell people you created your garment yourself, she says. “The serotonin really rushes to my brain when I can say, ‘Thanks! I made it!’”
Auckland home sewer Kossoma Kernem attributes the take-up of sewing by younger people in part to the desire for a slow activity that relies on physical touch and concentration. Kernem’s theory is millennials and Gen Zers are tired of having everything so readily available on the screen. “I really think we’re missing everything that’s analogue,” they say, noting many of their friends are also choosing to listen to music on vinyl and shoot pictures on film. “We’re missing touching things and we’re missing experimenting.”
Kernem’s favourite part of sewing is cutting the fabric. This is the point where creative decisions are made about whether to alter – or “hack” – the pattern in any way.
“I love the sound of the scissors against the fabric. I love the satisfaction of pressing seams open. As millennials we’re not in search of finished projects, we’re in search of the process.”
Non-millennial Hayes agrees. For her, sewing provides an opportunity to slow down and detach from the world. “It’s good for your mental health because when you’re sewing it’s all you can think about. There are a few mathematical equations that need to be done and you have to figure things out, so it takes a lot of concentration.
“When I was working, I found it fantastic. I absolutely loved my job, but it was really good to do something that made me completely switch off.”
Made for you
Being able to make clothes to fit your body shape is another draw. “By sewing, you’re able to create the garments that you wish were being sold,” says Gulley.
It was this sentiment that drove Rodda to start sewing. “I’ve always been plus-size so it’s always been challenging to find clothes. I wanted the clothes that they thought fat people didn’t want.”
Rodda enjoys sewing but admits she probably wouldn’t spend her spare time in front of a machine if she had all the clothing options standard-sized people do. It’s a time investment she commits to have a wardrobe she wants to wear.
Despite increasing awareness of the issue, the fashion industry’s lack of sizing inclusivity persists. According to website Vogue Business, just 0.6% of garments paraded in 219 shows in New York, London, Milan and Paris this year were plus-size (US 14+). More than 95% of looks on the runways remained between sizes US 0 and US 4, which equate to New Zealand sizes 6 to 8.
For Hayes, this is not good enough. She wears standard-sized clothing but opts to buy from pattern companies that go up to a size US 34. “Often pattern companies still have the ‘ideal’ skinny white woman on their covers, but representation is important.”
It’s partly this representation that makes social media so popular for at-home sewers. “I just love Instagram because you see all sorts of people with all sorts of bodies at all sorts of ages.
“It’s nice seeing someone, an older person, wearing something you thought wouldn’t be any good for you.”
Rodda connected with her now-business partner Leila Kelleher through Instagram. Together they founded Muna and Broad, which sells online digital patterns for Kiwis sized 16 and over. For customers who sit above their standard size range, they can provide larger patterns at no extra cost.
The pair initially connected over a mutual style, but they founded Muna and Broad to combat a lack of inclusivity in the pattern industry. At-home sewing might allow you to make clothes to your own measurements, but plus-sized patterns are hard to come by.
“When you’re fat, people say, ‘Oh, if you can’t buy clothes, companies shouldn’t have to cater to you – make your own clothes.’ But then you start sewing and realise there are no sewing patterns for us either,” says Rodda.
Muna and Broad’s patterns provide stylish options for people of all sizes. “It’s stylish stuff that doesn’t necessarily get made for fat folk, because people have assumptions about our bodies and our clothes.”
For Kernem, a jumpsuit they made in January 2020 remains ingrained in their mind. “It was the first time I made a jumpsuit that suited me, and I was so excited about it,” they say. “When I put it on for the first time, I felt like I could do anything. If I could make a jumpsuit that suited me, I could probably fix a car. There’s no limit to anything I could do when I put my mind towards it.”
This feeling of empowerment is a common thread across New Zealand’s at-home sewers. Almost everyone has an answer at the ready when asked to identify a garment they were most proud to have made.
Hayes: “I made this beautiful green coat – even if I say so myself. It was quite 1940s-style with big sleeves, slightly oversized and just a couple of buttons.”
Gulley’s was a pair of pleated pants made out of a traceable wool fabric – meaning the wool could be traced from the sheep all the way to the fabric’s shipment to New Zealand. “They took a long time, but they look really lovely on the inside and the outside.”
Having experienced the joy of making garments with total transparency of the process, Gulley doesn’t see any end to her sewing or her passion for sustainable fashion.
“I’m really trying to share this knowledge with other people and I’m trying to do that through my Instagram because I have this wealth of knowledge in my head now.
“My goal for this year is to make a sewing pattern and hopefully release it to the public, because I want to give back to the community that has helped me.”
