One piece of fabric, 1.5 to 2 metres should cover it easily, depending on what decade you are living in
Some poppers – root around in the button box to find a few
One button, any colour
Rip off a narrow strip of fabric long enough to go round your waist, with an extra 10cm to be the overlap for a button and buttonhole. Fold it in half lengthways, press.
Take the rest of the fabric, pleat or gather it along its long edge and join it to the narrow strip.
Test for length and stitch it all together. I thought I would make a small sample skirt to illustrate this. Note to self – never go into the dolls’ clothes-making business. Now I’m worried that it will look like a weird Borrowers costume, with giant pins and a huge button. For a more normal version of this skirt see 195o’s Dirndl Skirt Remake
I tend not to put zips in things – preferring the placket. This is such a lovely opening, ideal for a full, unstructured skirt.The waistband joins with a button and the placket closes with a few press-studs. I have sewn these in red, to make them show up, using waxed double thread and buttonhole stitch. No strain is put on the poppers so they don’t come undone.
Alternatively you could use buttons and buttonholes – like a button fly on a pair of Levi’s, the buttons obscured from view under a margin of fabric. At the base of the opening there is a small bar tack, also reinforced with buttonhole stitch, the idea being that this small piece of stitching will prevent any accidental ripping.
Here is how to do it with an illustration from Weldon’s Encyclopaedia of Needlework 1939-ish
I have made versions of this skirt many times over the last 40 years – even got married in a couple – on separate occasions you understand. The earliest one I clearly remember was in dark green cotton, with a lurex thread running through it – which sounds hideous and tasteless, but it was actually lovely and subtle. It had a slight check to it as well. It was 1979, Polanski’s Tess was on at the cinema and clothes were all about the romantic arts of scrubbing and lighting fires and pulling turnips. In fact, in this still from the film, I think Nastassja Kinski is actually wearing my skirt!
I remember sporting it with a huge viscose scarf wrapped and folded and tied and twizzled around my hair. And some flat suede boots in grey, which may have been men’s but at least they fitted me. The skirt was long, mid-calf, and the lower foot of the hem area had about ten very small tucks, running parallel. I wore it until it fell apart. We lived in a freezing cold flat in Muswell Hill, and I seem to remember wearing some sort of underskirt with it, to add another layer and be more like Tess. And tights of course. And socks and leg warmers. It really was cold. We all wanted to live in Hardy’s farmyard mud and look beautiful and sleep in the attic over the barn.
I must also confess to making a perfectly monstrous version of it, and wearing it just once, to a posh party. I must have looked like a visiting court jester. I had bought some jumbo corduroy – a yard of blue and a yard of red. For some reason I liked the fabric but had skimped on the purchase, so made the skirt in wide red and blue stripes.
This is probably the look I was going for, a dress of beautiful slender stripes and the exquisite bohemian style of Egon Schiele’s wife. Mine was an embarrassing travesty.