Category: Blog

The Great Unicorn Pants Quest – Part 1

The duct tape sloper

By Kitty

Kitty solves all her problems with duct tape

Last time, I learned that all my pants (1) don’t fit and (2) make my backside look like squashed peaches in a paper sack.  

Bad Backside Fit

After exhausting the usual methods to try and fix the problem (ready-to-wear, altering commercial patterns, mathematical pattern drafting, virgin sacrifices, and so forth), I decided that duct tape is once again my best friend.  Felix would cover me in tape from the waist down, and I would use the resulting shell to create a sloper for all my future pants.

The duct tape sloper

If you’re wondering, a sloper is a very basic pattern based entirely on your body shape and measurements (without any design ease or features) that you can use to create other styles that fit.  

At Felix & Kitty, we’ve always used the duct tape method to make custom corset patterns for complicated bodies, including mine.  Plus I’ve already made a T-shirt sloper for myself using this method. So Felix is an old hand at taping the female torso, and I assumed it would be pretty simple to do the same thing for pants.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Preparing to tape

If you’re doing this with us, You want to make sure that you haven’t just eaten a big meal, and that you’ve used the bathroom before you start.  Trust me, there’s no quick way out of the duct tape once you’ve started. 

We usually use a disposable T-shirt as the base layer for taping the upper body.  For taping the legs and hips, I ran up some leggings out of scrap knit material.  It’s some kind of thin, hideous, stained polyester knit I kept for testing patterns.  Since we’d just be cutting it up, I didn’t want to use anything nice.  Nor did I bother finishing any of the raw edges.

Sacrificial Leggings

If you don’t have any sacrificial leggings, you can use plastic wrap as a base layer.  Simply wrap your lower body with it, being very careful not to pull it too tight or cut off your circulation in any way.  Or you could use a large lawn bag, cutting it up the middle and taping it to more or less conform to your legs.  Anything will do, as long as it’s not so thick that it will throw off the fit or so loose that it will bunch up under the tape. 

Have a long ruler or other straight edge on hand, as well as a few sharpies, maybe in different colours.  A plumb bob could be useful if you’re not good at judging what “perpendicular to the ground” looks like.   You can improvise one by tying any weight to the end of a shoelace or string; a key ring works well.  Or an L-shaped ruler will do the job too.  Some extra string or long shoelaces are nice to have as well.  And of course, duct tape.

The taping process  

To wrap the legs, the wrapper can’t just walk around and around the wrap-ee the way you do with the torso.  Also, you don’t want to risk significant compression in the groin-adjacent area by pulling against the inner thighs, partly because it would distort the fit but also because you really don’t want to compromise blood flow in this region. 

That meant I did NOT want long pieces wrapped like doughnuts around the upper legs.  But we really had no experience of what the best method would be.  In the end, being the anatomy nerd that I am, I decided that we should follow the major leg muscle groups with the duct tape, which worked pretty well.  

The crotch proved the tricky bit, since you need to try and maintain the same posture throughout while making room for the person doing the taping to get in there.  You will need the tape to go pretty much all the way up and cover everywhere with no bare fabric/plastic wrap showing.  Using narrower, shorter strips of tape helps. 

However you do it, it’s going to get quite intimate, so your wrapper had better be someone you’re comfortable with rummaging around your privates.  While they’re working, remember not to suck in your gut or stand unnaturally erect, or you’ll get an inaccurate fit.

We covered the entire relevant area (from the high waist to above the ankle) with one or two layers of duct tape, then finished with a single-layer “skin” of duct tape, off-set from the “muscle” layer for reinforcement against separation.  You don’t want any more layers than this, since too much thickness will make it hard to flatten the taped form for pattern-making later.  It looked like this when we finished taping:

Duct Tape “skin” Before Marking

The duct tape needs to cover a little more area at the waist level than your finished pants will, so you can draw on it.  We decided to tape all the way down to the ankle because I have extremely prominent calves from strength training and the way I stand with my knees locked, which I thought might have a carry-over effect on the fit higher up (this turned out to be an excellent call, as you’ll see later).  If you have normal calves, you can probably get away with just taping to the knees.

Quad-to-Calf Curvature

We chose to wrap only one leg because my legs aren’t noticeably asymmetrical.  If your legs are very different left to right, or if you just want a spare half shell to use in case you mess up with the first side, by all means wrap both sides.  

Either way, I recommend that you wrap all the way around the hips and abdomen; if you try to do only one half, things may be pulled off centre by the taping process.  

Marking the side seams

The next step was to carefully mark all the important reference lines, plus some I thought might possibly be useful.  The first one was the side seam, which should have been the most straightforward.

The side seam should run perpendicular to the floor from your waist to the hem at (surprise!) the sides.  It should bisect your body and legs, or divide them evenly, front to back.  In an average person, if you draw a straight line downward from the midpoint of your hips at the side, it also more or less divides your legs into front and back halves — think where the side seam of your pants fall when you’re wearing them.

Depending on your posture, you may find that this line does NOT hit the midpoint of your legs.  In which case, just do your best to imagine where you’d want your pants side seam to be and draw a straight line downward at that point.

In my case, it was a whole lot more complicated than that.  It turns out that when I stand normally, my calves are thrust so far back that a straight line going down the middle of my side hip wouldn’t even BE on my lower legs:

Er… where am I supposed to put my side seam line now?

This was patently ridiculous.  I couldn’t put my side seam anywhere close to the mid-hip without going off my legs completely.  Since I had no clue how to deal with this, I asked Felix to mark several potential “side” seam lines, as well as a line down to centre front and centre back leg.  I’d just have to sort it out later in the pattern-making process.

Marking the other lines and points

The other reference lines were considerably less eventful.  We managed to get the following drawn on without too much kerfuffle: 

  1. The centre front/crotch curve/centre back line, which is exactly what it sounds like.  You start at the middle of your tummy area (about belly button level, where your jeans fly would be) and go straight down, between your legs and up the back.  It may help to pass a string between your legs and hold it taut in place (centred at front and back) while your helper draws the line by following the string.
  2. Your preferred waistband position.  Just draw on the duct tape where you’d like the top edge of your pants to sit.  If it helps, tie a string around your waist at the desired location first.
(2) Waistline Marked (top of image)

We also marked the fullest point of my gluteus maximus, the big butt muscle.  If, unlike me, you actually own real buttocks, this is where the back darts will point on your pants.  I asked for a vertical line down the centre back of my leg that passes over this point, which will be useful later if I want to make pants that cup snugly under my bum.  

For all of the above lines, we marked several cross-hatch points to make matching easier (if/when the shell gets cut apart into panels during pattern-making).  We also labelled the front, back, and sides, because once the shell is off your body, it’s going to look like a mess of shed snakeskin, and it can be hard to tell which way is which.  

If you can think of any other possible points or lines, go ahead and mark them.  If you don’t need them later, no harm done, and you never know which one might prove useful.

Finally,  we marked the horizontal circumference line above my knees as a future reference point.  For some people with prominent calves like me, the back pants leg below the knee may need to be longer than the front, for the same reason that the front of a shirt needs to be longer than the back in large-busted women — you need more length to go over a taller “bump,” as I explain in more details here. So I reasoned that it might be handy to know where to start adding length later.

Horizontal Knee Line

Escaping the tape

When I had checked and double-checked that we had made all the markings I could think of, Felix (very gingerly) cut me out of my duct tape shell, being extra careful not to slice through my underwear or my skin.  If you’re not experienced at using shears, blunt-tipped scissors are probably your safest bet.  It may be easier to cut from the top down part of the way, then go from the bottom up until the cut meets in the middle.

In my case, I needed the full length of the leg cut open because I have massive weight-lifter quadriceps, which meant my leg would’t easily come out through the top opening alone.  If you have thin or less muscular legs, you might find it easier to cut the shell along the centre front or back by sucking in your tummy to make a nice hollow for the scissors, and take them off the way you take off a pair of jeans.

Either way, the thing to remember is not to pull on or distort the tape shell any more than absolutely necessary while you wiggle yourself out. 

Now what?

Now you have a duct tape double of your waist, hips, and leg.  

You can’t just use this as a pattern for pants, of course, unless you use an extremely stretchy fabric and want skin-tight leggings.  If you’re like me, you can’t use it as a pattern at all, because it simply won’t lie flat.  Also, this looks nothing like any pants pattern anyone sane could ever imagine.

The peeled shell

Look at the taped shell of my calf.  You could hide a watermelon under there!

Is there a watermelon underneath?

I can hardly believe this is for real.  I’m very, very glad we decided not to quit taping at the knees, because if we had, I never would have learned how bonkers my lower legs and calves really are.  

Having seen this, I think that my pants fit problems weren’t due entirely to the shape of my bum.  Quite a lot of it MUST be due to the peculiar angle of my legs and my knees-locked posture, which seriously accentuate my already uber-muscular calves.  

On the one hand, I’m a little dismayed at how abnormal my body is.  But on the other hand, I feel better about failing so utterly at getting a conventional pattern to fit me!  At least now I know nothing off the rack, whether ready-to-wear or in sewing pattern form, ever stood a whelk’s chance in hell of fitting me.

Next time on the quest for unicorn pants

In the next instalment of the pants fitting adventure, I will attempt to make some kind of sense out of my duct tape shell and turn it into a usable flat pattern.  Truthfully, I have no idea exactly how that’s going to happen, because it bears no relationship to the shape of any pants pattern I have ever seen in my life.  But it will be exciting to try.

If you too have never found a pair of pants that fit exactly as you wanted, I highly recommend giving the duct taping process a go.  Even if you don’t make your own pattern or sew your own pants, you WILL learn loads of things about your body — and demystify some of the things that makes you so uniquely you.

Moving forward by looking behind

Literally.  No, really actually literally.

By Kitty

When we used to do conventions (remember those?), I occasionally saw T-shirts that read “People who misuse the word ‘literally’ figuratively drive me insane.”  

As a word pedant, I quite understand the sentiment.  So in this spirit, I’m going forward with my first personal project of the new year by (literally) looking behind me.  At my backside, to be specific.

Warning: if you don’t feel like looking at lots of scary photos of my mono-butt in badly fitted pants, maybe skip this one.  

You Have Been Warned

Why the sudden interest in bums?

I’ve been sewing for myself since (figuratively) the first ice age.  But most of that time, I’ve focused almost entirely on fitting my outsize bosom and not at all on the other half.  

As anyone who’s seen me knows, I was standing at the front when they were handing out busts, and forgot to show up for the booty line.  A year ago, you’d have needed a microscope to find my behind.  Now, with my pandemic-induced, year-long bout of weight lifting, my buttocks actually exist!  They’re a sad, if valiant, effort at actual curves, but at least they’re trying.

And none of my pants fit anymore.  Only then, it occurred to me that I’ve never really thought about anything I wear on my lower body.  Even my Felix & Kitty design line, which contains a slew of jackets, vests, coats, tops, shrugs, skirts, and cloaks, doesn’t contain ANY pants.  Woof.  Did it really take me ten years as a professional clothing designer to notice that?

What are “pants,” exactly?

First off, if you speak British English, I mean trousers, not underwear.  When I was growing up, “pants” were what Americans and Canadians would call “panties.”  Over 25 years after landing in North America, I still giggle internally when I use the word “pants” to mean lower body outer garments with a division for each leg.

I can’t say “trousers,” though, because here in Canada, that means a specific style of pants.  There aren’t set definitions, but trousers are generally dressier, looser-fitting pants that don’t cup under the buttocks at all, and have wider legs.

For todays purposes, I will be using the word “pants” to mean something like “slacks.”  These are pants that fit fairly snugly over the hips, cup under the buttocks noticeably but aren’t skintight, and have narrower but still fairly straight legs.  Basically, something halfway between trousers (in the North American sense) and jeans.  You know, the kind of thing you could wear to pop out to the shops or for work in a semi-formal office and look respectable, while still feeling comfy if you’re just lounging at home.

Do you know if your pants fit?

Well, looking around, I’d say that most of us (myself included) really don’t.  If you don’t believe me, try this little experiment with me:

  1. Put on a pair of your regular pants.  Avoid anything super-tight or stretchy, like skinny jeans, leggings, or snug yoga pants, because that doesn’t tell you anything about bum fit.  Also avoid anything really loose, like palazzo pants or culottes, for the same reason.  Just plain old semi-fitted slacks.
  2. Stand normally without twisting or looking behind you, and have someone take a few pictures of your lower rear view.  Make sure they get some close-up of the buttocks and upper thighs.  This will NOT give you the same view as just looking at your bum in a mirror.  Trust me on this!  All these years, I looked behind me in the mirror and thought my pants fit fine (just see how wrong I turned out to be in the photos below).
  3. Now google some pictures of “how pants should fit in the back,” or some variation thereof.  This is probably the best way to find photos of real people with real bodies in properly fitted pants.  Don’t bother with fashion photos, which are generally retouched to remove all shadows and lines, and are in NO way representative of how real clothes should fit.
  4. Compare (2) and (3).  If they’re more or less similar, lucky you.  For the rest of us, what we see will come as a bit of a shock.  Take a deep breath and remind yourself that self-knowledge is always worth having.

I accidentally performed this “experiment” while trying to figure out why the back of *all* my pants kept pulling down when I bent over or sat down.  I asked Felix to take rear view photos of a pair of my most recently made pants, and received a nasty shock when I saw that they looked like this (if you’re the sensitive sort, you might want to cover your eyes):

Experimental Results

Blurgh.  I’m pretty darn picky about the fit of my clothes these days, what with being a seamstress and all, but I’d never before thought to do this.  I always thought my pants back looked fine when I glanced behind myself in the mirror!  Is this only happening to me, or did anyone else have the same revelation?

How are pants supposed to fit?

From a practical standpoint, your pants should feel secure around your waist and stay in place with normal movement though your entire day, but never feel uncomfortably tight, even when you sit or bend over.  You should not need to hike them up constantly; nor should they ride up between your buttocks and give you a wedgie.  The pants legs should not get caught up on your calves.  The waistband shouldn’t roll or pull down.  Basically, you should never notice them at all.

From an appearance standpoint, the front should have no significant wrinkles or drag lines when you’re standing still, and there shouldn’t be any excess fabric or pulling.  There should be no evidence of the dreaded “camel toe” at the front crotch area (look this up!).  The front of these pants — the same pair as the one above, with the terrible back view — actually fit pretty well:

The Front is Good

Depending on the design and fabric, the back may need to have some drape lines for ease, or you might not be able to walk or raise your legs.  But you shouldn’t see major wrinkles, “cat whiskers,” or visible wedgies.  In a perfect world, the back of your pants falls almost as smoothly as the front, but you still have full mobility.  In other words, NOT like this:

How to get pants that fit

I tried it the usual way.  I took careful measurements, chose the right size pants pattern, altered it meticulously so all the numbers matched me, and sewed it up.  Then I tried again with a different pattern from another pattern company.  Then I tried drafting my own pattern from my measurements.  This is what resulted:

I tried commercial pants off the rack, which felt like they fit, more or less, from different brands.  They looked like this:

Note that while all of these look awful, they also look broadly similar to each other, in spite of the fact that each design comes from an entirely different maker and has different details and levels of tightness.  In other words, the wrinkles and drag lines are consistent between all the brands and styles.

This tells me that something about the way I’m built is causing this fit problem, rather than a problematic draft by a particular company or designer.  I always knew I had non-standard breasts, but apparently I also have a statistically abnormal behind.  

After many, many attempts at fixing the issue, all of which failed abjectly, I finally decided to do what I should have done in the first place.

When in doubt, duct tape

Yes, I turned to my trusty old friend, duct tape.  So next time, I’ll go into some detail on how Felix wrapped my legs, bum, and intimates in duct tape to create a custom pants pattern.  

This will be Step 1 in the great unicorn pants project, in which your elderly great-aunt Kitty, who used to think she was a highly experienced designer and seamstress, quests for her first-ever pair of properly fitted pants.  Well, they say humility is good for the soul!

An invitation

If you also found the back view of your pants disconcerting (or if you have to hike up/pull down/fiddle with them throughout the day, or they keep trying to crawl up your butt crack or between your legs, or give you muffin tops where you have none), I encourage you to join me on my little quest.

Even if you’re not big on sewing, you’ll learn something about the shape and posture of your own body, and gain an important tool you can use to improve the fit and comfort of your next pair of pants.  Since most of us live in pants these days, surely that’s a tool worth having.

2020 is behind us!

(Am I the only one that has mixed feelings about this?)

By Kitty

Well, that was…different.  

Most of us have some choice things to say on the subject of the year 2020, many of which are not fit to print.  Everyone experienced drastic changes.  Lives, jobs, and sanity were lost, the world became an utterly different shape, and the weirdness is far from over.

But still….

In some ways, it was a pretty good year in Kittyland.  That seems like 1) an awful thing to say, given the terrible things that have happened to so many people, and 2) a very strange thing to say, since I lost pretty much my entire income and became professionally unemployed.

Obviously, I’m not saying it was a good thing that the world went barking mad, or that the consequences of the pandemic (and everything it unearthed about what’s wrong with society) are anything but horrifying.  

I’m speaking purely from a personal philosophical place.  This is the year I spent sewing what feels like (and probably actually was) thousands of face masks, half of which were donated to essential workers and assorted shelters.  The year I found out that making money can be less important than making a difference.  The year where we grew tomatoes and squash and beans instead of our business, and learned that produce is easier to share than products.

When or if it becomes safe to have conventions again, we’ll no doubt return to the making and peddling of fancy dress.  But a part of me will remember with fondness a year in which my sewing skills and materials went toward making the world a little safer, not just prettier.  There’s a lesson in there somewhere, and I hope I’ll remember to take it with me when life approaches normal one day.

For a while there, it did feel as though I was playing hooky if I wasn’t spending every minute of the day churning out masks.  Now that mass production seems to have caught up with the demand for masks and vaccines are a real thing, I feel like we can indulge in a spot of frivolity.    

So here are some things I hope to write about in the near and intermediate future:

  • Bums.  Not the kind of bums that involve unemployment, but the kind you sit on.  I have gone on at some length in the past about the trials and tribulations of owning a non-standard bosom, and how to get clothes to fit around it (here, for instance).  Now I mean to branch out into the other curvy bit that can often be stroppy on a woman.  Even into the dreaded realm of pants fitting.
  • Feet.  More specifically, the atrocious things you might be doing to yours without even knowing, and what you can do about it.  The majority of foot problems are self-inflicted!
  • DIY tutorials.  One of the things I’ve learned last year is that we all could stand to be a bit more self-sufficient.  This is probably true even when the world isn’t going to pot, right?  Instead of just talking about things I’ve made, I mean to start showing you how to make them yourself, if you’re so inclined.  Maybe starting with a simple, no-fitting-required sewing project, progressing on to a T-shirt that actually fits your DDD cups and/or spectacular booty, and perhaps even going all the way to basic corsetry, if I don’t get lost in my garden first.  

Until next time, Kittens, stay safe and enjoy the fresh, crisp new year!

The weather outside is frightful

(But these masks are quite delightful!)

By Kitty

In normal years, when the holiday season arrives, I head down a deep dark hole and hibernate there until all the party-goers have gone to sleep it off and it’s safe to re-emerge.

But not all people are misanthropic goats like me, and some of them even want to celebrate Christmas/Winter Solstice/Kwanzaa/Diwali/Hanukkah/Las Posadas/non-denominational holiday of choice with family and/or friends and/or attractive strangers, pandemic or no pandemic.  

This gave me to think.  You, being all sociable and well-adjusted and the like, are probably getting dressed up and sallying forth sometime this month.  And you likely don’t want to top off your glamorous outfit with a mask you got out of a ten-pack in Surgical Blue or Grim Reaper Black.

Can masks be a fashion statement?

Unequivocally, yes.  Some masks absolutely can, the operative word being “some.”

Like any other item of clothing, I think masks can project certain messages.  They can cover the full spectrum, ranging from “I’m covered enough not to be illegal; can’t be arsed to do laundry too” (think ill-fitting, one-size-fits-none disposable masks that gapes open at the top and sides) all the way to “I’m mysterious, alluring, and something fascinating awaits discovery beneath.”  

Which latter is what I’m hoping to evoke with our latest style.  Bit ambitious for a simple mask, maybe.  But designers without ambition are like eggnog recipes without rum: they exist, but shouldn’t.

Compare and contrast the following two concepts:

The Sparrowhawk mask

This is the mask style for people who don’t mind being surreptitiously stared at.  

If ever a mask could be said to make a statement, this one does.  Co-ordinate one of these with your office suit or party dress, and suddenly the face mask gets elevated from merely utilitarian to the perfect finishing touch to a thoughtful ensemble.

Here are several examples of the breed, both plain and embellished:

Pros, cons, and undecided

The geometric, angular design forms what can only be described as a beak, which projects far enough off your face to give you loads of breathing room.  The extra 3D space is definitely a pro.

It’s very structured, with a three-layer mask folding into side panels that are at least six layers thick.  It’s the face mask equivalent of a super-secure, ultra-modern skyscraper.  Just so we’re clear, the part directly over your breathing passages contains only three layers, because you still need to breathe.  It’s a myth that thicker is better, beyond a certain point.

Is all that a pro or con?  It’s a pro if you prefer a solid-feeling mask that stands upright on your face.  It’s a con if it feels too rigid for you, and you’d rather have something a bit cuddlier and more flopsy-soft.

The extra layers at the side panels definitely forms a better barrier, and makes them sturdy enough so gaping is generally a non-issue.  But the trade-off is that not as much air can move through those 6 plies, which bothers some people and others don’t even notice.

I personally find the panoramic height of the “beak” compensates for any restriction through the sides, and the three layers over my nose and mouth allow more than enough air flow.  I went for a brisk hike in a Sparrowhawk mask and had no trouble at all.  In fact, I think this might become my go-to style, because I like the solidity and the extra vertical space over my nose.  Plus it does look so interesting.

But if you’re highly sensitive to the least reduction in breathability, you might be best off in a mask designed mainly for easy breathing, like the Gondola mask.  There’s a certain charm to its Empty Child aesthetic, if you’re into that (if you don’t do Doctor Who references, think WW2 gas masks).

And we’re off to the ball!

The drama of the Sparrowhawk mask lends itself especially well to ornamentation.  I rummaged through my box of shiny things, and put together a few fun possibilities for your next party, special event, or just showing your festive spirit at work:

By the way, all of these embellished masks are being offered for sale here while they last.  We’ll match each one sold with a mask to be donated to a local shelter (especially in child sizes and unusual sizes, which are harder for them to come by).   

We have enough special materials left to make another one or two of some of these, while others are really one-of-a-kind.  They’re gone when they’re gone.

You can find regular (undecorated) Sparrowhawk masks here.  These can be made in any number of fabrics from our vast fabric galleries to match your outfit, so your imagination is the only limit.

Happy holidays to one and all!

Is this the best mask of them all?

Or, better late than never.

By Kitty

In this instalment of our continuing adventures in mask making:

  • Old Aunt Kitty eats a helping of humble pie, with a side of crow
  • We encounter a mask style that may just be the best ever
  • We are reminded that wet masks are bad, and unimpeded vision is good

The hunt for the perfect seasonal mask

So after I spouted off at some length about the latest official mask recommendations and the pros and cons of assorted filter materials (herehere, and here), I turned to the task of creating a new style of mask with some quite specific requirements.

  1. The shape must allow maximum ease of breathing, while being able to accommodate a filter pocket for those who wanted to use disposable filters.  Now that we’re supposed to have a minimum three layers of tight-woven material, breathability is more important than ever.
  2. It must be fairly simple to make, so we could keep the price down, and so we could produce them quickly for donation.  Since every single health authority says that wet masks should be changed AT ONCE, we all need to carry around three or four masks in the wintertime, meaning they can’t cost an arm and a leg.
  3. It must maintain its 3D loft and resist sagging, even if it gets damp.  For those of us in the North, rain/snow/condensing breath/runny noses are a fact of life now, and we do not want possibly contaminated, clammy fabric crumpling against our breathing holes.
  4. It needs to form a good seal around the nose to prevent glasses or sunglasses from fogging up, even in nasty weather.

The new mask style (well, new to Kitty, anyway)

For weeks I pounded my head against the sewing table, trying out design after design and rejecting them all.  Some were too complex, some stuck to my nose or mouth if I took a deep breath, some pulled down every time I talked or moved my jaws, some caved inward when a little moisture from my breath precipitated on them, and so forth. 

Finally, I struck upon the perfect idea, and there was much rejoicing.  Hurray and huzzah!

Then about two minutes after that, I found out that about eleventy-thousand other people had struck upon it already.

It turns out that this mask concept is already out there, and has been for months.   Origami enthusiasts, sewing mavens, and droves of millennial Youtubers had all gotten there before me. If there was an originator for the design, it has been obscured in the mists of time.

Which goes to show that even an elderly, experienced seamstress like myself can stand to learn from the internet.  I could have saved myself a deal of head-banging if I’d just sone a little Google search first.

In my defence, my version does contain several refinements of my own, which I really believe will make these masks a bit more comfortable and even a touch safer.

So here they are, these not-exactly-new but still kind of brilliant masks. If they have a standard name I haven’t found it, but we’re calling them Gondola masks, because that’s what they look like to me:

The selling points

First, these masks are comfortable.  Airy, lofty, with a metric buttload of breathing space.  We didn’t think anything would beat our Ziggurat masks for ease of breathing, but Felix and I both agreed that these are significantly better for sheer airflow, even with three layers of fabric.

Next, the 3D shape is genuinely self-supporting.  The pin-tucks work like reinforcing beams to help keep the huge “dome” of the mask high and dry, well off your nose and mouth.  Even when you deliberately inhale deeply, it’s all but impossible to suck the fabric down far enough to touch you.  If the mask does get wet from rain or snow, the fabric will stay lifted up instead of collapsing onto your face, which is rather important for safety.  

Observe how the mask dome stays up by itself

The dome is nice and tall — too tall to soak up those unspeakable fluids we all leak from time to time in the cold (it’s mainly water vapour from the air condensing in your breathing passages, but that sounds less fun).  

Because the path of least resistance means that your breath travel outward into that big space, it really minimizes fogging up of glasses.  I also scooped out a dip under the eyes, so the mask conforms better over the bridge of your nose, and doesn’t interfere with your vision — even when you wear it high enough.  You can see how nicely the mask sits against the nose here:

Close-Up showing the snug fit around the nose

By the way, next time you see someone in one of those disposable masks with the straight-across top, note how low-slung down their nose they’ve got it (and also note the big gaps that result at the sides of the nose).  They have to do it that way, because if they had it at the proper height, the straight top would wander into their eye region. So it’s either impaired vision or bad fit.  Either way, it’s dangerous.

If you want to use disposable filters

If you’re into filter pockets, this style does offer you the option.  No, not all mask styles work with filter pockets.  No matter what anyone tells you, adding a filter pocket to a pleated mask is an exercise in logical failure (it can be done, of course; it just negates the point of the pleats).  

Keep in mind that a filter pocket must perforce float free from the pin-tucks buttressing the mask’s structure, therefore may be more liable to get sucked up against your nose.  I have yet to find any supported studies indicating that disposable filters are better in any way than a three-layer mask, but you’ll need to decide for yourself if it’s worth it.

The negatives

Well, there really aren’t many.  This one is a winner in most respects.  

If you have a big beard you want to keep covered, or stubble that tends to catch on and pull down masks, you may want to stick to a mask style with pleats at chin level, like the Ziggurat mask.  Though Felix swears the Gondola mask doesn’t ride down even when he gets all stubbly, which is a complaint he has against all other non-pleated styles.

The Gondola mask does take up quite a lot of footprint on your face, which may be a plus or a minus depending on what you’re after.  It’s better coverage, but if you really don’t like the World War gas mask aesthetic, this style may not be for you.  

It’s uber-practical and perhaps lacking in elan.  If you’re attending a fashionable holiday masquerade, maybe try the Sparrowhawk mask instead.  Speaking of which….

Next time, the other new mask style

With the holiday season upon us, some of us are probably preparing to attend various gatherings.  In a world of mandatory face covering, I thought there’s a place for a mask made for glamour — all striking looks, but still not without practicality.  Kind of like a dramatic swirly cloak, as opposed to a parka.

If that sounds like your cup of amontillado, join me in the next instalment, in which Fairy God-Aunt Kitty makes masks for the kittens who want to attend the ball.  Guaranteed comfier and safer than glass slippers.