baroque_mongoose

My dad didn't like plastic... or, at least, he didn't like what he thought of as plastic, which was not quite the same thing. Terminology mattered in this case, as it did in many others. For instance, nobody was allowed to hit anyone, unless it was an adult hitting a child, which was perfectly legitimate as long as it was called "smacking". Adults would get very angry and upset if you called them out on this and said it was hitting, and they'd straight-up lie and tell you it wasn't, which was ridiculous. What on earth else was it? In the same way, "plastic" was cheap and nasty, but there was apparently nothing wrong with the seat of the loo (which was certainly some kind of hard plastic), and Dad's extensive record collection was all "vinyl", so that was perfectly all right.

Dad's attitude was nothing to do with environmental considerations. Nobody really thought about those at that time, or at any rate not in connection with plastics (there certainly was concern about emissions, but that wasn't the same thing). It was more that he grew up at a time when plastics were just coming in, and at that point there wasn't much around for which plastic was the ideal material. Generally speaking, it was a cheap and usually inferior substitute for wood, glass, metal, or even ceramics. So he had learned to think of them as cheap and nasty, and once he got an idea into his head - as has previously been mentioned - it was well nigh impossible to shift it. And, interestingly, he didn't have any problem with synthetic fibres, because in his book those weren't "plastic". He did tend to prefer natural fibres in general, but the sheer contempt with which he'd look at some item and exclaim "It's plastic!" never extended to polyester, acrylic, or anything of that sort.

Very recently, and quite interestingly, I've been noticing a few people in the sewing community who not only don't like using these fibres for environmental reasons (which is entirely fair, and I try to limit them as far as possible myself due to that), but they actually seem to find them squicky. Just as fibres. They will go on and on about how polyester isn't breathable and it's like wearing a plastic bag, and so on, and so on.

That is partly true. Actual polyester fibres are not breathable. Neither, for that matter, was a suit of plate armour; sometimes you don't wear things for their breathability. On the other hand, quite a lot of polyester fabrics are reasonably breathable due to their construction, so the "plastic bag" comparison is unfair. The plastic bag has an awful lot of ventilation holes. Polyester lining, on the whole, is quite closely woven and therefore not very breathable, so I wouldn't use it to line a fitted jacket; however, I have no problem using it to line a cape or a skirt, since the nature of these garments allows plenty of air access so it doesn't really matter what they're made of.

As I say, I do prefer to limit it. Lining is the only "fresh" (as it were) polyester fabric I buy; other than that, I try to avoid it unless it's deadstock, which is being sold off so that it doesn't go into landfill, and we really don't want polyester in landfill so I am quite happy to put it to good use. On the other hand, I do use polyester thread, which is stronger and less inclined to tangle than cotton is, and I'm not going to wibble about a little bit of polyester in a blend. Reducing the use of it is good, but cutting it out altogether is (at least at the moment, until good alternatives are developed) more trouble than it's worth. Still, I'm rather fascinated by the whole squick thing about polyester (in particular; it seems to be less pronounced with other synthetic fibres). Polyester is problematic due to the method of manufacture, but I don't see how it is inherently squicky. It's not, for instance, unpleasant to touch; there are a few rare people who have a sensitivity to it, but sensitivities to natural fibres (wool in particular) are much more common.

Now, the place where I do have breathability issues is on my feet. For years I couldn't afford anything other than cheap shoes, which are, basically, plastic, though again nobody calls it that; and for years I struggled with athlete's foot as a result. But ever since I've been able to get hold of shoes made from really good quality plant-based breathable materials, I've never had a problem with it... so it's quite a major issue, certainly for me. Yet I never hear anyone going "oh, synthetic leather, eeeew, horrible".

People are strange...

I think I may have already mentioned that Porthos is half Russian. His mother had the great misfortune to be born in Siberia; she eventually got out by dint of marrying an Englishman, the result of this being, of course, Porthos. She did very well for herself over here as a translator, though I think she's now mostly retired; and she and Porthos regularly stick two fingers up at Putin by finding all the Ukrainians they can and royally entertaining them (they live in the same town, though not in the same house).

Life in Siberia was, as you might expect, pretty grim, especially in the winter. When Porthos' mother was growing up, every winter, as soon as the freeze set in properly, her father would go out, shoot a bear, drag it home, and stick it in the shed. For the rest of the winter, every time the family wanted meat, he'd go and hack a bit off this frozen bear with an axe. Porthos' mother wasn't the biggest fan of bear meat, and I should think that by the time she left home she was very glad not to have to see it again. But, apparently, that was just what you did in Siberia.

So our Porthos grew up fluently bilingual, which gave him a massive head start learning other languages; he is still probably the best linguist (in the sense of "language learner" rather than "student of the way languages work") that I know. He and his mother still code-switch all the time with dizzying rapidity, which can get a bit disorientating at times, but that's just how they function.

Well, one day, he decided he wanted a frock coat; and you can't just go and buy one of those off the peg, especially not if you are (as he was at the time) an imposingly large gentleman. He's tall, and at the time his circumference was not too far off his height. So he asked me if I could make him one, and I said, of course. I found a pattern, enlarged it fairly considerably widthways, and made it up for him; he was very pleased with it, and decided he'd like a pair of knee breeches to go with it. Conveniently, the frock coat pattern also had a pattern for those included.

Now, this was a long time ago. I had never widened a trouser pattern before, so it didn't occur to me that I didn't need to widen it throughout; his legs were not as thick (in proportion to the pattern) as his torso was. So I just widened the whole thing, then I made a calico mock-up and got him to try it on.

He came out of his bedroom wearing this mock-up. We looked at it, and each other, and laughed. And then his mother rang.

He answered his mobile. "Zdrastvuitye, mama... [Russianrussianrussianrussian...] [Russianrussianrussian...] [Russianrussian Bermuda shorts Russianrussianrussian...]"

I mean. I couldn't argue. But that's how I found out that there is no Russian term for "Bermuda shorts".

There's also no Russian word for "gonk", but that's quite another story!