Building a handmade wardrobe feels like a dream, the kind you don’t chase loudly, but carry with you over time. It’s a slow process, but the pieces you create can become keepsakes for a lifetime. I grew up imagining what it would be like to wear something I made myself: choosing the fabric, adjusting the fit, and eventually seeing it become part of my everyday life.
Over the past months, I’ve often shared how meaningful it is to build a personal, me-made wardrobe, I even tried to enhance a 75 Hard challenge (that was a fail). But there’s truly so much joy in sewing or knitting something that feels yours. It’s something I believe in deeply, and something I’ll always advocate for.
But I realised I haven’t actually shown you where I am in that process. Not the vision or the ideas, but the tangible pieces I’ve made so far.
I’ve titled it ‘My Handmade Capsule Wardrobe’, but don’t take it too literally. This isn’t a perfect capsule or a finished collection. I’ve actually made more pieces than the ones I show in the video, but these are the items I wear on a daily basis, at least most of them. A small selection of garments that feel like me, and that I genuinely love to wear: calm, neutral, easy to style, and intentionally made.
So today, I thought I’d share a glimpse. I hope you liked the video.
As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t follow strict capsule wardrobe rules, but I do believe in intention. Before starting a project, I try to ask myself: Will I want to wear this again and again? Will it layer well with what I already own? Does it fits with my 3 style words; refined, effortless, minimal?
If there’s one pattern that answers all those questions, it’s the Versa Pants by Puff & Pencil. I honestly can’t believe I’ve only made three pairs. They’ve become my version of everyday jeans.
What I love most is how the look completely shifts depending on the fabric: they can feel super casual or surprisingly polished. It’s probably the most versatile piece I’ve made so far. It truly lives up to its name.
You might have noticed that most of the garments I’ve made come from thrifted fabrics, old curtains or tablecloths transformed into wearable pieces. There’s a financial reason for it. Sewing does require some initial investment: a good machine, reliable tools, and eventually, quality materials that help your clothes last. It’s something you feel upfront, but it doesn’t have to stay that way.
Good fabrics can be expensive, and when you’re just starting out, that cost can hold you back from experimenting or building a full wardrobe. That’s why I always recommend looking into thrift stores. You’d be surprised how often you’ll find beautiful, sturdy curtains or table linens that are perfect for garment-making.
Personally, I almost always use thrifted fabric for toiles. If the fit works, it’s a win. And if I really love the pattern, that’s when I’ll invest in a more expensive fabric because by then, I know it’s worth it.
That’s exactly what happened with the Versa Pants. It wasn’t until the third pair that I used a higher-quality fabric and it paid off.
Through this process, I’ve also learned what I love most: cotton, heavier textures, earthy tones, and simple silhouettes.
After wearing my handmade clothes regularly, it became clear which pieces I truly reach for. These are the ones I feel most myself in: calm, comfortable, and quietly curated. I absolutely love my Lily Bias-Cut Skirt from Lizzie Studio, the Karl Blouse from Sewing Machina (and of course, my Versa Pants). Each one feels like a foundation piece in my capsule wardrobe.
But here’s the thing: finding your personal style, even when you’re sewing it yourself, doesn’t happen overnight. Like I mentioned earlier, trying different fabrics helped me understand what feels best on my skin and what fits my lifestyle. It’s the same with patterns. Some silhouettes just don’t work for me and that’s okay.
I’ve bought patterns, made garments from them (including one with expensive fabric right away, which I now regret), and learned a lot through that process.
That’s why I really value the three-style-word method. But don’t just pick trend-driven words. Choose ones that reflect your personality, words that anchor you when deciding what to make. Mine are: effortless, refined, and minimal.
As an introvert (read: a lazy person who’d rather stay in to sew, knit, or binge-watch knitting podcasts on YouTube), I actually love wearing clothes that feel a little fancy. But I don’t enjoy having all the attention on me. Those three words help me stay true to myself, both in how I dress and in what I choose to make.
If you’re curious, let me know, I’d love to share more about how to incorporate the three-word method into your sewing or knitting practice.
There are so many talented indie pattern designers out there, and it’s easy to fall into the fast-fashion mindset of buying patterns just for the sake of making something. If you want to embrace slow fashion, take your time. Create moodboards. Go into shops and try things on, not to buy, but to discover what really suits you. That can help guide the handmade pieces you choose to invest your time in.
If I’m sharing these tips, it’s because I’ve been through this and honestly, I still am. I’ve made garments that no longer feel like me, and that’s part of the journey too.
But if you’ve put real care into making something, you can always pass it on. Someone else might wear and love it, and that keeps the slow fashion cycle moving forward.
I really enjoyed putting this post and video together, it made me appreciate the handmade pieces in my wardrobe even more. It also reminded me how much I love this platform, where I can connect through writing, filmmaking, and slow creativity with people who value making things with intention.
I’ll keep sharing progress as I sew (and knit) more pieces, but I’d also love to hear what you’re creating, wearing, or dreaming of. If you’re building a handmade wardrobe, or simply exploring your style in a thoughtful way, feel free to reply or comment. I always love seeing how others interpret slow fashion in their own lives.
Thanks for reading,
Prisca 🤎
