I Sewed My Entire Paris Wardrobe — Here's How It Actually Held Up

There's something magical about sewing for a trip. The whole time you're at the machine, you're picturing where you'll wear each piece — the cobblestones, the café terraces, the golden afternoon light. And then you actually get there, and those clothes become part of the memory itself.

I'd been planning a special trip to Paris with my mom for months. She's in her 70s, we live in different cities, and we hadn't spent this much time together in years. We were going to celebrate her birthday and a milestone in one of my big projects (more on that soon). So I did what any devoted sewist would do: I made almost an entirely handmade wardrobe for the occasion.

Five new pieces, two beloved older makes, eight days in Paris. Here's everything I made, why I made it, and how each piece held up when it actually mattered.

Planning the Capsule: Fabrics, Weather, and the Indyx App

The first challenge with any travel wardrobe is the weather — and Paris in late spring can be unpredictable. I was looking at a rainy 55°F on day one, climbing to nearly 90°F by the end of the week. That's a real range, and it shaped every fabric choice I made.

When I started mapping everything out, I used the Indyx app to build my packing list and visualize outfits. I love saving each travel capsule in there so I have a real archive to reference for future trips. It's such a practical tool for intentional packing.

My aesthetic intention for this capsule was soft, romantic, and a little vintage-inspired — think Parisian flower shops, antique lace, soft pastels. I wanted pieces that could shift from day to evening, layer over each other, and actually work together as a cohesive wardrobe rather than a collection of individual items.

The Pieces: What I Made and How They Performed

The Thistle Cardigan in Ivory Merino Wool

The Thistle is a straight-cut cardigan with semi-fitted sleeves and a soft flat lay collar — a truly versatile silhouette. I made mine in ivory merino wool interlock from The Fabric Merchant, and it became the hardworking layer that tied the whole first half of the trip together.

Why merino for travel? I can't say enough about it.

It naturally regulates temperature, so it was genuinely comfortable on a cool rainy day without feeling heavy or stifling. The merino interlock I chose is much lighter than a traditional wool knit — thin enough to pack without adding bulk. And merino naturally repels odors, which matters enormously when you're somewhere warm or somewhere people smoke a lot of cigarettes. (Paris, I'm looking at you, in the most affectionate way possible.)

The flat lay collar was the perfect canvas for a little embellishment. I'd been eyeing my Japanese beading book for a while, so I added hand-beaded embroidery along the collar edge — little flower motifs in silver glass beads with pearl centers. Sitting and beading for a couple of hours while listening to music was one of the more genuinely enjoyable parts of the whole process.

A word of warning if you're making a similar project: I washed the cardigan for the first time and watched it bleed everywhere. I'd used a washable marker to trace button placement — completely standard practice — but the ink had gotten trapped inside the covered buttons where water couldn't reach it. Every wash cycle, it would bleed again as it dried. It took five washes to come out completely. If you're working with covered or shank buttons, skip the washable marker entirely. The ink can get sealed inside and won't wash out the way it normally would.

I wore the Thistle on day one to the Marais — vintage shopping, a walk through the marché, the Picasso museum — and that evening layered it over my Lilac dress for dinner in one of Paris's covered passages. The merino performed exactly the way I hoped.

The Alice Tee in Pale Pink Merino Rib

This was my fourth Alice. That tells you everything.

A semi-fitted long-sleeve knit top, dead simple to sew, and I made this version in a fine rib merino from Yardblox in the palest pink. The fine rib is almost sheer, which makes it surprisingly versatile — I wore it with a camisole underneath but could also see it layered under pinafore dresses or overalls.

I got the entire top out of less than a yard with some strategic cutting, and since I've made it so many times, I finished the whole thing in about an hour and a half. It's that kind of pattern.

I wore it on day two — still cool and clearing — with my Chelsea jeans in dark denim and a vintage silk scarf. The merino was perfect for the weather: super breathable and thin enough for a spring day without being cold.

The Orla Skirt in Japanese Selvedge Denim

The Orla is a chic A-line mini with princess seam panels front and back, inseam pockets with a button closure, and a fully faced waist. I love this silhouette so much I've made it twice — this version is in a Japanese selvedge denim from Emma One Sock, and it turned out to be the most-worn piece in the entire capsule. By day eight, I'd worn it on three separate days.

When I was sourcing fabric, I was originally drawn to a darker denim in the same shop, but when I held up my white top-stitching thread against both, the selvedge won easily. The texture is beautiful and the contrast stitching really sings against it.

For construction, I set up three different machines: my Janome for the construction, my Bernina for the top stitching, and my serger for the seam allowances. I left pink thread in my serger from a previous project because it was easier — and honestly, the pink against the dark blue denim on the inside of the seams looks really pretty. It's a good reminder that serger thread doesn't need to match your fashion fabric if it's not going to show on the outside.

I styled it differently each time I wore it: first with a pink vintage lightweight sweater top while exploring Montmartre and visiting Marché Saint-Pierre (a seven-story fabric store — an absolute must if you're in Paris), then with a vintage crochet top and sneakers for the Hilma af Klint exhibit at the Grand Palais, and finally on the last day with my Fern blouse in a Liberty print from last year.

The Freesia Dress in White Polka Dot Viscose Georgette

The Freesia had been on my to-make list since we started designing it over a year ago. It's a pull-on style with an empire waist, a fully lined straight-grain bodice with gathers at the underbust, a soft keyhole tie at the neckline, and a bias-cut skirt that just moves beautifully. Mine is in a viscose georgette from Yardblox — not totally sheer, but you can see through it in strong light.

A few construction notes that might help if you make it:

I chose French seams for the side seams since they're fairly straight. For those long vertical seams, I used a long narrow zigzag instead of a straight stitch — this is what I prefer for bias-cut garments, because it lets the seam stretch with the fabric rather than pulling. Once the dress was nearly finished, I hung it overnight before hemming to let the bias relax, then finished with a tiny baby hem. (Watch this video I did recently on sewing bias cuts if you want more tips like this.)

I noticed that the polka dots look very slightly off on the skirt, because the dots aren't printed at an exact 45° angle. I double-checked while cutting and confirmed I was on the true bias — so it's just something I have to live with. It's barely perceptible, but perfectionist sewists, consider yourself warned.

I wore this dress to a concert at the historic Sainte-Chapelle — a performance of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, completely enclosed in those stunning stained glass windows. It was one of the most magical evenings I've ever had.

The Orchid Bed Jacket in Raspberry Pink Rayon Satin

When I was planning my capsule, I wanted a lighter layering piece for warm evenings when a cardigan would be too heavy — something to cover my shoulders from the sun or add a layer over a dress without overheating.

A vintage-inspired bed jacket was the obvious answer.

The Orchid is boxy with a V-neck, a single tie closure, and wide bracelet-length sleeves. Mine is in a raspberry pink rayon satin with scalloped lace trim at the neckline and sleeve edges. It's a romantic, feminine piece — exactly the kind of thing that feels right in Paris.

I brought it as the pairing for my Freesia dress at the Sainte-Chapelle concert. I didn't end up needing it much that night, but I was glad to have it.

The Posie Dress in Cotton Gauze Floral Print

For the hottest days — nearly 90°F, outside for most of the day — I turned to my cotton gauze Posie dress.

The Posie is a surplice wrap-style dress with a fitted bodice and a short A-line skirt. I made this version as a wearable muslin before cutting into my nicer fabric — not primarily to test fit, but to test construction before making any changes to the pattern. The cotton gauze snagged really easily while cutting, so I switched to a microtex needle (extra sharp) and that solved the problem.

One practical note for wearing wrap dresses while traveling: the open front doesn't mix well with a crossbody bag and film camera on a strap. I had to do a lot of adjusting throughout the day at the flea market at Saint-Ouen. Just something to keep in mind if you're a crossbody-bag person.

The Rayon Jacquard Posie Dress (The Final Version)

This was the Posie I really wanted to make — the labor of love version. A warm pink rayon jacquard with scalloped edges, which I recently showed how to create in a separate video.

The jacquard is gorgeous, but I didn't realize how easily it wrinkles until I got to Paris. One small change I made from the gauze version: I shortened the sleeve hems slightly, since it worked better proportionally with the scalloped hem.

If you want to see how I did the machine scalloped hem, watch that video — it's time-consuming but not difficult if you have the right tools and technique. The result feels like something special.

Older Makes That Rounded Out the Capsule

Two pieces from previous seasons came along and held their own beautifully.

My Lilac dress — a polka-dot rayon challis midi from last year's summer sewing — was incredibly versatile. I wore it on the first evening layered under the Thistle cardigan and a short trench coat, and again on day seven styled with striped socks and red Mary Janes (secretly excellent walking shoes with arch support) for a visit to the Serge Gainsbourg house. That day-to-night range is exactly what a great travel piece should do.

My Fern blouse in a Liberty print made an appearance on the last full day paired with the Orla skirt — a favorite from last summer. I love that I got to mix in pieces from other seasons. It really highlights the power of building an intentional wardrobe over time, where pieces continue to earn their place year after year.