Lately I have been thinking about what our customers are not saying. What they’re not asking for. What they might be too afraid to admit on social media or in a public forum or even say out loud.
When we sent out a customer survey a few months ago, I was surprised to see a request that was repeated over and over again: “we want more tutorials.” I was shocked, and probably completely burnt out when I read that feedback, because my first thought was, “there is no way you could want or need more tutorials.” I had so much resistance to it, and I could not work out why. Tutorials are a big part of what I do and probably the thing I am most known for, but being asked for more struck a nerve.
And then came the other extreme… Some people started saying something that surprised me even more. Because of the vulnerability of these Substack posts, customers have been reaching out. Writing to me. Offering to jump on Zoom or meet in person. And in these conversations with people who have spent hundreds of dollars with my business over the years, many have quietly admitted they have barely sewn a thing. Not because they don’t want to, but because they simply haven’t had the time or the space or the energy to use what they’ve bought. Yet they want to remain connected to the hobby. They want to stay close to the community. They believe in what I do and want to keep supporting small women-run businesses like mine.
There is so much tenderness in that confession. It tells me the problem isn’t a lack of desire, and it isn’t a lack of tutorials either. It’s that life gets full, and making slips through the cracks. The intention is there, but the permission to begin (or begin again) often isn’t.
There is something about sewing, about making clothes with our own hands, that is so often seen as frivolous. I have experienced this tension since choosing to study a Bachelor of Design in Fashion and Textiles. I would often tell people what I was studying and could feel the judgement. That it wasn’t serious, that I wasn’t serious. Or that I was judging what they were wearing because I was somehow classed as a professional of taste.
Sewing falls to the bottom of the list because everything else feels more urgent. And when it’s labelled a hobby (which it usually is) it becomes something we believe we have to earn time for. But it isn’t frivolous, and it isn’t just a hobby. It is a way to reconnect with ourselves. A way to activate parts of our brain that rarely get a look-in. It is a form of self care. A way to disconnect, unwind and make a little space for breath. That’s a big part of what I’ve been trying to do this year with Making, Again, remind myself of the importance of making in my daily practice and re-prioritise it. Not because I need new clothes (although a piece or two would be nice), but because of the impact on my overall wellbeing when I do.
After the dust settled, I went back to the customer feedback and asked myself again what my customers are actually asking for. I did my best to set aside my resistance and my preconceived ideas. Because by this point I had realised that it really couldn’t be more tutorials.
There are thousands upon thousands of tutorials freely available on blogs and YouTube. There are books, courses, patterns - almost every sewing technique imaginable is a quick search away. And yet, makers are still feeling confused, unsure and out of their depth.
And of course they are. Although we now have access to everything, sometimes everything is simply too much. How do we know which sources are reliable? Which courses are worth investing in? What patterns will actually fit our bodies? How to interpret the drag lines that appear on our particular body? Long gone are the days of learning to sew from one person and adopting their methods as gospel. Our access to information is a gift… but also deeply overwhelming. It can leave us feeling like we don’t have what we need to have satisfying, confidence-building making experiences.
So many of us postpone making because we think we need to improve first or are waiting for our bodies to change:
“I’ll start when I understand fit.”
“I’ll start when I learn to sew an invisible zip properly.”
“I’ll start when I have drafted a block to my measurements.”
“I’ll start when I lose that extra weight.”
But what if making itself is the teacher? What if we set that idea (whichever belief is holding us back at this particular moment) aside and said: for now, I know enough. For now, I am enough - and just got on with it? Isn’t there something liberating in accepting ourselves exactly where we are and simply doing the thing we love, purely for the joy of it? There are already so many barriers to creative work - time, energy, little people running around, space, resources - that obsessing over our “lack” of skills becomes one hurdle too many.
I know this is exactly how I felt when I wanted to get back to making this year. I was overwhelmed by the gaps in my wardrobe, the fabric in my stash, the patterns I wanted to try, and the awareness that my body was about to change drastically with my second pregnancy. Instead of spiralling into all of that, I blocked out the noise and just made a simple pair of elastic-waist pants. I altered the pattern to fit a growing bump and refused to let myself get paralysed by the rest. My only goal was to make something - anything - and to find my way back to that feeling of flow that I missed so much. The garment at the end (if there ended up being one that was wearable) was a bonus. The time at the machine, the rhythm of my hands, getting myself back in my studio… that was what I was actually looking for. And I hoped that by simply starting again, the next project would not feel quite so overwhelming. By reminding myself of the goal, it became easier to prioritise the time. And you know what? It worked. Suddenly making again felt a lot more achievable and my mind started swimming with ideas.
When I read between the lines of that “more tutorials” request, what I realised my customers were actually saying was: I want clarity. I want companionship. I want confidence. I want someone to quietly whisper, Start here. Try this. You’re doing fine.
Suddenly my resistance to the request softened. Once I translated the request into what it really meant, I could see the humanity in it:
I feel unsure.
I don’t trust myself yet.
I don’t want to feel stupid.
I want a way back into making that feels gentle.
Something about that feels so much more manageable. Endless tutorials are just that… endless. But finding ways to support our community to feel less alone? To feel held while they work out where to begin? That is something I can do. That feels like the kind of impact I actually want to make.
Yes, I love creating tutorials and answering questions, but when I think about a legacy, it is not about perfectly filmed steps or neatly written instructions. It is about connection. About holding space. About igniting passion.
One comment on a recent blog post I received recently said:
Being part of the In the Folds community has brought me back to my creative self. For that, again, I thank you.
Another said:
I feel sooo blessed to have been part of the Curated family for all these years! You started Curated during a difficult time for our world when we were all craving connection. Thank you for having given us this beautiful gift!
That’s how I want people to feel when they come away from using one of our products or being part of our community. It’s not about what they are making, but the act of making itself.
So maybe the answer isn’t more. It’s less noise, more quiet. Less proving, more doing. Less perfection, more presence. And if that’s what people come here for - not the final garment, but the feeling - then I’m exactly where I need to be.
I’m ready to join you in letting go of guilt and shame and just start making again! Bring it on
This resonates with me and has inspired me to "just get on with it". Thank you!