E. Min Ho's Coat

The first cut into the fabric of a project always brings me joy and makes me feel I am truly creating. It wasn’t always this way, of course. When I first began working with scissors I would dread cutting. It represented to me the potential waste of resources, supplies and the destruction of an idea. Terrible fear makes for a terrible attitude.

I remember I still felt this way, many years ago, when one of my young siblings asked me to take on a project for him: the construction of an authentic appearing coat for his cosplay event. ‘No problem,’ I’d thought and, out of love and bit of ignorance, I eagerly said yes.

From the start we were met with several obstacles. My sibling was several states away from be by this point and we hadn’t seen each other for years. Formative years, during which he grew from a young teen to a young adult. Strengthening the distance was the only way we could take his measurements: over the phone and with the help of our 13 year-old sibling and her recently acquired measuring tape!

To make things truly interesting, I had no pattern to draft from and no materials to start with. The only image I had to reference of the character revealed details about the coat (bias, fabric toggs, tails and cuffs...) Things I hadn’t even considered to ask about. The day after I began to sketch out a pattern, my sibling called me with the event’s deadline.

After what felt like weeks of scowering the GWs for fabric and other supplies, I was ready to start the first mockup. Laid out and chalked down, the pattern looked odd and unfamiliar and the fear came all at once. My hands shook, causing my confidence to slip as well. After all my sketching and daydreaming, I suddenly couldn’t picture this coat, let alone how I could make a garment at all. “Why did I do this?” I shook my head, staring down at the sketch I’d made- the one of my sibling in the coat. Reclaiming my confidence, I smiled and began cutting.

Four mockups in and my scissors felt like an extension of my hands. Each line I cut to sew revealed something new about the project, like how the fabric would react to changes in the pattern and shape. Inspiration settled where fear had finally slipped away- abandoned for the other evocations of the project, including the rush to award a deadline.

When the coat was nearly done, every detail seemed to have come together. ‘A near match!’ I thought as I examined the coat and the cloth toggles I’d attached across the front and collar to finish it. My partner and I had even sketched and painted the intricate details on the coat’s tails. Something my sibling hadn’t requested or expected.Once dried and pressed, the coat seemed ready to box and send.

My partner layed out neatly folded paper as I examined the entire thing one final time. “Oh no!” My heart sank with dread as realization came over me. I don’t remember much after this, but my partner told me it went this way:

“He can’t get in!” I called out, but my partner could only stare on as I grabbed my scissors and threw the coat flat on the floor. “There’s no way in for him!” I called again, and then began cutting across the entire front of the coat.

“It looked perfect...” My partner watched as I cut and then agressively stitched in snaps and hooks, all in the space of a few minutes. Suddenly, I was holding the coat up again, still in one piece.

“There! It’s done!” I held the coat up for my partner to inspect. It looked the same as before, probably shocking us both. So much so, that we never took a single photo of the finished item before we boxed it up and sent it on its way.

The coat made it to my sibling just in time for the event. Though I never was able to see it on him, several of my other siblings claim it was a hit and saw him wear it to several events. I like to imagine now that he still has the coat all these years later, or at least a memory of wearing it that provides him with the same confidence and love I got in making it.