Hi Mom//A Jumpsuit For+About A Life

What stories from your life do you tell most often?

My friend George is one of the reasons I started caring about clothes, and eventually started making them myself. Most of my favorite pieces in my closet come from him. He gifted me a Gitman shirt made from raw, indigo dyed cotton that was a little too tight. To keep it in the family, I gave it to my mother, with instructions on how to wear and eventually wash a raw, indigo dyed textile. She immediately took to the process, and has been racking up wears before her first wash.

From there, I sold her on the idea-and the price point-of proper raw, selvedge denim. One pair of pants to wear daily. A rough and tumble uniform.

We went to Iron Shop, and when she was again aghast at the price, I assured her: with proper care, some of these jeans could last thirty or forty years with regular use. She looked at the jeans in her hands, then away, and said with a little softness: “I won’t be here for that long.”

Around that time, I was tasked with designing a denim jumpsuit as one of my Material Institute design briefs. I wanted to make a jumpsuit for my mother that examined mortality. I wanted to try and understand what it feels like to be far enough along in life that its arc come into focus. I wanted a jumpsuit that was wearable, usable, and I also wanted it to be a biography. I wrote down the stories my mother told me over and over again in my decades with her, the ones I perceived as most important to her. In this way, I didn’t want to show the world what I see in my mother. I wanted to show people my understanding of what she sees in herself.

I anchored myself in a few things as I started the process. One was a set of photographs I took of her nearly a decade ago, when we were all in California over Christmas visiting my sister. The sun was coming in perfectly through the window, and I took pictures of my mother that have stuck with me since.


I used those as the starting point for my visual research. As I collected material, I made five collages to make sense of them. My collages explored ideas like grace, wear, and age, with materials cut from old books, polaroids I’ve taken, and film prints from old pictures I’ve taken. I didn’t have a set idea of what I wanted to see when each was made, but when I finished them I knew they represented what was in my heart.

 
My experiences to that point at Material Institute opened so many doors for exploration and skill development. I wanted to take all of these rabbit holes and connect them, and find their place in the final garment. Things started to come into focus as I sketched out options.


My mother spent the majority of her career as a mechanical engineer specializing in elevators and escalators. I didn’t put it together until relatively late in this process, but she wore a jumpsuit when onsite. I drew influence from these jumpsuits, and Iranian military uniforms, especially older ones, and pre-revolution fashion trends, too.

I started the fitting process early, when my mother came to New Orleans for Thanksgiving. I drafted a basic bodice and trouser block and fused the two, adding a waistband between them. I drafted a sleeve in case it was necessary.

With fit out of the way, I could focus on the various design elements that would, in pieces, tell the story of my mother’s life.
Exhibit 1//Ancient Roots

Sara Madandar provided me with a book of ancient Persian motifs as I dug for inspiration in adorning the jumpsuit. I purchased a wool silk blend fingering weight yarn, a nod to the two materials Persian rugs have traditionally been made from. I dyed the yarn with red madder root, which gives Persian rugs their distinctive red. I settled on a relatively literal application of a design from a pottery shard found near Persepolis.

After dyeing the yarn, I wound it improperly and it became a bird’s nest. My mother, patiently waiting between fittings, took it upon herself to untangle the mess. It took days to scour, dye, wash, and prepare the yarn for embroidery. The embroidery itself took about ten minutes. That it was so brief felt absurd, but  when I looked at the pocket, it didn’t need anything more.
Exhibit 2//Sea for Yourself

My mother and father were both  born in Tehran, but they met where most Persians do: California.  As UC-Davis students, my mother recalled restaurants selling heaping plates of Abalone harvested from the ocean nearby. When she went back recently, the only local Abalone she could find was at upscale restaurants.  A single Abalone cost $36.

She often recalled to me driving to the Caspian Sea as a child, waiting by the docks where the boats would pull in. Fisherman would haul fresh Beluga off the boats and gut them, pulling out the caviar, piled high on bread pulled from ovens situated right next to the docks. Due to overfishing, my mother’s childhood snack now cost sthousands.

The lonley brass rivet on her pocket speaks to the loss of this abundance.
Exhibit 3//Break Handle

The youngest child and only girl, my mother was undefeated  in my grandmother’s endless attempts to mold her into a proper lady. When her older, and much taller, brother got a bike, she took it upon her self to take it for a ride. She didn’t get far before she fell, and the brake handle punctured her leg.

I added a leather patch to the inside leg of her jumpsuit, where I recalled the scar was.

I started adding that patch to the inside of both legs on many of my sketches. You’ll see them if you scroll up and look again. I imagined that if I ever made her any pants, trousers, anything with legs, I’d figure out a way to incorporate the detail appropriately. I liked the idea of a handshake between us, and the opportunity to take the mythos built in my mind and share it with others.

Exhibit 4//Knock on Wood

When I was in high school, I found a company online that made sunglasses out of wood. I saved my money, went to New York with my friends, and bought a pair at one of the few shops that carried the brand. The most expensive ones, with polarized lenses and two tone wood. Why not.

My mother hassled her mother until she caved and bought her the eyeglasses she wanted, with enameled flowers on the corners of the frames. Not too long after, my mother forgot them on her lunch tray and threw them out, and realized too late. As a punishment, my grandmother went back to the shop and bought her cheap, ugly frames. They were made from wood.

I added a small strap for my mother to hook her eyeglasses to so she wouldn’t have to worry about losing them again.
 Exhibit 5//The Water



I dyed white cotton twill with natural indigo. I garment dyed the jumpsuit so I could ombre dye, fading to a pale blue at the bottom. Using a cotton sashiko thread, I upturned the edges with hand stitches meant to look like the spray from a wave’s crest. I wanted to create the impression that my mother was standing on the shore, stepping into the water.

The detail doesn’t speak to a particular story of hers. It just felt right.


Here is the jumpsuit I made for my mother.
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