What did I just do?

In general, I am not an impulsive person. I am not given to fits of whim or huge splurges or rash decisions. And yet, here I am. Last week, I was looking at vintage patterns on Facebook Marketplace. I like vintage patterns. I like them quite a bit. So imagine my surprise when I found a collection of 1400 (yes, fourteen HUNDRED) vintage sewing patterns for sale. They were being offered by a very lovely woman, retiring from 40 years of being a seamstress. They mostly comprised patterns from the 1980s and 1990s, but with many reaching back further, even to around 1912! What’s a vintage pattern lover to do? While the rational part of my brain argued that there was absolutely no earthly reason to purchase that many patterns, I found myself overwhelmed with excitement by the idea. And so I bought them. And their beautiful organized banker boxes and storage rack, along with eleven (11!) index binders.

My initial thought was that I would keep my favorites and sell the rest on Etsy, attempting to turn a profit. But as I talked to the woman selling them, and worked my way through the meticulous index binders, I realized that I hadn’t just purchase 1400 patterns. I had purchased a collection. I purchased something special. Something that deserves to be maintained and preserved. I can’t break them up and sell them. But if I don’t sell them, what on earth can I do with 1400 patterns, very few of which are something I could/would actually make and wear? (Not to mention very few of which are my size!)

I have many thoughts, but I think, just maybe, I want to figure out how to create a sewing pattern lending library. I have no idea what this entails or how to do it. How do you lend out something as ephemeral as vintage tissue paper sewing patterns? What about the new multi-size patterns designed to be cut on a single size, ruining the remaining sizes? How do I protect the patterns, while still sharing bits of history with others? Many of these patterns are cut, used. Some even have little tiny snips of sample fabric stapled to them. Some are torn. Each is a piece of history that connects us in such a tangible way to those who sewed before.

And so I have decided to begin a journey. First, I must catalog what I have. That is a daunting task in itself. How do I organize and maintain all that information (preferably with color photos of pattern envelopes)? Then, after the many hours of work creating a catalog, how do I create a practical system to share this beautiful library with other sewists? Finally, how do I make it, perhaps not profitable, but at least self-sustaining?

I don’t know. I actually felt sick for a few days after buying this collection. Not because I regretted it, but because this is a pretty enormous task taken on very suddenly and my non-impulsive personality was overwhelmed. But I am committed to moving forward as long as I can and going as far as I can, because I want to share this treasure with others who will love it as much as I do.