Should we revive the art of dressmaking?

Last week, I spent a blissful morning truffling around the V&A. I was taking a belated look at The Glamour of Italian Fashion, which comes to the end of its run on 27 July. The couture, as you might expect, is breathtaking. From the first exhibit, a 1945 cotton shantung ladies' suit with precisely matched chevron stripes to the exquisite Dolce & Gabbana hand-painted silk gown in the final room, it is impossible not to be left speechless by the hours of intricate, eye-straining work that go into creating such works of art. And they are works of art. A snippet of film showing workers embroidering the full circle of a full-length satin skirt drew a collective gasp from those of us watching. This, of course, is one of the things Italian couture is known for – the exacting, head-splitting attention to artisanal detail. It also struck me, watching my fellow spectators, that certain clothing appears to be replacing the religious icon as an object of worship: the way we linger devotionally over a white gown worn by Audrey Hepburn in War & Peace; the emotional punch of seeing a Litrico evening suit tailored for and worn by JFK.

cute homecoming dresses

The part that really interested me was the sartoria: the practice of highly skilled dressmakers interpreting the couture collections for their own clients. As far as sartoria is concerned, the exhibition owes an enormous debt of gratitude to Mrs Werner Abegg, who donated her beautiful wardrobe to the V&A. Abegg could easily have afforded couture clothing, but instead turned to Maria Grimaldi, her favourite dressmaker, to keep her chic and fashionable throughout her busy social life. It was while I was studying a cream silk evening gown scattered with embroidered blue cornflowers and topped off with a cropped cornflower-blue jacket that I think I discerned the real reason for this: Mrs Abegg was possessed of what would be described these days as a "mature" figure. This is not to say she was without shape – far from it – but she did have a substantial bust and hips to match. Even 60 years ago, this was not a shape that lent itself well to the fashions of the time. What can be seen in the Abegg collection is the intelligent, creative and highly skilled way the styles of the day have been adapted to suit an "unfashionable" body shape. The cream gown with its straight skirt, high, fitted waist and scatterings of pretty blue flowers is feminine without resorting to the obvious; the eye is drawn down and the colour blends. The cropped fitted jacket neatens the bustline while the cornflower colour gives continuity with the gown. The very last thing you notice is the generous bust.

Further on in the exhibition, there is a cocktail dress and jacket made from silvery-gold sari silk purchased on the owner's travels. This used to be something we did a lot – buy fabric with the intention of having it made up by a dressmaker. The purchase would be accompanied by a question along the lines of, "How much will I need to make a knee-length full-skirted sleeveless dress?", and the assistant would almost certainly know. Then you take it to your trusted dressmaker and Bob's your uncle. It seems to me that, unless you go to a specialist shop, you're more likely to be met with a blank stare nowadays.

When I looked at a Valentino design from the 70s (probably a size 10/12) and compared it with last year's gorgeous gold-lace confection (likely a size 00), I couldn't help but think this should be the perfect time to take matters into our own hands and learn a lesson from the past. So hands up, dressmakers – we need you.