When I was six years old, my favorite baby blanket ripped apart. Devastated, I ran to the living room crying, thinking all was lost. My mom looked down at the thread-barren little blanket and said, “we can fix it.” That was the first time I picked up a needle and thread. From that moment, I learned that repairing my things was just a part of life.

As I got older, my interest in sewing grew too. So, when I was twelve, an older woman named, Betty, offered to teach me how to sew for real. She came over once a week and taught me the art of crafting your own clothes at my kitchen table. She taught me everything from understanding fabric to french seams to fitting a bodice. In high school, I helped my friends hem their pants or take in their shirts — even repairing a prom dress from a dry cleaning disaster. Helping my friends feel good in what they were wearing was an act of love for me.

Now, almost two decades later, I’m a bit older, a bit wiser (kinda), and have developed a bit more perspective. Repair and alterations has become an art for me, as well as, an act of love. And, as a queer person who has lived in a body that has been perceived by the world as small and medium and large, I feel a deep commitment to an alterations process that is body-positive and inclusive. You don’t want those pants to be a “woman’s” fit, I get it. You want to take a men’s shirt and crop it to fit your body? Me too. I have felt the intimidation of entering tailor shops that just don’t see you the way you want to be seen, and I want to offer a different way. I want you to feel like each piece of your wardrobe fits you.