If Fabrics Had Personalities – A Definitive Ranking
Sewing different fabrics is a bit like interacting with different personality types. Some are chill and reliable, others are high-maintenance divas, and a few will test your patience until you start questioning your life choices. So, in the name of science (and questionable metaphors), I present:
The Ultimate Fabric Personality Ranking
Each fabric is judged (out of 10) on:
✔ Ease of Sewing – How much patience is required?
✔ Frustration Level – How many deep sighs and seam rips will happen?
✔ Mistake Risk – Does one wrong move ruin everything?
✔ Worth the Effort – A nightmare to sew but a dream to wear?
✔ Sustainability – Will the planet forgive you?
So now that we have the ranking categories sorted, let’s take a deep dive into the different fabrics, their personalities, and some of my old (OLD) makes and mistakes. I’ve not included fabrics I haven’t sewn with (looking at you denim, lace and swim fabric) because how could I rank them if I’ve never sewn with them?
Let the ranking begin
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Let the ranking begin 〰️
1. Cotton – The Best Friend
Ease of Sewing: 10/10
Frustration Level: 2/10 (mostly user error)
Mistake Risk: 3/10 (it forgives, mostly)
Worth the Effort: 9/10 (wearable, breathable, comfy)
Sustainability: 7/10 (better if organic)
Cotton is the sewing equivalent of that one friend who is always on time, never causes drama, and forgives you even when you accidentally snip into the seam allowance. It behaves, it presses well, and it doesn’t slip around like an eel in oil.
Grown for centuries and spun into everything from medieval undergarments to modern-day T-shirts, it’s the fabric equivalent of a reliable cup of tea. It'’s been keeping humanity clothed (and occasionally shrunk in the wash) since at least 5,000 BC.
In the modern sewing world, cotton is basically the overachiever of fabrics. It comes in an almost ridiculous number of forms—gingham, crinkle cotton, muslin, jersey, broderie anglaise, quilting cotton, voile, towelling, poplin, shirting… the list goes on. And if that wasn’t enough, it also loves a good collab, mixing with other fibres like viscose or linen to change up its drape. Truly, cotton is the gift that keeps on giving.
My very first sewing project was a pair of pyjama bottoms made from cotton poplin (more on that chaotic adventure here). Poplin is the ultimate beginner-friendly fabric—it does what you tell it to, behaves under the needle, and doesn’t fray into oblivion just to spite you. It’s the fabric I’ve used most since I started sewing in 2017, and honestly, it’s still my go-to. If you’re new to sewing and wondering where to start, do yourself a favour and grab some cotton—ideally poplin or shirting. Trust me, your future self (and your sewing machine) will thank you.
✅ Tips:
• Prewash! Unless you enjoy your newly finished garment shrinking into a doll’s dress.
• Press seams as you go—it makes everything look crisp and professional.
Here are some of the clothes I’ve made in cotton, starting with cotton gingham Agnes PJs and a cotton gingham Loren dress (gingham is my all-time favourite fabric). Then there’s a self-drafted white daisy print on blue muslin dress, a self-drafted white crinkle cotton dress, a self-drafted cotton broderie anglaise dress, and a self-drafted shift dress in cotton towelling (a huge mess to sew, but more on that in a future post). Lastly, I made a M7629 shirt with S2061 bottoms in a cotton-poly blend lobster print fabric."
2. Linen – The Laid-Back Artist
Ease of Sewing: 8/10
Frustration Level: 4/10 (wrinkles. So many wrinkles.)
Mistake Risk: 4/10
Worth the Effort: 10/10 (lived-in, timeless, gorgeous)
Sustainability: 10/10 (nature loves it)
Linen is effortlessly cool but slightly chaotic. It breathes, it softens with time, and it makes you look like you live in a Pinterest board. The only problem? It wrinkles if you so much as glance at it.
Linen has been around since ancient Egypt, when it was so prized that mummies were wrapped in it—because what better way to spend eternity than draped in breathable, slightly wrinkly luxury? Made from flax, it’s one of the oldest and most sustainable fabrics, known for its crisp feel, effortless elegance, and the ability to look simultaneously expensive and like you forgot to iron it.
Linen may not be my favourite fabric to sew with, but it’s undoubtedly my favourite to wear. There’s just something about it that makes me feel like the kind of person who exclusively sips oat milk lattes while reading poetry by the sea—when, in reality, I’m more of a full-cream milk and true crime podcast kind of gal. Sewing it is a dream once you get the hang of it, but for beginners? I wouldn’t recommend it—unless you enjoy watching your fabric slowly disintegrate into a fraying mess before your very eyes.
Since moving to the tropics, I’ve developed a deep appreciation for natural fibres, mostly because I prefer my clothes to breathe rather than feel like I’m marinating in my own sweat. I live for a linen shirt at work—because if I can’t physically be in a villa in Tuscany, at least my outfit can manifest it for me. And just like cotton, linen plays well with others—mixing with viscose or cotton to change its weight and drape. Mid-to-heavyweight linen has a structure that reminds me of lightweight denim or twill, and trust me, I’ve churned out many a Zadie jumpsuit in these weights. Because if there’s one thing linen guarantees (aside from wrinkles), it’s looking effortlessly chic while feeling like you’ve got your life together.
✅ Tips:
• Press before cutting for accurate pieces (because shrinkage is real).
• Finish all seams—linen frays like it’s trying to escape.
Here are some of my linen projects. Starting with a red and pink light-medium weight linen Zadie jumpsuit > a green heavy-weight linen Zadie jumpsuit > a medium-weight off-white linen Olya shirt > a linen-viscose off-white Charlie dress > Agnes PJs in light-medium weight white linen > a self-drafted lilac medium-weight linen dress > a Peppermint Playsuit in light-medium weight linen > a Rose Cafe Bustier dress in medium-weight linen > a pink medium-weight linen Cornell shirt (with Olya shirt collar) and Pomona shorts.
3. Silk – The High-Maintenance Diva
Ease of Sewing: 3/10
Frustration Level: 10/10 (will slip, will fray, will make you cry)
Mistake Risk: 9/10 (one rogue pin = disaster)
Worth the Effort: 10/10 (luxurious, elegant, totally worth the stress)
Sustainability: 5/10 (depends on the silk)
Silk is the ultimate “look at me” fabric. It’s beautiful, it drapes like a dream, and it makes you feel FANCY fancy. The catch? It’s an absolute menace to sew. It shifts, it slides, and if you breathe too hard, it frays.
Discovered in China around 2,700 BC, silk was so precious that its production was a state secret punishable by death. Fast forward a few millennia, and it’s still the fabric of royalty, with a price tag to match. Glossy, luxurious, and frustratingly delicate, it’s the ultimate “look but don’t touch” textile—unless you fancy snagging it on everything you own.
My first dalliance with silk was for a friend’s wedding in 2018. I’d been sewing for a mere 12 months, but my confidence was soaring at a solid 100%—until my actual skill level logged in. In my sheer (and utterly misplaced) audacity, I skipped all the sensible steps: no research on the different types of silk, no clue how to sew or finish seams properly, and not a single thought spared for how to stop the fabric from shifting like a mischievous ghost mid-stitch. Naturally, I chose a dreamy crepe de chine silk for the job. Somehow—through what I can only assume was divine intervention—I managed to produce a wearable dress. But let’s be real: it was a full-on Monet. From a distance, passable. Up close? A tragic symphony of wonky seams and regret.
To really cement the disaster, I made the fatal mistake of attempting to iron it with the hotel iron on the morning of the wedding. An iron, I might add, already adorned with ominous burn marks. One reckless swipe over the underside of the sleeve, and I learned an unforgettable lesson in fabric care. Thankfully, my sacrificial sleeve blunder remained hidden from the public eye—but my tears that morning? Not so much.
Fast forward a year, and with the passage of time (and the deceptive nature of selective memory), I willingly threw myself back into the silk abyss. This time, I offered to make my friend’s evening outfit—a satin silk jumpsuit—for her wedding. Once again, I was serving unshakable confidence, and once again, the universe rejected my order. The result? Another “Monet” creation. She loved it, bless her, but every time I see a picture of it, my eyes zero in on the leg seam puckering like it’s trying to form its own postcode. That was in 2019. I haven’t touched silk since. And honestly? I sleep better for it.
✅ Tips:
• Use spray starch to stop shifting.
• Pin in seam allowances only—silk remembers EVERYTHING.
4. Polyester – The Chaos Gremlin
Ease of Sewing: 6/10
Frustration Level: 7/10 (melts under heat, fights back)
Mistake Risk: 6/10
Worth the Effort: 5/10 (depends on the quality)
Sustainability: 2/10 (synthetic = microplastics)
Polyester wants to be easy to sew, but then it slides, puckers, and refuses to press properly. And let’s not forget that one wrong move with the iron, and it fuses into a plastic pancake.
Born in a lab in the 1940s, polyester is the rebellious teenager of the fabric world—synthetic, unbothered by wrinkles, and slightly too shiny for its own good. Once the poster child of questionable 70s fashion, it’s now found in everything from fast fashion to performance wear, proving that sometimes, science really does go too far.
As a beginner, I sewed with a lot of polyester—mainly because it was cheap, and I was blissfully ignorant. At the time, I fancied myself as quite the eco-conscious citizen, what with my diligent recycling and cycling everywhere like a Tour de France hopeful. Meanwhile, I was simultaneously hoarding and wasting polyester fabric at an alarming rate, all in the name of my rapidly growing (and borderline obsessive) sewing hobby. It didn’t take long to realise my mistake—polyester is neither beginner-friendly nor particularly pleasant to wear. It clings to every lump and bump like an overly affectionate cat, and let’s not even mention the absolute sauna it becomes in warm weather. Below, you’ll find some of my early polyester crimes against fashion—tragic pieces I wore precisely once before relegating them to the ‘learning experience’ pile. If I could go back and give my beginner self one piece of advice? Step away from the polyester. Run.
✅ Tips:
• Use a low heat setting—unless melted fabric art is your thing.
• Test your stitches—some poly fabrics pucker if tension is off.
My Polyester Hall of Shame. The first three tragic creations date back to my early sewing days in 2017, and honestly, I have no recollection of the patterns—probably for the best, as they were questionable at best. The fourth photo, however, is a bias-cut Sicily Slip dress with a matching self-drafted ruffle tote (fifth photo) — proof that even after learning my lesson, I still occasionally made poor life choices.
5. Viscose/Rayon – The Fabric Catfish
Ease of Sewing: 4/10 (Slipperier than an eel in a soap factory)
Frustration Level: 7/10 (Requires patience, deep breaths, and possibly wine)
Mistake Risk: 8/10 (One wrong move and the fabric distorts like a funhouse mirror)
Worth the Effort: 9/10 (If you can tame it, it’s dreamy)
Sustainability: 6/10 (Semi-natural, but the manufacturing process is… questionable)
Sewing with viscose (or rayon, depending on who you ask) is like training a stubborn puppy. It wriggles all over the place, refuses to stay still, and occasionally chews up your plans. However, once you learn its quirks, it rewards you with gloriously floaty garments. The downside? It frays like nobody’s business, stretches out of shape if you so much as glance at it the wrong way, and has the stability of a wet tissue. But oh, when it behaves—it’s pure magic.
Viscose was invented in the 19th century as a cheaper alternative to silk. Early versions literally caught fire if you looked at them the wrong way, but modern viscose is less flammable and more wearable. It became popular because it feels luxurious, drapes beautifully, and doesn’t cost an arm and a leg—though it loves a good crease, just to keep you humble.
My experience sewing viscose has been a bit of a rollercoaster, not quite as maddening as silk but close enough to raise an eyebrow. My favourite type of viscose to work with? The kind that’s blended with linen or cotton. It’s like the best of both worlds—linen's breathable, natural charm with the lovely drape of viscose. It’s the perfect mix for those who want fabric that drapes like a dream but doesn’t come with the tantrums.
✅ Tips:
• Starch is your best friend. Lightly starch your fabric before cutting and sewing to stop it from slithering around like an escape artist.
• Use a fine needle and a walking foot. Otherwise, your seams will pucker, and you’ll start hating this wonderful hobby.
Two self-drafted blue dresses in dreamy viscose from Fabric Godmother, and a M7629 shirt in yet another dreamy blue and white viscose. Can you guess what my favourite colour is? That's right, green. Naturally.
6. Wool – The Sophisticated Intellectual
Ease of Sewing: 7/10
Frustration Level: 5/10 (some wools are thick and tricky)
Mistake Risk: 5/10
Worth the Effort: 10/10 (warm, breathable, elegant)
Sustainability: 8/10 (if sourced ethically)
Wool is smart and stylish, but you have to respect its quirks. It tailors beautifully, but some types are bulky and shrink if you so much as whisper “hot water” near them.
The original winter essential, wool has been keeping humans warm since the days of shepherds and questionable medieval hygiene. Whether it’s soft merino or scratchy granddad jumpers, it’s nature’s answer to insulation. A fabric that breathes, repels water, and occasionally smells like a damp sheep when wet—what’s not to love?
My one and only adventure in sewing with wool took place in 2022, when I bravely embarked on creating a Sherlock Holmes-inspired dressing gown for my partner’s Christmas present. The bulk of the gown is made from a burnt red linen, while the trims are a gorgeous tartan wool, giving it all the charm of a detective on a cold, foggy London morning. Sewing it was a bit like working with heavy-weight linen or jacquard/brocade – rewarding but rather demanding. The finished gown looked wonderful, but oh, the drama – after pre-washing the fabric in cold water, I didn’t think and shoved it into a hot wash some time later. Spoiler alert: it shrank. Now, the dressing gown has an... unusual shape. Moral of the story? I’ll be sticking to buying wool garments ready-made in future, or maybe I’ll take up knitting. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
✅ Tips:
• Use steam to shape seams—wool loves heat manipulation.
• Prewash or dry clean to avoid post-sewing shrinkage heartbreak.
Behold, the only wool garment I’ve ever made – a Vogue Patterns v1855. I say 'behold' because it now bears little resemblance to the original design, thanks to my ill-advised decision to throw it in a hot wash. Now, it’s a very different (and slightly smaller) version of itself, thanks to my laundry blunder. A true lesson in 'do as I say, not as I do.
7. Twill – The Reliable Workhorse
Ease of Sewing: 7/10
Frustration Level: 4/10
Mistake Risk: 5/10
Worth the Effort: 8/10 (structured, durable, classic)
Sustainability: 7/10 (depends on fiber content)
Twill is practical, durable, and behaves itself in most situations. It’s like denim’s sensible cousin—less thick, more structured, and very versatile.
A workhorse in disguise, twill is the sturdy, diagonal-weave fabric that gave us denim, chinos, and the indestructible trousers our grandparents wore. Historically used for military uniforms and workwear, it’s durable, structured, and has that “I mean business” energy—perfect for garments that need to survive more than just a casual stroll.
Ah, my first-ever pair of trousers were made out of twill. I’d been sewing for a grand total of three months and, honestly, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. How they even fit at all is beyond me, and looking back at the photos, it’s a miracle they fit anyone. But let’s not dwell on that. The twill fabric, however, was an absolute dream to work with – despite the pattern being decidedly 'not-for-beginners' – and, on the plus side, I had enough fabric left over to make a bucket hat. A true symbol of my sewing triumphs... or lack thereof!
✅ Tips:
• Use sharp needles—twill’s tight weave can be tough on dull ones.
• Press well to keep topstitching looking crisp.
The bucket hat made out of left over fabric, which now serves as my ‘I survived this’ trophy. First ever trousers, the Gaston trousers, with a lovely wedge effect front and back, but at least I could sit down.
8) Jacquard (and its cousin Brocade) - The ‘Go Big or Go Home’ Personality
Ease of Sewing: 6/10 (Not too bad, but it will test you)
Frustration Level: 5/10 (Behaves itself until the fraying starts)
Mistake Risk: 6/10 (Seam ripping is risky—unpick too much, and you’ll have a bald patch)
Worth the Effort: 10/10 (If drama is your aesthetic, it’s 100% worth it)
Sustainability: 4/10 (Synthetic blends = not ideal, but there are eco-friendly options)
Opulent, extravagant, and about as subtle as a tiara in Tesco, Jacquard is the fabric for the fabulous. Although technically a weaving technique rather than a specific fabric, it’s made on a Jacquard loom (invented in 1804 by Joseph Marie Jacquard), which allows complex patterns to be woven directly into the fabric rather than being printed or embroidered on top. Jacquard fabrics can be light or heavy, matte or shiny, depending on the fibres used (cotton, silk, polyester—you name it). Think of damask tablecloths, paisley upholstery, and even some textured knits. It was once so exclusive that only royalty and the insanely wealthy could afford it. Brocade, its equally fancy cousin, has been around since ancient times, often woven with actual gold and silver threads. Today, it still screams ‘rich and important’—even if you’re just wearing it to the pub. It instantly makes anything look couture.
Jacquard holds its shape beautifully, doesn’t stretch, and makes you feel like an 18th-century aristocrat in the best way. However, it frays aggressively, is thicker than a badly made sandwich, and doesn’t forgive mistakes. If you try to unpick a seam, you might as well start planning an appliqué cover-up.
For my birthday in 2021 (back when I had so much free time pre-baby), I treated myself to a stunning poly-cotton jacquard from Fabric Godmother. The fabric was so gorgeous, I couldn’t stop it from shedding all over the rug – not that I wanted to share it, but it had other plans. Still, the finished dress was worth it, so much so that I made an identical one in a red brocade for Christmas. And yes, my birthday’s in December, so it was basically a month-long jacquard affair. I was living my best sewing life.
✅ Tips:
• Serge or pink your edges IMMEDIATELY. If you wait, you’ll find your fabric shedding like an anxious cat.
• Choose your pattern wisely. Structured garments work best—jacquard doesn’t ‘drape’; it ‘commands attention’.
Two jacquard dresses, one with a matching Pisa Bow bag, for a very festive December: birthday chic in poly-cotton pink and Christmas glam in red brocade. No regrets, even with all the fabric shedding! The dress bodice is self-drafted, the sleeves are M7946, and the skirt is M7740.
9) Tulle - the Goldilocks of the Fabric World
Ease of Sewing: 2/10 (Like stitching a cobweb)
Frustration Level: 9/10 (Guaranteed tantrums)
Mistake Risk: 10/10 (One wrong stitch and you’re done for)
Worth the Effort: 7/10 (When done right, it’s spectacular)
Sustainability: 3/10 (Usually synthetic and not great for the planet)
Tulle is stunning, but sewing it is a NIGHTMARE. It snags, stretches, rips, and refuses to obey the laws of fabric physics. You can’t pin it , it eats sewing machine needles for breakfast, and hemming? Don’t make me laugh. That being said, when it works, it’s magical. Layers of tulle create romantic, ethereal designs, and if you’ve got the patience, you can make something that looks like it belongs in a fairy tale.
Named after the French city of Tulle, this fabric became iconic in ballet costumes, bridal gowns, and any outfit designed to make an entrance. It’s light, airy, and impractical in the best way possible. If you love tulle, you probably enjoy twirling dramatically and believe every occasion should be ‘a moment’.
Ah, tulle. My two attempts at sewing with it were nothing short of catastrophic, and let’s just say the garments didn’t exactly stand the test of time. In 2022, I attended a character-themed wedding back in the motherland and, naturally, chose to channel a ‘Villanelle visits her therapist in a pink Molly Goddard’ vibe. The dress demanded tulle and organza, two fabrics that are famous for being a breeze to sew (if only in some parallel universe). Thankfully, I was wearing a black slip underneath, so would still be half decent if the dress died on me mid-wedding. I didn’t need to worry, as one of the guests came as the Mummy with a never ending trail of bog roll behind them (a clever way to get found if you always get lost).
Undeterred, I then spotted black tulle with fluorescent appliqués at Spotlight and thought, ‘Why not?’ It’s stretch tulle, even easier to work with, right? Wrong. I had no plan, no strategy, just a vague idea of what I wanted and zero clue how to make it happen. After a few hours in the chair of unpicking doom, I managed to salvage a dress that lasted exactly one evening before collapsing in on itself like a sad soufflé. At that point, I might as well have been buying into fast fashion again.
But I kept the fabric, tucked away for some day when I’ll be the perfect mix of daring and skilled enough to make something worthy of its potential. Until then, I’m on a tulle hiatus. It’s been 753 days since I last sewed with it... but who’s counting?
✅ Tips:
• Use a fine needle and avoid backstitching. Tulle doesn’t like being perforated too much.
• Layer it up. A single layer looks sad; multiple layers make you look like a couture queen.
Final Thoughts: Which Fabric is Your Personality Twin?
If you’ve ever rage-quit a silk project or felt personally attacked by polyester, you’re not alone. Every fabric has its quirks, but that’s what makes sewing fun (or at least, memorable).
My most loved and most used fabrics are linen (I live in the tropics, so it’s practically a wardrobe necessity!) and cotton. While I may dress like I’m embracing the tropical breeze, neither I nor my partner would describe my personality as the laid-back artist type. I’m more of a perfectionist, short-tempered, type-A fabric enthusiast who requires everything to be just so.
So, tell me—which fabric matches your personality? Or what about fabrics I haven’t discussed here? Let’s discuss in the comments!