Peter’s win made me lose any remaining faith I had in Patrick and Esme’s ability to judge this dire sewing competition
The old playground maxim “if you haven’t got anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” is good advice, but luckily it doesn’t apply to TV critics. I say this because my twee nemesis, my insipid white whale, Sewing Bee is back. As such, as series 11 begins, I have no choice but to charge back into the fray and remind you just how dire this televised sewing competition is. Noble, I know, don’t all applaud at once.
The new series sees the return of presenter Sara Pascoe, who was on maternity leave last year and replaced by Kiell Smith-Bynoe. While whimsical wordplay has always been part of the Sewing Bee formula, this time it’s been turbo-charged beyond all reason. “It’s time to get in shape, gang,” says Pascoe, as judges Patrick Grant and Esme Young waddle into shot, wearing a huge cube and pyramid respectively (geddit?). That’s just the first 20 seconds.
The endless punning lends a certain surrealist vibe to proceedings, as though the writers and host alike have been driven mad by years of Sewing Bee tedium. But no amount of manic energy can make up for the show’s old three-act format, which nigh-on guarantees stiltedness. First, as ever, is the pattern challenge and this time, the 12 hopefuls tackle tie-front blouses. “Fasten-ating”, says Pascoe.
Despite the slog of watching a dozen people make the same garment, the strongest sewers quickly distinguish themselves: 59-year-old Caz from Nottingham, who whips up a blue blouse with impeccable gathering, comes second, followed by Welsh retiree Gaynor and her neat gingham number. Meanwhile, 24-year-old chorister Kit wins the day with his psychedelic-fabric-and-blue-ribbon combo. At the other end of the spectrum, an iron burn pushes Londoner Jess into 11th place, and product design lecturer Saffie comes last after running out of time.
The transformation challenge – in which the contestants are charged with making a new garment from a circle skirt – provides yet more room for creativity, but everything’s relative and they mostly make tops. Caz leads the pack again, conjuring a zip-front bat-wing number that secures her first place, while scientist Yasmin’s lilac creation comes second. Bringing up the rear again, slow Saffie places 10th, while Jess finishes 12th with a gapey halterneck.
Are you rapt? Me neither. For the made-to-measure finale, the sewers work with models to create dresses incorporating pleats (“Pleat Doherty! Pleat Waterman! Pleater Andre!” pleads Pascoe, valiantly.) And while some of the resulting garments are surprisingly stylish, none are interesting enough to merit a primetime TV show – which is, after all, what Sewing Bee is supposed to be.
Nineteen-year-old Órla’s geometric monochrome gown is a personal favourite, as is Saffie’s custom-printed piece. Yet, in a baffling twist, construction manager Peter’s origami-shoulder dress – which is straight from 2008, when everyone wore business-casual to go clubbing – is named garment of the week. And while all the contestants survived to sew another day, Peter’s win made me lose any remaining faith I had in the judges’ taste.
If style is off the table, what criteria are we even using to grade the garments? Is it precision? Then Gaynor’s uninspiring, hyper-neat frock should have done well, as in the pattern round. Creativity? Then surely Órla ought to have come out on top. It’s hard enough to invest in the challenge results when the stakes are so low, the ambition so meagre – but an impenetrable judging formula surely seals the deal.
The BBC must release us from the interminable tyranny of televised amateur sewing – and Pascoe from her pun prison. No amount of wordplay can make Sewing Bee watchable – it is com-pleat-ly done for.
‘The Great British Sewing Bee’ continues next Tuesday at 9pm on BBC One
