Girl Math: The Textile Artist's Guide to Creative Accounting

I have recently discovered a rather wonderful American expression called Girl Math.

Apparently, it's a way of justifying purchases using a slightly questionable form of financial reasoning. The sort of mathematics that makes perfect sense to the person spending the money but might leave an accountant requiring a stiff drink.

Naturally, I immediately recognised it.

Not because I am particularly bad with money, you understand, but because I have spent most of my adult life working with textiles. And textile artists have been practising this form of mathematics for decades. We simply didn't know it had a name.

Let me explain.

If I bought a piece of fabric twenty years ago and use it to make something today, that fabric is free.

The money left my bank account so long ago that it no longer exists in living memory. Therefore, the fabric has no cost.

In fact, given how much fabric has increased in price over the years, I could argue that I made a rather shrewd investment.

Some people buy stocks and shares. I bought calico.

And unlike the stock market, I can actually do something useful with mine.

Then there are threads.

I might have several hundred reels, but if I need a particular shade of green and don't have it, purchasing another reel is not extravagance. It's an essential business expense.

Never mind that I have forty-seven other greens.

They're not that green.

In fact, I have hundreds of reels of thread beautifully displayed in the shop at Eau Brink Studio.

But that's only what the customers can see.

Underneath the counter are two double cupboards containing boxes of even more threads.

Now, some people might consider this excessive.

I prefer to call it responsible stock management.

After all, you never know when you'll need a particular shade, and it would be terribly inconvenient to discover that you didn't have it.

And if I can't find the exact colour among all those reels?

Well, obviously I'll have to buy another.

And what about buying things in a sale?

If a piece of fabric normally costs £12 and I buy it for £6, I haven't spent £6.

I've saved £6.

If I then buy another piece for £6, I have simply reinvested my savings.

This is where Girl Math becomes particularly sophisticated.

Now consider the equipment.

A sewing machine might appear expensive, but if I use it for ten years, the daily cost becomes almost insignificant.

If I use it for twenty years, I may eventually convince myself that the machine shop owes me money.

The same principle applies to embroidery hoops, scissors, rulers, paintbrushes and all those mysterious little gadgets purchased at craft shows.

You know the ones.

The demonstrator makes them look indispensable, you buy one, bring it home and put it somewhere safe.

Three years later, you discover it while looking for something else.

It's practically a surprise present.

And because you've forgotten buying it, it's free.

But my favourite piece of Girl Math involves the stash.

Every textile artist has one.

Some have a cupboard. Some have a room. Some have reached the stage where the fabric has begun quietly occupying other parts of the house.

I prefer to think of mine as a carefully curated collection of creative possibilities.

It is not hoarding.

It is forward planning.

Besides, if I already own enough fabric to last another thirty years, just think how much money I shall save by not having to buy any.

Of course, that doesn't mean I won't buy any.

I'm not completely unreasonable.

There is one small flaw in all this wonderful mathematics.

When I make something to sell, apparently I am supposed to account for the cost of materials, electricity, equipment, packaging and, rather inconveniently, my time.

Suddenly, the fabric that was free five minutes ago has become a business expense.

This is why accountants and textile artists should probably not be left alone in the same room.

Still, I have decided that Girl Math has a great deal going for it.

After all, creativity makes life richer, even if the bank balance occasionally suggests otherwise.

And if anyone asks how much my collection of fabrics and threads is worth, I shall simply explain that it's an investment portfolio.

A very colourful investment portfolio.

One that happens to be taking over the studio.

So tell me, are you a Girl Math expert too? And what is the most ridiculous purchase you've ever managed to justify in the name of creativity?

I'd love to hear your explanations. I might even borrow a few.

Purely for research purposes, of course.

Anita