I stared at the strange medallion on my sewing table. It was 8 AM on Saturday, and given my research, that made it the best time to do my experiment.

I’d done my research on the medallion after I’d picked it up from a thrift store for $2.50. I’d expected to find an age, artist, or maybe even brand and an approximate value. What I found instead were legends and rules.

The rules seemed simple enough:

-Touch the medallion to an article of clothing while holding it, and the medallion transforms you into the last person to wear it - touching my sister’s dress turns me into my sister.

-Touch the medallion to an article of clothing that hasn’t been worn while holding it, and the medallion transforms you into a person who society would expect to wear it - touching a new dress turns me from a man into a woman who the dress would fit.

-Touch the medallion to a person while holding it, and the medallion makes you switch bodies - touching it to my sister turns me into her and her into me.

-A person who has been changed must wait twelve hours before changing again.

My research was pretty consistent about physical changes, but it was less consistent about mental changes. If the medallion turned me into my sister, would I think like my sister? Think I was my sister? Think like myself but in a woman’s body? Think like myself if I was a woman? My best guess was that mental and emotional outcomes were based more on the user than the medallion.

My research didn’t address at all is what happened if the medallion was touched to potential clothing. I knew that the medallion didn’t interact with non-clothing objects in any special way - touching it to a table didn’t turn me into a table. But fabric, which isn’t a garment but could be a garment…

I was curious.

For my experiment, I’d chosen a fabric that seemed like it would work for clothing for either gender - dark purple with a lilac print. Floral patterns were getting more common for men, and I’d already made myself a couple floral shirts; this one wouldn’t stand out in my wardrobe. And it seemed like a fabric that would look good, or at least unremarkable as a print, if a woman wore it.

I glanced at the clock. 8:15. The longer I waited, the less of my weekend I had to finish sewing and actually wear what I’d made. I took the medallion in my hand, and touched it to the fabric.

I’d expected a jolt, a shock of static electricity, to feel something. But nothing happened. I set the medallion down on the table and went to look in the bathroom mirror. I saw the same man I saw when I woke up this morning - bald, in need of a better diet or exercise regime, but otherwise someone who wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.

I sighed. Failed experiment. I’d figure out what to do with the medallion later - right now, I’ve got a shirt to make if I’m going to wear it going out tonight.

I’ve been experimenting with self-drafting, and I know my own measurements well enough that I don’t really need patterns anymore to cut my fabric to the right size.

I started out by cutting the front and back panels of the shirt, as well as some light purple panels for the collar, and stitched the panels together. As per usual, I pinned the sides together to test the fit, and noticed that I’d somehow cut the shirt too big - both too long and too wide. No big deal, I can just use some darts on the back and have a larger seam allowance when closing the shirt.

I attached the collar next, and again tested the shirt’s fit before I cut out the sleeves. I checked myself out in the mirror. I looked at how my arms and shoulders fit into the shirt, and I realized that this shirt would look better on me sleeveless. I cut some more strips of the solid purple cotton to seal the raw edges of the armscye once I closed the sides of the shirt.

As I worked on guiding the fabric through my sewing machine, my control was smoother and more precise than usual. I looked at my hands, and noticed that they were smaller. When I tried the shirt on again, the same was true for my whole body - my waist and torso had become slim, and as I pinned the sides of the shirt for alteration, the seam curved inward instead of outward like I was used to. Running my hands across my torso, I discovered that the shirt wasn’t loose around my chest as it was elsewhere, but the tension points had changed from being equally distributed around my body to being focused in the front. Pressing along my sternum, I made marks with chalk to sew chest darts as an acknowledgement that I needed to alter my shirt to match how it was altering me.

Once the fit of the shirt was secure, I began to work on buttonholes. I was mindful that I needed to change where I placed my buttons, recognizing that my new shape would place pressure against the buttons in different places than before - no need for an accidental “window” on my chest. I also decided to experiment with leaving the top button and buttonhole off entirely - if the experiment didn’t work, I could always add them, but I couldn’t remove them if I decided I wanted something more low-cut later.

What I wasn’t mindful of, though, was the side of the shirt the buttonholes should be sewn on, and I accidentally put them on the wrong side of my shirt, which I only saw once I had cut the buttonholes open.

I checked the clock as I went to review my work for the last time. 11:30 AM. I’d made great time considering the extra alterations to both me and the shirt. I appraised myself in the mirror, smiling as I recognized that I hadn’t just been altered to fit this slim sleeveless blouse I had made - I’d grown hair into a cute pixie cut, and my face had shifted to suit both hair and torso.

I was also quite pleased with the blouse itself, as well as what it covered. I’d never made a shirt for a woman before, and this one was perfect both in terms of style and fit. The buttons were well-placed, with the button arrangement exposing a noticeable but not indecent portion of my breasts, which were framed well by the shirt’s bust darts. And my care with the seams and back darts had paid off as well, as the shirt stayed comfortable and close to my body as it curved in to show off my slimmer waist and flared out with the contour of my hips.

As my eyes trailed down below my hips, I frowned. For some reason, I hadn’t anticipated that if this worked, I’d need new pants as well as a new shirt. I took off my far-too-loose men’s jeans to examine my new legs, and… wow. I knew they’d be long, since I hadn’t lost much height, but I had no idea they’d be so gorgeous. I grabbed more of the solid fabric and a roll of elastic. After spending the morning making a shirt for a body that was changing as I sewed, making a knee-length circle skirt was child’s play.

I looked at my underwear as well and made some small alterations so they’d fit and cover the relevant parts I didn’t want anyone looking at without my consent. It’d be clear to anyone looking at them that I was wearing men’s underwear, but anyone who was looking up my skirt deserved the conundrum of exactly what that meant.

I checked the clock again. 1:00 PM. Plenty of time. I grabbed my phone, angled it to take a picture of my new outfit, and sent it to the one person who knew what I’d planned for this morning.

“Hey sis, up for a girl’s night out?”

Almost immediately, I got a reply of a heart-eyes emoji, followed by, “Absolutely, but we need to go shopping first, clearly Mom never taught you how to sew a bra!” She followed this with a pair of melon emojis.

I laughed, and grabbed my wallet and keys. I didn’t need to find something to use for a purse, because of course I sewed pockets into my skirt.

I left the medallion on my sewing table. It had worked well for me, and if the most extreme stories about it were false, I could use it again tomorrow to  go back to my old body and get ready for my week.

But if they were true, and after the medallion had worked its magic, it conspired to find itself a new user, I could learn to live with the new life I’d need to weave for myself.