A sewing thread is a different animal
Worth reading first: What holds a thread in a seam · Folding is untwisting · What grips the end of a fibre.
This collection has priced two things about a seam. What holds a thread in one is a capstan grip counted crossing by crossing across the allowance, and the stitch itself weakens the cloth by removing threads at every puncture. Both take the sewing thread as given.
It should not be taken as given. A sewing thread is the most heavily specified yarn in ordinary use, it is made in a way no weaving yarn is made, and every one of its peculiarities is an answer to a requirement that only sewing imposes.
The claim
A sewing thread is folded, balanced, lubricated and finished, and each is an answer to a requirement no weaving yarn has — with the lubricant costing strength by an amount this collection can compute.
- It passes through a needle eye and a cloth dozens of times per stitch that stays in the seam, so abrasion, not tensile strength, is what it is designed against.
- It must be balanced, because a lively thread snarls at the needle and stops the machine, and a stopped machine is the dominant cost in a sewing room.
- It is lubricated to survive the passage — and lubrication lowers the friction between its own fibres, which lengthens the critical length and lowers what the thread realises. Halving the friction costs about fifteen per cent of the thread’s strength.
The requirement that is not tensile
A seam’s strength is quoted as a force per unit length, and the natural assumption is that the thread has to be strong. It does, and that is not the demanding part.
Count the passages. In a lockstitch the needle thread is drawn down through the cloth, round the bobbin case, and back up, for every stitch — and the same length of thread makes that journey many times before it is finally laid into a stitch, because the take-up pulls thread back and forth as the stitch is formed. The usually quoted figure is that a given point on the thread passes through the needle eye between thirty and eighty times before it comes to rest.
At three to five thousand stitches a minute, that is a passage every few milliseconds, each one dragging the thread over a metal edge under tension and through a hole in cloth.
So the design criterion is abrasion, and abrasion is a surface property. That single fact reorganises everything about how the thread is made, because the surface of a spun yarn is the place where the pressure holding the fibres has fallen to zero and the fibres are least well held.
Why three-fold, and why balanced
Three rather than two, for two reasons this collection can state.
A three-fold yarn is rounder: the gap between its two diameters is 1.244 against a two-fold’s 1.414, because more circles pack a circle better. Roundness matters here in a way it does not in a cloth, because the thread must pass a hole of fixed size with clearance, and an oval thread presents a different width depending on how it happens to be rotated.
And a three-fold’s surface is smoother. Each single’s protruding fibres are trapped against two neighbours rather than one, so the hair layer — the thing abrasion works on — is smaller.
Balanced, because a lively thread snarls. A thread with residual torque forms a loop and the loop kinks back on itself, and at the moment of the take-up, when the thread is slack for a few milliseconds, a snarl is exactly what a slack lively thread does. A snarl at the needle is a thread break, a stopped machine and an operator’s attention.
The balance ratio for a three-fold is between 0.5 and 0.65 — lower than a two-fold’s, because the ply’s helix radius is larger when three singles sit round the axis — and it is a torque condition this collection declines to compute. What it can say is that the choice is nearly free in strength: a folded yarn’s realisation barely depends on its folding twist, because the grip the fold takes out of the singles it supplies from outside them.
That freedom is what makes a sewing thread possible. If folding hard enough to balance the thread cost a third of its strength, the trade would have to choose between a thread that snarls and a thread that breaks.
The lubricant, and what it costs
Now the part that is computable and is not usually put this way.
A sewing thread is finished with a lubricant — a wax, a silicone or a synthetic finish — at one to three per cent of its weight. Its purpose is to lower the friction between the thread and the needle, the needle plate and the cloth, so that the thread survives its dozens of passages and so that the needle does not heat enough to soften a synthetic thread.
The lubricant does not know which friction it is lowering. It lowers the friction between the thread’s own fibres too.
And the friction between a yarn’s own fibres is what holds them: the critical length is the fibre’s diameter over four times the friction times a function of the twist, so halving μ doubles the length of fibre that has to be gripped, and the cohesion factor falls.
Running the arithmetic at both frictions:
| μ | optimum twist factor | realisation at optimum | realisation at 20° |
|---|---|---|---|
| 0.30 | 3,100 | 0.771 | 0.771 |
| 0.20 | 3,440 | 0.722 | 0.715 |
| 0.15 | 3,790 | 0.682 | 0.659 |
Halving the friction costs about twelve per cent of the thread’s realisation at its own optimum, and fifteen per cent if the twist is left where it was. It also moves the optimum up: a lubricated thread wants more twist, because the grip has to be recovered from somewhere and the only place left is the angle.
That is a prediction with a check attached, and the check passes: sewing threads are twisted harder than weaving yarns of the same count. The trade’s explanation is usually abrasion resistance, which is also true. The arithmetic here supplies a second and independent reason.
The core-spun thread, which solves it structurally
There is a construction that attacks the same problem from the other end and it is now the ordinary one for industrial sewing.
A core-spun thread has a continuous filament core — polyester, usually — with staple fibres spun around it. The filament carries the load; the staple carries the surface.
Read against the arithmetic above, this is a way of separating the two requirements that the lubricant was trading against each other.
The strength is the filament’s, and a filament has no fibre ends, so the whole cohesion half of the twist curve does not apply to it: its realisation is the obliquity alone, and at the low twist a core sits at, that is nearly one. The lubricant cannot weaken it, because there is no fibre-to-fibre grip in the core to weaken.
The surface is the staple’s, and it is there to be abraded, to hold the lubricant, and to give the thread the handle and the sewability a bare filament does not have. Its own strength is beside the point.
So a core-spun thread breaks the trade this essay is about. The lubricant still lowers the friction in the sheath, and it no longer costs anything, because the sheath was not carrying the load.
The whole specification, read as a list of answers
Set out this way, a sewing thread’s oddities stop being a list and become a set of responses.
Folded, three or more. Roundness for the needle hole, a smoother surface for abrasion, and a load-bearing structure whose strength does not depend on the folding twist.
Balanced. Because a snarl stops a machine, and the balance is nearly free in strength.
Hard-twisted. For abrasion resistance directly, and to recover the grip the lubricant costs.
Lubricated. To survive the passages, at a computable cost in strength.
Dyed and finished as a thread rather than in the cloth, because a seam is sewn after the cloth is finished — which means a sewing thread cannot rely on any of the finishing operations that a woven yarn gets for free, and has to arrive complete.
And specified by a ticket number rather than by a count. The ticket system is a resultant count in disguise, and the reason it survives is that a sewing room’s question is “what fits this needle?” rather than “what does this weigh?” — which is a question about the diameter, and a folded yarn’s diameter is a bracket rather than a number.
Why the lubricant’s cost is affordable, and where it stops being so
The lubricant costs twelve to fifteen per cent of the thread’s realisation, and a thread designer accepts it. It is worth saying why that is a good trade rather than a reluctant one, because the arithmetic says the alternative is much worse than a fifteen per cent loss.
A thread that fails on its thirtieth passage instead of its eightieth does not deliver eighty per cent of a seam; it delivers a stopped machine. The abrasion requirement is a threshold and the strength requirement is a margin, and a threshold that is not met costs everything while a margin that is reduced costs proportionally.
So the two requirements are not comparable quantities being traded, and treating them as though they were is what makes the fifteen per cent look expensive. The correct reading is that the lubricant buys passage of a threshold with a fifteen per cent premium on a margin that had room in it — which is a cheap purchase, and is cheap for exactly the reason the seam section gives: the thread is not usually the thing that fails.
The trade stops being cheap when the margin runs out, and it does so in a predictable place. A fine thread on a heavy cloth is a thread whose breaking load is near what the seam will ask of it, and there the fifteen per cent is coming off a margin that was already thin. That is the case where core-spun construction is not a refinement but a necessity, and it is the case the industrial trade has moved to core-spun for.
And it says what a better lubricant would be worth. A finish that lowered thread-to-metal friction without touching fibre-to-fibre friction would deliver the threshold at no premium at all. Nothing in this arithmetic says such a finish is possible; what it does say is exactly how much it would be worth, which is the twelve to fifteen per cent, at every count and every construction, for as long as threads are spun from staple.
The qualification at the end of that sentence is the one a core-spun thread exploits: a filament core has no fibre-to-fibre grip to lose, so the premium is already nought, and no finish chemistry was needed to get there.
What the seam actually gets
It is worth closing the loop on the seam, because the thread’s properties reach it in a narrower way than one would expect.
A seam fails in one of three ways and this collection has priced two of them. The cloth’s threads slip out of the seam, which is a capstan grip over the allowance and depends on the cloth’s friction and construction rather than on the thread at all. The cloth tears along the stitch line, which is the removal of threads at every puncture and again does not involve the sewing thread’s strength. Or the thread breaks, which is the only one of the three where any of this essay’s arithmetic enters.
So the elaborate construction described above is aimed at a failure mode that a well-made seam does not have. That is not a criticism: a thread strong enough to be the last thing to fail is the design target, and hitting it is what all the folding and twisting is for. But it does mean that the difference between a good sewing thread and an excellent one shows up in the sewing room rather than in the seam, as breaks per thousand stitches rather than as a stronger garment.
A stitched seam is one of the few structures in this collection where the component that is most carefully specified is the one whose properties matter least to the finished object, and where the reason is entirely about the process that assembles it.
What was counted, and how
The lubricant’s cost is the same strength curve run at two frictions, with the friction being an argument to the critical length rather than a separate model. The comparison is a ratio between two points on curves that share the fitted contact efficiency, so most of the fit cancels.
The direction of the optimum’s move is asserted rather than read off. A lower friction must move the optimum twist up, at every contact efficiency, because both enter the critical length as a product — which makes the claim a statement about a group rather than about either quantity.
And the balance freedom is the folded-yarn result, which is checked as a claim that a quantity is flat: a folded yarn’s realisation must vary by under twelve points across the whole span of folding ratios.
One more asymmetry is worth recording. A weaving yarn is consumed by the cloth it becomes: every metre of warp ends up in the fabric and is protected there for the rest of its life. A sewing thread is consumed by the machine — most of the abrasion it will ever suffer happens in the seconds before it is laid into the seam, after which it is held between two layers of cloth and rarely touched again. So the thread that arrives in the finished garment is not the thread that was bought; it is that thread minus eighty passages through a needle eye, and nobody measures what is left.
Where the model stops
Abrasion is not modelled at all, and it is the thread’s actual design criterion. This collection has nothing that predicts how many passages a thread survives, and the essay is careful to say that its computable part — the strength cost of the lubricant — is a secondary consideration in the design.
The lubricant is treated as a change to one number. In reality it changes the thread-to-metal friction, the thread-to-cloth friction and the fibre-to-fibre friction by different amounts, and only the last of the three is in the arithmetic. A lubricant that lowered the first two and left the third alone would be free, and formulating one is presumably what a finish supplier is trying to do.
The passage count is quoted from practice and is not derived. It depends on the stitch type, the take-up geometry and the machine, and the range given is wide.
The needle’s heat is absent. A needle in a fast machine reaches temperatures at which a polyester thread softens, and that is a large part of why lubrication matters — a mechanism this collection has no way to price.
And the ticket systems are a mess that is not tidied here. Several coexist, they are not simply convertible, and the one thing they have in common is that they are about a diameter rather than about a mass.
Where the ladder goes next
Back into the seam, where the thread now has properties rather than being a given. A seam slips before it breaks when the cloth’s grip on its own threads is weaker than the sewing thread — and knowing what the sewing thread actually realises makes that comparison a computation rather than an assumption.
And sideways into the other place where a thread is asked to survive an operation rather than a load. A warp end is abraded a hundred thousand times by heddles and reed before it is ever pulled hard, which is why a warp is twisted past its strength optimum — the same trade as this one, made by the same reasoning, in a trade that does not describe it that way either.
What links here
Computed from the collection rather than written here: the essays that point at this one.
Shares its objects with
Essays naming at least two of the same things, that neither author linked.
- A tuft is set so it cannot untwist — both name contact efficiency, critical length, friction
- What holds a tuft in, in newtons — both name abrasion, friction, specification
- A cloth relaxes until its threads stop pushing — both name friction, specification
- A fancy yarn has its crimp in the wrong thread — both name ply, specification
- A force is what an energy does when a crossing moves — both name friction, specification
- A run is a race between two energies — both name friction, specification
Named objects
A flat tag is an object no other essay names yet.
AbrasionContact efficiencyCritical lengthFolding twistFrictionPlySeamSpecification