One dip, two yarns: the same depth of dye
The cross-section of two cotton yarns drawn to one scale after a 20-second dip in a bath whose dye the fibres take up 10 times as strongly as the liquor holds it, each fibre shaded by the dye that reached its distance from the surface. 20 tex: 118 fibres, 167.1 µm across, dyed to 19.7 µm — 24% of its radius and 42% of its section; 74 tex: 435 fibres, 321.4 µm across, dyed to 18.2 µm — 11% of its radius and 21% of its section. The depth in micrometres is the same for both because a dip dyes a depth; the share is not, because the coarse yarn has more section behind the same ring. The fibres are drawn on a lattice and the count is computed; the affinity is an assumed value and every depth moves with its square root.
9 essays call
dye-ring. The drawing above is what it returns with no arguments at all; every
call below passes it something, because a placement that passes nothing draws whichever
member of the family the generator happens to default to rather than the weave its essay
argues about.
Where it is called
Every figure listed here is drawn from this one rule.
A dip dyes a depth, not a share
A yarn dyed after spinning is a cylinder the dye has to diffuse into through the liquor between its fibres, and the fibres slow it by taking dye out of the liquor as it passes. A twenty-second dip therefore dyes to a depth, some tens of micrometres, and that depth is almost the same in a fine yarn and a coarse one. So the same dip that colours two fifths of a shirting yarn's section colours a fifth of a denim warp's; eight dips deepen the shade eightfold and leave the ring where it was; and a tighter yarn rings more thinly, because packing closes the pores faster than it narrows the yarn.
A ring-dyed yarn whitens all at once
Rub a yarn that is dyed in a ring, and for a while nothing shows. The abrader takes off blue fibre, the cut face is blue, and the yarn looks as it did. Then the cut reaches the undyed core, and the white arrives with a vertical tangent, as the square root of the wear past the ring: one per cent of the radius more and an eighth of the width is white. A ring a fifth of the radius deep hides the first five per cent of the yarn's loss and shows half its width white by thirteen. A yarn dyed through never shows white at all. Denim's high-contrast fading is that threshold, drawn over a cloth.
A float fades late and hard, a crossing early and soft
Wear a ring-dyed face flat and the white arrives where the cut first passes the ring at a crown, which is the same depth for every weave. What differs is how much cloth has gone by then and how fast the white spreads after. A plain weave's crowns are points, cut through by almost nothing: it shows white after a fifth of a per cent of its thread and never shows much. A twill's floats are lines, cut along their length: a 3/1 twill shows nothing until more than one per cent has gone, then whitens faster than any plain weave can, 39 per cent of its face by a tenth worn against plain's 24. Denim's high-contrast fade is a float's; chambray's soft one is a crossing's.
A crease across a twill fades in dashes
A garment is not worn flat. It is worn along its folds, where the ridge of a crease stands out and is rubbed first, so the fade follows the crease. On a ring-dyed 3/1 twill a crease running along the warp bares the cores of the floats that lie under its ridge, float by float, and reads as a white line broken only where each float dives: at fifty micrometres of wear, 83 per cent of its length is white, in runs of 1.7 millimetres. The same crease across the warp meets every float at one point and reads as a row of dots, 31 per cent white in dashes of 0.15 millimetres, one end wide. It bares much the same core. A plain weave's creases are dashes whichever way they run.
A crease along the twill fades as one line
A crease along the warp of a ring-dyed 3/1 twill fades as broken lines a float long, and across it as dashes one end wide. Turn the crease to the twill's own diagonal and it fades as a single white line with no break in it at all: the fold meets the crown of one end's float, then the next end's one pick along, then the next, and every crown it meets is at the same place in its float. It is the one direction in which the weave and the crease line up — and two degrees off it the line breaks into strokes whose length is a vernier's.
A fibre that fills dyes deeper with every dip
Dipped eight times, a ring-dyed yarn is darker than after one dip but no deeper — if its fibres have room for all the dye they are offered. They do not: every dip's dye occupies some of the fibre's room, the next dip meets less affinity near the surface, and dye that is taken up less travels further before it is taken. How much further depends on one number the dip arithmetic never needed — the share of an empty fibre's room one dip fills — and eight dips turn that number into a ring 1.15 times deeper at five per cent and 1.68 times deeper at twenty.
Indigo is too little to close the pores it dyes through
Each dip of a fibre that fills carries its dye deeper, because the dye already fixed near the surface leaves less room there. But indigo is fixed as a solid, and some of it sits in the pores the next dip has to travel through, so a heavily dyed skin should also hold the next dip back. The two pull opposite ways, and which wins is decided by how much pigment there is. A dark denim's indigo, every grain of it placed in the pores, fills at most a fifth of them at the surface and takes back about a seventh of the ring's deepening — under two micrometres. The surface fills at the same rate whatever the pores do, so two cross-sections still tell the two effects apart.
A slow fibre starts its ring deep
Every account of an indigo dip here lets a cotton fibre take its dye at once. Give the fibre a clock of its own and the ring does not simply run deeper, which is what the question seemed to ask. A clock of a few seconds makes the ring shallower, by nearly a fifth at most, and only past about twenty-six seconds does it run deeper than an instant fibre's. Two sections tell the accounts apart that one cannot: an instant fibre earns its ring dip by dip, from 14 to 23.5 per cent of the radius over eight dips, and a fibre with a hundred-second clock starts at 23 and ends at 26.
The air moves a ring outward and adds no dye
A rope-dyed yarn leaves the bath with liquor in its pores and oxidises in the air from the outside in. A fibre with its own clock might be expected to keep taking up dye there and deepen its ring. The oxygen front is a sink, though, and liquor runs out to it faster than fibres can drink. So an aired ring is shallower than the ring that left the bath at every front computed, by more for a slower front and most for a slow fibre, and no dye is added at all. Nearly all of it happens in the first few seconds, so a longer airing buys nothing the shorter one had not.