The thread: A mechanism, not a material
The bias is a mechanism
Cloth cut at forty-five degrees stretches by a third and springs back, while the threads in it stretch by nothing at all. Almost every explanation given for this is wrong, and the right one is not about elasticity.
The loop
A knit is one thread bent into loops, each drawn through the loop below. Nothing in it is straight, which is why it stretches in every direction while a woven cloth stretches only at an angle.
What comes off the loom is not the cloth
Every number on this site so far describes a fabric in one particular condition — held under tension, stretched to the reed width, never wetted — and none of them says so. That condition lasts until the cloth is taken off the machine, which is the first thing that happens to it.
Crimp, and why cloth narrows when it is pulled
A thread in cloth is longer than the cloth it crosses. Pull the fabric one way and that extra length is taken out of one direction and put into the other, so the cloth gets narrower without a single fibre stretching.
Relaxation is the crimp coming back
A cloth that shrinks in the wash has not lost any thread. The thread is exactly as long as it was; more of its length is now spent going up and down rather than along, and the difference is the shrinkage, computable to the last figure from the woven geometry alone.
The locking angle
The bias runs out at an angle that yarn diameter and thread spacing decide between them. It is the number behind whether a cloth will go round a curve, and it has nothing to do with how strong the fabric is.
Why stockinette curls
A knitted loop is not symmetric front to back. Work every course the same way and the asymmetries add up along the edges; alternate them and they cancel. That is the whole difference between a fabric that rolls and one that lies flat.
Why clothes need darts
A flat cloth goes round a cylinder for nothing and cannot go round a sphere at all without shearing. The amount of shear is decided by the curvature, and when it exceeds what the threads allow, something has to be cut out.
Why the warp shrinks more
A woven cloth almost always loses more length than width, and the reason is not in the cloth. It is in the machine — the warp is held under tension for the whole of weaving and the weft is held for a fraction of a second — so the two systems arrive at the finishing works with different amounts of crimp missing.
Bending stiffness and the drape coefficient
Two standard measurements try to say how a fabric hangs. One measures a length and cubes it; the other measures an area and, on the geometry, turns out to be answering a different question from the one it is asked.
Warp knitting, which is a different thing entirely
Every wale has its own thread, and if the thread never leaves its wale the fabric is a set of independent cords. Whether a lapping makes cloth is decided by a coprimality condition — the satin theorem, in a knit.
Pre-shrinking is a subtraction done in advance
A compressive-shrinkage machine takes four per cent out of a cloth before anybody buys it, and the label then quotes what is left. The two numbers are fractions of different lengths, so they cannot be subtracted — and the difference between doing that correctly and incorrectly is most of the number.
Rib and interlock
A rib fabric is a plain knit folded like a concertina, and its enormous widthwise stretch is the fold opening out. Nothing in it is elastic, and the extension available is a cosine.
Shear locking in a composite preform
Laying a woven reinforcement over a mould is the bias mechanism doing useful work, and it stops dead at the angle where the threads jam. Where the cloth wrinkles is a geometric prediction with a radius attached.
A drape coefficient is one number for a directional thing
A fabric bends more easily one way than the other — a factor of two is ordinary. The drape test reports a single percentage, and the quantity that carries the directionality is the fold count, which the coefficient is almost blind to.
The cloth gains weight by losing size
Mass per unit area is the number a fabric is bought by, and it rises by eleven per cent when a cloth relaxes — with nothing added, nothing removed and no thread changed. The quantity is a ratio, and finishing moves its denominator.
Why a knit recovers and a woven does not
Four fabrics get longer without a single yarn stretching, and the four mechanisms are worth wildly different amounts. Three of them are recoverable and one is very nearly not, and which is which follows from where the extension came from.
A cloth cannot carry a push
The net model that runs this site's mechanics has no bending stiffness at all, so it buckles under any compression whatever, into wrinkles of any wavelength whatever. What picks the wavelength is the competition the net leaves out — and the answer is a quarter power, which is why a wrinkle is so hard to change.
How a tuft is held
A V-fastened tuft and a W-fastened tuft are both attached, and the integrity criterion returns the same verdict for both. One of them is specified for hotel corridors and the other sheds. What separates them is not a topological property at all — it is an angle, and it needs a coefficient somebody has to measure.
The ratchet that makes wool felt
A wool fibre is covered in scales pointing one way, so it slides more easily root-first than tip-first. Agitate it and the motion is symmetric while the result is not — every cycle nets a displacement in one direction, and no amount of further agitation undoes it.
Watered silk is a beat
Fold a ribbed cloth on itself and press it, and a figure appears at a scale neither ply has — fifty times the rib pitch, wandering across the piece. It is the difference of two wavevectors, it is enormous because the angle is tiny, and no two pieces match because no two are folded at the same angle.
An inflated cylinder wants an unbalanced cloth
Balance is a virtue in almost every other cloth. Under pressure it is a defect with a size — a closed cylinder carries exactly twice the stress around its circumference as along its axis, so a balanced fabric reaches its limit in one direction with a quarter of its fibre doing nothing at all.
Corduroy is a cut float
An extra weft floats over some ends, a knife runs along the cloth, and each half of the float stands up. So the pile height is exactly half the float's length — which makes corduroy the one pile fabric whose surface is decided entirely by a quantity this site has been counting since its first essay.
Milling holds the cloth a second time
This site's integrity criterion returns exactly the same answer for a melton as for the loose twill it was woven as, and it is right both times. What has changed is that a second network now holds the fabric together, made of migrated fibre rather than of thread crossings — and it is the one that decides whether a cut edge frays.
The angle a hose wants
A braided hose has one angle at which pressure neither lengthens it nor shortens it, and the angle is arctan √2 — 54.74° — with no friction coefficient, no modulus and no fitted constant in it. Two arguments that share no algebra arrive at the same number, and which side of it a hose was braided on decides which way it moves.
The nodes a drape test throws away
A drape test lays a circular specimen over a pedestal, photographs the shadow and reports one number. The specimen also falls into a definite number of folds, which is a buckling mode set by the fabric's own bending length — and the standard method observes it, does not record it, and reports the number it is least sensitive to.
The reed leaves its own mark
A reed does not space a warp evenly. It groups it, several ends to a dent, and the grouping beats against the weave repeat — so a denting that shares a factor with the repeat treats every repeat identically and shows as a stripe, and one that does not is invisible.
A cloth extends by moving its crimp
Everybody says the extension available along the warp is the warp's own crimp. On six of eight ordinary cloths it is not — a close sheeting has 14.61 per cent of warp crimp and reaches 4.03 per cent, because the limit lives in the weft.
A membrane is cut smaller than it is
A tensioned fabric roof is cut to a pattern smaller than the shape it will take, because stressing it makes it grow. At a fixed cloth thickness a prestress can only interchange crimp — one direction grows and the other shrinks — so everything that makes both directions grow is the crossings flattening, which is the one quantity here this site cannot compute.
What crimp interchange actually conserves
Pull a cloth lengthways and it narrows, because the crimp moves from one system to the other. Inextensibility says that much and no more — it is one equation short of an answer, and the second equation everybody uses is an assumption with a name.
Shrink-resist is one number
Machine-washable wool is sold as a coating that glues the scales down. What the treatment has to achieve is narrower and more exact — make the fibre slide equally well in both directions, and the ratchet has nothing left to rectify, whatever the friction happens to be.
Terry needs two beams
A towel's pile is not woven longer. It is fed longer — from a second warp beam let off several times faster than the first — so the loop height follows from a ratio and a pick spacing, and the float length that decides a corduroy does not appear in it anywhere.
Calendering is the cloth arriving at the other model
This site has carried two thread sections side by side since its foundation — Peirce's circle and Kemp's racetrack — and has been careful to say which produced any number. They are not two opinions about one yarn. They are one yarn on either side of a finishing machine.
Every crossing is a force
A thread arrives at a crossing at an angle and leaves at its negative, so the two pulls have transverse parts that add. The force pressing one thread onto another is twice the tension times the sine of the weave angle — and for an ordinary sheeting that is more than the tension in the thread itself.
Pulled both ways, only one can give
A cloth at constant thread length has one degree of freedom, so its reachable states are a curve rather than a region. Equal extension in both directions meets that curve at exactly one point — the state the cloth is already in — so the amount available is nought.
The bias cut and the selvedge
A bias-cut square costs exactly twice its own area, and every other shape costs more. That is an exact result about one panel — and it is not where a cutting room's waste comes from, because identical panels at one angle tile the plane. The loss is at the two selvedges, so it falls as the cloth gets wider, which no account in terms of the diagonal can explain.
The float in a knit
Five rungs of this anchor have taken the float to be a length of thread on the surface with nothing holding it down. A knit has one too, and it behaves the same way in the light and the opposite way in the hand — because a woven float lengthens its thread and a knitted one shortens its fabric.
Twist is one angle
Every model on this site treats a yarn as a cylinder with a diameter. It is a bundle of loose fibres, and what makes it behave like a cylinder is twist — which is a helix, so the whole subject is one angle, and the trade's twist factor turns out to be the only combination of count and turns that decides anything.
Velvet is cut apart
Two ground cloths are woven face to face with a pile warp shuttling between them, and while it does the whole thing is one cloth — the criterion says so, and the pile is the only reason it is true. Then a knife runs down the middle and the same criterion says two. The manufacture is the deliberate destruction of cloth integrity.
A cloth's Poisson ratio is not a material's
The ratio of a cloth's contraction to its extension has a name everywhere else in mechanics, and it breaks every rule the name comes with — above one half on all eight cloths measured, doubling across a four per cent span, and not reciprocal between the two directions.
A hemisphere costs one full turn
The total angle a pattern must remove to cover a hemisphere is exactly 360 degrees, and it is the same for a hat and for a stadium dome. What changes with the fabric is how much of that the cloth can supply by shearing instead of by being cut — and that is a property of the sett, computed from the angle at which its threads jam.
A thread is gripped where it turns
The arithmetic this site has used for fraying, seam slippage and tuft anchorage counts every crossing a thread makes as a grip and adds them up. A thread lying flat on the surface of a satin presses on nothing at all, and a thread that is gripped is gripped by a friction that compounds along its length rather than adding. Both corrections were recorded as missing and both are here.
The shed is an extension
Every model of a finished cloth treats a thread as inextensible, and every one of them is about a fabric that has left the loom. On the loom the warp is stretched thousands of times a minute by the shed itself, and the amount is exact trigonometry with nothing fitted in it: the square of the shed's tangent, times the shaft's own distance from the fell, over twice what is left behind it.
What holds a pick in
A plain weave grips its weft by the crimp, and the crimp's wrap angle falls towards nothing as the cloth opens out. A leno crossing is half a turn whatever the sett. So the comparison has an exact answer that does not depend on the friction coefficient at all — and no plain weave can ever reach a leno's grip.
A fashioned edge has a quantised angle
A knitted panel is shaped by transferring loops, so its edge steps by whole wales at whole courses and its angle is the arctangent of a fraction. The available angles turn out to be the same for every plain knit there has ever been — in any yarn, at any gauge, at any loop length — because the constant they scale by cancels the loop out. There are eighteen of them, and 16.67° between the last two.
Raising spends the cloth's strength
Fibre standing up on the surface is fibre no longer in the load path. A nap is warmth bought with tensile strength, and the exchange rate runs along the same axis as everything else the float decides — which means a fabric cannot be optimised for both ends of it.
The back shaft works hardest
How hard the loom is on a warp end is the product of two numbers from different worlds — how often its column changes sides, which is a property of a binary matrix with no millimetre in it, and the strain of the shaft it happens to be on, which is a property of a machine with no weave in it. Neither knows about the other, and the threading that joins them is a decision nobody makes on structural grounds.
The criterion cannot see friction
This site's central check is exact, decidable in linear time, and structurally incapable of distinguishing a carpet from a fabric that sheds. That is not a defect to be repaired — a separation exists or it does not, and there is no margin in it — and the fancy weaves are precisely the constructions that live in the gap.
The sett decides how much, not how high
Every rung of this ladder so far has found the sett deciding something. This one finds it deciding nothing at all: a cloth's maximum rise is 6.37 m at eight threads per centimetre and 6.37 m at thirty-four, because the sett cannot reach inside a yarn.
Two coefficients, not one
Every friction on this site is a single number, and the account of why a cloth relaxes better when it is agitated depends entirely on there being two. Separating static from kinetic changes what a resting state is: a cloth at rest is held by one coefficient and a cloth being shaken by the other, and the band it can be left in narrows — by less than the ratio, because a cloth's restoring force is not linear in its extension.
A cloth does not mind a hole
A hole in a film costs it two thirds of its strength whatever the hole's size, because a continuum concentrates stress at an edge. A cloth's threads carry their own load and hand almost nothing to their neighbours, so a hole costs exactly the threads it removes — a loss that is linear in the hole, independent of the sett, and zero for a slit along the load.
A figure is harder on its warp
Every basic weave flexes all its ends exactly as often as each other — plain, twill, satin and sateen alike, and it is a one-line theorem. Figure one of them on another and that evenness goes, or does not, depending on where the ground weave was started relative to the figure. The same invisible offset that decides whether a fine figure holds together decides, at a coarse one, how unevenly the loom works the warp.
The reed is not the sett
A reed holds the warp at a pitch, and the cloth that leaves it is narrower — by exactly the weft's crimp, with nothing fitted and nothing approximated. On a close balanced sheeting that is 12.75 per cent, on an open scrim 1.87, and a weaver who allowed one figure for both would be wrong by a factor of nearly seven.
What water does to a thread
A cotton fibre in water is a fifth wider and a hundredth longer. If it grew equally in both directions a wet cloth would simply be a bigger cloth and nothing structural would follow; because it does not, every ratio of a diameter to a spacing in a cloth moves, and they all move the same way.
Where the heddles go
A draft says how many shafts it needs and says nothing about how the ends divide between them. On a satin stripe over a plain ground the two ground shafts carry twenty times what the stripe shafts do — and the only cure is to spend shafts, which turns the threading into an allocation problem with an exact answer.
A knit is soft because it bends
Ask the same energy question of a woven cloth and a knitted one and the answers are not different by a factor — they are different in kind. A woven cloth's bending energy changes the moment it is extended. A knitted loop's does not change at all, exactly, over the whole of its extension, because its arcs are held to a radius by contact rather than by the fabric's dimensions.
A yarn's stiffness is a bracket, not a number
Two calculations are available for how stiff a thread is in bending, and both are exact. One treats the fibres as free to slide and gives the sum of their stiffnesses; the other treats them as locked and gives a solid rod. They differ by the fibre count, which for an ordinary cotton yarn is a factor of five hundred — and no measurement of the fibre narrows it by anything at all.
The setts a loom can reach
Transposing a draft gives a perfectly good draft, and every count this site takes off a matrix either is symmetric under exchanging warp and weft or has a mirror twin. The loom is not symmetric at all: over the range ordinary cloth is woven in, it can choose a pick density 99 times more finely than a warp sett — and the warp sett cannot be changed once the warp is drawn in, at any granularity whatever.
A cloth gives back less than it took
Everything this collection computes about a deforming fabric is reversible, and no fabric is. The repair is not a new material property: a woven cloth has two routes to a strain, one of them costs its threads nothing and comes back in full, and where the first route runs out is a number about the sett with no fibre in it at all.
A hole with nothing crossing
A real leno holds its holes open by crossing one thread over another, which is a topological arrangement and cannot come undone. A mock leno makes the same holes by grouping threads that nothing separates, and everything about it is friction.
How high a cloth wicks
A woven cloth has two capillary systems and they are a factor of twenty to a hundred apart. The one every diagram draws — the hole between four threads — lifts 119 mm. The one nobody draws, inside the yarn, lifts 6.37 m.
The crimp ratio is not a measurement
Peirce's geometry is two thread systems, four unknowns and three equations. It cannot say how the crimp divides between warp and weft, so every cloth solved so far has been drawn at a ratio somebody chose. Give the threads a stiffness and the missing equation arrives — and for six of the eight cloths in the table it arrives with no material constant in it at all.
What stops a knit extending
A knitted loop's bending energy does not change as the fabric extends — exactly, over the whole range its geometry admits. Something resists, and it is not stiffness. It is friction at the interlocks, which is dissipative rather than elastic, and that single fact accounts for why a knit does not spring back, why a softener changes its dimensions and why the constants its size is quoted with contain no yarn property at all.
What the shed costs, in newtons
The shed's strain has been computed here and could not be priced: a strain is a length over a length and says nothing about how hard a thread is being pulled. A modulus turns it into a tension — and the back shaft of a twenty-four-shaft harness turns out to hold its ends at half their breaking load, all day, from the geometry alone.
A loop has no closure condition
A woven cloth can run out of room: its two systems must supply its whole thickness between them, and past a certain swelling they cannot. A knit has no such equation, so no critical swelling and no pressure. The obvious explanation — that a knit is open and has somewhere to put the swelling — is false, and the arithmetic refuses it.
Coated is a state
Every mechanism on this site assumes threads that can move relative to one another — the bias is a mechanism because the crossings rotate, a tear runs because threads gather, a cloth takes a hole without minding because the neighbours pick the load up. A film bonds the crossings. Two of those results reverse outright, the rest change in kind, and no number on this site has ever said which state it belongs to.
The blow that sets the pick
The take-up gear decides how far the cloth moves between picks and says nothing about the blow that puts each pick where it goes. That blow is a force, and a virtual-work argument gives it in one line — with the length of the beat-up zone cancelling out of the answer exactly, which is the part worth having.
The harness has a depth
Why does a dobby carry sixteen or twenty-four shafts rather than two hundred? The usual answers are about the mechanism — how many jacks a box can drive, how many hooks a dobby has — and they are real limits that are not the binding one. A stated tolerance on warp strain is a stated distance from the fell, and a stated distance is a whole number of shafts. One per cent buys thirteen.
The locus gets a force
This site has drawn the set of states a cloth can reach without stretching any yarn, and has never been able to say which of them it is in or what it would cost to move. Both questions are one derivative of a bending energy — and the answer explains the flat start every fabric's load–extension curve has, which is not slack yarn but a symmetry.
Wicking is slower along a crimped thread
A front travelling up a warp end travels the thread's path, which is longer than the cloth by exactly the crimp. So the wicking coefficient measured on the fabric is the yarn's own divided by (1 + c)² — 14.3 per cent lost at eight per cent crimp, whatever the liquid.
A cloth relaxes until its threads stop pushing
The finishing field treats the relaxed state as a place a cloth arrives at. With an energy along its own locus and a friction at its crossings it is not a place but a band — and which point of the band a piece of cloth stops at depends on which side it came from, which is why washing it twice gives two answers.
A flattened thread is a record of a force
A yarn in cloth is not round, and this site has modelled the flattening for as long as this collection has run with the amount of it left as a number somebody chose. Give the section a stiffness and ask what the cloth prefers, and the answer is a circle — at every stiffness, for every balanced cloth in the table. Flattening does not happen by itself; it happens because something pressed.
A knit's change of state is not its swelling
A jersey is smaller wet-relaxed than dry-relaxed, by 5.7 per cent along its courses and 2.4 across its wales. Water is obviously involved, so the swelling is the obvious cause. Two things rule it out, and both are properties of the constants rather than measurements of a fabric.
A motif is drawn at the wrong shape on purpose
Point paper has one cell per end and per pick, so a design's proportions on the cloth are the ratio of the two setts. Both setts move in the finishing and they move in opposite directions, so a circle drawn as a circle comes back out of round — by three per cent on a balanced cloth and by sixteen on a warp-dense one.
A pick density is a force budget
The take-up ladder counted what a change-wheel take-up can select: 4,825 distinct pick densities between eight and forty threads per centimetre, against forty-nine warp setts a reed catalogue offers over the same range. That count assumed every setting is available. A beat-up force says otherwise, and cuts the top off the range without touching the fineness of the choice.
What holds a tuft in, in newtons
The pile ladder computed a tuft's anchorage as a capstan ratio and said, correctly, that a ratio was all it could offer. A ratio multiplies a tension and there was no tension anywhere on this site. There is one now — and the answer, put beside what a carpet is actually specified at, falls short by a factor of three.
A cloth is a population, not a thread
Every number in this collection was computed from a diameter, and no yarn has one. Putting the distribution back changes some answers by nothing at all, some by a few per cent, and some by a factor — and which of the three happens is decided by one derivative.
A knit relaxes for as long as it is allowed to
Munden's three states are usually given as three sets of constants. Read as a path they are two steps, they compose exactly, and the second is not a smaller version of the first — the fabric shrinks twice as much along its courses as across its wales on the first step and rather less than half as much on the second.
Peirce and Kemp are one cloth at two moments
This site has run two thread sections side by side since the setting field was built — a circle and a flattened racetrack — and said honestly that they disagree and that the disagreement is the point. They are not rival descriptions of the same fabric. They are descriptions of the same fabric before and after something pressed it, and the difference between them is a pressure that can now be named.
The criterion gets a force
This site's integrity criterion decides exactly whether a draft describes one cloth, and has one standing limitation: it says a tuft bound under one pick and a tuft bound under three are both attached, and it is right, and one of those is a carpet while the other sheds. What separates them needs a normal force in a fabric that is not under tension — the number the rung that computed it recorded as unavailable, and the one a thickness gauge now supplies.
The stiffness with no lower bound
A yarn's bending rigidity lies between two derivable ends and the ratio is the fibre count — wide, but closed. Its resistance to being squashed out of round has an upper bound of the same kind and a lower bound of exactly nothing, because fibres free to slide resist a change of shape with nothing at all. That is why nobody could ever compute the aspect ratio of a flattened thread.
Two layers are the product on average and nowhere
Everybody knows what two layers of a cloth pass: the product of their open areas. That figure is exactly right — it is the mean of the true answer over every way the two layers can lie — and it is the answer at two registrations out of a continuum. In register a doubled cloth is as open as a single one; half a thread out it can be shut completely. The variation across a folded curtain is what a moiré is.
Why agitation helps a cloth relax
Every standard relaxation procedure agitates: tumble it, wash it, steam it, work it. The explanation given is that agitation lets the fabric find its own dimensions, which is true and is not a mechanism. The mechanism is that a sliding contact resists less than a stuck one — and putting a number on it shows the effect is real, is smaller than the obvious arithmetic suggests, and does not account for what a relaxation procedure achieves.
A calender spends the compression for good
Calendering was described on this site as moving a cloth from one thread-section model to another, which was right and had no number in it because the amount of the move was a free parameter. It is a pressure now — and the same nip setting turns out to give two cloths quite different treatments, because the force at a crossing is the pressure times the area a crossing owns.
A jersey leans because its yarn still turns
A single-jersey T-shirt comes back from the wash with its side seam spiralling round the body, and a rib does not. The difference is not the yarn: it is a count. Loops on opposite beds are mirror images, so their torques oppose, and a fabric that knits equally on both nets to zero whatever the yarn is doing.
A wetting supplies the force the criterion needs
This collection's criterion decides whether a cloth is one cloth, exactly, and cannot see friction — so pricing what it misses needed a contact force, and the only one available had a measured fabric thickness inside it. A wetted close cloth generates one from geometry alone, and it lands within seven per cent of the measured route's answer.
How far a cut edge frays
A seam allowance, a fray width and a tuft's bound length are the same number wearing three hats, and the earlier estimate of it was four times too long. Correcting it moves the whole table across the boundary an ordinary allowance sits on — from four cloths holding and four slipping, to all eight holding — and turns a specification argument into a different one.
Opacity is not cover
The covering rule counts a thread as a bar that stops everything, and a single fine cotton thread held to a window plainly does not. What a cloth transmits is the open area plus whatever comes through the threads, so the covered fraction is a lever rather than a barrier — and the lever is longest exactly where the rule says the cloth is most closed. Nothing here computes a thread's transmittance, and saying why is the useful half.
The relaxed cloth's contact force
How hard two threads press on each other in a cloth that is not being pulled is the number this site's own integrity criterion has needed since its first essays, and the route to it was an elastica nobody had. A thickness gauge supplies it instead — because a cloth's thickness is a record of how flat its threads are, and how flat they are is a record of how hard they are pressed.
A crushed pile is not held down by its fibres
A carpet flattened under a foot has bent its tufts through a right angle, which sounds severe and is not: the fibres in a five-millimetre pile are strained under two tenths of a per cent, an order of magnitude below the smallest strain anybody has measured a recovery at. What holds a pile down is the tufts leaning on one another.
The half of the beat-up that is all zone
The elastic half of the beat-up force is exact and the length of the beat-up zone cancels out of it, which is this site's own result and disagrees with every practical account of weaving. The frictional half is nothing but zone — and requiring the total to match the force a loom is actually built to apply puts the number of picks still sliding at about one.
The swelling a cloth cannot take
Three of the eight cloths in this collection's table have no wet state at all. A thread of fixed length cannot wrap a partner that has grown by a fifth, so the closure condition fails and the geometry has nothing to offer. What happens instead costs megapascals, and the alternative route is not merely dearer but unavailable — the thread would break first.
Two shrinkages, one tape measure
A cloth that comes out of a wash smaller has done two different things and the tape cannot tell them apart. One is geometric, recoverable and finished in minutes; the other is frictional, permanent and needs agitation. This collection can now compute both, and they have different signatures.
A garment is cut dry and worn wet
A cutting allowance is one number and the thing it allows for is two, in two directions. Worse: when the two directions differ, a panel cut on the bias does not merely shrink — it rotates, by half a degree for an ordinary poplin, which is nine and a half millimetres of skew across a metre and is invisible to a tape measure.
A knee is a dome imposed a thousand times
A flat sheet of inextensible threads takes a double curvature only by shearing, and how much shear it needs depends on how far round the dome it has to reach — not on how big the dome is. So a knee and a beach ball demand the same, and a trouser knee covered to its own equator is at 85 per cent of the angle at which the threads touch side by side.
A leno's hole cannot drift
A filter cloth is rated by its largest hole, and the largest hole grows one micrometre for every micrometre an end moves sideways. What holds an end in place in an ordinary weave is friction at its crossings, and that friction falls smoothly to nothing as a cloth opens — with no threshold to warn anybody. A leno's crossing does not: its ends are wrapped through half a turn by construction, so the grip has no sett in it, and at an open cloth it holds eighteen times what a plain weave manages.
A slub finds the width of the cloth
A thick place recurring along a weft yarn does not make a bar. It makes diagonals — and when the cloth's width happens to be a whole number of fault periods, it makes stripes down the piece instead, from a fault that is entirely in the weft.
A wet cloth is set closer than it was woven
Cover is a diameter over a spacing. Wetting moves the diameter and does not move the spacing, so every cover factor on this site is multiplied by exactly the swelling ratio and every jamming sett divided by it — which is an identity, and the one statement in this ladder a reader can check by hand.
Water tells two fibres apart
Cotton and viscose are the same material by every constant this collection carries. Same density, same modulus, same fineness, so the same diameter at every count and the same crimp, cover, jamming sett and bending bracket. A wash separates them by a factor of two, and it is the only thing here that can.
Why felting needs water
Wool felts in a wash and not in a drawer, and the usual explanation is that water lubricates the scales. It does the opposite of that. Water lowers one of wool's two friction coefficients and raises the other, so it widens the gap the ratchet rectifies — and what follows is a saturating function of the ratio, not of either coefficient.
A cloth has an outside
Every quantity in this collection is a property of the inside of a fabric — a crimp, a cover, a hole, a fibre count. None of them says where the cloth stops. The outside is a height field the draft computes, its crowns stand at two different levels, and which of the two is higher decides what the cloth touches the world with.
A course is one thread and a warp is many
A woven fabric draws its warp from two thousand packages side by side, so a yarn's drift averages out across the width. A weft knit takes whole courses from one package, so the same drift becomes a band — and the standard remedy for that turns an invisible error into a visible one.
A cloth has one budget for two directions
A woven cloth looks as though it carries two independent reserves of free extension, one along the warp and one across the weft. It carries one. There is a single curve of states and a single position on it, so every hundredth spent one way is refunded the other — which means a pre-tensioned cloth has not used its recovery up, it has moved it.
A cloth shrinks most the first time
A laundering test reports five numbers and they fall away like a geometric series. Nothing in a wash is slow — a cloth is agitated tens of thousands of times in half an hour — so a second wash that shrinks it again is direct evidence that its frictional barriers are spread, and the ratio between successive washes measures how far.
A seersucker is made at the loom
Every other relief weave in this collection gets its shape after the loom, from a difference of crimp between two regions of a few per cent. A seersucker's surplus is thirty per cent and is put in as the cloth is woven — an order of magnitude more, which the square root turns into a factor of four in depth and no more than that.
Wetting moves a cloth to another locus
A cloth's constant-thread-length locus is built at a fixed thickness. Swelling changes the thickness, so a wetted cloth is not somewhere else on its own locus — it is on a different one, and the distance between the two least-energy states is the shrinkage. Five of the eight cloths here have a wet state, and one of them gets bigger.
Three mistakes and the shape each one leaves
A loom holds a design in three separate objects, and one error in each of them is the same size of error. What they cost differs by a factor of seventeen hundred — and the largest of the three is the one nobody can see happening, because every thread is exactly where it should be.
Why a knit shows a thick place
A woven cloth has hundreds of separate warp ends and averages a yarn's faults among them. A knit has one thread and a machine that repeats — so a difference between two packages becomes a stripe, and the machine chooses its period.
The curve that says what a cloth touches with
Take a cloth's surface and ask what fraction of the plan lies within a given depth of its highest point. The answer is one curve, it answers every question of the form what does this touch, and its behaviour at the top is decided by a single bit of the draft — whether the longest float is one crossing or more than one.
A cloth stops having holes before it stops passing air
Close a woven cloth up and the channels between its threads shut. What passes through it does not go to zero, because a thread is sixty per cent fibre and forty per cent air and stays that way whatever is done to the construction. So a fabric's permeability has a floor, the floor belongs to the yarn rather than to the weaver, and no sett on any loom reaches it.
A crease is a fold the crimp cannot supply
A fold needs its outer face longer than its inner, and a woven cloth's way of supplying a length is to move crimp. That runs out at a radius of millimetres, and a pressed crease is tenths of one — so the fold is handed to the fibres. How hard it strains them turns on a question this collection has been unable to settle for two fields, and a crease settles it by refusing.
Recovery is measured and nothing predicts it
A fibre's stiffness is a bracket this collection can compute the ends of. What fraction of a strain it gives back is not: it has to be looked up, the tables are thin, they stop exactly where a fabric needs them, and the most attractive explanation for the ordering they show turns out to have no signal in it at all.
The construction a loom must be set to
A specification quotes ends and picks per centimetre in the finished cloth, and a loom is set to neither of them. The cloth relaxes to the least-energy state of its own locus, which is a state at a different sett — and because the locus is one curve, the two numbers a specification quotes are not two free numbers.
A tuft is set so it cannot untwist
A cut pile tuft has a free end, and at a free end the pressure holding the twist is zero. So the twist runs out over a computable length, the tuft opens, and a carpet loses its appearance long before it loses any material.
A figure shows by its shine, not its step
A damask is one cloth in one colour and its pattern is plainly visible. This collection attributed that to the step in its surface — fifty micrometres of relief, computed from the interlacing rates. The step is real and returns almost no light. What makes the figure visible is that its crowns run at right angles to the ground's, so the two trade places when the cloth is turned.
A jersey has two surfaces
The face of a plain knit shows the legs of its loops, which run along the wale; the back shows the heads and feet, which run across it. So the two faces carry their crowns at right angles — the same situation as a damask's figure and its ground, in a fabric with no warp, no weft and no float.
A tensioned cloth loses its load
Clamp a fabric at a fixed length and its tension falls overnight. Nothing crept and nothing flowed: the crossings rearranged locally until the load had dropped to what friction alone can hold, and that level is the same number whatever the cloth was pulled to — so the harder it was tensioned, the smaller the share it keeps.
A windproof cloth is at its yarn's limit
Windproof is a threshold on air permeability, and it is the only fabric specification on this site that the construction cannot settle. No weavable sett of an ordinary shirting yarn gets within two hundred times of it, layering the cloth barely helps because the resistance is inertial rather than viscous, and the floor set by the yarn's own porosity lands on the same order as the threshold with a fivefold bracket around it.
The fourth power is a close cloth's rule
Every account of a fabric's air permeability quotes the same thing: flow down a channel goes as the fourth power of its width, so a small change of sett is a large change of flow. That is Poiseuille's result, it is about the viscous drop, and in an open cloth the viscous drop is two per cent of the pressure. The rule becomes true as the cloth closes, and where it starts being true is a number.
How much of a cloth is touching
Press a fabric against a flat plate with the weight of a hand and ask what fraction of it is actually in contact. The bearing curve answers, and the answer is about four per cent — of which the great majority is not the cloth's surface at all, but the hairs standing off it, which nothing in this arithmetic can see.
A cloth is more opaque than it is closed
Opacity is not cover — this collection established that already and left the discrepancy attributed to the thickness of the threads. Part of it is not in the threads at all. A hair standing in a hole blocks light exactly as well as a thread does and costs nothing in air.
A knit gives up its fibres more easily
Knitwear pills and shirting does not, and the fibres are often the same fibres. The difference is a count of yarn per unit area and a pressure between threads, and both of them push a knit over a threshold that a woven cloth of the same yarn cannot reach.
A satin's hole is a slot
Two cloths at the same cover have the same open area, exactly, and do not pass the same air. A float lays parallel threads side by side and the hole beside them is long rather than square, and drawing a hole out at constant area cuts what it passes to two fifths — because the hydraulic diameter falls and the shape factor climbs, and both of them move the same way.
One minus the cover is a cloth with no thickness
The covering rule says a cloth's openness is one minus its cover factor, and this collection derived it and has used it ever since. It is the answer for a light directly behind the cloth. Move the light and a line of sight has to clear the hole at the top of the fabric and the same hole one thickness below, so the openness falls, and it reaches nothing at thirty-six degrees. Averaged over the whole sky a muslin is a seventh as open as the rule says.
The pore that wicks is the pore that leaks
A cloth's water resistance and a cloth's wicking are one expression, read at the two ends of a contact angle. The geometry cannot be chosen to give both, because it is the same geometry; the only thing that decides which a fabric does is a finish. And the two questions do not even read the same pore — a rise is set by the finest and a leak by the coarsest, so the same cloth lifts water three metres and holds it back at fifty-six millimetres.
The wind takes the air and not the cloth
A shirting's own thermal resistance is eight per cent of what a person wearing it has; the other ninety-two is a still-air layer half a millimetre thick clinging to its outside. Wind destroys both, and it destroys the larger one first and by a mechanism that has nothing to do with the fabric — so a windproof layer works by keeping air still rather than by resisting heat.
Warmth is a thickness of air
A fabric is a tenth fibre and the rest air, so its thermal conductivity is a mixture of the two — and the pair of bounds that any mixture must lie between comes out narrower than the difference between wool and nylon. The model cannot tell one fibre from another in a cloth. What it can tell, exactly and with no bracket at all, is that twice the thickness is twice the warmth.
A thickness gauge reads the draft
A presser foot does not stop at the top of a cloth. It sinks until the area it is touching can carry the load, and how far that is depends on the shape of the bearing curve near the top — which is a property of the weave. So there is a weave term inside a measurement nobody thinks of as a weave measurement, and it is worth about one per cent.
A pile is the only surface with no crowns
Every other fabric touches on the tops of curved threads, so its contact vanishes as the load goes to zero and the pressure on what is touching rises without limit. A cut pile touches on flat ends left in one plane by a blade — so its contact is finite at no load at all, its pressure concentration is bounded, and it is the only fabric whose abrasion mass loss is an honest measure of its damage.
A loop is nine tenths free run
Half the yarn in a knitted stitch is slack — the straight line between two interlacings is a little over half the thread available to span it. That is two orders of magnitude more room than a woven thread has, and it is why a knitted loop is a shape that can be solved rather than a shape that has to be constructed.
A crepe is a yarn that will not lie still
A crepe cloth's pebbled surface is the yarn's own torque acting on a cloth that cannot resist it. The instability that makes a slack yarn snarl says how large the pebbles should be, and the answer is a millimetre — which is what a crepe looks like.
A finish spends a spread before it spends a mean
Every operation on a cloth multiplies the variation it inherits by its own log-slope, so an operation with an exponent below one makes the cloth more even and one above it makes the cloth less even. Calendering, which is bought for evenness, has an exponent of 1.4.
A tear asks fewer threads than a pull
A strip test averages a hundred threads and a tear interrogates four. That difference alone accounts for the two things everybody knows about tear testing — that it reads low, and that it scatters — without anything about the cloth being different between the two tests.
A thickness is a maximum, not a mean
A presser foot rests on whatever is highest beneath it, so the thickness of a fabric is an extreme value — and an extreme grows with how much cloth is asked. The standard specifies the foot's area because the foot's area is in the answer.
A yarn's surface is a distribution
This collection has computed where a cloth stops, and every one of those numbers is a statement about yarn. What a finger, a plate, a droplet or a ray of light actually meets first is a population of fibre ends standing off the yarn — and it is a population, with a count and a length, rather than a layer with a thickness.
Hair, nap and pile are one construction
This site now has three surfaces made of fibre standing off a cloth, arrived at from three different directions and in three different fields. They are the same object at three settings, and what separates them is not what they are but how much of them anybody decided.
The relaxed knit is not at a minimum
Differentiate a loop's bending energy along the fabric instead of across it and the answer should be zero, because a relaxed fabric is one nothing is pulling. It is not zero. It is tens of newtons a metre, downhill in both directions at once — and the three relaxation states everybody measures run the wrong way up the slope.
A shadow stripe is two twists
A cloth striped in one colour, where the stripe is visible only because alternate bands are spun the other way round. The pattern is carried entirely by which way the fibres lie on the yarn's surface, and it disappears when the light moves.
A bundle is weaker than its threads
Threads pulled together do not break together. The weakest goes first and hands its load to the rest, so a bundle carries its maximum well before every thread is at its own limit — and the shortfall is a quarter, decided by the spread and by nothing else.
A warp jams where its threads are thickest
The closest a cloth can be set is decided by its worst pair of neighbours, not its average thread — and the worst pair depends on how many pairs there are. The same yarn in a wider loom jams sooner, which makes a jammed sett a property of the machine as well as of the yarn.
A missing end is a fault the length of the piece
A broken end and a mispick are the same size of accident — one thread — and they condemn areas that differ by a factor of thirty. The ratio is the aspect ratio of the piece and nothing else, which makes it a fact about how cloth is made rather than about what went wrong.
Singeing is the cheapest change to a surface
Pass a cloth through a flame fast enough and it loses under one per cent of its mass. What it loses is the part of itself that was doing most of the touching, and lustre, friction, printability, pilling and measured cover all move at once.
A yarn has a diameter for every instrument
Conservation of volume gives a yarn one diameter and every other route gives a different one. The disagreement is not experimental scatter: a yarn's outside is a coverage that falls away exponentially, and each instrument stops at whatever contour of it will trigger the instrument.
A leno twists what a weave only crosses
Every woven cloth's threads have a linking number of zero, and that is why an open cloth slips. A leno is the one woven structure whose warp ends wind about one another, so it is the one whose threads are linked — and it is famously the structure that holds at setts where nothing else does.
What a knit gives when it is pulled
How far a knit stretches by rearranging its loops is usually given as a bound rather than a number, because saying more needs a loop with bending stiffness in it. Solved from the loop's own bending, the answer is a curve: soft for a hundred per cent, then stiffening by a factor of eighty as the yarn between two interlacings runs out of ways to be anywhere but straight.
A yarn breaks at its thinnest place
A tensile test does not measure a yarn. It measures the worst section between the clamps — so evenness and strength are one measurement taken twice, and the number of independent tries in a specimen is set by the length of a fibre.
A sewing thread is a different animal
It is folded, balanced, lubricated and finished, and every one of those is an answer to a requirement no weaving yarn has. The lubricant is the interesting one: it makes the thread sewable by lowering the friction that was holding its own fibres together.
Raising moves the surface onto the hairs
A raising machine pulls fibre ends up out of the floats, and what a finger or a light then meets is not the cloth's surface at all but a layer of loose fibre standing above it. The criterion for which cloths can be raised is the same criterion, exactly, that decides which cloths have crown line — so raising spends the surface that would have made the fabric shine.
Two hairiness meters read two moments
The trade has two instruments for yarn hairiness and thirty years of failing to predict either from the other. They are not measuring the same thing badly. One reports the first moment of a distribution and the other reports a tail probability, and two functionals of one curve are related only through a parameter neither of them reports.
A jersey gets taller before it gets shorter
Pull a knit along its courses and the first thing it does is grow along its wales — by two per cent, over the first eighty per cent of extension, before it turns round and contracts. The transverse response changes sign, and there is no material in the explanation at all.
A braid is a third way to hold threads
Weaving holds by friction and knitting holds by linking. A braid does neither: its strands travel across the structure and back, so no pair of them is linked and no pair of them returns to where it started — and it holds without a reed, a beat-up or a sett.
A straight fibre cannot share the load
Extend a twisted yarn and its fibres are not all strained alike: the one on the axis takes the whole of it and the one at the surface takes cos²α. So they do not break together, and what a wandering fibre is worth comes out as one expression with nothing fitted in it.
The other crepe is in the yarn
A crepe weave puts the texture in the matrix. A crepe yarn puts it nowhere the matrix can see: the cloth is a plain weave, and the surface comes from a thread twisted so hard that it shortens by a seventh and spends the rest of its life trying to untwist.
A cloth loses its strength before its mass
Rub a fabric and it sheds material from all over its surface, but it sheds it from every thread at the same place — and a thread breaks at its thinnest place. So the strength gone is always several times the mass gone, the ratio is computable from the bearing curve, and it is worst for the weave whose crowns are points.
A coating fills the crowns before it bridges the holes
A film does not sit on a cloth, it fills it — and the volume it has to supply to reach a level is the integral of one minus the bearing area. Burying an ordinary sheeting's crowns takes 185 grams a square metre, which is more than the cloth weighs, and the whole of the weave's influence is spent in the first ten of them.
A light touch never reaches the crowns
This collection found that a plain weave touches at points and every other cloth touches along lines, and that the difference is an exponent rather than a factor. It is a real result about a real surface, and at the pressures a fabric is actually touched at, nothing ever reaches that surface.
How far a knit could go if its yarn were the limit
The yarn in a stitch allows three hundred and twenty per cent course-wise extension before the straight line between two interlacings reaches the thread spanning it. A jersey jams at about a hundred. The factor of three is the finding: what stops a knit stretching is not the loop running out of yarn.
What grips the end of a fibre
A twisted yarn squeezes itself, and the squeeze holds the fibre ends in. Write the slip and the break out side by side and the fibre's own strength cancels — and so does the load on the yarn — leaving a gripped length that depends on fineness, friction and the twist and on nothing else.
The other half of the twist curve
This collection computed the falling half of the strength–twist curve exactly and declined the rising half as being out of reach. It is not out of reach. With the grip derived rather than assumed, the optimum comes out at a twist factor — and the same twist factor at every count, which is why the trade quotes twist factors at all.
A float reflects into a line
A cylinder cannot return a beam to a point. Its normals sweep the whole half-turn across it and nothing at all along it, so a straight thread throws light into a fan — seen as a highlight lying along the thread, exactly as long as the length of thread that is straight. The lobe of a satin is twice as narrow along the thread as across it; the lobe of a plain weave is exactly round.
Friction is two surfaces, not one
A gap between two rough bodies is the sum of two depths, so two cloths face to face touch on the convolution of their height distributions rather than on either of them. At the approach a light touch produces that is twenty times less contact than the same cloth against a plate — which is why a fabric's friction against a plate and against another fabric are two different measurements.
A seam stands proud and wears first
A seam allowance is three plies where the garment is one, so it stands three quarters of a millimetre above a cloth whose own surface has a few micrometres of contact in it. Anything flat rubbed across the garment touches the seam and nothing else — all of the wear on two or three per cent of the area, until a whole thickness of fabric has been crushed.
The hairs decide the sign of the wetting
Raising a cloth is not a wetting treatment and it is not a repellency treatment. It is an amplifier, and which of the two it turns out to be was settled in the dyehouse before the raising machine was switched on — by whether the fibre's own contact angle was above or below ninety degrees.
A rib pulls back on a force the loop supplies
A cuff has to give a great deal at almost no load and come back reliably, and no ordinary material does both. A rib gets its extension from folding, which is geometry, and its return from the loop reconfiguring, which is now a computable force — under four newtons a metre over the whole range a cuff works across.
Two layers need two beams
A layer weaving a metre of cloth eats one plus its crimp metres of warp, and a beam delivers one rate. A plain face over a five-end satin back differs by twelve percentage points of crimp, which is twelve metres of warp over a hundred-metre piece and one pick spacing of slack after four millimetres of weaving. The difference has nowhere to go and does not settle — so the only double cloth that can share a beam is two layers of the same weave at the same sett.
The singles inside a ply are not the singles
Folding leaves each single with a fraction of its own twist, which should ruin its grip on its own fibres. It does not, because the ply's helix presses on the singles exactly as a single's helix presses on its fibres — and across the whole practical range the two very nearly cancel.
A hair layer is a balance, not a stock
Singeing takes under one per cent of a cloth's mass and changes its lustre, its friction, its printability and its pilling. It also does not stay done, because rubbing frees fibre ends as fast as it breaks them off, and a flame changes the stock while leaving the balance exactly where it was.
Abrasion takes the hairs first
An abrasion test reports milligrams lost against cycles, and the first milligrams off any fabric are not fabric. On a bare cloth that stage is over in a few thousand cycles. On a napped one it is not over by the end of the test, so a Martindale on a fleece never measures the fleece.
A rib climbs a gap
A jersey's yarn crosses one diameter between interlacings because that is what a crossing of two threads is. A rib's crosses the whole distance between the two beds. Nothing else in the model changes, and that one length is the whole mechanical difference between the fabrics.
What a thickness gauge reads on a knit
The structure says two yarn diameters and the gauge says more, and the gap is not an error in either. A gauge lands on the highest crowns, through a canopy of protruding fibre, under a load that has already begun to compress both — and it does that on a surface that is nothing but crowns.
A moiré is a vernier, and it magnifies the error too
Two gratings a per cent apart in pitch beat at a hundred pitches, so a moiré reads a pitch difference at a hundred times — which is what a vernier is. The magnification is free and its ceiling is not: the fringes split when one thread's own spacing error reaches 0.84 of the pitch difference the beat is built on, so the usable gain is 0.84 divided by the cloth's coefficient of variation, inversely and not inverse-squarely. At an ordinary yarn's spacing irregularity, a moiré carries a magnification of five.
The repeat allows four layers and the loom allows two
A repeat of eight ends can hold four separable cloths, and the site has a witness that reaches the bound exactly. No loom weaves four. The harness's strain budget buys thirteen shafts and a layer costs its own weave's shaft count, so five-end satin layers stop at two and eight-end satin layers cannot be doubled on a dobby at all — and two differing layers already want a beam each. The notation's ceiling is the only one of the three that is never binding.
Twist decides where in the bracket
A yarn's bending rigidity can only be bracketed, and the bracket is three hundred wide. What decides where a yarn sits in it is whether its fibres can slide — and for a thread bent by its own crimp in a cloth, the answer is not close.
A calender buys the width
Press a cloth and its lustre multiplies by twenty-four. None of that comes from the length of its crowns, which moves by six per cent; all of it comes from their width, because a flattened section has a plane on top of it and a plane has one normal rather than a fan of them. The arithmetic refuses to put any of the gain in the other factor.
A pill is anchored, not made
Every account of pilling starts with how a ball of fibre forms and stops there, which explains why fabrics pill and not why some of them stay pilled. A pill is not a thing that happens; it is a standing population, and the number on a fabric at any moment is a generation rate times a lifetime.
A print is as sharp as the hairs are long
Singeing comes before printing in every finishing route ever written down and the reason given is that the cloth must be smooth. The reason is sharper than that: ink carried on a fibre end reaches as far as the fibre is long, so the feather on a printed edge is a quantile of a hair population and nothing else.
Every fabric's thread lies in a plane
A woven thread's crimp wave lies in a plane at right angles to the cloth. A knitted loop lies in a plane twelve degrees off it. Both halves of this collection turn out to be one picture with one angle in it, and the angle decides how much of a fabric's contact force acts through its thickness.
A cloth compresses along its own bearing curve
A fabric's pressure–thickness curve is always fitted with an empirical power law and the exponent is reported without explanation. It is not empirical. At light loads it is two thirds for any weave carrying a float and one half for a weave carrying none, and the two numbers come out of one line of algebra with nothing fitted in it.
Turn the cloth and the shine changes hands
A warp crown's normals all lie in the plane across the warp and have no component along it, so a warp float can only mirror light that arrives from across the warp. Turn the cloth a quarter turn and the weft takes over. That is the whole of shot silk — a geometric effect with no dye that changes and no interference in it.
The strong fibre is the one that pills
A pill survives while any one of its anchors holds, which is a maximum over a small sample rather than an average — and a maximum behaves nothing like an average. A fifth of a strong fibre in a blend buys four fifths of the pure strong fibre's pill life while leaving the whole of the weak fibre's fuzz supply in place.
A loop is set and not sprung
The way out of a model that predicts a jersey should spread is to stop treating its yarn as a straight rod bent into a loop. A yarn that has been wetted, heated and dried has taken the loop as its own natural shape — and once the natural shape is the loop, every force downstream becomes computable with the relaxed fabric as the origin.
A rib is quietest at two diameters
Open the beds of a rib and everything about it should get stronger. It does not. The through-thickness force falls to a minimum at a bed gap of exactly two yarn diameters and rises on both sides of it, because a crossing's climb and an interlacing's own climb cancel there.
Why a knit runs and a weave frays
The two fabrics fail in two ways and everybody knows which is which. This collection has described both accurately for eighteen phases without being able to say what causes them, and the cause turns out to be one integer each: nought for a cloth, one per wale for a knit.
A fancy yarn has its crimp in the wrong thread
A bouclé is made by feeding an effect thread eighty per cent faster than the core it wraps, so the yarn contains more thread than it is long — which is crimp by this collection's own definition. A cloth's crimp is in the thread that carries the load, so removing it is the cloth's first extension. A bouclé's surplus is in a thread that carries nothing, so pulling the yarn stretches the core at once and the loops never straighten. Thirty-nine per cent of the yarn's mass is on the load path, and the other sixty-one is decoration.
Two sheers make a moiré that walks with the viewer
Hang two identical sheer curtains a few centimetres apart and a moiré appears with no angle between them and no difference in their threads. Perspective alone makes the far one look finer. The fringes are p·V/D apart, which means they cover the same angle from every distance; they move one for one with a person walking past, which is the parallax of the horizon; and a far layer stretched by one per cent makes them vanish at exactly one distance, which says which layer is coarser and by how much.
The sett owns the pitch and the yarn owns the height
Set a cloth twice as close and its surface does not get smoother. The crowns come twice as often, because that is what a sett is, and they stand at very nearly the same height, because the closure condition pins the amplitude to the yarn — so a fine cloth is finer-grained rather than flatter, and the two are confused in every description of handle.
A compression curve is two laws in series
A published fabric compression exponent is a fitted number with no derivation attached, and this site has already said why: the range it is fitted over straddles two regimes. One of them turns out not to be in the cloth at all.
Prickle is a buckling load
The wool trade specifies comfort against skin by the percentage of fibres coarser than thirty micrometres, and the thirty is a measured boundary with no derivation attached. It is a column formula: solve for the diameter at which a protruding fibre end stops bending away and starts standing its ground, and thirty micrometres falls out.
A point tie nearly doubles the float at the turn
A point tie halves the hooks a symmetrical figure needs by driving every hook's end twice, out and back. It mirrors the ground as well, and a satin is symmetrical about no end: across the turn its weft floats 2n − 3 ends, or 2n − 2 between ends, at every hook count and wherever the satin starts. At eight ends that is thirteen or fourteen against seven — and the turn's other promise, more repeats that fit the width, is not kept either.
A sheer hides whichever side is darker
A net curtain hides a room by day and shows it at night, and the cloth has nothing to do with which. What a viewer sees through a sheer is an image through its clear lines of sight against a veil of lit thread, and the only thing that decides their balance is how much brighter one side is than the other. At equal light the two views are identical for every cloth there is. And a black sheer of the same openness shows twelve times more of the room by day than a white one.
Warmth is mostly the hairs
This collection established that a fabric's thermal resistance is its thickness and not its fibre, and that twice the thickness is twice the warmth. It never asked what the thickness was made of. On a raised cloth almost none of it is cloth.
A hair layer veils a highlight
An eight-end satin's shine swings by a large factor as the cloth is turned, because a straight thread's normals lie in the plane across it. Put fibre ends on it and the swing disappears — not because the hairs block the light, which changes no contrast at all, but because they return light of their own that has no direction in it.
A woven filter beats its own rating
A filter cloth's rating comes from the largest channel through it, and by geometry it stops nothing smaller. It stops a few per cent of particles ten times smaller anyway, on the fibre ends standing in its holes — and a few per cent is not filtration. It is exactly enough to start a cake, and after that the cloth is not filtering.
What holds a nap in a knit
A fibre buried in a woven cloth breaks rather than slides once about thirty-four millimetres of it is held, and a cotton staple buries about fourteen. In a knit the same figure is over a metre — seventy-five times the burial available — so nothing is ever close, and a raised knit sheds for the whole of its life.
Where a yarn is thinnest
A yarn in a fabric is pressed where it crosses and free where it does not, so its section changes along its own length. Every flattening this collection has ever quoted is a single number for a profile that runs from four fifths of a diameter to nearly four.
A brocade weft floats as far as the next figure
A brocade's pattern weft is a third thread, laid on the face only where the figure wants it. Thrown from selvedge to selvedge it floats on the back across the whole gap to the next figure, unless an end is dropped under it — and on a satin ground a dropped end hides only where the ground already interlaces. That fixes the shortest float that shows nothing, at the larger of the move and its complement less one, and puts the smoothest satin ground at odds with the best-bound brocade.
A weft stripe is counted in pairs of picks
A warp's colour order is laid out once at warping and the loom never has to think about it. A weft's is thrown, one pick at a time, by shuttles that cross the cloth and stay where they land. On a loom with boxes at one side that makes every coloured band an even number of picks; with boxes at both sides it admits odd bands and pays for them in shuttles; and a tartan, which uses one order in both directions, is designed for its weft whether its designer knew it or not.
The spinning triangle decides the hair
A ring frame converges a flat ribbon of fibres to a round yarn, and for the length of that convergence the fibres at the ribbon's edges are held by nothing. Everything a spinner can do about hairiness is done in that triangle, and the two hairiness instruments respond to it by wildly different amounts.
The knitted pilling criterion gets its number
Knitwear pills and shirting does not, and the standing explanation here has been that a knit presents more exposed yarn under less pressure between its threads. The second half had no number. It has one now, and it is bigger than the argument needed: the grip on a buried fibre is thirty times weaker in a knit than in a woven cloth of the same yarn.
A state is a thickness too
This collection's rule is that a fabric dimension quoted without its relaxation state is not a measurement. A knitted fabric has three dimensions and only two of them obey the rule: its thickness is the same in every state, because the interlacing that sets it does not relax.
A fabric is a population of contacts
Only a fifth of a knitted fabric's yarn is inside a diameter of its neighbour. So a fabric's friction lives in a fifth of its length, and every calculation this collection makes about withdrawal, slippage and fraying has assumed it lives everywhere.
A jacquard harness needs three half-spans of height
A jacquard has no front shaft and no back one, so every end takes the same shed — as long as every cord hangs straight. Across the width they cannot: the hooks sit in a machine a few tens of centimetres wide and the comber board is as wide as the cloth, so an edge cord leans and its mail rises by the difference of two hypotenuses rather than by the hook's lift. Holding the edge shed within five per cent of the centre's takes a fall of about three times the edge cord's sideways reach, and that is a height a room has to have.
A thread between two crossings is an elastica
Every crossing force Peirce's thread path can give comes from a tension, and a cloth on a table has none. What presses its threads together there is their own unwillingness to be bent — and recovering that needs a shape nobody had, because a path assembled from an arc and a straight line has a bending moment that jumps.
A force is what an energy does when a crossing moves
The force a thread presses its neighbour with is the rate its bending energy changes as the crossing is displaced. Solved as a constrained minimisation, that number arrives with the shape rather than after it — and the same force, recovered a second time from the curve's own equilibrium, agrees to a tenth of a per cent.
A woven thread has no room to bend
Set an elastica solver on an ordinary shirting and it refuses the problem. The refusal is the finding: a woven thread's whole crimp is spent going round the thread it crosses, between a fourteenth and a half of its length lies inside that wrap, and what is left has no slack to take a shape with.
A run is a race between two energies
A dropped stitch travels when a loop can be pulled out of the loop below it, and there are two candidate drivers: the energy the loop releases by unravelling, and the load the garment is under. One of them turns out to be negligible, and knowing which changes what a knitter can do about it.
A jersey's course has no writhe
The mechanism everybody quotes for why a hard-twisted jersey leans is that the fabric relieves the yarn's twist by writhing. This collection's own solved course has a writhe of minus six parts in a million, and it is not small — it is exactly zero, by a symmetry, and the symmetry is a statement about what the model left out.
A figured sheer is a negative from one side
A net curtain with a pattern in it carries two patterns, one for each side, and by day they are opposites. A more open figure in a white voile is a dark figure a quarter below its ground from the street and a light one five per cent above it from the room, and after dark the two views trade places exactly. The figure vanishes from the street at one light ratio and from the room at another. And a figure can be made that the room cannot see at all while the street sees it nearly black — along one line of openness and thread tone, and never from both sides at once.
What a loop presses with
A knitted loop hangs on the loop below it and presses on it with a force nobody has been able to state. Solved from the loop's own bending it comes to about forty millinewtons a stitch — an order of magnitude under a woven crossing's, by two independent routes that have nothing in common.
A seam must give what the knit gives
A knitted seam fails because it is too short, not because it is too weak: the thread in it is nearly two thousand times stronger than the load it carries. What decides whether it survives is one line of geometry — the extension a seam can reach is twice the fabric's thickness times the stitches per unit length.
A rib's relaxation is not its bending either
A jersey does not settle where its bending energy is least, and this collection has said so for several rungs. A rib does not either, and the model now says how far from least it would have to go: sixteen yarn diameters of bed gap before the yarn runs out, against the two or three a machine is set to.
A repeat has to fit the panel, and the panel is cut
The warp's width is fixed at warping and a piece's length is not, so the fitting problem in the two directions is not the same problem. Along the length a repeat has to fit a *panel*, because every panel of a patterned cloth must start at the same phase or the pattern breaks at the seams — and the allowance is a whole repeat per panel. A ten-centimetre repeat costs a seventy-centimetre panel twelve and a half per cent and a sixty-four-centimetre repeat costs it forty-eight.
The doup end pays for the crossing
A leno holds its picks because its doup end crosses under its partner and comes up on the other side — half a turn at every crossing, whatever the sett. That half turn is also a length. When 0.25 mm ends cross every millimetre, the doup end travels 22.5 per cent further than its partner: twenty-two metres of extra warp over a hundred-metre piece, and a shared beam a pick short within four and a half millimetres of cloth. The extra falls with the square of the crossing interval, which is why a leno is woven from two beams and its crossings are spaced as far apart as the cloth allows.
A net over a voile beats through a harmonic
Two identical sheers hung apart make a moiré by perspective alone. A net in front of a voile is not two identical sheers — its mesh is five times the voile's pitch — and it beats anyway, through the net's fifth harmonic, which is a grid 3.3 per cent coarser than the voile. With the net behind, that is a pair of sheers with its coarser layer at the back, and the fringes vanish at exactly 1.5 metres. Closer in, the harmonic changes, the fringes dissolve into a texture twice the net's pitch and re-form, and they vanish again at 17 centimetres.
What a loop model still cannot say
A planar rod with a natural curvature and point contacts gets a knit's forces, its modulus and its extension. It does not get torsion, it does not get the third dimension the interlacing actually needs, and it does not stop adjacent courses passing through one another — which is why its extension ceiling sits three times beyond any jersey.
A knit is warm because of where its yarn is not
Warmth is a thickness of still air, and until a knitted fabric had a thickness there was nothing to compute. It has one now, and the answer is that a rib's warmth is a machine setting: opening the beds from two diameters to five nearly trebles the fabric's resistance without changing a gram of yarn.
Five symptoms of one omission
Five things this collection recorded as unexplained, found in four different ladders over three years of work. They are the same defect seen from five directions, and the defect is one sentence written for good reasons with no visible cost at the time.
Why a slack yarn snarls
Let go of a twisted thread and it wraps on itself. That is not the yarn being badly behaved: it is a buckling, it has a criterion, and the criterion turns a nuisance into an instrument for measuring the one constant this collection cannot pin down.
A yarn that has been set has no torque
Every torque on the torsion ladder assumes a yarn is elastic in twist for ever. It is not: a steamed yarn's residual torque is gone, its twist is unchanged, and the process that removes one without the other is the trade's whole answer to liveliness.
The modulus a knit has instead of one
A fabric's stiffness in extension is usually its yarn's modulus with the geometry taken out. A knit's is not: dimensionally it can only be a bending rigidity over a length cubed, and the same yarn laid straight and parallel is thirty thousand times stiffer than the fabric made of it.
How much yarn has to hang
The tension a thread needs to stay straight, converted into the only unit anybody has an intuition for: the length of the yarn's own weight. One bound says two metres and the other says six hundred, and everybody who has handled thread already knows which.
The fabric that does not fit
Every solve in this collection minimises an energy over a centre line, and a centre line has no thickness. Nobody had checked whether the fabric that comes out of it can be built. It cannot: two adjacent courses of the relaxed jersey approach to four fifths of a yarn diameter, so the yarn passes through itself, at rest, everywhere.
The twist a fabric gives back
A T-shirt that hung straight in the shop has its side seam round the front after three washes. The torque was there all along, the setting had hidden it, and the water gave it back — which makes spirality a finishing failure rather than a knitting one.
A lifting plan says nothing without a threading
The second of the notations for something larger than a weave is a pair, not a notation: a threading and a lifting plan, and neither alone expresses anything. The pair's image is exactly the drafts with no more distinct columns than there are shafts — 98 at two shafts, 5,282 at three, all 22,874 at four — and it is not nested with the profile draft's in either direction. The profile reaches 192 drafts that need all four shafts, and misses 64 of the 98 a two-shaft loom weaves.
What a cuff presses with
A rib cuff holds a sleeve on a wrist, so it must be pressing. Divide its own recovery force by the radius it is wrapped round and the pressure comes out at eight tenths of a millimetre of mercury — a fiftieth of the lightest medical compression, and two orders below what the same fabric resists being squashed with.
An easer gives back the kink the crossed shed puts in
A leno loom gives its crossing ends slack at every crossed shed, and the obvious reason — the doup carrying its end sideways — is worth a hundredth of an ordinary shed. The length is one heddle further back. In the crossed shed the doup lifts the end on the far side of its partner while the end's own back heddle, a few shafts behind, holds it down, and between those two eyes the end climbs eleven centimetres in six and a half. On a loom that stretches an ordinary end 0.46 per cent, that is 5.85 per cent — nearly thirteen times as much — and no position of the back heddle takes it below four.
A net in front gives the figure to the room
The commonest double curtain is a plain net outside a patterned one, and the plain net does not merely dim the pattern. It weakens the figure from the street by a factor of three and a half and strengthens it from the room by a quarter, so a pattern four and a half times stronger outside than in becomes one the room sees slightly better. A figure designed to be invisible from indoors reappears at nearly three per cent, and the day-and-night exchange a single curtain obeyed exactly stops holding at all.
A knit bends more easily along its courses
A jersey is not a soft fabric to bend. Computed the same way as this collection's woven cloths it lands inside their band, at the limp end — and the useful number is not the magnitude but the direction: two point two to one between its two axes, with the soft one being the axis it rolls about.
A run cannot cross a bed
A dropped stitch unroves because its neighbour above can pull it out along a path that costs almost nothing. In a rib the neighbour above is on the other bed, and the path goes through the gap — so a run in a two-bed fabric has to pay for a climb before it can take a single loop.
A snarl comes in one size
The radius a twisted thread coils to is twice its bending rigidity over its torque. Write the torque out and the bending rigidity cancels completely, leaving a number that depends on the twist and on the ratio of two stiffnesses — and on nothing else about the yarn at all.
The flattening nobody fitted
A yarn in cloth is not round, everybody knows it, and nothing has ever predicted how flat. This collection's own knitted geometry turns out to require a flattening of four fifths — from a solve that knew nothing about flattening, made no allowance for it, and would have been written the same way if the idea had never occurred to anybody.
A wet knit's yarn is flatter
A knitted fabric's own geometry demands a flattened yarn, and how flat depends on how much room the fabric leaves. A wet cotton yarn is a tenth thicker than a dry one at the same length, so a wet fabric leaves less room — and asks its yarn to be flatter by an amount the geometry gives.
Two lots of one cloth drift apart down a drop
A pattern repeat is a count of picks, and its length in the finished cloth is whatever that count's loom length became after the cloth gave back its crimp. Two lots woven with the warp held a tenth harder give back 1.13 points more of their length — so matched at the top, two lengths from the two lots are thirty millimetres apart at a 250 cm hem, and visibly apart a quarter of a metre down. The size of the repeat does not enter, and no cutting allowance can take it out.
A curtain is gathered so that it is seen edge-on
A curtain is hung with more cloth than window, and the surplus is not decoration. Laid in folds, a length of cloth spans its own length times the cosine of its flank angle, so the fullness is the secant of that angle exactly — and a line of sight through the window meets the cloth at it. A voile's view halves at a fullness of 1.08, its flanks shut completely at 1.48, and at the two and a half times a curtain is actually hung at, every flank passes nothing and the whole of what comes through is the crests.
What friction has to hold in a relaxed knit
A knit's bending energy slopes away from the fabric everybody measures, so something is holding it there. Along its courses friction holds comfortably. Along its wales the driving force is exactly the contact force, so the whole balance collapses to one condition — the friction coefficient must exceed a half — and no yarn in this collection reaches it.
The folding rule is not a torque balance
Fold a two-fold yarn at about two thirds of its singles twist. This collection has carried that as a bracket copied from the trade and derived nowhere. It is now derivable, the derivation gives a fifth rather than two thirds, and reaching two thirds would need a fibre stiffer in torsion than in bending.
A knot is nothing but contact
A knot has no fastening in it. Nothing is glued, hooked, sewn or threaded through a hole: a thread is bent round itself until the friction where it presses on itself is more than the load. That makes a knot the purest contact problem in the subject, and the place to look first for what contact does.
What wetting does to the bending limit
A rod cannot be bent to a radius below its own. A relaxed knitted loop sits at twice that limit, and a wet yarn is a tenth thicker in the same loop — so wetting moves a fabric a tenth of the way towards a bend it cannot physically take.
A skew steps at every seam and a bow at none
A finished cloth's weft rows are seldom square to its selvedges, and on a patterned cloth the weft rows are the pattern rows. A skew — rows straight but slanting — puts its whole rise across every seam where two widths meet: two per cent on a 140 cm width is a 28 mm step, and matching the steps out tips the whole hanging instead, 112 mm across four widths. A bow — rows curving between level selvedges — matches perfectly at every seam and scallops each width in between. A three-millimetre match needs a skew under a quarter of a per cent, and down the seam a lot difference overtakes it.
What a sheer hides is decided by the furniture
Every result these essays have produced assumed the room and the street reflect the same three tenths of the light on them. That was never a fact about cloth. A room reflecting a twentieth is hidden two hundred and thirty-eight times better than the street it faces and one reflecting four fifths only fifteen times, with the same curtain at the same window — and the day-and-night exchange they rested on, exact for equal scenes, is out by more than half the glow for an ordinary pair of unequal ones.
A loop has a maximum force in it
A bouclé loop pressed by its neighbour is the same elastica the free one is, with one condition added — at its apex the tangent lies along the core again, so a pressed loop is two half-loops with their rise prescribed and needs no contact solve at all. Solved, the eighty-per-cent loop pushes back with nothing at its free height, twelve millinewtons at four fifths of it, and two and a half at a tenth. A curve with a maximum in it is a softening spring, and the promise this account made — a cloth's position read from its beat-up — cannot be kept, because the whole bracket sits at one pressure.
A loop is a plane curve in another plane
A knitted loop was solved as a flat curve because two curves in one plane cannot pass through one another and a loop must. Letting it out of the plane turns out to change nothing about its shape: the loop is still planar, and its plane is the fabric's turned through twelve degrees.
Where a knot breaks
It breaks at the entry, before the knot has done any gripping at all. Two quantities run along a knot's path and only one of them rises; the other falls from the first millimetre; and their sum is largest where the thread arrives.
A loop bends at twice its own radius
A rod of radius r cannot be bent to a centre-line radius below r without occupying its own space. A knitted loop's tightest bend is at 2.04 yarn radii — twice the hard limit, and falling as the fabric tightens. That is a ceiling on how tight a knit can be, from contact alone.
The diameter that does need a state
A fabric dimension quoted without its relaxation state is not a measurement. The rule was applied to the two plan dimensions and then to the thickness, and it was never applied to the one dimension that is not the fabric's at all — the yarn's.
A bouclé wears from the loops down
A cloth loses its strength before its mass, because a woven cloth's crowns are the very threads that carry the tension. A bouclé inverts it exactly. Its surface is its loops, its loops hang off a core that carries everything, and 61 per cent of its yarn is on no load path at all — so a rub takes three tenths of a millimetre of thread that does nothing before it reaches anything that does, and the cloth is ruined to look at while it is still as strong as it was woven.
What leaving the plane costs
Every number the flat loop model produced, beside the same number with the climb in it. Four of the five fall, none moves by four per cent, and the estimate that priced the third dimension beforehand had the sign the wrong way round for a reason worth naming.
What a balanced yarn is balanced about
A specification that says a yarn is balanced does not say which of two conditions it means, and the two have different numbers, different dependences and different consequences. One of them is what folding achieves and the other is what folding is said to achieve.
A knot halves a yarn and says why
The rule is quoted for every rope and every knot and derived nowhere. It comes out at forty-six per cent for a cotton — but only if the yarn's fibres bend individually. A yarn bending as a solid section has already spent five times its breaking strain before any load arrives, so it could not be knotted at all.
Contact is not why a jersey stops
The model says a jersey can be pulled to three hundred and twenty per cent along its courses. Real ones stop at about a hundred. The recorded diagnosis was that nothing stops adjacent courses passing through one another — and giving the yarn a thickness closes seven per cent of a gap of two thirds.
A wrinkle cannot settle what a crease settles
The first rung of this ladder found that a pressed crease decides a question this collection had been unable to settle for two fields — whether a bent yarn's fibres slide or bend as one body — and it decides it by refusing: the coherent branch would strain the fibres by eighty-four per cent and cotton breaks at six. A wrinkle is the same fold at twenty times the radius, and there both branches are survivable. So the bracket that a crease collapses stays fourteen times wide at every radius anybody actually creases a cloth at accidentally.
The finest colour-and-weave effects need the rarest loom
A houndstooth, a shepherd's check and a gun club check are thrown by the cheapest shuttle loom there is. A hairline, an end-and-end and a log cabin are thrown by none — a colour on every other pick is thrown from the same side every time, so its shuttles pile up at the far end of the loom and never come back. The dividing line is the parity of the bands and nothing else, which is why it survives the fact that no two sources agree about how wide a shepherd's check is.
A jacquard's harness has a depth after all
A jacquard was said to escape the shaft loom's depth entirely, because every mail hangs at the same distance from the fell. Every mail does, if the comber board has one row of holes — and it cannot. At sixty ends a centimetre the ends are a sixth of a millimetre apart and a cord with a mail on it wants most of one, so the holes are ruled in six rows thirty millimetres deep. The escape is real and it is a factor of eight rather than a release, and it closes as the cloth is set finer.
The force that holds a knit open
Resolving a knitted loop's contact force out of the fabric's plane leaves a fifth of it pointing through the thickness. That fifth is 7.8 millinewtons a stitch, fifteen kilopascals over the area a stitch occupies, and it is the whole reason a jersey has a thickness rather than a plan.
Which yarns knot well
A knot's efficiency depends on three things and only one of them is the knot. The other two are the fibre's fineness and its breaking strain, and across this collection's own table those give efficiencies from six per cent to eighty-three at exactly the same bend.
What holds a crest apart
Two half periods meet at every crest of every course and, in this collection's model, run within a fiftieth of a yarn diameter of one another for more than a millimetre. In a fabric what holds them apart is the loop of the next course drawn between them — which is the loop this model does not have.
A crease cannot cross a seam
The outer layer of a folded stack has further to go than the inner, by the fold's angle times the stack's own thickness. A four-layer seam of quarter-millimetre cloth taken through a half turn needs its outer layer to be 2.45 millimetres longer than its inner — and a stitch line every three millimetres has pinned them. So the fold opens out where it crosses the seam, which is what a trouser crease visibly does, and the arithmetic gives the radius it opens to.
A damask is the only figure that costs its beam nothing
Figure and ground consume warp at different rates, and the difference accumulates down the length of the figure. An eight-end satin figure on a plain ground puts its two regions fourteen per cent apart, which on a loom absorbing a millimetre of slack bounds the figure at eight and a half millimetres. A damask's two regions are the same satin used two ways, so complementation leaves both float lengths where they were — and their crimps are identical rather than close, to the last bit of a double.
An even shading cannot keep its surface level
Sixty-four six-end shadings hold every middle tone to a float of two, and the question left over was whether any of them keeps a tone ramp's surface level the way a twill read in order does. None does, and all of them sink by exactly the same depth — 43.3 micrometres on a sheeting, a sixth of the cloth. The reason is a counting argument a recording engineer would recognise: a limit on how long a thread may float is a limit on run length, and a run-length limit forces a floor on how often the thread changes face. A level ramp needs every tone at the extremes' rate, which needs a float of half the repeat at the midtone and more beside it — exactly the floats the twill in order has.
How little asymmetry a curl needs
A model with a thickness can finally be asked why stockinette rolls. It answers that it does not — its curling moment is exactly zero, by a symmetry — and the useful part is what that costs to break: five per cent of a yarn diameter buys the whole of the curl anybody has ever seen.
What a high-twist yarn costs a cloth
Twist buys strength up to a point and then loses it, and everything else it does is a cost. A crepe twist is chosen knowing that, and the trade's twist limits are a balance among five quantities that this collection can now put beside one another.
A tuck is the one stitch that links twice
Knitting has three stitches and only one of them makes a new link. A knit stitch links a loop to the loop below; a miss links nothing; and a tuck holds two loops in one head — which is why a tuck stops a run and why the three cannot be described by one number.
A tube of one size presses the calf harder than the ankle
A band presses a limb with its tension over the limb's radius, so it is easy to conclude that a band grips hardest where the limb is thinnest. That is true of a band held at one tension, and no knitted tube is. A tube knitted to one size is stretched further wherever the leg is thicker, and its tension rises faster than the radius does: an elastic tube pressing an ankle at twenty millimetres of mercury presses the calf at thirty-nine, and a cotton jersey tube presses its calf three and a half times as hard as its ankle. A stocking graduated the other way has to pull hardest where it presses less.
A jersey has no float for a wire to catch
Only a float can be raised, and the four-by-four census answers which woven cloths qualify: two. Asked of a knit the same question needs this collection's knitted float rather than a draft's, and the answer is that a plain jersey has no float at all — not a short one, none — while the ribs and cardigans have none either and the interlocks and milanos have floats every one of which is interior. Of 1,135 two-bed structures a machine could make, twenty present a float a wire could hook, and not one of them presents it on both faces.
A wet fibre is stiffer and a wet yarn is not locked
The intuitive reason a damp cloth stiffens is that water pulls the fibres together — a meniscus is curved, the pressure inside it is below atmospheric, and the suction presses the assembly exactly as twist does. Computed, that suction is worth the first 186 turns a metre of twist and nothing after them: six per cent of what an ordinary yarn's twist already supplies, and nowhere near enough to stop the fibres sliding. What wetting actually does is fatten the fibres, and a fibre's bending rigidity goes as the fourth power of its diameter — so a wet cotton fibre is 2.07 times as stiff with no contact in the argument at all.
A heddle eye lets the kink through
A leno's crossing end is pulled up at its doup and held down at its back standard, and the length that costs was priced as if both heddle eyes were frictionless. They grip, and gripping ought to trap the kink between them at nearly a hundred per cent strain. It does not come close. A capstan bounds a ratio of tensions, not a difference, and the spans either side are already stretched, so at a coefficient of 0.3 the span between the eyes takes 9.48 newtons against 7.08 with no friction at all — a third more, not fifteen times more — and an easer has to give back 67.9 millimetres rather than 64.4. What friction changes more is when the length is wanted.
A net of three directions beats a voile one way at a time
A tulle's threads run three ways at sixty degrees and a voile's run two ways at ninety, so a net hung over a voile could show one family of fringes, three, or a lattice of them. It shows two, at right angles, and they are nothing alike. Along the voile threads that lie parallel to one of the net's, the net beats exactly as a one-directional net does: six-millimetre fringes from three metres. Across them no set of the net lies anywhere near, and the only slow beat comes from a line of points two sets make together at √3 over the net's pitch — fringes four times wider and a fifteenth as strong, with a null at 8.8 metres where the strong family has none.
What a knit gives up when it is pressed
The woven half of this collection has had a compression curve for several rungs — a thickness that falls under load, a bearing area that grows, a pressure at every point. The knitted half had a plan and no depth. It has a relaxed thickness and an initial slope now, and the two fabrics turn out to resist for different reasons.
What a sett is when the yarn is not round
A jamming condition says how close threads can be set, and it says it in terms of a diameter. A thread in a cloth does not have one diameter: it has a wide one and a narrow one, and which of them a jam is about depends on which way the threads are jamming.
A circular machine leans its courses whatever the yarn
Spirality is blamed on the yarn, and the yarn is most of it. The rest is the machine's. A circular knitting machine's needles make wales that run straight along the tube, and its feeders lay one course each per turn, so every course climbs its feeder count in every round: on a 96-feeder machine, 48 millimetres round 162 centimetres of tube, an angle of 1.7 degrees. The helix has no machine size in it, its hand is set by the way the cylinder turns, and it survives every remedy aimed at the yarn — a steamed yarn, a plied one, S and Z on alternate feeders, and a rib.
An inflated beam wrinkles at a moment with no cloth in it
An air-filled tube can be used as a beam because the pressure pulls its cloth taut along its length, and a cloth that cannot carry a push can carry a bending moment for exactly as long as that pull outweighs it. The inside of the bend goes slack at πpr³/2 and the tube folds at πpr³ — seventy-nine and a hundred and fifty-seven newton metres for a tube a fifth of a metre across at half a bar — and there is no property of the cloth in either. The cloth decides how far the beam bends on the way, and how much pressure it can be pumped to.
A nap is paid for by the taper of the pattern
A raised cloth's fibres lean, so a panel turned end for end shows a different amount of fibre and every piece of a garment has to lie the same way along the bolt. What that costs is not a property of the cloth. A rectangle costs nothing laid one way; a tapered panel costs (1 − r)/(1 + r) of extra cloth in lanes, where r is its narrow width over its wide one; and the best any one-way lay can do is exactly half of that, because a trapezoid's difference body is a hexagon and hexagons tile. On a real width it arrives in whole panel lengths: six skirt gores take 75 centimetres two ways and 150 one way.
A figured warp needs a beam for every share of its figure
Figure and ground take up warp at different rates, so a figured cloth on one beam is bounded in how long its figure may run, and a second beam is the obvious escape. It escapes only for ends that live wholly in one region. An end that crosses the figure for part of the repeat consumes warp at its own rate, and two ends can share a beam only if they spend the same share of the repeat in the figure and never drift a slack apart inside it. So a round figure twelve blocks across needs four beams, ninety-six blocks across needs twenty-nine, and any crimp difference at all — a third of a per cent will do — costs every one of them over a piece.
A colour-and-weave look costs its cheaper order
The finest colour-and-weave effects need the rarest loom because a weft order is thrown pick by pick and a warp order is laid out once, so an effect's price was said to be its weft. That is true of a construction and false of a cloth. The same cloth can be woven lying across the loom, with its warp order thrown as weft and its weft order laid in the warp, and then it costs the other order. Over every two-colour look twelve small weaves make with orders up to six threads — 4,036 of them — 55 per cent need a loom picking at will as drawn and 31 per cent need one either way round. The looks turning rescues are the ones fine in one direction only, and not one of the trade's named effects is among them.
A thread has a second stiffness
Every mechanical number here came from one material constant: how hard a thread is to bend. A thread also resists being twisted, nothing here has ever used that, and the ratio between the two turns out to be the only stiffness number about a yarn that can be known at all.
What a flattened yarn does to its cover
A cover factor is a sett times a diameter, and it decides how much of a cloth is thread and how much is hole. A flattened yarn is a third wider than a round one of the same area, so a cloth of flattened yarn covers more at the same sett — and every opacity, permeability and shade computed from a round diameter is wrong in one direction.
A grade charges by the length and a cutter pays by the panel
The four-point system scores a fault by how far it runs — one point to three inches, four beyond nine — and caps a linear metre at four points however many faults it holds. A cutting room pays by how many panels the fault lands in. Below a panel's length every fault costs exactly one panel while its score runs from one to four; above it the panels grow without bound and the score does not move at all. Two fifty-metre pieces built to the same 267 points a hundred square metres lose 33 per cent of their panels and 92.
A tuck decides whether a third of two-bed fabrics lean
A jersey leans because every loop is on one bed and a rib does not because its loops are mirrored across two, and the count that says so treated a tuck as nothing. A tuck is a loop of the same lively yarn wrapped round a needle of one bed, and nobody here has measured how much of a knit loop's lean it carries. It matters. Of the 1,135 two-bed fabrics a two-needle, two-course frame can make, 135 are balanced whatever a tuck carries and 612 lean whatever it carries — and 388, a third, are balanced under one answer and lean under the other. A half-cardigan leans a third of a jersey if a tuck carries nothing and not at all if it carries a full loop's torque, which makes it the instrument that would settle the question.
A satin's row belongs to its sett
Point paper draws an end and a pick as equal squares, and every result about which satins have a row was taken there. A cloth is not square: it is set at so many ends and so many picks a centimetre, and in cloth the ties that made twelve satin orders row-free are ties between steps of different shape, which break at the first per cent of unequal sett. The reverse happens too. An eight-end satin, rowed on paper, has no row at exactly 1.291 ends per pick; an eleven-end at 1.265 and 1.528. And the only scatter that survives a range of setts is an irregular satin whose closest steps are mirror images — which nine ends has from the first per cent and ten only by 1.3.
Twist is not torsion
A curve has a torsion and a material has a twist, they share a word, and only one of them is what a torsional rigidity resists. Getting them the wrong way round would have made this collection conclude that a knitted loop carries no twist, on the strength of a theorem that says nothing of the kind.
A fault map is worth most where the grade is worst
A cutter who knows where the faults are can slide the marker or break it, and only one of those is worth anything: sliding a rigid tiling to its best offset recovers two panels of fifty-five, and letting the tiling break recovers twelve — two panels in five more cloth from the same roll. The gain has a maximum in the middle of the range, because there is nothing to recover on a clean bolt and nothing to be done on a ruined one. And the prediction the grading essay made, that a map is worth most on a bolt whose faults are bunched, is false: bunching leaves clear runs for the blind cutter too.
The one fibre whose answer is known
A table of measured constants is worth what its worst row is worth, and nobody can tell which row that is. This one has a member whose answer was known before anybody measured it, and the ordering of the other nine turns out to say something about how fibres are made.
What a closed thread cannot choose
A thread whose ends are held has a quantity it cannot change without breaking: the total number of times its material winds about its own axis, plus the number of times that axis winds about itself. The two can trade, and everything a twisted yarn does when it is let go is that trade happening.
Where a torsion model stops
A second stiffness was added because an earlier ladder named its absence as the first thing to disbelieve. It settled four things, refuted one trade explanation, and left the question it was built for exactly where it found it.
Flattening is free and impossible
The fabric demands a flattening and the yarn has to supply it. At one end of this collection's oldest bracket the deformation costs exactly nothing; at the other it costs thirty-six times the whole bending energy of a stitch. The fabric flattens — which is the fourth everyday observation in one phase to land at the same end.
What a contact model would have to do
This ladder has measured a fabric that does not fit and priced nothing. The repair is a different class of problem from the one this collection solves, it costs fifteen per cent of the yarn in a stitch, and it buys back four results — which is an unusually good return for a piece of modelling.
A fabric reads its own bracket four ways
A yarn's stiffness is unknown to a factor of three hundred, and no laboratory measurement has closed it. Four unrelated everyday observations — a snarl, a knot, a flattened yarn and a cloth's own thickness — all say the same thing about which end of it a yarn sits at.
Where this collection's thread model now stands
A thread has two stiffnesses and a thickness, and this collection's model has had one stiffness and no thickness. Both were added in one phase, neither reached the question it was built for, and the accounting is worth more than either.