Dress Forms Boat Propellers Duvets Faucets
Today on "how it's made"... Dress forms... Boat propellers... Duvets... And faucets. When it comes to dressmaking, a dummy can be a lot of help. These dummies are known as dress forms, and they're full-scale reproductions of the human body. They give seamstresses a form on which to solve fitting problems. They're also used to showcase outfits in storefronts where they can look pretty smart all dressed up. For centuries, the fashion industry has relied on dummies to act as stand-ins so clients don't have to endure lengthy fittings. Sometimes, a form is even custom-made as the client's exact body double. To make one of these forms, a worker starts by soaking cardboard in water. It's strong and porous, so it can absorb a lot of water without falling apart. He positions the back half of a plaster body mold, then rips a soaked cardboard sheet in two. He dips his gloved hand in paste and slathers it on the cardboard. This paste is a combination of plaster and tacky glue. Then, in a process called feathering, he makes a series of tears along the edge of the cardboard. Next, the glue-coated cardboard is pressed into the shape of the body mold, building up several layers. Some pieces are arranged lengthwise and others horizontally for a tight interweave. Overlapping the feathered edges helps to interlock them, and a few taps with a hammer makes them level. The worker lifts a few of the feathered edges... Then joins the front of the body to the back. The cardboard forms fit loosely on top of one another. It takes even more paste to seal them together. The worker manipulates the end of a paste-covered tool inside the cavity, overlapping loose layers with adhesive. Finally, he opens the mold to reveal the shape. This dummy is a size 12. After 24 hours of drying in the open air, the form goes into an oven where it bakes at 350 degrees for 8 hours. This causes the moisture to evaporate from the form, hardening it. A worker scrapes off all the rough bits with a rasp... Then sands it smooth. Another worker draws lines on the form with a pencil. He'll use these marks as guides as he cuts into the dress form to make the shoulders collapsible. He carves out slots on each side of the form, then peels back layers on either side of the slots. This allows him to install hinges level to the form so they won't protrude and ruin a fitting job. The dress form then undergoes some major surgery. A worker slices open both shoulders, but leaves them attached to the rest of the form by the hinges. He makes sure they function smoothly... Then trims the dress form along the incisions. This will allow the shoulders to be collapsed into the form, a feature that makes it easier to pull a garment on and off. This piece of pliable steel is a spring for a mechanism that locks the collapsed shoulders in position. Along with the rest of the locking mechanism, it's attached to wooden supports in each shoulder. The dress form is now covered in layers of jersey and linen. These pins will serve as reference points for the seamstress. Another worker then washes the dummy with a sponge, shrinking the fabric to the form. The dress form gets the stamp of approval. A worker then gives the headless body a metal collar... And caps it off with a gold-colored finial. And now you have a body shape that's made to measure. When we return, we'll take you up to speed at a boat propeller factory. Boat propellers were invented in the early 19th century, and they've been making waves ever since. These propellers rotate in a screwlike fashion, drawing water in and pushing it out to move the boat across the water. With a steel propeller, you can zip across the lake in a flash and make a real splash. Production begins with wax pellets, which are melted until they're the consistency of toothpaste. Nearby, a mold of a boat propeller closes, and the thick wax is injected into it. It takes about a minute for the wax to cool into the propeller shape, which will serve as a pattern for the metal prop. A shot of compressed air helps extract a wax funnel from its mold. It's called the pour cup. We'll find out what's poured into it later on. After a cast shape is wiped down, its flat end is softened on a burner and joined to the glue-coated end of the pour cup. Workers dip the attached pieces into hot wax to fill any gaps in the joint. A quick wash and rinse gets rid of any oily residues left behind. Here, a robot submerges a rack of propellers in a special solution that gives them a nonstick coating. Then it's over to a tank containing a mix of silica sand and water. The robot dips the wax propellers several times, then plunges them into various ceramic-based concoctions. After each dipping, the propellers go into a machine that showers them with sand. Then they dry under fans. The process of dipping and sand bathing builds up a hard ceramic shell around the wax. Workers load the propellers into a pressurized oven called an autoclave, where the wax melts away, leaving only the ceramic shells. Those shells are then fired in big ovens, the way potters bake ceramics to strengthen them. Nearby, molten steel is bubbling, heated to the melting point by electrical induction coils. A worker takes a ceramic propeller shell out of the oven, then the searing steel is poured into it through the pour cup. The steel immediately begins to cool, causing cracks in the ceramic shell. Any remaining bits of ceramic are knocked off with a metal rod. Now it's time to get rid of the pour cup, which has already served its purpose. They grind the edges to smooth them. Then a more intensive grinding removes any corrosion on the surface. Talk about putting your shoulder to the grindstone-- this process takes skill and strength. The propellers are lowered into a series of vibrating polishers. The friction from these pulsating cones smooths out the grind lines on the propellers and adds shine. Finally, each propeller gets the once-over from a laser that measures the blades from all angles. It sends the information to a computer which compares it to the specifications. If it checks out, the propeller will be on its way to a waterway, ready to launch. Up next... Getting down on the duvet production line. "down" is the term for belly feathers of waterfowl, primarily ducks and geese. Made from interlocking fibers that create micro-size air pockets, down works something like a scuba diver's wet suit. The bird's body heat warms the trapped air, and the warm air then insulates the bird against the cold water. Regular feathers have a central stem from which the fibers emanate. Down is more lightweight, and its fibers are in clusters. Bags of plumage from waterfowl farms arrive at the feather-and-down processing factory. The first step is to separate the down from the feathers. A vacuum hose sucks everything up into a sorting machine that has four air chambers side by side. In the first one, the air blows everything upward. The heaviest feathers rise just partway, while the lighter plumage floats through an opening into the next chamber. Same air-sorting process there-- heaviest stays, lighter moves on. This continues until there's only pure down in the fourth and final chamber. A vacuum hose then transfers the down to the cleaning machines. First, agitation and suction remove any dirt trapped inside the fibers. Then a 13-cycle, hot-water wash with soap kills bacteria. A degreaser strips the natural oils that coat the down fibers, and the last rinse cycle applies an antibacterial, antifungal treatment. The next machine spins the down to remove the water. When the down comes out, it's still a bit damp. A robotic machine called the picker gathers small batches at a time and loads them into a steam dryer. After processing, the factory's lab tests a sample from each batch for cleanliness. Technicians also evaluate "loft," the technical term for filling power. The higher the loft, the better the down will insulate. They measure how much space the sample fills. If the down meets specifications, the factory bags the batch for shipping to the duvet factory. First stop there--  a holding tank. A programmable filling machine extracts a specific amount of down and transfers it to a canister. Next, a worker shoots the canister's contents in a duvet's fabric shell. To keep the down evenly distributed throughout the duvet, the shell is sewn into sections called boxes. Emptying one tube at a time, they fill one box at a time. Air pressure piles all the down at one end of the box, but it'll get spread out later in the process. The open ends of each row are temporarily closed with a plastic clip. Then, when all the boxes are filled, it's off to the sewing department. There, seamstresses stitch the open ends closed and sew on labels and washing instructions. A light table allows them to see the down within each box. Then they spread it out evenly using, of all things, badminton rackets. The 100%-cotton shell has gone through a high-pressure treatment to fuse its fibers so that no down can poke through. The factory also stuffs bedding items with feathers. Back at the processing factory, feathers go through the same post-washing tests as the down. To measure cleanliness, lab technicians soak a sample from each batch in distilled water. Then they strain the water... Mix it with sulfuric acid... And add a potassium compound. They analyze the color of the liquid to gauge its oxygen content. If the oxygen level's under 10, the feathers are clean enough to ship to the duvet factory. There, the feather-filling process is just like the down-filling process, only with bigger canisters and blowing nozzles to accommodate the larger feathers and larger fabric shells. Feathers are heavier than down and have less insulating power, but they're more affordable. Down is only found on the bird's belly, and that scarcity makes it expensive. That explains why high-end bedding contains 100% down, while the rest contains either a down-and-feather mix or feathers alone. But when it comes to getting a cozy night's sleep, there's no "downside" to any of those options. Coming up... A production line where they know how to go with the flow. Faucets were actually invented by the ancient romans. But when their empire collapsed, so did their water and sewer systems. It took many centuries for running water to make a comeback and for water to become available on tap. Today, faucets are an indispensable part of our daily lives. Modern faucets come in many different designs, but inside, they all have the same basic components. Workers start by setting a brass spout tube on a revolving support. An automated dispenser applies silver solder to the inside rim of the spout. They press a threaded tip into the spout, then dip the other end of the tube in flux paste, which cleans the brass and prevents tarnishing. The tubes are set against brass hubs. Then torches liquefy the solder, which flows into the joint, sealing the tube to the hub. The threaded tip is soldered in turn. A carriage now moves the faucet spouts against buffing wheels coated with polishing compound for a mirror finish. A wheel with an abrasive surface gives that finish a brush texture. The faucet spouts are dipped in an acid bath laced with dissolved nickel. The application of an electric current draws the dissolved nickel onto the brass spouts, plating them with a thin, even layer. Next, the faucet spouts and other parts are loaded into a special chamber. Inside, an electron beam flashes like lightning as it spirals around the zirconium rod. This causes the zirconium to vaporize. The vapors mix with gases being pumped into the chamber and bond to the faucet for a final finish that's virtually indestructible. The other parts of the faucets get the same treatment. Meanwhile, a blade slices a solid-brass rod into smaller pieces. A variety of cutting tools machine the brass lump to make a faucet body. It will house a ball valve that controls the volume and temperature of the water. A jaw grabs the other end of the brass body to position it for more drilling. Several tools carve out holes that will act as waterways. The waste brass gets recycled. That piece of solid brass has now been transformed into a pivotal piece for the faucet, the valve body. With copper tubes and brass fittings now attached, the faucet slides into the baseplate. That's the plate that sits on the sink deck. Working from underneath, it's fastened with screws. Next, a robot puts one-half of a stainless-steel ball in a spinning vice, which orients it so an automated welder can join it to the other half. The ball's openings align with hot and cold inlets in the faucet body to regulate the flow of water into the spout. Rubber seals are inserted into those inlet holes in the faucet body. Rubber o-rings on the body will both form a seal and allow the spout to swivel. In goes the ball valve. Then a rubber seal caps it off. The aerator is screwed onto the spout, and pneumatic driver tightens it down. The spout assembly is secured to the rest of the faucet with a metal bonnet. Now it's time to see how this faucet functions. An inspector connects it to a pressurized water source for a test run. Finally, the handle is attached to the rest of the faucet, and it's ready to ship out. Included in the box are the spray hose and support system, which will be installed on-site. It takes a day or two to build one of these faucets. But it will be on clean-up duty for many years to come.