On moving between different types of thread, and on how experience changes your demands on the seam, the tools, and the result itself
When you work with leather long enough, it is not only your skill that changes over time, but your whole view of the result. Usually this does not happen suddenly. At first, what matters is simply being able to make the piece, understand the material, keep the stitching line under control, feel the edge, the thread tension, and the way the punches affect the seam. But later you begin to notice that one and the same seam can look and feel completely different. And together with that, your attitude to thread almost inevitably changes as well.
In my case, this was not really a move from one product name to another. It was something more important: a move from one type of thread to another. And I think that, in one form or another, this path is familiar to many makers. For some it is shorter, for others longer. Some stay with hand stitching, while others move fairly quickly into machine sewing. But the logic is often recognizable. First, you work with what is available. Then you begin looking for a finer, more controlled seam. And later you arrive at a clearer understanding of what kind of seam you actually want to see.
Where this path usually begins
For many people, the beginning looks very similar. The simplest punches. Sometimes rough ones bought from the nearest shoemaking or craft supply shop. Sometimes homemade ones. The first available thread is usually just as simple: thick, visible, waxed, chosen mainly because it lets you stitch leather and get an obvious, durable result. A great many leatherworking stories begin from exactly that point. Not from refined judgment and not from trained visual experience, but from availability.
That is how I began too. At that stage, you are not choosing between nuances. What matters is that the thread can be bought, that it works with a rough beginner’s toolset, and that it allows you to make your first seam at all. Most often, this is what I would now describe as flat braided waxed polyester thread: a flat, braided, waxed polyester thread typical of entry-level hand stitching in leatherwork. It gives a very clear entry point into the craft. It is visible, fairly coarse, does not require much delicacy from the tools, and pairs naturally with that familiar first setup: basic punches, simple projects, and the desire to just begin. And, interestingly, it is exactly this kind of brutalism — a long stitch, thick thread, a certain heaviness in the line, a lack of real elegance and repeatability — that has somehow become firmly fixed in the public imagination as almost a synonym for hand work and hand stitching.
When a coarse seam is no longer enough
But there is almost always a moment when that kind of seam no longer feels sufficient. Not because it is bad in itself, but because the maker’s demand changes. You want less coarseness. You want a finer line. You want the seam to look not just strong, but more composed and more precise. And that is where the first real transformation begins. You are still inside the familiar logic of hand stitching, but you are already looking for a more delicate answer within that logic.
For me, the next step was round braided waxed polyester thread. In practical terms, that was an important turning point. On the one hand, it was still a familiar and reliable thread for hand stitching. On the other, it gave me a completely different level of control. It was rounder, finer, and more disciplined. That was the main point for me at the time. It was not about finding the “best thread” in some absolute sense. It was about finding a finer thread that would let me move away from a seam that felt too heavy and too coarse.
This is a very recognizable stage. I think many makers will see themselves here. At first, you simply want to stitch leather. Then you want the seam to look finer, cleaner, and more elegant. And once that happens, everything begins to change with it: thread thickness, the look of the stitching, the stitch spacing, even the shape of the hole itself. In my own case, this went through a very hands-on, almost improvised phase: I made homemade punches, then reworked them, narrowed them, changed their geometry so I could get a finer hole for a finer thread. Later I made angled versions as well, once I wanted a different character in the stitch. In other words, it was not only the thread that changed. The whole system gradually shifted to match the result I wanted.
When fineness is not enough and control becomes the real need
My next turning point came when I was no longer simply trying to make the seam finer, but trying to work in a truly delicate way. Once you begin making smaller leather goods, thin card holders, watch straps, and pieces that require a small stitch and a calm, precise line, you discover that even a finer braided thread does not always give the level of control you need. At that stage, I was looking not just for a thinner thread, but for a thin synthetic thread that would behave well in hand stitching, would not untwist as I worked, and would let me hold a very delicate seam with confidence.
That is how round twisted waxed polyester thread entered my path. Here the emphasis shifted. At the previous stage, I was mostly trying to move away from excess coarseness. Now I was looking for manageability. I needed a thread that behaved well in the hand, gave predictable tension, and suited genuinely delicate work. At a certain point it became clear that round braided thread with a minimum thickness of around 0.45 mm was not always enough. In watch straps, for example, with stitch spacing of around 2 mm, I needed something finer, closer to 0.35 mm. That is exactly what round twisted waxed polyester thread gave me: less thickness, good control, and sufficient strength.
At this stage, it becomes especially clear that thread choice never exists separately from the task. One type works well for a straightforward, almost beginner-level hand seam. Another is better when a maker wants a finer and more controlled presentation. A third becomes especially valuable when what matters is control, small thickness, consistency in delicate work, and predictability from stitch to stitch. And the further you go, the less sense it makes to talk about threads in terms of “good” and “bad.” The language becomes more exact: suitable or unsuitable, right for the task or not, too coarse, too active, too invisible, too lively, too dry.
When technique is joined by the aesthetics of the seam
Only later did I truly arrive at round twisted waxed linen thread. For me, this was no longer a starting point and no longer a search for purely technical convenience. It was a move toward a different seam aesthetic. A different feeling in the line. A different visual presence of the thread in the object. At this point, what mattered to me was not only how controlled the seam was, but what kind of character it created. Linen gives a different feeling of hand work. It feels more alive, more tactile, more genuinely craft-based in the best sense. Over time, this became my main working thread, and especially super fine linen thread, which today most closely matches the way I want a seam to look in most of my work.
It is probably here that you can most clearly see how the maker changes. First, he needs an accessible material simply to begin. Then a finer solution within that same understandable logic. Then a synthetic thread that raises the level of control in delicate work. And after that comes a more mature choice, where not only technique but also the aesthetic of the seam begins to matter. And to me that is an important point: a maker’s path is rarely a straight ladder from bad to good. It is more often a sequence of increasingly precise demands on the result.
Why these transitions are so recognizable
That is why these transitions feel so familiar to so many people. More than once, I have noticed that different makers often begin under nearly identical conditions. Simple or homemade punches. A first thick waxed thread. First pieces that are rough, but important. After that, the paths diverge. Some, like me, move through several thread types within hand stitching. Others move fairly quickly into machine sewing and begin building a different working logic. Others combine both. But the transformation itself usually remains similar: first you work with what you have, then you begin to see the limitations, and after that you start adjusting the tools, the thread, and the technique to match the result you want.
In that sense, this is not really only about thread. It is about a maker’s growing visual judgment. About how his standards change. About how the simple question “what do I stitch leather with?” gradually turns into a different and more important one: what kind of seam do I want to see in this particular piece? Because once that question appears, the answers begin to change with it. Then it matters whether it is flat braided waxed polyester thread with its direct, entry-level, almost coarse clarity. Or round braided waxed polyester thread with a finer, calmer look. Or round twisted waxed polyester thread, when delicacy and control matter in hand stitching. Or round twisted waxed linen thread, when technical performance is joined by a distinct seam aesthetic.
What changes together with the choice of thread
Over time, I came to look at thread in exactly that way: not as a consumable, but as part of the language of the object itself. What matters is not only strength. Not only thickness. Not only convenience in use. What matters is what that particular thread does to the seam line, the rhythm, the perception of the leather, and the character of the piece. One type makes the seam more direct and utilitarian. Another makes it cleaner and more delicate. A third makes it more disciplined and easier to control. A fourth makes it more alive and more expressively handmade. And once you begin to see that, choice stops being accidental.
I think that is what happens to almost every maker who works long enough. Everyone has a different pace. Everyone has different tasks. Everyone moves through these transitions in a different order. But behind many individual stories there is often the same underlying logic: first availability, then fineness, then control, then aesthetics. And the better a maker understands what he wants from the seam, the more conscious his choice between different thread types becomes. For those who want to look more closely at the thread types mentioned here, I have also brought them together at MeiSi Store.
Today I look at these transitions calmly. Without any desire to declare one option permanently correct and another outdated. Every type of thread has its own task, its own character, its own place. But in how and why a maker moves from one type to another, you can read his own development very clearly. And perhaps that is one of the most interesting parts of the craft: you do not only change materials. Over time, you change the way you see the result itself.
