The second cut runs straight through the first

One garment, drawn three times at the same scale, on slate. Full length, whole. Shortened once, the cut edge raw. Shortened again, a second ragged line crossing straight through where the first one ended. Small scissors sit above the second cut and the third.

Two ragged edges on one piece of cloth is a timeline, and the second one was never the nervous cut.

Why is the same garment drawn three times?

Because one cut only shows that a garment got shorter. Three lengths side by side show two separate decisions, made at two different points in its life, about how short was actually right.

The first cut answers a guess. The second answers a correction. Drawing all three lengths together is the only way to show that the garment didn't arrive at its final length in one motion — it got there in stages, and each stage left a mark that the next one didn't erase.

Why does the first cut's ragged edge still show after the second cut?

Because fraying doesn't stop exactly at the edge — loose threads and a slightly distorted weave travel a little way back into the body of the cloth from wherever it was first cut.

A hem cut once and left raw develops a narrow zone of disturbance just above the edge, not only at it. Cut the garment shorter a second time and that zone can survive inside the new piece, now sitting some distance above the fresh edge rather than right on it. The old scar and the new edge end up on the same length of fabric, at two different distances from where the cloth now ends.

How much shorter does the second cut go than the first?

Less, almost always — there's simply less garment left to take from, and the margin for getting it wrong has shrunk to match.

The first cut can afford to be generous, because most garments start with length to spare. The second cut is working with whatever's left after the first one already spent some of it. A hem worked in the opposite direction — let out rather than cut off — runs into the same shrinking margin from the other side.

Does cutting your own garment shorter twice need anyone's permission?

No. A garment you own is yours to shorten as many times as you decide to, and a second cut isn't a bigger decision than the first one, just a later one.

Nobody licenses a length. The scissors above the second and third outlines aren't marking a transaction — they're marking a repeat of something the owner already did once and is doing again, on the same object, because the first result wasn't the one they wanted to keep wearing. Turning a t-shirt into a bag needs no permission for the same reason: the cloth is already the owner's to reshape however many times they want.

Why not just measure the final length the first time?

Because the first cut is usually made against a guess, and the guess is only tested once the garment's actually worn at that length.

A length that looks right laid flat can read completely differently on a moving body, against a particular pair of shoes, in a particular season. The first cut is a hypothesis. The second is what happens once the hypothesis has been worn around for a while and found slightly wrong — not disastrously wrong, just wrong enough to go back for another pass.

Why isn't the fabric that got cut away shown in the drawing?

Because this is a piece about what stayed, not what left. The two discarded strips answered their question the moment they came off — there's nothing left to observe about them once they're gone.

What's interesting is what the remaining piece carries forward: the old fray as a mark inside the cloth, the new fray as the current edge, and the shrinking distance between the garment's length and zero. Drawing the offcuts would turn a piece about a chronology into a piece about waste, which isn't what this is — a strip cut this way and gone is a different object from a square deliberately kept and stitched into something new, and this piece is only telling the story of what stayed.

Does a garment cut down twice print or reproduce well?

Yes, and the two edges should read as clearly different ages, not as one uniform rough line.

Draw the older scar finer and more settled — shorter, less irregular fibres, closer to the weave — and the fresh edge coarser and more disturbed, with longer loose threads standing away from the cloth. Flat, evenly spaced hatching for both keeps them legible on fabric; a single blurred fray line collapses the two ages into one and loses the entire point of the drawing.

How do I get one made?

Describe the sequence at JustOG — the original length, where the first cut fell, and where the second one crosses it. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.

Designs other people have published are in the shop.

Whatever's left is what two decisions, not one, agreed on.