My inaugural Don’t Buy List

All the things that don't really bring happiness and a few that truly do

The idea of a “Don’t Buy List” is lovingly purloined from beauty writer Jessica DeFino’s “The Unpublishable” newsletter about all the ways the beauty industry convinces you that you need to be someone other than your particular self in your particular body in order to be beautiful, loved, and valued.

For the past three weeks, nearly every business I have ever interacted with has emailed me. Yep, it’s Black Friday and Christmas season again, when the retail industry—and our culture at large—sells the most stuff, puts their bottom lines in the black, and every retailer everywhere (from the big ones to small businesses) do their damndest to convince me that we should all be hustling and bustling, even and especially as my animal body is telling me to slow down.

Knitting—and the knitting culture we commonly see reflected on social media—is no different. There’s the hustle to make gifts. A hustle to cast on “all the things” (often spurred by so much designer output and so many new yarn collections). There’s a hustle to buy all the yarn. A hustle to make sure your yarn advent calendar has arrived so you can open and share all about it (if you were lucky enough to remember to buy one in July).

But here’s the thing: winter holidays are not simple.

There are so many reasons why winter holidays can be joyous and sweet, and just as many reasons why they can be complicated, sad, or difficult.

For me, this particular season, I’m having a more complicated holiday. I’ve been solo parenting for the past three weeks (my partner was traveling and then returned home with Covid). I’m fulfilling more of our family’s care needs (which are also greater right now) which means that my available time for work and creativity has been reduced. It’s a stew where it’s hard to do the things I find most nourishing and forward-looking, and where I’m also worrying more—which leads me to remember other holiday seasons that were full of grieving or worry.

It’s a lot. I’m doing well, but it makes me really want to embrace the idea that not all holidays are merry and bright. There needs to be more room in our culture for complicated emotions, for not hustling, and for not buying (more things that we don’t need).

So, think of today’s newsletter as a bit of an antidote to all the gift guides and hot new product emails you’ve been receiving.

Here are the ideas, articles, and permissions slips that are helping me navigate the holidays this year:

Buy fewer things.

Overconsumption is hurting all of us. (Our planet, our homes, our sense of self-worth.) If you’re one of the folks who has enough, try to opt out of the marketing messages that tell you to buy that perfect gift. You can show and express love in so many other ways. Here’s an absolutely fantastic piece on how to avoid gifts.

Opt out of white feminism.

I first heard the term “toxic white feminism” in a brilliant 2018 article in Harper’s Bazaar by writer and entrepreneur Rachel Cargle. Reading this article exploded my world view of how good liberal white women, like me, actually perpetuate systems of oppression. This year, instead of watching a Hallmark holiday movie about another white woman with barrel curls, I’m curling up with books that show me a more expansive view of how our world can be different: Real Self-Care by Pooja Lakshmin, Micro Activism by Omkari Williams, and Consumed by Aja Barber.

Enjoy the season (and skip the seasonal sales).

This particular newsletter from artist Anna Brones has become my mantra this year. It’s chock full of ways to enjoy early winter and add sparkle to my daily life (like: pie for breakfast!). I’m keeping this one in my in-box and re-reading it weekly. I plan to revisit it especially in January when it’s still dark and cold and grey and when we still need just as much sparkle, but the cultural waves have shifted away from holiday lights.

Look beyond the pretty white women with their pretty knitting.

If we can’t decolonize our knitting spaces—those literally soft and gentle spots where all of us should have a feeling of home and safety—then, truly, what hope is there?

When it comes to my knitting, I am pretty resolute about not buying into the white feminist equivalent of knitting. For me, this means editing the social media I consume (knitstagrammers, knitting YouTubers, knitting pattern inspo), and it used to extend to yarn brands, too. (Since I'm now mostly only knitting with my own yarn, it’s a bit disingenuous to say I’m boycotting yarn brands that aren’t working toward inclusion because, well, it’s super easy to boycott something you wouldn’t otherwise buy.)

Read this article by the brilliant Anne Helen Petersen and featuring Sara Peterson’s equally great book, Momfluenced. Absolutely everything here applies to the knitting world as well. Just substitute the word “knitfluencer” for “momfluencer.”

Spend more time offline.

The more time I spent offline this season, the honest-to-goodness better I feel. If you need some encouragement to turn off the notifications on your phone and spend more time offline, this is a brilliant set of 100 ways to do just that, by writer Mehrit Biruk.

Most of all, with this Don’t Buy List, inaugural edition, I hope you don’t buy into the idea that you need to buy things to be more beautiful, more loved, or more appreciated. You’re wonderful, just as you are.

What I’ve been up to in my creative work

In addition to being someone who thinks (and writes) about slowing down and buying less, I’m also someone who makes and sells things. Sometimes, this can feel antithetical to the things I value, but I’m always trying to calibrate to my own true north: that place where I encourage you to make more things by hand; where I try to make things that will have a good, long life; where I encourage you to not only buy my kits but also knit them; and where I time my offerings to be less about external cultural forces (you won’t see a Black Friday sale here) and more about my own rhythms. Commerce, not hard cold capitalism.

I like to close my newsletter with a wish for your well-being. This season, whether you’re having simple, joyous, or complicated feelings (or a mash-up of everything), I hope you are able to find some time to be quietly yourself. To enjoy a little more candlelight inside the house or to enjoy the dark starry skies outside.