Where do you feel most yourself?
Finding spaces to thrive, community to nourish, and stitches that comfort
I’m in a bit of a Christmas frame of mind, friends, because this weekend we’ll decide on our holiday travel dates. Once tickets are bought, I’ll start anticipating what will be my 16th full family Christmas in a row (the only exception being 2020). Because I had an unusually fractured and unpredictable life as a youngster, this continuity and steadfastness is something I never take for granted and which I deeply enjoy.
Do you remember the old, 1964 stop-motion animated film Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? It was a staple of my 1970s and 80s childhood, and it still plays on network TV each year. In the show, Rudolph and the misfit elf Hermey (who wants to be a dentist, not a toymaker) escape the Abominable Snowman and land on the Island of Misfit Toys, a place where unloved and quirky toys live until the island king can find a home for them.
My thought, without fail, on each Christmas, goes something like this: We are the misfit toys, my precious, loved and chosen family. Each of us, in different ways, has lived through so much and so many harmful messages. But with each other, we are loved, and welcome, and enough.
It seems to me that knitters often resonate with this experience of being a misfit toy—of feeling like they are too different or too quirky or in some way just not normal enough for dominant cultural narratives. Maybe it’s the size or shape of your body. Or that you like to make things. Or how enthused you can be about fiber or sheep. Or how lovely it feels to run yarn through your fingers. Or the fashion you enjoy.
In some way, we are all misfit toys. The elephant-in-a-box, instead of a Jack-in-the-Box.
There are knitting spaces that reinforce a dominant cultural narrative: that of the white, thin, youngish, heteronormative woman, relaxing in nature, with ample time to make something organic, “natural,” and conventionally beautiful. And, there are knitting spaces that help us feel more like ourselves. Because, honestly, even women who fit the dominant narrative will someday no longer fit it.
How do we make room for our authentic selves? The body that ages, or is larger? The hair that becomes gray, or thinner? The unconventional beauty that we all possess and which doesn’t need to be shrunk, concealed, flattered, or anti-aged?
These are questions I’m pondering a lot lately. When my business was larger, I developed a set of guidelines for myself on how to create an inclusive physical space. Now that my business is smaller, I think about the practices that have made my own, smaller space (as in, quite literally, the corner of my couch) more inclusive and gentle for myself.
Things that make room for me, as I am, misfit toy and all:
Feeling free to unfollow. This is such a simple thing, and I can’t overstate how powerful it has felt to me to simply uninvite certain people into my space. Magazines that don’t show me different ways of considering beauty. Designers or makers or podcasters who inadvertently reinforce the cultural narratives that ultimately harm us all.
Being fastidious about the media I consume. In the last few years, the world has seemed to pick up pace. Media and images and messages come at me with increasing speed and ferocity. I am learning how to be increasingly picky about the media I invite into my life. It’s been well-documented that Instagram harms young girls, and I think this kind of depressive, comparative impact happens to all of us with media in general and social media in particular. While I still struggle with my daily (too great) consumption of news, I am getting so much more careful to consume the kinds of media that uplift me and reinforce to me a diversity of beauty and of perspective.
Making the thing I need, not the thing everyone else is making. I don’t mean to discount the joy of a knit-along, because there are some truly joyful and inclusive ones, but, for me, finding my own definition of comfort knitting has reinvigorated my making practice. By thinking about what will give me joy right now—renewing my stash of handknit socks, or wanting a lightweight slipover to warm myself on chillier mornings, or wanting to challenge my skills by knitting a fair isle sweater—this is where I’ve found myself feeling seen, loved, and cared for.
Media, patterns, and things that are bringing me joy right now:
The Fat Squirrel Speaks podcast: I am a long-time viewer and each visit with Amy Beth brings me joy. Her enthusiasm for the things she loves is infectious, I often discover something new to try, and her journey of Knitworthiness inspires my own.
Keep Calm and Cook On, the newsletter for cookbook author Julia Turshen. I love her recipes, plan to take one of her Sunday cooking classes, and adore how she centers queer family.
Burnt Toast by Virginia Sole-Smith, a newsletter about navigating diet culture and fatphobia. A recent favorite post was about how organizing is a complicated drug.
Artist Jen Hewett, who has been reveling in her first garden and is currently releasing a limited series of art that documents her garden. Every Wednesday, she shares something different in her shop, and her joy—Black joy, Multi-racial joy, dog lover joy—is just the best.
These artists and makers are helping me disrupt harmful narratives when they start playing in my head, and my world feels richer, softer, and better because of it.
Don’t forget to vote with your dollars. All of the folks I mention have ways that you can contribute to their work, if you are able to. Speaking of which, I really love the term reciprocity. Most of the writers, thinkers, and makers I reference share a lot of their work for free. By offering to pay for what they offer for free (via a subscription or Patreon or buying something from one of their shops) allows them to keep creating. Reciprocity.
What’s on my needles
I have been so interested lately in the idea of modularity: a basic pattern with ways to customize it. A single sweater template with different hem options, or different collar choices. I am knitting my fourth (!) such sweater, using the Uniform pattern. (nb: links to Ravelry)
My latest Uniform is the one on top: the lightweight, tunic-length pink one.
What’s coming up in the shop
I have three collaborative projects and two personal projects that have been quietly paused. Some of them have been patiently waiting for nearly a year.
While I have a classic development checklist for each one, I’ve been enjoying a more free-form way of working recently, dipping in and out of various parts of each checklist, and then, when something is ready, giving it my full and complete attention for that last 10 percent—as I gave to the recent open window for sign-ups for my Kindred Spirits yarn subscription.
I anticipate sharing one of these projects with you in a few weeks, and perhaps even squeezing in a little studio sale before then, but for now, I am enjoying the feeling of Sunday morning, giving myself space, and the calm of a deep breath and slow stitches.
I wish the same for you.
I’ll close today with a heartfelt thank you to all of the new Kindred Spirits subscribers! You blew me away with your enthusiastic response! (If you missed out on this round, the next sign-up window will be in early November.)