(orginally posted at
The Cult of Knit: Save Yourself.)
You've heard about this knitting craze, haven't you? I say craze, but it is so beyond that. It is a cult, plain and simple. What else could turn so many savvy twenty and thirty somethings into absolute slaves to the needles? You may think I'm being funny, but I have heard of women blowing entire paychecks at their local yarn store. And for the uninitiated, the local yarn store is "LYS" and the surplus of yarn that they purchase (which would take them a lifetime to actually knit), well, they call that their "stash". You heard me right. Stash. And they hide that stash well because they know they have a dirty, dirty habit. But these girls just can't stop. They have their own lingo, their own hang outs, they are organized and listen to me now, they are recruiting.
I know about this because I've been indoctrinated, and as I write this I'm desperately working my way out. I will explain this later. For now all you need to know is that these women are highly dangerous, they carry pointy sticks and wear cute scarves. Beware! Maybe by reading my story you can save somebody you love. Maybe you can save yourself.
I guess you could say that I was ripe for the picking. At the tender age of six I began haphazardly making clothes for my Barbie dolls out of discarded tube socks and bits of ribbon. Later I dabbled in collage, reupholstery, sewing, cooking, and so on. Believe me, I tried to walk the straight and narrow and buy all my clothes and housewares, but somehow I just couldn't overcome the urge to craft. I'd go a few days or even weeks without making a single thing, and then all of a sudden I would look at a hubcap on the side of the road and see a clock. Or I would notice that my newly purchased skirt would look so much better if it were six inches shorter and had some appliqués. I could blame it on my genes, I suppose. I come from a long line of carpenters, gardeners, seamstresses. But in the end it was peer pressure, the thing that always gets the kids.
I've known my friend Liz for seven years now. We have sons just a year apart, enjoy shopping at thrift stores, going to movies and eating out. Well, I should say we once enjoyed those things. All that has changed now. Over the years I heard Liz wish aloud how she'd like to learn to knit. She also wished aloud for an Airstream trailer and a decent husband, so I never paid much mind to her musings. And then one day she logged onto the internet, found a website with knitting instructions and that was it. She was hooked. Within a month she was up to her ears in yarn and all she ever talked about was garter stitches and cables.
I tried to be a good friend by taking interest in her new "hobby". When I admired a scarf she had made, she quickly offered to teach me. I'll admit the temptation was there, but I could see a glimpse down the road she was taking and it was too dark for me. I craft for recreation only, man. So we drifted apart after that and she started hanging out with other girls. Knitters, like her. They met on god-knows-what kind of message boards and later they'd hook up in dark coffee shops around town.
Months passed and Liz only got in deeper. If there is one thing about my friend, she is ambitious. Not content to drive sixty miles to the LYS or order more yarn for her stash from E-Bay, she set up a clandestine yarn lab right in her house. That's right, equipped with a spinning wheel and a trash bag full of wool, she starting manufacturing her own stuff.
In the meantime I was going through a bit of a crisis. Having quit my band, resolving to stop hanging around my drunken friends, and enduring an emotional go-round with some catty girls in town, I found myself with a lot of time on my hands and a longing for companionship. I could tell you that Liz descended upon me like a vulture on a carcass, but it wouldn't be the truth. No, I showed up at her knitting group, begging for a fix. Anything to fill the void, just a little something to make me feel creative again and maybe even less lonely.
I think back on that first day I cast on and, well, I know I should be kicking myself... but I get a rush just remembering it. I felt like a little kid that had just learned to tie her shoes. What does fill me with shame is the knitting needles and boxes of yarn I have hiding in my back room. Hundreds of dollars worth, and that stuff is not going to knit itself. It calls to me in the wee hours. I'm embarrassed that the clerks at the local Hobby Lobby recognize me. I knew I had a problem when I started a carefully calculated routine of shopping at Hobby Lobby one day, Michael's a few days later, scrounging at the Wal-Marts in between, all while supplementing my habit by hitting yarn stores in other towns.
It would be easy to write this off as the unfortunate story of a couple of bored, small town girls gone astray, but this is no isolated event. As I have said, they have organized and they are getting bigger and stronger every day. By infiltrating the media and creating propaganda that is obviously meant to lure in young, susceptible kids, the knitters are taking over the entire planet and they won't stop until the whole planet is one tightly wound ball of yarn.
Don't believe me? Let's take Debbie Stoller, for example. Perhaps you recognize her name as the editor of the cool indie magazine, Bust. You may have heard of her New Girl Order, eh? You probably just thought that was a catchy slogan to sell magazines. My friend, it is much more sinister than that. It is a well documented fact that she is the Grand Wizard of the Cult of Knit. She penned the new knitter's bible, Stitch N Bitch. And if her motivation was unclear, she followed it up with another titled Stitch N Bitch Nation. Sends chills up your spine, doesn't it? If that fiend Debbie Stoller had her way, every girl in America and beyond would know how to knit.
The attack on creative young minds doesn't stop there. There are books with titles like Hip To Knit and even Vogue is in on the act, preying on teenagers with their flashy new Knit.1 magazine. There is even a television program called Knitty Gritty where they show people how to knit in the privacy of their living rooms! If this isn't a good enough reason to get parents monitoring what their kids are watching, I don't know what is.
It has taken being broke, embarrassed, and a nagging pain in both wrists to make me realize that I have to change. Hardly a day passes that I don't think I should have just bought a pretty scarf for myself and went out to the movies instead of picking up the needles. The road out of this hell is a rough one. There is beautiful yarn every time I turn around and I keep giving in, saying, "Just one more quick hat..." I've tried quitting cold turkey but it's just so hard when I have a poncho halfway finished that my mom would just love.
That's why I've taken up crochet. Some people call it the gateway craft, but I approached it like methadone. I thought I'd just use it to get myself through the day until I could find the strength to kick the habit on my own; I soon learned that crochet is faster. A hat that used to take two hours only takes me one now. Maybe the high doesn't last as long, but in no time at all I can whip up a potholder and get that feeling back.
The peer pressure to come back to the needles has been tough, I'll admit that. My knitting friends don't treat me the same any more. They see me as weak, I can tell. I used to be in their circle, after all, so I know how they talk. If there is anyone that comes close to receiving the loathing that knitters feel for non-knitters, it is crocheters. I hold my head high, though. Why use two sticks when you can use one hook? The beauty of this is that when I completely wreck the bones and tendons in my right hand, I can just switch to the left. Crochet is the smarter, faster, better drug.
