At Wedesday’s meeting of the North Denver Knitting Guild, Marly of the podcast Yarn Thing brought up the very good point that a schism persists between knitters and crocheters. A knitter who doesn’t crochet is one thing. But a crocheter who doesn’t knit? Girl, get out of our sandbox.
Knitters have a superiority complex. Maybe it’s because we use two hands. Or because conventional sweaters are created from knit fabric. Or, maybe, we’re just mean-spirited witches.
It’s all so human; it’s that wretched three-year-old inside all of us who wants to scream, “Mine,” and step on our siblings’ fingers.
I’m guilty of it. In the past, I’ve maligned crocheters as couturiers for toliet paper rolls. Plus, who needs another brown and orange ripple afghan?
Discrimination is born from fear. Where in the world do you put the damn hook anyway? That crochet is kinda loose isn't it? Kinda loose, kinda free? Scares us knitters who go up one row and down the other like we're plowing corn.
Then I began noticing the possibilities. I was at The Lamb one evening, when Judy, who taught crochet, casually threw some of her exquisite lace on the table, and I nearly fainted. A famous yoga teacher I interviewed confessed that she crocheted lace edgings onto her yoga pants and tops. When I spied a crocheted skirt in a magazine I was dying to make, I realized I was clearly handicapping myself. It was time to take the cob out of my butt and pick up the hook.
I now consider myself bi-craftual, though my crochet won’t be winning any ribbons at the county fair. I try to be inclusive when writing articles; it’s too easy to use “knitters” as the umbrella term, as opposed to stitchers, yarnies or the cumbersome, knitters and crocheters. And I find myself defending crochet as a sophisticated fiber art (because I can’t get my f*ckin’ edges to line up).
So, here’s to a year of pushing envelopes, inclusivity and change at the top. (Thanks, Iowa. The Midwest rocks!)