Travel though, and especially delayed travel, allows for much uninterrupted time for knitting and thinking about knitting. Here is what’s in my High Summer (July & August) portfolio:

Current Projects

• I only have the neckline to complete on my cable sweater by Ingrid Dyb. I did a pre-block after finishing the second sleeve just because I couldn’t wait another second. Here are some photos of the block:

• Purple striped roll neck sweater by My Favourite Things Knitwear: I needed a project light enough to stash in my work and travel bag - the cables are an at-home project only at this point. For this, I was inspired by the cotton roll neck sweaters that Alex Mill released earlier this year, but I wanted to be more adventurous with the colors and texture. I went with my favorite cotton yarn from Hobbii that I’m holding together with an alpaca mohair to give each color more depth and variation. Sometimes cotton falls flat. The raglan increases at the widest part got up to 306 stitches which WAS driving me insane, but once I reached the sleeve separation I was able to finish the body fairly quickly.

  

• I’m making my friend (sister, soul mate) her wedding veil which must be ready by at least the morning of August 21 so she can wear it down the aisle :) We had a dream day choosing silk tulle at Mood and then comparing lace trim at East Coast Trimming in the Garment District. Read about my thoughts on both wedding & spiritual veils here.

  • This is a Mantilla-style veil, so it won’t cover Sarah’s face and will fasten near her temples. For that, I gathered the fabric and hand-sewed veil combs that are covered by pretty clusters of natural pearls I found at The Bead Shop in New Orleans. Another incredibly inspiring and tempting notions heaven.

    

Ideas and Future Projects

• My turquoise ric rac track pants and purple shirting tie skirt are still just ideas but I’m hoping to start those soon when I have time. Sydney Graham just released her Avenue Shorts pattern, and I might use it to make pants!

• I’ve been knitting other people’s patterns for much of this year and I’m excited to design something new again. I might fiddle with some openwork (knitting pointelle) or intarsia colorwork as seen here:

  

Pure Inspiration

I’ve always been so inspired by quilts, not only for the colors and motifs but for the fact of how they were produced. One woman, or many, sourcing fabric, cutting, planning, & hand-stitching for months at a time. I would love to sit down and design something that incorporates historic quilting motifs in a sweater using intarsia colorwork OR duplicate stitch embroidery. The following are a few of my favorites from the American Folk Art Museum’s quilt collection.

Thank you for reading xoxo

P.S. I’ve been seriously considering quitting my 9-5 for more creatively stimulating part-time work (limitless really). If you have any leads, please let me know!

Sarah and I sit on the floor of East Coast Trimming – much to the dismay of the two shopkeepers who glare at us above their readers when they sense any level of carelessness about us – scanning the glass-enclosed shelves for the right lace. We stack large spools of the stuff, frothy like cold foam, one on top of the other in an attempt to whittle our choices. And, in the end, decide on a lace from France with a thin scalloped edge and florals that will graze her temples. I come home with my lot, a tacky Mood tote bag filled with 5 yards of cream tulle and lace weighing next to nothing.

I don’t set an alarm for the next morning. It’s Sunday for god’s sake. But this morning I’m awake at 5am just as the sun is cresting over East Brooklyn and straight onto my pillow, penetrating the eye mask that I may as well only use in winter when the light is late and weak. My room is at its brightest and there is no chance of my falling back to sleep: this must not have been the day when I dreamt Josh O’Connor was my adoring boyfriend. I get up and feel oddly compelled to go to the roof, to see the sun rise further, to look at my little neighborhood from above, to find who else is up this early besides the guy who screams incoherent curses as he paces the sidewalk.

On the Solstice, especially at dawn and twilight, the veil is thin. I can say this with the confidence of a PhD’d scientist because nothing spiritual can be proven or disproven and THAT is the argument I am most likely to be having in the corner of a party with a man I just met. That which separates our world from whatever else lies beyond or beside or under or above is at its most porous. Sensitivity, energy, and vulnerability are all heightened and we are collectively experiencing a transition, whether you’re aware of it or not. Entering summer, for instance, or on a smaller scale, moving from evening to night: the veil is certainly thin at Prospect Park when on a morning in October the dew is evaporating from the grass and dogs are manically running off-leash (undoubtedly spiritual), and the rising sun is piercing the space between leaves that have started changing color but haven’t yet fallen. Everything seems very beautiful and very rich and maybe something completely magical will happen to remind you that there is so much we don’t know about how all this operates.

Women have been wearing wedding veils for as long as we have depictions of them (ancient Greek and Roman times). Because written accounts are sparse, it is difficult to say the precise origin for why a woman was veiled, though historians and academics posit explanations you yourself can guess: the veil acted as a symbol of chastity or purity, and in some accounts, hid the bride from evil spirits she might encounter on her journey to the alter. Disregarding any mention of purity, I do like the idea that the veil I make for Sarah will protect her and her sweet blonde head from evil when she marries Henry (decidedly not evil). The veil between worlds is also a form of protection - imagine if every bit of energy and spirit ever present in our lives remained visible and felt…forever. That would be a nightmare. Separation is important, and during the moments when we get a glimpse into something greater, that is magic.

Sarah may already be soul-tied to Henry, but on her wedding day, they will crystallize their commitment for all of us to witness. They will step across the metaphorical threshold into a new life together and at dusk no less. Sarah will wear a veil made of silk tulle and the veil between worlds will fall away.

Thank you for reading! XOXO, Isabel

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Current Projects

Cable Sweater

I’ve been working on this cable sweater since April – a pattern by someone I would classify as genius because I can’t fathom how she made charts and graphs of this complexity: Ingrid Dyb. I love working on a wool sweater as the weather warms, it takes the pressure off finishing because I know it’ll be ready by winter, and there really is no way to rush cables.

Rhinestone Brooches and Bag Charms!

I was inspired to make these when I saw a woman at the Met wearing a brooch made of macraméd rope in the shape of a heart. As soon as I was on the train home, I located her exact brooch on Etsy, but in my own heart I thought: I could make that, and I could make it out of something that glitters in the sun. When my rhinestone cord arrived, it was too thick to twist into a heart, so I modeled these after those horrible paracord bracelets that had people in a chokehold circa 2014.

My shipment of a dozen colors just arrived and they’re sitting on my bed, uncoiled, like a nest of glittery rainbow snakes. I’ll be selling these within a matter of days* on IG.

*two weeks more like, I had to reorder materials for a reason too boring to say.

The Shea: crochet hat pattern

Inspired by my friend Shea’s sense of sartorial whimsy and propensity to actually wear hats in real life I made this crochet hat with a sailor-esque twist. I promptly made a second for Claudia because she refused to go to Sweden without one; and a third for Aisha because she says it will look great on a yacht (we’re collectively manifesting this one). I love this hat mainly because it can be folded and molded into whatever shape you fancy, it can be whatever you like.

This pattern is available on my Etsy and Ravelry pages so you can look whimsical like Shea too.

Ideas and Future Projects

Pure Inspiration

I have been recently obsessed with identifying mine and my friends’ color seasons (I’m a Soft Summer final answer). On a recent trip upstate, I wore everyone into a collective madness by this obsession that by the third day Claudia was ready to skin me alive if I hinted at her palette being anything other than that which shines in a tomato red. If you know your palette like me and thus live and dress peacefully, you’ll love Knitting for Olive’s new sorting feature which allows you to only see the yarn colors that coincide with your season. I have nothing else to say besides how genius! It makes me want to buy yarn just for the sake of it being compatible with my green eyes. I’ve never worked with Knitting for Olive yarn, but trust, I will soon.

Simple Drawstring Pants

Last summer I made linen pants from an Etsy pattern by MakeItYoursTheLabel — I wasn’t super happy with how they turned out but I had spent two hours on my knees cutting out this pattern on the living room floor so I’d be damned if I didn’t try again. The second go ‘round was a SUCCESS largely because the fabric is a delicious lightweight polka dot cotton from Blackbird Fabrics. I’m literally wearing these everywhere. My idea for the third go is a pair in turquoise cotton sateen from Mood, ric rac in one shade brighter running down the sides of the legs. I want this third pair to be a bit wider than the polka dots, more like a track pant but dressed up.

Thank you for reading! I hope this inspires - hit my line if you have questions, recs, suggestions, etc.

XOXO Isabel

For this lenten period I promise to finish all the ongoing projects I have before I start anything new; and yes, this will be forty-nights-in-the-desert difficult for me.

The project I’m most excited about right now, and the one I feel the most motivated to finish:

I have to be honest and say that my original inspiration for this was Fiyero’s costume in Wicked II. While my best friend sat beside me, clutching my arm with tears brimming in her eyes during For Good, scenes of our lifelong friendship no doubt flashing before her eyes, all I could think about was creating a knitwear iteration of this:

If you know me, you know my fixation with historic military costumes is nothing new to say the least. They are a surprising case of form over function for much of history - surprising because you’d think battle garb would be designed more for survival than for pure pomp. I am chomping at the bit to research more and write about the uniforms of the Russian Imperial Military during its pompous heyday... more to come.

When it comes to this jacket, I chose a very sturdy utilitarian wool - Lettlopi - to add structure and integrity to a piece that I hope will be more outerwear than cozywear. The wool I chose for the collar and ribbing is much softer, as it will have direct contact with my very delicate and dainty skin. The contrasting red design is intarsia and I’ll be repeating something similar on the cuff of each sleeve. Jury is still out if I’ll go with a folded crew collar, or something more along the lines of a standing high-neck situation.

The next project on my list is a wool waist-cincher. I’d been itching to write another pattern since I abandoned my last attempt (see project #3) halfway through making it - keeping track of the process was weighing me down, so abandoned it became. This go-around, I wanted to design an accessory that would be fairly straight-forward and palatable. The knitwear internet niche I occupy is replete with scarf and hat patterns which partly motivated my decision-making, I wanted to design a pattern that fills some other gap. I also love the multi-purposefulness of a big silk scarf, so this will be my knitwear take on the trend. A triangular wool scrap that can be worn around the head for warmth, around the waist to add asymmetry & texture or around the neck.

Nothing can be too simple though, so this pattern will feature a big intarsia moon and star. And, because I never consider that there might be an app for that, I designed the stitch pattern painstakingly on excel :)

Project #3 is a self-drafted wool sailor cardigan with darling pearl toggle buttons from the now-defunct M&J Trimming (RIP). This one might bring me to the edge. I began this cardigan almost a year ago… have set it aside about a million times for other projects… and finally willed myself to complete the collar last month. The pièce de résistance, and the reason this remains unfinished, is the embroidered swan that will float along the back. Another example of my inability to keep things simple, this swan also represents my eagerness to learn a new concept (embroidering on knitwear). Again, I painstakingly planned the stitch pattern on excel and lost my momentum when it actually came to sitting down and making it happen.

Once this is finished the world will know, I’m gonna be loud about it, and there is a high chance I list it for sale as well. While I had high high hopes for this cardigan, it is too small for me, even after blocking. So, if anyone reading this has a bust measurement lower than 36” and wants to own a one-of-a-kind hand-knit swan/sailor/pearly cardigan…buzz my line.

Thank you for reading. Keep me accountable ;) LOVE YOU.

As I spend hours upon hours of my life each week knitting, designing, or thinking about either or, the concept of perfection flits in and out of my brain space like a gnat. The things I make are an extension of myself so much so that it feels like some gooey bit of my soul is leaking out of my hands and into the fabric like the crayons that melted onto the beige backseat of my mom’s Toyota Camry circa 2004. Most of the time, this leaves me feeling satisfied and proud that I can translate some creative concept into a wearable garment - an external expression of my soul! And I truly seriously believe that art is always an external expression of the soul.

If that is the case, how could perfection factor into the equation? The soul, as I conceptualize it, doesn’t even exist in the same realm where a thing might be marked with the stamp of perfection. My logical brain can understand this and still my superego bangs its gavel to interject that, yes, perfection is not only possible but both preferable and expected of me (is this how the superego works?). Knitwear design is artful but it is also technical. I imagine it being like architecture in that the creative concept has to be translated into numbers and patterns for it to take shape in a way that makes the end product useful and well-functioning. It takes a lot of time to figure, for example, the exact number of short rows it will take to mimic the slope of my own shoulder. This is what, to me, makes knitwear design so challenging and then that much more satisfying when it is successful.

It also gives my perfectionism a lush green field to play in. If my art must be translated into something that could ostensibly be deemed ‘perfect’ why wouldn’t I try for that?

In an article titled The Pain of Perfectionism in The New Yorker, Leslie Jamison writes:

Each step toward perfection is a step away from distinctiveness, from the flawed, messy unrepeatability that we crave in others and want others to witness in us

My best friend and roommate is a witness to my creative struggle and has, for better or worse, seen just how totally perfectionism can consume my thinking. One time I put on a pair of expensive silk pants that were non-refundable and noted they didn’t hang on my butt the way I would like. She said, as we both stood in front of the mirror Slipping Through My Fingers style: do not let perfection get in the way of good enough. My maxim for the better part of the two-ish years we’ve lived together now.

I joke about ‘self-soothing’ when I hold up a piece I’ve made, point out all the flaws I am aware of and then say ‘but nothing is perfect, and I love it completely’. I’m lying obviously - I would love it even more if it were technically perfect. But I’m noticing a change. I’m starting to see my imperfect calculations, my flawed actualization of an idea, as something that makes the garment: art. If I wanted perfection, I would buy the sweater that was made by a machine in a far away country manned by someone being paid a probably illegal salary according to the international laws of human rights and business. And that’s not what I want. What I want is to have a soul connection to the things I wear, to feel the world quiet around me when I can focus on what’s in my hands, to know that the fibers I’m using used to warm a living animal (!). That’s not so much to ask for when I think of the incredible standards I’ve put on myself in the past.

Here’s an excerpt I especially loved from the book: Cræft: An Inquiry Into the Origins and True Meaning of Traditional Crafts:

We must never lose sight of the fact that the most intelligently

designed, the most versatile and the most complex piece of kit we have at our disposal is our own body. As John Ruskin put it in 1859, in our hands, we have ‘the subtlest of all machines’

With my machine I will continue to produce wearable art, technically flawed I’m sure, and I will really truly try to find more value in the expression of my soul than in the mistakes that I will inevitably make in the process.

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A fascinating phenomenon I’ve noticed in fashion history is the transformation of a utilitarian garment into something wholly frivolous, its central purpose morphing from practical to decorative. I can’t find a better example than the apron. Arguably human’s first ever garment, aprons can be traced to the beginnings of man (and woman). For the sake of the story, I’m going to ask you to imagine Adam and Eve for a second, sorry. According to Genesis 1:1–2:4, God created Adam and Eve to tend his garden. They could eat from every tree except the tree of life, God being a gatekeeper of good and evil and the mysteries of the universe etc. But Eve was a woman i.e. curious, greedy, selfish, a little dumb...a tree full of secrets was humming before her and she was expected to not go forth? She ate from the tree of life after being urged by the evil serpent, and with her womanly wiles, convinced Adam to eat too. Thus, the pair was suddenly aware of their nakedness and covered themselves with fig leaves. And the apron was born alongside the human race.1

Belief in Christian Genesis or no, humans have donned a kind of apron or loin cloth for centuries to cover and protect you-totally-know-what. It wasn’t until the Middle Ages when the contemporary concept of the apron emerged. The term stems from the French word ‘nappe’ meaning ‘tablecloth’. The British did what they do best and mispronounced the word for so long that it turned into an entirely new word, ‘naperon’. After many centuries of being pronounced as ‘a_naperon’ the thing itself became known as ‘apron’…‘an_apron’.2 Cool.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist, or even a wannabe fashion historian, to guess that aprons were used by working people of many professions in the Middle Ages, not just house-bound cooks and servants. Women hunched over spluttering kettles and male cobblers mending leather goods alike. Life was dirty and the average person did not have clothing to spare; an apron was a practicality to protect your working and living dress.

Over time, aprons would come to embody something greater than their practical use. When I imagine the concept now, my mind immediately goes to the housewife: Betty Draper with a porcelain face, bouncing blond curls, and an apron performing its duty.

Last week I saw A Woman is a Woman at Film Forum, according to Wikipedia, a “1961 French experimental musical romantic comedy written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard”. It was witty and beautiful to look at, and features a lot of lighthearted relationship conflict between the main character, Angela, who is a cabaret dancer yearning for motherhood, and her fussy noncommittal boyfriend, Emile. They sit before a burnt roast dinner that Angela prepared, and she sulks because Emile won’t entertain the only thing she asks of him, a baby. Through the most gorgeous pout you’ve ever seen, she utters, ‘women suffer so much’. To which he replies, ‘women are the cause of all suffering’. Angela’s pout remains fixed, the argument finished. She huffs away without touching the roast, angrily removing her apron.

Despite Angela being a confident woman who possesses a supposed sexual freedom as a cabaret dancer (i.e. she’s nude at work and she seems to enjoy that), her time and happiness remain fused with her boyfriend’s needs, moods, etc. By 1961, women in France did not have legal access to any method of contraception, like the pill or IUD. Women lived relatively modern lives, and yet bodily autonomy remained restricted, one could argue as a punishment. Angela hurries home after her mid-day shift (she emerged onstage in a sailor uniform which she deftly removed while singing about how beautiful she was), ties her apron tightly around her cinched waist and prepares a meal, albeit inedible, for Emile. Six thousand years have passed, give or take, and woman still bears the mark of Eve’s original sin. Conceal what is evil, suffer in turn, put on the apron and cook for your boyfriend who isn’t that cute anyway!

For all the negativity, if not plain indifference surrounding the apron as a garment, it’s role in fashion history is long and nuanced. Women being inclined to embellish and signify greater meaning with their dress has given the apron its storied past and recent rejuvenation. Alongside the maids and blacksmiths of the middle ages are the well-to-do classes who had little use for a scrap of worn fabric about the waist; and still, among the various reputable costume archives around the world, we see thousands of examples of beautifully designed and very gently worn aprons.

According to the Victoria and Albert Museum, aristocratic and upper-to-middle class women have been wearing finely worked linen aprons since the 16th century. And, because the linens were so delicate and the women so refined, historians have3 concluded that these early aprons were never intended to serve the wearer as protection from spills and splatters. Rather, a woman might wear a floor-length apron embellished with floral cut-work to symbolize her role as an accomplished wife and mother. The fine detail and pristine condition would reveal her status and add an extra layer of pretty to her outfit - 5 centuries later not so much has changed.

A later example, the below is an apron from the late 1800s, notable for its intricate floral embroidery and integration of sequins and metallic threads.4

Women turned something that was at best utilitarian, at worst punishing, into something beautiful. Here are a few favorites from my research:

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As much as I’d love to say I thought this up on my own, can be credited for my most recent bout of inspiration. She reached out to me as I landed in Kentucky for Christmas with a photo for an apron she thought maybe I could make. As a follower so deftly commented, it has no functionally practical use whatsoever; rather, it looks cool (imo) and adds a lot of textural/colorful interest to an outfit. I had never seen anything like it and didn’t have the words for what techniques were used to make it. So I brainstormed and came up with her (let’s call it the Juliana for ass-kissing sake):

Lately I’ve been seeing aprons, loosely defined please note, everywhere. From peplum waist cinchers like this from Deiji Studios to the Missoni look-alike I found on EBay for Kate’s birthday. The term has completely metamorphosized in my mind and provides an exciting opportunity to accessorize in a completely useless way. And the best news is you can find some incredible vintage options online, no need to source someone to handmake you one unless you really love the Juliana and absolutely have to have one for yourself ;) (in which case, dm me).

Whether you don an apron within the confines of your kitchen, or you choose to bend the rules and accessorize for the sake of accessorizing, know that you are part of living history and the ladies of the 17th c. would love your ingenuity ;) ;) ;)

I loved this project, I loved this research, and I love you for reading.

XOXO,

Isabel

But for what it’s worth, from the moment this particular photo of the sweater went viral, I was inundated with messages and comments pleading for the pattern. I had women commenting in multiple foreign languages, in which case I would reply with a Google translated version of: no, sorry, there is no pattern yet! but I’m working on one and it should be published soon. For the record, dear reader, this was a lie. I was not working on a pattern because I suffer from that most common disease of severely underestimating my own ability to do what so many can and have done before me. This is not the case for all things, only those acts with an audience (why perhaps I believed I could never write a newsletter because people would…read it). At some point though, I had to reckon with the part of me that believed publishing a pattern was not within reach, just as I had to eventually reckon with the same part that believed I could not post a letter for y’all to read or have someone over for a dinner that I had made, etc. I had to grab the metaphorical trowel and get my hands dirty, take my time laying every element out, and read it aloud only a few hundred times until I deemed it acceptable enough for another’s eyes. I recognize how exhausting this makes me sound :) I am often exhausted by myself and her standards but I admire those standards just the same.

For two years, my sweater remained ever elusive to its fans until I received a direct message on Pinterest from a woman named Carol on 9/29/23, and then another, 10 days later:

That put me right in my place. How selfish I had been! I hadn’t even considered the daughters! I was acting like a tyrannical monarch, hoarding bread when the people were starving. Thanks to Carol and her bravery, I bucked up and wrote the pattern about a year later; I hope she understands what it took for me to dive into the unknown and go forth in the direction of knitwear dreams.

Writing a pattern is a daunting process, especially if you are also not too familiar with reading them. I looked high and low for a how-to or a Knitwear Pattern Writing for Dummies, but there was little out there other than the macro steps to get one published. I needed like,,, what to include in my abbreviations table… At this point, I don’t even think I knew that there were terms for the techniques I was doing. wtf is K2TOG??? Sounds like the language my childhood best friend and I would speak so our moms couldn’t understand us (soglogeepogovogerog?….sleepover?)

So, in an attempt to Leave My Mark and Enhance the Knitting Experience for All, I am going to write all my advice for writing and publishing a knitwear pattern. I’ve published three at this point and only ONE has zero purchases - I call that a roaring success. If you are here because you love me, but don’t give two shits about pattern making, it’s so okay to check out now, just tell me you loved this letter the next time you see me.

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Everyone has a varied process for creating a piece of knitwear, or so I assume. For me, everything is visual, I see what I want to make, how I want it to lay, and know how I want it to feel. I sketch the general idea, think long and hard about what techniques will create the desired effect, and note those where they apply on the garment. I also write out basic measurements that will guide the gauge of the work. During this stage, I also create a few swatches with different materials to ensure I choose the correct needle size and yarn for the piece. Most people have already made a first draft of a garment before producing a pattern, but you can also write your pattern while you’re figuring things out for the first time - this method may just yield more mistakes. With a first draft in hand, or just an idea in mind, start as any inspired knitter would, with a google doc. You will eventually share this doc with test knitters, so easy shareability is essential.

My patterns all include these sections, in this order:

• 2-6 sentence description of your product, what makes it special, what it’s inspired by, what it evokes, difficulty, etc. This can include any helpful notes the knitter should know before embarking or skills necessary to complete the pattern (color switching, decreasing, increasing, intarsia, etc.)

• Gauge: X stitches by X rows = X inches by X inches using X size needles. Make a swatch, measure it, do the math and include inches and centimeters on all measurements throughout. If the math is confusing, with love, Google how to measure gauge.

• Abbreviations table: include any and all abbreviations you use throughout. Many are used in most patterns, like sts for stitches and k for knit; but some are going to be unique to your pattern. Abbreviate wherever you feel it necessary and where words or phrases get repetitive. For a striped sweater, I used MC for' ‘main color’ and AC for ‘accent color’. You can also research knitting dictionaries to get more familiar with terms and techniques you may want to use.

• Suggested yarn and suggested needles: Be specific and include even the name of the color of the yarn you used, some knitters want to recreate the piece verbatim. Include the amount of yarn per product size, a larger piece will require more yarn.

  • Ex: Approximately 300g, 350g, 400g Lily Sugar n’ Cream, Ecru for S, M, L sizes respectively

• Sizing details: Provide the product measurements for each size (laying flat), be as inclusive as you can, i.e. XXS-XXL if possible. I use a size chart developed by a knitter named Clare, she has a helpful post about hers and other charts you can use here.

  • Ex: S (20in w/40in C), M (22in w/44in C), L (24in w/48 in C)

• Write the pattern: Everything aforementioned is information the knitter needs to start the project. Once all of that is ironed out, you’ll write the specific step-by-step instructions for how to create your piece. I, and many other knitters I know, write their patterns as they work, noting every single move they make along the way.

  • I like to sketch out what I’m making and figure it out as I go, working intuitively with a rough plan. Writing a pattern requires you to distill your intuition into instructions that someone can understand. Write what you are doing as if they have never knitted before.

  • Provide cast-on details for each size. Ex: cast-on 95, 104, 115, 124, 135 sts and join in the round.

  • Link helpful YouTube videos or articles wherever helpful or relevant. I linked to videos explaining different cast-on methods, how to achieve twisted rib, etc.

  • Use free patterns online as a reference point for language, formatting or abbreviations.

• Send out a call for test knitters: Once you’ve finished writing, put out a call on Instagram, Reddit, or other knitting forums for testers who will use your pattern to create a piece of their own and provide helpful feedback for how to improve. This step is a great resource, as your testers will notice things you never would have considered. I shared a Google forms link on my Instagram for knitters to fill out where they provided contact information, knitting experience and their preferred size. I chose two testers per size and sent everyone an editable google doc where they could add comments and edits as they worked. Give testers a reasonable timeframe to work from and a deadline so you can publish shortly after.

• Make your edits and publish. I publish all my patterns on Ravelry which requires the pattern in PDF form. Ravelry is fairly intuitive to use!

Did I miss anything? Drop a comment if so. I am (usually) always available on Instagram (MarchmontStudio) and as you can tell, love to give advice if you need it.

XOXO,

Isabel

P.S. The final pattern cover, which I love very much

That specific shade of cerulean and friendship that feels like family and soft cotton sheets on my bed and the Fairisle sweater I throw on when the NY wind is biting are sacred and meaningful and much richer than I might’ve believed a few years ago. It is exceptional to have the things we have.

One of the greatest things about studying history is the ceaseless perspective. Nothing like learning about how many hours women devoted to darning their socks to make you grateful for the 20 hole-less pair that sit in your top dresser drawer. While doing my research for this, and any other letter I post here, I inevitably learn so much about how say, crochet became life-saving employment in Ireland during the famine, and my appreciation for whatever the topic is grows immeasurably. The Fairisle sweaters I saw stacked on the shelves of Old Navy, Gap and J.Crew represent so much more than it seemed to a 13 year old who desperately wanted a boyfriend and boobs. To me now, they are high art made accessible where they were previously effing nerdy.

In 2021, I moved to Edinburgh for my Master’s degree and was engulfed in a culture so rooted in and proud of its crafting traditions that I had no choice but to buy in (I may have bought in a little too energetically but that is the study abroad experience summarised - haha whoops used the ‘s’ as they do in the UK…)

In Scotland, a dribbling rain that settles in your bones and a wind that doesn’t let you forget how wet you may be, are constant. Surrounded by extinct volcanoes, Edinburgh is a city of adventurers if not just good-natured outdoorspeople who love a long walk through town, thus, they dress to meet the conditions without any overreaction (I’m thinking of the head to toe sleeping-bag parkas I’m about to see in Fort Greene Park pretty soon). On a typical blustery Scottish day you will see wool. Wool coats and wool beanies and wool mittens and wool sweaters. If you take anything away from this letter, it should be that wool is the most miraculous of fibres (oh! there it is again). First of all, it is ‘smart’; when it comes to water, wool can absorb vapor and push it out so that it evaporates almost instantly. As opposed to synthetics, it actively reacts to the body’s temperature, insulating against the cold and breathing when it’s warm. It is the most sustainable fiber in the world AND will decompose in ideal conditions in 3-4 months,1 why we wear anything else is a mystery. Wool has been used to make garments for millennia, no doubt because of its innate innovative qualities, and it takes to dye incredibly well - fun!

Look at this page from a knitting sample book from the mid 19th c.2 Isn’t that awesome. Within the book, a girl called Elizabeth Hume has saved swatches of her knitting ranging from fine lace to solid wool using both undyed and colorful Shetland yarn. 200 years ago this girl was knitting the same Fairisle vertical stripes that I just knitted to make my friend’s Christmas mittens. That is fucking awesome. Knitting with more than a single color was not common in the UK until the 19th c. Allegedly, and I mean really seriously allegedly, Spanish sailors fleeing North after a brutal battle with the English in 1588, wrecked ashore the tiny remote island of Fair Isle off the coast of Scotland. If we’re to believe this theory, the Spaniards who survived the wreck brought ashore knitwear featuring multi-colored patterns with which the craftspeople of Fair Isle were unfamiliar. The diffusion of complicated color work may have also resulted from trade with Scandinavia, but how romantic to think this came from this:

The specific characteristics that make Fairisle unique were indeed developed on the island over generations. The key difference between Fairisle colorwork and intarsia is the use of ‘floats’, which make whatever your knitting twice or THRice the thickness of a piece using a singular color, beautiful and incredibly practical for a people constantly battered by wind and rain. Essentially, this is done by holding each strand you are using as you knit the row, swapping colors as the pattern dictates, so, if on the right side of the piece you are seeing brown, on the inside, you will see a blue float, waiting for its turn.

Fairisle colloquially evokes a broad range of colors, patterns, shapes etc. But, true, authentic garments from Fair Isle proper showcase few distinct motifs and are knitted by masters who live on or near the island. These garments are incredibly hard to come by, as they’re knitted completely by hand - often the artists only sell to those who buy in-person, so you won’t find much online. I’ve gathered a collection of gorgeous examples you can shop, looking specifically for 1. pure wool 2. a rich story 3. practical design (as I find it)

And a special feature for the Real Deal, a traditional fisherman sweater with 19th century Fairisle motifs, completely hand knit and constructed in Scotland using 100% undyed lambswool. A heritage piece if I’ve ever seen one. This is what I’ll travel to Scotland to purchase once I’ve become incredibly wealthy from my…job a nonprofit…you heard me.

Now, what I’ll leave you with are a few photos of my current project. I’m using the Pelican Sweater pattern by Isager. My mom got me her most recent pattern book for Christmas and it is chock-full with Fairisle. This is some of the trickiest knitting I’ve ever done, but once I get the hang of it, the pelicans aren’t too difficult to knit out. I’m so excited that I’ve gotten this far, it might propel me to finish this by springtime. hahahaaaaa…………………while it is arduous, I am learning about the time, concentration, skill and patience that a piece of art commands and that, to me, is invaluable.

Love you!!!

xxx,

Isabel

Agonizing over what would be as special, unique, darling etc. as her, I thought back to that initial image and knew it’d be perfect, for she loves an out-of-pocket outfit-making accessory and wears her hair in a bun about 68% of the time. So on a brisk day in January, I made the long walk to Woolyn for the smallest crochet needle I could find, and two gorgeous spools of lace-weight yarn, one in cream and the other French blue. I used the above antique pattern from 1973, though there are also a hundred and one YouTube videos on how to make your own as well. I used those as reference when the language in this pattern got confusing.

This is by far the smallest most delicate thing I’ve ever made and I was in awe as I worked, pausing to take photos because I couldn’t believe I was doing that. When I finished and proudly showed my roommate Julia, she commented ‘it looks like something I shouldn’t touch’. I wish she felt this way about my butt. Weeks later, as my enthusiasm for making something new meant that I had finished about a month before the actual birthday, I wrapped one cream and one blue bun cover in tissue paper and surprised Birthday Kate. I’m speaking for her when I say she loved them; here she is proudly exhibiting her birthday presents, bun cover and a wicker squirrel filled with tulips courtesy of Julia.

I later made one for Kate’s friend Juliana, styled below. She is a perfect example of how to pluck this accessory out of its original context where it would look stuffy/matronly, and fold it effortlessly into your own style, Juliana’s being cool, unexpected and refreshing from what I’ve seen (brown-noser alert).

And one more photo from my own life before I get into the heart of where these beautiful things came from. I saw this girl walking home from dance class in Chelsea donning a massive green bun cover to match her monochrome outfit. This serendipitous sighting ignited my dormant love for crochet and is why I am writing about it now. Let’s get into the history.

Historians can not pinpoint a single time or culture wherein crochet got its start. As you can imagine like many fiber arts, the history is long and intricate depending on where you focus your magnifying glass. Annie Potter, crochet master and author of A Living Mystery: The International Art and History of Crochet, claims the craft was developed in the 16th century, known as ‘crochet lace’ in France and ‘chain lace’ in England.

However, there is evidence of very early forms of crochet in Arabia, Anatolia, China and South America long before the 1500s.1 An historian with much more credentials than I could spend months researching the origins of crochet, so I have to be okay with a little mystery here, but it is widely supposed that as a result of increased trade, crochet traversed borders and filtered through regions to find itself in the hands of some incredibly skilled female artisans of the 16th c. - that at least can be proven.

Flemish women especially built a reputation for being absolute masters of crochet lace-making at this time. The skill became a means for poor women and girls to earn a living, so lace-making schools were erected, mainly in Bruges, Belgium to formalize the teaching and dissemination of the craft.2 Crochet as we know it today was developed as a more ‘primitive’ lace variety, much easier and faster to craft than traditional needle lace. Ursuline nuns from Ireland in the 1700s learned crochet in France, and brought the skill back to their convents and needlework schools, until the famine in the 1840s inspired a much vaster cottage industry in the country.3 At the time, when the craft itself was endangered by mechanized needlework, the acceleration of fashion cycles and the decline of the convent in the early to mid 19th century, the famine catalyzed the boom of crochetwork, an unfortunate circumstance for a very lovely result.4 Again, impoverished women and girls worked tirelessly to create the elaborate motifs that would later be joined together and sold, becoming the primary breadwinners of their households.

Not to get repetitive with Silk Worm, but Queen Victoria again played a huge role in the popularization of crochet. It had, up until this point, been seen as an inferior version of the more time-consuming needle lace, but when Victoria wore Irish crochet to an art exposition in London, the craft exploded in fashionable circles where it hadn’t flourished before.5

Where crochet headwear comes in is also a bit of a mystery. There are innumerable histories of head-covering and hair decoration to explore across cultures, but the bun cover more specifically seems to stem directly from ballet. Ballerinas, as I’m sure we all know, wear their hair in tight buns to keep the bulk of it out of their faces and to maintain more precise balance while dancing. Hair covers keep fly-aways in place and allow for further decoration and costume enhancement.

In celebration of this letter and with a desire to have and wear my own, I made another crochet bun cover, this time with long tails. I hope you love it like I do.

XOXO,

Isabel

Within the first 20 minutes of the film, we’re introduced to the seven von Trapp children, of which Maria is governess because she was a bad nun in the sense that she could not stop singing out loud at inappropriate times and was generally annoying to have around, two more ways in which I relate. Each child, responding to their father’s whistle (he’s a naval captain and evidently brings his work home), marches down the grand front staircase in matching uniforms - sailor collars and all. The boys in shorts, the girls in pleated skirts which give the illusion of a drop-waist dress.

It was here, 35,000 ft above the Atlantic Ocean, that I was inspired to dig a little deeper. With my scrappy historical research skills, I have attempted to find the origins of the wildly profusive sailor collar, like Ahab on his mighty quest to find Moby Dick…

In 18th century England, the Royal Navy provided uniforms to upper ranks very closely resembling the dress uniforms of the British Army, as for those lowly seamen, a general dressing guide was given for time on board: striped shirt to provide contrast against the sea should you be unlucky enough to fall overboard, and large neckerchief to protect against the elements. Men came from home dressed accordingly, much like a group of bridesmaids are instructed to don the same color of pale yellow and a flashing hot pink sash denoting their inferior rank to the Bride to Be. The neckerchief here is what slowly morphed into what we now know as the sailor collar, a large protective addition to the heavyweight shirt that set mariners apart from other servicemen.

Later into the 19th century, lower ranks such as seaman and petty officers were issued formal uniforms in the U.S. Navy - their wool jumpers closely resembling our idea of a sailor top.

I found a plethora of daguerreotypes, courtesy of the Library of Congress, depicting Union sailors serving during the American Civil War. Here the sailor no longer wears a separate neckerchief as his only line of defense, but instead the large collar is incorporated into the uniform’s design, with a knotted kerchief underneath. Now everyone can match!

How naval garb seeped into popular culture is less a mystery than one might expect. Queen Victoria, trendsetter and crowned hero of women’s fashion and creative braided bangs, is undoubtedly the reason sailor collars filtered into the mainstream. 18 year old Victoria was quite popular when she was crowned Queen of England in 1838; her wedding to Prince Albert in 1840 was highly publicized and her choice of a white wedding gown influenced the western tradition that we know today. As for sailor-wear, we can trace our maritime trend in question to one fateful day aboard the royal yacht. In 1846, 4 year old Albert Edward emerged in a tiny version of the sailors’ uniform commissioned by his mum Queen Victoria, a darling display which upon being immortalized in the below painting by Franz Winterhalter, set in motion a widespread trend of nautical fashion in children, and later, adult dress as a symbol of affluence.

In 1930, Captain C.S. Freeman of the U.S. Navy wrote a critical article on the naval uniform, clearly communicating his disdain for sailor aesthetics’ permeation in women’s fashion. Specifically on the ‘dress jumper’ he opined:

While his argument has merit, I think the naval set as a whole should be proud of their contribution to fashion history, I hope our men in blue hold their heads high knowing their uniforms have influenced the likes of Dior, Bode, and now…me (yes I just put myself in the same category as Dior). As for my own style, I personally cannot get enough of the sailor collar. As previously harped on, I find the von Trapp ‘uniform’ precious beyond measure, and in 2022 I found my very own at a Housing Works in Chelsea for $30, unadulterated joy displayed below. I altered the waist of the dress, because honestly the drop was a bit too low for my liking, and consider it a most-valued piece in my closet. I usually like to pair it with cowboy boots to give it some edge…lol as if.

This past July, riddled with Covid and dreaming of cooler days I set out to design and knit my own sailor-inspired sweater. It would be like any other sweater, but with a big obnoxious collar - perfect in my eyes :). The initial sketch was a lot more colorful than the end result turned out to be, mostly because the precise colors I wanted weren’t available in the yarn I had my eyes on. I landed on reliable navy with a preppy white and green varsity stripe on the waist, wrists and collar in 100% cotton yarn (I can’t stand to be too warm, even in the winter). I’m calling this jumper the Mariner for obvious reasons, although, maybe it should be the Albert Edward? A bit of a mouth full. The pattern for this sweater, whose creation was long and arduous, I’m not even being drama, is now available on my Ravelry store for purchase! If you are not a knitter and came here for the story, thank you.

With love and salty kisses,

Isabel

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Among my top five books of the year is Postcard by Anne Berest, in which she quotes artist Louise Bourgeois: “if your need is to refuse to abandon the past, you must recreate it.”1 This really resonated with me! I underlined, I re-read, and that night at dinner, brought my book to the table to read aloud to my roommate. It affirmed my aforementioned preoccupation with using historical sources as inspiration. I have also always, or as long as I have bought my own clothes, relished in the possibility of wearing something old, with a story, and a previous owner just like me. And I am not the only one by a longshot. Resurfacing trends of the past is trendy in and of itself, like right now for example, our collective infatuation with vintage or vintage-inspired intimates (silk nighties, slip skirts, etc.). At Chelsea Flea, you’ll find collector Francois Hugon (ofleisure on Instagram) selling pristine antique nightgowns and camisoles, sourced from an elderly woman in the remote countryside of France, his booth buzzing with women from this city looking to get their hands on The Real Thing.

This summer in New York bloomers abounded for this reason, a trend that is so unequivocally undressed and intimate it is sometimes laughable to see on the street. It was also unbearably hot, the heat radiating off the concrete in dizzying waves. When picking an outfit, I wanted to be as undressed as possible while still communicating to the world whatever it is any of us communicate through our clothes i.e. I Love Vintage, I Am Young & Hot, I Flirt With Irony When I Get Dressed. In walk bloomers.

Bloomers in their current iteration, that is low-waisted and scrunched up to micro-short length, look as if the wearer should be blurting ‘uppy’ with hands in the air and a pacifier hanging from their mashed-pea-encrusted mouth. Indecent indeed. To me, they are cute and funny and relaxed in an I-was-wearing-these-around-the-house-and-just-happened-to-pair-them-with-an-equally-chic-and-gorgeous-top-to-run-errands-in type of way.

Their origins are steeped in women’s liberation. In the 1850s, the Dress Reform Movement was underway which idealized less restrictive and formal clothing to allow women the freedom of movement to participate in leisure activities and, in some circles, signal a rebellious spirit.2 Famously, bloomers were made popular on the scene by activist Amelia Bloomer (I have raging name jealousy here), who wore them under a dress with a hem short enough to show her frilly pantalettes underneath.3 The style became a symbol of women’s suffrage, as Amelia was a political lecturer, and I presume a ball at parties.

Bloomers were a practical option when you needed to bike around town all day passing out leaflets in the hopes of persuading everyday folk that women deserved the right to vote! I all summer, in my micro bloomers Citi Biking to Williamsburg in lieu of the shutdown G, felt incredibly close to my rebellious ancestors.

All this to say, I love them and wear them and was inspired enough to make my own. If you don’t have it in you to sew yourself, I made three pair from vintage 100% cotton fabrics and they are each available on my website, Marchmont Studio. Ranging from XS/S to L/XL, my pride and joy, here they are below - snag before the weather no longer permits.

For those who do sew and want a quick tutorial, here’s how I went about it:

I hardly ever use patterns because I’m incredibly picky and have strong opinions about design AND I would rather work something out on my own than follow someone else’s guidelines - this often results in unwearable pieces :):):) excluding these. For some reason, on a particularly slow wfh day, I decided to self-draft a pattern piece (normally I just cut straight from the fabric - DO NOT RECOMMEND) from some butcher paper I had leftover in the kitchen. I watched a single YouTube video for inspiration on the shape and drew the below out, sans any sort of tool that could help me draw a straight line (again, do not recommend). Bloomers are incredibly simple to make, there is a single pattern piece that is duplicated to make each pant leg (2 cut pieces total), and you can usually fit both pieces within a single half yard of fabric. Below are the approximate measurements for a S/M or about a 28” waist. This is a generous measurement allowing for about a 1/2” seam allowance (but then again I don’t really measure my seams) and lots of roominess, bloomers should be comfy after all:

Zigzag stitch or overlock on the raw fabric edges to prevent fraying. Place pattern pieces right sides together, making sure the back and front crotch pieces match up (make some sort of marking on the back crotch to indicate) and sew along the pink dotted lines. Press your seams, turn the fabric so that the seams are lined up back-to-front and sew the crotch together as normal. There isn’t a great way for me to describe how to sew a crotch without a detailed visual…look this one up on YouTube if you’re unsure, or look at some shorts you already own and figure how it’s done! For the elasticated waist and legs, fold your waistband (and leg-bands) over about an inch or as wide as your elastic, and sew leaving a small opening to place the elastic. Measure your waist and thighs (or wrap elastic around waist and thighs and cut where the two ends overlap). Put elastic on a large safety pin and weave through the band, making sure the elastic doesn’t twist. Sew elastic ends together and close the opening. Repeat this process for the leg-bands and you’re finished! I suggest adding a sweet monogram and/or button on the front to complete the garment.

XOXO,

Isabel

After all this time, I think I can confidently say I am the only knitter that Jackie churned out from that group of church-girl friends. I became obsessed with yarn, the variety of colors and textures in the Jo-Ann Fabric yarn aisle was to me like a vast array of salt water taffy at a beach town’s tacky tourist shop. In years to come, I would spend many hours on my couch knitting while my brothers and I watched The Office, my addiction to fiber arts fueled by my artist step-mom’s similar obsession with the stuff. Beth and I now share the very same proclivity for constantly adding or changing decorative aspects of our interior spaces. It felt like every time I came home, the stairs were painted a new color or the large paintings she had done of us kids had been rearranged along the walls. Our house, her living project.

During an especially boring fall break in 2013, I made what I believed to be the outfit-making accessory of the goddamn century: a brick red infinity scarf that I would wear fashionably over a thin black and white striped peplum top from Urban Outfitters, the entire look pulled together by Revlon’s Raspberry Bite. The scarf made waves. My friends couldn’t believe I had made, from my own hands and with very little monetary investment, the thing we were all clamoring for, the thing we could not get enough of, the accessory that ushered us from girlhood directly to sophisticated woman with latte, lipstick and a purpose -hood. My sweet mayonnaise-making, Siamese-cat-owning neighbor Jackie and the infinity scarf trend of the 2010s are what, in the end, made me a knitter. 

I now live in Brooklyn with my best friends, constantly bombarded with inspiration and the insatiable desire to create, which I deem an immeasurable blessing. I have an absolute aversion to sitting still, thus, I knit because I have to. But my friends also play a huge role in what I make these days. They are my friends, after all, because they inspire me; they share with me the stories, colors, artworks, and people that spark in them some sort of delight or fascination. We live in, what feels to me, a bubble of creativity and so, I am never at a loss for what to make next.

This bubble also means that almost every single one of my dearest has a newsletter. My initial hesitancy at creating my own can be boiled down to my belief that nothing I have to say could be more valuable than what is already out there, and if you know me, you know I think the words of my friends are genius and invaluable. I’d been noodling on the thought for a bit, and ultimately decided that I have too many things I want to research and learn about to not create this thing. Too many spur of the moment design ideas I wish I could share with more makers. So, welcome to Silk Worm. The name means little other than I like the imagery. The silkworm’s sole purpose is to produce the fiber that is eventually wound into skeins and woven for fabrics. For over 4,000 years, the Chinese have harvested these threads from the larvae of the Silk Moth, which has, as a result, gone completely extinct from the wild because of our human intervention.1 The only point of the silkworm now is to create. We could talk on and on about the harm we’ve caused given that humans have effectively clipped the Silk Moth’s wings for good. But that’s not why I’m here.  

I want to share, not just what I’m making or planning to make, but the inspiration behind the thing. Often, I pluck colors and shapes from historical sources, and I would love to delve deep into fashion history to uncover why, for example, we are so obsessed with sailor aesthetics (I’m telling on myself here). Why is it that I cannot stop collecting, and in turn making, tops with big collars? I’ll also share bts of my current projects, what is frustrating me, what trick I learned, why I chose a twisted rib as opposed to a regular rib, etc.

I’m excited! And I hope, so are you. 

Raspberry Bite kisses, 

Isabel

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