The 8 very real stages of a knitting addiction.

By: Joni Edelman for Ravishly.

I was a yarn crafter before it was cool. I know everyone says that, but I really mean it. I gave crocheted baby blankets to my friends when crocheted baby blankets were worthy of a collective eye-roll. You know what I’m talking about. That time in 1985 when your grandma gave you a bulky knit sweater for Christmas (maybe with reindeer on it), and you cried, from humiliation. Surprise! That same sweater can now be found on eBay — for $189 plus shipping. Everything your gramma loved is now the stuff you can only hope to thrift.

I don’t know how it happened, but it happened, and knitting (and crocheting too) is now not only acceptable, but AWESOME. Knit a washcloth? Crafter status: Novice. Knit your own sweater? Crafter Status: Queen.

The stages of becoming a Dedicated Knitter are nuanced and may not be easily deciphered by the new-to-knitting novice. But before you know it you’ve gone from craft envy to craft overlord.

"But before you know it you’ve gone from craft envy to craft overlord." Image via iStock.

1. Feigned interest. Your friends are knitting and it seems ok. Like, you know, something for bored people who have no life to engage in while the rest of the world throws lavish parties and sees recently released films and stays up-to-date on popular cable shows like Game of Thrones.

Knitters don’t even have Netflix. Netflix is for people living in this century. But your friends are doing it and you are a contentious person, with a relatively good grasp on Instagram etiquette. As such, you regularly offer comments of congratulations without being too effervescent. You don’t want your enthusiasm to be mistaken for interest.

2. Actual interest. You don’t want to love it, but you do. Every Instagram photo is only shoving you further down the hole — #knitting #crochet #knittah4life #yarnporn — oh the things you can make! Visions of scarves dance your head. With reckless abandon you shall make SOCKS!. Sweaters. Hats. Blankets. OH MY. Tread carefully. Actual interest must be nuanced. You can’t let on that you’re too interested, stay cool.

That concentration. Image via iStock.

3. Attempt. Lincraft seems the logical crafting choice; a pair of needles, some yarn (whatever is cheapest, obviously), and book, and you’re off!

Not so fast there, overachiever.

You discover there is a thing called “casting-on” and it has literally nothing to do with fishing or movies. Shit. This is harder than it looked. Youtube ahoy. Oh my god what are these people doing. They are just tying knots. This is going to end badly.

BUT, you’ve already posted pictures of your yarn and needles and book. Failure is not an option. You persevere.


4. Success. It only took 171 attempts to cast-on but YOU ARE DOING IT. And you are knitting, and if you’re extra zealous, you’re purling too! You make a scarf. It’s accidentally 9 feet long. Pretend you meant for it to be 9 feet long. If you’re confident enough, no one will be the wiser.

5. Addiction. You have forgotten to eat. The Scarf is Life. All hail the 9 foot scarf. You join Ravelry. Your yarn stash grows. Someone tells you about Yarn Haus and Bendigo Woollen Mills and now you know the vast yarn options that exist and your life is changed forever.

"You have amassed enough yarn to make socks for the entire neighbourhood." Image via iStock.

6. Over-Zealous. You’ve got 17 projects in your queue — ranging from simple scarf to full-size lace shawl — and no one will stop you in your quest for ultimate knitting domination. Except you. You are definitely going to stop yourself be becoming paralysed by 17 patterns you can’t even read.

7. Buried. You have amassed enough yarn to make socks for the entire neighbourhood, and yet have only actually made one half of one sock. Yarn snobbery is in full effect. You wouldn’t be caught dead in the yarn aisle at Lincraft. Only small batch hand-dyed baby suri alpaca, or some other equally obscure yarn will do (my favourite is Anzula, worth EVERY penny).

8. Admission. You have a problem. This problem calls for a very simple solution: shove the yarn under your bed. Boom.

Did we miss any? What would you add?

This post originally appeared on Ravishly.