Posted on July 6, 2004 at 5:00 pm

For the six of you who weren’t so mistakenly pissed off enough about my concern for my friend who can’t knit that you’re still checking in, here’s the real deal. This should send you skittering back to your friends the NICE bloggers:
I hate the new Knitty. There, I said it. (There goes any chance that Amy might ever publish one of my designs.) And there’s no mistaking it. I find the whole mannequin thing about as arousing as a Fredericks of Hollywood window.

Wow. What a stretch in the metaphor department. A mannequin reminds me of a mannequin. I have fallen so low. show_me_that_stitch_again

First, let me say that I think as an intellectual exercise, it’s a fine thing to take knitting and slough off the sediment of granny associations that come with the territorry.
But this whole loud and proud marriage of knitting with sex just seems sterile and forced to me.
(anyone here but me ever been to a dance club on Patpong Road? Anyone ever see Spaulding Gray’s Swimming to Cambodia? You know the ping pong ball thing? That’s what I’m thinking about here.)

I am of the school that believes that little in life escapes what is political. Beauty is culturaly determined. Language is infinitely deep and ineffable, and the reader’s associations can run riot with the author’s intent. And the picking up of the needles and making something yourself is a simple and also a complicated thing, and I speak not of stitches, my dear. To declare that knitting is sexy, to me, is a political declaration but ultimately over-determined and unecessary. It makes plain the anxiety of the speaker that perhaps knitting is just something that grannies do, and hey. . . Would a Granny Knit a dildo cozie? What I mean in a few words–By saying it’s so makes it not so.

Are you still reading this thing? geez. I thought you’d quit at the Russell Crowe picture.

You know what’s sexy in my knitting book? Protesters knitting on the Mall. Cosmopolitan groups of women who together speak five languages gathering in a Paris Cafe. I think Harlot posing in a peekaboo mango tank is bodacious and fabulous! I thought Queer Joe’s Victorian Underwear was about the best decoletage I’d seen this side of a secure page in a long time. I think the parade of Charlotte’s Webs draped over the languid and triumphant arms of knitters in colours enough to make Gauguin jealous is truly erotic. I mean, who can forget Kerstin’s Charlotte as Sarong? (scroll down to June 2nd).
Knitting is a sensual experience. The slip of the fiber through your fingers and the magic of intimacy between you and the finished object? Every stitch, everystitch a thing you made? And the yarn. I mean, Koigu?
Cashmerino Super-chunk?
Giving something you made to some one and having them LOVE it?
And better yet, WEAR the damn thing?

uh, I’ve got to excuse myself.