Yesterday was a good day. A friend of mine came to visit from out of town, and I got to spend time at my LYS while helping her pick out yarn for a sweater. (It’s not often that I get to play “yarn consultant” so I’m usually pretty excited when the opportunity arises.)
We hemmed and hawed over which colour to go with, picked out her purchases and then fell into a conversation with the cashier about the sometimes expensive cost of yarn.
Now, this is not something that crosses my mind often when I’m buying yarn. In fact, I rarely ever take into consideration the cost of the item because at the end of the day it’s about knitting with something that feels good in my hands. (Why knit with it if it doesn’t bring you joy?)
Purchasing yarn, for me, is a sensory experience. I stare at the colours with intent (revelling in how they blend or speckle together), lightly run my fingers through the strands (acquainting my fingertips with the feel of the fibre) and sometimes (because it’s all or nothing) I might even give it a sniff or two. (If it’s okay for wine aficionados, then, in my opinion, it’s definitely okay for yarn aficionados.)
Now you might be thinking to yourself “that’s a bit of a weird process” (unless you’re just like me and you understand 100%) and you know what I can accept that. But in the end, I enjoy my method because, in all honesty, we’re going to spend a lot of time together. I would even go so far as to say that the yarn and I embark on relationships of varying degrees. Sometimes, it’s a quick and easy fling, sometimes a long commitment or sometimes it’s just a yarn you wanted to try out but alas the relationship it wasn’t meant to be.
I know everyone has their process and you should do what works best for you. I, personally, just find it hard to use yarn I don’t enjoy touching. (Not for myself and not for someone else.)
A girl’s gotta have some standards after all.