Wear: Sweaters
a journey through purpose and aesthetics
I. Sweaters, Then and Now
I have a long, complex relationship with sweaters. Coming of age in the late 80’s, wearing a preppie ski sweater marked one as fancy and rich, the villain in a movie. I loved those kinds of sweaters, though. I loved their bulky ability to keep me warm in all my young adult shenanigans: skiing, downhill and cross-country, watching hockey games, drinking beer behind grocery stores or impromptu campouts all winter long, making out in parked cars with the heat turned off. If you left your coat inside, a good sweater could hold you for the length of a run to the gas station or a cigarette.
When I was younger, I hated shopping. Mainly because my mom and I did not agree on what made a piece of clothing “cute” and even worse, what made a piece of clothing “flattering to my figure.”
So I circled things I wanted in catalogs and since she wasn’t a huge fan of shopping with me, either, my mother ordered them. This was mostly a workable system.
Of late those catalog days have become a fond memory, one that perhaps unduly influences my thinking. Because in the last decade, I’ve been disheartened by trends in sweater design. My sister calls this the age of the “farty sweater.”
II. What Makes a Farty Sweater
A bad sweater starts with cheap, unreliable materials. Acrylic, viscose, rayon, polyester. Some of these materials off-gas a terrible smell that I always associate with the kind of inexpensive sweaters that somehow manage to pill and snag even as they’re hanging on sale racks. These materials don’t take kindly to rounds of sweat stains and deodorant rings, either, so they’re meant to last a season and then be tossed. This bothers me a lot, though I know that the world needs inexpensive clothing; people deserve to be warm and covered. Further, I understand that the clothing and fabric world is not a pure benevolent one. I would like to live in a world that produces clothing in a sustainable, gentle way. What I find unforgiveable, however, is the gall of retailers who sell sweaters made of this trash at steep price points.
Where there are bad materials, you can also expect to find gimmicky features, sure to date you soon after purchase. Shoulder cut-outs, yoke backs, lace or pleather detailing, rose gold grommets, cropping, an applique of the Eiffel Tower, a wannabe cheeky saying in a swoopy font—“Sunday Funday.” There is something disturbing to me about sweaters that aren’t constructed for long lives. Maybe it’s the origin story of the sweater: made by hand of clacking needles or diligent hooks, looping and pulling yarn in hopes that you will keep yourself and your loved ones warm. This might be why I find the most disrespectful gimmick to be anything that could described as “distressed.”
Look: I live in Minnesota. Staying warm is a serious enterprise. In winter, we have weather that regularly dips below 10 degrees Fahrenheit. The nerve of someone trying to sell me something that’s not fit for this job! If I wanted to wear a “distressed” sweater, I can just never donate to thrift stores all the sweaters I currently own, which are falling apart due to wear and age. I could be a ragamuffin in perpetuity and never pay for this mass-produced rubbish pushed through the human workstream. Staying warm, being dressed for the weather does not tolerate the frippery of gimmicks. Stop with the needless festooning and make what all people in my climate need: a sturdy, well-made, functional basic.
This brings me to design. Sweaters need sleeves. Sweaters need to cover. Cropped sweaters? Short-sleeved sweaters? Why are you wasting time and materials? My own personal annoyance comes from any other feature that gets in my way of doing normal life: balloon sleeves or batwings that impede movement, a cowl that desires to asphyxiate me. Other problem designs, like cut-out cleavage areas, off-the-shoulder, cardigans that refuse to do their job and close with buttons or other mechanisms? These seem like concepts that didn’t start as sweaters, garments that wish they were doing anything else besides warming a body’s torso. The most faithless of these? Cardigans without fastenings. They seem predicated on the hope that somehow the wearer will always be able to wrap the material around themselves, maybe at some emotional moment involving staring at the sea and contemplating mortality. But in practice, these slothful cardigans make me feel like I’m wearing a sweater designed after female genitalia, with labia swooping and flopping every which way.
Coatigans and belted sweaters are especially egregious. As previously mentioned, in cold months, I dress for the weather. I have a real coat for outdoor purposes, thank you very much; not just because I’m outside with my dogs for extended periods but also because in my state, you are brought up to be prepared for when your car breaks down, loses heat and forces you to shelter in place until rescue comes. The coats I wear don’t play. I don’t need duster lengths, I don’t need a belt and I don’t need additional bulk underneath; a sweater of modest layering is just fine. Furthermore, my home and the buildings I’m entering are heated establishments; I’ll be testing the limits of my clinical-strength deodorant 15-minutes into a grocery trip with my coat still on; I’m not a wrestler trying to sweat myself into a lower weight class—I just need to buy supplies for dinner.
I’m of an age and geographical niche that is specific and probably not the demographic contemporary designers seek to monetize. However, unlike when I was younger, I actually have the money to spend on “investment piece” clothing. I’ve collected enough weird, inexpensive stuff at thrift stores, no question. But I’m at the age where I’m interested in acquiring clothing that won’t go out of style and smell like deodorant and BO after a month of use. I don’t enjoy constantly cleaning out and re-organizing my closet or thinking about what feels good to wear and what fits me. I just want to put on the clothes, feel comfortable and properly warm or ventilated and move on. Perhaps this is why my opinions are not being listened to?
III. The Stuff Dream Sweaters Are Made Of
Imagine a sweater heaven; let’s call it Woolhalla. I think this is fair, as wool is the royalty of materials. Wool does not mess around. You have to take care of wool, yes, but it takes care of you. However, I’d like to think that there is room in Woolhalla for other time-tested materials like cotton, linen and cashmere. I want material that can breathe, that can lay smooth and drape properly, that does not trap body odor inside petroleum-based fibers.
In my own personal cedar closet of Woolhalla, I’ve laid up a store of beauty. Fair Isle yoking is there, with buttons or crewneck. Ski-sweater detailing is nearby, promising red-cheeked wholesome warmth after a day in the cold. In this cedar haven, all the cardigans hit at the hip and reliably close with good buttons or metal clasps. All shawl collars are in emerald green and royal blue, never the off-white or browns that wash me out. Aran Island sweaters are there, too—the off-white colors are fine for my neighbors in Woolhalla—all respect to them, but no yellow-toned hues for me, thanks.
In this closet, you will see stripes—damn, I love stripes—and dark, vibrant greens, blues of all shades, jet blacks and pure winter whites. There is no grey in my Woolhalla. But there is a print catalog mailed to me there that is a mixture of L.L. Bean, Dale of Norway, Woolrich, G.H. Bass and J. Crew circa 1990. I page through this masterwork, murmuring and dog-earing favorites, while sipping coffee, my featherbed on my lap, my dog beside me, snow falling softly right outside the window.
like what I’ve made?
Good story! My struggle with sweaters: I'm allergic to animal fibers, and I overheat easily. It's better that I live in a climate without brutally cold winters, now.
some of your most inspired work. love it. especially the labial folds.