This sweater has taken me over two years to knit. According to my Ravelry project, I started it in October 2021 and it’s on my needles as I write this.
Non-knitters may say, “Two years? That seems like an inordinate amount of time to spend to get just one sweater.” Frankly, knitters might say the same thing. The average length of time to knit a sweater is 20-30 hours according to this jauntily clad Medium author in a cabled yellow vest1. In the vast majority of cases that’s not contiguous time, of course, but knitters are fickle creatures and we tend to search for ways we can optimize our output so we can move on to the next exciting cast on.
Why has this particular sweater taken me an above average length of time? It’s not the colorwork yoke; that was the first thing I finished. Each row on the yoke brought something interesting and new that kept me knitting. This was the first stranded colorwork sweater that I attempted and I felt challenged and fulfilled by learning this new skill. My tension isn’t perfect but it fits well across my shoulders and the overall affect is what I was hoping for.
It’s the sleeves that have been giving me hell. Sleeves are long tubes of decreasing circumference and are the opposite of challenging and fulfilling. They have stood in generations of knitters’ paths to finished sweaters and no matter the gauge they seem to grow glacially. And then you have to knit two of them!
After finishing the colorwork and the body of the sweater, I let this project languish for 6 months before coming back to it. It sat mournfully sleeveless in a basket by my couch until I finally pulled out. It was so close to being finished; this would surely be as close to instant gratification as a knitter can get.
My initial notes characterize the decreases on the sleeves as “alarmingly” rapid. I could not bear ripping back and restarting though, so I plowed forward and bound off both sleeves as quickly as I could.
The gratification might have been instant but it was limited. The sleeves felt significantly too tight and stretched the fabric across my shoulders. I wore this sweater out a few times but always felt uncomfortable and unhappy in it.
This sweater has sat unworn in my bureau this year. It would be perfect for the festive season but just looking at it makes me feel disappointed. I’m a proficient knitter, why couldn’t I get this sweater to turn out how I wanted?
It is frustrating to come back to imperfect or unfinished project2. I want to enjoy this sweater in all its Arctic glory but the thought of putting it back on my needles was not inspiring the same excitement as the possible future sweaters still latent in my stash yarn.
In the year that this project has been abandoned, though, I learned that knitters often tighten up their tension on small circumferences like sleeves. I adjusted my needle size on subsequent sweater sleeves and yielded much better results. I peered closely at the knitting on the problem sweater and could discern a slight tightening in the fabric. Maybe the decreases would have been less alarming if I had known to adapt my tools to the task…
I found myself between projects this weekend and suddenly got a wild urge to cut into this sweater and re-knit those sausage casing sleeves. I didn’t let the feeling pass; out came the scissors and the frogging began. It will take time to redo both sleeves but how gratifying will it be to finally wear this sweater with pride?
Seriously, click through! The vest is adorable and the author includes other fascinating knitting statistics that they got from scraping Ravelry.
Hellllllo subscribers! Sorry it’s been ages since I dropped into your inbox. I’m learning and growing here too.
Love it! You got this!
Woo! Can’t wait to see the amended version 🧶