Thelife- I love making gifts for my family and friends.
- To me, a handmade present expresses love and care, and I really like the process of creating them.
One thing about me? I'm going to get excited about the prospect of a craft, even if it's way, way, way, above my current skill level.
I'm not sure what's to blame — a sense of hubris fostered by "gifted kid syndrome," general impatience, a cockiness from watching someone on TikTok do the same thing in 30 seconds — but whatever it is, I need to slow the hell down.
It's not that I'm hopeless with crafts, but maybe I shouldn't try, for example, to attempt woodworking when I haven't even successfully sculpted clay before.
If you're like me, read on to see what crafts I could definitely handle, and which other ones I really, really should have left to the professionals. Some include pictures, while others were so bad they were left un-photographed. Reader, I'll leave them to your imagination.
My first failed craft was a pair of knit fingerless gloves.
This project started out so hopeful for me — encouraged by my first successful completion of a knit hat, I decided to make a pair of matching gloves.
Who cared that the pattern I was using didn't call for such bulky yarn? Not me! I was sure it would turn out totally fine.
I jumped into the project with such reckless abandon that I didn't realize how messed up my glove size was until I was almost done with it and decided to try it on.
My heart sank as I looked at the "fingerless" glove, which fit on my wrist but extended far over my knuckles. I also could not move my thumb at all, for some reason I still can't figure out.
What I could have tried instead: actually testing the gauge of my knitting projects.
Huge surprise — sometimes, people suggest you follow what may seem like a tedious step during a craft because it saves you a hell of a lot of time in the long run.
Checking your gauge when knitting simply involves knitting a small square with your chosen yarn and needles to check that the number of stitches is taking up the correct amount of space.
For example, a pattern might say "20 stitches will equal four inches of of knit stitch." If you check and the gauge is wrong, you can then adjust your project based on the measurements you get.
Had I spent twenty minutes checking my yarn's gauge, I could have either used a different pattern or adjusted the pattern I was using so my bulkier yarn worked.
I'm not sure why this checking step seems so awful to me; it's sort of like putting $150 worth of things in an online shopping cart and then being mad that the "super expensive" shipping is $10.
But for the love of all things holy, from one impatient crafter to another, actually check your gauge before you spend six hours knitting the ugliest Franken-glove known to man.
My second failed craft was a sweater, which was mostly bad because I lost steam on it.
To be honest, there's not a lot to say about this one other than this: I cast on a bit more than I could I could knit.
Call me a romantic, but I started looking at crafts so encouraged by a can-do attitude that I felt I had the time, patience, and intermediate skill needed to make my partner a sweater.
In an amazing show of confidence, I also told my partner about the sweater before it was done, which was my other mistake — you don't have to deliver a project you didn't blab about to everyone you know.
The sweater is still sitting in a bin of yarn 15 rows in, looking at me accusingly every time I start another project. I have to avert my eyes.
What I could have tried instead: a scarf with a more complex pattern.
This suggestion is mostly about knowing yourself as a crafter. If you have an easy time remembering patterns and keeping track of stitches, and a lot of concentration, amazing — what does it feel like to be living my dream?
A scarf, for me, would have been a more appropriate choice. I can't sit still for so many hours in a row tracking exactly how many stitches and rows I've done, but I can follow a repeating pattern more easily, and a scarf shows progress in an encouraging way.
I like to watch TV while I knit, so sue me. The complicated striped sweater will have to wait for me to get a grip.
My third failed craft was screenprinting t-shirts, using only materials I had on hand around the house.
It was the eve of the San Francisco Pride Parade when I found I did not possess a sufficiently provocative shirt for the occasion. Instead of just putting together an outfit, I decided to just make my own t-shirt to wear.
I bravely gathered an old solid-colored t-shirt, the only paint I had — acrylic — and, unfortunately, a thin sponge brush for lettering. I probably shouldn't even say this was screenprinting, but I imagined I was.
What I ended up with was a rushed-looking, orange-lettered mess. I don't even like orange, it was just midnight and I couldn't sprint to Michael's.
This story doesn't end well for my fashion presentation — I still wore it to the parade.
What's more queer culture than having on a piece of clothing that's genuinely ugly? We were all dressed like Gonzo from the Muppets, anyways.
What I could have tried instead: not attempting an art form that I had no materials for in hopes that "winging it" could carry me through.
Look, it's a great idea to have the materials you need for a project before you start the project. What else can I say about this.
My lettering was decent, but I was not using fabric paint, for one thing, or a stencil. Or even a ruler to make sure I was painting letters levelly.
Even a modicum of preparation really could have made this project a win instead of the abysmal failure it was.
My fourth failed craft was perhaps the most ambitious — woodworking.
This one is an oldie, but still a good cautionary tale.
In late high school, when given total creative freedom to produce a reflection about a famous author, I, for a reason I still cannot fathom to this day, decided I would make a carving of Ernest Hemingway. I am ashamed of this project for more than one reason, as you can guess.
I went home after getting a slab of wood from Home Depot. House to myself, I began carving what promised to be my most amazing creative endeavor yet.
I'm going to be real and say I didn't even attempt to take a photo of this project at the time because I was so embarrassed by my work, even though I did it completely alone.
You may think I'm exaggerating, but it was so bad I drove to a grocery store to put it in a dumpster, for fear someone in my family would see it in the trash.
What I could have tried instead: taking a class in more complex art forms before I tried them at home.
What a shock. Carving wood is hard. I'm really not sure what the hell I was thinking when I did this, although it did inspire in me a deep and lasting respect for tradespeople who work with any material in a skilled way.
Now, I know the best way to do something like that — AKA, a craft that there is pretty much no way for you to learn on your own — is to just take a class.
You don't have to invest in equipment you'll never use again, and, another shocker coming your way, whatever you make will look better with the advice of someone who has been working in whatever medium for decades. I know that's hard to believe.
Check out this blown glass pumpkin I made in an hour at a warehouse. Without help, it's safe to say I would have fallen into the molten glass pit, or something. Hop on Groupon and get going.
Wrapping up loose ends
I hope you've learned something from my crafting misadventures, or at least had a laugh at an Icarian writer.
If you, too, have struggled with crafting cockiness, you can recover. Just don't follow my lead — take it slow, make a plan, and leave woodworking to the experts, for God's sake.