It's Called a Scarflette

Yeah, I kind of hate that name, too. Scarflette. It sounds like miniature microwavable food. Or like something that Zorro The Gay Blade (look it up) would wear. But that's the name and my lady is wild about making them. She prefers to call them neckwarmers, since they wrap around your neck and... warm it. Whatever you call them, they exist and the digital Revolution of Crafty Peoples over at Etsy.com is hot for them.

I've kind of been looking on Kirsten's knitting mania with a mixture of scientific detachment (like a zoological field study) and boyfriend pride. I mean, it seems to have all happened so suddenly. One minute she's bowing out of our Scrabble games (for us, Scrabble=foreplay) to knock needles, the next she's opening a little shop online and selling her wares to total strangers. It's become an obsession for her really. Or, more accurately, an addiction, with plenty of adverse consequences for both of us; from her neck strain (I've never doled out more massages) to the weird routes she makes us take just to dodge the loan sharks that financed all that nice yarn. And yet, despite the ways that my style has been crimped, it's pretty cool to see somebody finding something new and creative they love to do and just freaking going for it.

She started with scarves and blankets as a warm-up (pun not only intended, but relished). And now all of a sudden there are Scarflettes. Like the real scarves had babies when nobody was looking.

A Scarflette is like the knitted equivalent of the clip-on tie. That is, it performs its sartorial duties quickly and efficiently, without wasting material on something that's just going to get tucked out of sight anyway. Think about it. What do we ask of our winter neckwear? Basically a little protection from the elements and - bonus - maybe something cool-looking poking out of the tops of our coats. The Scarflette takes it further and asks, what if you could have all that and fit it in your pocket once you were back indoors? The knitting stakes have been raised frankly. Observe:




First, it wraps around the neck and buttons. Kirsten was given a stash of antique buttons (only a ziploc-bag's worth) that belonged to her great grandmother and so these buttons are literally a find - and rare-ish - and are really cool besides. She sheds a little tear each time she lets one go.

Then once you've got it buttoned BLAM, throw your coat over it and:



Ruling commences.



And then, DOUBLE BLAM, when you're back inside, the thing goes pocket-sized. Magic.



She has an Etsy shop here where you can craft-stalk her. It's called La Femme Monkita. (If you don't catch the reference, it's from a brilliant movie called Kicking and Screaming - The Noah Bombach one, from '95. Check it out.)


I'm a little jealous myself. The future of my dreams is an Etsy future. It's a celebration of the one-of-a-kind item. Of hand-craft couture. The antidote to mass-produced malaise. And I want to be part of it. And will, as soon as I can think of something to make. (My recipe for soup consisting entirely of crushed tortilla chips and salsa has so far met with pure scorn.)

And of course, there is a Monkita MySpace page. Check them both out. And send me suggestions for my own personal craft empire. (All sarcastic e-mails will be met with witty, soul-crushing retorts so think it through.)