Um. Seriously. It looks like my head exploded and then conjealed into an apricot cabled Bride-Of-Frankenstein tribute. Like an even more demented Swedish Chef. Bork-bork-bork.
I had such high hopes. I thought this hat
(scroll down) would be kind of slouchy and kicky — stylish but just barely. Nothing too glaring to interrupt my usual dishevelled, cheapskate, flying you know aesthetic. Nope. Understated is not the word.
Gauge got me again. Too tight, no drape, no fun.
I’m thinking I’ll finish it just for the fun of having a giant stand-up hat. And to keep busy as I watch Persuasion
again. No doubt just a pathetic cry for help in my current single status [I mean, I want to be all empowered — don’t let the bastards get you down — about it, but sometimes … I’d like someone to proclaim their undying love. Or take me out to dinner.], but I love this movie (well, the book really, too) and the romantic hope (usually unfounded, in my case) it engenders in every breast. So I knit wildly inappropriate hats while I wait for my personal Captain Wentworth. Or until this most recent bout of fan-girl-dom
In more exciting news: I got some lovely yarn from Indieknits
the other day. I’m just waiting for enough daylight for a good-enough picture (I’ve got a couple of crap ones already).
Before and after: this is all that remains of my last sweater attempt. The new yarn definitely salved my frogging wounds.
* Recently, after spending the day watching season two of Rock of Love and loading music into my itunes (after losing most of it when my computer died last year), I also spent a goodish amount of time purusing old reviews on Pitchfork. Which leads me to two questions: 1) Why do no women write for Pitchfork? (I have not yet come across a female reviewer.) And 2) why am I never more aware that Sleater-Kinney is indeed an all-female band than when I am reading a Pitchfork review of one of their albums? Seriously.