So here’s a sentence I never thought I’d write outside of a fever dream: I’m a crocheter now.
Yes, you read that right. Chris O’Hanlon—former craft commitment-phobe, serial hobby abandoner, and the guy who once glued his fingers together trying to make a DIY candle (to be fair, I was 6)—is now out here crocheting. Voluntarily. Passionately. Often in public.
It started off innocently enough. I needed something calming, something creative, something that didn’t involve staring into the digital void doom scrolling or binge-watching 9 hours of reality TV while spiralling about late-stage capitalism. I picked up a hook, grabbed a ball of yarn, and thought, “How hard can this be?” (Ha. Sweet summer child.)
My first attempts were… abstract. I thought I was making scarves. What I actually made were rhomboids. They started the right width, full of hope and symmetry, then progressively narrowed into what can only be described as a textile panic attack. I now know this is what happens when you don’t count your stitches, or use stitch markers, or have any real sense of direction. Is it just me or does everyone that does knitting or crocheting struggling with counting? (Yes, I eventually learned to use stitch markers. No, it didn’t stop me from occasionally crocheting my hopes and dreams into another crooked masterpiece.)
Before scarves though, I actually started with beanies. No idea why—I just thought, “A head is round, I can do round things.” And surprisingly… they weren’t terrible. A little lumpy. Slightly tight. Some wouldn’t fit a squirrel, others could house a watermelon. But with each one, I learned a little more: how to size properly, how to work in the back loop (whatever that mysterious place was), and that yarn maths is not to be underestimated.
And then—drumroll—I made The Fisherman’s Hat.
Reader, this was a moment. This wasn’t just a hat. This was a statement. It said, “Yes, I’ve come through the yarn fog. Yes, I know what a slip stitch is. And yes, I still refuse to follow the pattern exactly because I like to live dangerously.”
It was the first piece I looked at and thought, “Ooh… I’d actually wear that outside the house.” And I have. With pride. Possibly even a dramatic slow-mo strut down the street, but that’s between me and the seagulls.
Crochet, it turns out, saved my sanity. It gave me a place to focus when the world felt like too much. A reason to slow down. A way to make something beautiful, even if it was slightly uneven and looked like it had emotional baggage. There’s a real magic in being able to sit in a café, hook in hand, and just disappear into stitches. Just me, some yarn, and the soft soothing sound of my brain going, “Cro-Slay, queen. Make that chain.”
Also, let’s take a moment to appreciate that crochet is no longer just for nans and Pinterest boards. We’ve got proper LGBTQ+ icons out here repping the yarn life—@tomdaley and @madewithlovebytomdaley, you’re legends and my personal crafting spirit animals. Seeing other queer folks making, sharing, and thriving in this space is everything. It’s glitter for the soul.
Big, glittery shout-out to my ever-so-talented beau enortondesigns who designed my new crochet logo—because obviously, this yarn life needed a brand. And it is chef’s kiss.
So, if you’re reading this and thinking, “Maybe I should try crocheting…” then honey, YES. Do it. Make the rhomboid. Crochet the hat that looks like a squid. Embrace the wobble, the wonk, the wonderful mess of it all. Whether you’re an old pro who can stitch blindfolded or a queer newbie wondering which end of the hook is which, this is your sign.
Follow me on:
Instagram: @chrisohanloncrochets
TikTok: @chrisohanloncrochets
Let’s build a wild, woolly, wonderfully queer crochet community. DM me. Collaborate with me. Teach me how not to crochet myself into a pretzel. Or just come for the chaos and colours. There’s room for everyone.
Crochet: it’s cheaper than therapy, more fabulous than jogging, and you get clothing at the end. What’s not to love?
