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Would someone please explain to me the point of cotton sweaters?
Erm, backing up: the hideous-but-practical brown wool pullover that most of you who've met me in the winter are all too familiar with has met with an Unfortunate Accident, or, well, a series of them, that amount to the necessity for it being taken out back and shot. It was cheap, I am not heartbroken, but I am now in the position of needing a new warm layer if I want to go out of the house any time in the next few months, because nothing else in my closet has been surviving the first encounter with the Outside very well so far. (And if you're wondering why I, a confirmed knitter, am so short on warm garments, I would like to point out that I am A) enough of a plus-size that it takes quite a bit of time and yarn-money to cover the huge... tracts of land, and B) I live with a Mum who can pretty well be counted on to forget what doesn't go into the washer sooner or later, which is a strong disincentive to knit much of anything that looks like regular laundry.) But when we trundled out to look for a replacement, in the dead of February, what are the shops full of? Cotton sweaters. Which wouldn't keep you warm if you set them on fire.
This is, pretty much, how I ended up with the hideous-but-practical brown wool pullover in the first place, because sweaters tend to meet their Unfortunate Accidents somewhere in the middle of their wearing-season, which is apparently right about when the fashion world is gearing up for beach-weather. That godawful thing was hard enough to find, but I'd have been happy to see its even-more-hideous baby-blue sister this go-round, because the only thing even vaguely resembling a Warm Wool Sweater was a fairisle cardigan that was mostly white (IE, Shows Dirt Liek Whoa) and looked like something a yurt sicked up because it closed with inexplicable faux-Mongolian clasps. Very "...Um, no" from standpoints of fashion or function. So I am probably reduced to cramming myself into the shrunken remains of the hideous-but-practical brown wool pullover for the rest of this season, until 100-degree weather rolls around to trigger the shops into putting out the winter gear again.
Botheration.
Erm, backing up: the hideous-but-practical brown wool pullover that most of you who've met me in the winter are all too familiar with has met with an Unfortunate Accident, or, well, a series of them, that amount to the necessity for it being taken out back and shot. It was cheap, I am not heartbroken, but I am now in the position of needing a new warm layer if I want to go out of the house any time in the next few months, because nothing else in my closet has been surviving the first encounter with the Outside very well so far. (And if you're wondering why I, a confirmed knitter, am so short on warm garments, I would like to point out that I am A) enough of a plus-size that it takes quite a bit of time and yarn-money to cover the huge... tracts of land, and B) I live with a Mum who can pretty well be counted on to forget what doesn't go into the washer sooner or later, which is a strong disincentive to knit much of anything that looks like regular laundry.) But when we trundled out to look for a replacement, in the dead of February, what are the shops full of? Cotton sweaters. Which wouldn't keep you warm if you set them on fire.
This is, pretty much, how I ended up with the hideous-but-practical brown wool pullover in the first place, because sweaters tend to meet their Unfortunate Accidents somewhere in the middle of their wearing-season, which is apparently right about when the fashion world is gearing up for beach-weather. That godawful thing was hard enough to find, but I'd have been happy to see its even-more-hideous baby-blue sister this go-round, because the only thing even vaguely resembling a Warm Wool Sweater was a fairisle cardigan that was mostly white (IE, Shows Dirt Liek Whoa) and looked like something a yurt sicked up because it closed with inexplicable faux-Mongolian clasps. Very "...Um, no" from standpoints of fashion or function. So I am probably reduced to cramming myself into the shrunken remains of the hideous-but-practical brown wool pullover for the rest of this season, until 100-degree weather rolls around to trigger the shops into putting out the winter gear again.
Botheration.