Lust and its extent – a loving look at our colorful vice
There are passions that are simply harmless – and then there is lust.
That very special mixture of heart palpitations when you see new colors, goosebumps when you hold the first skein of a new quality in your hand, and pure happiness when the yarn glides over your fingers.
Some call it "collecting passion". Others smile.
But we know: It's serious. 😅
The beginning of a great love
The story almost always begins the same way:
A ball of yarn, bought "just to try it out".
Then another strand, because the color is so perfect.
And before you know it, you have a small supply – affectionately called a "stash" – that grows like a well-fertilized pumpkin in the height of summer.
At first, everything still fits into one drawer.
Then in two.
And at some point, the stash moves: to the shelf, into boxes, under the bed, into the linen closet ("No one will find it there!").
And yet – we know exactly where each color is located.
Wool festivals, wool journeys and the great adventure
Anyone who has ever been to a wool festival knows what euphoria means.
People squealing with joy because they've found a particular shade of color.
People queuing up in long lines, as if they were for concert tickets.
And conversations about stitch samples that sound like we're deciphering the universe.
“Just look, don’t buy anything!” – this sentence is probably the most well-known self-deception among wool lovers.
The moment you step into a trade fair hall filled with colors, fibers, and knitting enthusiasts, you're hooked. – Or perhaps it's the fabrics for you? Hmm?
It feels like every other strand is rescued – *ahem* bought – and strategically stowed in the suitcase so that nobody will notice it when they get home.
"What, that one? I've had that one for ages, what's wrong with you again?!" we say with an innocent look – while the new treasure is secretly put away on the yarn shelf. 😇
Wool festivals are a state of exception and a rush of happiness in one – the hallowed halls of hand-dyeing art.
And if the car sits a little lower on the drive home, that's obviously due to the poor road handling – not to the 28 strands on the back seat.
Wool travel, by the way, is the logical next step.
Why go to the beach when you can go to Yorkshire, Tyrol or the Waldviertel – places where sheep graze and wool is at home?
Secretive, quiet, and fluffy
They do exist, the silent rituals of the wool-obsessed.
Secretly smuggling new skeins into the yarn shelf – perfectly blended in with old favorites.
The little white lie: "Oh, him? He's NOT new!"
The furtive rustling of paper when you stroke your new treasure one last time late at night.
And sometimes, very rarely, we confess. "Yes, I bought something again."
But that doesn't sound remorseful at all – more like pride. Because, let's be honest: every strand tells a story, carries a mood, a feeling.
When the stash develops a life of its own
Eventually, the stash starts to outsmart us.
Colors appear that we don't even remember.
We find wool in project bags we had long forgotten about.
And yet, with every strand, we know why we bought it.
Perhaps because it reminds us of a light in autumn.
Or a laugh in summer.
Or simply because we knew: He belongs to me.
From buying to processing – or not.
Of course, we also knit, crochet, and weave.
But often the ideas are faster than the needles.
Sometimes strands wait for years – patiently, faithfully, full of potential.
And when we finally start knitting them, we know again:
That wasn't a bad purchase. That was fate. 💛
The good news
Lust is not a disease. It is a way of life.
It gives us moments of peace, creativity, and connection.
It lets us dream, create, and arrive.
And it brings us together with people who are just as crazy as we are – and that's simply wonderful.
For what would we be without these colorful strands, without the soft crackling in the pot during dyeing, without the warmth that arises when we see stitch by stitch being created?
Conclusion
Wool addiction is love in yarn form.
She smells of sheep, of silk, of happiness.
It makes us laugh, sometimes roll our eyes, but always amaze us.
And maybe – just maybe – we don't need therapy at all.
Just a little more shelf space. 🧺💫
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