When Martina Calvi designed her first scrapbook stickers two years ago, it was intended to be a side project. “I never wanted to run a business, I just wanted to share my art,” she says. But Calvi quickly gained hundreds of thousands of followers on Instagram, the orders began to pour in and it turned into a thriving e-commerce business, which is now her full-time job.
Calvi is part of a new wave of craft creators transforming once-niche hobbies like scrapbooking, journaling and crochet into fully fledged brands and media platforms. Fuelled by TikTok tutorials, Instagram reels and Pinterest mood boards, these creators are redefining what it means to be a tastemaker — in some cases, cultivating audiences that rival traditional fashion influencers.
In an era where luxury houses and fast fashion giants are competing for attention — and AI enhancement is becoming the norm — DIY creators are quietly shaping the aesthetic future with glue sticks, rhinestones and washi tape. Their rise speaks to a broader shift in consumer culture: as younger generations seek authenticity, slowness and tactile creativity, craft is no longer a pastime but a cultural force — and a serious business.
Calvi has created gift-wrapping tutorials for Tory Burch, jelly art for Marimekko, trinket bags for Stand Oil, shoes for Puma x Fenty, butter molds for Carolina Herrera, charms for Rare Beauty, handmade zines for Mecca, and a scrapbook spread for Australian Fashion Week. She even designed a full, craft-driven collection for Casetify. “Craft is inherently human-made and authentic, which is exactly what audiences are craving and what brands now seek,” she says.
“The most powerful aspect of crafting is that anyone can do it, training or not,” says designer Susan Korn of craft fashion brand Susan Alexandra. “With low overheads, especially in costume jewellery, the art can be more creative and experimental.”
Laurence Milstein, co-founder of Gen Z-focused consultancy Przm, sees this broader gravitation towards craft as a generational reaction to our current media climate. “At a time when AI-generated ‘slop’ saturates feeds and older audiences struggle to distinguish the real from the invented, younger consumers are finding a new sense of luxury in the tactile,” he says. “For them, things that are handmade, analogue and imperfect carry weight — offering both expertise and intimacy.”
Milstein also notes a streak of “future nostalgia” in Gen Z aesthetics. “They’re rejecting the flat minimalism of the post-iPhone era for the playful optimism of the early 2000s — what TikTok calls ‘Frutiger Aero’,” he says. Named after the Frutiger font and Microsoft’s Aero design interface, it references a 2000s design aesthetic that blends organic forms with futuristic tech. “Craft reflects that yearning for imagined futures and a pushback against today’s uniform tech aesthetics.”
Cultural strategist Anu Lingala sees craft as part of a generational shift. “Young consumers want to escape the algorithm’s flattening effect and reconnect with tactility,” she says. “Amid digital fatigue, there’s a yearning to slow down and engage in analogue formats that feel human.”
Lingala sees two subcurrents shaping youth culture: a return to real-life experiences like reading and game nights, and a growing reverence for handmade qualities and imperfections. “Anything that shows evidence of humanity stands out against the flattening effects of AI,” she says.
Where sustainability and creativity collide
Pinterest is seeing that shift play out at scale. This summer season was all about discovering new hobbies, with searches for “cute summer crafts” rising 106 per cent year-on-year, says Sydney Stanback, global trends and insights lead at Pinterest. The crossover with fashion is clear: users aren’t just pinning mood boards — they’re making their own crochet accessories, patchwork sweaters and thrift-inspired looks. “Sustainable shopping is huge for Gen Z,” Stanback adds. For a generation fatigued by fast fashion and algorithm-driven sameness, crafting offers both self-expression and mindful consumption.
“I think it’s a mix of the tense political climate and fast fashion’s environmental toll,” says Korn. “In tough times, people turn to craft as a salve — and as a source of ‘cheap thrills’. Many would rather support small, independent makers than massive polluting conglomerates.”
For environmental author and creator Leah Thomas, craft began as a way to slow down. “In 2023, I took painting and ceramics classes and felt such instant calm,” she says. By 2024, she’d resolved to “make before I buy”, sharing the process online. “It made social media feel fun again — raw, human and hopeful.” That impulse led her to start a craft club and zine workshops. “Zines give publishing power back to the people,” Thomas adds.
Craft has reshaped her style: Thomas mends and dyes clothes, and makes jewellery. “If I get a stain on a shirt, I’ll hammer flowers into it,” she adds. “Craft shows the beauty of not throwing clothing away — it’s where sustainability and creativity collide.”
For Ruby Gold, founder of Orchard, craft channels sentimentality into fashion. “Collaging on clothing lets me create pieces that feel like meta representations of my style,” says Gold. They believe audiences are drawn to handmade content for the same reason. “Amid digital chaos and endless advertising, it feels like a return to self and authenticity.”
For Calvi, the link between craft and style has always been a natural one. “Since I was a little girl, I was thrifting, customising and journaling,” she says. “Fashion and craft have always been intertwined — it’s all personal expression and creativity.”
How can brands tap in?
Like Calvi, Thomas has previously partnered with brands: in her case, the likes of Pinterest, Paperless Post and Eileen Fisher, as well as grassroots groups like The Flip Side of Fast Fashion. She’s also shot with indie fashion publications like Cero, Heroine and ODDA. “I never felt part of the fashion world before, but now I feel embraced,” Thomas says.
But brands should think carefully before jumping on the craft bandwagon. Calvi argues that authentic partnerships mean recognising the human behind the work. “Too often, brands treat crafty creators like AI generators with rigid prompts,” she says. “Scrapbooking isn’t just an aesthetic; it’s memory keeping.”
The best collaborations, Calvi explains, leave space for her perspective. “One favourite was when [Australian retailer] Mecca flew me out to experience their new store firsthand and asked me to create a zine,” she says. “The brief was open, and my audience connected with it so much more.” More recently, Carolina Herrera asked her to create butter molds inspired by its lipstick charms.
“I love seeing creators blend their styles,” says Gold. “What feels off-putting is when bigger companies collaborate with small artists without fair pay or credit — too often exploiting them for exposure.”
“Brands should weave authenticity into products and experiences,” agrees Lingala. “Collaborating with artisans, hosting DIY workshops, or co-creating capsules may not drive quick sales, but they build long-term relevance — especially as audiences crave behind-the-scenes views of the messy, human process of making.”
The future of craft in fashion comes back to the personal. “Style, like craft, is about expression and the little details that make it yours,” says Calvi. “Even with high fashion, I’ll add something customised or sentimental — a bracelet I made, a keychain, a scarf from Italy. My outfits are a scrapbook.”
Designer-slash-maker Natasha Ahmed sees personal style as bigger than outfits. “It isn’t exclusive to your tastes in fashion; it translates through all avenues,” she says. Ahmed gravitates to “bold colours, contrasting palettes and textured details” to create maximalist, mixed-media pieces layered with trinkets and stickers, which carry-through into accessories — embellished bags, piled-on jewellery — and beauty, “even gems and sparkles on my nails”.
In an industry defined by speed and sameness, craft offers an antidote: slowness, imperfection, memory. From Gold’s belief in handmade work as a safe space to Thomas’s vision of craft as empowerment, these creators show that what resonates now isn’t polish, but humanity — a future where fashion feels less like mass production and more like a collage of lived experiences.
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