There are plenty of ways to spend a brisk Saturday evening in the West Village. But on this particular night, instead of grabbing dinner or a drink, I’m en route to a different function: a needlepoint event, where West Village Knit Needle is expecting a full house. Nevertheless, owner Kiana Malekzadeh has graciously let me sit in on the Stitch and Sip, where, over the next two hours, women pack in the LNS (for the uninitiated, that’s shorthand for “Local Needlepoint Store”) to enjoy complimentary pours of prosecco and bites of Two Boots pizza. Everywhere I look, guests are using candy-colored threads to stitch canvases hand-painted with a cannoli, or a bow, or a caviar pan, which they can one day turn into a patch or an ornament—or a pillow, if they’re feeling fancy.
For a needlepoint novice like myself, it’s a shockingly wholesome weekend scene—even more so considering the majority of those in attendance are not yet 30. But for those in the know, it’s no surprise that the fiber art has drawn such a crowd. A welcome reprieve from scrolling, the high-society craft is the latest centuries-old hobby making a major resurgence among those willing to spend hours hand-stitching and hundreds of dollars on the classes, canvases, and threads required to create their very own future heirlooms.
Needlepoint has been having a moment over the past few years, Malekzadeh tells me—so much so that the business she projected to do in eight years she’s done in five. Uptown, Annie Co.’s manager Olivia Lipnick and Rita’s needlepoint owner Alyssa Hertzig use words like “skyrocketed” and “exploded” to describe the recent renaissance. “We cannot stock beginner kits fast enough,” says Hertzig when we speak on a Saturday morning. “We probably have 30 or 40, and they ll be gone by Monday.”
And while needlepoint may still carry a mature association, in Hertzig’s opinion, that old-school charm is the very thing to thank for its rising popularity. “We live in a time now [where] everything is very ephemeral,” the self-described “late-in-life stitcher” explains. “We don’t write on paper anymore. We don’t send letters. Everything is digital. There are so few physical, tangible memories. But needlepoint is something that is physical, that is tangible, that you can see, that you can look at.”
As far as craft hobbies go, needlepoint might just be one of the first. Centuries before Gen Zers took to TikTok to swap stitch tricks and talk canvases, historians have traced the practice all the way back to ancient Egypt. In the 16th century, it evolved into a beloved pastime of European royals, and over the course of the 20th century, it became a mainstay leisure hobby thanks, in part, to its meditative nature. “It’s very relaxing… I call it the adult version of coloring,” 68-year-old Greenwich Village local Renée Klein tells me, who s been stitching for the better part of the last 50 years. “The act of putting the needle through the hole is almost like breathing,” says Hertzig. “It goes in and out, and it really forces you to slow down.”
While needlepoint’s popularity has waxed and waned in past decades, the stitchers I speak to unanimously point to the pandemic as the catalyst for its comeback, during which crafting soared (alongside a slew of affably-named grandma hobbies) thanks to a newfound need for time-consuming projects. And time-consuming it is: a canvas can take anywhere from days to months to complete. Though that’s not necessarily a negative, says 27-year-old law student Kelsey Bacinett. “It s really beautiful to engage in a craft that is slow on purpose,” she explains. “You can pick it back up when you have time to return to it, instead of just mindlessly scrolling.” (I’m told it’s physically impossible to scroll and needlepoint, which makes it all the more enticing to those looking to lower their screentime.)
Around the same time, a burgeoning crew of needlepoint devotees began sharing their projects online (where else?), creating a community that’s only continued to grow. Today, TikTok is the “primary driver” propelling needlepoint, says Krista LeRay, who founded the uber-popular needlepoint store Penny Linn Designs in 2020. Hertzig agrees: “It used to be like people were watching people unbox their Sephora hauls. Now, people are unboxing their needlepoint canvas hauls.” Indeed, those videos were what influenced 23-year-old Lilly Donnelly to pick up the craft two years ago. And while she stresses she’s no expert, the hobby allows her to unwind while still feeling satisfied. “I definitely feel productive after,” says Donnelly. “Once you finish a project and you get to really see it and enjoy it, the possibilities are endless.”
Modern canvases have also caught the attention of needlepoint newcomers. If traditional needlepoint is characterized by florals and intricate scenes, new-age, in-demand designs are instead bold and zeitgeisty, drawing in the needlepoint-curious with the power of Taylor Swift lyrics and tequila bottles. “I wanted cute, fun, kitschy stuff,” says LeRay. “And nobody had it.” Malekzadeh too focuses on stocking trendy, colorblocked canvases for her younger downtown demographic; her dive bar exclusives are amongst the most coveted. In comparison to the needlepoint of yore, these canvases are well-suited for beginners—and, when completed, add an amusing, personalized touch to a home. Jamie Meares, the founder of needlepoint-focused home decor brand Furbish Studio, likens needlepoint throw pillows to the sprinkles on a cake when we speak.
If all this stitch talk has you ready to dive in, be warned: it’s an expensive hobby. Canvases can range from $50 to upwards of $300 (this accounts for the hand-painted designs most feature: “You’re buying a piece of art,” says Hertzig), and that’s not including the threads, which will be anywhere from $4 to $9 a piece. Then there’s the cost of finishing—turning the project into a usable item—which typically exceeds the price of the canvas itself. But for those committed to the craft, it’s a small price to pay for a product that’ll last a lifetime. “I hung up our needlepoint ornaments for my sons on the Christmas tree, and I know that that is going to be valued for years and years to come,” says LeRay. “It’s $100 an ornament. I would never pay that myself, but the fact that I was able to do it and say I made that helps [soften] the blow.”
The community element is also appealing, and needlepoint is increasingly being enjoyed by groups. Crafters can attend stitch nights, classes, and even weekend retreats dedicated solely to the hobby, LeRay explains. As she sees it, the popularity of these events speaks to people’s desires for third spaces. “We crave connection and that almost sorority-like vibe,” she says. But even for those soaking in the solace of solo needlepointing, the craft can still be bonding; if you meet a fellow stitcher, you’re immediately “three steps up” in the friendship, LeRay jokes.
That was true for 26-year-old Ashley Badin and 33-year-old Alexandra Bonvouloir, who serendipitously met when Bonvouloir recognized Badin from her needlepoint TikTok while the two were dining at I Sodi. Five months later, the two co-launched Le Fil, a modern needlepoint store. Next on their agenda? Opening a full-service, in-person studio where people can come not only to stitch, but to mingle, using the craft to break the ice. “It allows you to get in a room with someone and do something with your hands and have a conversation,” says Bonvouloir. “But you don t necessarily need to be sitting, staring at them across the table.”
“It’s a little warmer, a little lower-stakes. It gives you the ability to be part of something,” says Badin. “That’s what a lot of people are attracted to [with] needlepoint: this sense of belonging. Like, ‘Oh, I’m a needlepointer. I’m in the needlepoint community. I go to stitch night. I have stitching friends, I have a community that I follow.’ It really is this warm hug of a hobby.”