I think I figured out some of my discomfort with the "hipness" of knitting.

I was flipping through a back issue of Interweave this morning before coming to work, looking at some of the ads, and marveling at how different all the different shops "brand" themselves as. There are some that are very traditional - a picture of a sheep knitting itself, or a ball of yarn and needles, or just a nice typeface. Then there are the Earth Mama shops - with pictures of mountains, or fiber animals other than sheep, or some other kind of crunchy-granola vibe. But there is also a newer contender - the urban "hip" stores. Some of them use retro-fifties typefaces or "atomic age" designs. One uses a drawing of what looks like a Bratz doll knitting.

It's this last category that contributes to my discomfort.

You see, I have this irrational fear. I know there are no "knitting police," but I can't quite shake the feeling that there might be "lifestyle police" - that some evening, I will be sitting on the sofa knitting, and there will be a loud knock on the door. A man and woman will enter, and they will be dressed perfectly. Their Cooper Mini will be parked in my drive. They will look at each other with barely veiled distaste when they see my 'cottage style' living room.

Then, they will walk up to me, flash a badge, and say "Put down the yarn and step away from the needles."

They will go on to explain, to my bewilderment, that they are the Lifestyle Police and that knitting has become too hip and too chic for the likes of me.

Because, you see, I have never been hip. I have never been chic. I tend to catch trends as they are going "out." I'm far too enthusiastic about things to be considered cool. I'm awkward - tend to trip over my own feet - and I don't care enough about my appearence (I'm proud of the fact, for example, that I can put on what makeup I wear in less than five minutes). So I am definitely not "with it."

I'm also too old to be hip. I've passed the magical 18-34 demographic a couple of years ago, and although I look young for my age, I do still have a few grey hairs (which I refuse to go and pay $40 every month to have covered up with dye), I'm kind of fat, I wear glasses. And I don't think wearing a cardigan draped over ones shoulders is a crime against fashion.

Anyway, I picture the Lifestyle Police gathering up my needles and that part of my stash that could be used to make miniskirts, or clubwear, or to knit objects that are ironic, post-modern comments on life today. (They'd leave the Morehouse Farms and Blackberry Ridge wool, I suspect). They would explain that they're confiscating it as part of a redistribution program to women who live in Manhattan and LA and have to spend all of their disposable income on rent and on clothes to "keep up their image"

("Something SHE'S obviously not doing" the man would mutter under his breath)

As they went out the door, the woman would throw a crochet hook to me, and say "You can still crochet, at least until it hits big time."

"I predict you have about six months" the man would say. And then they'd both snicker and load my stuff into the (surprisingly spacious) trunk of the Mini, and drive off to the sound of some band that I've never even heard of.

See, I've always been somewhat uncomfortable with the hip - the traditionalists I would get on famously with; they'd see me as a sort of surrogate sister/daughter/granddaughter. They'd exclaim in delight over the lace shawls I make and shake their heads in wonder and say things like "Dear, you're so accomplished to have only been knitting seriously for eight years."

And the Earth Mama knitters I could totally groove with. I'd dig out my cds of Andean flute and Norwegian chant music, and we could sit around (cross-legged, on the floor) and pass around the socks we've knit, and congratulate each other on the groovy colors we used. And they'd turn me on to the ways of spinning your own yarn, and I could probably wow them with my knowledge of alternative fibers and natural dye plants.

But the hipster knitters - maybe I'm totally wrong here, but I get more of a competitive vibe from hip people - sort of a "thank God I'm not HER." Maybe it's just a memory of the girls-from-wealthier-families in high school, the ones who dressed better than I did. But I still think of the Lifestyle Police sometimes and worry a bit.

Or maybe, realistically, I'm imagining that someday I will be knitting somewhere, and a person will say to their friend in a stage whisper, "She's doing that because she thinks it makes her cool."

Which would lead me to put down my needles, sadly. Maybe even break them in two, in a gesture of defiance. And rip all the stitches off the needle, and unravel them, while shouting at the person "Does THIS make me look cool? Does it, huh? Does it, punk?"

Yeah, I know. I shouldn't care about what other people think. But I spent too many of my formative years being mocked for the fact that I still wore knee socks with skirts at fourteen (when all the "cool" girls had graduated to stockings). And I spent too much time wearing clothes that were slightly outmoded (at least by the imperious standards of the school yard) because my parents didn't believe in buying designer jeans for a growing kid, and because I didn't own any of those Izod Lacoste shirts.

So now, I look over my shoulder a bit - even though, I know on an intellectual level that it doesn't matter, that I don't have to even try to be cool any more - but I sit and wonder and worry that maybe some night a Cooper Mini (or whatever is the next "cool" car) will pull up in my drive, a couple of people will jump out, and there will come a loud knock on my door.