June 2, 2026

Menopause: A Personal Affront To Knitters

It was, by Florida standards, cold. And because I am now a woman with both experience and consequences, I approached my closet strategically. I chose a handknit sweater, but not an aggressive one. A merino wool, DK weight, with a reasonable gauge. Nothing too insulating. I believed I had planned appropriately for both the weather and my endocrine system.

The outfit was excellent. You know the kind. The kind that changes your posture. Suddenly you’re not walking into work, you’re arriving. In my mind, I looked like the sort of woman who had opinions about architecture and fine works of art and drank coffee without ever spilling it on herself.

I was in a meeting when the hot flash began. First came the prickling feeling on the back of my neck, then the heat moved in with the confidence of a hostile corporate takeover. And in the midst of this meteorological betrayal, it struck me that menopause is uniquely offensive to knitters.

We are not people who throw on a hoodie from Target and move on with our day. We are people who have spent years learning fiber properties. We have strong opinions about sheep breeds. Some of us spin wool into yarn, and some of us curate a vast collection of yarn simply because it “felt aspirational.”

And then one day your body suddenly informs you that perhaps deciding to envelop yourself in soft, luxurious, squishy wool was, medically speaking, an ambitious choice.

Within minutes, I was trying to maintain professional eye contact while actively overheating inside a handknit sweater I loved deeply. Where was the wool air conditioner that everyone mentions? Why was the wool not keeping me cool like all the influencers tell us it does? (Spoiler: it doesn’t.)

What exactly are the options in this situation? Take the sweater off? Impossible. It had only recently reached peak attractiveness. Remain seated while my face slowly turned the color of a ripe tomato? Fan myself with a legal pad like a woman in a Tennessee Williams play? None of those were viable choices. So there I remained, trapped by both wool and vanity.

Meanwhile, someone across the table continued discussing quarterly objectives while I silently negotiated with God and the office air conditioning vent.

There is no graceful way to handle this. At least I haven’t found any. Eventually I abandoned dignity altogether and repositioned myself directly beneath the air vent, where I stood for several minutes pretending to be casually interested in a file while cold air blasted the back of my neck.

Eventually, the hot flash passed and the meeting continued. But it left me thinking about something I had not fully considered before: menopause presents a very particular challenge for knitters. There is no villain here. Not our bodies. Not the wool. It is simply the season we are in.

I wish I had an answer for you, dear knitter. But we are warm from the inside out, whether we like it or not, surrounded by the wool we refuse to give up. We are menopausal knitters. We contain multitudes. And, apparently, enough internal heat to block a sweater just by wearing it.

Notes from a menopausal knitter:

Plant fibers are your friend.
Fingering weight is not a guarantee of safety.
Lace is less a fabric category now and more a ventilation strategy.
A small fan in the project bag is not surrender.
Wool and confidence can only take you so far.

Shop lovely, insulating wool yarn here (I’m sorry I do not yet carry fans)