Chantalle is an elegant, fitted raglan pullover knit seamlessly from the top down using a sport weight yarn. The decorative lace collar, which uses an easy-to-memorize stitch pattern and is worked at the same time as the yoke, lends stunning detail and visual interest to an otherwise stockinette fabric.

Back in 2011, I set out to design the sweater I wished I had when I first started knitting garments. I wanted something stunning but approachable. Something that looked intricate but was secretly easy to make. A pattern that could help knitters take that big, scary leap into sweater-making without feeling left in the dark.

That’s how Julissa—my very first garment pattern—was born. It’s a top-down, beautifully detailed, boat neck raglan pullover that quickly became the first-ever sweater for so many knitters. But just like every knitter evolves, so do patterns.

Fast forward 10 years to 2021, and I knew Julissa deserved more. In that decade, I had learned so much about fit, shaping, finishing techniques, and how to make my knitting patterns more intuitive. I cared about this design too much to leave it in the past, so I completely updated it with everything I’d learned:

• Expanded size range to meet today’s size-inclusivity standards

• More refined shaping for the neckline and larger busts

• Extra guidance on customization for different body types and fit preferences

• Detailed explanations and links to video tutorials for professional shaping and finishing techniques

• More printer-friendly and interactive

This pattern is an oldie but a goodie; a legacy piece that has grown and improved right alongside me and the knitters who’ve made it. Ready to become a part of its history?

In September 2018, I walked out of my local yarn shop with a sweater quantity of yarn and a familiar feeling. You know the one: that on-the-brink of starting something new, creative juices flowing, and endless possibilities feeling that only a maker can know. I didn’t have a pattern in mind, but I knew that this yarn would become something special.

Then something funny happened: I kept unintentionally sketching the same design. A pullover with cabled panels, a rounded neckline, “cold” shoulders, and set-in armholes appeared eight times, to be exact, on different days and in separate sketchbooks. It was almost as if the yarn was telling me, "This is what I want to be."

Now with a clear vision in mind, I started swatching. The yarn by itself was beautiful, soft, and airy with fantastic drape, but it lacked the cozy factor I was going for. When I paired it with a mohair/silk blend, the fabric transformed. It had depth and warmth, and it felt like kittens and clouds—exactly what I wanted.

In late 2019, I cast on and quickly realized that top-down construction wasn’t practical for the design I had sketched, so I restarted from the bottom up. When I tried it on for the first time, something was off. I frogged back and reknit the yoke. Still not right. I frogged again. And again. I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong. All I know is that I was feeling pretty deflated. The yarn was practically begging me to stop frogging and reknitting it, and I needed a break.

Apparently, a three-year break.

Over those years, thoughts of “needing to finish that sweater” hung over my head. Would I ever finish? Had I failed? But while the sweater waited, I kept learning—about fit, grading, size inclusivity. I poured that knowledge into other patterns. And each time I released something new, I’d pull this sweater out with renewed determination. Yet I still didn’t have the answer.

It finally hit me in fall 2023. What if I changed everything? V-neck instead of scoop neck. Closed shoulders instead of open. Raglan sleeves instead of set-in. The revisions came together perfectly, and when I finally tried it on again . . . it worked!

This design challenged me more than any other. There was a span of time where I didn’t think I could finish it. But things got easier—things fell into place—when I stopped trying to force an idea and let the design take me where it wanted to go all along. In hindsight, it feels a little like serendipity.

It was, simply, “Meant to Vee.”