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.”

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.”

After I released the Indira shawl, I wore it everywhere—to work, knit nights, a winter wedding. Anywhere I wanted elegance without overthinking it. But in some settings, like around my office, I realized a smaller accessory would be more practical. I found myself wanting something I could throw on and that would stay put. A cowl with the same stitch patterns felt perfect, so I started sketching.

The size and shape were crucial. I wanted the same beautiful drape as the shawl and decided to make the cowl wider at the base, narrower at the top. I also wanted to knit as much of that striking double-braided cable as possible. Sideways construction was the answer. It gave me the opportunity to play with short rows, which I’d been wanting to explore more, and to include not just one but two cables! The fun part was problem-solving and figuring out how to execute it so the pattern would be repeatable. When I finally drew a short-row diagram that looked promising, I circled it and wrote, “This works!”

I knit two prototypes to test the construction. The first was too narrow at the top and never saw the light of day. The second one was where things clicked. I was amazed to see the short rows work exactly as I’d sketched them, creating that perfect funnel shape. This sample needed some fine-tuning, but it quickly became part of my knitwear rotation too.

Once the design came together, finding the perfect yarn was next. A bold, dark red colorway in La Bien Aimée’s catalog stood out as the one. I savored every stitch from cast on to bind off, and I was especially excited to be able to wear my finished cowl when meeting Aimée for the first time at Stitches West 2020.

I’ve made two more Indira Cowls since then, including one in yellow for La Bien Aimée’s boutique in Paris, and I constantly reach for any one of the three I still have. It’s exactly the kind of accessory I was looking for—elegant, practical, wearable. Maybe it’s what you’ve been looking for too.