There is something almost stubbornly hopeful about crochet reappearing on catwalks in 2025. It is labour-intensive, impossible to mass-produce at scale, and therefore the antithesis of the algorithmic churn most of us wear. Artisans in Nordic villages and North African souks are suddenly supplying Bond Street tastes. The aesthetic is light, airy, slightly 1970s—yet the subtext is serious: fashion choosing slowness over speed, repair over replacement. In a British context, where high-street turnover remains dizzying, the trend reads as quiet cultural self-criticism. We are being asked, politely but firmly, whether we still know how to value things that someone’s hands have dwelt upon for weeks. Perhaps we do. Perhaps we are ready to learn again.
