This Isn’t Your Grandfather’s Cardigan: Why Handmade Clothing Is Cool Again

Somewhere between the hum of a sewing machine and the quiet concentration of a hand pulling yarn through a loop, menswear is having a moment of change; or perhaps even a movement, really. This is a shift that favours handwork over hype, and intention over immediacy. Here is a space for patience, for tenderness over bravado. It’s not exactly a trend. It’s a recalibration, and maybe even a rebellion.

“For me, knitwear is more than just design,” says Australian designer Chris Ran Lin. “It’s a medium for expressing my mood, my thoughts, my love.” That’s a far cry from the rugged, stoic archetypes that have traditionally defined menswear. “Menswear is commonly equated to ‘ordinary’ in general,” he adds. “But handmade and crafted items are something very personal, and they stand out from the usual uniformed looks.”

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Lin’s work has captured insiders’ attention for his ability to sculpt soft yarn into architectural wonders, knitting out pieces that feel like they’ve been hewn out of stone and yet feel incredibly plush and tactile when taken off the hanger and worn on the body.

He’s not the only one who thinks so. British label HADES, known for its slow-made knitwear and literary subculture references (see: a Tilda Swinton collaboration that features the elfin actress’ face and costume from her 1992 film, Orlando). Co-founder Isabel Holland puts it even more bluntly, suggesting that “modern culture feels oppressive and synthetic. Fashion is too corporatised, too directed by conformism and conspicuous consumption.” In a world like that, handcraft feels like a homecoming to what’s real and tangible.

That idea of craft-as-rebellion isn’t exactly new per se, as history is wont to repeat itself. The Arts and Crafts movement of the late 19th century was born as a response to industrialisation, prioritising individual creativity over mass production. Fast forward 150 years, and it’s déjà vu. Only now, the context is more about pushing back the age of algorithms rather than steam engines.

New Zealand-based designer Wynn Crawshaw, who runs the brand Wynn Hamlyn, sees the appeal in slowing things down. “When you’re working by hand, the reward is the challenge,” he says. “You’re forced to take your time. That’s what makes it special.” Crawshaw’s collections feature macramé, weaving, and knit techniques woven into wearable silhouettes. “Craft allows men to express a more nuanced side of style. It slants away from traditional ideas of masculinity.” Last month in Sydney, Crawshaw presented a concise collection of men’s and womenswear. Several looks featured frayed hems that call to mind the selvedges of freshly-woven fabrics, or strips interlaced into a stunning deconstructed weave pattern.

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Going Beyond Gender Tropes

That’s a recurring theme in this movement: that handcraft doesn’t just soften the aesthetic, but the gender coding of menswear itself. Crochet, for example, has long been dismissed as a “feminine” pursuit. But for Singaporean actor and crochet content creator Edwin Goh, it’s been nothing short of transformative. “Crochet was the first activity that pulled me away from my vices,” he shares. “It has allowed me to quieten my thoughts. It’s soothing and forgiving.”

That emotional recalibration resonates with mononym content creator Moritz too, who learned how to knit as a child from his grandmother while growing up in the Italian Alps, and rediscovered it years later. “Amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, knitting has become a way to ground myself. It reminds me where I come from. It gives me comfort and calm,” he adds. “It’s not just about the final product, but the process and the intention behind it.”

Goh and Moritz are part of a growing digital brotherhood of male crafters reclaiming space in a community once deemed too soft for masculinity. On TikTok and Instagram, they stitch their way into new expressions of selfhood; one of vulnerability, visibility, and a proud celebration of the imperfect. “Wearing something I made myself feels like wearing my heart on my sleeve,” says Goh. “It helped me become more experimental with how I dress.”

For Moritz, the reward from the artform lies in its promise of individuality. “It’s also about the joy of making something with my own hands. There’s a unique satisfaction in completing a project—and an even greater sense of pride when someone asks where I got a sweater from and I can say ‘I made it.’,” he muses.

That sentiment echoes across the board, from designer to the casual everyman who’s dabbling in handicraft. In a fashion landscape still obsessed with speed and spectacle, craft reconnects people to process, time and the realisation that beauty often lies in the imperfections.

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Beauty in the Imperfect

“I hate perfection, but I also struggle with imperfection,” admits Finnish designer Rolf Ekroth, whose recent collections include macrame weaving, strips hand-sewn into shaggy textures, and pom-poms hand-cut to resemble blossoming wildflowers. “But handmade details represent time and effort. That should be the number one priority with high-end clothing.” Ekroth is refreshingly candid about the time it takes. Some of his garments clock in at 500 hours of manual work, and he’s not alone. Holland notes that their lead times can stretch up to three months, and they’re fine with that. “We produce in very small batches. Some collections are as small as 25 pieces,” she explains. “We want to avoid waste. For a piece of clothing to be truly beautiful, it has to be made with love, not coercion.”

In that sense, this wave of handcraft is also a sustainability play. It’s morphed into visible rejection of fast fashion’s churn-and-burn model. And for the knitters and crocheters, a mistake just means unravelling the piece and starting from zero again, rather than tossing everything out wastefully.

“More people are understanding the damage of mindless consumerism,” says Holland. “But to see real change, we need to move away from a profit-driven society to one focused on balance and care.” That balance, however, is tricky to maintain when handcraft collides with demand. “The practical side is still a problem for men when it comes to wearing handmade garments,” says Lin. “Caring for a delicate knitwear piece? It’s intimidating.”

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Yet, audiences are evolving. “People appreciate the value and input of handmade items,” he adds. One of the designers championing that shift is Nicholas Daley. His work is a patchwork of heritage and community—rooted in his Jamaican and Scottish ancestry, built through collaborations with artisans across the UK, Ireland and Japan.

“Craftsmanship has always been integral to my work,” he says. “My grandfather was a shoemaker. My grandmother and great-grandmother were knitters who worked in jute mills. I’m proud to carry that legacy forward in my work.” Daley’s recent designs feature everything from Fair Isle knits made in Shetland to bespoke tartans woven in Scotland and colours gleaned from the Jamaican flag. “It’s preservation. It’s activism. Especially at a time when there’s so much digital noise,” he explains. “There’s something powerful about keeping these slow traditions alive.”

Unravelling the Future

The question then becomes: is this all just a fashion phase, or is there something more enduring here? The cynical answer might be to point to the runway and the encroachment of name brands upon a once-rural art form.

Big brands such as Gucci, Louis Vuitton and Dior Men are all tapping into visible construction, hand-applied embroidery, and folksy knitwear. Dolce&Gabbana’s spring/summer 2025 menswear outing included jackets that resembled open-weave raffia and loosely-knitted summer shirts. Jonathan Anderson’s eponymous label showcased hulking knit sweaters rolling down the runway. You could argue that craft is just the next thing to be commodified.

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But that argument itself feels reductive, because if you look closely, this isn’t just about a fashion trend. If you dig deeper, really, it’s about sentiment. Intrinsically, it’s about longing for something that can’t be copied and pasted. “In a time where AI can generate ideas in seconds, people crave things that feel raw and imperfect,” says Goh. “Craft places focus on the journey, not just the destination.”

Crawshaw agrees, noting that as a collective society, “We’re overstimulated. The digital world has left people looking for something slower. Craft gives us that. It lets us step away from the noise.” And while much of this may be happening on looms, needles and yarns, the bigger shift is psychological, emotional and, dare we say it, intimate.

“A truly beautiful piece of clothing is a joy to both the wearer and the creator,” says Holland. “In our present moment, we’ve become disconnected from our clothes because of throwaway culture. As a consequence, people feel alienated from themselves. They buy more, hoping to feel better, but it has the opposite effect.”

Maybe the rise of handcraft in menswear isn’t just a new aesthetic or a flash-in-the-pan moment. Maybe it’s a revolution bigger than fashion, fought one stitch at a time.