Macramé is the knotty trend millennials Instagrammed back from the dead
Gotta hang those house plants somehow
We had all agreed never to speak of macramé again—until millennials revived it.
The 1970s were a dark time for interior design. We had sofa upholstery the color of rotting gourds, and before millennials mashed avocado onto their exorbitant toast, their grandparents painted kitchen cupboards the same nauseous green. Macramé wall art and plant holders weren’t the worst of it, but the craft tipped into tacky territory as the 1980s hit. (Apparently, mirrors, lacquer, and neon were an improvement.) Now macramé is back, adding a textured punch over a deliberately bleak white wall. And plants have a lot to do with it.
The origins of decorative knot-tying are primarily attributed to two great cultures. Some experts believe 13th-century Arabic weaving inspired the decoration we know today, while others trace the art back to third-century China. The pan chang knot, for instance, consists of a series of loops that weave to form infinity symbols, symbolizing longevity. Besides artistic endeavors, people have been tying “functional” knots for millennia, from prehistoric ropes to nooses of the “civilized” era to Incan census knots.
European sailors are credited with spreading knot knowledge around the world, beginning in the Great Age of Sail, or the 1700s to about 1830. Since few pledged allegiance to one flag, merchant seamen collected, created, and distributed knots widely and without specific attribution. Knots were considered “common property,” and grew into a worldly folk tradition. But that doesn’t mean sailors were generous with their rope intel. They often bartered knowledge of one knot for instructions on how to complete another. Some only shared their knot design after an apprentice took an oath of secrecy.
Knot-tying as a hobby fell of out favor in the middle 1800s, when “Sailors’ Aid” societies installed libraries aboard boats in an effort to educate and civilize unruly shipmates. “The fact that a sailor could not read and at the same time employ his hands may be accepted as in great part responsible….It was inevitable that when the sailor learned to read he would neglect the arts,” according to The Ashley Book of Knots (1944), which many enthusiasts consider the “knot bible” with over 3,000 designs, written by Clifford Warren Ashley. Then in the “second quarter of the 20th century,” sailors abruptly picked up artistic knotting once again, though Ashley fails to analyze exactly why. “The sailor’s hand and eye, long slaves to magazine and book, were once again free,” wrote the author of a book. Sailors created belts and handbags for their lady friends while listening to an apparently superior information technology, the radio.
Still, fancy rope work and decoration remained mostly niche — until the 1970s, when it seemed every design magazine and bohemian poet hung a macramé plant sling in the corner. (Macramé is merely one style of the craft, mostly characterized by square knots.) Besides tassels and placemats, people were DIYing picture frames, hammocks, golf bags, wall hangings, bikinis, and more. In a 1973 New York Times article titled “The Art of Knot-Tying Revived,” author and knot expert John Hensel said, “It seems that rope work isn’t being taken up just by older people and children, but by young adults as well.” He explained that knot work is an inexpensive art; if one can’t access a length of twine, just weave a venetian blind cord.
During this decade, proponents discussed the calming benefits of knotting. “I’ve had nurses and teachers tell me that knot tying is good therapy,” said Hensel. Author of Practical Macrame (1971), Eugene Andes, said his love of knots started with ship models, which he constructed to “preserve his sanity.” As a pathologist, he even applied his macramé expertise in the operating room. “We don’t sleep much,” said Andes, of himself and his wife.
By the late 1970s, the macramé trend had become so pervasive it hinged on ironic. One derivative hipster even created a macramé Christmas tree so ridiculous the New York Times couldn’t help but report the monstrosity. Replicates cost $2,500.
But as popular knotting fizzled from the headlines, a dedicated subculture of weavers carried on. The body of knot literature grew, and the birth of the internet democratized what was once a more exclusive art form. Craft and DIY bloggers posted tutorials, and their boho wall hangings remain popular today. However, these designs almost went the way of cliche, too — if it weren’t for a new trend reclaiming the style spotlight. According to another bloated trend piece, this time in the Washington Post, millennials can’t afford houses with backyards to help treat their existential anxiety, so they’re filling one-bedroom apartments with dozens of plants. Some even turn down Sunday brunch plans (ergo, avocado toast), preferring to spend hours misting and fertilizing.
And what’s one solution to a lack of counter space in 500 square feet? Macramé plant hammocks. The sailors would be so proud.
