With the closure of its 800-plus store locations last month, Joann Fabric has been on my mind lately.
Some of my earliest fond memories involve the store. I remember walking down the fabric aisle, following behind my mom and sliding my hand along smooth silks and satins, running my nails over the bumpy scratchy burlap and rubbing my nose on the soft plush faux furs and colorful fleece.
I grew up on a farm 40 minutes from the closest town large enough to sustain a mall and only got to town once or twice a month. During those days, we’d stop by Walmart (before it was a one-stop superstore), the aforementioned mall, the grocery store and, if I was lucky, the fabric store. The days when we got to go to Joann were an absolute treat.
When my oldest sister got married, I was the flower girl. I remember going to Joann with my mother and pulling out the gigantic pattern books and looking through the section for kid’s formal wear. We slowly perused the book looking for just the right dress. When we finally found a dress we both liked, which was a miracle of sorts given our wildly different fashion sense, we went over to the large sewing pattern cabinets, searched for the pattern number and pulled out the fresh crisp envelope. My mother checked the back of the pattern envelope to see what fabric and additional supplies we needed, and we headed to the fabric aisles.
I was very excited because I was allowed to help pick out the fabric for my dress. I remember looking at bolts and bolts of satins and lace in cream and burgundy, my sister’s wedding colors. We looked for matching ribbons, buttons, zippers and thread, picking the perfect combination for a one-of-a-kind garment.
While walking down the church aisle with my little flower basket, I felt like a star in my beautiful new dress that I, in a small capacity, had helped to bring to life.
As I got a little older, my mom showed me the basics of hand sewing and machine sewing. I was the star student in my junior high home economics class, and my classmates came to me with questions when the teacher was busy helping others. I continued to learn sewing techniques over the years, first from reading sewing books and magazines in my teens, then to using the newly created Pinterest App in my 20s to now watching how-to videos on TikTok in my 30s.
As someone who isn’t quite 5-foot-3-inches tall, sewing skills have come in quite handy. Rarely have I been able to purchase a pair of pants off the rack that have not required hemming. I also enjoy making my own clothes from scratch. I’ve never managed to have the skill or patience to produce professional-level garments, but I do well enough that most people won’t see the defects if they aren’t looking too closely, which is good enough for me.
While I enjoy my hobby, I’ve learned that having sewing knowledge is something you ought to keep quiet, unless you want to find yourself frequently asked for help by friends, family, coworkers and sometimes near-strangers. I’ve been shocked by how often someone whose last name I don’t even know has asked me to hem his or her pants, repair a rip on a shirt or even make them full garments.
But, as much as revealing a sewing hobby to others can bring headaches, it can also bring people together.
When I had been dating my now-husband for about six months, he surprised me for my birthday with a fancy new expensive sewing machine that I had loudly pined for several months earlier. After I ripped the wrapping paper off the box, I promptly burst into tears and decided I was going to marry him.
Finally, a guy who gets me, I thought with joy.
While pregnant with my now 2-year-old son, I spent my nesting phase sewing tiny outfit after tiny outfit. Since then, I’ve made him sleep sacks, blankets, sheet sets and hats. My newest favorite hobby is creating matching mommy and me outfits. So far he’s excited to be twinsies with me. We’ll see if the enthusiasm for matching his mommy wanes as he gets closer to adolescence.
My son has recently been much more interested in my sewing habit. He loves to sit next to me at my sewing table and watch his next outfit come together. He even imitates the different sounds he hears, making a high-pitched whirring when I’m using my serger and transitioning to low pitched thump, thump, thump when I use my sewing machine.
He asks me again and again if he can have a turn with the machine, and you can bet when his little legs are long enough to touch the pedals, I’m going to show him the ropes. If he’s still interested by then.
In carrying on the tradition, my son has been inside Joann’s dozens of times, first in his car seat, then sitting in the front of the cart and then walking by himself, running his fingers along the fabric like I used to do. I’ve delighted as his vocabulary has increased and he’s been able to tell me what fabric patterns he likes and doesn’t like.
To come full circle, my son and I stopped by that first Joann store I frequented so many times as a child while visiting my family over Easter weekend. A countdown placard ominously reminded everyone there was only “8 days until store closing.” The store was smaller than I remembered, and certainly a lot emptier, but it was nice to go one last time.
It really saddens me that my son is too young to remember these trips to a store that brought me so much joy as a child. He may never get to sit at a table looking at pattern books with me and choose his own outfits or pick out the fabric he wants it made from. Ordering online just isn’t the same. You can’t feel the fabric under your fingers to see how much it stretches or how soft it is.
So many crafts are a tactile experience, and I worry that many people, including my son, will miss out on a lifelong hobby that has brought me so much joy because they won’t have a place to go like Joann to catch the crafting bug.