The Crocheters of TikTok

Crochet taking on high fashion? That's a curveball no one could've predicted

When you think of crochet, you probably think of your grandma sitting on the sofa with yarn and a cup of tea in hand — but not if TikTok has anything to do with it. A subculture of fashion crochers has emerged, and it’s a visual delight.

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Oh, how the tables have turned.

Once relegated to the realm of cosy cardigans, couch doilies, and your grandma's afternoon pastime, crochet has spun a new thread, stitching itself right into the fashion zeitgeist. What used to be a meditative hobby for the cardigan elite has now spawned a full-blown fashion subculture, a dopamine-drenched corner of the internet where crochet isn't just craft, it's clout.

Open TikTok and you're one swipe away from a bucket hat made entirely of granny squares, a halter top reminiscent of a 1970s fever dream, or a balaclava that Davie Bowie would look good wearing on the set of Labyrinth. Crochet is no longer just a noun — it’s a lifestyle, a vibe, a manifesto stitched in yarn.

But this isn’t crochet as you know it. No shade to the OG grandmas who crochet, of course. They walked so we could run. Today’s crochet aesthetic is more bold than beige, more avant-garde streetwear than sitting room. It’s got serious sass and main character energy.

TikTok, being the ultimate Gen Z mood board, has been declared the breeding ground for this crafty renaissance. DIYers film themselves transforming humble skeins into hyper-stylized fits, complete with tutorial montages, soothing ASMR loop-pulling, and triumphant reveal shots that make you do a double take.

And it’s not just about fashion, it’s about the flex. 

In a world full of machine-made sameness, crochet has become the ultimate slow drip of cool. It’s intimate, imperfect, painstakingly personal. What was once dull has been wrapped in a serotonin-saturated filter, and turned into a cultural moment. Crochet has entered its high fashion era. 

The Deep Dive

Where did it all start?

Ah yes, the pandemic. That weird, sourdough-fueled moment in time when Zoom became a personality trait, and suddenly everyone remembered they had hands, and maybe even a creative soul? With nowhere to go and global panic mode activated, people started turning inward. Some meditated. Some baked. And a whole lot of us picked up a crochet hook.  

Just like that, fashion’s love affair with crochet began to blossom.  

There was something poetic about it, really. When our everyday realities were unravelling at the seams, we reached for thread. Retro skills like sewing, knitting, and crocheting suddenly felt vital. They gave people control in a time of chaos. It was less about perfect stitches and more about the act of doing something tangible, something rewarding.

Enter: the DIY fashion renaissance. Shows like The Great British Sewing Bee didn't just celebrate homemade clothes; they glamorized them. They reframed the narrative. Making things yourself became a badge of honour. Yarn sales soared. Pinterest mood boards became digital altars to hand-stitched glory.

And TikTok, of course, turned into the epicentre of this revival. Want to watch someone making their own knitwear? There’s a video for that. Curious as to why people are crocheting for friends? There’s a video for that, too. Or how about a croch-slay? Whatever way you look at it, crochet is a total mood.

But at its core, this is more than just a trend. It’s a collective creative catharsis. Crocheting clothes has become a form of therapy with a concrete outcome. A rebellion against mass production, algorithms, and Zara-induced déjà vu. This is about reconnecting with the idea that fashion doesn’t have to come from a shopping cart, instead, it can come from your own two hands.

What’s the look, the feel, the vibe?

Gone are the days when crochet lived politely in pastel palettes and Sunday market stalls. Now? It’s loud. It’s proud. It’s an outfit that looks like it was born at Coachella and raised in the depths of Tumblr. This isn’t your nana’s needlework, it’s fashion’s new power move.

We’re talking psychedelic colour clashes, disproportionate silhouettes, and ironic shapes that leave little to the imagination. The whole aesthetic is joyfully contradictory: soft yarn, hard looks. Vintage technique, futuristic vibe. Cozy texture, chaotic energy.

Crochet has become a canvas for experimentation. There are no templates. No neat edges. People are fusing Y2K nostalgia with rave culture, cottagecore with clubwear, Victorian collars with cartoonish sleeves that belong in a Tim Burton reboot. It’s fashion’s version of a glitch in the matrix, and it works because it shouldn't.

For so long, crochet was dismissed as kitschy or quaint. Now, it’s being radically reimagined as a tool for identity and play. And TikTok, with its infinite scroll of unfiltered creativity, is the perfect incubator for this.

The styles that have taken over my FYP are unapologetically assertive. They're not trying to blend in, they're trying to blow up. Because what modern crochet says is this: we’re done with quiet clothes. We want our fashion to feel like self-expression, not self-restraint.

It’s also an aesthetic middle finger to mass production. These pieces are slow, deliberate, wildly unique. No two are the same and that’s the whole draw. Crochet is a form of wearable art that signals individuality, effort, and sartorial literacy.

L-R (Instagram): @be_nice_to_freaks

If you know, you know… 

In the TikTok fashion arena, crochet has brought about a whole new visual language — coded, symbolic, and dripping in double meaning.

Let’s break it down: crochet has undergone an identity rebrand. What used to signal domesticity, softness, and maybe a whiff of the tea and biscuits generation now screams self-expression, rebellion, and ironic sensuality. This is fashion with layers: textural and metaphorical.

Take the crochet balaclava, for instance. Once a utilitarian winter wear piece or a vaguely ominous accessory associated with ski trips and heists, it's now a Gen Z staple. It’s a nod to protection in a chaotic world, but also to anonymity, play, and post-internet identity. A statement piece and a meme.

Then there’s the infamous granny square. Formerly the humble building block of blankets, it’s now the holy grail of TikTokers. When arranged into skimpy tops or oversized jackets, it becomes pure contradiction. It’s an inside joke for those in the know.

The codes are everywhere. Uneven edges? Intentional, a subtle rejection of machine-perfect uniformity. Wild colour pairings? That’s dopamine dressing with a twist of chaos theory. Overly elaborate appliqués? Whimsical girlhood meets wearable maximalism. It's a mood board come to life.

But what does this mean? That fashion has moved beyond what looks good into what feels true. Crochet is deeply personal. Time-consuming. It demands care and intention. So when someone walks out in DIY crochet attire, they’re broadcasting what they want to say without having to say anything at all.

Who’s leading this subculture charge? 

We’ve established that crochet is back. This comeback is loud, proud, and hooked on self-expression. Social media echo chambers didn’t just revive crochet; they gave it a glow-up and turned it into a full-fledged cultural movement.

TikTok creators aren’t just keeping the art of crochet alive, they’re reengineering it. They’re debating yarn textures like sommeliers, uploading tutorials with the clarity of schoolteachers, and showing off their project of the month like it’s a handmade Oscar gown.