What Linen Does to a Knitted Fabric — And Why It Surprises People

I have loved this little top, Saila, by Sachiko Burgin.  My daughter, Elizabeth, knit in two skeins of stunning Prism Madison Radiant Petite some eight years ago.

When everyone in the Club asked that we do something with a little lace, it came right to the front of my mind. But it was wool, right?

Uh. No. Turns out it was designed for a now-discontinued silk rayon blend — something that's all drape and no bounce. Elizabeth did it in wool and wears it as an evening layer in cooler weather. But that wasn't the designer's intention.

It's funny how we get something in our head and decide that's just how it should be. I think that's why knitters so often reach for the yarn shown in the sample, even when it's all wrong for how they live and dress. That's what they saw. That's, by definition, how it should be.

Which is exactly why I love what designer Britt-Marie Brehmer does. She'll knit the same design in a completely different yarn and get what is, essentially, a completely different sweater. Many of us have knit Kiki — gorgeously cozy, bell-sleeved, worked in ITO So Kosho and Sensai. And then she turned around and knit it in ITO So Asa and Kinu. Not even the same animal. The ribbing that gave structure in one version gave drape in the other. Susan at Magpie Knits put it perfectly: "I didn't even like Kiki. But the new version — I love it."

Sweaters are systems. The fiber is not a detail. It's a decision. And every decision you make — construction, fit, yarn — can radically change what you end up with. That's not a problem. It's actually wonderfully empowering, as long as you know what to expect and how to control it.

So. back to Saila. Let's talk about why I love it, what I'm knitting it in, and why I'm making some changes that aren't just personal preference — they're structural.

Why I love it

First: it has a set-in sleeve construction. I know — it's sleeveless. But a set-in sleeve construction isn't about the sleeve. It's about the armhole. A shaped armhole gives you control over fit that a dropped shoulder simply can't match. I talked about this last week — how a small bind-off at the underarm of a dropped shoulder gets you a long way toward better fit. But only a truly shaped armhole takes you all the way there. Saila goes all the way there.

Second: it has picked-up trim around the armhole. In a woolly, bouncy yarn, this is a tidy finish that keeps the edges in line. In a plant-based fiber, it's doing something more important — it's preventing the armhole from stretching out. That reverse stockinette trim is one of my favorite edgings because it's clean and unobtrusive, and here it's also genuinely functional. The designer made that choice on purpose, and it matters.

Third: just enough lace. Lace at the hem to anchor the garment, clean stockinette the rest of the way. Not so open you need a layer underneath, not so fussy it takes all your concentration. Happy medium.

What I'm knitting it in

ITO So Asa and Kin Gin, held together.

I've had Elizabeth's slightly sparkly version living rent-free in my head for nearly a decade, so the sparkle was non-negotiable, but I didn't want this to be a night-time only garment. I wanted to be able to wear it during the day, despite the sparkle, so something a little rustic to balance the sparkle.  I loved working with So Asa for my Lova, and holding it with Kin Gin seemed like the obvious answer. Before I swatched, I was hoping against hope I'd land on the 22 stitches per 4" the pattern calls for. Started on a US 4 — too tight. Moved to a US 5, and it worked out perfectly.

Look at how open those stitches are at the top. Slightly irregular too. That's not a tension problem. That's linen.

Plant-based fibers — linen, cotton, silk — have no elastic recovery. No crimp, no molecular spring, nothing pulling the stitches back against each other the way wool does. The stitches sit where you put them and hang. But linen does something beyond that, and it's worth understanding before you cast on.

Linen fibers are hollow, which makes them lighter and more breathable than even cotton. Linen has no loft — no air trapped in the fiber, which means no insulation. That's not a flaw. That is exactly the point. Air is an excellent insulator, which is why wool is warm. Linen, with no loft at all, stays cool.

Linen is also moisture-wicking, which means it absorbs moisture from your body and transfers it to the outside air. You feel cool and dry instead of sweaty and clammy. And that slight stiffness you can feel in the swatch? That's what makes the fabric stand away from your body rather than clinging to it. You'll actually catch a breeze through a linen knit. In July, in Maryland, that is not a small thing.

Cotton is our usual go-to for summer, and it's fine — but cotton absorbs moisture and holds onto it rather than releasing it. Depending on how it's processed, it can also have more loft than you'd think, which means more insulation than you want. Linen is a different animal entirely.

As for Kin Gin — its job here is to bump the gauge up just enough to hit the pattern's 22 stitches per 4", and to add the sparkle I've been thinking about for eight years. That's it. The drape, the hand, the way this fabric behaves — that's all So Asa. The Kin Gin is the sparkle. And the sparkle is non-negotiable.

What I'm changing — and why

Working flat instead of in the round. Saila is worked in the round to the armholes, then divided. I'll probably keep the lace portion in the round, but I'm going to divide for front and back after that. Two reasons.

The first is structural: plant-based yarns have no elasticity and will stretch over time. Side seams give the garment stability the fiber itself can't provide. In a wool sweater, the yarn does some of that work for you. Here, the seams have to.

The second reason is something several of you ran into when we knit Lova together --biasing. When you work in the round with a low-recovery fiber, the fabric can develop a lean, with the stitches gradually shifting to one side rather than stacking straight. Wool forgives this. It has enough elasticity to pull things back into line. Linen doesn't. If you want the technical explanation of what's happening stitch by stitch, Patty Lyons has a wonderful piece on exactly this at  Modern Daily Knitting. The short version is that working flat, with a seam at each side, breaks the problem before it starts.

I may also chart the lace pattern. I know. You hate charts. But I'm a very visual person, and knitting lace without is just more laborious for me.  I like to see what the stitch pattern is doing on the page before I do it on the needles. 

And I'll take the armhole in a little more. A style preference for my particular body. Easy to do, and worth knowing you can.

There are lots of yarns you could use for Saila. So Asa and Kinu, the two yarns from Lova,  would give you a slightly more substantial hand and that beautiful subtle tweedy quality from the silk Kinu. Kinu and Kin Gin would give you something even finer and more fluid. Maximum drape, still with the shimmer. Kinu and Gima would be something else entirely, a fascinating texture worth exploring. You could even use a single strand of Coleman with a carry-along of Kin Gin, though you'd trade some drape for more structure. The sparkle would still be there.

All of these combinations will make a different top. Same pattern, but different yarns give you very different results.

That's how it goes.  I swatched, and got the gauge, I looked at that fabric and made a series of decisions:  fabric, seams, armhole, trim.  These are the kinds of decision that flow from understanding what this fiber does. That's the system working. That's the difference between hoping it turns out and knowing why it will.

Warmly,
~Ellen