Lacework flourished during the Victorian era, a time when women spent most of their lives indoors. [Shutterstock]
Two exhausted “camps,” a mother and a daughter, collide over inherited household items. Opened suitcases, a red sheepskin rug folded carelessly, a woolen blanket that has warmed generations in the family and has remained hidden in the closet. The generational “battle” that has lasted for years has now been decided: The daughter has won the argument and this pile of objects will be thrown away. One last stronghold remains inside a closed suitcase. When the daughter opens the zipper, the mother exclaims: “Not the doilies, too!”
This is a phrase that has been heard in countless homes, as closets are emptied, generations move to other houses, and square footage shrinks. The knitted doilies – also known as chemin, or squares in Greece – are one of those objects that are no longer used; often, we don’t even know who made them. A grandmother, an aunt, or another woman in the family? And yet, they remain in our drawers, not because we need them, but because we don’t know what to do with them.
The ‘scourge’ of squares
Alexia, who has an entire shelf of various sets of knitted doilies in her home in the suburb of Melissia, describes them as a “scourge.” The majority of her collection was given to her by her grandfather’s sister from Epirus, which she had handmade. “I don’t have a special emotional attachment to her. If she had given me something she had bought, I wouldn’t hesitate to part with it. But when it comes to embroideries made by the woman who gave them to me and you know how much work they put into them, you have a hard time throwing them away,” she tells Kathimerini. “Similarly, I admire a tablecloth that my husband’s family has, which has been made with a method called ‘grape.’ Visually, it’s as if they’ve embroidered the berries of a grape in three dimensions, like little caps. Would I ever use it? Never. If I get my hands on it, will I throw it away? No. That’s why I call them a scourge.”
The alternative option for doily owners would be to sell them. But as appraiser and auctioneer Stavros Frattis tells Kathimerini, those that usually have some value are the larger embroideries that bear special characteristics such as gold thread. “However, we usually deal with crochet doilies that are smaller in size and whose value is purely sentimental for each family. The fact that they do not take up much space is also the reason why they survive to this day, as they are easy to store. Many of them came [with refugees] from Izmir and Istanbul. They carry more than a century of history with them.”
A similar case is some of the treasured embroideries that 70-year-old Evdokia keeps, which she says date back to the late 19th century. “The oldest ones were brought to Greece by my ancestors after the Asia Minor Catastrophe [the Greek-Turkish War of 1919-1922]. They were among the few things they were able to save. Could I possibly throw them away now? I will keep them because that is my duty. But what my son will do after me is his own business. He will probably throw them away, because he does not have the same emotional connection as me. I grew up with these doilies in my house. Some of them are mine, some are my mother’s and some are my mother-in-law’s. As long as I live, they will live, too.”
Unrecognized work
Lace-patterned needlework flourished in the Victorian era (19th century), a time when women spent most of their lives indoors. When cotton yarn became cheaper and women’s magazines of the time began to publish patterns for crochet and lace, knitting became more than just a hobby – it became one of the few ways of creative expression they were allowed. In 20th-century Greece, crocheting was integrated into everyday life and became a key part of every girl’s education that any “good bride” was expected to know. Needlework was also directly linked to the dowry, the material reflection of a woman’s worth in marriage. Sheets, tablecloths, towels and doilies of all sizes and antimacassars were knitted early on, with girls often starting in adolescence. Each piece was stacked in the trunk, not for everyday use, but to be displayed at the appropriate time as proof of hard work, patience, and compliance.
At the same time, having a woman knit clothes or decorations at home was a more economical solution than buying ready-made items, although it required endless hours of work. The doily was perhaps the most characteristic object of this invisible work. From tabletops and consoles to television and radio sets, the doily was ubiquitous. Initially, they also had a practical use, protecting surfaces and appliances from dust. In practice, they also functioned as a silent demonstration of diligence, order and female contribution.
While doilies are considered outdated or unnecessary today, their patterns and techniques are making a comeback through fashion and design. Lace, crochet and embroidery that refer to handmade work are part of modern collections, now cut off from their domestic context. Fashion houses such as Jacquemus have presented knitted ensembles on their catwalks, with delicate knits that directly refer to patterns found in doilies. Accordingly, Ralph Lauren and Chloé have brought back lace and handmade textures, incorporating them into dresses and blouses with modern lines.
At the same time, handmade work has found its place away from the catwalks. Ada Pana, owner of an antique shop in the center of Athens, often finds young women searching through the shop’s trunk where doilies are stored.
“They alter them, incorporate them into clothes or I have seen them transformed into bags, even dolls. Upcycling for me is the best solution, because otherwise, those who do not wish or do not have the space to keep them, throw them away. Their commercial value is unfortunately the inverse of the time and work required to make them,” she says.
The suitcase remained open for a while longer. Some doilies were folded again, some were put aside, some never returned inside.