Too bad, So Sad
Just Make More Money
“I think if you are in a position where you can’t afford to quilt then too bad, so sad, go out and make some more money, make choices somewhere else.”
This statement was said during a quilt conversation on a podcast and it has stuck with me ever since. And no, I do not want to call out specific names. It’s just so cringy and says so much about the elitism and tone deafness of the quilting world. The people having the conversation attempted to rationalize the statement. They pointed out that there are frugal ways to participate in the quilt world: thrifting, repurposing fabric, or watching free you tube vides. They also stated that no one is obligated to share their knowledge, tools or resources for free, especially when they’ve invested time, money and effort into mastering the craft. I completely agree. Yet, the sentiment behind the initial statement left me uneasy.
The callousness of saying “go out and make more money” is jarring. It seems to narrow quilting to a financial transaction. Yet in reality – like many creative pursuits- it is more than just a hobby. For many it’s a form of expression, a connection to heritage, or a therapeutic outlet. Dismissing people who can’t afford expensive machines, tools or high-end fabric implies that their desire to create is somehow less valid. Worse, it suggests that their financial situation is a moral failing and that “just making more money” is simple and easy.
The perspective is shallow. Yes, those with financial constraints find innovative ways to engage in quilting. They thrift fabric, scour Facebook Marketplace for secondhand items, or seek out free online tutorials. And let’s be honest, with the sheer volume of fabric and tools that quilters buy (and often do not use), there’s no shortage of materials floating around for little to no cost. In fact, Orson Welles is credited with saying “the enemy of art is the absence of limitations.” But here’s the crux of the issue: the elitism dripping from the statement is hard to ignore. Telling someone to simply “go make more money” fails to account for the complexities of reality. Working more hours (or a second job or a more demanding job) means that they may not have more time or energy to actually devote to quilting. It reduces quilting to a privilege reserved for those who can afford both the materials and time to create.
Yes, elitism is nothing new in quilting. Its roots are with those who could afford excess materials, additional (often uncredited) seamstresses to help to create complex quilts and so on. But there is also a faction of quilters who created out of necessity. It was one of the few artforms accessible to women. It was a way to reuse scraps and make them into something beautiful. The idea that quilting requires major financial investment alienates those who can’t afford high end tools or fabrics but still want to participate in the craft.
Moreover, the statement highlights a broader issue with how we value women’s work. Historically women’s work has been unpaid or undervalued. Many quilters are trying to change this by monetizing their skills and knowledge. However, the flip side of this is the risk of gatekeeping; creating barriers to entry that make quilting feel inaccessible to those without financial means. No one is obligated to give their skills away for free, but shouldn’t we be mindful of how these conversations are framed? Accessibility doesn’t have to mean devaluing work; it can simply mean fostering a more inclusive community where everyone interested has the chance to create regardless of their financial situation.
In the end, quilting should be about more than just those who can afford high end tools or fabric. It should be about creativity, community and preserving the craft. Rather than dismissing those who cannot keep up with the Jone’s wouldn’t it be better to celebrate ingenuity and resourcefulness? In the end quilting is ideally about connection, not exclusivity.