A Michael’s ad introduced me to a new trending buzzword: grandmacore. The company used it to promote its “cozy” craft products, including needlepoint, paint-by-numbers, and cross-stitch—all in a 1970s-style Cooper-like font.
Go to their link, and they’ll describe their other “analog hobbies” with a section labeled, “Need a break from doomscrolling?”
They’re not alone. Part of the advertising by the revived Commodore is how the new Commodore 64 and 64C Ultimate computers offer a break from the constant barrage of notifications we get from modern tech.
What I see in grandmacore isn’t just nostalgia. It’s a rejection of how loud, intrusive, artificial, impersonal, cynical, and ultimately hopeless society has become. We yearn for a time when we weren’t controlled and surveilled by our devices, didn’t need to install an app to buy simple items, and we could create things with our hands instead of having AI generate it for us.
Grandmacore reminds me of our children’s grandma—my mom—back in the 1970s.
Mom loved making crafts. She sewed her own clothes, painted by numbers, made needlepoint, and knit a sweater for me in high school I still have to this day. These were skills women were expected to have in the gender-restricted roles of the time. But when she divorced my dad and went to work, those crafts gave her an outlet to handle stress and gain some control over her life.
She wasn’t alone. In the 1970s, crafting enjoyed a resurgence. Macrame, string art, crochet, and model building were also popular. The pop culture of the time expressed its own version of grandmacore. Nostalgic TV shows like Happy Days, The Waltons, and Little House on the Prairie topped the ratings. Even in the big sci-fi movie of the era, both hero and villain rejected a dependence on technology and used the Force.
In the 1970s, like today, we felt exhausted over the tumult of rapid social change and political violence. The big technological triumphs of the past decade didn’t improve the lives of ordinary people, especially as the economy tanked and prices soared. (Plus, we had our own gas crisis.) We wanted to slow down so we can get more control over our own lives. Crafting and cozy nostalgia met those needs. Today, grandmacore expresses a rejection of AI and a desire for human-made art.
But be warned: The yearning for simpler times can also mean a desire for more repressive times. The 1970s were marked by a backlash against integration, a rise in sexual harassment, and attempts at anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, like the Briggs Initiative. That decade gave birth to the far-right organizations that plague us today, including the Heritage Foundation and the Moral Majority. These organizations are currently stripping away 60 years of civil rights and social safety nets. Manosphere podcasters describe women in ways that would make the Commanders of Gilead flinch. Like many other harmless trends, grandmacore can be used as a pipeline to regressive and hateful beliefs.
It doesn’t have to be this way. A yearning for simpler times can also mean a yearning for more humane times. Crafting can build community as people share tips, ideas, and solve problems. By making these communities inclusive, we can enhance our crafting experience with the skills and artistry of other cultures and ways of life. We must remember the heart of grandmacore is love—not merely love of the past, but a love that welcomes and embraces all. It’s a warm cup of tea on a hand-knit cozy that’s offered to anyone who needs it.
Our yearning to slow the world down should bring with it a desire to move society ahead. The hands that knit, paint, and sew can also be the hands that embrace.
