A letter from a client

MY GRANDSON CAME DOWN THE MOUNTAIN AT HIS FIRST SKI RACE AND COULDN’T FIND ME. EVERY GRANDMOTHER AT THE BOTTOM WAS WEARING BLACK.

Diane Barrows

Jackson, Wyoming · October 2026

I have never written anything like this before, and I’m not sure I’m the type. But two women stopped me at the café in Wilson on Saturday to ask about my sweater, and a third followed me out to the parking lot. My friend Joanne said, for heaven’s sake, Diane, just write it down. So here it is.

It isn’t really about a sweater. It starts last March, at the bottom of the bunny hill, on race day for the kids’ ski school.

My grandson Sam is seven. He’d spent the whole winter in lessons, and that morning he raced for the first time, a little bib flapping on his chest, legs wobbling, all the way down. He crossed the finish line, threw his poles in the air, and turned around to look for me.

And he couldn’t find me.

I was standing right there, waving. But so were sixty other parents and grandparents, nearly all of us in black parkas and black hats. I watched his face go from proud to lost in about five seconds. By the time he spotted me, his chin was wobbling.

On the drive home, from the back seat, very seriously:

Grandma, everybody’s grandma looks the same. Next year can you wear a color?

I laughed and told him the thing I’d been telling everyone for years. Oh, honey, I’m not a color person.

my closet. black, navy, gray, navy, beige. and then this, right in the middle where sam can’t miss it.

THE WALL OF BLACK

Here’s what I didn’t say in the car.

I wasn’t always a black-and-gray woman. I used to wear a red ski jacket I loved. But somewhere around fifty, I started buying things that wouldn’t show dirt, wouldn’t go out of style, and wouldn’t draw attention. Black goes with everything, the saleswoman said. And it does. It goes with everything, including disappearing.

None of that is a complaint. Black is easy. But standing at the bottom of that hill, I realized I’d made myself so easy to overlook that the one person who was looking for me couldn’t find me.

raspberry, butter yellow, mint, peach and soft gray, with little stars knitted all the way around the yoke. knitted in, not printed on.

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HOW IT HAPPENS

Nobody decides to fade into the crowd. It happens one sensible purchase at a time.

A black coat because it’s practical. A gray sweater because it’s safe. A navy one because the gray one pilled. Every single thing is perfectly reasonable. But put enough of them together and they start telling you a story about yourself, and the story is that you’d rather not be noticed.

And after you’ve said “I’m not a color person” enough times, it stops sounding like a preference. It starts sounding like a fact.

WHAT I HAD WRONG

I genuinely thought I’d outgrown color. That bright things were for young women and little kids, and grandmothers wear black.

But nobody told Sam that. As far as he was concerned, his grandma should be the easiest person in the world to find. He was right.

over the kitchen chair, ready for the morning. it’s the first thing i see when i come downstairs.

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. The things we wear every day deserve at least as much thought as the things we save for best.

THE SWEATER IS CALLED THE Loretta

I found it on the morning of the first snow, in Nancy’s little boutique on the Town Square, where I’d ducked in to get warm.

Nancy taught skiing on the mountain for years before she opened the shop, so I told her about race day. She laughed and said, “Ten years at the bottom of that hill. Every kid crosses the finish line and scans the crowd for their grandma. The ones in color, they find in a second.” Then she took this off the shelf.

It’s a crew neck sweater in soft gray, with a round yoke full of little stars and flowers in raspberry, butter yellow, mint and peach. A band of raspberry diamonds runs across the middle, and the ribbing at the neck, the cuffs and the hem is striped raspberry and gray. It has every color of a Wyoming sunset in it, and it still somehow goes with my jeans.

My first thought was, don’t be ridiculous, Diane, you’ve worn black for fifteen years. But then I thought about Sam’s chin wobbling at the bottom of the hill. My size had already gone from the shelf, so Nancy had me order it on her website right there by the stove, before I could talk myself out of it.

the day it came, four days later. i put it on before i’d even thrown away the envelope.

It’s warm without the bulk, so I can wear it indoors without overheating and under my coat without feeling like a stuffed bear. It sits at the hip, the sleeves come right down to the wrist, and the knit is soft enough to wear straight over a T-shirt. Since the first snow, it’s been on more days than it’s been off.

the morning of the ski swap. tom said i looked like a bag of jelly beans. he meant it nicely. i think.

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE SKI SWAP

Every October the ski club holds its swap in the high school gym. It’s the first ski event of the season, and the whole town is there, elbow to elbow, digging through used skis and boots for the kids.

I walked in through the side door in the sweater. Sam was across the gym with his dad, trying on helmets. He looked up, scanned the crowd for about half a second, and shouted, “GRANDMA! I FOUND YOU!” loud enough that half the gym turned around.

Half a second. Across a gym full of three hundred people in black jackets.

He ran over and hugged me in the middle of the boot table. His dad, my son, looked at the sweater, looked at me, and just said, “Well. Okay then.”

Afterwards, at the café in Wilson, two women at the next table asked where I’d found it. A third followed me out to the parking lot and took a picture of the yoke on her phone.

Joanne said, fifteen years of black and you finally look like the grandma in the storybook.

THREE THINGS I’VE LEARNED SINCE

One. Wear the thing the people who love you can find. That’s it. That’s the whole lesson. I’d spent years dressing so nobody would look at me, and forgot there were people who were looking for me.

Two. Color is warmer than black. I can’t prove it, but I’m sure of it. On a gray Wyoming morning with the snow coming down, this sweater makes the whole kitchen feel brighter.

Three. Nobody thinks you’re too old for color except you. That was entirely my own idea. Sam didn’t think so, Nancy didn’t think so, and the woman in the parking lot certainly didn’t think so.

ABOUT THE PRICE

I’ll be honest, because this was the part that made me hesitate.

The Loretta - Retro Scandinavian knitted sweater is $44.95. It was $112.50.

With that much knitting in it, I assumed there had to be a catch. I haven’t found one. It’s a small local shop selling directly, so there’s no department store taking a cut, and right now Nancy is celebrating five years in business with 60% off everything.

Before I ordered, I read the reviews. There are 4.5 of them, at 5 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some websites, which if I’m honest made me trust it more.

Joanne has since ordered one in a different colorway. She says it’s for the ski swap next year. I think it’s because she’s tired of being the grandma nobody can find either.

where it ends up every evening, over the arm of the sofa. sam has asked if i’m going to wear it to every single race this winter. i am.

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IF WE WERE AT MY KITCHEN TABLE

If we were sitting at my kitchen table with a coffee and the snow coming down, this is what I’d say.

Think about the last time you said “I’m not a color person,” or “black is easier,” or whatever your version of that is. Be honest about whether it was true, or whether it was just the easiest way not to be noticed.

A sweater won’t change your life. Of course it won’t. But being the person your grandchild finds in half a second across a crowded room, that’s worth more than I can tell you. And I went far too many years without it.

Two practical things. The anniversary sale is on now and ski season is coming, with all those races and recitals and crowded gyms. And the popular colors are going. Nancy told me this one has already sold out once.

I don’t mind being the one people look at anymore. As long as Sam finds me first.

Diane

Loretta - Retro Scandinavian knitted sweater

4.5/5 Based on 1.500+ reviews

$125

$49.95 USD
  • Round yoke with little stars and flowers in raspberry, butter yellow, mint and peach
  • Pattern knitted in, not printed on
  • Striped ribbing at the neck, cuffs and hem
  • Warm without the bulk, wear it indoors or under your coat
  • Sits at the hip, sleeves down to the wrist
  • Free delivery across the United States
  • Easy 30-day returns

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anniversary sale ending tonight. small batches, and once this one is gone it is gone.

Diane Barrows is 68 and lives in Jackson Hole with a labrador. She is not a home writer.

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