This marks the third iteration of Well Worn, our ongoing series featuring individuals whose work, lifestyle, and creative philosophy embody the enduring quality and utilitarian spirit we value at Save Khaki United and Boyville.
For our Mother’s Day edition, Erin Pollard, the founder of Underwater Weaving Studio, opened up her studio to us to discuss the restorative power of craft and the essential nature of what she calls the "carrier bag".
In a world increasingly dominated by the digital and the ephemeral, Erin’s work stands as a tactile testament to the importance of grounding oneself in the physical. Her journey from the high-pressure environment of New York fashion publishing back to the analog roots of her Maine upbringing informs every basket she weaves. Through her studio and weaving club, she has created a community built on the idea that returning to our hands is the quickest way to return to ourselves. We sat down with her to explore how an ancient functional craft can serve as a modern antidote to a restless world.
How did Underwater Weaving Studio come to be?
Underwater Weaving Studio was really born out of a longing to find my center again. I grew up in Maine during the last truly analog years, surrounded by hand-craft and a slow pace of life. But after moving to New York and spending years working in fashion publishing—hustling to match the city's energy and achieve professional ambitions—I felt disconnected from myself. I started meditating, finding ways to ground myself, and to reconnect with my hands, dabbling in everything from indigo dyeing to jewelry making to other fiber arts, but nothing felt truly me until I began basket weaving. When I finally sat down with raw materials, it was like exhaling a breath I’d been holding for years. It was also a return to my roots as my mother was a weaver, and to my own body. After teaching some friends and gathering a group for a charity, I formalized the practice by naming it Underwater Weaving Studio. A way to reframe the old punchline—turning a joke about a 'useless' pursuit into a statement about the real, restorative power of craft, connectivity, and the desperate need for cultural grounding.
"When I finally sat down with raw materials, it was like exhaling a breath I’d been holding for years."
You've built a basket-weaving club with nearly 300 members, who receive seasonal basket-making kits. What surprised you most about the demand for that kind of community?
I am incredibly humbled by the number of people who have trusted us and invited our kits into their homes. But if I am being completely honest—that deep, collective craving for this kind of work—doesn’t actually surprise me. We are living in a moment where our to-do lists never end, and the pings and alerts from our screens are relentless. I think people are desperate for an off-ramp.
"I think people are desperate for an off-ramp."
What we are really offering in the club isn't just a basket; it’s permission to put your phone in another room, engage your hands, and return to yourself through the quiet, ancient practice of making something from scratch. The fact that nearly 300 people want to share in that specific joy just validates what I felt when I first started weaving: we are all looking for the same grounding, analog anchor in a very fast, very digital world.
What is a day like in your studio?
It is a constant tug-of-war between the slow, intentional work of making and creative thinking, and the fast-paced reality of running a business. My days always start early. I try to protect those first few quiet hours for the deepest, most tactile work—either weaving or writing, always with a cup of coffee. This time is an anchor before the momentum of the day sets in. After drop-off, I am in constant motion. I am usually shooting a new basket, finalizing the physical prototypes, or writing/designing the step-by-step tutorials for our kits. It requires a lot of rapid context switching, but making sure I actually touch the materials and create keeps me grounded.
You’re weaving an ancient functional craft every day for use in the modern world. Where does your inspiration come from?
As much as I love the deep, ancient history of this craft, I’m often inspired by modern life or fashion, by how color can change your look or your home, by weird shapes, and by funny references. My inspiration often comes out of the friction of marrying our most ancient tool in this highly 'productive' world we’ve created. I think a lot about Ursula K. Le Guin's idea that the very first human tool wasn't a weapon, but a container—a carrier bag to hold and nurture. Structurally, our baskets are built to cradle the very modern, messy reality of how we actually live, and I find great satisfaction using baskets for everything.
"Our baskets are built to cradle the very modern, messy reality of how we actually live."
What do you think we've lost by moving away from handwork, and what would it take to bring people back?
I think the shift away from hard work and living in the physical world over the past 20-40 years has fundamentally changed the way we process the world. We’ve traded the tactile satisfaction of making things from scratch for the exhausting grind of convenience and productivity.
"I think the shift away from handwork... has fundamentally changed the way we process the world."
We've lost that quiet, meditative space where we can sit with our thoughts, make mistakes, and physically fix them. We have to offer handwork as an antidote, not an obligation. If you give someone the right materials, a welcoming space, and the grace to just play without the pressure to be perfect, they almost always rediscover that innate human confidence that comes from saying, 'I made this'. It’s really about reminding people that returning to their hands is the quickest way to return to themselves.
"Returning to your hands is the quickest way to return to yourself."
Images | Dan McMahon @imageheavy
Special thanks to Erin Pollard @underwater_weaving
