A Hansel & Gretel Experience on the Upper East Side

c/o Madeleine Ford

On a dreary Tuesday afternoon, I ventured to the mid-Upper East Side in search of yarn for my great grandmother. We were visiting family in India over Spring Break, and I thought some new yarn and knitting needles would make the perfect gift, especially considering how hard high-quality yarn is to find there. 

Scanning the street for the store, I glance up and down as the awning comes into view. I descend the few steps leading to the entrance, but the door is locked. Hesitantly, I knock a couple times and a woman approaches the door. Her white hair is short, and she wears a colorful, knitted sweater which she has no doubt made herself. I explain my situation to her, and she tells me to have a look around and let her know when I’m done. However, this is not before she informs me repeatedly that I must decide what item I’m making before I buy the yarn, seeing as the goal informs what you buy, and not the other way around. I tell her I don’t know, that the yarn is not for me but for my great grandmother, but my words fail to resonate with her. I begin examining her selection of yarn which consumes the entire wall, and she moves to re-lock the door.

After a while, I’d paced the length of the narrow store over and over again, examining possible candidates of all different colors, textures, and thicknesses. I ultimately decide on a couple of different skeins, at which point the other customer has left. I ask her how much it’ll be, and she informs me that each skein is $30. My eyes widened in shock — that much for that little yarn? I must have heard her wrong. I ask again, and I’m met with the same response. She tells me that I’ll have to buy two skeins of the same style if I want to make anything, and I am at a loss for what to do. 

Locked in the small store alone with her, I felt I had no choice but to purchase the overpriced yarn. She was quite an intimidating presence, and I left the store with two of the same skeins and a pair of knitting needles, all amounting to $67. $67 is an extraordinary amount to spend at a yarn store, unless you’re a knitting or crochet enthusiast, as I knew and was later informed again and again upon recounting this story to increasingly concerned listeners ranging from family and friends to whoever would listen.

Two days later, with the support of a friend (to ensure I wasn’t intimidated into buying even more yarn), I returned to the store, and exchanged the yarn as per store policy. With the reassurance that I wouldn’t be murdered and that, if my last breath truly was taken in this very yarn store I would be avenged, I stood firm as I asked for her cheapest options. They were $12 a skein, and I bought as many as I could. I returned the needles as well, out of fear they wouldn’t be to my great grandmother’s satisfaction. After I’d picked 5 skeins, I purchased a small, slightly disheveled ball for $5, and kept the remaining two dollars in store credit for a future visit I doubted would come.

After this experience, I decided to do some research of my own. I found that the skein priced at $30 was only $15 on Amazon. I tried the skeins I ended up giving my great grandmother, and they, in turn, were $6 each. Ultimately, it seemed as though whatever the Amazon price was, her price was double. 

It felt as though I had been fooled, tricked even by the welcoming images I saw of the store online. It was almost as if they, and the colorful, vibrant yarn acted in tandem as a mirage meant to lure and trap me, like the house of candy was for Hansel and Gretel.

Curious, intrigued, and wanting to know more, I decided to revisit the store and inquire about her pricing and typical customer demographic, among other things. In response, I not only received answers to my simple questions, but also part of her life story.

As it turns out, Valeria Kardos, the store’s owner who I had been greeted by at the outset of all my visits, is a Hungarian refugee. She described molotov cocktails being thrown at cars, and how, just a few weeks before her 15th birthday, she and her family climbed the Iron Curtain under the cover of night and escaped. When she arrived in the U.S. she began school merely three days later without knowing a word of English.

She raved about her parents, informing me repeatedly that they were very supportive of her and her siblings in everything ranging from education to sports. I learned about how she had trained to be an Olympic swimmer in Budapest before they left, and how she now swims at the Upper East Side’s very own Asphalt Green. 

She received a full scholarship to one of New York City’s top fashion schools, and went on to become a designer on 7th Avenue. Propelled by her work, she traveled the world. Eventually, though, her husband was ready to retire, and asked if she could find something to do that would allow her to stay closer to home. With his encouragement, she opened the yarn store we were sitting in over 20 years ago.

Her initial customer demographic had been people aged 20 to 60, with some being teachers and others mid-aged executives of successful companies. In fact, when I entered the store this time, a customer who had been with her since she opened was there and more than willing to offer an enthralling review. Now, her current demographic is largely Gen Z and Millennials, with the age range leaning towards 18 to 30 years old.  

From what she told me, her prices are based on the price she pays for the yarn, and the increases come from her high rent and the need for the shop’s survival. Further, seeing as her store mainly carries European yarn, due to the ongoing energy crisis prices have increased even more. The rent, though, should come as no surprise, given that it is the Upper East Side. However, part of me wonders whether the reason there is a question of her survival is due to the high prices, the store’s slightly obscured location, or both.

People buy yarn, as she had previously informed me, depending on the project they have in mind. She stands and moves to show me, returning with several big plastic bags full of yarn, each containing a specific customer’s work. She places the bags on the table and begins taking the various yarn and projects out, showing me what customers have asked for help with as well as their yarn and progress. 

As I can clearly see from the innumerable examples she provides, the end goal truly influences the needed yarn; for a baby’s sweater, you may only need one ball of yarn whereas for a men’s sweater, you’d need somewhere around 14 to 16. 

I go on to learn about how she utilizes her previous experience in design for her clients through custom-design patterns, something, I’m told, is unique to her. It should be noted, though, that she charges for this, and for helping clients with projects when needed: her high rent and Upper East Side locale offer her no favors — a precedent she is forced to mirror when it comes to her clients.

After spending an hour in her yarn store, hearing her life story, and learning more about the shop’s intricate workings, I can no longer truthfully say I feel like Hansel and Gretel, lured into a house of candy, tricked, and successfully fooled. I do feel, however, as though my naivete, like the children of the Grimms’ fairy tale, was exploited. 

As I recall my first visit to her store, everything now makes sense. Looking back, with the knowledge I’ve since acquired, I understand her insistence on the right amount of yarn and remarkably high prices. After all, it is the Upper East Side.