Two years ago, I took up knitting. A self-professed spaz, I didn’t think I would be able to manage such a tactile skill. But I was determined and inspired. I’d seen women on the bus and in classrooms with needles in hand, working what seemed to be magic. I wanted to work some, too.

Now I’m obsessed with needlework, and I am not alone.

Many women and men in their 20s and 30s are gravitating to “traditional” domestic arts such as knitting, crochet, sewing and cooking. Inspired by their mothers or their peers, these young adults have set up crafty Web sites, “stitch ‘n bitch” groups and independent businesses that sell handmade items. They are taking a phenomenal interest in creating beautiful and comfortable homes.

Several hip magazines are addressing this trend, Bust being the most prominent (editor Debbie Stoller already has one knitting book out, Stitch ‘N Bitch: The Knitter’s Handbook, and another soon to be released, Stitch ‘N Bitch Nation). Craftiness and homemaking are being promoted with a feminist message and a concept called the “new domesticity.”

My initial concern in regard to this concept was that championing a historically loaded term such as domesticity without critical thought could potentially reinforce gendered expectations rather than liberate them.

The modern word domestic evolved from the Greek domos and Latin domus, both meaning house. As the words dominate and domestic come from the same root dom, the dominus was the master of the house. But savvy students know the definitions of words evolve over time to fit the current culture.

Thanks to the 1970s women’s movement, which fought against the gendered constraints of domesticity, “domestic” no longer has to mean “domination.” And yet, even as feminists fought for liberation from chores, they also worked for the recognition and validation of housework and the domestic arts.

Unfortunately, the seemingly opposing agendas collided. Rather than being valued, domesticity became something to be ashamed of. Think of the now-loaded term “housewife.”

Many younger feminists have fought against preconceived and often confusing notions of what “appropriate” feminism is. And a lot of us thought that domesticity was not compatible with those notions. I foolishly did. As a teenage feminist, I wanted nothing to do with anything that could be labeled “women’s work.” I rejected the idea of marriage, cooking and other aspects of “homemaking.” Now I revel in them.

Jean Railla is the most well-known advocate of the new domesticity and the founder of getcrafty.com. A former bohemian and now domestic goddess, Railla had concerns similar to mine before she embraced the domestic lifestyle.

“I spent most of my 20s defining myself as a feminist not by what I did, but what I didn’t do. I didn’t keep house. I didn’t get married. I didn’t cook very often. I didn’t knit or sew,” she writes in the introduction to her new book, Get Crafty: Hip Home Ec.

She realized, as I did, that being a woman and a feminist were about the choices we make. I can be feminist and be married, or cook, or knit or have children, as long as I am free to make those choices. Being domestic isn’t anti-feminist. Conversely, anti-domesticity isn’t a feminist value. Enjoying baking a cake or knitting a blanket isn’t going to contradict my feminist values. It actually enhances the complexity of them.

The new domesticity is a continuation of the work our mothers did during the second wave of feminism. It is an evolution of what it means to be domestic, as well as a way of reconciling femininity and feminism. Since the survival of the family isn’t dependant upon women knitting clothing, what was once a chore is now a “punked-up” hobby. Instead of knitting socks, we can knit condom cozies and edible underwear (see knitty.com).

Recognition of our homes need not be stifling. Women and men can partake in traditional domestic arts while simultaneously revolutionizing them. We can create more meaningful lives by creating sacred spaces and taking pleasure in the food we eat.

We can honor our homes and take back the craft.