Of all the fetish magazines on the market, the name of this one makes us feel the naughtiest. Crochet Fantasy, by virtue of its absurd name, has made the mundane oddly compelling. And disturbing. And sublimely subliminal.
Simultaneously squeaky clean AND tawdry. It’s so bad, it’s good. Perfect.
Or maybe it’s just our predilection for coarse, mustard-colored yarn…