A Farewell to Joann Fabrics

Crafty girls around the U.S. are grieving a huge loss

Words by Kennedy Smith

I have been sewing since I was ten years old. Around that time, I was introduced to my nearest Joann Fabrics, colloquially known as “Joann’s.” My grandma, who taught me how to sew and bought me my first baby blue Kenmore sewing machine from Sears, would take me to Joann’s to sift through pattern books. Years later, with my driver’s license and Pinterest boards in tow, I started to go to Joann’s alone. Joann’s soon became my center for fabrics, gifts, and comfort. Now, they are going out of business and rapidly closing across the U.S. The one closest to me has already shut its doors. This article is an ode to, and a memorial for, Joann’s. May she rest in peace.

When Joann’s first filed for bankruptcy in the summer of 2024, that was my first stage of both grief and utter confusion. Yes, they were closing some stores. No, they were keeping all 800 stores open. They took down the large, pepper green JOANN’s sign for a few weeks, but rest assured, they said, it was because they were repainting. Websites popped up claiming to be the Joann’s website with going-out-of-business prices, but only a keen eye could tell that they were scam websites looking for any crafter who was as confused as I was about the future of the store. I, too nervous to inquire on the phone, got other people to call the store over the course of several months and asked if they were going out of business. It was always a firm “no”. Until it was an “I don’t know” or an “it’s up in the air.” And eventually, it was a “yes” or an irritated “they haven’t told us what day exactly.”

In January, after Joann’s filed for bankruptcy for the second time, they announced that they were indeed closing at the beginning of 2025. They had not shared with their employees or the public when they would close the location near me. My mind was in a flurry. At first, they didn’t change their sale prices or move anything around, and I would hear murmurings of “this isn’t going out of business prices” from customers as I strolled down the aisles. They were right, and I felt anxious, like any day now I would drive up and there would be an empty space where a Joann’s used to be. Like it got airlifted to a place where people could keep it afloat– maybe Europe or Canada. The only thing that was different in the store was the number of people there. I saw compilations of TikToks dedicated to missing Joann’s. I watched YouTube videos of customers stocking up on yarn. I saw an SNL clip of a Joann Fabrics sketch. Going to Joann’s felt like such an individual experience. The only other person I knew who shopped there was my mom, when there was a good sale on holiday trinkets, or my grandmother years ago. Now, I am looking around, and everyone is coming out. I wondered if this was a similar story for other people. I was almost always shopping alone, in my own world, quietly focused as I dropped items into a rickety shopping cart. Occasionally, someone would ask me a fabric-related question, and I answered to the best of my ability, clearly appearing so focused that I looked like I had more knowledge than I actually did. The stores always felt like there was no one in them, but it started to dawn on me that Joann’s belonged to many people.

One day in April, I got an email saying that they finally had a day: April 28 (that was discreetly changed to April 27 a few days later). Just before this announcement, I took a trip to Joann’s. When I entered the store, it was the physical embodiment of something being turned upside down. It was chaos. The number of people, the overworked staff with paper pinned to their shirts that said “no, I don’t know when we are closing,” it all felt overwhelming. Shopping bags with the green Joann’s logo turned into kitchen trash bags. There were blue, pink, and green signs taped to the walls and the counters explaining that they were indeed hiring, and anyone who could join them would get an extra 30% off anything they wanted. The music was wild. It was no longer a casual “I’m Like a Bird” by Nelly Furtado. Instead, it’s theme music from anime shows. I’m guessing that the staff was finally able to change the music to their liking.

The actual announcement came about a week and a half before April 27. A doomsday-type yellow sheet of paper with a countdown until closing day was erected under the Joann’s sign that was repainted less than a year ago. Similar large yellow sheets were hanging from the ceiling once I walked inside, explaining that the store was closing, as if I hadn’t noticed the big “9 Days Left” before I entered. The thread on the shelves was totally wiped out, and they were selling the shelves themselves for $60. The fixtures were on sale, too. It was so dirty in there. They were moving products closer to the front, clearing out everything in the back, removing the shelves afterwards, leaving behind disgusting, dusty, abandoned areas. There were so many new employees, vigorously restocking the shelves with everything coming from the warehouse. I felt rushed and pressured to get stuff that I normally wouldn’t. The creative energy was dead. It didn’t feel like the same place. That day, the sounds echoing from the speakers were a playlist of loud rock music. They had a 90% off fabric sale, which was only promoted on letter paper at the front door, and you had to take the entire bolt. I took what I thought I could use eventually, knowing that elastic and zippers were gone, and I likely needed one of those to finish off whatever I was going to create. People ahead of me in line had fabric stacked so high that they couldn’t see, navigating the cart from the front. The line felt like I would be standing in it forever. The air conditioner wasn’t on anymore. On one hand, I couldn’t wait to draft a handful of ideas for each piece of fabric. On the other hand, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. 

The last time I went back was two days before closing. They had consolidated everything to the first four aisles– some items thrown together into clear plastic containers and hoisted onto the shelves. The dozens of frames and storage bins there last time were now completely gone. They must have had another local sale like the fabric. There was no music playing this time, and there wasn’t anything of value to sift through. I couldn’t help but circle the same aisles like a vulture, hoping for something to pop up that I didn’t see before. I bought a few buttons and a stack of scrapbook paper. I decided not to go on the last day, even if just to say goodbye. There was nothing left.

Back when their daily promotional emails were simply filled with bright colors and exclamation points– back when they were not constantly reminding me that my store was about to close– I read the emails like the morning paper. I could use better fabric shears or some more bobbins. Oh look, the autumn home decor collection is out, and it’s only the end of July. Christmas stuff is 80% off now that we are in February. Not only were their daily newsletters letting me know the sales and what’s new in the store, but it was the same place that highlighted Black crafting influencers, the same place that let their customers know that they were not allowed inside their stores without a mask back in 2020, and the same place that housed coupons that took my total price down 40% (excluding sale items… which was likely most of the stuff purchased).

Everyone had their own corner of the store. There was someone engulfed in an aisle of colorful silk flowers, diligently plucking green stems off the shelf to make a modest bouquet. There was someone gently squeezing life into bundles of yarn in search of the skein that would be transformed into a handmade gift. There were people like me, who scoured the white metal shelves of fabric for hours, running my hand along the material, putting bolts of fabric next to one another, staring with squinted eyes to see a future where a yard of this and two yards of that become a part of my closet. Joann’s also had a gardening section, jewelry section, painting section, letter writing section, quilting section, storage section, a Cricut section, aisles of woven baskets, shelves of tipped over scrapbooks and photo albums, a baking section, framing section, t-shirt DIY section, and one of my favorites, the section for seasonal interior and exterior home decor.  

I have been to Joann’s a lot, and I have applied to work there quite a few times, including when they were promoting “seasonal temporary” positions as they were going out of business. They always said no or never got back to me. This was probably because I have absolutely no experience in retail, but I knew the store like the back of my hand. I bet I could walk the aisles of Joann’s blindfolded without bumping into a single thing. I wondered if the employees recognized me at some point, because we would see each other roughly once or twice a month for years. I would stroll in with a face mask, glasses that slipped down my nose, and any sort of clothing combination that I could pull together. It was never a fashion show there– the real looks came after I swiped my card, with creations that the staff would never see. I tried to give them a vague picture whenever they would ask what I was going to make, unsure if they were doing small talk or if they genuinely wanted to know.

I enjoyed the experience of going to Joann’s more than the other crafting chains. Joann’s felt more enlightened than Hobby Lobby and more varied than Michaels. Where I would never find a pride section at Hobby Lobby, I found it at Joann’s. Where I would never find fabric to make anything but a cotton quilt at Michaels, I found it at Joann’s. I enjoyed Joann’s, not just because they had the fabric that I wanted, which they almost always did, but it was that everything they had related to a creative hobby– something that did not require me to be online, something that wasn’t motivated by money, something that came from my heart and my hands alone. Pinterest became less of just another app to doom-scroll, and grew into an app to build a reference board for my birthday dress or a mood board for what to create for a summer vacation. It felt motivating to see an image and think “I can do that”, then look through Joann’s inventory online and confirm that I can do that. Not just with fabric but with lace detailing and beaded embellishments. 

Even without an idea, I enjoyed making a lap around the store. Being surrounded by crafts waiting to be created calmed me. I felt like I was having a stroll in the garden of untapped artistry. I allowed my eyes to roll over the products, lazily calculating if I could make use of this or that. I learned more about fabrics by walking around and touching some. I got more curious about why some fabrics, like linen, cost more than basically any of the others. It became ingrained in me that going to Joann’s was a place to de-stress. With so few customers in a single area at any given time, and slightly older Top 40 songs seeping through the speakers, I would go in there and leave with nothing but a better attitude (rarely, because I usually always left with something). 

To make it worse, I loved my specific Joann’s. I have been to others with low ceilings and disorganized shelves. My Joann’s eliminated the stuffiness with super high ceilings and glass doors that brought in so much daylight. My Joann’s was on a strip with a huge free parking lot (a growing rarity). My Joann’s was within walking distance of a thrift store, so after I thrifted a piece I liked and could transform into a piece I love, I would go to Joann’s and fill in the gap. Now, that thrift store has been bought out, the Party City next door has cardboard on the windows, and the Joann’s on the other side has closed its doors– all within a couple of months of each other.

I can only imagine the amount of stuff people now have stocked up to the ceiling from Joann’s. Many people like me have variations of a mini-Joann’s store in their office, closet, bedroom, garage, car, or under their bed. Of course, there are worse things going on in the world than a craft chain going out of business. However, I have always believed that everyone gets to have their thing. Something that they like that they don’t have to explain or give context for, or preface that there are, in fact, a bunch of more impactful things happening right now. This is mine. I am not too sure where to drive the next time I feel stressed. I haven’t found a place closer than an hour to buy fabric. In the meantime, I have a corner in my room full of bagged-up fabric and thread. Thrift stores and upcycling do still exist. I literally have my work cut out for me. But Joann’s was a unique place with a diverse crowd, and I’m going to miss it. Over time, once my corner of fabric turns into clothes, and my wrapped-up plates and hand towels from the home decor section finally get put away in the cabinets of my own apartment, someone will ask me, “Where did you buy that?” And I will turn, smugly, like an old lady who frequented Blockbuster, and blab an unnecessary “Back when I was your age, there was something called ‘Joann’s’…” I look forward to that.