Sock Monkey Business and Rebecca Yaker by Kim Ode

Monkey business

By Kim Ode, Star Tribune

October 14, 2007

Sock monkeys fascinate Rebecca Yaker. Witness the Minnesota State Fair display of the woolen prom dress she wove, its full skirt resplendent with 30 sock monkey faces. Still, when she went to the Sock Monkey Madness festival in Rockford, Ill., a city with fiberglass sock monkey statues much like St. Paul's Snoopys -- imagine -- she decided that, gee, once was enough.

Yaker has a love-hate relationship with sock monkeys (as opposed to the far more common love-love or hate-hate). Locally, she's becoming known as "the sock monkey lady." She finds this vaguely disquieting, perhaps because she didn't begin making sock monkeys in 1998 with the purest of hearts.

"I'd never had one as a child, and my mother didn't know what they were," she said. "But I saw them on eBay and some of them were so weird and creepy that I thought, 'I'll show you creepy."'

And so were born her trademark conjoined sock monkeys, which actually miss the mark in that they're hardly creepy, but are brightly colored twins "embraced in a permanent hug," according to her website, www.hazelandmelvin.com.

(In the interest of warding off looming confusion: Hazel and Melvin are the retro toddler mascots of Yaker's real business, which is making baby bedding and accessories inspired by the colors and patterns of the 1950s.)

Yaker does other stuff, notably sock monkey T-shirts ($36-$48), but also screen-printed T-shirts ($18) and dresses made of plastic play food and shirts of fruit rollups (priceless). She's a craftsperson of many skills, but also a person of many interests.

She's taken classes in welding and glass-blowing, photography and aerial acrobatics. The petite but well-muscled woman is a member of the Minnesota RollerGirls and has a degree in Russian language and literature. Her disposition could be forecast as "sunny."

Ditching the suits

So maybe it's not completely surprising that after an eight-year stint working as a fashion designer for several major U.S. retailers, she decided to leave the corporate life and be her own boss.

She exhibits her work, from sock monkeys to infant bedding and other goods, at large indie craft festivals throughout the country. Next up is the No Coast Craft-O-Rama Nov. 30-Dec. 1 at the Midtown Global Market in Minneapolis (www.nocoastcraft.com).

But for all that, the subject keeps coming back around to sock monkeys.

A little history about the original monkeys: Red Heel socks were first manufactured in 1890 by The Nelson Knitting Mills in Rockford. No one knows who first thought of turning a sock into a stuffed monkey, but it was probably in the early 1900s. A Wikipedia contributor wrote that, "Sock monkeys hold an important place in the culture of North America as a symbol of ingenuity" -- a statement that remains unchallenged on the challenge-baiting website.

By 1920, the mill started including directions for the sock monkeys with every pair of Red Heel socks, and the dolls grew in popularity during the Great Depression. "They're definitely an all-American tradition," Yaker said.

Born to craft

Yaker, 35, comes by her craftiness honestly. Her mother is the handy sort who would make her own sleeping bags and buy out failing fabric stores, while her father is the one with whom she took the glass-blowing class.

Yet she harbors a little secret: Her sock monkeys are not made from actual socks.

She knits them, body part by body part, from skeins of brown heather on her knitting machine, slamming out torsos, tails and ears -- the ears are so tedious -- then lips of red yarn, then sewing them all together.

Some of her creations, such as the prom dress, have become internet sensations. MSNBC commentator Keith Olbermann featured its State Fair appearance on his "Countdown" show, describing it as "the perfect autumn outfit for the woman who wants to project, 'I'm not institutionalized, but I should be."'

Ah, there is no bad publicity.

For fashionistas looking for that special dress, she'll make a custom-fit model for $1,500. She needs eight weeks to make it happen. So far, no one has asked.

For Yaker, who lives in a creatively eclectic house in northeast Minneapolis, there are no -- or at least very few -- bad days. "There's so much stuff you're supposed to do, which leads to all the 'supposed tos' -- college, marriage, making a lot of money," she said. "I'm doing something that people want and am succeeding instead of sitting there waiting. I think I am so happy."

Kim Ode • 612-673-7185

Kim Ode • kimode@startribune.com