Hey! Have You Been To P&T Knitwear?

I talked to the team at P&T Knitwear about bookstores as gathering places, the intimacy of reading, and why making space for stories and each other still matters.

What makes a bookstore matter? At P&T Knitwear, it’s about more than what’s in stock. It’s about what’s in motion. From the titles on the tables to the voices at the mic, every corner of the space is built to invite conversation, creativity, and community.

M: The owner's grandfather was a Holocaust survivor who moved to the Lower East Side and started the original P&T Knitwear, an actual knitwear shop just down the street. Our owner wanted to give back to the neighborhood that welcomed his family, which is where the name comes from.

At its heart, P&T Knitwear is about storytelling. Stories move us forward and keep us in the fight. We just premiered a film with the New York Abortion Access Fund, which was all about storytelling as advocacy. Family history and storytelling are why we sell books.

On Storytelling Through Space

T: When I think about the store, I think in shapes. And to me, it’s a triangle: modernity, culture, and community. Modernity comes from architecture and physical space—the industrial feel and the aesthetic—and it all pushes forward an image of pedigree, of something cutting-edge and inventive.

Culture, because bookstores are natural intersections of the arts. You get writers, artists, filmmakers. The same people you might see at The Met are browsing the shelves here. It’s a cultural hub.

And then there’s community, which ties us back to the lineage of the Lower East Side. We honor that by offering free access to our podcast studio, by creating a space where locals—people who’ve lived here for years—walk in and say, “I didn’t know this was here,” then read about the family history and feel inspired. We give back by representing the neighborhood, continuing its legacy, and staying rooted in storytelling.

On Sustaining a Spirit of Sanctuary

M: I think that spirit of sanctuary definitely shows up in how we run things day to day. Our events manager does a great job curating book launches and events that highlight titles you won’t find at most other stores. We carry the mainstream stuff—we’ve got to pay the bills—but we really pride ourselves on a unique lineup, spotlighting under-the-radar books and bringing those authors in for conversations with writers they admire. I kind of see it as a web of tree roots, branching out in all directions, but still connected to the big tree, which is literature.

T: We really try to spotlight local authors and books about New York, especially the history of the city and the Lower East Side. You’ll see that in how we merchandise our tables: New York writers, music books, and artists with ties to this neighborhood. It’s our way of honoring the intersectional, cultural space the Lower East Side has always been.

There’s so much history here. So many artists came through before they blew up. Like, Lady Gaga performed in bars down here for years. And then you’ve got someone like Ntozake Shange writing about the LES in her literature. Two artists with totally different paths, but both rooted in this neighborhood.

When we curate titles or program events, we always consider that blend, bringing together stories and voices that might not usually share space, but here, they do.

M: We have this big, beautiful space, and we try to make it as open and accessible as possible. People reach out to use it, and we’re usually like, yeah, of course. Sometimes it’s just folks reserving tables for conversations, but we also host events like the CCNY MFA reading series and readings for Pigeon Pages, the literary magazine I help edit. We do the big pub day launches from the Big Five publishers, sure—but we’re just as invested in the small stuff too. We work with indie presses, micro and niche publishers, and take books on consignment. It’s a whole spectrum. Like Tom mentioned earlier with Lady Gaga and

T: Ntozake Shange, who wrote For Colored Girls. She and Lady Gaga have nothing in common, but by bringing their stories into the same space, we’re putting them in literal conversation together.

M: That’s how I see all our events, too. They’re doing the same thing, bringing different voices into conversation.

On Bookstores and Belonging

T: The mindset of P&T Knitwear functioning as a community hub really comes from our owner. He’s a philanthropist, and giving back is at the core of who he is because it’s rooted in his family’s history. Take the podcast studio, for example, he’s adamant that it stays free and open to the public. It fills up fast, but anyone who can get a slot gets 90 minutes to create something of their own. We’ll help with editing if they want, but the message is: this is your space.

That kind of intentionality starts with him, but it’s also just what bookstores do. They naturally invite the community. During COVID, when people were stuck at home, there was a surge in support for independent bookstores. People turned to the arts—books, music, film—to process what was happening. And bookstores, especially indie ones, became a refuge. Unlike big chains, which tend to stock the same titles everywhere, indie bookstores reflect their neighborhoods. They’re mirrors for the community.

When you combine that built-in community role with the owner’s mission, you get a space like P&T Knitwear—one that’s both intentional and deeply reflective of the people it serves.

M: I think reading naturally builds empathy. And that sense of togetherness you mentioned comes straight from books, too. The more stories you have, the more community you create.

T: Not to get overly political, but it’s hard not to in times like these. A lot of the people making major decisions today clearly don’t read. And when you talk to the folks who put them in power, it becomes obvious they don’t either. It’s so unsettling, and why bookstores matter now more than ever. Without access to that kind of perspective, let alone basic information or knowledge, where are we headed? Bookstores are essential right now for exactly that reason.

On Reading as Relationship

T: You’ve got to be a people person to work in a bookstore. Whether you’re connecting with real people or the imaginative ones inside books, it’s all about experience because books are experiences. That’s what sets us apart from, say, a clothing store. Fashion has its own language, sure, but books require physical and emotional engagement. You have to hold them, sit with them, and get intimate with their characters.

The same goes for our customers. People walk in looking for new friends, maybe through poetry, psychology, or whatever. So our staff has to be able to talk about a book with the same energy as if they were talking about someone they know.

At the end of the day, we’re looking for people who know how to connect. You don’t have to be extroverted, but you do have to know how to engage with the stories on the shelves and the people walking through the door. That’s what matters most.

M: I’ve had almost entirely positive interactions with our customers. I’m not on the floor all the time since I do marketing, but when I am, I’ve had some genuinely life-changing conversations. Just this week, I met a woman from the UK, originally from Turkey. We clicked instantly. We started talking about the importance of books, and she said, “As long as you have a poem to read in the morning, you won’t be depressed.” That’s been keeping me going. I wake up now wondering, What am I going to read today?

Like Tom said, reading is intimate, but it’s also built on trust. Our staff picks do really well, which shows people value our opinions. Reading calms the body and centers the mind. It’s almost somatic, maybe even transcendental. Not to get too woo-woo, but that’s the power of it. There’s something different about the people who buy books and the people who sell them. That energy becomes part of the space itself.

On Resistance and Retreat

T: Books on social justice and activism have been huge. Right after COVID, there was a big surge in interest. Then things quieted down a bit, especially after the election, people felt like maybe things were getting better. But 2024 brought us right back. Folks are returning to that urgency, wanting to learn our history, understand how to resist, and become more conscious.

At the same time, romance is thriving, too. People are craving escape. While we need to stay aware of what’s happening in the world and where it all comes from, we also need space to breathe, to disappear into a different world. And there’s no journey quite like love. People want both: resistance and retreat.

M: I see a lot of people wanting to have fun, but in a literary way. Big Swiss has been flying off the shelves because it’s about this wild lesbian character. Happy Hour is another big one. It’s set in New York and follows a girl having fun in her 20s.

People want joy, especially when the world feels so heavy. They’re looking for books that are fun and serious, that still count as literature. Not to knock romance, we love it, but it activates a different flow in your brain. Literary fiction hits differently, but the two can overlap, and I think a lot of readers are craving that crossover right now.

On Accessibility as a Practice

M: At the heart of it, everything comes back to book curation. That’s really the core of what makes a bookstore matter. You reflect what you value through what you choose to sell. For us, that means centering voices we care about. Our staff is mostly queer and POC, so that shapes the titles we amplify.

Accessibility is also huge. We keep the aisles wide, with seating options that don’t require climbing stairs, and little pockets of space where people can actually relax during events. And then there’s content accessibility too: books in different languages, mental health resources, and personal growth titles. We’ve got the cute stuff—like that little frog book on how to love—but also deeper reads on topics like bipolar disorder. To me, that’s all part of making the space truly open and reflective of who it's for.

T: Inclusivity is essential, especially now, when so many voices are being suppressed. If there was ever a time to cultivate a broader, more diverse narrative, it’s now. We all experience New York differently, and we want to reflect that by offering the broadest spectrum of perspectives possible.

The rainbow might be an overused metaphor, but it still works. It’s really just one color seen seven different ways. Same with New York: one city, countless viewpoints. Our job is to honor as many of them as we can. That’s why we bring in a wide range of writers, artists, and voices to truly build a sense of community.

And honestly, not every retailer prioritizes that. You can walk into some stores and see the same voices on every table. The argument is always, “Well, if it doesn’t sell, we don’t carry it.” But what are we really saying when we make those choices? For us, inclusivity isn’t just a value; it’s central to how we choose and sustain the titles we carry.

M: Our staff picks and hand-selling really matter. Sure, certain titles just sell, but a lot of it comes down to what we’re excited to share. I have this book from 2017 called literally, show me a healthy person by Darcy Wilder. It’s basically written in tweets. My partner showed it to me, and I was like, “This is incredible.” It’s not poetry, not fiction, not memoir. It doesn’t fit in a traditional box, which is exactly why I love it. And it’s been one of our best sellers of 2025.

If that book were just sitting on the shelf, no one would grab it. But because it’s on our staff picks, and because I personally recommend it when someone asks, “What’s something different?”, it moves. It’s the kind of book that snaps you out of a reading rut and reminds you why reading is fun.

That’s what makes us different. We don’t just sell what sells. We sell what we believe in. And that builds trust.

On Events That Echo the Culture

M: Our events manager has been here since before the store even opened. I came on last summer, so almost a year now, and working under him has been amazing. He’s really thoughtful about what he curates. It’s not just about what’s trending, but also about the undercurrents.

Sure, we want to bring in big names, but there are also big names within more niche circles. Like, we did the launch for Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar. To me, as a poet, that’s huge. The average person might not know his name, but if you’re tapped into the literary world at all, he’s a major figure. So it's about recognizing who’s influential, not just broadly, but within the spaces that matter.

T: It really comes down to trust. The authors that our events manager brings in tend to have strong voices that reflect New York and speak to the cultural currents as they’re rising. When you're on the ground every day, you see what’s selling, what people are talking about before it becomes mainstream.

Our events manager has a sharp sense for spotting those roots early on, what's just breaking through the soil. He knows how to choose titles that not only fit the store’s ethos and will do well commercially, but also elevate voices that feel urgent and necessary right now.

M: Most of us who work here are writers ourselves, so we’re already tapped into the literary world. We have a sense of what’s new, what’s exciting, what traditions are being honored or twisted in fresh, interesting ways. We’ve all got a pulse on that, and we do our best to keep up with it.

With censorship and book bans on the rise, we feel a real responsibility. You can ban books from public or school libraries, but you can’t ban them from a store. At least not yet. So we take that seriously.

On Podcasting as Access

M: It all comes back to storytelling. Not everyone has the time or access to write a book, but everyone can talk; everyone has a story. Some people don’t think they’re writers or don’t believe their story matters. My soon-to-be sister-in-law told me she could never write, but then she shared her experience growing up as an immigrant from El Salvador. How people thought she was stupid in school just because she didn’t speak English. But she was brilliant in math. I told her, that’s a story right there.

That’s why we carry indie books and under-the-radar titles and why we have a podcast studio. Some stories aren’t in books yet, but they still deserve to be heard..

T: Madisen said it perfectly. It all comes down to storytelling. Our owner has a podcast and is a natural conversationalist. That love of oral storytelling is central to his mission. That’s part of why we have the amphitheater space. It’s a nod to the classical and communal. The original art form was poetry, spoken aloud. People are gathering and just beginning to speak.

That tradition is at the core of what we’re doing here. I honestly think more bookstores will follow this model. We might even be one of the pioneers, not as a brag, but because the future of books isn’t just about selling stories on pages. It’s about giving people a space to share their stories out loud, to step up to a mic and speak their truth.

We also have our own podcast as booksellers, and we’re starting to record some of our in-store events to share them in that format. Each event is its own mini-story. Someone coming in and saying, “I want to share this,” is a story. It’s a way for us to reach more people and say, “This is who we are, this is what we offer.” It taps into that larger cultural current around storytelling and how it connects us all.

M: When people think of podcasts, they often think of Joe Rogan, but there are so many women, nonbinary, and trans creators out there making amazing shows too. Sure, there’s that joke, like “If You Give a Podcast Bro a Mic…” but podcasts are so much more than that. I hope we’re part of shifting that narrative. Showing there's a whole world of voices out there that deserve to be heard.

T: There’s a growing interest in podcasts and in reconnecting with oral storytelling, even if people don’t realize that’s what they’re doing. I think over time, we’ll see more bookstores with podcast studios, and with that, a broader range of voices. Eventually, when we think of podcasts, Joe Rogan won’t be the default. That narrative needs to be deconstructed, and having a studio here is our way of joining that fight.

On What Happens When You Offer the Space

T: We’re lucky to be a space where writers can come together and share their work. Every month, teens from Writopia come in to read their poetry. Some of them for the very first time. We’ll have 15- or 16-year-olds say, “I’ve never done this before, but I have something to say,” and then they read, and it’s incredible.

Being a teen is already an emotional rollercoaster, and now they have a place to put that energy. They find community here. Some of them didn’t even know this kind of space existed. And then they come back. That’s the power of just offering the space.

M: This kind of space feels uniquely New York. I grew up in Texas, and the first time I worked the teen open mic, I remember thinking that if I had this as a teen, my whole career path might’ve been different. I’m proud of where I am now, but wow, I could’ve built that confidence so much earlier.

New York teens are lucky. They’re exposed to so much, from culture to opportunity, right from the start.

On the Cost of Making Art

M: The most significant struggle faced by artists is funding. No one has enough funding to do what they really want. We apply for grants, residencies, workshops—anything we can—but even those come with costs. I’m lucky to work in a bookstore where I can pursue my creative work alongside my job, but still, it’s tough. The poor keep getting poorer, the rich keep getting richer, and we’re all just trying to make it work.

T: The economy is hitting everyone hard, especially artists. If you’re underpaid or can’t find work at all, you’re not thinking about writing or painting. You’re thinking about rent, your phone bill, and how to survive. And that’s the real struggle: the pressure to create when you’re just trying to stay afloat.

The irony is that during times of crisis, like COVID, people turn to artists for comfort and meaning. But those same artists are the ones scrambling for grants, trying to pay the bills, and drowning. There’s a huge weight placed on creatives, whether you're a poet, a performer, or both.

It’s a tough time financially, and while yeah, maybe some people have a sugar daddy and get to create all day, most of us don’t. We’re just doing our best to keep going.

On Making Art Anyway

T: Artists don’t stop being artists. It’s who they are. Ask any artist who they are, and they'll tell you: I’m a painter, a poet, a writer, a musician. No matter how tough things get, that identity doesn’t change.

So even if they can’t get the grant or can’t find a job, they’ll still create. They’ll write a poem about it, paint it, turn it into a story. Maybe it’s a painting of them applying for jobs, and those are often the works that resonate most. People see it and say, “That’s me.” And suddenly that artist has visibility, access, maybe even success. But when you ask them, they’ll say, “I made this when I was struggling.”

That’s why it’s so important to keep spaces open for artists. To let them share their work and develop their voice. We’re doing our part to keep the artist inspired and keep that creative narrative alive.

M: Art is a labor of love. The whole lit mag scene is volunteer-run, like at Pigeon Pages, where I’m a poetry editor. That’s work that, at bigger places, would be a full-time job. But we do it for free because we care, and because we’re artists too, submitting our own work.

The fact that people are willing to do that hard work without pay just proves that art will always keep going. And that’s where P&T comes in. We do have resources: a space, a budget, and the ability to pay rent and keep the lights on. We use that to support artists.

There’s always something happening at P&T Knitwear. From readings and launch parties to open mic nights, upcoming events are regularly shared on Instagram and through their calendar. The in-store podcast studio is free and open to the public, offering space for anyone with a story to tell. P&T also partners with Pigeon Pages, a volunteer-run literary magazine that highlights emerging voices and hosts regular readings.

And don’t leave without trying a chai from the café. It’s made entirely in-house by JJ, who hand-boils the spices and syrups (lavender is a fan favorite). When he’s brewing, the whole store smells like Christmas.