In Kate Stice Stewart’s family, the last Christmas gift wasn’t the biggest or flashiest. It wasn’t a dirt bike or a PS2. It was something thoughtful, hidden in a little hand-stitched stocking that hung high on the tree like it had special clearance from Santa. They called it the bauble stocking. It held either the final gift or a clue to it. Something small, personal, and usually meant for her mom as a kind of year-end thank you from the whole family. A book she didn’t ask for but someone knew she’d love. A letter. A necklace. A wrapped jar of pickled onions that somehow made her cry. That kind of thing.
Kate grew up thinking everyone had a bauble stocking. Then she got engaged, looked at her fiancé, and asked—without a hint of irony—“When do I get mine?” He had no idea what she was talking about. That was the moment she realized this wasn’t a tradition. It was just their tradition. Which made no sense to her. Why wouldn’t everyone want a final gift wrapped in embroidery and emotion? She decided to make that happen.
A Needlepoint Business Built on One Sock
Kate didn’t have a background in retail or manufacturing or Christmas. She was a new mom, working in fundraising and logistics, and doing what most people do when they have an idea they can’t stop thinking about: Googling factories and trying not to get scammed. She knew she wanted the stockings to be hand-stitched. Needlepoint, the kind that takes time. Velvet backing. Heirloom stuff, not novelty socks.
She searched for months. Then one night, her husband nudged her to try one more supplier, and she came across Good Threads—a fair-trade certified workshop in Haiti that trains and employs single moms to stitch needlepoint. She emailed them. They said yes.
The first designs were drawn by artist Sarah Watson, a SCAD grad who shared Kate’s love for rich color and old-school detail. They stitched samples. Kate showed them to a few people. Orders trickled in. She shipped boxes from her garage. For the first couple years, most people looked at her like she was pitching a decorative napkin. She had to explain the idea every time. It’s not a full-size stocking. It’s for the last gift. No, not the biggest one. No, not from Santa. It’s for someone in your family who deserves a final surprise.
Some people got it right away. Some didn’t. Then one day, a stranger emailed her to say the bauble stocking made her mother cry in the best possible way. That’s when Kate realized this was going to work.
How It’s Supposed to Work
A Bauble Stocking isn’t for stuffing with socks or batteries or last-minute candy. It’s about choosing one small gift that says I see you. You hang it high on the tree or hide it behind a plant. Sometimes it holds the gift itself. Sometimes it’s a clue. Some families do a scavenger hunt. Some do poetry. One mom got a hand-drawn treasure map. One kid got concert tickets. One dad got a spoon rest with his dog’s face on it. The point isn’t the thing—it’s the moment. Everyone’s done tearing into wrapping paper, and then someone says “Wait—there’s one more.”
Kate’s original version was meant for parents, especially moms who spend the whole month managing everyone else’s magic. But the idea expanded. Kids give them to siblings. Husbands to wives. Wives to best friends. Families rotate them year to year, like a secret Santa but quieter. Kate sometimes describes it as a gift for the person you’re most grateful for. It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to land.
Where the Stockings Come From
Every Bauble Stocking is hand-stitched in Haiti by artisans who work through Good Threads, a fair-trade B Corp that provides jobs, education support, and steady income to a team of mostly women. There are over a thousand stitchers now. Each stocking takes anywhere from 8 to 12 hours to make. The company’s sister nonprofit, the Joan Rose Foundation, uses some of the proceeds to help fund school costs, uniforms, and meals in Jacmel, where most of the women live.
The needlepoint is intricate. The velvet backing is soft. And each stocking is small enough to fit in your palm. It’s not built to hang next to your regular stockings. It’s supposed to stand out. Some people hang them high. Some tuck them into branches like an ornament. The only rule is that it comes last.
The Designs (and the Guest Artists Who Get Involved)
Kate could’ve just released a few classic designs each year and called it a day. She didn’t. Instead, she launched a Guest Artist Series—inviting illustrators, fashion designers, and anyone with a following to design their own Bauble Stocking. The proceeds go partly to the artist and partly to a charity of their choice. One year, she teamed up with Nicky Hilton, who designed a stocking with a bluebird and sent the money to Animal Haven. Stacey Bendet (of Alice + Olivia) did one. So did a bunch of artists from the southern design world—Dogwood Hill, Riley Sheehey, Amanda Lindroth. Some are simple. Some are loaded with detail. There’s one with horses in a snowy field. One with a tiger in a Santa hat. One with layered candy canes in pink and red. The most popular ones tend to be the ones that look classic until you squint. Then you notice the cowboy boots or the martini glass.
Some families buy a new one every year and keep a record of who got what. Some pick one and reuse it over and over, like a trophy. Some people frame them.
What It Turned Into
Bauble Stockings went from Kate’s garage to over 400 retail shops in five years. The business is still small—she runs it out of Atlanta with a lean team—but the production side is huge. The Haitian workshop expanded. The orders grew. There were years when Kate wasn’t sure they’d be able to ship everything in time. Years where Haiti had rolling blackouts and political unrest and she had to send emails asking customers to be patient. Most were. Some sent back photos of their trees and their moms crying.
She’s now sold tens of thousands of tiny stockings. Some of them were used as intended. Some ended up on gift bags. Some got pinned to cork boards. Some were carried around in a purse until the gift was ready. Not everyone does the full tradition, but the idea has stuck. Save the best for last.
Bauble Stockings aren’t trying to change Christmas. They’re just trying to make the last five minutes of it feel like something you’ll remember in ten years. Maybe someone you love opens a little sock and finds earrings. Maybe they find a handwritten note and a key to a surprise trip. Maybe it’s a gift card for takeout because no one wants to cook on the 26th. Whatever it is, it comes last. And it matters more because of that.
