How to Make a Graduation Lei: Crafting Memories One Flower at a Time
Graduation season transforms college campuses and high school auditoriums into seas of caps, gowns, and—if you're lucky enough to be in certain parts of the world—vibrant leis draped around the necks of proud graduates. While this tradition has deep roots in Hawaiian and Pacific Islander cultures, it's blossomed into something much broader, a tangible way to say "I'm proud of you" that transcends words. There's something profoundly moving about placing a handmade lei around someone's shoulders, knowing that each flower represents not just celebration, but hours of careful work and intention.
I remember the first time I attempted to make a graduation lei. My niece was graduating from UC San Diego, and I wanted to give her something more meaningful than a gift card. What I discovered in that process was far more than a craft project—it was a meditation on patience, tradition, and the way we mark life's milestones.
The Cultural Heartbeat Behind the Lei
Before diving into techniques and materials, we need to understand what we're really creating here. In Hawaiian culture, lei-giving isn't casual—it's loaded with mana (spiritual energy) and represents the aloha spirit in physical form. The act of making a lei is considered just as important as giving it. You're literally stringing together good wishes, one flower at a time.
The graduation lei tradition started gaining traction on the mainland U.S. sometime in the 1960s and 70s, particularly in California where there were significant populations of Hawaiian and Pacific Islander families. What began as immigrant families maintaining their cultural practices has evolved into a widespread custom that crosses ethnic boundaries. Today, you'll see leis at graduations from Maine to Texas, though the styles and materials vary wildly based on geography and flower availability.
Choosing Your Lei Style (Because One Size Doesn't Fit All)
The traditional Hawaiian lei kui (pierced and strung) might be what comes to mind first, but there are actually several approaches to lei-making, each with its own personality and difficulty level.
The kui method involves threading flowers directly through their centers—it's what most people picture when they think "Hawaiian lei." Then there's the hili style, which braids materials together (perfect if you're working with ti leaves or raffia along with flowers). The wili technique wraps materials around a base, while the haku method creates a crown-like lei by braiding flowers into a base material.
For graduation leis, I've found that most people gravitate toward either the kui or wili methods. The kui creates that classic, full-flower look that photographs beautifully, while wili allows you to incorporate ribbons, money, or other non-floral elements that have become popular in contemporary graduation leis.
Material Matters: What You'll Actually Need
Let me save you a trip back to the store: gather more supplies than you think you'll need. A standard graduation lei requires anywhere from 40 to 100 flowers, depending on their size and your chosen style.
For flowers, carnations have become the go-to choice for good reason. They're sturdy, relatively inexpensive, and come in every school color imaginable. But don't feel locked into carnations—I've made stunning leis with roses (pricey but gorgeous), chrysanthemums, orchids (if you're feeling fancy), and even non-traditional materials like candy, dollar bills, or ribbon flowers.
You'll need a lei needle, which is essentially a long, blunt needle specifically designed for this purpose. In a pinch, I've used a large tapestry needle, but the proper tool makes everything easier. Dental floss or fishing line works better than thread—it's stronger and less likely to break under the weight of the flowers. Some people swear by waxed dental floss, and honestly, they're not wrong.
The Kui Method: Threading Your Way to Tradition
Start by cutting your string to about 100 inches—better too long than too short. Thread your lei needle and tie a large knot at one end, maybe with a button or bead to keep flowers from sliding off.
Here's where people often mess up: flower preparation matters more than you'd think. Trim stems to about half an inch, and remove any leaves that would interfere with threading. If you're using carnations, gently squeeze the base of the flower to make it easier to pierce.
Thread through the center of each flower, pushing it down the string gently. The trick is finding the sweet spot between too loose (gaps between flowers) and too tight (crushed, unhappy-looking blooms). After every five or six flowers, gently push them together to check your spacing.
The rhythm becomes meditative after a while. Pierce, slide, adjust. Pierce, slide, adjust. It's during this repetitive motion that I often find myself thinking about the graduate—their struggles, triumphs, the late nights studying, the moments of doubt overcome.
The Wili Method: When You Want to Get Creative
Wili opens up possibilities that kui simply can't match. This technique involves wrapping materials around a base (usually raffia or ribbon), which means you can incorporate practically anything.
Start with a length of raffia or ribbon about 90 inches long. Fold it in half and begin wrapping your materials around both strands, securing as you go with thin wire or thread. This is where those money leis come from—you can fold dollar bills into flowers or butterflies and wire them into the lei alongside real or silk flowers.
I once made a lei for a computer science graduate using small origami cranes folded from code printouts alongside white orchids. Was it traditional? Absolutely not. Did it make her cry happy tears? You bet.
The Money Lei Phenomenon (Let's Talk About It)
Speaking of money leis—they've become almost standard in some communities, and honestly, they're genius. What graduate doesn't need cash? The technique varies, but most involve folding bills into flowers, fans, or other shapes and incorporating them into a traditional flower lei or creating an entirely monetary lei.
The trick with money leis is balance. Too many bills and it looks like you raided a cash register; too few and they get lost among the flowers. I usually aim for a bill every three to four flowers, folded into rosettes or fans. Pro tip: iron your bills first. Crisp money folds better and looks more polished in the final product.
Timing Is Everything
Fresh flower leis are best made the day of or night before the graduation. Any earlier and you risk wilted, sad-looking flowers. Store your completed lei in a plastic bag in the refrigerator—not the freezer, despite what some online tutorials suggest. I learned that lesson the hard way with a lei that looked like it had survived a blizzard.
If you're traveling to the graduation, consider making a ribbon lei or using silk flowers. They're not traditional, but they travel well and last forever. I have a silk plumeria lei I made five years ago that still hangs in my office, reminding me of that special day.
The Presentation (Because How You Give It Matters)
In Hawaiian tradition, you present a lei with a kiss on the cheek and the words "aloha." The lei should be draped over the shoulders, hanging equally in front and back. Never, and I mean never, present a closed lei to a pregnant woman—it's considered bad luck in Hawaiian culture.
But traditions evolve, and I've seen beautiful variations. Some families present multiple leis, creating that iconic "buried in flowers" graduation photo. Others coordinate lei colors with school colors or the graduate's future plans.
Beyond the Basics: Making It Personal
The most memorable leis I've made incorporated personal touches. For a graduate heading to medical school, I wove in small caduceus charms. For a music major, tiny treble clefs. These additions take more time and planning but transform a beautiful gift into a treasured keepsake.
Consider the graduate's personality, too. Bold, bright gerbera daisies for the extrovert. Elegant white orchids for the minimalist. Succulents wired into a lei for the gardener (yes, it works, and they can plant them later).
When Things Go Wrong (Because They Will)
Let's be real—your first lei probably won't look like the ones at the Hawaiian lei stands. Mine certainly didn't. The flowers might gap, the string might show, or the whole thing might look a little... wonky.
That's okay.
The beauty of a handmade lei isn't in its perfection but in its intention. Every crooked flower, every slightly-too-long stem represents time you spent thinking about someone you love. In our Amazon Prime world, that means something.
The Bigger Picture
Making a graduation lei connects us to something larger than ourselves. It's participating in a tradition that says achievements deserve to be marked with beauty, that transitions should be celebrated with flowers, that love can be expressed through patient, careful work.
Whether you're maintaining a cultural tradition passed down through generations or adopting a new custom that speaks to you, the act of making a lei is an act of love. It's saying "I see you, I'm proud of you, and you deserve to be adorned with flowers."
So gather your materials, clear your schedule, and prepare to create something beautiful. Your graduate—and your heart—will thank you for it.
Authoritative Sources:
Kaeppler, Adrienne L. The Pacific Arts of Polynesia and Micronesia. Oxford University Press, 2008.
McDonald, Marie A. Ka Lei: The Leis of Hawaii. University of Hawaii Press, 1985.
"Native Hawaiian Culture." National Park Service, U.S. Department of the Interior, www.nps.gov/subjects/hawaii/native-hawaiian-culture.htm.
Stagner, Ishmael W. "Flowers of Hawaii." University of Hawaii at Manoa, College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources, www.ctahr.hawaii.edu/oc/freepubs/pdf/OF-38.pdf.