The first thing I thought when I saw this was "Was this a throwaway project as someone's first ever knitted item?"
The answer is yes and no. Yes, it was apparently someone's first ever completed project (Really?!); no, it was not thrown away. Rather, it was given to the knitter's niece, who I'm assuming is a small child since I can't picture anyone other than a five-year-old girl wearing that thing, and only because her mother forced her to. Well, all kids need some form of trauma; I'm just glad mine came in the form of a terrible home life rather than a doting aunt's hand knitted fodder for school yard bullies. Behold:
That's the kind of thing that gets you made fun of on the playground. Poor niece. Like the name "Madalayna" isn't going to cause enough problems.
What gets me is that the knitter says "the weirdness is the yarn itself, not my terrible knitting, because, really, I'm not too bad at that, heh."
Wading through the commas, I deduced that she blamed the crappiness of the scarf on the yarn rather than her own workmanship. Of her work, she said, "I'm not too bad at that." Yes you are. I can see uneven gauge from here.
To the uninitiated, rows of knitted stitches should be straight, not wavy. It's most obvious if you examine the last fold of the scarf on the right hand side of the picture, where there's a little bit of shadow. The "lines" (meaning rows) should be straight, and those are all over the place. I don't know what you have to do to get knitting that uneven. I have never had a problem with an even gauge. I mean, how hard can it be? You tug on the yarn till the stitch fits evenly around the needle. I might knit a little loose, but the stitches always come out the same size. The above look, I think, can only be accomplished by holding the yarn or needles wrong. Or your hands. Maybe all three.
On the topic of uneven gauge, you can also see a couple of what look almost like little holes in the work. Those holes are another product of an uneven gauge, where the stitch is too loose compared to those around it.
This is why your first few knit projects are called throwaway scarves. Every how-to site out there tells you this. You swatch with cheap, thick yarn and big needles until you've got the hang of it, and then you throw that shit out and make something nice. And that's what you give to your niece, not the "Look what I made hurr" thing. I know, I know. You made it yourself. You're proud. You love your niece. But if you give her that, she will never believe it. Nor forgive you.
Of course, that's provided it even fits her. It's difficult to tell the way the scarf is bunched up in that photograph, but the scarf doesn't look long enough, even for a child. I always make scarves about as long as I am tall, which means my scarves are always roughly five foot three. I suppose the five foot mark is long enough for just about anyone, though. Little kids should of course have scarves shorter by about a foot, but that pink thing doesn't look like it could be more than three feet long. Once again, this is why we try things on. Or else find some kind of model to try it on.
Also, she didn't knot the fringe. I mean she didn't tie it off, so now the fringe will fray. Take the time to tie the damn knots already. Seriously, there's not that many on this scarf.
On the topic of fringe, there's not enough of it; that stuff just looks like loose ends that haven't been woven in. The gaps in between the pieces of fringe should have another piece of fringe in there. I mean there should be twice as much fringe for that to look right, not that this train wreck of a scarf is headed in the right direction any time soon. Not until the niece grows up and throws the scarf away, anyway.
This knitter also apparently hasn't grasped how to fit the needle through the working stitch. I see several little half-loops of yarn sticking out of the middle of the scarf. That is not the result of a fluffy yarn, that is the result of not catching the whole working stitch on the needle before throwing the yarn around the working needle. Meaning, she spliced the working stitch and only worked half of the fiber. The unused yarn is left dangling in the work. This is easier to do with fluffy or novelty yarns, which is why you never use them if you are a knitting novice. Either way, spliced stitches always stand out and look tacky. I hate doing this with my own knitting, and whenever I catch it, I fix it. It's not difficult. You can use the working needle, a crochet hook, or your fingers to remove the problem stitch, fix it, and then gently tug the work back into shape. On no account should split loops of yarn be allowed to be worked. That's like split ends but for yarn, but they're woven in so you can't just snip them off.
Of course, as a first project, she probably doesn't know all that. Once again, this is why you make throwaway projects until you know what you're doing. In other words, learn how to tink and frog, dear.
Anyway, this hideous scarf is a classic example of Bad Knitting. Granted, almost all beginner projects are terrible, and I hate to be harsh on someone's first effort when they most likely just don't know any better, but she crossed a line—twice—when first she said it was the yarn's fault and then said she was giving it to her niece.
It is not. The yarn's. Fault.
Yes, there are shitty yarns out there, but every last one of them can be knit to an even gauge without straggling half-stitches dangling off the sides and with fraying fringe.
Also, why, for the love of God, would you give that to anyone? You know . . . it's only sometimes the thought that counts. Sometimes a gift card is perfectly acceptable. I never give people knitted presents that I know look bad. I just tear the whole thing out and start over. For instance, I recently made a pair of army green socks for Kirston. I didn't graft the toe on one of them quite right, and I tried to undo it neatly, but it wasn't happening. Rather than give up and just leave it, I frogged the whole toe, redid it, and grafted it perfectly. Just recently, I was making a hat for myself and discovered I wasn't following the pattern (which was of my own design . . . *sigh* ) properly. Even though I had already frogged and redone that section of the hat at least twice, I frogged it again to ensure proper results.
Proper. Results. The thing the knitter of the pink scarf obviously never heard of.
Please, people. Learn to knit well before you make (any more) presents.