the bounce is back

afternoon all. and pinch and a punch for the first of the month, the start of this november (our very favorite month, to be so revealed). we hope you each enjoyed your hallow’s eve weekend; whether wicked, wistful or a little bit of both, we hope it was delicious nonetheless.

a strange spooked holiday, halloween. to be honest we don’t enjoy it much, can never really writhe in the revelry the way the rest of you tend to. the dark and the light both come out that night, show their face (let madness out) with masks. public displays of devilry. freaks freaking us out.

one’s choice of costumery is almost always an insight, a peek inside (these theatrics require a notion of truth). costume as archetype: how we see ourselves, how we think the world may take us in. our alter egos, inner existences, linear lives come to life. this year, we were a peacock. last year, we went ‘naked’. interpret as you will.

the whole thing got us thinking, relating our resistance to the notion that we already kind of live like this on the daily en blogette. we’ve no real need for an outlet, a day ascribed to the alternative. we built our own stage, directed our own spotlight to our other-side, the after-dark. more of us should do the same, give the inside a chance to get out a bit more, however it may. letting one’s freak flag fly (to be frank) is good practice on the regular: the release, the refusal, the realism often a saucy mix to add into the every day. why not try and keep it up?

fashion week wars

we are knee-deep in the rush of fall, writings work and want-to-dos lay strewn around half-hearted, half-complete. so much has been happening that nothing has been happening, which we know makes total sense, life spinning just few rotations faster than ideal. fuck we needed off of that ride. so we countered the chaos and spent the weekend nustled up, home our greatest comfort. our chi feels now much improved, and we hope yours is feeling just as sweet.

if you’ve no idea where the hell we’ve been (as we told our boss) it was fashion week, man: ten collective days of spring summer (11) wares presented by some of canada’s finest. and though we couldn’t sum the energy to see it all, it was nevertheless quite a celebration to bear witness (just the bejeweled, occasionally belligerent fly on the wall). we love the shows and their surrounding circus; eat it up as entertainment, content for le blog, excitement for our future closet. fun, as fashion should be. and while we will be (oh, eventually) sharing our favorites from the weeks, something sooner has us itching to write, eager to rantie. as it were.

as with every season, and we’re sure in every city, this semi-annual spectacle becomes as much a show of design collections as it does who’s what: two coasts of faces taking on a frightening familiarity as the models hours days pass by. one only inevitably begins to figure: the writers, the editors. prs and their peons. the designers, their devoted. personalities. personas. a complex, unendingly curious culture, and one into which we’re glad to have an ear once removed.

fashion is a world oft misconstrued by the masses: an industry dismissed as shallow in depth, effects on the everyday p’shawed as nearly negligent (lest any of us forget the school of cerulean) and most famously, an environment known to possess a cold and inhospitable air. truth is, fashion (itself) is anything but. it’s alive. joyful. sometimes transformational. the role it has in our stories, in how our lives lay out is nonpareil. it unites unknowns, leads legions across language. creativity brought to life.

yet it seems the scene of toronto fashion last week perpetuated certain cruel assumptions. front row seat stealers checked shame with their coats. fashion leads declared loyalties en-tweet. established tutted at the new guard, questioning grounds. and the elders made their morals, pointer fingers black and white.

to be honest all the antics didn’t fit with the faces across from us. we sat distracted, daydreaming the other-people drama (almost all come to life online) and played out the digital digs were they to happen in the flesh. would they stay hard lines, black on white, architected to cut and steal a breath? would they brush away in the mess of the mind, grubby and grey, fuzzy in interpretation, weird from hereon in?

hardly. when humans come together connection and commonality are all but inevitable. empathy, endearment can even go down (depending on your appetite). seems to us too much is left looming, just suspended in cyberspace. too much time tweeting things better left unsaid. one hand on the network, how bout the universe? brasandranties thinks we all need to try and lighten things up a little, laugh some more, dare we say love. it’s just fashion, after all.

(image stolen from viktor vauthier)

glory days

we didn’t go to our high school reunion, passed for some more festive frivolity we can of course no longer recall. our closest friend from days of yore remains just as such (in fact, she skipped it with us) so suffice to say we weren’t really compelled. we’d do the next one.

┬áthe realities of retrospect shine a light on what we weren’t really ready to admit: we were just coasting. we were as lost as we could be considering our advantages; safety rails of education, work, expectation. life looked better than it felt, the destination sweet enough. but amongst an assembly of academics, doctors, mothers what we had felt unfulfilling. likely because it was.
since then we’ve come to learn the lesson, figured the futility in measuring your mark against any one or any thing but one’s own potential. someone once whispered: listen to your dreams, these notes from some place higher. and in those airy syllables lay the truth. we are all made with the potential to do great things. so we began to follow our nose, explore whims of inspiration, just to see where we’d end up. followed inclination, inspiration, individuality. the more we did, the more arrived (that universal truth). this was the point.
through all those days of our kilted adolescence, within a factory of females desperate to meet the mould, one classmate had stood individual all along. this quiet creative: soft, elegant and unexpected. she kind of floated, flew amongst us. a sightseer from some place more magical. her gifts led calla to parsons then paris, where she collaborated with olivier theyskens (nina ricci and rochas) and then went on to launch her own stunning (and award-winning) line. with worldwide attention and lots of love from her hometown she released this video during paris fashion week, as invitation to her ss11 presentation (full collection here). an homage to niki de saint phalle, an artist of inspiration for calla. ‘she epitomizes the creative woman i have in mind when designing’ says the creative woman we now have in mind while writing. and inspiration lives.

 

worn.

there was a time not long ago when brasandranties would seldom be found without the bolstering of a bra (save for the sport and spoils of bed). blessed early in life with a larger set of ladies, we spent half our adolescence in concerted attempt to reign those puppies in (until we discovered the power of cleavage, of course). but the thought of the girls unleashed in all their glory? we just couldn’t do it.

over the years we’ve come to find a comfortable appreciation for choosing to let loose, and have thus acquired a collection of fabrics, shapes, and cuts that seem made to go au natural. dresses made bulky with underthings. enough sheer layers to trick an eye. the feeling of draped silk en-nip. sans is increasingly becoming the preferred way. we highly recommend it (though do expect some chest-talking, and a few squeals of glee whilst hugging).
in this instance, backless demands braless (unless you plan for unsuccessful creative attempts with a bandeau – it ruins the effect) so the front of the dress is just as important. this puppy has a (very hard to see) black ruffle all round the dress: providing coverage where necessaire at the front as well as a little flounce in the rear. guaranteed to put a little extra bounce in your, uh, step.
black ruffle scoop dress (it has thumbholes, whee!): one teaspoon (holts)
thick knit lace sockettes: legs beautiful
ponyhair wedge boots: max azria
ruched bucked bag: jenny bird
drop chain earrings: purchased off of the ears of a clothing show vendor
photographer’s note: self-portrait skills currently lacking (and very good thing we were wearing underwear)

from the forever inexperienced

the air has this crisp, unfamiliar potency that at first return kind of knocks our throat, a startled breath. but the next is fresh, the following deep and wide. a relief. there’s something about this season, how it usually passes by in a blink, this time an uncharacteristic arrival long, curious and mellow. as if fall was a woman recently awakened, soaking up each second of her turn in the sun.

to be immersed amongst leaves leaning into their ombre evolution, to see spectacular carpets of treetops artfully swirling canary yellows burnt reds juicy oranges together. a finger painting. the flight, the travel of those meant to move. it’s so fucking beautiful we almost double-rainbowed all over everything. thanks giving indeed.
the turning season appears to have also brought about a bevvy of breakups, what seems like many choosing to turn a page in time with the trees (dropping like flies, the words of the unromantic). since this we’ve received more me-toos and heartfelt hellos than we’d ever expected. something most certainly in the air.
while one could attribute the autumnal overhaul to just old habits of our adolescence (summer boys were always gone by fall) we can’t help but wonder if the need to shed, molt and move along hasn’t been inspired by something else. this theatrical transition going on all around us.
there really is something about walking in nature, observing life as it was intended. unaffected (for the most part) by consequences of choice or bad decisions. it hammers home the notion of letting go and letting life unroll as it may. releasing desire, intent, control. of living a moment out in the sun. we can change of course, hurt learn grow, do the best we can despite what life dishes, what little girl wishes. but only in the context of nature’s chaos. only upon surrendering to the now. if you’re of the type who listens, who intuits, who trusts gut, then trust you are exactly as you should be. that today is exactly as it was intended. one step closer to peace.
inspired by (rt) @WordWhispers side effects of walking in nature: healing grudges, generating sweet memories, relieving guilt, restoring imagination.

blog lovin

that deep, rich, most assuming color. non-color. at once striking, powerful, graceful, glamorous, nothing, everything: the shade drips with proposition. everything looks better in it. with it. against it.

we’ve always been drawn in by it, resisted against vibrant brights if black sat a moody option. even the sound of the word as it bubbles across lips, an inky sputter designed to conjur up as much the color as its unending context.
a stroke of genius it was when two ad agency partners decided to actualize their shared appreciation for all things black: a curated online collection of interesting things. so long as it is black celebrates the noir within every and anything: fashion, literature, music and the arts, all brought together under one singular, shaded pretense.
if only brasandranties had kept things so simple.
check so long as it is black here, and don’t forget to share your own favorite blogs, sites and beyond. we’ll be updating our blog lovin list at right, so be sure to share the love.

the best mirror, an old friend

all around us live cliques of chicks, tight as tight can be considering their circumstance. we ourself have never functioned all that well as one of many, girl-on-girl dynamics dramatics just a little too much for this already amply-tortured soul. the twice we’ve tried (first junior high, the next a decade later) ended in scratches and a seeming civil war (respectively) so we’ve come to learn it’s just not really our thing. instead we tend to find our friends peppered across the planes of life, a galaxy of sole stars shimmering. tangled garden of bright wild things. to each her own, we suppose.

we’ve been struck like lightning: deep, fundamental and in multiplicity over this weekend, upon unremitting consideration of the potency of a friendship. oh not the ones that run in revolutions, not the ones that let you lay down low. those true connections. the mates of the soul. the chosen family.

we’ve been moved to tears at the beauty of one, the dreams of another, in tandem with the pain of a third. a soggy muddled mess, bursts of joy tumbling against the punches of loss. never prior has life felt so complex, so very curious. never quite has the light, the sense of the nonsensical seemed so far from reach. but never before has brasandranties felt so full, so rich with what it is we have, with whom we love. with whom loves us in return.
the human condition requires tenacity of thought, the tally of blessings, purposeful perspective on all that we have. while it may only be natural to just grant these your givens, the truth is that these very things are the very point. the only point. they come together, weaving an unexpected, organic tapestry called life. and as we were surrounded and supported by our closest, we learnt that in turn we surround and support. we realized with a force the real function, true fortune: the acceptance, reciprocity, perpetuity. the love. so thank you (thank you always) for being a friend.