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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.