The continuing saga of two women, their men, and a whole lot of hats.

Posts tagged “Hats

The Suit Hat

One day, she looked around and realized that Prudence’ once bountiful wardrobe was now a thinning supply room. Like a magpie in the graveyard, Temperance had plucked and picked every bauble and frill, taken panels of fabric from without and within to adorn her one of a kind creations. Looking upon the threadbare threads only served to mirror the reality of her sister’s lingering absence. And the sadness was almost too much for Temperance to bear. The only styptic for such a wound was creativity. But what does one create with dwindling supplies?

They say necessity is the mother of invention. And Temperance now knew this to be true. For as she was looking around a shop still rife with men’s finery, she realized that she had only scratched the surface of her resources. Prudence was not the only one who had flounced across oceans. Henry was even more to blame for her sister’s extended absence. And so Henry would be the one to offer Temperance his support.

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Breaking the Fourth Wall: Help With Your Inspiration Boards

The Sisters Brimm is approaching 1000 likes on Facebook and we think it’s a great time for a contest, the prize of which is a custom creation by us. Here’s how it works:

To enter start building inspiration boards based on what you would like to see in a Sisters Brimm creation!

Your inspiration board can be based on:

a current costume/outfit you have

a costume/outfit you are planning to put together for the future

a theme or persona you base your outfits on

Like our page, share our page and post your inspiration boards to our Facebook page or our Instagram.

Tag us @TheSistersBrimm

And use #TheSistersBrimm , #inspirationboard & #TheSistersBrimmContest to make sure we see your entries.

When we first posted this contest we thought it seemed pretty straight forward. But we have found, much to our surprise, that the concept of assembling an Inspiration Board has proven a tad daunting to many of our followers. When we talked it over we realized there are many reasons why posting an #InspirationBoard might seem intimidating. Whether it is because of a mild case of stage fright or you just can’t seem to edit your ideas down, putting yourself out there creatively can be a scary thing! Not to worry, The Sisters are here to help!

Inspiration boards can consist of anything you find inspiring: fabrics, accessories, a particular outfit, or a theme. Choose one item that sparks your innermost greed. If you want to own it, hoard it, or possess it, it’s probably a good place to start! The Sisters have a weakness for beautiful fabrics and really amazing feathers.

 

This went on to become one killer custom!

This went on to become one killer custom!

 

You can pick one item and use it to choose your next inspirations by asking yourself simple questions. What characteristics do you like about the item. Color? Texture? Time period? Genre? Materials? Once you know what draws your eye you can search out other items or pictures that have similar characteristics. This is something that many of you are already doing on Pinterest. This is just on a smaller scale. Think of it as an exercise in refinement!

Inspiration can come from anything. Even if the ultimate goal is to create an outfit, your inspirations do not have to ~only~ be wearable items:

 

You can’t wear a vase or a lamp but MY GOD who wouldn’t want to!

 

If you find yourself unsure if what you have chosen works together, try beginning with this simple formula we use all the time. It gives you a clear and concise starting point from which to expand your ideas.

 

Creating a Cohesive Palette

The above collage was done on our Polyvore.com account. Not very Victorian, but a good illustration of how the formula can tie together colors you may not consider compatible or fashionable. Neither of The Sisters are prone to wearing purple and orange together but, if done well, they make for quite a stunning palette!

Try not to over-think your boards and be not afraid! This is an opportunity for you to figure out what makes you happy! Don’t bother with worry over whether or not others will agree. Go forth and create. A beautiful custom hat could be yours and all it will cost you is a little bit of courage!

For more tips and examples of what we find inspiring check us out on Facebook and Instagram (#TheSistersBrimm).


Pardon Me

The highly macabre event was not spoken of by civilized folk; and yet, the little hamlet of Bridgeport was “a-buzz” with the news. A few towns over a woman of well-known stature had achieved a most unfortunate sentence of “death by electrocution” by way of a new-fangled chair designed to send lethal current throughout. Many felt this method even worse than hanging and pleaded with the governor to show mercy on her soul and to pardon her from death by The Chair. Rumor had it that the governor would be traveling through Bridgeport while reviewing the case and the idea of being linked to such sensationalism, though most adamantly denied it, had everyone worked into an eager lather.

Mr. Harman Michaels finally whitewashed his entry gate, a task The Women’s League had been bothering him about for several months. The mercantile hung festive bunting along the entire perimeter of their wrap-around porch, an extravagance usually saved for more patriotic celebrations. And the church choir was primed with a trio of songs, each carrying God’s opinion of the excitement at hand.

Temperance, though less concerned with the political or religious implications of the situation, still found the details quite intriguing. She had known the woman at the center of the scandal, Martha, briefly in her youth. And although the two had not spoken in quite a while, a result of a small misunderstanding involving an accident with a sleigh, she felt a personal involvement with the case. In fact, Temperance could not recall the exact reason the two stopped talking. She certainly had not intended to strike the other with the sleigh, so there was no reason to hold a grudge. Still, in the years since the accident, they had only seen each other occasionally, while picking up parcels or passing through town. It was true that Martha’s brother remained exceptionally cross about the situation and, for this reason, Temperance thought it best to avoid them both. 

So the news of Martha’s plight came as quite a surprise. Temperance knew it must have been an accident.  Martha didn’t seem capable of murder. She was a terribly gangly woman, and quite clumsy as evidenced by the mishap with the sleigh all those years ago.

While the idea of entertaining a politician in no way thrilled her (politics is how thieves fail upward, you know), she felt it her duty to speak on behalf of poor Martha. Of course, Temperance’s plan hinged entirely on the governor’s acceptance of her invitation. That is why she made sure to drop the name of Henry Allworthey into her message. Surely all thieves colluded or, at the very least, were bound by a code. It seemed her best chance at luring the man to her. Much to her delight but not to her surprised, her invitation was accepted. The governor and company would indeed stop by for tea.

Upon her guests arrival, Temperance was pleased to find an intriguing addition. Mr. Brown, a scientist credited with the construction of the much talked about “Electric Chair,” was traveling with the governor to lend the benefit of his expertise regarding matters of fitting the chair to a woman’s frame… and he was quite the entertainer! He held Temperance captive as he spoke at great length on new methods of alternating current. While most found electricity a modern vulgarity, she believed it necessary for the advancement of society. It was, after-all, science! And it would benefit households everywhere.

The gentlemen stayed in her company for several hours. Between Mr. Brown’s captivating recitation on the marvels of modernity, and Temperance’s willingness to soak up his sermon, she had barely noticed that, for an extended period of time, the governor was absent. He left for a tour of Prudence’s grand old mansion returning only to inform his company that they really must attend to more pressing matters.

Temperance was, surprisingly, an excellent hostess. She thanked them both for attending tea and welcomed them back at any time. Still giddy with a day full of stimulating conversation, she waved goodbye to the governor’s coach. But, as she headed into the house, she could not escape the sinking feeling that she had forgotten something…. something terribly important.

A few days later the town erupted with shock when it was announced that the woman had indeed been executed.

It was then that Temperance had remembered what she had forgotten.  “Poor Martha.”

Little Sparky


The Gravedigger’s Girl

Temperance moved through the graveyard towards the source of faint illumination settling silently near the two industrious figures. She, a girl not more than twenty, holding a soot-coated hurricane up high. He, a boy, perhaps a year or two older, shoveling dirt wildly over his shoulder in the dimly lit night. The two bickered as only a couple could, she complaining of her arm growing tired from her duty as chief illuminator, he, placating her with promises of riches.

Temperance, intrigued by the scene, could only remain quiet for so long before she broke their focus with a single comment. “Good place to hide the bodies,” she said cheerfully. The two gasped, their faces, drained of color, whipping toward the pale figure. Mouths agape, they stared for but a moment before the girl shrieked. The male, robbed like a grave of his voice, dropped his shovel and shot off into the night like his shoes were on fire. Temperance, greeted the couple’s terror with her own, releasing a mournful shriek into the dead of night before bolting for home like a wraith on All Hallow’s Eve.

The next day, Temperance ventured back to the scene of the horrifying encounter. There, on the ground, was proof that it had not been a figment. A lantern and hat lay in the dirt, abandoned by their owner in a fit of sheer terror. Temperance ‘tsked’ and rescued the items, eying an upset headstone toppled into a pile of disturbed earth. Clearly, their encounter had upset the person formerly at rest at the location. Chills ran down her spine and she made a quick departure.

She was not surprised when later in the week she heard frantic whispers ripple through town about a banshee that was spotted roaming the late evening hours. And though she wished to meet the young girl again to return her things, she certainly had no intention of disturbing any more of the dead. So instead, the items, layered with the grime of honest work, were displayed in the shop window alongside all of her other creations.

Gravedigger's Gasp


A Wayward Sister’s Letters

Prudence had been away much longer than planned and the extended absence was causing quite a temper in her sister. Once the newlyweds settled, letters started arriving regularly which told Temperance of all the happenings in Prudence’s life, of Paris, of her beautiful little shop, of a life that was quite happy and content despite the absence of her sister. The relief of having an address at which to respond to her sister’s letters was short-lived when Temperance realized what it meant. It was clear that a metamorphosis was taking place all those thousands of miles away, a metamorphosis which, Temperance knew was jeopardizing her detailed plans.

Though she spoke of nothing but well-wishes to any and all who inquired, on the inside her anger boiled. She could not understand why the couple was still abroad, especially given the special measures she had taken to insure a timely return. A hat store? A new social circle? What did those things offer that in any way trumped the love of a sister; of family? As far as Temperance was concerned, Prudence was just feeding her snobbery, an offense that would surely be punished by God. And Temperance’s suspicions were confirmed when Prudence began penning her updates in French, a language her spinster sister never could master. The feeling of exclusion only served to deepen Temperance’s bitterness, never mind what it did to her dislike for Henry.

Knowing that self pity was generally restricted to a party of one, Temperance decided that from lemons, one must always try to make lemonade. So, every time a new letter arrived, she channeled her upset into a new creation that was, in a way, a collaboration between she and her sister, for that was the way things should be.

It occurred to her that she could not save Prudence from herself and she most certainly could not save her from the impending punishment that is so often visited upon those who ruefully shirk their blessings. But she could be there to ease the inevitable pain of retribution. She could be the one to nurse Prudence to repentance. She could open her sister’s eyes to where her blessings truly lie! In fact, it was her mission to be the guiding hand that her sister so obviously needed. No measure was too great as long as it was in the name of doing what was best for her wayward sibling.

Now she needed only to figure out a way of bringing her sister back home.  She knew it would have to be convincing; something beyond a claim of sickness or catastrophe. Though her sister no longer seemed to value her, she most certainly valued her thief of a husband. Perhaps that was the key? Clearly, the man refused to fall to a well-placed poison.  He had a criminal constitution for sure. But if he was as bad as Temperance believed, then he must have made enemies in his dealings! Why didn’t she see it before? How could she have been so complacent! The time for a thorough investigation was upon her. She would pluck this giant thorn from her side and, in doing so, she would bring her sister home.

 

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The Caroler’s Headlamp

There was a surplus of miner’s headlamps in the neighboring town of Persecution come Christmas due to an unfortunate but not entirely unexpected mine collapse and M.H. Penniworth, purveyor of fine and overpriced goods, was determined to eliminate them. Convinced that a little rebranding was key, he placed a full page ad in the monthly circular.

Caroling Hat Ad

Upon viewing the ad Temperance was disgusted. “Oh for heaven’s sake! Using God to sell that hat! That is sacrilege, plain and simple! God wouldn’t wear a hat ugly as that! ‘Stylish,’ indeed!”

Though the execution was poor, the idea seemed sound and Temperance felt a woman could certainly do it better. So, do it better she did.

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Mournful Inspiration

All Hallows was upon the town of Bridgeport and it was accompanied by grim news of a spike in untimely deaths.

Among them was dear Mr. Ravenhurst, proprietor of the town’s only funeral coach.  With the recent rash of demise he had become quite the busy fellow. His wife, Olivia, had even taken up the position of professional mourner. For a small fee she would make sure that one’s deceased would be properly announced to the heavens. Her wailing could be heard clear into the next valley.

She was in rare form for her beloved, Thaddeus’, procession. The fact that she was forced to take over as driver of the hearse did nothing to distract from her mournful wails which were at their zenith that day. 

The carriage crept its way to the cemetery followed by a long procession, friends and family ready to see poor Thaddeus off. With every inch of progress Olivia’s lament for her husband grew louder, her vision blurring amidst a fountain of tears. The coach meandered this way and that, the horses grounding themselves more than once on the odd front porch. Were it not for several  helpful on-lookers, Thaddeus may very well have tumbled to his final resting place. Traffic on Main was stopped for the better part of three hours.

The day’s shadows grew long and the route to the cemetery grew longer. The once great cavalcade began to crumble. By the time they arrived, the sun dipping low in the sky, the only ones left were Mrs. Ravenhurst, Mr. Ravenhurst, and Temperance, giving it both the distinction of longest and shortest single procession the town had ever seen. As the cemetery hands lowered Mr. Ravenhurst into the ground, and the priest said his prayers, Mrs. Ravenhurst wailed to beat the banshees, using the trailing ends of the tattered ribbon from her hat to blot the streaming tears. Temperance marveled at how very comforting a hat can be in one’s times of woe and her head grew swollen with inspiration as she cemented the little scene in her mind.

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