When Helen finished treatment for breast cancer, she came home to a body she had to get to know again, and a drawer full of bras she couldn't stand to wear. Underwire on tender skin. Straps that dug in. A cami over all of it to hide the lines.
She wanted one thing she could pull on in the morning that would hold her, be gentle where she was healing, and disappear under whatever she wore. It didn't exist. So she made it, first for herself, then for the women around her who kept asking where she got it.
Every tank we make still has to pass the test she set at that table:ย real support, nothing that digs, and nothing that shows.