I am tired. Had a fun night, that led to a painful morning, which was meant to be cured by coffee, but instead is making my brain pulsate and my limbs do the delirium tremor dance. I actually asked my husband to write this for me as some kind of funny feature post titled, “my wife was too tired to write this” but decided otherwise…because he declined the offer. So here I am, doing a write up about a wonderful event while in an awful state of mind. A few weeks ago Montreal had the official opening of Iro’s first Canadian boutique, and we were lucky enough to be in attendance. It felt like we were transported back to NYFW with the quantity and caliber of media in attendance, and even an appearance from my fave national treasure, Coco Rocha. The champagne and macarons didn’t suck either. Add a little philanthropic auction (which they did) and we’ve got ourselves a party. It was great catching up with our favourite local bloggers, mingling with buddies, old and new, and meeting the lovely Iro team. The night also got me hooked to their linen tees, which I have since returned to purchase more of…twice. All in all, twas a grand ole time. My name is Claude-Alicia and I am now an Iroholic. When you look back at photos an realize how fucking wrinkled your shirt was
Zara coat, Marieclair St John x We Wore What customized bandana and shirt, Cartier bracelets, Isabel Marant for H&M white leather pants, Balmain Pierre bag, and Christian Louboutin pumps.