guilty conscience fashion blog

saint-laurent

Ibiza

Ibiza, Spain

I used to go out a lot. Like most rebellious teenyboppers of the Paris Hilton/Lindsay Lohan era, my idea of a good time used to be standing on chair or table (settling for wtv was available at the time) while  sweating profusely with my arms in the air, and my butt low to the ground dancing to David Guetta vs. The Egg’s “Love Don’t Let Me Go”. Am I showing my age? Since then the concept of going out has me tired just thinking about it. The getting dressed, putting my face on, ordering an uber, driving in the stinky uber, getting in the place, arguing to get a better table, sitting for a large portion of the evening on my phone waiting for a song I don’t hate to come on, also going to bed at four has lost it’s appeal…it just sounds exhausting.  K, now I’m really showing my age. All that being said, you’re probably thinking then why the hell would you go to the EDM capital of the world Claude? The answer is…a mix of the nostalgia of the good old days, and it’s sunny there. If you know anything about me you’d know that when I put my mind up to something, I always give it 110% and Ibiza was no different. I was going to commit to Ibiza, and have the best time ever, even if it meant my old lady body would have to take the rest of our vacation to recover….and boy did it.

I don’t want to bore you with all the mind blowing details so here’s our vlog from my 26th birthday week on the island that never sleeps…CLICK ME

One thing is certain…

We had fun. The kind of fun you have at a music festival when you’re feeling free in a field, dancing to your favourite band, during that golden hour. I mean sure, did I order 2AM espressos at Pacha waiting for David Guetta to go on, yes, but I danced and stayed up until 6AM, so grandma felt pretty cool. Since we’ve been back everytime I hear a Kygo song I start planning my birthday for next year. Hoping I can take my friends to the island and dance to Stargazing together at Ushuaia. Not sure how feasible that’s going to be but, hey a girl can always dream. All I know is Ibiza hasn’t seen the last of this old broad.


Saint-Laurent sunnies, For Love and Lemons dress, Loewe panda bag, and Vans Old Skools.

Pink Problems

Montreal, Quebec

I often say it would be impossible for me to define my style. I like what I like, and never want to overanalyse the deep rooted reasons and references why, find a common denominator, and finally be able to pinpoint what it is in a garment that makes my heart tick. All this to give myself a fun label like boho, street, or minimalist. Nah not my steez. I prefer to belong within all the labels and therefore, none of the labels…you know what I mean? Woooo this got deep and complicated real fast. Eclectic has always been a word I’m comfortable with, when asked about my personal style, because it’s the ultimate non-answer. You’re asking me what kind of clothes I like to wear and I respond with a word that basically means all the clothes, but somehow still answer the question, in an educated, well spoken sort of manner.  Tadaaa the loop holes of the english language everyone.

How did I get on this tangent? Right…what I was trying to get to is that if I had to describe my personal style in this very moment eclectic wouldn’t be the word I would use, I would simply say pink. I gots the pink fever, can’t stop won’t stop. Every time a dusty rose, to baby pink anything finds its way in my line of sight it becomes instant attraction. Must make it mine. I’ve become so dependant on my bebe pink that I’m scared my styling game has been a little lazy. Caveman mentality has set in and in my mind pink = good. Not sure what to wear? Just sprinkle a little pink on there and you’re ready to go! All this to say this #OOTD is a perfect example of how sick my little obsession has become…just put down the pastels Claude…just put them downnnnn.


Saint-Laurent sunnies, Silence + Noise dress, vintage Chanel blazer, Dior Saddle Bag, and Vans Old Skools. 

My Husband is Everything

Miami, Florida

In case you don’t know this about me yet, I’ll preface the post by saying that I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with my husband . Like the Bella Swan, Twilight, Robert Pattinson sort of creepy obsession. Not only is he the man behind every photo on this site, but he’s the world’s greatest partner in business and most importantly in life. Cue the cheese. So today with our third wedding anniversary approaching and while wearing a very appropriate Prabal Gurung shirt, I thought I would sing his praises to you.

The man I married has a very specific set of skills, just like Liam Neeson, only he has an endless supply of them. Just last night the dude decided he was going to make me sushi for the first time. Don’t fret, no food poisoning will ever occur on his watch even when consuming raw fish, as he is quite literally the best home cook I’ve ever witnessed. The man has technique.  After concocting some Nobu sticky rice, he followed by serving me one piece of nigiri after the other at our kitchen bar as if it were omakase. The hand rolls were pretty bomb too.

In case your jaw isn’t on the floor yet, let me continue listing all the things he is good at. He’s an incredible photographer, master editor, savvy business man, expert do gooder, knowledgable car dude, and is good at every sport, or skill he decides to pick up really. He is a caring daddy to Mickey and Eve, and an even more thoughtful and giving partner. For the past few days he has decided to write me a little hidden love note every time he leaves the house, detailing the reasons why he digs me. Also, he’s given me things I never dared to wish for, like the very bag in this post and the baby blue vintage car of my dreams. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was giving…mama didn’t just mean the adorable priceless things in life.

He accompanies and drives me to things no man should have to do, from manicures to meetings just to spend a bit more time with me. He also always make sure I’m well fed, which is a point of contention in our relationship, but he loves me just the way I am, so sure, fatten me up I don’t care. He indulges me in video games, trips to Disney and Universal and accompanies me to nerd cons just to see me at my happiest. He holds my hand through all the tough moments we face, and loves me in a way every woman should be loved. For that I don’t think he’ll ever be able to understand how truly grateful I am. Did I mention he’s also a total babe?

Peter Reid, you are a hero. I love you.

Saint-Laurent sunnies, Prabal Gurung tee, vintage Levis jeans, Hermes Kelly bag, and Christian Dior shoes.

The F Word

New York, New York

Women’s rights, is the issue that lives closest to my heart. That pulls its strings every time an uneducated sentence on the topic is mustered, every time an ignorant statement is made. There is so much I want to say on the subject, so much that I don’t know where to start. My fingers are paralyzed by the weight and importance of what needs to be expressed so it can be understood. The strong women who raised me, the powerful figures that molded me, and the voiceless women living injustice deserve more than I could ever convey in a blog post. So instead I thought I would share a piece with you guys. A piece I wrote it when I was 17, when I first found the courage to voice that I deserved just as much as the boys.

“I want talk about words. The power of words. The word feminist to be exact. First of all let me ask you. Do you identify yourself as a feminist?  No? Then are you someone who genuinely believe that women don’t deserve or aren’t as much as men?…There’s a discrepancy there. “I’m not a sexist but I’m not a feminist,” people think that there is a difference between the words, like middle ground between two extremes. Let me tell you the truth you either believe that women should be politically, socially, and economically equal to men or you don’t, there is no middle ground between the two. By definition you are either a misogynist who dislikes, despises, or is strongly prejudiced against women or a feminist, it’s that simple.

You see there is a problem within the root of the word feminist itself. Not so much the “femin” part but the “ist,” that fateful “ist” is in bad company.  Racist, ageist, sexist, these words have absolutely no positive connotation, and serve very different purposes then the word feminist. That’s a line that we’ve crossed with the word. Anything on the other side is shameful, and many believe feminists belong in the same ranks. All this talk trying to help the reputation of a word, and I have yet to define it. I believe a quote by Gloria Steinem will do the trick “A feminist is anyone who recognizes the equality and full humanity of women and men.” Or better yet one by author Cheris Kramarae “Feminism is the radical notion that women are human beings.”  I am a feminist, I do not hate men, or consider myself better than those who belong to the other sex. I do not refuse to shave my legs, or to wear a bra as a political statement. I also don’t think believing in this cause makes me radical or scary. Desmond Tutu said “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor” so listen to Desmond and next time someone asks you if you are a feminist, please raise your fucking hand.”

DIO(R)EVOLUTION

Saint-Laurent sunglasses, Iro leather jacket, Zara fringe skirt, and Christian Dior tee, bag, and slingbacks.