Did you ever have your heart broken by a man who went on to date somebody new almost immediately? Causing you to spiral into endless, obsessive speculation on how beautiful, sexy and probably just all around superior to you she must be? And then maybe one night you ran into them together at a party, and she was pretty but no knockout, and you definitely had nicer legs—and suddenly you were cured? That’s not entirely unlike* how I felt upon visiting the new Iro store the other day.
I’ve probably coveted more Iro jackets than any other brand’s over the last year or so. They come in perfect dress-me-up, dress-me-down silhouettes—from close-cropped to slouchy, but elegant no matter what the shape. And their prints manage to fuse ethnic with something decidedly more grown-up and Chanel-informed. I think it’s safe to say that many of you know my taste well enough by now to recognize how up my alley this is.
This nubby moto-inspired number would go straight into serious rotation in my wardrobe as well. But unfortunately, everything Iro costs more than it should, thanks in large part to the fact that Iro is French and the exchange rate is crap. I was pretty sure a visit to their new boutique wouldn’t offer up much more than a nice generous helping of frustration. And so it did, but for another reason entirely. The store, in a move that seems increasingly common and that I am not at all down with, displayed on its racks precisely one of each item they carried—fine if you’re a jewelry or shoe store, but somewhat off-putting if what you’re pushing is apparel. Worse—and as if to scream I defy you to shop here—almost everything on those racks was a size 0 (their equivalent of a 2) with a few size 1 pieces (an Iro 4) thrown in for good measure. Apparently Iro plans to extend their US presence in short order to 20 US stores. New Yorkers may put up with that brand of snotty, but I can’t see the rest of the country doing it.
I could have asked for a few things in my size, but I resented having to. So I did the only thing that felt right—walked to Zara. Where I found this lightweight moto jacket that rang in at a mere $99 and is very Frenchy/ethnic, and so comfortable you could positively nap in it.
*This analogy seems increasingly imperfect the longer I consider it. But I’ve also grown fond of it, so it stays.