Alaia Rose Barbier

Fashion Enthusiast and Mini Style Star. Los Angeles

After a long day of shooting, it was a treat to be greeted by a pair of familiar faces for our final Coveteur shoot of the day. It was almost 7 p.m., and way past her bedtime.

“So, you want to see her closet?” her mom asked.

She opened the door revealing a perfectly organized closet with a sea of CHANEL and array of pieces that easily rivaled the children's section at Barneys. We began picking up the pint-size shoes, which barely fit inside the palms of our hands. We looked down to see two-and-a-half-year-old Alaia Rose Barbier – her head barely reaching our knees – offering us a porcelain plate of colored macarons.

Alaia's wardrobe was already well stocked with stylish signatures: leopard print everything, big floppy hats, tiny leather bombers, and leather-and-pony-haired loafers in every hue imaginable. Not to mention a CHANEL backpack from her grandma.

“This is one backpack she will not be carrying to pre-school,” Rose told us.

We weren’t surprised to discover that Monica (most notably the stylist to the Kardashians) had taken to dressing her daughter as if she were one of her clients. And if you follow her Instagram as religiously as we do, you’d know Alaia has quickly become an insta-sensation with her Céline totes and all.

“Alaia picks out what she wears; she is very opinionated.”

Although Monica had rushed home after styling Khloe for a taping of The X-Factor, she’d set up a tea party in Alaia's Robin Walker custom-designed bedroom for us —complete with a three-tiered dessert stand piled high with macarons and white/milk chocolate letters. While we got busy browsing and styling, Alaia played the perfect tea party hostess by graciously pouring “milk” into each of our saucers and grabbing sweet after sweet after sweet… for herself. Before we knew it, she was jumping in her crib and playing in her magical Dexton Teepee decorated with Oscar de la Renta silk for the stars.

We doubt even Goodnight Moon or Dr. Seuss could’ve calmed the sugar-overdose that we gave her that night –sorry, Monica! All in the name of Coveteuring, right?