Italian Fashion Trends (for Women)

"What are the Italians wearing" is a common question.  It comes as a surprise to many that not everyone walks around in their Gucci, Prada, or Dolce&Gabbana.

As the weather turns colder, the style is completely changing.  Here are some of the current fashion trends in Rome.

First there are the common rules of dress in Italy.  Quality over quantity, dress up (no hoodies, t-shirts, crappy shoes), black is king.  

Shiny, puffy coats.  Seriously.  Romans are babies and completely bundle up in 60 degree weather while I'm in a blouse, but the puffy winter coat is coming out in full force.  Purple, silver, and black are the favorites.  

Scarves.  This hasn't changed much throughout the years, because a fabulous scarf is always an easy way to spruce up an outfit.  Solid colors or checkered.

Shawls.  Huge, wool shawls you just throw over the entire outfit.  

Matchy matchy.  The Italians love getting matchy matchy.  It is not unusual to see a girl with bra straps, belt, purse, and shoes in exactly the same raspberry pink.  

Superga's.  "The people's shoe of Italy."  These are similar to keds sneakers, but come in fantastic colors.  Yes, I purchased a pair of sparkly silver and can't wait for the stares when I get back to the States.  Everyone here is wearing them or knock-offs.

Boots.  It is definitely boot season.  Above the knee is everywhere.  Black, light brown, dark brown, grey, and purple.  

Black & Brown.  Yes! It is ok to wear black and brown.  Go ahead and wear brown boots with a black outfit, or throw a light brown belt over that black dress.  Embrace it America. 

Tights/leggings. Patterned tights, really opaque black tights, fall color tights. Wear them with boots, a little sweater dress, and a big coat.  

Pajama sets!  Adorable little pajama sets!  Even young adults wear them hahaha.  I don't think I'm going to hop onto that bandwagon.

Alviero Martini 1a Classe Handbags.  They are purses with maps of the world on them.  Pricey and very popular.  

Black Winter Coat.  The pea coat is everywhere, but rising in popularity are the coats with some type of adornment around the collar.  Huge and puffy collars or just something unique.  

Equestrian.  Everything my Mom was wearing 10 years ago is all the rage at Zara.  Tweed, equestrian style pants, shoes I'm pretty sure I wore to ride horses.  There is also a bit of a 20's throw-back.  

Solid Colors. Patterns are scarce, stick with simple.

That's all for now! I'll update if more comes to mind.

Inconsistencies

Many facets of Italian life and culture just don't make sense.  Here we go . . 

Skinny People.  One of the most anticipated experiences of any tourist in Italy is tasting the food.  Italian food is famous for pasta, pizza, and gelato.  These foods are obviously not on any diet list, but for some reason everyone is extremely thin.  So thin that many of the Italian teenagers would incite concern from American high school counselors everywhere.  Granted real Italian food is much different from the nasty fried and cheesy American versions (although there is a fried cheese dish in Italy, but that is a different story).  Clothing size tags differ by the country. I.e. many say "U.S.-S IT-M."

Cleanliness.  Italy is a bit dirty.  Streets, ALL public restrooms, you name it.  However, in the home Italians are insanely clean. 90% of the time my Italian roommates are talking, they are talking about cleaning (and they are from Naples!).  It just doesn't add up.

Coffee.  Italians know their coffee.  They love their coffee. In this country that spawned the idea for Starbucks, one can find the best coffee of their lives.  Ironically, they don't harvest any coffee beans in the entire country.  Also there aren't any Starbucks (if you want to know why, I'd be glad to chat about the business aspects of that decision).  

Business savvy.  On the small merchant scale, Italians are fantastic business people.  Cunning, tricky, smooth, persistent.  However Italy continues to flounder on a national scale.  Berlusconi represents the country.  Come on.  

Made in Italy.  First of all, the saying 'made in Italy' is used by Italians.  They say it in English, to other Italians.  It is sewn into clothes and printed on leather goods in English.   

'Italian' chefs.  As the immigrant population continues to rise, the number of Italians doing 'blue collar'  jobs like cooking and cleaning diminishes.  Therefore it's more likely that Hussein from Pakistan is making your pasta all'amatriciana than Giuseppe from Orvieto.  

Small Victories

Living in a foreign country presents issues where they would not normally be expected.  Hence normal day-to-day activities become challenges, and this is why people get fed up living outside of their cultural comfort zone.  So I work myself up to tiny events. execute them (hopefully successfully) and then add them to my mental list of 'small victories.'

Yes, the things I am about to describe can be done by any monkey.  My challenge was to complete these activities without standing out as a foreigner, or just doing it the correct way and completely in Italian.

Finding an Apartment.  This was by far the most challenging undertaking since I've been here.  I was looking for a double room in an apartment rather than an entire apartment, so I used a website called easystanza.it to find it.  Basically I found places online, called people, and went to see their apartments.  Speaking on the phone in Italian is more difficult than in person, and I was a bit nervous going to strangers apartments as a solo foreign girl.  I usually gave Jimmy the address so if I was 'taken' there was somewhere to start looking haha.  I just never thought the annoying experience of finding my first apartment would be in a different language.  Also a few of the landlords tried to screw me over, and most people required a year-long contract.  The whole apartment thing hung over my head since April.  However I ended up with a great apartment with a fantastic landlord.  Ok this was a huge victory.

Ordering Meat at the Meat Counter.  Doesn't sound like a big deal, right?  Wrong!  Since I studied abroad, I was always afraid of ordering beautiful meat and olives from the deli because I didn't know how to do it.  My Italian probably was not good enough then to understand any follow-up questions they asked, and this metric system really screwed everything up.  So I resigned myself to packaged meats while gazing longingly as the butcher masterfully cut slices of fresh prosciutto thin enough to see through. No more, my friends, no more.  When I moved into my apartment in August, I knew it was time.  I speak Italian and have an apartment in Rome - I should be able to order meat.
So I did! "May I have 150 grams of prosciutto?"  Rookie mistake.  Whenever you ask if you 'can' have something, they say "Certainly, why not?"  Instead just state what you want and say please to be polite.
"Certainly, why not?  What kind of prosciutto?"  Oh no, there are different kinds?  Prosciutto is prosciutto, right?  Definitely not.  I remembered hearing prosciutto di Parma often, so that is what I said and hoped it was right.  Here you order your prosciutto based on where it is from.  Parma is a town in the northern/central part of Italy.  He didn't laugh or look at me strangely, although he did give me 250 grams instead of 150 and it ended up costing around 6 euro.  Nevertheless I was happy.  Unfortunately I got cocky and screwed up ordering olives, but it still counts as a victory.  I'm now friends with one of the meat men.

Having a Relationship Completely in Italian.  My housemate for the month of August, Jercia, was from Mozambique.  She did not speak any English, and I couldn't be more excited.  So our entire relationship was in Italian.  It got a bit difficult when she didn't know the word in Italian and would just insert the Portuguese word instead, without telling me it was Portuguese.  They are similar enough that it's difficult to distinguish, so I was unsure whether she or I sucked at whatever conversation we were having.

Haircut.  I put this one off for a while.  I've needed a haircut for a solid couple months, but the idea was daunting.  I did not want to walk out of there bald or with a bob or something.  I waited until Francesca could come with me for moral support.  There is a parrucchiere around the corner from my apartment, so I finally gathered enough confidence and headed to the shop.  It went beautifully.  Not only did my hair turn out well (a little shorter than I would have liked, but she got really into cutting it.  She looked like she was conducting an orchestra on my head) but we talked the entire time.  She told me about her bastardo ex-husband who took off with the Brazilian, her American friends at the embassy, life in Italy, etc.  I guess hairdresser talk is global.

The Market.  Shopping at the market without being yelled or started at is high on my list of priorities in Rome.  It may sound stupid, but it is daunting jumping into a jumble of yelling Italians and fighting your way to the front of the queue to buy some spinach.  Often my on my walk to the market I think 'why not just go to the grocery store? That is so easy!' but I remember the price difference and how I won't be able to go to these markets in a few weeks.

Angry Pizza Man.  There is an angry pizza man at a pizzeria near the Pantheon.  He really is grouchy, and talks to tourists like they are complete morons.  I have been courting this angry old pizza man for months now.  I wanted to be buds.  The more he saw me, the less angry he got with me.  He even started joking with me.  Now we are at the point where he gives me my pizza for a euro less.  Victory is mine.

Old People on the Metro Conversations.  Often in Rome you may find yourself next to a nice elderly Italian on the metro.  They will strike up conversation.  Many older Italians speak in dialects that I have difficulty understanding, so maintaining conversation is a challenge. An elderly lady stared talking to me, and although I didn't know what she was saying I somehow kept the convo alive.  Ok so maybe this isn't really a victory.  Eh, va beh.

Today, I ran

Yes, this is worthy of a post.  It was the first time I went running in longer than I care to admit.  Not because of laziness, but because girls don't really run here, and I didn't bring running shoes.  When carrying your entire life around in a bag for 3 months, packing light is a must.  Running shoes take up too much space, and sticking out as an American was not appealing.  I didn't even bring my iPod, because it will probably break (going on 6 years old, still in black and white Chicago font) so it would just be dead weight.

So today I ran.  Thank goodness for roommates, because Francesca brought her running shoes and I could wear them.  It finally warmed up and needed to clear my mind (and my body of the FANTASTIC tiramisu from last night.  Pompi by Re di Roma claims to be il regno di tiramisu.  I concur).  I chatted with Daniella before I left.  Like most Italians, she thought it was odd I was just going to run around the streets, and looked at me like I was crazy when I told her my plan to run over to the Parco degli Scipioni and the baths of Caracalla and back to Furio Camillo.

The moment I walked outside it started to rain, but I knew it was now or never and took off.  Immediately the stares began.  I was definitely la brutta figura in my shorts, long-sleeved t-shirt, and tennis shoes.  I have never worn any of these items outside since I've been in Italy.  Men stared, old women averted their eyes.  As I ran by a coffee bar, the chatting old men stopped to scrutinize over their cappuccini and cornetti.
For the first time, I didn't care.  I'm very proud of the U.S. lately (not because of current events, just because I miss it) so sticking out was not as horrific a concept as usual.

Running in Italy is not a chore.  I prefer to think of it as faster tourism - see more in less time.  I ran through the Porta Latina, which was an ancient gateway to the city.  If I tried that 2 thousand years ago I probably would not have made it back.  Crumbling brick walls covered in ivy, umbrella pines dotting the streets, slick cobblestones beneath my feet (very concerned about falling).  Exhaustion was held at bay by the impressive and empty parks that became my personal track.  The leaves are changing and Autumn is definitely in the air.  Bellissima. The rain slowed to occasional refreshing droplets.

I'm not sure what grabbed my attention first - the strong smell of incense of the haunting voices of half a dozen chanting priests, but I followed my senses and ended up in front of San Giovanni a Porta Latina.  I peaked into the doorway, since a sweaty and scantily clad girl might alarm everyone at their All Saints Day mass.  Another  of the beautiful little churches in Rome I just came across by chance.  It is believed to be the spot St. John survived immersion into a vat of boiling oil.  Hmph.
I continued down a road between two high walls with no sidewalk, so I probably pissed off some drivers.  Eventually I popped out at Piazzale Numa Pompilio, ran up the the Baths of Caracalla to say 'ciao,' and turned around.  It still blows my mind that I can just go to these ancient places, whenever it strikes my fancy.
On the way back I decided to get creative (aka I was tired and tried to take a short cut.  It didn't work.) and found some fun new places to explore in my neighborhood.  The street sellers were just setting up their stalls after sleeping in for the All Saints Day holiday.

Probably won't be able to walk tomorrow, but I don't care.