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.

Apartment Life

I love my apartment.  It is in a good location, not too expensive, and has some great qualities.  We have a microwave, a new washing machine, and a flat-screen tv.  I live right off of Appia Nuova, the new Appian Way. How many people get to say they live on the Appian Way?  Kind of cool.  The landlord is very nice and easygoing.  The neighborhood is nice and safe, and I live across the Appian Way from the grocery store (kind of a big deal when you have to carry your groceries.  Olive oil, wine, and a massive tub of mozzarella di bufala is heavy).  Dozens of clothes stores, coffee bars, and restaurants are nearby.  The huge park across the street occasionally has ponies.  

I mention these good qualities so I don't sound unappreciative with this next bit. Although it is great, there are a few quirks we have to deal with.

There are 7 people living in this 5 bedroom apartment.  Francesca and I share a room.  Two Portuguese girls, Carolina and Andrea, share another double.  Daniella and Federica are from Napoli and they each have a single.  Matthias is a German doctor doing his residency in Rome, and he has a single as well.  There are three bathrooms (Francesca, Matthias and I share the largest while the pairs of girls split the other two).  

The only common space we have is about 10x20 ft and includes the kitchen, table, and tv.

We light the stove and the oven with a lighter.  Occasionally this is dangerous when making a groggy morning espresso.

The washing machine is in our bathroom, so everyone is constantly running in and out.  Annoying when trying to get ready for work and someone is fussing with laundry for 10 minutes.

The shower overflows.  The hot water also runs out, and then you are stuck with a freezing shower.  

Never, never, never use the microwave while the washing machine is on.  The power will go out.  

If washing clothes at night, keep as many lights off as possible, or the power will go out.

When the power goes out, go down 5 floors, walk outside onto the terrace, and flip the breaker.  

Everything going on in every room can be heard.  Even with two closed doors between you. 

Everything.

Our room is freezing!  The balcony door/window leaks air.  To deal with this we have shoved foam in cracks, taped a tablecloth to the window, and taped a pair of pants to the border.  Francesca and I pushed our beds together in the middle of the room (to keep away from cold walls) and wear multiple layers to bed.  The bathroom is freezing as well, so in the morning we turn the shower on hot to steam up the bathroom.  

The intercom doesn't work.  So when people continually buzz our apartment we can't ask who it is.  The choices are 1. let a random person into the building or 2. potentially ignore a roommate/friend.

Until we received the new washing machine last week, the old one randomly wouldn't drain and occasionally turned clothes green.  Even if there wasn't anything green in the wash.  

A couple weeks ago the sink broke and would not turn off.  We resorted to filling pans with water and dumping them out in the bathroom to avoid an overflow until figuring out how to turn it off.  Until it was fixed, we had to reach under the sink every time we needed water (then we could only use hot or cold).  

You need to open three doors to get into the elevator.  

I'm not really complaining because nothing is too bothersome (except for the cold.  I don't know how we're going to deal with that).  These are just some of the quirks!  

NO, I am not a whore.

Rome is continuously revealing more of herself to me as the weeks pass by.

I was meeting a friend at Piazza della Repubblica in front of Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri around 22:30.    He was late, so I went to sit down on an old piece of wall.  A minute or so after I sat down, a car stopped in front of me and the man inside rolled down his window and tried to chat.  This isn't that unusual in Italy, so I just ignored him.  My phone rang and I began talking to Mary.  A few minutes later, someone else stopped and tried to start up conversation.  Again, not that unusual, so I paid it little attention.

A minute later, a man sidled up beside me with a big grin on his face. I continued chatting away with Mary, telling her how creepy men can be.  He seemed to be waiting for me to get off the phone so we could talk.  I continued talking with no indication that I noticed him, but he still inched his way closer.

What is going on here?

At this moment I notice a girl walk up and stand near me.  Her breasts hung out like she wanted to be the she-wolf and her skirt was literally tied to make it shorter.  This obviously warranted a commentary for Mary, and I watched as another car stopped to say hello.  This time, the man inside wasn't disappointed as the new girl walked up to the car and spoke with him.

Mamma mia!  They think I'm a whore!

I jumped up and walked in front of the church, hoping it would somehow shield me from the STD's that were surely swirling in the air.  The she-wolf didn't reach an agreement and instead approached the gentleman who was waiting for me to get of the phone.  They chatted for a bit and walked off.

Over the next 10 minutes more scantily clad girls convened on the corner.  I took stock of my outfit:  skirt, cute sandals, tank top, and a sweater.  Definitely not skanky.

It is a bit ironic, because the legend is the Fountain of the Naiads in Piazza Repubblica was modeled after two famous Roman prostitute twins.  Maybe the present ladies of the night gather here to pay them homage . . . or maybe it's just a great place to pick up a john.

Una Giornata Particolare

Francesca knows some nuns from a convent near her house who are now living in Rome.  Sister Raffaella planned to give us a tour of St. Peter's Basilica, then take us back to the convent to make pizza.  This does not happen every day, so needless to say I was excited.  However October 22 was not chosen on accident.  Today is the 9 year anniversary of Francesca's Dad's death, so we figured going to the Vatican was the perfect way to spend it.

We both requested the day off (my first in 3 weeks!) and slept in.  Then we headed over to meet sister Raffaella at their house a stone's throw from the Vatican.  Literally, we could have thrown a stone into the Vatican from their home.  Perks of religious life.  Sister Raffaella is Roman, but also lived in the States for a few years.  She is super cute and gentilissima.  Since we had her with us, she led us in the gate of Sant'Anna (which is the guarded gate you pass on your right if you walk to the square from the metro), passed three security checkpoints, and behind the scenes.  I could not believe we were just walking around the Vatican, passing through doorways and passages I never knew existed.  I recognized our location when I looked left past a Swiss guard and down some stairs to the crowd of people in the square.  We were on the first floor of the Papal apartments.  This is an area I had seen countless times as I walked from the security checkpoint into the basilica (always wondering how those lucky people got to go in there).  Instead of walking out and joining the throngs of people, Sister Raffaella instead lead us in the opposite direction, deeper into the Vatican.  She pointed out a stairway on our right and said "that is the way to the Papal apartment."  I suggested we go say hello, but apparently he doesn't like surprise visitors.  We walked towards the grand staircase.  This hallway was gorgeous with carved and gilded ceilings perfectly framing the stairs.  I'm failing at describing it and unfortunately we couldn't take pictures (since this area is forbidden for tourists), but suffice to say it was one of the most impressive staircases I've ever seen.

Eventually we joined the crowd and headed down into the crypt, a space filled with the tombs of previous popes.  As we neared the tomb of Pope John Paul II (which is a huge deal, complete with guards and ropes and people forcing you to keep walking) Sister Raffaella asked if we had anything of significance to be touched to the tomb.  Francesa had the necklace her Dad gave her, so Sister said she would ask the guard if it was possible.  He refused, telling her they stopped doing this years ago because there were just too many people.  She told him it was a special day and asked what else we could do.  For some reason he relented and agreed to quickly touch the necklace to the tomb.

A word about the tomb of John Paul II;  his tomb is unlike all others.  It stands out and is particularly impressive, but not because of gold, mosaics, or extensive marble work.  JP II's tomb is impressive because it is completely opposite of all the others.  Instead of a masterpiece, he has a simple slab of marble with his name in plain gold lettering.  This speaks to what a humble and dedicated person he was, and he wasn't overly affected by the spectacle that can surround the papacy.

When we walked away from the guard Sister Raffaella was muttering 'very unusual' and telling us 'we just go with the flow. Unusual.'  We headed up to the basilica and Francesca saw the most magnificent church in Christendom for the first time.  Although I was there yesterday, it was just as impressive as my first time 12 years ago.  St. Peter's Basilica is spectacular.  Thanks to baroque design, almost tangible light mixes with shimmering gold, rich bronze, and stark white marble.  Love love love.  We toured the church, then Sister Raffaella brought us back down to the crypt.  Fran and I did not know why, but we just 'went with the flow.'  When we approached JP II again, the guard told us to stand to the side.  At 5 they kicked everyone out and we were left alone in the Papal crypt.  The guard removed the rope, and allowed us to pray at the tomb of John Paul II.  Sister Raffaella was in tears, saying this was most unusual and she had never been allowed to approach the tomb in all her years working at the Vatican.  Only the Pope and Cardinals are allowed the honor.  We said our prayers then went to thank the guard, Gianlucca.  Sister Raffaella was talking to him about how much it meant to us, how kind he was, etc. She did not understand why he let us do this. Gianlucca insisted that it was nothing big, and he was happy he could so some small favor to make people happy.  Then he decided to give us a tour.  He brought us into parts of the crypt Sister Raffaella had never seen, including the Polish chapel where JP II used to pray.  None of us could believe we were in these parts of the church.

Then Gianlucca brought us into the basilica.  Although a cardinal was saying mass and most of the center was blocked off, he brought us to the statue of San Pietro with his feet rubbed smooth by centuries of pilgrims passing by.  He then led us to the tomb of Clement XIII by Canova (one of my favorite sculptors), and to the Spanish chapel behind the organs that is strictly forbidden to tourists.  It was mindblowingAstin walking us around the Vatican and giving us a special tour.  At the end he told us about the closing ceremony for the Papal Senate on the church in the middle east on Sunday.  Basically all of the cardinals and many bishops go to the service and the Pope says mass.  Gianlucca gave us special tickets and told us to call afterwards and he would take us up to the dome.  Perhaps he should have a number for us as well, he said.

Ah, there it is!  Always the exchange of phone numbers.  I'm still not sure if he is an outstanding person, we are super cute, or maybe a combination of the two that instigated his generosity.  Nevertheless this was an extraordinary experience and we had a nun with us, so it's ok.

We left the Vatican and walked a few feet to the convent, where we proceeded to make four pizzas from scratch.  Yep, making pizza with nuns in a convent. In Rome.  Fresh tomato and mozzarella, margherita, zucchini and peppers, and a pizza bianca.

Before cena we went into the chapel to 'pray vespers.'  I had no idea what this was, but today was all about 'going with the flow.'  In the chapel sister Raffaella showed us a special relic in a tiny golden case.  They had piece of St Francis' bone just sitting in their house (since they are a Franciscan order and the feast day was recent, a friend allowed them to borrow it).  We listened to their chants and the smell of fresh pizza wafted in from the kitchen.  I looked at St. Francis and marveled at what a special day it was.  I can't say good day because a death anniversary is never a good day (as I am acutely aware), but it was definitely extraordinary.

One concern Francesca and I had was that we were supposed to work Sunday morning.  They sisters said they would pray that we could get the morning off.
Well, we got the morning off!  I'll tell the Pope everyone says hello.