Borrow from the boys, spring edition

The boyfriend cardigan, the boyfriend jean, the blazer and its origin from military uniforms. I have worked some winter files last month, now it's time to spruce the closet up for spring. 

"Floral for spring: groundbreaking" this was Meryl Streep in Devils Wear Prada, the movie that showcased the behind the scenes of the fashion world.

When we were kids, white was first worn on Palm Sunday after the wintery dark cold months, pastel and flowers were for Easter Sunday and from there on, linens, silks, flowers, open toe sandals, frilly and voluminous transparencies ensued. I was always a disrupter, not by choice though, that's where my father appears in my life by letting me know that "we don't follow trends, we set them" after I was complaining I had to wear an hitchy hand-made sweater he had brought me from Scotland, whereas my friends were wearing Benetton. 

  1. No need to leave the flowers at home, simply make it badass by adding textures, like a leather motorcycle jacket or a pair of ankle boots in a contrasting color.
  2. Don't be the fashion victim, make it personal. Don't add pain to pain, flower dress with pumps, boring, think outisde of the box. Polka dot tights and a military jacket and some feathers, think Miu Miu while mixing and don't stop mixing because "what will they thin of me?". 
  3. Trickle into the sartorial dress code with femininity. think of Diane Keaton in Annie Hall and don't be shy and explore the man section at the thrift store. 

 

 

  1. You don't need a graphic Tshirt to remind you you are a woman. It's a superpower you are born with. The highest form of empowering energy a woman has is her vulnerability: the Archimedes lever that will help you take over. Until we let hypocrisy make us believe that we cannot cry in public or show our feelings for a child or an elderly person, we give in. 
  2. Wear pants under a dress. This has been seen on the runways for this spring and intensively for the fall, it's not for every body shape, it tends to enlarge the proportions if you are minute, and elongate if you are tall, the irony of life. 
  3. Flip the script, there's no #dresslikeawoman dress code.
  4. Corporate attire was dead even before Working Girl but when a man asks for style advice, give profusely. 

That time we ate a 4-pound chunk of Parmigiano Reggiano

Tonight in Italy is #PRnight2016 that is the night dedicated to celebrate the one and only Parmigiano Reggiano #theonlyparmesan

I accepted the investiture of Parmigiano Reggiano Ambassador as it is: a diplomatic role of story teller and in the next three months it is my intention that you all become acquainted with the Parmigiano Reggiano. It's just a cheese, you say, but it's ingrained in our culture and lifestyle, in slow food and zero mile approach to nutrition that it can be adapted to many other cultures and experiences. But as usual, you must follow some rules.

Really, the only thing I have to say is that there is only ONE parmesan, which is the one produced in the province of Parma, in Emilia Romagna (the one in the middle of boot, north of Tuscany and south of Lombardia). Parmigiano means 'from Parma'.

Why? Because to produce it there’s one rule above all that must be respected: use whole milk from the cows that live there. Very simple: soil, sun, cold, winds, trees, vegetation, seasons it’s a whole ecosystem that cannot be reproduced anywhere else.

Thinking of what parmigiano means to us, I came down to many depictions and adjectives, none of them is related to calories-count, fat content or tin container in the supermarket aisle.

CURIOSITY: Italian pediatricians recommend introducing Parmigiano Reggiano to 9 mo children for its content of calcium, protein, vitamins easy to digest.

I know some friends will be shocked or maybe even offended, “here she comes again, with the Italians do it better” but if you spar me a few minutes, you’ll get the point.

 

Convivial is the first adjective that comes to mind because:

1.   There’s no Italian fridge without a chunk of parmigiano

2.   My maternal grandparents

3.   My childhood

Imagine being in front of this nearly 4-pound slice from a 14 months Parmigiano Reggiano wheel at room temperature? All I can think of is a house full of people, wine and chatter, bread crumbles allover, maybe a fireplace, laughter and clicking glasses, something organized last minute, where friendship or family are more important of the formality of all glasses and plates matching.

Some of my friends and people that I have met in these two American decades of my life, had no idea THAT was parmigiano. It comes down to a cultural divide that the cheese itself will reconcile.

My story is very simple, and it’s a window to a typical Sunday in an Italian province.

After Sunday mass, we’d go to my grandmother’s for lunch, the five of us and it was a jovial and happy closure of the week (except for my father, the son-in-law, but that’s for a different time.) We’d buy the fresh pastries at the “pasticceria” and we’d make it to my grandparents’ apartment where the aroma of ragu with the bone of the “arista” simmering was mixed with the pungent smell of the shoe creams my grandpa used to polish his repertoire for the week, dark brown and black.

It all revolved around the kitchen and the covered balcony while the table was already set with embroidered table cloth and linen napkins in the living, where life was shared with a slow lunch, lots of chatter, maybe figurines, games, lots of laughter and screaming, no TV and limited infiltration of the scents of the kitchen.

When the water was boiling and grandma was ready to “buttare la pasta”, pour salt and past in to cook, my grandfather’s task was one of the best ones I have ever enjoyed: grating the parmesan to pour over the steaming pasta on the table.

The best part of that grating business was that he had two different chunks of parmigiano, quite the treat. My grandmother would always buy two different ages, 24 months to grate and 14 months “per I bimbi”, that is “for the children”.

And boy if we knew!

We would roam around grandpa like bees around the fig tree, he would let us have chunks “without anyone seeing you” (and by that he meant his daughter, aka my mother, because if we ate before sitting at the table, we wouldn’t eat the meal.) And that wasn’t it: when we’d seat at our designated post, which sometimes was a separate table just for the kids, the secret was to look on the main course plate, hidden by the pasta bowl, because chances were it was decorated by mini morsels of parmigiano all around.

Now that’s my story, a very sweet and tender one because yes my grandfather Bruno was a sort of a Santa all year round, but I am sure thousands of my Italian peeps and readers have their own grandpa version of the Parmigiano Reggiano.

HOW TO ENJOY THE 14 MONTHS:

·         Room temperature

·         Over a wooden board

·         Cut in bites

·         Enjoy profusely

·         Red wine (don’t tell my brothers, but I even go with prosecco and rose’ in the summer)

·         In the fall: pears, grapes, olives, the first sausages, artichokes or mushrooms under oil

·         In the spring and summer: strawberries and the real aceto balsamico or why not figs

·         Aperitivo and also when you have last minute friends over, remember it’s a perfect meal that provides the right amount of calcium and there’s no kid who doesn’t like it

SOME THING YOU NEVER DO (to look like a pro):

  • Ask to pour it over any pasta with seafood or shellfish. That’s one of those things like asking for a cappuccino after a meal, that’ll give you the foreigner passport.
  • Throw the rind away. Secret is, when you make il minestrone, the vegetable soup, you scrape the dirt off the rind and throw it in and let it simmer. You are welcome.

THE ITALIAN WAY: according to our grandmother’s recommendations, you don’t buy grated cheese punto!, because “you don’t know what they grate, they use the left-over of what they cut from the rind” and I spare you from the rest of the horrifying conspiracy theories of what we were told it was contained, but rat’s pee was the most decent.

TRUTH is the real Parmigiano Reggiano cannot contain shelf-stabilizing additives nor can be dehydrated. NOW you know why the whatever brand powdery stuff they sell in a non-refrigerated aisle at the supermarket is a sign that it’s not an Italian thing. Makes sense?

MAKE IT TO THE COMMENTS, I WANT TO KNOW YOUR STORY OR HOW THIS WILL MAKE YOU CHANGE YOUR FAMILY STORY

On why I barely wear make-up

Chapter n.7 of the book says: “Apply make-up with discretion”

I never thought that to make me look more attractive, pleasing, powerful to others I had to wear make-up, not that I was given classes or instructed, it is what I came down to believing.

What I see in the mirror is different from how people see me, and I am told it’s normal, as normal as hearing one’s voice. The first time I heard myself recorded it was like: wow, they are right, and it was in a feeling-good way. Without knowing, I was projecting a sensual me, and I didn’t know.

Same goes with (not) applying make-up and projecting simply me.

You know that question “what’s the last thing you do before leaving the house”? As per my grand-mother’s suggestion we grew up knowing we had to “brush your hair polish your shoes, because … you never know”. Not that other things were less important, those were staples like wearing our own perfume, always carrying a clean ‘fazzolettino’, a handkerchief in the purse, pockets, schoolbag, jewelry on point and a dab of Kaloderma Gelee on our hands.

There was no mention of make-up, of course we were little, but all I grasped from both my grand-mother and mother was: put the Helena Rubinstein red lipstick on either in the mirror of the elevator or the rear-view mirror of the Fiat 500 (my grand-mother was never interested in learning how to drive, that goes to show the level of royal queen-ness, she couldn’t be bothered with traffic lights and parking, she had other stuff to do, besides, she’d move perfectly and independently with her bicycle) .

Then I grew and moved to a country where I ended up living for 20 years yet still being “so Italian I don’t even know how much”.

It was another continent where women wear full-on make-up at the gym (to be honest, it was already weird enough to go be at the gym, but that’s for another time).

When I started dropping Cecilia off to school, it was another eye opener to a reality I had barely acknowledged. I would be wearing my “work” clothes which, at the time, was either Ralph Lauren or Oscar de la Renta, and no make-up while the moms were full-on stage make-up and velour tracksuits (yes, that was Juicy Couture galore) at 8 am. I still didn't get it as, I am sure, they didn't get why I was all dressed up and no make-up, it was for both sides a nonsense. 

Am I lazy? Maybe. Or maybe it's that in the morning we have different priorities: coffee and news in silence are my sacred moment, can't deal with humanity otherwise. That 1/2 hour could very well be occupied with applying make-up by someone else.  

In my routine I have developed my own version of fast and furious make-up session, as fast as you can say altogether concealermascaralipgloss, boom, boom, boom. Which becomes a bit longer, when I have to do the grown-up gig, that includes smokey eyes, rosey cheeks and sparkly highlighter.  

This is not to demean or ridicule, I am just providing my 2 cents on another of the facets of what makes Italian style that insouciant system of putting things together.

As long as what you wear means quality, simplicity, craftsmanship, thoughtful choice, that’s luxury enough to carry it with confidence, no need for any attempt to looking prettier or more pleasing to the eyes of others.

Some may say I use clothes to that purpose instead of using products to enhance my natural beauty and conceal the bad stuff. Yes, it's a fact: I believe that when you feel comfortable within your own skin, you don't need to obsess with strobing, masking, shading, filling, injecting. Maybe I have grown to develop a certain attitude that portrays my confidence, ease and poise, but that doens't include make-up.

I dress "because you never know" like my grand-mother would say you can meet Prince Charles or in Coco Chanel's words "dress like if you were going to meet your worst enemy".  

'In order to be irreplaceable, one must be different' - Coco Chanel 

Leandra Medine, of The Man Repeller, has her own perspective on why she doesn't wear make-up.  

The French have a ton of literature on lipstick, I utterly agree with these 5 quintessential rules of beauty by Coco Chanel that resist as eternal even after over 130 years of her birth. Lipstick, signature fragrance, aging gracefully,  individuality and love yourself first should be the ONLY five commandments (don't tell the nouns of my elementary school) a woman lives by.

I have briefly discussed it with Maria Chiara, of “La stanza degli armadi” or @clarissavintage in Instagram, with whom we are preparing a relay of posts on how to be Italian + vintage and sustainable living. One day she posted a picture sans maquillage and I caught the occasion of asking her why it is that Italians wear little make-up. And here’s what she says:

“By education, from my mother (NDR, who is French), I have never been obsessed with appearance, I have always accepted myself with my flaws and traits and, besides the creams and beauty products I have been using for 18 years, a rarely ever wear make-up.

This is what I am trying to pass on to my daughter: being before having, love yourself before being loved, taking care of yourself is first for self-respect not for appearing, but more than anything, don’t be afraid to be out of the choir.”

As simple as Maria Chiara puts it I hope that it will inspire hundreds of women and girls not to let anyone put them down for their unique characteristics.

Any thoughts?