In August, Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills turns into a playing fields for Italian in bermudas and fancy sunglasses. They stop, huddle and photograph stores they can happily see in Milan or Rome without having to shell out $2,000 for a flight but I understand, Rodeo Drive is a rite of passage for the first time tourist.
Trying to make sense of the world and life through food and words.
At 22, on my last year of college, and feeling super human, I enrolled again for a second degree. In Florence. I spent a year going back and forth on…
The voice mail or e-mail arrive punctually every few months. “Have been thinking about you so much lately. I miss you. The reason why I haven’t been in touch is blah blah blah” and, at the end “I don’t even remember what happened between us but we should get together”.
My reply, mostly out of guilt and an inability to let go of people I loved, is a subtle variation on “we should definitely get together, this is what I am doing blah blah blah. Call me!”.
My better half might be my husband but my other half is definitely my sister.
I always thought of my little sister as the other keeper of memories only the two of us share. She and I alone can remember the smell of our bedroom; the sound of the lady next door washing up as we prepared for sleep (her kitchen abutted our bedroom); the secret Sunday morning games played in bed; the endless dinners while our parents were arguing. In short, nobody else knows how it felt to grow up in our household but my sister.
Unless you live in the Italian region of Abruzzo, routinely read the Italian newspapers, or are an oil junkie, chances are you have never heard the name Maria Rita D’Orsogna.…
My life, right now, is an endless string of dentists’ appointments. I have the misfortune of having to do some extensive dental work and, a couple of months ago, my wonderful (and drop dead gorgeous lady) dentist referred me to Dr. G for a specialist consult. I might be biassed but I am close to the perfect patient: I never miss appointments, I show up on time, I ask questions, I am not scared but. But I always interview my doctors.
Let’s play a word association game: if I said Italy, what would come to mind? Would you say gelato, good food, Vespa, cute guys, fashion and maybe history? When I think of Italy, now that I have spent half my life away from it, often I romanticize it the way visitors tend to, while still being aware of the incongruities my country harbors: nightmarish bureaucracy, corruption, a general sense of selfishness, works of art left to rot, sexism, unemployment. Lately, to the list of ailments that afflict Italy we have been forced to add “feminicide”.
But, if I were to look for a moment at the pore-less faces, the sculpted legs, the absence of lines or of any imperfections, it wouldn’t be hard to see why young girls today feel so inadequate and work so hard to attain the impossible. The subject has been dissected in many a forum by more eloquent voices than mine so I won’t debate it any further here. Thirty years ago, though, I don’t remember ever measuring myself against the likes of Claudia Schiffer, Cindy Crawford or Naomi Campbell, and I am fairly confident none of my girlfriends lost any sleep over the matter either – so, what has changed?