I am not Audrey Hepburn

Favorite Gelato Flavor of The Week: Nocciolo

Today marks the 31st day since I’ve arrived in Milan and I just received my Certificato di Attribuzione del Numero di Codice Fiscale, which is basically an Italian social security number. Yay! I have officially passed from the ugly tourist into a permanent resident of Milan. AND, more importantly, I can finally fill out the application for the grocery store club card. haha. Discounts!

Perhaps the month-stay has worn off on me somehow cause I’ve been mistaken as a Milanese twice already when using the metro. Since the traffic here is psychotic with their lack of any logical order, most people use the metro. (On a side note, there is literally a traffic block at my intersection every morning with 7 different cars getting stuck by trying to go in different directions at the same time. The other day I literally rammed into the back of a car while crossing the street on a pedestrian light because a car cut behind me and another one cut in front of me then stopped in the middle causing me to run into it – and ya’ll think I’m the bad driver.) Businessmen, grandmas, teenagers in the punk scene and even models during Fashion Week all use the metro. Using the metro is a Milanese way of life. Thus to be asked for directions on the metro by actual Milanese people (and to give them the correct response) is to pass the quintessential Milanese test. And I succeeded. Hooray!

It’s fabulous to be mistaken as a Milanese in Milan – especially considering how the American tourists that do pass through Milan are unbearable eyesores with their obvious eurotrip backpacks and their cargo shorts and tennis shoes walking through the Duomo piazza. It’s almost sacrilegious.

Coming home to Milan though is still a very weird feeling indeed. Living in Milan is a mixed life with its ups and downs. Up: Eating gelato every day and home-made risotto/pasta every night. Down: Commuting on the metro for 3 hours every day and nearly getting run over when not. Up: Being able to say “Maybe I’ll go to Venice this weekend.” Down: Not having a Target or a Rite Aid to buy cheap nail clippers. Up: Getting to know the cute barista at the cafe across the street who knows my drink order when I walk in. Down: Not being able to communicate with the cute barista across the street more than “How are you today?”

Though I do believe the final test that marks the passageway into becoming truly Milanese is getting an Italian haircut.

So I got an Italian haircut.

You know in the movie, Roman Holiday where Audrey Hepburn’s character has really long hair because she’s some Austrian princess and she escapes in Rome and goes to some random hole-in-the-wall salon and comes out with a chic new haircut that becomes the iconic Hepburn do?

This is Audrey with her long hair.

And this is her at the salon with her new super short do.

Very cute, no? And so as we are walking towards the salon, I make a joke saying how funny would it be if I got the Roman Holiday hair cut. It looks great on Audrey but I would walk out of there looking like a very ugly, ugly boy. The girls laughed saying, “oh, haha, that would be ugly.”

-____-

Let’s just say she grabbed my front bangs and just went WACK. I looked at it and was like, hm, I can work with this. This is good. Then when I started to relax she suddenly went back to my bangs and wacked them again making them HALF the length they were just a second ago and then started to WISP them. WHO WISPS BANGS?

Anyhow my mouth and my eyes turned into full O’s in front of the mirror. I couldn’t believe that I actually ended up getting the Audrey Hepburn haircut without wanting it and of course it looked AWFUL. But, certo, to the Italian hairdresser I nodded and smiled and said, “Mi piace, mi piace molto,” while I shriveled up and just died inside. Instead of the Roman Holiday, I got some grotesque mix between the Saw and the Hairspray musical gone very wrong on my forehead.

Imagine this movie cover with my face over Audrey’s.

Then take out the handsome man and the Vespa.

In the end I came home and took out my eyebrow scissors and did the bad-bang-haircut trick: repart and recut.

If a bad Italian haircut doesn’t make me Italian then I don’t know what will.

…Maybe an Italian man and a Vespa.

L`arte

It’s Tuesday, 7 pm, or 19:00 according to Italian’s very inconvenient use of military time, and I am exhausted.  

Sharon: God I’m so tired.
Sharon: I don’t know why I’m so tired. 
Sharon: OMG I KNOW WHY
Brian: why?
Sharon: I can’t tell you.
Brian: something illegal?
Brian: something scandalous?
Sharon: no.
Sharon: something Italian. 

Ever since arriving in Italy there wasn’t a spare moment to be had. In the first week I blamed my tiredness to jet lag and our constant touring, but by second week I was still exhausted all the time. But today my body was so depleted of energy that I felt like even breathing was draining. I couldn’t understand what was causing my body to be so decrepit when it hit me: I didn’t get my daily cappuccino today, which is definitely SO Italian.  

Everyday this week I’ve been experiencing the cultural month of Milan. Though Milan is considered to be the business capital of Italy, the Milanese idolize and appreciate artists of every  shape and form. Writers, painters, cinematographers, passionate cellists, violinists in the metro, the opera, the theater, the art galleries and the concert halls – Milan is a whirlwind of the arts and it’s super exciting to be a part of the cool hipster crowd. 

I’ve been to the Monet Gallery at the Palazzo Reale, a MITO classical concert event featuring a passionate cellist and pianist who, according to Sam, were “having sex” on stage, a feature film at the Milano Film Festival called “Futoko,” a midnight screening at the MFF called “Il Talento di Fabio,” (neither of which won but were fantastic), Milan’s Vogue’s Fashion Night Out, and a museum exhibition of Madame Butterfly at the Castello Sforzesco. I’ve had mass at Il Duomo and seen Sant`Ambrogio’s actual carcass at his basilico and last but definitely not least, I went to the Milano Acquario Civico (an aquarium-fun!) where my friend Anna, a Chinese-Italian-American from Hong Kong was asked what the Koi fish were called because, obviously, she would know. Needless to say, the rest of the day was filled with searching for more of her Japanese brethren.

And, of course, my favorite art of all is the art of writing and to this art I owe my new internship at Hello Milano, an English monthly for the ex-pats and tourists of Milan. The October issue will feature an article about Milanese food cowritten by yours truly and my fellow intern. =) Coming soon!

 

The Caffé across from my apt where I get a cappuccio.

My beloved cappuccio e September's issue of Vogue. =) What could be more perfetto?

 

The Duomo just never fails to astound me no matter how many times I see it.

Mass at the Duomo.

Beautiful.

Juliet & I at the Palazzo Reale.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Uh, Duh.

 

      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Us at the MITO concert!

The passionate duet.

One of the theaters for MFF.

Midnight screening outside in Parco Sempione.

At the Aquarium! My fav.

Fishieeeeees

All of us so happy togeeether!

 

E finalmente, "arte" in my neighborhood.

Buongiorno Principessa!

 

Being in Milan I have to dedicate just one more post to fashion: I WENT ON MY FIRST SHOPPING TRIP! woohoo. 

And of all the places to begin, I actually shopped – was a shopping participant – at Il Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele! I’m going to pause here for dramatic effect. 

Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele. The world's first shopping mall by which all other Gallerias are inspired.

I remember seeing a picture of this in my Italian book sophomore year and thinking wow, how amazing would it be to shop there. … AND I DID! EEP! It was so surreal. The place is just like the picture but better because it’s real. Beautiful outdoor cafes with hot waiters standing at the entrances and all the heavenly designer labels gracing the cobble stone pavement together. Prada, Gucci, and Chanel, oh my! 

Today I went back to the Piazza del Duomo and decided to wander through the tiny cobbled streets alone in search of the beautiful labels. And I succeeded! I found Prada, Valentino, Ferragamo, and Dolce&Gabbana. I went inside Prada for a really quick second and stared at all the beautiful things. For just a few seconds I imagined those were my leather gloves and my handbag and purse and wallet and felt like an Italian princess for one blissful, fantastical moment. 

Then I opened my eyes and walked out the store. haha. 

So I must say my first weekend en Milano was a shopping success. I bought my first pair of Marc by Marc Jacobs sunglasses and some fabulous european pants and dresses and scarves. But of course, I was just innocently walking down the street today when I saw them. A pair of exquisitely beautiful Chanel sunglasses with pearl sets demurely sitting in its display case, staring at me. 

Oh dear God, why do I want everything that I cannot have! So it is true. I have unleashed the principessa deep inside of me. And it refuses to be quenched. 

 

 

The first Prada.

 

 

 

PRADA for le donne.

A cafe display window.

DIOR

One of the narrow streets.

D&G and me.

 

By the end of my stay in Milan I do hope I leave with these:

 

Chanel 5132H in Havana Beige

Hello Milano!

“In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock.”

- Graham Greene, The Third Man and The Fallen Idol

 

Ciao da Milano en l’Italia! 

Well, I made it! Indeed, after two weeks of XD (Extreme Diarrhea) courtesy of Ghana during my return to the States, I’m relieved to be rid of such ghastly bowel movements and thus joyously leap into the bounteous, luxurious lifestyle of the Milanese. 

Milan, the fashion capital of the world, is filled with people who look it. Proud, introspective and meticulously dressed. This one city is home to the world’s first shopping mall, La Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele, the original Prada shop and every other designer label: Gucci, Chanel, Fendi, Dolce e Gabbana. 

If ever I was fat at home then I’m monstrously obese here. The Milanese people are impossibly skinny. Men and women are all walking sticks. The entire city is made for thin people. My bathroom is literally three feet wide, so narrow that I feel claustrophobic when taking a shower and our elevator snugly fits 3 people at a time. 

But oh man, are they beautiful. The men really are gorgeous. Skinny jeans, perfectly cut, fitted dress shirts with four buttons undone and their curly chest hair peeking out. Even grandpas with pot bellies still wear fitted pants cut exactly at their ankles with Italian leather shoes – and this is all casual wear. 

The businessmen here all wear fitted suits and ties and ride their sexy BMW motociclette. 

Since I’ve been here my days have been packed with touring and seeing and stuffing my face and trying to recall all the Italian I’ve forgotten in the summer. By the time I get home my body aches all over and my feet are tortured to the bone. I feel like a goldfish that got picked up and plopped into a whole new bowl of water. It’s so unreal that with just one plane ride, you land in a whole new world, a country where the language sounds like water falling onto bells and every look is a postcard or a history page coming to life.

Spending months in Africa then in America and suddenly dropped in Milan is baffling to my senses. I feel like what I’m seeing is not real. Everything is too pretty like the backdrop of the Bellagio Hotel in Vegas and the buildings seem 2-dimensional and the sky is just the ceiling painted blue. 

But indeed, this is real. I’m in Italy. Sono qui en l’Italia. 

And while here I have three goals during my four-month stay in Milan: 

1. To become Milanese in every possible way.

2. To find an Italian moto boy who owns a white Vespa with leather seats. 

3. To try every gelato flavor, pasta dish and risotto I can find while simultaneously losing 20 pounds. 

 

Ciao ragazzi, stay tuned.

 

 

Piazzo del Duomo