Posts Tagged ‘italy’
Every Thursday the cock crows at 7am. The merchants, artisans and charlatans gather in the streets of Sora with their bancarelle. An outdoor market unfolds where one can buy anything from a spool of wool to fresh scallops from the sea. I’m not much of a haggler but watching my mom and aunt work the mercato is like watching a foreign artform in it’s splendor. If there’s one thing I learned, once the seller counteroffers your asking price, act like their offer is too high, or you don’t need the item, and walk away – they’ll come after you sheepishly agreeing to meet your demands. Works every time, like a charm. Like a boss. I bought nothing, obviously, and went directly towards the most expensive boutique in town and spent all my money on Mr. Eurotrash. Hope he likes his haggle-free gift!
I’m wearing: J Brand jeans, Converse shoes, Ferragamo shades, Free People sweater, Louis Vuitton Neverfull GM, and my Black Keys concert t-shirt.
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Shopping in Italy, or on holiday in general, always lends me a certain figment of wealth. All of a sudden 100 euros becomes the yardstick for all purchases. Those green bills go marching one by one; hoorah, hoorah. Today’s style pilgrimage lead us to Stefanel in Sora, (FR). Italian, simple luxury brand that specializes in cashmere and knitwear, and a favourite of The Blonde Salad (see her post celebrating Fashion’s Night Out at their Florence store). I almost bought the cardigan dress she’s wearing in the pics but opted for a houndstooth boyfriend pant with matching grey hoodie. It’s sporty luxe love all over again! Definitely a fashion week outfit I plan on pairing with my Sauvage ankle boots and red, red lips!
Arrived in Italy just a few days ago. OK, not doing the cosmopolitan Milano trip that you’d expect, but hanging with my family in mezzo alle fratte. We’re in Vicalvi, a small town on a mountain in the middle of the Ciociaria, what the general area is named, after our traditional footwear (think Aladdin). Me, on the other hand, I’m wearing my new leather Soles boots from Sauvage on Queen St. They are moving from pop-up to permanent next week. You can find them at 644 Queen Street West from then on.
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L’Uomo Vogue, W Magazine, Dolce & Gabbana, dating a Roitfeld and a permanent fixture of The Sartorialist street fashion roster. Giovanna Battaglia. She could be Cleopatra in a casting call, as evinced by the Eddie Borgo campaign, of which she is the face. If you follow her on twitter, she’s always hanging with Stefano Gabbana (I actually follow both of them for a complete tete-a-tete). Her style is high luxe with a tendency to keep it classy. She’s not as crazy as ADR, and perhaps more feminine. Attends fashion shows with the utmost piety, and finds her way onto style.com almost weekly. Want to learn more about this Eurotrash lady, check out the quasi-stalker blog about her: I want to be a Battaglia - but then again, who doesn’t!
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“Ospiti, ma quali ospiti?” – The Nightfox, Ocean’s 12.
Vincent Cassel plays Eurotrash playboy with nothing better to do but Thomas Crown hard, every day. I love watching Ocean’s 12 just for his European cockiness that only decadence can afford. James Bond type.
Danny Ocean visits the Nightfox a few times in the film at his gargantuan villa in Lake Como. The location exists in real life. The 15th century Villa Erba, once vacation home of Luchino Visconti, has made my ‘Eurotrash Places’ list. If Europe is any better than North America for one thing, it’s the prevalence of villas. No Malibu estate comes close. No real housewife of Jersey can beat a Duchess. Private vineyards that have been around for centuries – you can’t put a price on antiquity.
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image via colorsmagazine.com
Colors magazine was the first magazine I ever read. I must’ve been around 10 years old. I remember the issue, too. It included a story about a vending machine in Japan that sold women’s dirty panties in a neat little package. I’m not even lying. As you can see, the issue scarred me for life. A recent visit proved nothing has changed at this magazine – their latest quarterly issue is dedicated to shit. I love this photograph, though, taken for the feature on Mongolian transvestites who brace the morning dawn after a drunken vigil, adorned in traditional Mongolian folk costumes.
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