Rome: fuoco nelle vene
The women in my yoga class were only the beginning of my schooling. Everywhere I went—to the Piazza Trilussa for my morning caffe macchiato, to the newsstand where I bought my paper, to my favorite enoteca by the river—I saw these creatures, my Italian counterparts. And I began to study them, like a zoologist observes a pride of lions. Their eyeliner looked like scrawled-on crayon, their jewelry glittered from neck to wrist, and their hair fell in gloriously messy tangles around their shoulders. The young, sexy women who strutted through the Campo dei Fiori at night didn't teeter over the cobblestones on stilettos—they wore hefty motorcycle boots with paper-thin miniskirts. The older women who walked down the Vai dei Coronari left contrails of expensive perfume in their wakes. There was no attempt at subtlety. They were all slightly rough around the edges, as if they had stormed out of their apartment after a fight with a lover. At any given moment—the store, at the bar, at the gym—the women in Rome were wearing every piece of jewelry in their collection, or so it seemed to me. Plus eyeshadow. Plus lipstick. And that was just during the day.
From Allure [November 09] pp 100, 102, 171:
Sipping chianti and seeing the Colosseum are lovely. But when in Rome, dress (and apply eyeliner) the way Romans do.
By Danielle Pergament
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[image and text © Allure magazine]