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| "Yes? Please - go on." |
(If that means nothing to you, clearly 1) you are not a pubescent boy, and 2) you do not have a husband who spews forth Will Ferrell quotes like a bizarre form of Tourettes. In which case, you must go and watch Anchorman immediately. Go, now. I'll wait. Ok? Good. And speaking of Anchorman, good to know some things haven't changed.)
So, the Hubster and I are off to Rome this weekend, and I am more than a little excited. He got me the trip for my birthday (I got him a jacket for his – I totally win!). I intend to eat my body weight in pizza and lust over expensive Italian leather handbags. Obviously we will be checking out some art and history and stuff too, but not so much that it would compromise pizza-eating or handbag-lusting.
We are also going to see a football match, so that the Hubster can pretend to be an Italian football hooligan (the correct term, I believe, is an "Ultra"). I think this involves singing abusive songs in Italian and throwing mopeds at the players, but I'm not sure. Did I mention this trip was meant to be my birthday present? All I can say is there better be some seriously attractive players, or I will not be happy. I will not be happy at all.
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| Something like this would probably be ok. Via designerscouch.org |
Anyway, the burning question that has been mainly occupying my thoughts is how can I get into the players' dressing rooms what does one wear in Rome? The obvious answer is, of course, to dress as the Romans dress. But I've never been, so how do I know how they dress? I tried googling "Rome street style" but it turns out that, sartorially speaking, Rome is to Milan what Edinburgh is to Glasgow. In other words, Rome appears to be Milan's signifiantly-less-cool friend. Even The Sartorialist couldn't help me.
So, I am just going to freestyle. The main problem is that being a natural (not even highlights, honest!) blonde does limit the extent to which I can pass myself off as an Italian glamazon. There's frankly no point in trying. I might aim to pass for Scandinavian, because it's marginally more achievable and everyone knows the Scandies dress way better than the Brits. But then, who doesn't? (Well, there's the Americans. Or at least the ones that stride around Edinburgh in white running shoes and bumbags. Not a good look.)
I reckon pulling off a Rome-worthy look is going to involve wearing lots of black, and being all about the accessories. Like these bad boys:
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| Kurt Geiger Wentworth boots. Yummy. |
What, not practical for tramping around cobbled streets in January for ten hours a day? Do you not see the shearling lining? The tank-like gripped sole? Would you rather I wore these?
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| Some Carvela monstrosities. |
Now let's talk bags.
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| The luscious Mulberry Daria Satchel. |
I am in love with this bag. I'm all about the functionality when it comes to handbags, so what makes me love it the most is not the goes-with-everything shade or the buttery leather - it's the fact you can have the strap long and wear it across your body (good for foiling Rome's scooter-powered bag-stealers) or clip it shorter and make it into a shoulder bag (good for when the stupid long strap gets tangled up in your scarf for the thousandth time and you finally LOSE. THE. PLOT). It's like two for the price of one! Although, I can't help but fear that the Mulberry logo may be a tad large. Is Mulberry becoming a bit… (whisper it…) tacky? No, surely not.
And how about a quirky statement ring to finish it off? Ok then!
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| Matilda ring, from £63, Jane Gowans |
Of course, in reality, I will not be taking any of these covetables to Rome with me. Alas, the January budget (or any-month budget) will not permit such indulgences. And I am way too much of a baby to walk around in anything other than my comfiest, broken-in flats. Plus can you imagine if the scooter boys did manage to steal my Mulberry?? Trauma!
Sigh. I'm pretty sure nobody is going to mistake me for an Italian. But as long as nobody mistakes me for an American*, I will consider the trip a success. Alternative measures of success include amount of pizza eaten (by slice) and number of items ticked off in my Top Ten Things to See/Do/Eat in Rome book. I'm pretty easy to please, when it comes to holiday success. If only other successes in life were so easy to judge... but that is a thought for another day. Right now I'm off to check the weather forecast in Rome for the twentieth time and work out whether I can squeeze a few more grams out of my meagre Ryanair bag allowance to make room for an umbrella. If not, I think it might fit in the bumbag.
*Just kidding about the Americans, really. A lot of them kick serious fashion ass.
They’re wonderful. They’re hilarious, and obviously therefore not “proper” poetry, but so pithy and so true. Lately I have found myself pondering one of her poems in particular. It’s called ‘
