In experiencing Rome for the first time, I had fully prepared myself to embrace the impressive culture of Italian fashion with thorough research. As a place vibrant with people in sleek suits, I knew the best way to understand this passion for style would be in viewing 1972’s The Godfather. Surely the timeless pressed lapels and pinstriped jackets would be the popular choice in Roman spring. However, I was dazzled to find a variety of ensembles that suggest the classic Italian mobster is not an accurate representation of clothing preference. Nevertheless, I found myself noticing patterns in style that seem to say something about the identity of the person behind the hat. It would seem that in Rome, what one wears can suggest occupation, age, religious affiliation, class, and even status as a tourist. For starters, only an American would dare ditch their jacket before May.
This came to a head in our visit to Assisi in the Basilica of Saint Francis. I have learned that particularly in churches, respect for a more modest dress code can say a lot about your reverence for the place. In an ode to the Franciscan preference for brown, drapey fabric, I thought it appropriate to dress in a beige turtleneck and long skirt. I wasn’t sure if my clothing was respectful or misrepresenting when a small, seemingly American child tugged on a parent’s sleeve and pointed me out as “Look! A nun!” Although my hair was uncovered, it seemed that the whole of my look silently spoke to my purpose there. I began to reflect on what I assumed about people here by the way they dress.
A woman in a neon pink and impressively tailored suit walks a small white dog in a matching coat of his own. She has money. A man brushes by in a baseball cap and nike joggers. He’s American. A group of women in floor length tunics and habits grace across the crosswalk and part the crowd pushing towards the Vatican. They belong here. A cast of characters fill the streets of Rome, each who present themselves as carriers of their own style. Perhaps they are confident in their looks, or envious of some others’. I have found it to be true that Italians, more than Americans, seem to put more attention on their appearance. There are a lot of beautiful people here. It is a tricky balance to avoid being judgmental and to embrace the identity that they put forth through their attire. Maybe I will take a page out of their book and ditch my sneakers for heels.
