Milan turns into a ghost town at the holidays, with all of its residents fleeing to the countryside or to the mountains or someplace warm. Right now, the city seems to be populated by me, a couple shell-shocked tourists, and a bevy of old ladies, taking advantage of this time when everyone else is away to air out their best furs and go striding around town, reveling in their dominion over the streets.
Old Milanese ladies are a wonderful study in doing things “just so,” as captured perfectly by this old photo I stumbled across on the Sartorialist. Nobody wears furs and sensible skirts the way they do. And I particularly love this one’s cane and daring pop of yellow at the neckline. They’re also masters of looking perfectly dignified and aloof, managing to pour just the right amount of disdain into their glance– when they condescend to look your way– to communicate to you that you are an inferior species and have lots to learn from them. I hope to grow up to be like a little old Italian lady someday. Compact, bitchy and fabulously dressed. That’s the way to do it.