Milano Fashion Week 2018

January 2018

On our usual sushi night, my friend Giorgia and I decided we’d go to Milano Fashion Week the following day.


7.30am, alarm, get in her red Fiat 500, sing karaoke and drink coffee from a thermos. Drive to Navigli.

We walked to the White Show and dived into Miao Ran‘s design, wore our pretentious attitude and kept hydrated with white wine.

We attended a catwalk, walked Via Tortona and had an aperitif on Navigli.



We went there for the fashion shows, ended up bargaining silver earrings

and snake-shaped rings with a wildcat peddler.


It was a nice Saturday.


WHITE Show @ SuperStudioPiu


















Miao Ran Studio








Via Tortona, Sudan Bar





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On the way back from a trip,

I ponder small revolutions – little does it matter if the time off was as little as a day or a whole year, little does it matter if we’re talking a new haircut, a drawing to get secretly inked on your skin or how to spend my next span of time.


On the way back from an interval of days, trivial weight of time taken off from early mornings and duty calls, I realized i’m too stubbornly ambitious to be taking myself so seriously, to spend my months chained to a cracked vynil playing the same day over and over and over. Alarm off at 7.27am, yoghurt, coffee, bike ride, tap in at the reception, kill time, more coffee, small talks in the elevator, tap out, bike ride, sleep.


Same tastes, same rhythm.

Word for word.


On the way back from this trip, bracket of days I let myself marvel at a city I’ve never loved. And there’s little as striking as washing all expectations away in the morning and enjoy the little things.  


So let impulse take over and show you how a pinch of self-confidence can start a fire in your eyes, in your chest, in your veins.


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Petersham Nurseries














House of Vans






















                                                                                        Look mum no hands !























Maybe because it’s autumn, And I let my bare feet walk on cold sand,


Maybe because I’ve been looking for an idea of life for so long, And drew it on sheets without lines confining the words,

Maybe because the salty air makes my eyes look greener, keener.

but on this endless beach, time marked by the waves, ruffling, breaking, readjusting,

Here I found what makes me feel mild, soft,


And it took so many steps and bets with luck and reading horoscopes to find this secret I’ve always been carrying in the pocket of my jacket,


To find home.




Praia da Barra







































I’m not sure if i laid my cards right,

If the flights i decided to take were good moves and if the masks I decided not to wear anymore will be the wind that’ll lead me where i want to be. But if there’s something I’m pretty sure of – and few are the things can call sure -, it is that at this precise time I’m at, I’m happy.


for god knows what weird combination of words and ideas, it feels like home.

Here, now.


And you can find me here,

at a corner cafe in a town I couldn’t paint by heart, faces I wouldn’t imagine any different,  the salty air blown by the ocean.

There’s this one thing I’ve learnt, in that space of time came out of a  kid’s dream, hanging mid-way between the passing of days and what is still to be done – like when you’re looking for something lost and find it in your pocket, and find it in the most unexpected place – you can find yourself at home. right there, where you’ve always been.


Because home isn’t a building dressed in white paint and drawers filled with cutlery and postcards.

It is tracing the curves of your skin at the end of the day, an afternoon walk to drink a coffee and letting the naivety of your eyes lead your way, thirsty for getting lost in cobblestone streets and unknown contours of hick towns, eyes to dive in at the end of a steep climb and words you finally found the courage to let slip out.







































































































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Brioche is sisters Olimpia and Camilla and their simple idea of creating jewels to wear gently.

The design and shapes are inspired by the swinging seasons and by all things natural. And on this wave of softness, they decorated their garden in the heart of Bassano del Grappa (Italy) as a pop-up store for their crafts and to tell the story behind them.


And as all things simple, this is a short story of two spontaneous creative minds dedicating those spare afternoons to hikes in the woods, baking apple cakes and getting inspired by all small details reflected in their handmade goods.


And as all things simple, words aren’t the right way to paint them.

So here are some photos taken on that autumn afternoon.

♦ peek the autumn collection ♦








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I often find myself asking questionable things like whether i should find a way to get closer to what I want or stare at my goldfish wondering what he thinks about all day, if the world is all good and we’re just complications and if avocados truly are that nice.

After a month of treating myself with the idea i’m not that much of a walking mess, that I can just lay in bed for a while longer and go to aperitifs and dating people met in bars, well, I realized a simpler way of life is not for me. and for however much i sometimes cross my fingers to forget about those ideas that keep me awake at night, I decided to tear down the wall I patiently built around the messy, fuck-up that I am. and breathed.

Because there’s nothing more liberating than allowing yourself to be you and not worry about pleasing everyone crossing your eyes,


or mind.


After years of piling up experience in all things photogenic on my resume, afraid of making my big move – but still pushing away all things people look for like someone to go back home to and numbers to call and ask if it’s socially acceptable to still make out in a club and blame it on the alcohol -, I decided to open the drawer where I’ve silently been watering the idea of getting out there and give it a shot.

So i’m planning a journey in another corner of the world.

Not sure if it’s the right thing to do, but if I keep coming back to that thought after so long, an idea begging and bugging me to listen to it, then I guess that’s the sign I’ve been asking all gods and fortune cookies and horoscopes for.

Because there’s nothing like the right moment or the perfect circumstance.

It’s more of what you decide to do with your days, dusting off those ideas you’ve tried to keep outside your chest and listen to your guts.

because it’s not your thoughts that are too tangled, you simply haven’t found the right comb yet.

So here’s the start of a journal, on the hidden beauty of simple things, getting lost and improvising life.

From scratch, a white canvas.  


And i’ve never been this happy.







Naples is raw.

But not one of those crudenesses people talk about.

It is raw in a secret way, but fiercely.


There’s no shame in its narrow streets where noises and perfumes mingle with the traffic and the rhythm of the waves blown by the wind.

Naples is a mother at the window making sure her son doesn’t get distracted while crossing the road,

it’s baked bread tickling the appetite, unexpectedly,

it is the blinking blue of the sea between one building and another, like labyrinths for people’s lives, their clothes hanging on threads,

for you to wander, walking with your snout in the air.

Naples is geometries braiding with houses,

something nobody would ever think of combining, but for some reason they fit, just perfectly.

It is the daring of colours and tastes, something that only painters and the mads would think together.

It is the market down the road and days made of simple things, a slower flow, warmer.

Naples is raw,

but it is in the crudeness of simplicity that we feel the most alive.

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Lungomare di Mergellina

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On a wednesday afternoon,

my mother and me decided to get in the car and go to Asolo.

One of those places that seem lost in time,

with small boutiques,

flower shops

and draper’s stores.


There are no tall buildings,

pretentiousness or rush.


So we spent the afternoon strolling in cobbled-streets,

sitting in the central square, talking life

and letting this piece of authenticity wonder us.



Because there’s little as striking as the beauty of simple things.








There are many things in life i still have to figure out,  

like how to live on something more balanced than hummus and vino,

the opening hours of the supermarket and how to manage money without spending it all on shoes, smoothies and frilled t-shirts.


It’s like having a tangle made of a bunch of other tangles and the more you try to figure out from which one to start

the more you look clueless and decide to leave it there and keep your fingers crossed

it’ll solve its enigma by itself.

That’s pretty much how I approach life and its myriad of questions.

Or i google them until I find some ridiculously long explanatory article and get distracted after a handful of seconds by all irrelevant things like how to cook 3-ingredient pancakes or how to find your soulmate in the snacks aisle.  


And it takes quite a few hours of my week to try and figure this ever growing list of

‘things people my age start to get together and rearrange in bullet points’ out.

But at the same time I realize how little this cleaning up mind space suits me.

I’d feel completely out of place, like when I try to put some makeup.

Nobody knows where the hell you’re supposed to put all those palette colored things anyway.


And it gives me that sense of contentment to know that I’m not the only one not painting my nails or curling eyelashes,

like when I get on the balance in the morning before breakfast

tricking my brain into thinking i’m fit. and it’s all a matter of psychology, you are what you think of yourself.





To come to a compromise with grown-up responsibilities and do something about my absent mindedness, I took one of those personality tests that take an hour of ticking boxes and skim-reading questions that are too articulated for me.


Turns out I’m an impatient, easily-bored and impulsive human being.

And according to the results I should work on my incapability of being consistent with what makes my eyes spark for the moment, I should turn my stubbornness into my drive to finish at least one of the ideas I have when half-asleep and write down in confused notes.

I like to call myself creative and like all creatives I use it as some rubbish excuse to go on dealing with my messy bedroom, my ugly calligraphy

and terrible relationship with timing,

living on extremes like buying four pairs of the same trainers because comfortable or eating a whole party-sized bag of peanuts just because.

But I don’t mind dedicating all my effort or none at all to what surrounds me. It shakes my days up.


Like bike rides through the canals on a late night, sipping whiskey to cure a cold and going to birthday parties of strangers.


The only thing I figured out taking that test is that you can’t expect a computer to solve the tangle that your personality is.

The results slap you in the face with the truths you hide behind smiley emoticons and lipstick and other things from the makeup vocabulary – sorry I ran out of girly terminology.


Nobody needs to be reminded of his flaws,

especially if he embraces them like I do.


It’’ll all work out.