When it was finally time to get on a plane to Rome, I agonized over what to pack in my two suitcases. How could I pick just two bags worth of belongings for one year?
I eventually managed, even though my poor mother was forced to cart home many pairs of shoes and bottles of hair products when both bags turned out to be over the weight limit. (Woops)
I thought that when I moved to Italy I would assume la bella figura. I mistakenly believed that I could shrug off my California casual style for Italian chic.
Instead, my wardrobe has begun a slow but noticeable decline.
Never in my life have I gone through so many pairs of jeans. Never.
I’m not sure if it’s all the lemon gelato or the extra walking. Just to make myself feel better, I’ll go with the extra walking.
Even my favorite vintage riding boots bit the dust.
If I could go back and repack, I would. Out with the high heels I have not worn a single time. In with flats and skirts that cover the knee.
I remember telling a friend, “In real life I have 12 pairs of sweatpants. In Italian life I have two.”
What a mistake. Those sweet sweet sweatpants are coming back with me next chance I get.