A boy named Ricky stood before me, and I say boy for he was just shy of the manhood of 18 years. He looked endearingly naive, eyes wide to the spectacle of Milanese fashion before him, and glowed with porcelain skin, frosted with freckles and blond eyelashes. Over the thud of electro-house, he revealed he was from Kansas, and that this had been his first modelling job, for Versace. Without knowing it, he had just arrived in the land of Oz.
I love Men's Fashion Week for its allure in underplayed style and sophistication, where the best shows and fashion parties happen in near secrecy, hidden from the glare of over-sexed, over-exposed, over-commercialized women's fashion.
So you are now thinking.... What does all this - Men's Fashion Week that is - have to do with sorbet and gelato? In truth, absolutely nothing. Only that for a time they co-exist in one place to which I hold dear. One place that masters in food and fashion. A place where I can wobble over effortlessly cool Milanese cobbled streets in fierce Nicholas Kirkwood pumps, grab a gelato, and still be à la mode. This place, my dearest, Milano.
|One of the first things I learned in Italian when modelling in Milan was how to order gelato.|
|Porta Ticinese watched by Elvis|
|Milan gets uncomfortably hot in the summer, so I opted for a Club Monaco T, Miu Miu sunglasses, Céline bag, and topshop leopard sandals|
|Trams going by Porta Ticinese|