Being a particularity isn’t unfamiliar territory for me, but my new chapter in Maiori has turned that into an art form. While my appearance and unmistakably American sensibilities occasionally draw curious glances and whispered observations, I’m discovering an entirely different dimension of visibility here.
My association with one of the town’s most recognized last names means stepping outside becomes a kind of performance. This is especially pronounced for my son, whose afternoon promenades along the Lungo Mare with his babysitter have transformed into impromptu social tours. He’s greeted with the enthusiasm you’d see for the Pope on his golf cart excursions. We honored the local puntella naming tradition by christening him after his great-great-grandfather, a revered patriarch of Maiori. Strangers approach my little one by name, recounting family lore of his namesake. An astute entrepreneur, he was an impeccable dresser, a vestige of old-world elegance and never without his signature cravat. He never failed to acknowledge each passerby with a tip of the hat, and I find myself thinking of him as I familiarize myself with the social nuances of Costiera life.
So far, this is what I’ve learned: A confident buongiorno accompanied by a gracious wave is non-negotiable—you’ll run into the same people again and again. And buona giornata lands far more powerfully than a casual ciao, and smooth piacere is a baseline requirement at the end of every new introduction. When you’re local, there is no such thing as a true stranger. As my future mother-in-law astutely observed: “You don’t know them, but they certainly know you.”
Rediscovering my style has become part of this adjustment.
Daily walks aren’t anonymous anymore. They demand a level of intentional presentation—hair styled, ensembles thoughtfully curated—because inevitably, I’ll encounter someone ready to comment should I dare venture out in my disheveled-mother uniform of messy buns and bataille-stained basics.
I’ve come to relish this elevation of my personal style standards. My environment simply won’t permit me to sink into the deep depths, mommy-style. Still, a woman deserves the occasional off day without an audience, ya know?
My inaugural investment in Sézane ended in tears when nothing fit my postpartum figure. Fortunately, a trip to Rome to Rome changed everything: patient shop attendants became my style therapists, guiding me to my correct Italian sizes, while imparting one of fashion’s most liberating truths—sizing is fluid, not fixed. Numbers are merely starting points for the perfect fit.
I left Rome with two pairs of perfectly cut trousers and a whisper-light cotton set from Otto d’Ame—pieces that felt like small victories. In a world of online shopping, I was reminded of the healing power of human connection, even in a dressing room.
The big takeaway?
Dress with intention, yes. But more importantly—embrace the version of yourself that life is asking you to become. Whether that’s a mother navigating a new culture, a woman rediscovering her body, or simply someone braving the gaze of others. Living your dolce vita isn’t about perfection; it’s about claiming joy and style on your own terms.
Bacio, xT
