She Was Almost Perfect

(An allegory of Italy)

As she strolled down the Via Casouli every eye turned to follow her. She walked with the languid grace every Italian girl used to try to emulate. Her dark hair cascaded to her shoulder blades, her black dress fit to absolute perfection, her makeup was perfect, her tan seamless. Her designer sunglasses, jewelry, purse, watch, and shoes were all of a piece with her image. She glided along as if in a bubble, taking no visible notice of the attention she attracted. Everyone turned to look, men stole furtive glances or stared openly, women evaluated every aspect, looking for something to copy. She was the model of style and beauty for an entire world and there used to be hundreds of her on the streets in every big Italian city, beautiful, refined, and elegant. You saw her and her male counterparts all over Italy. It was the style. I came back a few years later and there she was, still beautiful, but something was lacking, her clothes and accessories weren’t as sophisticated, she walked faster and without the grace she had possessed. As she passed my eyes followed her and there on the back of her right calf was an ugly Goth tattoo. Like I said she was almost perfect.

Talking with some Florentines I found what some of the reasons for my disappointment are. Most of the fashion companies headquartered in Florence found upgrading the historic buildings and installing the information systems they need way too expensive. They moved out of the center. And all those beautiful staffers went with them. Just one of those unintended consequences of the information age. But we still have our memories.