It’s impossible to be in Florence and not wonder about those gentlemen stuck in their impeccably tailored suits, who use handkerchiefs in their lapels the same way we use our “everyday” ties and who wear those bright-coloured socks that seem to be part of the best Agatha Ruiz de la Prada collections. A fashion editor from la Repubblica reminded me: “Firenze non è Pitti Uomo”. He’s right. It’s too hot in Florence. I look around and all I can see is mini-skirts, flip-flops, tank shirts, naked biceps, sweaty cleavages and naked shoulders. And tourists…thousands of tourists. Emma is in front of me. I look at her and I wonder:
- What am I complaining about?