Can someone explain me why Swedish guys always look cool?

Milan in dark tones

Sebastiano

Ana

Sara

I met Sara here. In general, people write me to give me their feedback or asking for a photo. And when I'm abroad that seems to happen more often and quickly. Maybe out of curiosity, because they consider it more exotic or, who knows, for fear of getting home and finding a sloppy or senseless link. In this specific case, Sara didn’t write me. I didn’t think much about it but if someone had asked me “Zé, was there anyone you met the last time you went to Milan and whose contact slipped you by?”, I would answer “Sara.. probably Sara”. Nobody asked and I didn’t answer and I must confess that I didn’t loose my sleep because of it. The truth is that, out of pure chance, we met again online days before I went back to Milan. She gave me her number and a clear indication to use it while I was there. But I lost it. And it was in a mixture of joy (mine) and disappointment (hers) that we found each other in another outdoor café (again, by pure chance) in Brera. I joined her and her friend and before I left we agreed on having dinner that night. And so we did. I met Sara and some friends at Tratoria Toscana in Corso di Porta Ticinese. There I was introduced to several people whom the next day I would have difficulty remembering their exact name, their origin and what the hell they were doing there. But there was someone, besides Sara, that also charmed me. Alejandro (that unlike his skin, hair and clear eyes might suggest) is Mexican. He shared an apartment with Sara for some time and during that night I also started feeling that I had shared a house with them. They made me feel welcomed into their lives and I felt the enormous trust that one feels instinctively when we like someone but whom we know will return to their place some thousand kilometers away, taking all we confided with them. And that’s how I knew details about Sara’s boyfriend and Alejandro’s loves and flirts. But when I met Alejandro I didn’t assimilate him in the reducing sense of a “gay Mexican”. Because Alejandro was not gay in the true sense of a man that sleeps with another man. Alejandro was gay in all the plenitude of the word. In the same sense that I learned in my 7^th grade French classes. Because that was not the strict meaning that my teacher taught me. Gay as in someone who is bright and cheerful. Someone with a contagious joy. Someone that embodies the original meaning of the word and that we all seem to have forgotten. And when I remembered that meaning I found a joyful person in all those people that I met that night, in all those that talked, smiled or touched me. In all those that welcomed me, that wanted to know my origins, where I came from and where I was going. Like someone once wrote in the comments box of this blog “true freedom is not saying that we like women or men, but being able to like both and be completely happy with that, without dichotomies and the need to define ourselves as straight, gay or lesbian”. And that comment (or his fear of it) transported me to an article that José António Saraiva once wrote where he seemed to fear the extinction of the differences between the genders, as if the habits revolution is leading us to the inevitable condition of androgynous. I don’t criticize him and I don’t find it strange. If I were thirty years older I’m sure all of this would sound really bizarre. Even because, to be completely honest, I consider to myself the most dichotomized of worlds between males and females, between rude and violent creatures and fragile and sweet human beings. Because among my group of friends just one drink is enough for us to start treating one other as “machos”, using brutality to prove one´s high levels of testosterone that we have available for the most delicate of the females. You see, without this dichotomized world I don’t even feel lust. But that world does not overlap over the other one, the human one. And in that world I fall in love not with women but, like the anonymous on July 18^th, 11:53 PM, suggested, I fall in love with people. With my closest family members, with my dearest friends and with some of those that I run into and that I don’t have time to know more deeply. That night I fell in love with Sara and also with Alejandro. My feelings for them were deeper than those I felt about the feminine silhouette with whom I would lay with later that day. Because that passion is much important that the libido spiral drew by my lust. After all, this last one doesn't make me much different than a dog in heat. The next morning, when I left that well-decorated apartment and scribbled the note that I had seen been scribbled so many times in films when I was a kid, it was not its recipient that I had on my mind, but Sara and Alejandro. And that’s why I yesterday wrote to Alejandro and asked if I could also write about him. For the same reason that he replied saying that that was the most flattering thing that I could have asked him. For the very same reason that when I heard Sara saying that she wanted to take some photos to start a blog with a friend I reminded her “I’m still around tomorrow, call me when you wake up and we'll take care of it”. And so we did. And now that it’s done, if Sara asked me again (just like she did in that Corso Garibaldi outdoor café where we ran into each other) “what’s your favorite photo?” I would probably have answered her:

- yours, Sara, your photograph

Moscow in Milan

More than here…

Celeste has everything to appear here

Rossio in warm tones

Raquel & Chloé

Smells like James Dean

“Non uso mai i collant” she told me

I know you don’t Sara. Or do you think I don’t remember the photos we did in May?

Andrea – untrimmed beard, unstraightened tie (just like prince charming)

(and of course, the cardigan makes all the difference)

Sabrina & Noisette

Niccolò’s cape (Via della Spiga)

I’m an urban person, I really am. Or at least, in some degree, I consider myself as one. But I love the rural features, and most of all, the sensible presence that this piece conveys and that doesn’t go against its nature. Although rustic, it has a modern cosmopolitan flair that goes beyond the pieces that the urban flocks use. I’ve said it before here, wore it here and here and, almost enchanted, ended up here. And enough with this, since unlike the dozens of people that wrote me asking, I don’t sell capes, cloaks or shepherd’s coat. Nor does our leading man. But there’s one thing I can assure you, I would be greatly successful if I did. And so would Niccolò, that’s for sure!

I always heard that

the most remarkable features could spring from the most insignificant details

Filippo

Cesare & Cuca

Japan in Milan

(is it me or there’s something here that invokes me an oriental Sex and the City or, as they say it… セックスアンドザシティ?)

La felicità di essere Maria

Frédéric & Stacey

Milan is Milan and the rest is just nonsense

Maybe that’s why it’s not so strange that the first person I photographed here also had something in exchange to give me that was fashion-related. Maybe that’s why it’s not so strange that in those two or three minutes of conversation I had the feeling I was in the presence of someone that was more than a simple style reference. She was some type of femininity archetype. If there were any doubts, they disappeared here and here. Oh... and here

Shorts, cuffed jeans, ripped collars and knee socks (similar details)

I would be lying if I said that my outfit is similar to Bruno’s or that tomorrow I’ll be having dinner with a Catarina lookalike. The age is not the same and so is not the context. But the truth is that I’m a fan of shorts, I love to wear cuffs, I rip off the collar of 90% of my t-shirts and all my outfits at the Bank are composed by knee high socks. Maybe that's why, or very probably that is why I asked my friend João "Are you sure you don’t mind stopping the car? Because I would really love to photograph them..."

A pretty lady (with matching glasses)

Latin flavour

The husband had told her “Honey… there’s no need to take the raincoat to Oporto”, but she didn’t listen

Alvarinho, the Moledo* man

* about Moledo

Of all the possible titles that I can remember for this post, one of them doesn’t do justice to Joana, the other almost implies that

I want to marry her. So I might as well use this one!

United Coolness of Carolina

It was about time I photographed Ayres in Oporto (or maybe it was about time I came back here)

I must confess

that sometimes I look at people more than once. In a discreet way, trying to confirm if that first impression is for real. And then, there’s those times when just one glimpse is enough for me to know that I want to take that photograph and that I want that person to be my new post. This photo, this post

He’s still stylish when he’s hurt

Theories about saltiness and feminine beauty

A college friend used to say that the woman of his life would be one of those cute girls that after a day at the beach still look beautiful and dashing despite all the sand and salt in their hair and body. That dream came true in the form of a girl that was studying Economy and had some Law classes with us. According to him, she had never seemed so sexy like the day he saw her at a Comporta beach. When I looked at Leonor a while ago, still carrying the remainings of a day at the beach, I saw more than a beautiful and simple girl (or should I say "simply beautiful"?). I remembered Manel and his theories about saltiness and feminine beauty. Manel knows this blog and the day he reads this he will think “how on earth does that son of a b#!%# still remember that?”. You see, I also have my own theories and in them, right next to this image of Leonor, is also the image of that the Economy student

Maria (Maria’s dress, Maria’s boots, Maria’s vest, Maria’s bag, Maria’s tattoo, Maria’s sack and all of Maria’s accessories)

Palma, Ana

Madalena, Madalena’s dress, the squares in Madalena’s dress and Madalena’s blog (Ericeira)

It’s strange to ask a perfect stranger if we can take their picture. Doing it all the time is even stranger. But, with some tweaks here and there, we start to get the hang of it and soon it begins to feel like a routine. And like so many other things in this blog, I keep on experimenting and testing so that – at least here – I too don’t fall into routine. But I’m not the only responsible for that. If it were for me I would have already published children’s pictures here. But if it’s strange to ask a perfect stranger if we can take their picture, it’s even stranger to tell that stranger not to consider my request as strange:

- Can I take a picture of your son?

And that’s why I never did it before.

No one can deny that this blog transmits good vibes. And that those good vibes are contagious. If it didn’t then this photo would not have been taken. And that’s where its biggest merit lies. The blog’s own merit, not mine. Because the energy is not mine… And for a very simple reason… Because the blog is also not mine. It’s Gonçalo’s, João’s, Rui’s and Kenzo’s. It belongs to Mr. Horácio, Yim, Yen, Maria and Alex. It belongs to the old couple that I photographed in the Gaia’s Pier, to Ayres (and his grandfather), Nana, Sebastiano, Iara and Namalimba. It also belongs to Mr. Nicolau, whose hand I just shaked a while ago in this same beach, asking "do you remember me?!". It's Luigi’s, Osíris's, my sister’s, Baiba’s and Thaís’s. It’s James’s, Pureza’s, Pri’s and Dasha’s. Varela’s, José Luís’s and Rebecca’s. Marcela’s, Sebastiano’s, Ann-Krintin’s and Camila’s. It’s also the blog of Simon and Sanna, Sancha and Vitório, of the two marines whom I ran into one day, of Charlotte, of the girls with the blue sash, of Virve and of my father. And it’s also, from now on… Madalena’s blog

Oriental style on a high waist by Esmeralda

Austrian simplicity in a Lisbon garden

For all I know, she probably lost my visit card and will never see these pictures. But if she happens to find them I’m sure she will love them. And that’s what keeps this blog going. More than a portrait of a city, its people or its fashion. That is why this blog will never end… Because if she ever sees these pictures, I’m sure she will love them

There are conventional men and then there are bold men. And then… there’s the best of both worlds

Passeig Maritimo (Palma) – flower power

Passeig del Born – beauty lies in the simplest of things

Carrer de Colon – how the traffic stopped

[what you guys don’t know and that, to be honest, I'm a little embarrassed to say (surprisingly, I still have some shame left) is that I waited for 10 minutes (Ok… 15m) for Helena to leave the store where I saw her to take her picture. It’s not the 1st time that I do something like this and I doubt it will be my last]

Palma – the Sinbad effect

Five months, five gardens

A Londoner spends the double of his time in the parks of London than a Lisbonian does in Lisbon.

In the historical centre of Tallin alone there are more 23 outdoor cafés than in Lisbon and all its metropolitan area.

The percentage of Swedish executives that wear linen suits is the double of the Portuguese executives.

The Dubliners smile, on average, 2.43 times more a day than the Lisbonians.

On average, the wardrobe of a Madrilenian woman has more 4 mini-skirts than the wardrobe of a Lisbonian woman.

In December, there are 5,000 more cyclists in the streets of Riga than in our avenues.

On average, between December 21st and March 21st a Milanese gets together with his friends after work 7 times more times than a Lisbonian (that same ratio increases from 11 to 1 between March 22nd and June 20th).

The chances of a Lisbonian having, from 5PM onwards on a Sunday, the feeling of acute apathy or slight depression for not being able to get out of his head that Monday is quickly approaching is 9 times higher than the one of a Berliner.

There are 3 times more outdoor concerts per year in Bruxels than in Lisbon.

A teenager from Moscow is 3.5 times more courageous to approach the girl next door that he sees daily when they both walk their dogs than a Lisbonian teenager (knowing that the latter, with the odds on his side and a possibility 7 times lower of rain and 23 times of cold, prefers to find her on Facebook).

Taking into account all these statistical improbabilities that are hard to justify or even to understand, the odds of a festival like the Out Jazz being held in another European city with much less conditions than the ones in Lisbon would be extremely high. The point of publishing these data is not to make fun of ourselves (which is also a healthy exercise) but to promote the events that help enjoy the best of what each city has to offer. And that's the good news. Out Jazz is here. It's five months of continuous activity spread by five different gardens where Jazz (and not only) is(are) a good excuse to relax in the grass, or in one of the puffs just listening to the music. It’s an open invitation to enjoy a melodious afternoon in a green scenery. From May to September, the Out Jazz visits five gardens of Lisbon, with a different band and DJ each Sunday. This post would have made more sense in the last weekend of April than in the last weekend of August but, mea culpa, I only knew about the festival this year (in the middle of its 4th edition). But you still can enjoy one month of Jazz. Today was the last day in Torre de Belém. Next is Tapada das Necessidades and anyone who’s been there will tell you that it’s really worth it. And using the wise words of Cesária Évora that we listened last Sunday in a remix version, if you visit Tapada das Necessidades these next Sundays, from September this year, until May next year, you won’t be feeling “saudade”* just for the good weather. And I’m being serious.

* portuguese word, mean here