The Ladies

There are obvious questions people ask when someone moves to certain locations. Knee jerk responses based on media and stereotypes. Iconography that exists because...it's typically true.
Ireland--Drink any Guiness lately?
Texas--Have you learned to ride a horse?
Chicago--Windy?
New York--Been mugged yet?

"I live in Italy" brings on an onslaught.
How's the pizza? Is the food really good? Are you eating lots of gelato? The appropriate answer to each of these being "duh." Italy is known for its fantastic cuisine and wine, and for good reason. It's every bit as amazing as you might imagine.
The other obligatory questions are Is the fashion great? and Are the people really beautiful? My answer to these is Yes. Irritatingly so. Complex-inducingly so.

The concept of La Bella Figura in Italy powerfully shapes the image of all its people. This concept could not be more foreign to an Austinite. In Austin going to the store with no makeup, bedhead, and jeans and a t-shirt that narrowly passed the sniff test is not only acceptable but might even be regarded by some as confident. A statement that you don't care what other people think of how you look (or smell) because you've got intelligence and character and substance. The image is not important.

I'd now like to call your attention to the policeman at the right. This image was found by googling "la bella figura." The policemen here are all about it. Look at his white cuffs, gloves, and (rumor has it) Armani designed uniform. Traffic cops here stand on a raised platform in the middle of the street and proudly motion their white-gloved hands at the frenetic motorini and Fiats as they whiz by. A noble profession here--to be in the public eye looking good all day long. (The reason that police have nothing to do but sit around looking good all day can also be explained by la bella figura. Committing a crime would make a brutta figura. And we can't have that.)
I enjoy watching the police looking regal on their raised platforms or leaning on cars in the piazza. Just as I'm sure Jack enjoys watching the much more beautiful and manicured Italian women maintaining their La Bella Figuras all over the place.

Polished beautiful women strut in their stilettos down the cobblestone streets. Fancy outfits, fancy shoes, perfect makeup. All. The. Time. Just out to get your morning coffee? Not until you've showered and picked out your perfect Prada for the occasion. And they're truly beautiful...all of them.

Part of the reason I'm posting about this is because someone should, and Jack probably feels like he can't without facing physical retribution. And I don't have the energy right now to be vague and employ double entendre for comedic effect, so forgive my bluntness. I'd just like to know why everyone talks about the Roman Nose--which doesn't really stand out over here--but nobody ever talks about the Italian butts--which stand out quite well.

Seriously...grandmothers in stilettos and skinny jeans with gravity-defying butts. All the brash and offensive things you've ever heard guys say, I THINK THESE THINGS. Not to objectify of course; I'm just awe-inspired. I tried googling Italian Butt, Italian Ass, Italian Rear, etc. to show you what I mean, but apparently nobody else thinks archiving a good ass in jeans a worthy project. (Thongs, yes. Jeans, no.)

So there you have it. What has Italy done for me lately? Given me a complex about my backside. I'm just hoping that the nature vs. nurture debate comes down on the side of nurture in this case, and that by the time I come home, all this Italian food and cobblestone streets will have nurtured my rear into an Italian form, and that the Italian butt is not all in the genes. (pun begrudgingly left due to lack of caffeine and creativity)