Sundays in Milan

26 April 2017


It’s my last day in Europe and I’ve got that Sunday feeling. You know that sinking feeling that creeps in late on a Sunday afternoon as the light hours begin to get scarcer and you’re starting to think of next week’s hurdles? It’s that tinge of nausea as you feel your freedom slipping away, loaned out until the next Friday rolls around.

I try to ignore thoughts of the impending flight and the return to reality, or rather normality, for what makes a trip any less real than your usual day-to-day activities? Wandering into a small park in Brera, I spot a cluster of beauteous trees. I feel that my time in Italy and experience of its people’s warmth and animation are encapsulated in the bright red burn of the leaves. Deep crimson is omnipresent in Milan. It’s in the doors, the awnings, shoes and women slick it on their lips.

In Milan, I see a distinct parallel between the architecture of the buildings and the form of the clothing. There’s a tightness and a boldness to both. When I walk through the shopping districts where streets are lined with an endless continuum of high-end fashion stores, I feel that the sensuality and sexuality of Italian aesthetic is palpable. There is no fear of being seen and being admired and the naturally quiet, gentle nature of my own dress is given a stir of excitement. I fish out the most daring colours I have packed in my tiny suitcase and the boldest ornaments I can find.

That’s the beauty of escaping normality, isn’t it? You escape not only the routine of your schedule but the routine of how you perceive yourself and how you let others perceive you.



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