A Slob Takes on Milan’s Fashion Week

That’s right. I find myself in Fashion Week because of a glitch in plans. I’m supposed to be in Lake Como, but forecasts of downpours changed my plans. While many fashionistas might like being in Italy for a week of the latest styles, I’m cringing, wondering where to buy some basic black attire on the cheap. I’m not a dandy like Oscar Wilde’s Dorian Gray, and I place little value on purchasing expensive clothing and curating a fashionable image of myself. If I were in my 20s or 30s (BC), I would be ecstatic. My daughters think I landed in heaven. “Mom, you’re in Milan’s fashion week!” They’re young and are fashionists in their own way, each bearing a unique style of their own.

I, on the other hand, stopped dressing up when I quit a full-time job and went to remote teaching. For one and a half years, the only thing I’ve worn with the occasional dinner attire is workout clothes, befitting my new lifestyle. Is this yet another transition in life? What is amusing is that I’ve been solo traveling through Dublin, Dubrovnik, and Geneva, and wore the same two dresses. Maybe not amusing, more like disgusting, you’re thinking.When I arrive at my 4-star Milano Boutique Hotel in my Keen sandals and Patagonia multicolored backpack, the doorman doesn’t even bother to take my other luggage. I had a Euro ready. His loss. Probably thinks I’m lower class, not worth the bother.

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