The moment I would see my neighbour Elena wearing her long mink fur for Sunday mass, I’d know that the season had changed for good. Even if the air bore no sign of chill and the thermometers hadn’t hit the single digits yet, she just knew. She could feel it from mountain-ranges away, whispering in the treacherous wind. I could picture her at the window, staring into the early dusk, giving a knowing nod, and thinking it’s time. Time to unzip the winter coats, unpack the sweaters and scarves, and be ready for the yearly fight against the elements. And so, the holy ceremony of cambio di stagione, the changing of the seasons, would officially begin.
Is there anything more Italian than a sciura, enveloped in her full-length fur, swishing through the streets with a slight scowl on her face, silently cursing the humid cold infiltrating her many layers and reaching her achy bones? I can only imagine her mood without that fur coat, her best ally against the worst of winter–nothing else would ever do.
Many of these fur coats are actually ancient: they were likely obtained by scraping some hard-earned savings together generations ago. Held in the highest regard, they are handed down as if they were the most precious of family heirlooms. This is why, despite their many decades, these pelts always look so perfectly shiny and soft: the amount of care that is put into the handling, storage, and cleaning of these wardrobe assets is nothing short of maniacal.
When furs start parading down the streets of Italy, rest assured they won’t come alone. Rather, they are harbingers of a way of dressing for the season that is more than clothes: it’s a reflection of a set of unbreakable, hypochondriacal beliefs that are practically encoded in our DNA. Whenever the temperature changes–whether up or down–cambio di stagione may be used as an excuse for quite literally any malady. Sore throat? Cambio di stagione. Fatigue? Cambio di stagione. Insomnia or indigestion? Cambio di stagione. Problems with your relationship? Cambio di stagione. And so, our clothes help us stay sneeze-free while never compromising on the other key precept of Italian fashion. And that, of course, is looks: la bella figura.
The line between bella figura and colpo di vento-induced sickness being ever so fine, appearance is usually maintained by a hidden-yet-vital layer called biancheria da sotto. Indeed, this covering is perhaps the most important part of the winter closet. Lace-trimmed tank tops, silk-blend ribbed undershirts, or irritatingly itchy, wool-blend warming t-shirts aptly called maglia della salute (literally, sweaters of health!) become mandatory health-protecting wears that serve the holy purpose of keeping any chill away from one’s skin without ever wreaking havoc with the aesthetics of the outerwear.
In addition to preventing the cold from reaching their lungs (one gust is enough to catch severe bronchitis!), Italians also live by the golden rule that head and feet should always be kept warm and dry. In the cold months, we wear long cashmere socks, tights under boots, and waterproof footwear. A long coat or puffer jacket breaks the wind; a merino wool scarf in complementary colours protects the neck and averts the dreaded cervicale; bonnets and hats block the cold air from entering the ears, but mostly defend the hair from the ruffling humidity; fleece-lined leather gloves safeguard against the very-logically-feared frostbite; and, underneath, a turtle neck, chunky jumper, or soft twin set in matching autumnal shades (alternatively, a warm cotton shirt and v-neck vest under a tweed blazer) round out the fit. All this and the thermometer barely ever drops below 5°C. The effort of having all these layers match and look good together is beyond belief, and yet, we succeed.
On the public battlefield, the judging eye spares no one. The brunts of such criticisms are often non-Italians and anyone liberal and careless about their looks who, much to our horror, feel free to stroll through the streets in lounge clothes or, worse still, in frowned-upon athleisure wear. These clothes are deemed inappropriate for going out as they belong to the realm of vestiti da casa–house clothes.
The home is the only acceptable place where style is dropped in favour of comfort. Here, away from those aforementioned judging eyes, we finally, with a sigh of relief, change into stretchy pants, wool or fleece zip jumpers, long-sleeve t-shirts, flannel pyjamas, warming lounge robes, fluffy socks, and house slippers.
I have never seen a member of my family not morph into their house clothes the minute they step through the front door. Still, no one–and I mean no one aside from our closest circle–can ever see us dressed this way. I believe that the number of people who have seen my mother in her house clothes is still in the single digits, and, much to her horror, she still recounts that time she had to rush out in her pyjamas to catch the fishmonger when he was ten minutes early for his scheduled door-to-door run. It was her who unintentionally passed this concept of private versus public dressing on to me. Cambiati (get changed) was her constant imperative. Ci prepariamo per uscire? (Shall we get ready to go out?) was the question. Even when going out meant walking the dog or simply picking up some groceries, we would change into outfits that could be deemed decent. And when that wasn’t a possibility because of time constraints or other various roadblocks, a cross-generational long puffy jacket and a beanie would be thrown on to conceal the chaos.
So yes, health-consciousness and vanity play important roles in this seasonal sartorial dance. But let’s not forget about one last important reason behind this outfit-switching obsession: resourcefulness. A quintessentially Italian trait, being resourceful translates into a desire to acquire well-made, prime-looking pieces and make the most of them. We care about preserving the quality of our garments by means of a meticulous ritual of ironing, dry-cleaning, and storage. After all, who wouldn’t want to keep that much-cherished, custom wool coat looking sharp for half a century, given the dent it put in our savings, but mostly, given how many compliments it gathers at every birthday, aperitivo, and passeggiata? Bella figura needs to keep going strong, whatever it takes. Pass the padded hanger, the soft case, the mothballs. Let’s tackle every cambio di stagione as if it were the last thing we do.
