Leave it to Mina to explain that love (or at least a well-timed compliment) is far more satisfying than an expensive cut of meat. The legendary Italian diva—queen of the stage, the airwaves, and, for over a decade, the pages of Vanity Fair—graced us not only with her unmistakable voice, but also with razor-sharp wit and a no-nonsense take on life, love, and the absurdity of it all.

From 2003 to 2015, her cheeky editorial column–in which she responded to reader-submitted questions on, quite literally, anything–offered the kind of straight talk that could shake the pearls right off Italy’s most polished socialites. Whether she was doling out romantic advice, poking fun at life’s fairytale illusions—“I saw a prince charming who looked around questioningly, riding a horse with no sense of direction”—or crafting the “perfect” man (“a mix between Benicio del Toro, Pope John, Einstein and who knows who”), reading Mina was like getting life advice from your fabulously eccentric aunt. You know, those ones who’ve seen it all, have zero patience for balderdash, and remind us that life is meant to be lived boldly, laughed at frequently, and questioned relentlessly.

So, in honor of her legendary pen as much as her legendary pipes, here are some of the peak-Mina moments from Vanity Fair.

In Concert for the National Team

Vanity Fair n. 30/2006

Will you promise me that if we win the World Cup this time, you’ll improvise a mini-concert in some (Roman) square? Or, if you really want to avoid the crowds (but what kind of celebration would that be?), directly at my house?
O.M.

We won. We won, and I still can’t believe it. World champions! I came knocking at your door. I knocked and knocked, but you were clearly out celebrating. What a shame—I had brought a 40-piece orchestra with me.

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15 Years Old, I Smoke, and I Like It

Vanity Fair n. 20/2008

I’m 15 years old, and lately, something strange has been happening. I’m surrounded by people who smoke—my parents, my beloved teachers, my sister, and many others I look up to. I don’t know if it’s because of them, but the fact is, I’ve started smoking too. I don’t know what to do because I know it’s bad for me, but at this point, I’ve started, and I like it. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Marti

I’m all for personal freedom. Everyone should be able to do whatever they want. Even the idiocy of poisoning themselves with stupid little cigarettes.

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More Toads Than Princes

Vanity Fair n. 1/2015

I’m tired of reading about Italian men who kill their wives or partners. It happens every two days. And who knows how many more cases of abuse, not just psychological, women are forced to endure. I have a neighbor here in Lambrate whom I sometimes see with bruises on her face. Once, her arm was bandaged. She lives with a guy. And my blood boils. What can I do? Sometimes I think that part of the blame for these violent men lies with the families that raised them like princes.
Samy73

And what about the horror that inevitably precedes the final act? Chilling. Days, months, years of domination, oppression, cruelty, and annihilation. And all this horror is granted to the man (man?) in the name of love, in most cases. I won’t attempt an in-depth analysis because my anger clouds my clarity and my Christian charity. I can only marvel and be appalled. Women remain prey over whom men have the power of life and death. This is a perpetual tragedy. And I have no idea how it will ever change.

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You Are a Slave, But Not to Him

Vanity Fair n. 43/2004

Dear Mina, I’m 22 and have been with a guy for five years. He’s very sweet and I love him, but we come from completely different social backgrounds and see life in totally different ways. I also can’t stand his family (a bit too “provincial”). I’m young, and maybe I’m with him because I’m afraid of being alone. He, on the other hand, is very invested in the relationship, and I’m scared of breaking his heart. I swear, I’m not arrogant or classist, but our differences are obvious in daily life. So I wonder: is love enough in a couple, or do other things matter too?
Maria

It should be enough, Maria. So many thoughts. So many doubts torment you. A life of hell. For five years, enduring social differences. What a scandal! Excuse my sarcasm. But I feel sorry for a mindset like yours. And above all, I feel bad for your boyfriend, the unwitting object of your daily judgments. It would have been better if you had simply admitted to being “arrogant and classist.” At least then there would be a reason, albeit detestable, behind your logic. Otherwise, your thoughts just seem like clichés, bourgeois conventions, slavery to fear.

Your so-called “love story,” if it hasn’t already ended, will end in your daily observations of differences and your constant questioning of whether you should accept a situation where you see more of an anomaly than a value. I said, “love should be enough.” But it’s clear that even this simple statement comes from a process of self-awareness.

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60 Years Old, the Coolest Age

Vanity Fair n. 48/2004

Dear Mina, how does a singer—even the greatest of all—become a dispenser of wise and sometimes sharp advice? Well, let’s try! I’m 60 years old, I’ve reached a peaceful state of mind, I have no unfulfilled desires for myself, my family, or my children’s families. What do I do now? Do I just wait serenely for death?
Remigio del Grosso

Are you crazy? You’re seven years younger than Robert Redford, eleven younger than Sean Connery, nine younger than Alain Delon, four younger than Al Pacino, fourteen younger than Clint Eastwood, and eight younger than a friend of mine who is insanely handsome and doesn’t think about giving up at all. When you least expect it, you’ll get hit by a thunderbolt—a woman who will make everything inside you spark again. You’re way too young to just sit around waiting for death, watching other people’s romantic struggles with little interest. And anyway, what are you waiting for? Death arrives no matter what. And never serenely.

What a Spectacle, Your Son!

Vanity Fair n. 21/2014

I lived in Lugano for a year and, alas, I never met you or him. What a magnificent son you have, Mina. Handsome as a ray of sunshine, luminous eyes (“And whoever leaves you, my eyes, has no light left, for heaven does not exist where you are not” –Michelangelo), class, poise, elegance, confidence, full of charm down to his bones. Calling him just a handsome man feels reductive. Magnificent. Sending you a hug.
Valentina

I’ll take them all. Every single compliment for my beloved Massimiliano. You know I’m very sensitive to these kinds of things. Compliments about my work and myself almost disturb me. But when it comes to my children, they sweeten my heart. Thank you, darling.

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400 Euros a Month

Vanity Fair n. 48/2014

I’m 27 years old and live in Siderno, in a wonderful Calabria battered by illegality and the indifference of the state. I’m one of the few privileged ones who still has a half-job, but millions like me are out of work. Sure, I live with my mom: with my salary of 400 euros a month, I can’t even aspire to the very normal dream of having my own house and family. Can you tell the politicians to stop asking us for sacrifices? Isn’t it enough that they’ve turned employees and retirees into cannon fodder? When will our moment to live come, to no longer have to be ashamed of ourselves?
Cristina Ieraci

Your letter is a manifesto, dear Cristina. I have nothing to add.

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That Weight in the Heart

Vanity Fair n. 19/2014

I’m 35 years old and expecting my second child. I lost my mother five years ago, and I miss her, I miss her so much. I spent my last pregnancy carrying this weight in my heart, but this time, it feels unbearable. I don’t know what I’d give for one word from her, one piece of advice, to know what she thinks of me and what I’m doing. I feel stupid even saying and thinking these things because I know there’s no solution. I don’t even know why I’m writing to you. Sending a kiss.
Michela

My dear Michela, you never get used to it. The more time passes, the more painful the absence becomes. It’s a grief that never ends. Now, you are the mother. You are the one who must have the wisdom, the tolerance, and the love for yourself. You are the one who must love yourself. You are the one who must know what is right and wrong—for yourself and for your children. You must not be afraid. You can do it, you will do it. We all struggle through it.

You are right, there is no solution. As you know, some pains burn like a nail in the heart that no one can remove, pains that make you think it might have been better never to have been born into this world. I’m telling you things that are far too obvious, things that are not a revelation to you, things you already know too well. I can only add one quiet encouragement: courage, my friend. A strong embrace.

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Post-coital texting? It couldn’t be worse… A man fought over by two women. The usual story. Which, with new technologies, becomes more vulgar. The answer? A hard video. 

Vanity Fair n. 48/2004

Dear Mina, for two years I have been seeing a married man, with children, who is separating because—whether we like it or not—we are madly in love. I believe that when a couple separates, the fault is not only with the one who leaves or the mistress, who always appears to everyone as the worst woman in the world. My man’s wife, in fact, after many years of marriage, suddenly realized she had a good husband and is understandably doing everything she can to win him back, trying to publicly humiliate me in front of him. I constantly receive threatening calls, and people even stop me on the street to call me a “homewrecker”! My life has become a nightmare: I’ve thought a thousand times about ending the relationship, but we just can’t—we are too happy together. Even though we’re both close to forty, we love each other like teenagers. Every time he decides to go back home to his wife, he lasts no more than two days before he comes looking for me. And I go from paradise to hell each time. He doesn’t have the strength to walk away because he sees his wife suffering and, above all, he misses his children. But believe me, we love each other deeply, and it’s only his wife’s blackmail that is tearing us apart. Can you believe that every time she manages to sleep with him, she sends me a text message to let me know? Please help me!
Fabrizia

I feel a mix of pity and irritation. The structure of your story is quite classic and predictable. A man caught between two women who both claim him—emotionally, sexually, socially—inevitably finds himself in a position of power and is reluctant to make a choice. It seems to me that neither you nor his wife have much hope of a definitive victory. The same tired justifications—the suffering wife, the absence of the children (who, I hope, are unaware of this battle)—are the usual excuses for avoiding making a decision.

Since real life does not follow the neat resolutions of a novel or a film, it is easy to foresee the miserable dragging on of your resentments, the gossip, the guilt, and the frustrations. The “twist” in your tale, the unique narrative touch, and the spicy detail is the post-coital SMS. Apart from the sheer “elegance” of such messages—which is beyond comment—I’m almost tempted to suggest you respond by sending a little video clip of your own encounters. That would complete the circle of the delightful filth in which the characters of this story seem perfectly willing to wallow.

Forgive my sarcasm, which I cannot suppress. I don’t have words to help you. But deep inside yourself, you will find the clarity to judge what is acceptable and what is not. You will recognize not just an ethical boundary, but an existential one—the boundary for living love in a free and conscious way. Love should not be a battle or a game of cunning, low blows, and nighttime ambushes for the conquest of some “rightful” or “presumed” property. Give yourself over to what you want—but reject deception and manipulation.

And please, don’t actually do what I just suggested. That was a joke.

A Day in Viareggio

Vanity Fair n. 2/2015

It’s not easy to find the right words to tell you how dear you are to me. I was in Viareggio the day of your last concert. I was 12 years old, and I remember your face on the billboards—it felt like you were smiling at me along the entire road I was walking. And I envied those who could see you that evening, not just hear you. Your voice, your words—the way you say them, only you—have the power to bring out the best in me, even when I’m deeply sad. You are like a dear friend. I miss you. Do you know what I believe? In the end, when we are all “up there” or “down there,” I am sure someone will ask you to sing. Even saints need to dream, and no angel can do it as beautifully as you. Sending you a hug as big as the planet.
Giuseppe

Sweet Giuseppe, assuming there is an “up there” or a “down there,” it’s best that this little singer from Cremona keeps quiet when she arrives. There are people up there who could make your knees tremble. And the list is endless. Fantastic. We will sit and listen, you and I. Do you want to?

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Classical High School or Not?

Vanity Fair n. 21/2014

We are two 16-year-old girls. We always have fun reading the letters people send you and your wise responses. We wanted to ask you something important: why do people (like us, for that matter) ruin their lives by choosing the classical high school, just to learn languages that no one speaks?
Eleonora and Diletta

Girls, you can’t imagine how much I regret not attending the classical high school. There was a moment in my life when I realized it had been a real mistake. At least for me, who left Latin behind in middle school. For me, who still today has a burning desire to learn and constantly bothers a friend of mine, a fine Latin scholar, to understand the etymology of this and that. Dear Eleonora and Diletta, you will realize that you made the right choice when you are a little older. For now, don’t give up. Sending you a big hug.

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Dreaming of “Pretty Woman”

Vanity Fair n. 2/2015

I’m an 18-year-old girl, and I consider myself a disaster. I feel like a five and a half—just passing but never quite enough. At my age, people think about love and all its nuances, so why do I despise this feeling? I don’t think love exists anymore among my peers. We love out of fear of being alone. Today, love is all about making relationships visible on social media. We use love to show off. Why do movies and books portray a love that can never exist? Just to deceive us into hoping that the man we love will show up like Richard Gere outside our house with a bouquet of flowers, Pretty Woman style? Why do we keep deluding ourselves?
Lis

You ask me why you should keep believing in it. It’s simple. Because you can’t rule anything out. Anything—absolutely anything—can happen. Especially what you think is impossible. Stay strong, Lis. A big hug, my friend.

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Sing for Us Again

Vanity Fair n. 1/2015

If you were to compete on Tale e Quale Show, which of your colleagues—man or woman—would you like to impersonate? And which song would you sing exactly as they did? Yes, I know, you have already made songs your own in an incredible way, but which one would you sing as a true tribute to the original? What a silly question, right?
Giovanni

Caparezza, I’d say. I adore him. “Fuori dal tunnel” would be perfect. At least we’d have a good laugh… Ciao, Giovanni. What a strange question, my friend.

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Only Love (Not Patience) Deserves Love

Vanity Fair n. 47/2003

Dear Mina, help me say thank you to the person I love. My partner and I have been together for 30 years, sharing a life full of care, complicity, and friendship. We are, as they say, one body and one soul. A year ago, my mother moved in with us due to health and age-related reasons, completely upending our routines. Now, in the evenings, we find ourselves watching the terrible TV programs she enjoys. We go to bed early so as not to disturb her. Our home, once always filled with friends, has emptied. And so, many things have changed. I swear I have been, and still am, afraid. Afraid that he will get tired of this. But every day, I see him smiling and kind to my mother. I’d love your help in thanking him—for his patience, his love, and the kindness he has shown to those who love him.
Michele

Patience has nothing to do with love, dear Michele. So you must decide what exactly to thank your partner for. He deserves to know. The reward for patience is nothing more than simple and banal compassion. The reward for love is love itself. I think the second option is far more inspiring. It could be the key to another 30 years of happy companionship. Best wishes.

That Clever Fox Carrettoni

Vanity Fair n. 1/2005

Dear Mina, maybe it’s just male vanity, but… will you publish me? That way, I can finally see my name in print.
Fulvio Carrettoni

Enjoy your fulfilled vanity. But, if I may, your name in the newspaper holds about as much weight as your name in the phone book or on your intercom. Maybe even less. At least on those, you could have an “Eng.,” a “Prof.,” a “Don,” a “Mr.,” something. Some identifying mark, an abbreviation describing who you are. Not that a caption adds much.

But taking pride in or feeling a sense of accomplishment from seeing your name in a single line of glossy paper is pure self-destruction, regardless of who you are or who you want to be.

See? You triggered my long-standing aversion to the verb to appear. It irritates me.

Tell me the truth. This was just a bet, wasn’t it? And you knew the only way to win it was by provoking me. In that case, congratulations on the strategy.

Ciao, Fulvio Carrettoni, whoever you are.

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Humans Are Not Monogamous Animals

Vanity Fair n. 47/2003

Dear Mina, I have been cheated on. As soon as I found out, I ended everything and threw away a marriage in which I had believed and invested. Seven years later, I am still alone, even though I have admirers (mostly married ones). But I’m not interested—I am traditional and morally strict. I rarely allow myself to get involved in impossible relationships. It happened, though, last year with a man my age, whom I considered perfect. He lives “only” 700 km away, a distance that prevented me from helping him overcome the trauma of losing his wife—and from stealing him away from the attentions of a colleague who lives in his city. I thought I had “healed” from this beautiful yet unrequited love. Until recently, when we met again, and I realized that at least physically, I was not indifferent to him. But I repressed my desire because I couldn’t stop thinking about the other woman.

Do I have to surrender to the reality that men are not monogamous creatures, that everyone cheats, that I am just a possessive “southerner,” and that I will end up alone in my ivory tower watching the collapse of relationships around me? Please tell me I’m not the only one left.
Anto

Dear Anto… well, I believe—yes. You have to surrender. You’re right. Everyone cheats on everyone. And they never taught us that. Lies, eternal love. Lies, vows to be faithful “until death do us part.” I don’t know a single couple who hasn’t faced this issue at some point. Not one. And this could apply to you too.

Don’t count yourself out, because sooner or later, you might be disappointed. We are all pitiful creatures, lacking dignity, far too indulgent and understanding—especially toward ourselves. Let’s accept it.

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My Daughter Is in Love with a Girl

Vanity Fair n. 1/2005

Dear Mina, my daughter recently came out to me–just as if it were some bureaucratic announcement. She said it, then left. She was leaving for a two-month trip. Now I’m here, trying to understand. I have so many doubts that I feel like I no longer even know my own identity. How should I behave?
Elena

Respect her. Behind the brief, factual way she told you lies the weight of her own self-awareness. Now it’s your turn to put yourself back together. Simplify the process. Love her. Love her even more.

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Peter Pan and the Perfect Woman

Vanity Fair n. 20/2008

I’m 24 years old and have been seeing a guy (though we’re not officially a couple) who is ten years older than me. We met when I was young, and for me, he has always been a kind of mentor. I’m convinced he cares about me, and maybe I love him, but his affection isn’t enough anymore. I need certainty, someone who loves and values me for who I am. He’s a unique guy, but in my opinion, he suffers from “Peter Pan syndrome,” which prevents him from taking our relationship seriously (yet he doesn’t push me away either). He isn’t in a committed relationship, but he doesn’t see me as the woman of his life—maybe because he’s looking for the perfect woman. However, he knows he can always count on me and that I’ll always be there. What should I do? I don’t want to lose him!
Anonymous

Then don’t lose him, dear Anonymous. If you truly want him, you must accept him as he is. Don’t try to change his nature. No one ever really changes. And all things considered, “Peter Pan syndrome” is far from the worst “illness” to have.