Between my baggy jeans I brought from America, and my name, Kristen, which is close to Christian (pronounced Krees-tee-ahn in Italy), and therefore a man’s name… I’m not doing much for my femininity in Italy.
That changed today.
I bought high-waist skinny jeans. They’re all the rage here.
Well, specifically high-waist pants, whether they’re skinny or a bit baggy with a flare happening at the bottom. High-waist is where it’s at. At first, I just thought some women stepped out of the 80s, but no. I see them everywhere, so it must be a thing.
I needed that thing, too, because my style is suffering here in Italy.
Greg says he noticed them in the UK last year, but there must not have been enough women wearing them because I didn’t feel out of place in my non-high-waist pants until Italy.
People don’t wear yoga pants everywhere like you see in the United States. You occasionally see younger girls in leggings, because they’re actually going to exercise. But it’s not the default.
They love their sneakers with jeans here, too. I’ve seen all styles of big sneakers — some with a bit of a heel, some with sequins, some with bright colors.
At least my new bright pink sneakers I bought in Croatia will be perfect.
Let’s Go Shopping
On Sunday, Kamea and I headed to the mall for jeans and some essentials, like sliced jalapeños. We went to the bus stop and waited for the 10:52 bus. It didn’t come.
“Hmm… maybe the buses don’t run on Sunday?” I thought, as we sat across the street from a busy bar. Let’s see if the 11:00 comes.
Well, let’s leave, as clearly anyone who sees us will know we don’t know what we’re doing, since we’re waiting for a bus on a Sunday. We probably gave them a good laugh over at the bar.
So we did what we always do in situations like this. We got gelato.
Only, we walk past a nice clothing shop… with jeans. For a quick second I think, “Yeah, I should try on some jeans here.” I entertain the idea of hitting up the shop on the way home from gelato, but then the insanity of that idea dawned on me… never try on jeans after gelato.
No, I’ll feel better trying on jeans with an empty stomach.
I find the perfect pair and they fit like a glove.
I’m becoming more Italian by the day.
Surely the comune in Rovigo has to grant me my dual citizenship now. I have high-waist jeans, pasta in my apartment, a membership card to the local beauty store, and I’m a full member of the local Coop.