Florence, Lungarno Collection Suites; Patrizia Pepe show & dinner; Boboli Gardens; Jacket – Zara, tropical cardigan – COS, Fluffy skirt – Topshop, Jeans – C/O Raw Denim Bar, shoes - Chloe Sevigney x Opening Ceremony

Dear Florence,

May I call you Flo? I feel like you and I are buddies already and I’ve only really seen you twice; well I did Google you a few times but don’t we all nowadays? I also have a flattering pic of you in my phone, but surely that’s not creepy… Yes sure, I can call you Ms. Florence Italy.

The first time I met you with the hubby I remember we tried to find somewhere nice to eat off the beaten track, maybe a snug little trattoria that’s slightly tacky but one run by an old man the locals call papa and knows the secret to every pasta dish. Of course, we took that wrong (or right? we’ll never know) turn and ended up redrawing your maps for 4 hours before we gave up and ate in the hotel (that we somehow managed to locate). So the next time I saw you, courtesy of the lovely Patrizia Pepe‘s invitation, I knew the streets and landmarks as if I’ve been living there for 20 years. Alas, I was also able to concentrate on other lovely features of yours: the beautiful nose bridge you call Ponte Vecchio and a very well groomed garden called Boboli down south.

I do wish to see you again soon. Perhaps when the weather is warmer, a down-jacket in a suitcase to Italy is what the fashion girls call soo-not-in.

Gotta Boogie,
Shini

p.s You have really weird street system.

Floral jacket – ZARA, Shirt – Motel Rocks Wallflower shirt, Jeans – MiH Jeans, Shoes – Chloe Sevigny x Opening Ceremony, Bag – Cambridge Satchel Company via Mybag, Downvest – Uniqlo, Down jacket – UC of Benetton

I’ve just managed to extract myself from a corner where I’ve been ironing shirts for the past goodness-knows-how-long hours, the least I can say is that the sun was up when I started and now it’s fizzled away into matte charcoal – at least now with the low light the hubby won’t be able to spot the ‘SOS‘ I’ve written with blade-sharp creases under the arms until much later. My new mission is now to starve him so his shirts collection does not collectively equal a football stadium in fabric acre and we won’t have to spend our entire savings on electricity bills owed mostly to ironing. Yes, this has nothing to do with the outfit – I just had to ramble somewhere,  hopefully during his toilet break at work he will spot the SOS  while passing a mirror and in the same hour also read this post while sipping economist coffee. I love you! I promise!