Reflections Upon My Time in the Women’s Locker Room: The Differences Between Italian and American Women

One of the biggest cultural differences of note since I arrived in Italy is… well… hmmm, how do I say this? Okay, let’s just say the personal grooming habits of American women versus Italian women; which is to say that American women actually have personal grooming habits, and Italian women seem to be a bit more “tribal” when it comes to this particular area.

Actually I find this very interesting because Italian women are exceptionally concerned with their appearance. In fact, plastic surgery is quite common among Italian women. Apparently, however, no plastic surgeon has ever consulted with them on the wonders of a Brazilian Bikini Wax or laser hair removal, ‘cuz honey if you walk into any women’s locker room in Italy you’ll think you just entered the African jungle with women who have never seen a razor or a pair of scissors in their entire life!

I know this because Italian women walk around naked as a jay bird in the women’s locker room. This naked locker room stuff may sound normal to American men, but here’s a news flash; American women don’t like to do this. In fact, we hate it! We know that every woman in that locker room is checking us out when we’re not looking (because we do it too) so we’ll do everything we can to make it look like we’re okay with changing in front of women, but to avoid it at all costs.

Not Italian women; no sir!  Italian women will chat away with their friends while standing buck naked in the middle of the locker room. Of course it’s almost impossible not to steal a look at them, which is how I know they don't shave or have any cellulite. Seriously! Even the few and far between big girls don't have cellulite. They are just thick. I really don’t understand how this is possible with the massive amount of pasta consumed in this country!

I don't think I’ve seen a pair of full coverage cotton undies since I’ve been here. These ladies love their g-strings; and since even the grandmas here don't have cellulite, I guess they have no need for “granny panties!”

Oh, and try to walk out of that locker room without taking a shower after class and you’ll get looks like you just said the Pope wasn’t Catholic.

The last observation that makes me want to fall to my knees, hold my head in my hands, and scream out, “IT’S JUST NOT FAIR” is that Italian women don't sweat. I’m not joking about this. They just don't. Keep in mind I work out 5 to 6 times a week, often 1 to 2 hours every session. My point is, I am a reasonably fit woman; but I’ll walk out of a fitness class drenched in sweat, while the Italian women (who seemed to have worked just as hard as I) have only a light glimmer of dew upon their brow. This baffles me so much I’ve asked the other sweaty American women who go to my gym if they’ve noticed the same thing. They all concur; Italian women don't sweat! Seriously, it’s bizarre and soooo unfair!

Putting Yourself First

Before I left for Italy my sister told me that she did not want to be my friend anymore. She explained that although she loved me very much, she needed to change our relationship due to many deep and personal reasons having to do with her childhood. My sister and I had always been very, very close. We supported each other through the roughest of times (and believe me there were some very rough times growing up in my family) and the happiest times of our lives.

Hearing my sister say she did not want to be my friend anymore was crushing. Truly it was like someone sucked all of the air out of the room and my lungs were struggling to function. Anytime I thought about what she said I would cry.

Why didn’t she like me anymore? Was I so terrible of a person or a friend? What had I done? How could I change to make her like me again? All of these questions cycled through my head as I tried to figure out why she felt the way she did. I cried for weeks and weeks until I could get my head around what she said and why she said it.

The fact is her decision had little to do with me. It was a decision my sister made to ensure that she followed the path she needed to follow so that she could live the life she wanted to live. Justified or not, I reminded her of her painful childhood and nothing I could do or change about myself would make her feel any differently. She needed to separate me from her life so that she could move away from her past and continue to mold herself into the person she wanted to be, not the person her family had determined she was when she was growing up. Again, it took me a few months to look at this with some perspective as I was hurt, angry, and confused.  

Now I understand how much strength it took for my sister to do this; to look out for her well being above another’s well being. To ensure she was making the right decisions for her even if these decisions caused pain for someone else. This is not such an easy thing to do. As women, I believe we have a natural tendency toward nurturing and putting other’s needs before our own. In the religion in which we were raised we were taught to do for others before doing for ourselves. Of course one cannot be so self-centered as to be oblivious to others and their feelings, but she was not doing that. She was taking care of her own needs so that she could be a happy and complete person which would allow her to be giving and kind to others in a more balanced way.

Recently I needed to make some decisions that were not as serious but in the same vein; best for me but most likely would hurt or confuse others. This was not easy to do. I struggled with putting my needs first and then being honest and upfront rather than making excuses or telling little white lies. In the end I hope these people also realize my decision to put myself first had very little to do with them and almost everything to do with me.  I hope they can forgive my selfishness.  I hope they understand that a large part of this trip has been about finding balance, understanding and loving who I am, and making the most of the time I have on this planet.

Italian Men Do Not Like My Blog!

I find this pretty interesting for a number of reasons. First of all, how do they even know about this blog? No, no, I know who you are and I know how you know about my blog.

Actually, I have only met two Italian men who speak English and seem to understand American culture well enough to really understand what I am saying in my blogs. That does not mean all Italians can’t speak English well or don't understand my American sense of humor. I just haven’t met too many of them yet.

Of course Italian men don't like my blog! Putting the language and cultural barrier aside, look at the stories I have written: The Thing about Italian Men; Italians Have no Awareness of Spacial Relationships; Welcome to 1950; The Phenomenon of Blonde Women in Italy; 95% of Italian Men Cheat. And now add to the list a little ditty named, “Italian Men Do Not Like My Blog!” and I am sure I’m not scoring any additional points with the fine Italian Uomo (men) in this country!

The fact is the blogs I write about Italian culture are full of overgeneralizations and clichés. They are written tongue in cheek on purpose (that means not seriously for any Italian man who may be reading this blog and not understand the term). They are written from my point of view only which is unapologetically sarcastic. They are written with the intended purpose of seeing things from different or non-glamorized point of view.

Of course I have no idea if 95% of Italian Men Cheat! Of course not all Italian men gawk at Blonde women. Of course not all Italian men dislike my blog… well, that may actually be true. But the point is these blogs aren’t written to please the audience. They are written as therapy for me, and used as my creative outlet.

I write when I am feeling lonely or intimidated, when I feel inspired, or when I find humor or irony in a situation. I don't write much about how much I love living in Italy, or how I love Italian food, or how I love the passion Italians have for life because I don't seem to have anything interesting to say when it comes to these topics.

The fact is if I did not like being here, or if I disliked Italians I would leave. Yes, sometimes it is hard for me to be away from home, but Florence is a special place. In most ways it is still unspoiled by American culture (there is not a Starbucks in sight!); it is still very old world. I absolutely love most parts of living here; but still, you won’t find me writing too much about that. This general state of happiness doesn’t inspire me to write, it inspires me to go out and experience more happiness. And that’s what I think I will do right now.

Desire

I try to stay away because too much of you is dangerous. But sometimes I can’t control myself and my body actually longs for you; to take you in my mouth; to feel you on my tongue.

Sometimes my mind drifts back to the first time I had you. I think about how surprised I was at how different you were from what I had imagined. I remember how you made me feel; how in my entire life I had never experienced anything like you. Even now, your taste lingers in my mouth.

And, as the spring draws near, my resolve is weakening. I’m finding it harder to maintain my will power and stay away. But how can I be expected to stay away? How can I continue with this self-inflicted abstinence? I don't think I can hold out much longer... Oh gelato you are my vice and my muse!

The Little Things

When I first moved to Rome in October of 2009 I was scared to death to get on the bus. But in Rome you NEED the bus to navigate the city. It’s too far to walk everywhere; taking a taxi is way too expensive; and the metro doesn’t get you to enough places. But I didn’t understand how the bus system worked and I was intimidated to even buy a ticket even though I had memorized how to ask for one in Italian. There were just a lot of unknowns in this area, so the whole bus thing was very intimidating to me.

I remember the first time I got on the bus on the correct side of the street and exited the bus at the proper stop. I was filled with self satisfaction. “Yeah, that’s right,” I thought to myself, “I just took the bus by myself… in Rome… without any help!”

When I managed the Roman subway system, AND a bus transfer, AND a walk to the Ikea located in the suburbs of Rome, I really thought I had accomplished something noteworthy. And on the rare occasion when I actually manage to put together a sentence in Italian without any help, I feel like a complete rock star! “I just used the past tense of “to have” in a sentence in Italian! Who wants to touch me?!”

Yes, these are quite the accomplishments for a woman of 39 years! I mean, could you imagine the reaction of your friends in your home country if you announced at a dinner party that you were proud of yourself because that day you rode a bus to the supermarket and you managed, all by yourself, to buy some cheese and vegetables! I dunno, I think my friends in Washington, DC would look at me like I was on crack!

But not here; not when you’re a foreigner living in Italy. Here your fellow ex-pats understand these small victories. They know firsthand the challenges of finding your way in a foreign country. They understand that these little things matter. This, I have to say, is one of the things I absolutely love about my friends here in Florence. There is nothing like having a table full of people shout, “BRAVA, BRAVA” while giving you a round of applause because you’ve managed to piece together the most basic of Italian sentences.

And so, this has been a large part of my life here over the last 5 months; managing the things that seemed so small when I lived in a world I knew; riding a bus, buying a pineapple, learning a new language, making new friends.  But these things, these little things are in no way small. They have taught me immeasurable lessons in humility, in survival, in patience, and in appreciation. And these lessons, no matter how hard to take sometimes are a large part of why I came here in the first place.

95% of All Italian Men Cheat!

Yep, 95%! At least that’s what I’ve been told REPEATEDLY by Italian men. The first time I heard it, I blew it off with my usual, “yeah, right” response. By the fifth time I heard it I was mumbling, “What, what, wha…” in high-pitched confusion, like my Aunt J from Bean Town.

How could this possibly be true? NINTY-FIVE PERCENT of the Italian male population cheats? I was astounded. The Italian guys sharing this statistic were also astounded… astounded that I actually thought the rate was not that high in the U.S. “No, it’s the same everywhere,” they would say, “You just don't know about it.”

A quiet and defeated “ugh,” came from the back of my throat. Could this possibly be true?

“It’s a good thing,” these Italian men try to convince me. “How? How could a 95% cheating rate possibly be a good thing?” I ask, almost begging for enlightenment.

The compilation of answers is actually interesting. But before I get to sharing them with you, there are some things you need to understand about Italian men first.

In many ways, Italian men are in NO WAYS like men from the U.S. For instance, even with a casual hook up Italian men will treat the women like they are seriously dating. They will “make love” to them on the first night, spouting lines and making moves that rival the best movie scenes ever filmed. They will ask them to sleep over, to snuggle all night, to walk the dog with them in the morning, and they’ll spend the entire next day with them. When you hair is ragged and your makeup is a memory of what it was the night before an Italian man will make you feel like you are the most beautiful woman in the world. But what you have to remember is they will do the exact same thing with the next random girl they hook up with the very next night. Italian men believe in “taking care” of their women; even the hookups or the ones on the side.

Okay so back to the noted reasons why; I don't know how else to share these with you other than in a bulleted list, so I have ranked them in order of my favorites, the first one being my absolute favorite reason.

• It’s just what we do. It’s expected of Italian men.

• It keeps us interested in sex with our own partners.

• It keeps things fresh because you’re not having the same old sex all the time. (Same as before just said a little differently)

• As long as we are treating our wives and families properly (and they dont know about it) where’s the harm?

• If we had kids I would stop cheating for a while until they grew up.

• My wife and I are only staying together for the children. Don’t I deserve to have some happiness in my life?

The thing is I believe these guys actually believe this stuff. And maybe it’s because of the different culture here, but these reasons are starting to make sense to me too. Oh my god! I’m going to have to turn in my girl card soon! I mean, I still don't wish it upon anyone, but it was becoming more and more difficult for me to have an intellectual argument against this, you know, other than blurting out, “it’s just WRONG!”

That is, until I started assuming the same rules applied to women. I mean, it’s that whole goose and gander thing, right? As a woman shouldn’t I be able to keep things “fresh” in the bedroom too? Don't I “deserve” happiness as well?

And that’s when I think every Italian man in the country stopped what they were doing, raised a quick ear to the wind and let out their own quiet huff of disgust in response to my clearly American supposition that women had these same cheating privileges. “What? Women don't need to cheat on Italian men,” I’m told in response, “And if they do it’s rare and not really acceptable.”

“Ahhhhh… of course not,” I say feeling like I’m back on solid ground again. And then I think, God bless America (and Canada too… love you N). Let the arguments begin!

The phenomenon of blonde women in Italy.

Italian men are obsessed with blonde women! I had heard the stories over the years about Italian men approaching blonde women on the street, touching them as if they were some sort of freak of nature; calling them names or just circling around them like a pack of hyenas moving in for the kill. You’ve probably heard these stories too, but you think they’re clichés, so you don't pay much attention... right?

Personally, I’ve never been attracted to those with blonde hair. I like my boys tall, dark, and handsome (in a pinch, normal height, dark, and handsome will do. And, don't get me started on my fascination with red heads or salt and pepper colored hair!). Anyway, as a lifelong brunette I’ve never really understood the fascination with blonde hair. What’s the big deal?

But in Italy, OH MY GOD it is insane!

You can’t help but notice the difference in the way blonde women are treated here. Men of all socio-economic levels will literally stop what they’re doing and stare. But not just any stare. This is a long, deep, and dirty stare. The kind that sorta makes you feel uncomfortable after you’ve witnessed it! Italian men will run up to an unsuspecting blonde, flip her hair with their hands and keep running. They’ll yell out, “Hello Barbie” with those gorgeous Italian accents. They’ll slow down on their motorcycles and lick their lips while getting a better look. It’s truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Italian woman HATE the blonde girls. ALL blonde girls: skinny, not skinny, tall, short, young or not young. It doesn’t matter. They’ll shoot them death stares for seemingly no reason; ignore them while working behind a counter; and make their boyfriends change seats with them at a restaurant so the boyfriend can’t make eyes at the pretty blonde across the room. All of these things I have witnessed firsthand. And I have to say, I still don't really get it… it’s just blonde hair!

You might think this is incentive enough to go a little darker on top. Ah, but let’s not forget the upside to this phenomenon. You’re smiled at by men all the time. You get into clubs for free. Men hold the door for you and grant you the right of way most of the time and you’re always the first to be approached while in a group of women.  These are some nice perks eh?

Still, don't fret about me, we brunettes (who blend in nicely with the locals) get our share of attention too.

WOW!

I've received quite a few emails and comments on my last posting, Growing Pains. It’s been both interesting and encouraging to hear people’s responses to that entry. Some people focused on the finding a guy part, some focused on the control freak part, some wanted to know why I thought I would be a failure if I came home, and some just didn’t want me to be sad. One friend (you know who you are!) asked if I was allowed to use profanity in a blog.

Let me start by stating that I am feeling better now. I’m not 100% of myself yet, but I’ll get there. I have a tendency to give myself deadlines for when I should feel better or be over things (whether I’m ready to be or not) and, along with growth in other areas I’m trying to break this habit. As much as I like to think I’m Superwoman the reality is I am not.  And, although I am strong, and I do believe in myself, and I really do like who I am, I have insecurities. I have low points. And I do get scared.  This time I’m letting myself feel this sadness and loneliness because it’s normal and I know it’s necessary.

As some of you know, I’d like to be an author. I love to write, but after college I stopped writing for pleasure. Several years ago I started keeping a journal to help me manage the myriad things going on in my head (it’s a scary place up there!).  Writing is therapy for me.  It gives me the opportunity to explore and admit how I am truly feeling.

I wrote in my blog that I want to stick it out and not come home yet for many reasons, but the primary reason is because I know if I come home now I will throw myself into work, give up on my dream of being a writer, and settle into a life that I don't want. That equals failure to me. If I try to write a book and I cannot find the words, or if I write a book and then cannot sell the idea to an agent or a publisher, I would consider myself successful. Not believing in me and not having the courage to at least try to make this happen is failure. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. It really only matters how I feel about this.

Writing in my blog has given me the chance to try out my writing style on a varied audience. It’s given me the opportunity to see how comfortable I am with putting my raw feelings out there. It’s given me a forum to understand how I handle both criticism and praise.

The feedback and comments I have received on my blog have given me the confidence to know I have a point of view people are interested in. I’m gaining more confidence in my writing style. I’m not letting my grammar mistakes get in the way of sharing my feelings or my point of view. Writing this blog has given me the confidence I need to start my own book. But, if I were not in Italy I would not be writing the blog. I would not have the time to write. If I were home I would work and maybe see my friends for dinner one night a week. That’s all I could ever manage to do in my life. Again, this is not a bad life at all. That life is not a failure; it’s just not the life I want right now.

Life is full of highs and lows. As is said, life is the ultimate journey. I just wanted to slow things down and actually experience this journey. That includes the messy stuff too. I certainly got what I wished for. Now I want to have the courage to be the real me, accept the real me, and move myself toward the life that I want. Being here is a big step toward that life. I know I can do it. I will stumble at times, but as a new friend says, “that which is for you, will not pass by you.”

Thank you for your interest and please keep the comments and the feedback coming (the good, the bad and the ugly).  It's helping me get to the life I want.

Growing Pains

I have been down for days. It started off with a general bad mood that moved into a terrible head ache and now deep sadness. Yesterday I cried harder than I think I have since my former husband died. And as I write now, I have tears in my eyes. I am embarrassed to admit this. I mean, I live in Italy. I only work part time. I am “living the dream!” What’s there to be sad about?

I keep telling myself that I am just homesick; that the “honeymoon” phase of being in Italy is over; that I am settling into my life here and this is to be expected. I know all of this is all true. I know this is normal. I know this feeling will go away. I know I am growing from this experience. I know all of this. But, the fact remains; I am filled with sadness right now. And, although I am surrounded by wonderful new friends again, I feel completely alone.

This is the first time in 19 years I have had time to slow everything down and think. When I think about that statement I have to admit it’s in no way an exaggeration. Since I left for college I have filled my life with activity that has left almost no time for real introspection. Yes, of course I have taken time off over the years and had those epiphany moments (that’s how I got here!). But I have been in Italy for nearly four months. Four months of introspection while navigating a new culture is quite different from a week at the nearest beach.

The truth is I am afraid. Like most people I hate the unknown. I hate not knowing what’s next for me. What will my life look like after Italy? Will there be an “after Italy?” Will I ever meet this person that everyone thinks I “deserve?” Will I ever stop caring about meeting that person? Will I ever truly be okay with “just me?”

All of my friends (old and new) have been great. The pressure of finding a man or meeting “the one” is off. Well, the pressure is off from everyone else. I have realized at this point, the only one trying to force the guy thing is me! It’s not like I talk about it or am actively pursuing it. But in the back of my mind I find my thoughts moving toward finding a man way more than I realized or than I want. At times this has weakened my resolve and I have almost gone down paths I am sure I would deeply regret.

This frustrates the hell out of me! Why do I care so much? Is it really so horrible to be alone? Of course not! I know this in my heart, but as a reforming control freak I’m finding it hard to stop engineering every part of my life.

Right now my unknowns are pulling me back to the life that I know; work, career, and professional fulfillment. These are all honorable things. There is absolutely nothing wrong with having a successful professional career. I could move back to Washington, DC tomorrow, resume my old life and make a legitimate point about why it was the right time to do so. I could do that and most likely no one would blame me or look at me like I failed. Well, that is, no one but me. The truth is I believe I am destined for a different path in life. The fact is I have no idea what that path is and it scares the hell out of me.

Don't worry. I’m staying here. I’m riding this out to the end. But my god this is fucking hard sometimes.

Welcome to 1950

Living in Italy today is in many ways is like I what imagine it would have been like living in the 1950s. Most of the time the little idiosyncrasies are charming and there are many lifestyle choices that I want to bring home with me, but there are some things about 2010 that I miss a lot.

How is Italy like 1950 you ask? Well, I've taken the liberty to outline of few of my thoughts on this topic in the paragraphs below.

Everyone smokes... everyone.

Campari and Martini Rossi are very popular here. What, never heard of those mixers before?  Yeah, that’s because they’re from 1950!

Everyone dresses in their Sunday best at all times. Fedora hats with wool scarves and overcoats, Italian leather dress shoes and gabardine slacks are the standard winter dress code for older men. Take away the Fedora hat and you’ve got the standard dress code for the rest of the men in Italy. Many Italian women continue to proudly wear fur coats because no animal rights organization is going to impose on their right to stay warm and be fashionable. Actually, the dress here is surprisingly conservative for men and women.

Walmart, Target, and Costo do not exist (although IKEA does.  They pronounce it EE-KAY-AH). The concept of bulk buying does not exist. People shop daily and they buy in small quantities as there is no “extra” room to store that 20 roll pack of paper towels. Paper towels are seen as luxury and a waste. Dish towels are the norm.  Just imagine the dish towels your grandma had in her house and you’ll understand what is used here.

Refrigerators are the size of "ice boxes" and eggs are not refrigerated. Microwaves are exceptionally rare. You’ll stick that last piece of pizza in the oven if you want to warm it up. And if you want to heat up some left over pasta or soup you’ll use the stove. There’s no instant gratification in 1950!

The weather still plays a major factor in how Italians live. Most Italians cannot afford clothes dryers. The machines themselves are expensive, but more so Italians cannot afford the electricity that is required to power a clothes dryer. Because they dry their clothes on an outdoor clothes line (even in the middle of winter if it’s not raining) or on an indoor fold away rack, drying time must be taken into consideration for what is washed and when it’s washed. For instance, the clothes you want to wear on Friday had better be washed on Wednesday to allow for the proper drying time.

Apparently the fear that one can catch their death of a cold is not just the stuff of Jane Austin novels. Italians (and many Europeans) still believe they can get sick from being out in the rain or out in the cold. They'll decide whether they'll leave the house based on the weather. Of course not having a car to get you from one point to another plays a major factor here, but still, Italians don't want to hear any scientific mumbo jumbo about how only viruses or germs can make you sick.

Many Italians cannot afford a car so they own a bicycle. People of all ages dressed in their Sunday best ride their bikes everywhere; to work, to the market, to restaurants, to bars, to school, to church… everywhere. But because it’s common for bikes to get stolen, no one invests in a new bike. That’s why so many “vintage” bikes are still in existence. These bikes have not changed much since the days of poodle skirts and saddle shoes. The bikes here still have chain guards so your dress pants don't get stuck in them, utilitarian baskets so you can carry your fresh bread and vegetables from the local market, and bells so that you can signal for the frustratingly unaware Italians to make room for you on the street.

Very few people, including students, walk with earphones to listen to music. It's a little strange to see because in Washington, DC and many other major metropolitan cities in 2010, earphones are an essential component of any wardrobe.  It is still common and acceptable to be late for work because you ran into a friend on the street and were catching up.  Italians believe wearing earing earphones isolates people from one another and that's not acceptable behavior for 1950.

Office dynamics sound quite Mad Men-esque. For instance, smoking in your office is allowed. Drinking at lunch is common place and sexual harassment is a relatively unknown and un-feared concept. Dating the boss is certainly not frowned upon. In fact, several of my girlfriends working for Italian companies have been told that women who “fuss” about suggestive comments at work probably just need to get laid.

Of course Italy is not COMPLETELY stuck in 1950. They have high speed Internet for goodness sake! Then again, you do have to sign a 2 year contract to get it. This forces many Italians (and visitors) to survive on an Internet key. An Internet key is the equivalent of an air card in the U.S., but it’s way more expensive and way less reliable. And then of course there’s the… the… umm… Okay, let me think… how else is Italy not like living in 1950? Hmmm (long uncomfortable pause)… Nope just that little wormhole called the Internet; that’s pretty much it!

Allora, welcome to 1950!