I wondered.

Recently I met with an Italian friend for a coffee as we waited for our children to finish up with a swim lesson. He caught me up on his family's holiday adventures, most of which took place in the pre-Alpine hills of Asiago, the place the Vicentini go year round to "see and be seen," as they say. The skiing there is not great, and according to another friend, those who are serious skiers flock to other places. (What do I know about ski conditions? Nothing.) Because of its proximity, because many have vacation homes that have been passed down within families, because it's where they went when they were children, because the whole gang is going, and because being seen is important in these parts . . . they go, despite the less-than-stellar ski conditions. This friend owns a second house there and escapes to it with his wife and boys whenever possible.

Asiago is beautiful, by the way.

Asiago Hike with Visitors
December 2009

He told me about how much his six year old has progressed with skiing this season and then he spilled the laundry list of people he saw there, specifically the kiddos from school who took ski lessons from the same instructor as his son . . . Emma, Camilla, Mattia, yadda, yadda, yadda.  He then provided details of the fashion show put on by the women each day. He told me of one woman in particular who he saw three consecutive days with three different furs.Three. Three, with coordinating boots for each. For some reason he fixated on the three furs and continued for some time about this anonymous woman hanging out at the slopes in jet set Asiago.

When I lost interest in the details of the furs my eyes wandered, and I noticed his very rodeo-like shiny silver Prada belt buckle, his slightly scuffed Gucci loafers, his tasteful golden necklace barely peeking out from his still-immaculately pressed fitted shirt, and the key to his brand new Mercedes SUV ever-so-casually dangling from his perfectly fitting designer jeans. His navy Moncler jacket was carelessly tossed on the chair next to us. He was so perfectly fluid in his style, casual and fluid. He wore the designers like he was born to do so . . . not at all like an imposter.

I wondered.
I wondered if he had any idea that just as he had the need to share the story of the woman with the furs with me, that I woud feel the need to share the story of him with you.