Giacca di Pelle

I bought a leather jacket.

At any other point in my life the idea of me wearing a leather jacket would make me (or anyone else who knows me) howl with laughter. But you better believe I ROCK this jacket. Is it wrong to love an inanimate object? I have never loved an article of clothing more. Not even my prom dress. The process of getting it was quite memorable. I had never really experienced the joy of Italian store owners until then. In il mercato di San Lorenzo, the main shopping area of Florence, there are leather stores and stands lining the streets in every direction. As many stores and stands devoted to leather products as Venice has devoted to masks. (I realize I never wrote about Carnevale...basically all the Smithies went to Venice the last Saturday of Carnevale and it was incredible, the city and the costumes and the 900,000 people. I'll never forget it). Camilla, Sophie and I ended up spending about 3 hours in the quest for the leather jacket. I am eternally grateful for their patience. The first store was without a doubt the most hilarious. For it is there that we met Lapo, the wildly attentive and cheery Italian man. He introduced himself and asked our names, complimenting each of us in some way immediately. I don't know WHAT he was trying to say about me--his English was not perfect, but he wanted to practice, as he told us--but it was something so nice he couldn't form a coherent sentence. It was just NONSTOP amusing comment after amusing comment from then on. I tried on three jackets, all of which he picked out without any indication from me. Every time I tried on a new one he took it upon himself to free my hair. Slightly awkward but it was more funny than creepy. I tried on this dark greenish one and he pretended to be speechless and said I needed to model it for his website and "we make lots of money." His worship-like behavior succeeded in brainwashing me and I'm glad Sophie and Camilla told him we were gonna keep looking. It was our first store, after all. Still I felt bad leaving good ol' Lapo, especially because he thought he had scared us away. He said, "Now I want you to tell me, honestly, since we probably don't see each other again. What I do, is it too much? Do I scare the people away? I try to make the ladies laugh so they feel comfortable but really, tell me, am I too much?" We assured him that this was most untrue. Don't you change, Lapo!

All the others were just not nearly as nice or...unique...as Lapo. They call out to you to get you to come in their stores and if you stop for a second they WILL get you to come in. Some of them were just too aggressive and unfriendly, like this one man who was trying to sell us his finest "bork" jacket. Bork, as in "pork", as in pig skin. But yeah no, how much is the pork chop with rosemary jacket sir? Do you also have veal jackets? Sirloin? Oh I could go all day with these hysterical jokes.

I had awkwardly tried on about 88 jackets until we came to a store whose owner was almost as animated as Lapo. He found me a jacket that I was finally excited about when I put it on. (Obviously he was too). So, I decided to buy it. I winced a little giving him my debit card...my bank account took a blow I could feel across the Atlantic but it was the best purchase of my life. Florence, leather capital of Italy, leather capital of the world. I had to do it! I wore it the next day and I felt extremely conspicuous but slowly, as the leather is stretching to fit my exact body shape as the man assured me it would after one week of use, I am getting used to myself in it. In fact, I love it.