Milano, Milano
Ah, my last day in Milan. I suppose you want to here about my two weeks, eh? I will skip the parts about the top-floor apartment where I retreated every night, mostly left to my own devices by my two shopping roomies (they’re in Fashion Marketing, but academics probably has nothing to do with it), reading and bumping my head on the slanted ceilings and debating with myself as to high to turn up the air-conditioning. Yes, that part has already been over-stated.
I am one of only two Americans in my Product Design class, with the rest from Thailand, Mexico, Turkey, Poland… all over. There’s a girl from Amsterdam who sits next to me — a model — who can pick food out of her teeth and look good doing it. She’s actually quite like me, interested in natural food stores and sustainable living, and disinterested in mindless shopping and late-night clubbing. Then there’s this kid from Bulgaria, just seventeen. He dresses quite sharp — or I should say, he dresses like his dad probably dresses to go to work. He’s so inquisitive, asking all these questions. “You’re a vegan and a feminist?” “You have your license — do you drive a hybrid, then?” “Sorry I’m asking so many questions, but what do you think about smoking?” Then he mumbles something about “all men should be equal,” and clams up when I try to delve. I ask him about himself and suddenly he’s looking away and practically blushing. Is he trying to judge me? Or size me up as his future wife? Curious little bugger (though I’m sure he’d resent me calling him that).
The class itself is far from academic. There are no exams or grades, simply lectures to attend, a strange collage project, and field trips to design shops and studios. The best part by far was the brief time we spent at Cibic & Partners. Apparently the rest of the class was falling asleep, but I was all ears: the Partner presented a series of urban planning projects reminiscent of Christopher Alexander, and I’m sure he’ll remember me for asking about A Pattern Language. He seemed as excited about his work as I was, and eager for the CV’s of interested students (the more diverse the background, the better). Alas! Their office is in Milan, and I do not think I like Milan much. It is, after all, a city.
But special. Imagine that all the overweight people you see on American streets were replaced with models. That’s what it seems like, walking around Milan. It’s clean and neat (my Swiss tutor may disagree with me here), with a completely consistent character from end to end. Seriously, you won’t miss much if you only see four blocks. It’s one giant upscale shopping mall. There’s at least a fifty percent chance that any store you walk into will be full of designer clothes, and the rest (if they aren’t full of designer stuff instead) are cafe-bars and gelato stands. Yes, the very same fashionable, thin, serious individuals are consuming pasta, pizza, and ice cream with much trendy gusto.
More edible oddness: I was eating string beans for lunch, and a young man — wearing an afro (italifro?) and something approximating a basketball jersey — was eating pizza a little way off. Presently he stood in my periphery, at an angle indicating he wanted to ask me something. “Are you eating those for lunch?” “Yes…” (no, I’m mixing them with my saliva to create a green dye for my latest art project.) “I like to do that too! Fruits and vegetables. But my friends think I’m crazy.” “Really? But they’re so good for you! Well, tell them you’ll live to be one hundred years old.” I was listening to Fitness Rocks at the time. “Thank you. I will tell them I saw you.” Great; I’m the Vegetable Buddha, bringing fresh produce to the carb-loving Italian masses.
The project part of the class consisted of first “drawing” a camera, without pencils or pens. Instead we engaged in three-dimensional collage, armed with scissors, fixatives, and piles of magazines, newspapers, fabric scraps, and dried spaghetti. What emerged from this mess (after much misunderstanding as to how abstract our teacher didn’t want the cameras) then became the starting point for our own “products.” We re-created all the components, thought of something new to make with them, and then re-created the components again in order to put together our final… things. Bikes, dresses, lamps, and my own little clock. Talk about it and get a diploma! Just don’t ask for my work, as there was no way transport anything more than photographs.
If I had come across a continent and an ocean for this class alone, I think I would be disappointed. A chance for some mindless creativity, really. But the people I’ve met, and the vision of awesome I got at Cibic, have made the experience worth more than just a pastime. Pretty soon I’ll have enough new contacts in Europe to justify a return trip… just not to Milan!
