jersey flare pant

In the morning market bustle, cascades of lively silks pour out from open vintage suitcases. Pull up on your sleeves, call it a lucky dip of the senses. Layers upon layers, a kaleidoscope of colours. Each with a story of Italian decades gone by. What fine threads of wisdom and treasured moments do they weave? If only these scarves could talk!Here, in Italy, I am vibrant and boundless. No plans, just possibilities. Every wrong turn is a detour in the right direction and every misstep is just more magic waiting to happen.In the backstreets of Rome, I scribble love notes to myself and the world on cobblestones and napkins. I unfurl beneath painted ceilings, flanked by flocks of doting cherubs. In Milan, I dance to street musicians playing my song and play the muse for poets and artists.My hair curls and crinkles fresh out of the Amalfi every morning. I leap from too-high rocks into the endless ocean and charm my way onto the backseat of a stranger’s vespa. From Ravello to Positano, to Capri and to Sorrento. An infinite loop of summer sensations.My Italy, Amore Mio.