Susan K.

La Dolce Vita, Designer Jackie Rogers and Marcello Mastroianni, Roma

I'd like to propose that perhaps the world has gotten too intimate, so close that we cannot really see one another properly, or appreciate the differences as people blend into a status quo, often an American one.

Last weekend, a New York socialite threw a surprise birthday party for Valentino, who has been spotted around the city at various fetes since the Costume Institute superhero gala a week ago. He's officially retired now from his great eponymous Italian fashion line, so I suppose he's got time to kill. And NYC offers lots of diversions during Spring.

Meanwhile, Gwyneth Paltrow, a Valentino fan, flew to Rome to star in an ad campaign for Emanuele Della Valle, designer for Tod's, shot by Dennis Hopper. Odds are, with Hopper's eye, that will be a snippet to remember.

I remember another era, specifically the first time I arrived in Rome, age fourteen, armed with $800 in babysitting money and a fresh copy of Vogue Italia purchased at Fiumicino airport. I had earmarked one page, a sequined butterfly top by a designer called Versace. My mother didn't know the name and to my recollection, he had not hit the USA yet in the late Eighties.

Within twenty four hours, in response to my nagging, not to be appeased by an outdoor pasta supper on Piazza Navona or the next morning's glorious heaven reaching Coliseum, my parents took me to Piazza di Spagna, the Versace store.

To my dismay, I learned that my savings would cover roughly a fourth of the price of aforementioned sequined infatuation. But unrequited love always lingers, as do memories of special things, moments, fashion, and friends once only to be found by crossing the ocean.