6th Stop - Milan
The throb of Milan lies in its Duomo, the church of Milan. Exhibiting true blue Gothicism in every way possible, there is nothing more that I can muster other than a "Oh My..." upon setting my eyes on what seemed like a miniature model from Lord of the Rings. Or my Gothic literature. Either one.
Milano - fashion capital, indeed. The great weather allows coats, boots and turtlenecks to be worn, complimenting their Italian features to the most defined jaw-line. The streets lined with Gucci, LV, Prada and the likes, as well as a promenade of silk shirts, leather shoes and mink coats.
Most unfortunately, Milan reflected the lack of confidence in myself, and brought to surface my body issues. (Yes, it's the mind-fuck thing again, but everything's okay now) Looking at all those wonderful clothes, I wished like anything I had the small hips to carry those dear skinny jeans and pants off (considering that a large number of them were on sale too) matched off by a small waist like 'em Italianos. The tall and slim ones, that is.
Mind-fuck aside, I concluded I was still European-built after all. *beams* No shirt fit better than those from Italy, and pants have never felt more snug and tailored perfectly than those from Italy (and the UK). Now, that's something Milan is known for - shopppping!
The throb of Milan lies in its Duomo, the church of Milan. Exhibiting true blue Gothicism in every way possible, there is nothing more that I can muster other than a "Oh My..." upon setting my eyes on what seemed like a miniature model from Lord of the Rings. Or my Gothic literature. Either one.
Milano - fashion capital, indeed. The great weather allows coats, boots and turtlenecks to be worn, complimenting their Italian features to the most defined jaw-line. The streets lined with Gucci, LV, Prada and the likes, as well as a promenade of silk shirts, leather shoes and mink coats.
Most unfortunately, Milan reflected the lack of confidence in myself, and brought to surface my body issues. (Yes, it's the mind-fuck thing again, but everything's okay now) Looking at all those wonderful clothes, I wished like anything I had the small hips to carry those dear skinny jeans and pants off (considering that a large number of them were on sale too) matched off by a small waist like 'em Italianos. The tall and slim ones, that is.
Mind-fuck aside, I concluded I was still European-built after all. *beams* No shirt fit better than those from Italy, and pants have never felt more snug and tailored perfectly than those from Italy (and the UK). Now, that's something Milan is known for - shopppping!