“If Milan were a woman,” said Tom Mueller in National Geographic Traveler, she’d be “classy, gracious, with a sharp business sense and a gift for grand statements.” That took me longer to appreciate than I’d like to admit, as my idea of Italy was fashioned during several indolent summers in the hills of Tuscany. My father-in-law set me straight. “We Milanesi don’t worship our history like they do in Florence or Rome or Venice. What fascinates us is the future,” he said. He issued an imperative, too: “Time you got a better grasp of Italy,” he said. Given that his daughter—my wife—comes from Milanese stock, I felt some urgency about undertaking that task.
I begin by seeking out some of the “invisible hands” that make Milan a center of fashion, design, and general good taste. I find a tailor who dresses presidents and hand him the sport jacket off my back so I can watch him work his magic while I listen to how he mastered his craft. I seek out an Iranian-born rug merchant who’s creating a museum to the great textiles of the world. His shop is a museum in itself. Wandering among ancient Persian prayer rugs and Berber tribal carpets, I can actually touch Milan’s past as the proprietor recounts how the city’s “cultured warlords” began importing such treasures back when Milan’s wealth still rested on its ability to control the mountain passes through the nearby Alps.
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