Romanticize Your Life Like An Italian Grandma

“Try a ‘no thank you’ helping.’ And if you don’t like it, politely decline. At least you tried.”

Millie was a short, curly-haired, olive-skinned woman with crooked fingers and knobby knees from her active youth playing volleyball and basketball—and, later, from her insistence on handling every heavy pot and pan in her kitchen without help. Despite bearing the battle scars of pan burns across her arms, she possessed a joy for experiencing everything—even the most challenging aspects of life.

I was 11 the first time I tried an artichoke. My grandma always included them on the table during the holidays, but as a kid, I never partook. I saw them as green, spiky monsters similar to other unappealing vegetables. She demonstrated how to scrape the leafy innards of the artichoke with her teeth, but I hesitated. Instead of getting frustrated, she raised her arm in a jubilant gesture as if about to sing an old Italian song and said, “Come on!”

As I slowly pulled the petal and felt its inner texture on my teeth and tongue, she smiled widely, knowing I had just discovered something soft and mature. That first bite was a step into more grown-up choices and a reminder not to judge something solely by its appearance; it might have the potential for unimaginable depth and flavor.

Even at that age, I could put my elbow on Millie’s shoulder, but she still felt taller, a statue of knowledge. She was the quintessential Italian grandmother who wouldn’t let you leave the house or dinner table unfed. And on that day, I ate three full artichokes.

“Take your brassiere off whenever you can.“

When the DJ asked people to come to the dance floor at wedding receptions, I was a shy teen terrified to sling my body. Millie, meanwhile, was not only the first person there but also would take her bra (or “brassiere” as she called it) off and fling it to the unsuspecting DJ to the adoration of us all. She made the whole room smile, and her joy in not taking anything too seriously allowed me to learn to relax as I grew up. I do dance at parties now.

“Never bad-mouth your friends. Never bad-mouth your family—even the dead ones. And never let your mother-in-law know you don’t like her cooking.”

As a child, when family arguments arose, I would retreat to the end of the table. Yet, she would diffuse the tension by playfully serving pasta, urging us to “mangia and get along.” She had a knack for seeing the bigger picture. As I grew older and faced life’s challenges, she taught me to allow myself five minutes to feel upset; then, we’d take a walk to release those emotions. This approach showed me that nothing is worth getting bent out of shape over. It worked wonders, and I still use this technique today.

“Play Luciano Pavarotti on the stoop every night so your neighbors feel welcome.”

Every evening, the neighbors would gather around Millie on her stoop while she sipped wine from an ordinary drinking glass and listened to opera on her old stereo, despite my repeated suggestions to upgrade to easy streaming devices.

To her congregation, Millie wasn’t just a caregiver; she was a guardian of family lore and life lessons for the entire neighborhood. In addition to caring for her own children, and later for me, she also looked after their friends and neighborhood kids whose parents worked late and lacked childcare or time to prepare dinner for their families. We all enjoyed spending mornings and evenings around her table, and as the kids grew up, many continued to support her by helping with odd paint jobs and grocery runs.

“A lot of people are crazy about judging other people’s looks, but that’s not good. I never gave my own beauty a second thought. I was too busy playing basketball and spending time with my friends.”

Mille was modest about her appearance, but I found her radiant smile irresistibly captivating. Her secret to youthfulness was revealed in her daily rituals: morning oatmeal with whole milk and honey, black coffee, afternoon snacks of fresh tomatoes and basil, and a comforting bowl of pasta with red wine at night—a prescription for staying mentally sound. It was always about high-quality ingredients, checking labels, placing small grocery orders, and not overloading her face with skincare and makeup, as she would say. The most extravagant thing I saw her do for her skin and hair was rub them with olive oil when they felt dry in the cold. She nourished her soul with beautiful food, people, and music, and as a result, she radiated beauty herself.

“The simpler, the better. Stretch, breathe, move, Laura!”

The same applied to her style, reflecting an outward-in approach. For her, simplicity was key. She felt most herself in understated attire that made others feel calm and at ease around her. She wore capri pants, simple crew-neck t-shirts, and comfortable flats almost every day. At age 16, my grandmother walked the streets of Naples with her mother, Anna, in just such a pair of capris. My great grandmother Anna, a formidable woman, cared for five children and her community, much like my grandmother. In 1952 Italy, despite her preference for skirts, she navigated the supermarket, prioritizing stretching the weekly grocery budget over fashion concerns. It was a daring choice for a woman at that time in Italy that initially drew curious stares. My grandmother often reminisced about this moment in my life, laughing at the attention she received for something so ordinary. She’d recount how she confidently strolled past fruit stands, women’s gazes lingering on her pants. “I was comfortable,” she’d say with a smile, “and they couldn’t help but look.” Within a month, however, her bold fashion statement sparked a trend, inspiring other women to follow suit.

At weddings and family dinners, she embraced the iconic Italian wife aesthetic with authentic (clip-on) jewelry, (faux) furs, and (stretch) sequin black skirts. Despite dressing up for chic events, she always maintained her approachable and comfortable essence—an Italian coastal grandma ready for any occasion.

As I go through my closet, its contents reflecting my self-defined style of “Classic Italian Casual,” I feel a sense of longing and a deep connection to genetic memories. I imagine her biking to seaside coves in Naples, Italy, dressed in stretchy capris, carrying a bathing suit and lunch.

“Travel everywhere. Leave your husband behind and go with your friends.”