For years, I dismissed the Fendi Baguette and the Dior Saddle as relics of a fashion era I had no interest in revisiting. The Baguette seemed too small, too precious, too much like a toy. The Saddle looked uncomfortable—that curved shape, that rigid hardware, the whole thing seemed designed for runways rather than real life….
For years, I thought all Golden Goose sneakers were the same. The distressed leather, the signature star, the Italian craftsmanship—I assumed the differences between models were purely aesthetic. Then I bought a pair of Super-Stars, fell in love, and decided I needed a second pair. I chose the Ball Star without much thought. The moment…
I initially did not understand Golden Goose. Why would anyone pay $600 for sneakers that look dirty? The scuffs, the marks, the deliberately worn-in appearance—it seemed like a joke. I assumed the brand was marketing to people who wanted to look like they did not care about their shoes, while paradoxically caring very much. Then…
For a very long time I dismissed Tod’s as a one-trick pony. The Gommino driving shoe was everywhere—on the feet of off-duty CEOs, in the pages of business magazines, in the airport security lines of frequent travelers. I assumed the brand had built its reputation on a single product and coasted ever since. I never…
For years, I dismissed Moschino as a joke. A fashion house that made bags shaped like teddy bears? Jackets covered in cartoon characters? A perfume bottle shaped like a cleaning product? I assumed it was a novelty brand for people who did not take fashion seriously—a cheap laugh at luxury’s expense. Then I attended a…
For years, I walked past Valextra bags without noticing them. In Milan’s Via Montenapoleone, the brand’s boutique sits quietly among its louder neighbors—Gucci, Prada, Versace—without a single logo on the window, without any visible branding at all. I assumed the bags were nice but unremarkable. Just another Italian leather house. Nothing special. Then a lawyer…
I initially dismissed Brunello Cucinelli as overpriced basics. A cashmere sweater for $2,000? A plain hoodie for $1,500? I assumed the brand was for people who had more money than taste—a label you buy when you want to signal wealth without the embarrassment of a logo. Then I attended a dinner party at a friend’s…
For years, I walked past Furla boutiques without entering. I assumed the brand was trying to be something it was not—an Italian wannabe, competing with Prada and Gucci but lacking the heritage. I dismissed it as “affordable luxury” in the pejorative sense: cheaper materials, compromised quality, a stepping stone for people who could not afford…
Most of my younger, innocent life, I believed that Italian luxury leather was reserved for those who could spend $2,000 or more on a handbag. I assumed that anything below that price point—anything “affordable”—must compromise on quality, on craftsmanship, on the very essence of what makes Italian leather special. I carried mass-market bags that fell…
For years, I believed that luxury leather meant perfection. Smooth, unblemished hides. Impeccable stitching. A finish so polished you could see your reflection. I would return bags for the tiniest scratch, exchange wallets for the slightest irregularity. I wanted my leather goods to look untouched—as if they had never been used. Then I saw a…