For some time now I have been enamored of quilted, nylon jackets for winter. They are definitely on my 10 Things I Like this season. It started with quilted Belstaff liners, progressed to the Barbour Liddesdale in black and navy, and now continues with my wonderful Italian Brugi jackets. I found the first one in September 2007 in Rome on the via Giubbonari (“street of the jackets”, when there used to be tailors on the street), right off the Campo de Fiore. At first glance, I might have dismissed this narrow street as a long row of tatty shops. But in fact, there’s a sprinkling of quality, Made In Italy men’s shops, a high end enoteca and a branch of uber-trendy streetwear designer David Meyer. Last September, I went back to the same shop and picked up a navy version of the exact same jacket. The quality and styling of the Bruggi jackets belies the ridiculously low price (literally a fraction of the Barbours I’ve purchased). I love it that in Rome you can actually find high quality shirts, shoes, belts and jewelry at normal, little elegant stores. So much so that buying the Gucci Prada big guns is best saved for back in the States (Saks points, Neiman's discounts). Then there is always Napoli made by hand…
I love wearing these quilted impermeables over a sports jacket, as they provide just the right warmth without bulk. Unless it’s subzero on the streets, do I really need a heavy winter coat? It’s essential for me that the corduroy lined collar be half flipped. In fact, the Brugi’s proportions flow much more stylishly than my Barbour’s. The fastened double vent in the back seals the deal.
Finally, it’s important to wear it with a bit of visual swagger. These quilted jackets are ubiquitous on Italian men of a certain age, and can be a little well, dowdy. I like to wear mine open and with a pair of slim cords or jeans and a silk Bvlgari scarf knotted at the neck. Imagine wearing one with a killer Zegna navy blazer, Napoli button down shirt, silk scarf, tight& light jeans and Timberlands or dessert boots and rectangular aviators. Perfect for having a prosecco and nibbles in the late afternoon.
Everything begins with un solo. Christ, this is what we came to Roma for. A sip of something so far beyond N. American chain-store bastardization. Ciampini Caffe, on the Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina. Ground zero for serious alla Romagna moda. The damask table cloth is ubiquitous; from working caffes to the grandest of them.
Moody skies and the ultimately Baroque turrets of the Piazza Navona. Can an obelisk ever be far away? 
There's an extraordinary attention to elegant yet common details in Italy -- you see it in crested, embossed paper napkins, venetian plastering, and lowly brass hardware. I insisted we root out a hardware shop to get some brass picture hooks after fruitlessly trying to find things like this in the states.
Best dinner, first night, yes -- special. At La Matriciana, right across from the Opera. The selection of antipasto at the buffet was tremendous.
Few restaurants come this close to mirroring my aesthetic. We lingered till it was empty, and why not? Marble wainscotting, old prints, Roman shades, gruff with a heart of gold waiters, assayed silver, engraved cards -- and above all -- done with a non-fussy nonchalance. Absolutely perfect.
On the via Torino. A true bar. Bar Cavaliere. There's a steady stream of workers lining up for espressos, a ciggie from the wall of tobacco behind the cashier, the odd priest, and the family owner's nonnna having a lunch of red wine, chicken cutlet, potatoes, spinach and bread in a silver basket.
On the via Babuino. A tremendous, common, everyday niche. Yes, it can be all three -- this is Rome. We came out of the Anglican church on Babuino -- a short respite after all this papalism! -- and I spotted this. Has ochre terra cotta ever been more appealing?
Definitive.
In Trastavere, Santa Maria di Trastevere. A chapel ceiling. Simply the reason we came to Rome. Baroque on a plate.
An aperitivo, Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina.
Fascist Modernism of EUR. Does this also explain Futurism, Driade, Allessi and Armani? 
Summer on a plate: 
A bronze Carl Milles, Head of a Caryatid, was purchased years ago at Millesgarden outside Stockholm. Normally the idea of a reproduction is, well... In this case the integrity of the museum and the production quality sets it apart. The box is an inherited piece. It opens to form a portable letter writing desk -- an early lap top. The terra cotta oil lamp is Roman, late 1st c., bought a year ago from a N.Y. dealer. Hard to believe it's real.
The books are a frighteningly accurate indicator of our aesthetic. Barcelona and Modernism, from the museum show. The Art of Bloomsbury. The Englishman's Room -- I remember this book from London in the late 80s and I could not believe it was still available on amazon. A signed, hardbound copy of the Gilbert and George exhibition Worlds and Windows at the Anthony D'Offay gallery in London. Vogue Living's recent compendium. Yoshitomo Nara next to Neoclassicism. Doyle's catalogue. Zing, which still sends me a copy even though I no longer review for them.
