The real Milan Fashion Week has nothing to do with shows A nostalgic account of what made the Fashion Week unmissable (yet detestable)

There was a time when pronouncing these simple three words - Milan Fashion Week - could evoke familiar and fascinating scenarios, at times hysterical, yet unmissable: models on the subway, rental cars forming long queues outside restaurants and clubs, the absence of cabs at the end of a night, the absolute need to put together the most over-the-top outfit with the items you have in your wardrobe, to make sure to have access to the most exclusive party of the week. Despite all the efforts, the one we are about to live has nothing of the traditional Fashion Week.  

Experiencing the Fashion Week in Milan has (almost) nothing to do with actually going to the shows, as some would say, it is a state of mind, an atmosphere, a thrilling mood that reigns in the streets of the city four times a year. The arrival of the fashion circus in Milan was evident first of all on the subways and trams, suddenly populated by very tall and very skinny boys and girls, all with AirPods, photographic book in hand and a vaguely bored look on their faces. Like small swarms they would move around the city, bouncing from one casting to another, from a fitting to a shooting. You could sense the arrival of the fashion crowd even just by walking down the street, where the contrast between plain and boring office suits and Gucci-logo coats was striking. 

The greatest absence insiders and mere mortals have tried to come to terms with since March is that of events, and not just as an opportunity to hook up. An absence that will feel even more important during the FW, the week where you leave the house to go to work without knowing when and how you will return. The huge variety of events, aperitifs, in-store presentations made it possible, with great lightness and randomness, to organize or overturn the evening in a few minutes, reminding us the reason why it is worth living in Milan. Most of all, it was the after-parties hosted by the fashion brands the only way to reconcile friends and group chats panicking about what do to that night. Once the initial enthusiasm was gone, we psychologically prepared ourselves for the prospect of long queues everywhere, to enter, to the cloakroom, to the bar, to the bathroom; to free water down drinks; to undesired encounters; to the inevitable kebab before going to sleep. At the same time, that same perspective fueled the possibility of showing off one's best outfit, of meeting new people, of getting to know the real insiders of the industry, or of finally seeing someone met during the last FW with whom to share a taxi home. Other conviviality rituals we are no longer used to - going out to smoke a cigarette in the courtyard or in cramped hallways, waiting to enter a club or a party - generated spontaneous conversations, the invitation to another party, the discovery of an after-party, an unexpected program for the following day. 

A certain nostalgia can't but be the dominating feeling when reminiscing about Fashion Weeks that were, the symbol of an everyday life that has now disappeared. However, we cannot hide an undeniable truth: when we were there, truly living those events, we hated the FW. We cursed the taxi drivers and argued with the bouncers, we gave up our dignity to text the PR to get into a party, we killed our feet in those new boots walking from one event to the next, we have lost hours and hours of precious sleep. But it was all this FOMO that kept us awake. Today, when we experience the FW from the couch in our loyal sweatpants, watching the Armani show live on La7, we just want to rent a van to take us to the supermarket, to remember what it feels like.