#18 Senza una donna… (English)

Last Tuesday, while being on a tour on the Via Appia Antica, the most important road in the ancient Roman Empire, I met an American man of about sixty-five years old who had a pretty impressive life story. He told me about how he was one of the guys that had launched MTV in the eighties and about selling his software company for millions of dollars. About how he had become an award-winning writer after a midlife crisis, now regularly joining Forbes and the BBC as a business expert. He came to Rome to speak at a congress at the Vatican. Despite all these impressive life events, there was something else that stuck with me the most. He told me that he came from a family of eight children. The eldest seven were boys. The youngest was a girl. Only a few years ago, he had an insight that had stirred his sister to tears. He had in fact come to the conclusion that the reason their sister had had a rather challenging childhood was not because they had treated her differently as the only girl. It was precisely because they had not treated her differently as the only girl. 

Already years ago, an Italian explained to me that an Italian man should be able to buy flowers for his fidanzata at any hour of the day (or night)

Yesterday was March 8th, International Women’s Day. A day we celebrate worldwide in honour of no less than half of the world’s population. In Italy, it is celebrated much more than in the Netherlands and traditionally, the Italian woman receives a bouquet of yellow mimosa flowers from the men in her life. In contrast to Valentine’s Day, it is not just the lovers who treat women with flowers. Your boss can surprise you too. As I’m in the Netherlands right now, I unfortunately didn’t get those beautiful flowers, but that was amply compensated with the many Tanti Auguri messages I received – translated, congratulations. I truly believe I haven’t been to any other place in the world with so many flower stalls as Rome has, without a doubt one of my favourite elements of the city. Most of them are open 24 hours a day. Already years ago, an Italian explained to me that an Italian man should be able to buy flowers for his fidanzata at any hour of the day (or night). Large posters announcing the upcoming International Women’s Day have been hanging in these flower stalls for weeks already, to make sure no woman would be forgotten. 

There’s no Italian man who steps out of the elevator before me, the door is always opened for me and in a bar or restaurant the man almost always pays, even in a completely platonic or work-related situation

Italian women. Who can’t picture them? From the beautiful slender women with an olive skin and thick and shiny chestnut brown hair to the voluminous nonna’s with aprons rolling pasta dough while bragging about their nipoti, grandchildren. The woman takes in a prominent position in the Italian society and generally speaking, the Italian woman is quite articulate and an organisational talent who, next to her full-time job – working part-time hardly exists in Italy – manages to keep things running smoothly at home. More than often I’m impressed by how they do it, especially when you consider that an Italian woman feels like her house is a mess when there’s just one book in the bookcase that’s skewed and that she manages to dress stylish with her hair done at all times. This latter fact, among other things, often gives the impression that women in Italy are even ‘more woman’ than, for example, the women in Northern Europe. Critical voices will then very quickly add that the division of roles in Italy is still more traditional, portraying the stylish Italian woman as less emancipated. From my own experience I can say that nothing could be further from the truth. Women in Italy have the same rights as men and any form of sexism – which of course occurs just as it does in every country – is strongly denounced here too. The difference with other, probably more northern European countries, is that the woman has kept her privileges, something I actually consider normal. In practice, this means that our differences are celebrated even more. There’s no Italian man who steps out of the elevator before me, the door is always opened for me and in a bar or restaurant the man almost always pays, even in a completely platonic or work-related situation. Because a man, a woman, and everything in between are equal, but not the same. And that’s amazing.

As a girl I can honestly say that I feel more protected in Italy than in the Netherlands

Of course, there is only a very thin line between extensive complimenting – call it worshipping – women and intimidation. I think every single woman has had or will have to deal with this in her life. It remains a complicated subject. I will always answer a sincere and polite compliment with a radiant smile and a grazie mille, whereas I will answer any kind of comment that I perceive as denigrating – let alone those horrible sounds men produce when you walk by making you feel like a dog – with a reply clearly stating this is not the way to treat a woman. As a girl I can honestly say that I feel more protected in Italy than in the Netherlands. Not because in Italy society considers a woman weaker, who would not be able to stand up for herself. It’s rather that people are a little more cautious, something which isn’t bad at all. 

Three generations of women, from the age of 67 to 16, and we all have fun together

This past weekend I was in the Netherlands, and I feel blessed every day to be surrounded by so many beautiful, strong and diverse women. From a friend who single-handedly renovated her entire house to a cousin who is starting university after summer and whose eyes start to sparkle at the idea that the world is now at her feet. She can’t wait to go abroad. Besides her three brothers, my mother has two sisters. The three of them have four daughters together, my sister, my two cousins and me. My eldest cousin has two daughters herself of which her youngest is actually turning sixteen today. Three generations of women, from the age of 67 to 16, and we all have fun together. We go shopping, for lunch sessions, or we just spent precious time together at home sipping our coffees and chatting for hours. Spanning three generations, we always learn from each other. In fact, we all have brothers too. And, of course, they’re just as welcome. But I have to admit, that strong connection amongst us women in the family remains a very special thing. 

The fact that I feel so much at home in Italy also has to do with that. I feel like I can be myself even more here and I am not trying in any way – consciously or unconsciously – to downplay or even cover up that femininity

The other day, an older woman in Rome told me she thought I have a very strong feminine energy, and she assured me that it had nothing to do with whether or not you style your hair every morning or how elegantly you can walk in heels. Your energy is independent of the way you dress or the profession you have. Her words kept resonating with me and I knew she was right. The fact that I feel so much at home in Italy also has to do with that. I feel like I can be myself even more here and I am not trying in any way – consciously or unconsciously – to downplay or even cover up that femininity. I feel like I don’t have to, as the differences between men and women are acknowledged more and a woman is more recognised as a woman. To me, that is ultimate freedom. To never feel any social pressure to harden my soft and sensitive personality, dolce as they call me in Italy. I thought about the words of the American man again and realised he was totally right about his little sister. In a world where we are all truly equal, we must treat women differently in a way that does justice to being a woman. After all, women have lasted long enough in a world completely dominated by male standards. And while the American and I listened to stories of ancient Roman emperors who brutally deposed and murdered each other for centuries and crucified rebellious slaves in a great massacre, we looked at each other sharing the same thought. For the ancient Romans to consult a woman once in a while would actually not have been a bad idea.