Twenty October 2016 – four years ago already – I was officially crowned as Dottoressa, Master of Science. Literally speaking, as you can see in the picture above. The whole day I proudly walked through the centre of Amsterdam with a laurel wreath on my head. I had obtained my Master’s degree in Business Administration after two years of studying: first a year in Amsterdam and then a year in Rome. The Italian part of the study was at least as important as my year in Amsterdam so I could impossibly graduate without wearing a laurel wreath, I thought.
Not completely unexpectedly the florists in the Netherlands pulled a questioning face when my mother and I asked them to make a headdress out of laurel leaves. However, my graduation didn’t feel complete without the traditional Italian crown so we had only one option left
Because that’s how things are done in Italy. Every graduate wears a laurel wreath immediately after the official award of the master’s title, which is usually bought by the parents. Every spring and autumn, the periods in which students graduate en masse, the Italian flower shops can hardly keep up with the plenty orders. This tradition is not known in the Netherlands and not completely unexpectedly the florists in the Netherlands pulled a questioning face when my mother and I asked them to make a headdress out of laurel leaves. However, my graduation didn’t feel complete without the traditional Italian crown so we had only one option left. My mother went to the local garden centre, bought an entire laurel tree and turned to Google for endless tips and tricks on how to put together such a wreath herself. The evening before my big day I got the biggest surprise ever when it turned out that she had done it and a beautiful dark green wreath with an elegant detail of red ribbon was waiting for me to be worn proudly.
During my year at the Roman university, I had already emailed him a few times when I was looking for advice from an Italian. Including that time when my passionate professor of Fashion Management – the only man who could have a pink shawl draped around his neck without harming his masculinity – held a flaming and personal speech in an attempt to persuade me to refuse the grade 27
It was no great surprise that I was the only one of the more than a hundred graduates with a laurel wreath on my head after we received our diploma in the beautiful historic theatre Carré in Amsterdam. Here and there, people were looking at me with curiosity. My thesis supervisor at the University of Amsterdam, on the other hand, a very correct young Italian who taught each college in elegant shirts which had his initials embroidered, knew the tradition all too well and could appreciate it. His always formal attitude even seemed to loosen a little when I told him about my year in Rome. He listened patiently to my numerous adventures in his home country, although that wasn’t the first time. During my year at the Roman university, I had already emailed him a few times when I was looking for advice from an Italian who understood the differences between a Dutch and an Italian university all too well. Including that time when my passionate professor of Fashion Management – the only man who could have a pink shawl draped around his neck without harming his masculinity – held a flaming and personal speech in an attempt to persuade me to refuse the grade 27.
Therefore, I didn’t understand a thing when his facial expression instantly clouded and he looked at me as if I had done something terrible to him
I probably lost you here for a moment. The grade 27? Let me explain. The grading system in Italian universities goes from 0 to 30, and then there is the option of receiving the honour con lode, cum laude. When you have an 18 or higher, you’ve passed your exam although the grade 18 is not exactly something to proudly show your parents. Contrary to what I was used to, you also have the opportunity to refuse or accept a grade. A few days after the exam, all students are called to come see the professor one by one, who will inform you on how you have done in the exam. You then say whether or not you accept the grade. Refusal does not mean that you do not agree with the result, but that you think you can do better and would like to try again. And so, one morning in December I found myself standing in front of my professor who had just told me that I had scored a 27. This was my first experience with the whole accept-or-refuse-ceremony and without hesitation I enthusiastically yelled “I accept!”. A 27 out of 30 didn’t seem bad at all to me. Therefore, I didn’t understand a thing when his facial expression instantly clouded and he looked at me as if I had done something terrible to him. For the subject he was teaching I should really aim to obtain a 30, shouldn’t I? I could do better! I was worth more than this! Resitting the exam was the last thing I felt like doing however. Never before have I felt so guilty about getting a nine out of ten – the grade converted to the Dutch system that is – in an exam.
The professor was a young, smooth Italian with an excellent level of English and I liked him from the very first lecture. I believe the feeling was mutual
Sitting an exam also differs from what I was used to in the Netherlands. A large proportion of the exams are not written but oral instead and it’s up to the professor to decide on this. I’ve thought about it for a minute, but if I were an Italian professoressa I’d definitely go for oral exams. Just imagine it for yourself: sitting comfortably in your ergonomic chair all day and listening to students while everyone brings you the best coffee in an attempt to put you in a good mood. Isn’t that much better than spending hours bent over an endless pile of tests with your red pen while having to fetch your own coffee? One day, I had an oral for a rather complicated course: international business law. The professor was a young, smooth Italian with an excellent level of English and I liked him from the very first lecture. I believe the feeling was mutual. In spite of the plenty of hours I studied, I was only able to answer two out of three questions at the moment supreme. The third question concerned a subject of which I had guessed that it would not be treated on the exam. Wrong guess, unfortunately. I braced myself for a grade no higher than 20 (I thought that made sense as I had answered 2 out of 3 questions correctly), and could not believe my ears when he said loud and clear “Trenta con lode” , in other words: a 30 cum laude. I answered his congratulations on this great achievement with a big smile playing along that the grade I was just awarded was entirely logical and justified. Did this really happen? I just scored higher than a ten in a university subject!
In December, a very tall Christmas tree was placed in the breath-taking and richly decorated hall with spiral staircase and there were as many as nine nativity scenes all around university. An old baroque church on the grounds served as a study hall and under the beautiful trees sat a ping-pong table that was played at any time of the day
The year at the Roman University would change my memory of my study time for good. Whereas all the previous years in Amsterdam I didn’t find much pleasure in studying, in Italy I discovered how much fun life at the university could be. How inviting and welcoming the professors, how beautiful and well looked after the university buildings, and how involved and enthusiastic my fellow students. In December, a very tall Christmas tree was placed in the breath-taking and richly decorated hall with spiral staircase and there were as many as nine nativity scenes all around university. An old baroque church on the grounds served as a study hall and under the beautiful trees sat a ping-pong table that was played at any time of the day. There was a piano in the Mensa so during lunch we were regularly treated to a live concert by one of our fellow students, and a three-course lunch – prepared with much love every day by the kitchen brigade – only cost three euros. The day started with a cappuccino and croissant on the terrace under the big parasols and for a lecture that was scheduled at nine o’clock you had until a quarter past nine to easily walk in, find yourself a good place to sit and chit chat a little with your fellow student or professor. All international students were offered free Italian language lessons, given by Mrs Concetta: the sweetest woman who, with her big skirts and high age, became everyone’s nonna. To this day, she is still a loyal fan on Facebook, always ready to immediately like and share your messages. Social projects with Roman children regularly took place in the beautifully landscaped gardens and the year ended with a gran ballo, a real prom night including a red carpet, DJs in the study church and litres of prosecco and free gadgets. It was all perfectly organised but no matter how cliché this sounds: the best of all were the people with whom I spent that whole year. Friendships for life were born, and we’re still cherishing our dear memories.
The title Master of Science made me very proud, because over the years I had worked very hard for it. But it was the title Dottoressa that I cherished even more
And as I walked through Amsterdam exactly four years ago with my degree in my hands and the wreath on my head – plenty Italian tourists spontaneously congratulated me when seeing my laurel wreath – all these memories were crossing my mind. I knew that that one year at that beautiful Roman university was only the beginning of something much more beautiful. The title Master of Science – as mentioned on my Dutch Master’s degree – made me very proud, because over the years I had worked very hard for it. But it was the title Dottoressa that I cherished even more. It was Italy that had made me a real Dottoressa, and that feeling went much deeper than an officially authenticated piece of paper.