Milan.

Federica leads me into the bowels of Milanese speakeasy. It’s all canopy wide striped wallpaper, dusty Louis Seize furniture, a bar made entirely of copper, and just enough light to see five steps ahead into a haze of cigarette smoke.

There are aging Italian rock stars, a couple of young lady professors from Statale, two Russian gangsters (of course), a ferret, and a woman I think is Myrna Loy but couldn’t be. I don’t quite fit in but that’s usually the case.

The only thing I see is Federica’s luminous ivory linen vest. I follow it like a ship attached to a tug. Bright, wonderfully sophisticated, unknowingly sensual, it’s glowing in this desert of dark, decadent, and tufted emotion.

I’m deposited at the bar and Federica announces to all that I am the proprietor of anti-fashion and that I once took people “out” for the government (none of which is true, as far as they knew).

One of the rockstars looks up and says, “She’s great isn’t she?”

I watch her tie the belt around her waist, give me a wink, then disappear up the cobblestone steps to go fetch another body to complete her masterpiece of social and intellectual Darwinism.

Federica’s Belted Vest (No. 5995). Long, tunic-style open vest in 100% linen. Band collar with notched lapel. Removable self-fabric belt. Pockets on side seams. Fully lined. Federica wore it with a tank top and jeans. I imagined it would also look great over a dress, maybe even something you thought you were tired of. Imported.