Eat The Gelato
What Italy taught me about design, risk, and staying connected
It's been (nearly) 20 years since I was last in Italy. I studied abroad in Florence during my undergrad. Once I had decided to major in Art and minor in Art History, I thought, "where better to study it than where it all happened?", so I booked my trip. At 19, it was my first time in a foreign country on my own. I didn't know a soul there, not even my roommates. I'd just recently met a guy (now my husband) and was about to spend four months apart from him. Reminder: this was before smartphones and widespread wi-fi, and I would be relying on an internet café for short-lived Skype calls. Academics-wise, I was artistic, but I knew I wasn't going to be a fine artist, and sometimes I questioned, "what am I doing here?" Needless to say, I felt a little out of my league and a smidge homesick during my first weeks. But, I stuck it out, went with the flow, learned how to conjugate a verb in Italian, and soaked up the endless art and culture around me. Over the semester I learned how to take care of myself: food shopping, cooking, budgeting, navigating a new city, immersing myself in a new community, and continually pushing past my comfort zone even when I was homesick — putting trust in myself that I could do anything if I put my mind to it (this still rings true today).
THEN & NOW: Same me, same place, but seeing it differently", from left to right — Me at 19 somewhere in Italy during my 2007 semester abroad; a picture I snapped as I was leaving my apartment for the last time; standing at the front door ~20 years later; breakfast overlooking Florence in May 2026
Now, just about two decades later, I finally revisited a place that helped shape who I am today. This time my husband came with me — we were celebrating 10 years of marriage — and not only was it his first time in Italy, but we were traveling without our daughter for the first time since she was born. Big moves! So in many ways, Italy felt completely fresh. I was glad to still know the basics (I've lost most of the language I learned), but everything else felt, quote-unquote, foreign. Back then, my trip was a coming of age. This time, I was an adult on vacation, no longer a college sophomore finding myself.
So, you ask, what did I learn this time around?
Look again
Although I had been to most of the places we went before, watching my husband see Venice and Florence for the first time allowed me to see them brand new (the time between visits didn't hurt either). Looking and experiencing something as if it were the first time, I found a greater appreciation for everything we saw, ate, and did. I also am coming back a different person than the one who left twenty years ago — I'm a mother and a wife now, and I run my own design studio instead of just dreaming about someday having one — so this go-around, I was bringing an entirely different set of eyes with me. Regardless, looking again is a habit I try to bring into my work too: stepping away from a design problem and coming back to it later for a fresh take, or even just trying to see it through someone else's eyes, almost always reveals a perspective I missed the first time around. Yes, long spans of time apart will help, but even a shorter break, or "fresh eyes" the following morning, will show you something in a new light. The idea is to focus and look with intention. And while we're on the topic of looking…
Pay Attention to the Details
How many times have you walked by something — a statue, an architectural detail, even a neighbor's garden — and not even glanced at it? Slow down. Pay attention to what's around you, especially the details: ringlet curls carved into marble (how did they do that?!), tile floor patterns, door knockers that look like hands, the shape a shadow makes on the sidewalk, how your phone camera picks up light differently than your eyes do, how letters are arranged on a page you're reading, how two contrasting flowers in a garden are in conversation with each other. See it. Question it. Use it. Inspiration is everywhere. You just have to pay attention. This is something I think I'm typically good at — my family dubbed me "the observant one" when I was younger — but I found myself really zooming in on this trip. Maybe because, for a change, no one needed me for anything in that moment, so I was in my element. And in Italy, there's a lot of detail to pay attention to, which leads me to…
Less Is Not Always More
Italians have a centuries-old flair for art, design, fashion, and lifestyle — a cultural sprezzatura. As an outsider looking in, I can confirm, less is not always more. In Italy, more is more. More patterns, more colors, more pasta, more scoops of gelato! Italians are not afraid to be bold — to take the risk. Mix the patterns. Layer texture with more texture. It may feel like overload, but honestly, it works. I particularly loved the weave and beading details from the historic textiles we saw as well as the mosaic and floor tile patterns in the churches I visited. I admired not only the skilled craftsmanship, but also the boldness of their designs, the sheer multitude of patterns and embellishments, and the bravery the artisans had to push the boundaries of what was possible hundreds of years ago.
In design — especially once you've found your rhythm — it's easy to talk yourself into what's "safe" or "commercial" or what you already know will work. This trip reminded me that as a designer, you have to remember to try the unexpected, take the risk, and trust that it'll be just what the project needs. Pair pattern with pattern, or use five bold colors instead of two. Then, look again (see what I did there) with fresh eyes in the morning. If it feels off, that may be exactly what makes it move the needle. But if it's truly too much, you can always scale back. I haven't found the right project for it yet — but I'm keeping the more-is-more approach in my back pocket. Because taking a risk like that only works if you trust the people you're doing it with, which is why it's important to…
Stay Connected
While we were abroad, I met up with my contact at Rubelli — the centuries-old, fifth-generation family brand that's been weaving luxury fabric in Venice and Lake Como since 1889. We first worked together while I was a full-time member of the Creative Visual Merchandising team at Tiffany & Co. The last project I installed at Tiffany & Co., in the winter of 2021 (and one of my all-time favorites to work on), was a labor-of-love collaboration featuring 10+ custom Rubelli fabrics; you can see more in the West Village Pop-up project in my portfolio. Catching up over coffee with a Venice local and creative collaborator was a reminder that the relationships I've built over 15+ years in this industry travel with you, and are worth nurturing even when years have passed since we last partnered.
But staying connected wasn't only about the people I know — it was about staying connected to myself, too. A typical day at home starts with my toddler bellowing "Mommy" the moment she opens her eyes, and my day begins full-swing from there. While traveling, my mornings were near silent, and I quickly adapted, claiming that quiet for myself. I sipped an espresso on our balcony overlooking a gaggle of gondoliers getting ready to start their day of shuffling tourists through the twists and turns of Venice's canals. I sat at a small drawing desk in our chic hotel in Florence and doodled from the window that looked over the Arno River and the bustling Ponte Vecchio. I mapped out plans for the day, or wrote a quick recap of what we did the day before, noting places to revisit or recommend to friends back home.
I've continued these "quiet mornings" most days since being home, waking up 15–30 minutes early to reclaim my day before everyone else is up. I stretch, make coffee, feed my pup, and read the current book on my nightstand or draft a few emails I want to send later in the day while my mind is still clear. That time, whether personal or business-oriented, has left me connected to myself, my goals, and in a better mood all day long.
And looking back, that's what staying connected really meant on this trip: to those who've helped shape my career, to the people who've loved me (my husband), to the parts of myself that get forgotten in the daily grind, and to the trip itself — staying present and taking it in (looking again, paying attention to details) instead of just moving through it.
Protecting these types of connection to my network, myself, and the present moment hasn't been effortless. Back to reality, mornings at home get derailed fast, a text to a friend or a follow-up email to a client goes unsent, and it's easy to let the whole habit slide. But holding onto it, and following through anyway, is a risk in itself. Turns out…
Risks Can Be Small
The initial risk of booking that study-abroad semester nearly 20 years ago paid off as my time in Italy shaped me and set me on my path, and revisiting it reminded me to look again. Slow down and actually look. See things for the first time. Relish the details and remain curious. And it was a reminder to be bolder than I've gotten used to — take the risk, put myself out there, while also staying connected to me and those who helped me get here. And for the record, I ate the gelato. Every single day, despite (or in spite of?) my lactose intolerance, because some risks are just worth taking.
My travel bug has been reignited, and I can't wait to share it with my family. I'm ready for my next small risk: traveling abroad with a toddler. I am dreaming of our next destination — so tell me, where should we go?
