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Luxury is, by its very nature, the embodiment of a dream, whether it’s the pursuit of status, a personal vision, or the motivation behind deliberate sacrifices. Yet, the luminescence of every luxury brand, from the most established to the youngest, hinges on how meticulously it cultivates its image of this dream.

The goal: 

• to explore why most luxury brands today can no longer rely solely on classical principles of luxury marketing to effectively define and communicate this dream.

• Creating personas for different customer types to structure tailored, cross-media campaigns.

The result: both articles illuminate one of luxury's most essential characteristics: individuality. It reveals itself in the act of desire, in the projection of personal aspirations, and (among those who can afford it) in the lived experience of the luxurious, far beyond the glossy surfaces often stylized and staged in social media.

• The Status-seeker.
• The Quality-conscious.
• The Lifestyle-conscious.
• The Traditionalist.
• The Avant-garde.

Anyone who has worked in the luxury industry, especially in luxury marketing - beyond its most superficial layer (often showcased on social media), comes to one key realization: despite appearances, luxury customers are far from homogeneous. They differ significantly in how they experience, and often express their individuality. This lies at the heart of luxury itself: the experience of timeless distinctiveness.

This often leads to a recurring question: Why them and not me?

After circling around a less-than-encouraging answer, we usually return to the core topic of this article. It’s no secret that luxury marketing differs fundamentally from traditional marketing. In fact, in some aspects, it must follow entirely opposite principles in order to be luxury. Equally well known is the fact that luxury marketing diverges significantly from both premium and fashion marketing.

Why it matters for a luxury brand to:

• Target both existing and ideal customers with consistent presence and communication.

• Distinguish between different customer types within the existing customer base.

• Effectively reach those who are not yet customers in the luxury sector.

These principles apply equally to newly established luxury brands and to those with a long-standing heritage.

Many luxury brands, especially some of the most traditional, were born under unusual circumstances. Often from the extravagant impulses of individuals unwilling to conform their vision to conventional market rules. From flashes of genius that might not have found a place in more "ordinary" contexts, but which, through the persistence of one or a few determined people, gave rise to legends. From a single idea that defied the norm. From the ambition to create something unprecedented. To offer the unthinkable.

Luxury brands invest in aspects of business: details, quality, sustainability, that are difficult, if not unthinkable, for other brands to prioritize, including many in the premium and fashion segments. To ensure a meaningful return on these investments, it is crucial that they know how to generate appropriate added value for their customers. And how to communicate it effectively.
More and more, luxury brands are having to forego some of the attributes traditionally associated with the luxury market. This article explores several key customer types within luxury marketing, and the specific characteristics to which each is most sensitive. While they all share the commonality of belonging to the luxury sector, they differ from one another in fundamental ways.

1. The Status-seeker

As the name suggests, the status-seeker is defined by two primary traits:
a) the pursuit of status
b) the display of status

The status-seeker is motivated by the desire to flaunt wealth and exhibit social standing (…and we all know where to find them - unless we’ve started ignoring Instagram). To achieve this, they gravitate toward luxury brands that are highly visible and instantly recognizable. Marketing strategies emphasizing exclusivity and status symbols, such as prominent logos or high-profile brand ambassadors, tend to resonate strongly with this customer type.

What should luxury brands keep in mind? The status-seeker seeks clear differentiation from anything perceived as merely premium or fashionable, that is, socially a tier below. In fact, many status-seekers transition into luxury from the premium sector, often bringing with them a mindset still shaped by fashion culture.

For luxury brands, it’s also crucial to recognize that, similar to fashion and premium consumers, status-seekers tend to lack strong brand loyalty. They follow trends, and are typically less sensitive to a brand’s deeper distinctiveness or heritage. They’re willing to pay for the name and the prestige it projects in the most conspicuous way, but more subtle qualities (as we’ll explore in the following profiles) often hold little added value for them.

2. The Quality-conscious

In their interpretation of luxury, quality-conscious customers place strong emphasis on distinctive attributes such as craftsmanship, material quality, and exclusivity. At the same time, they tend to distinguish themselves from status-seekers, and often consciously elevate themselves above them. While the status-seeker prefers to showcase wealth through the flashiest brands, the quality-conscious consumer leans toward a more discreet - and often deliberately understated - presence. The brands they wear are not only more subtle; at times, they are almost hidden. Their luxury may be recognizable only to a discerning few.

What should luxury brands consider?
Quality-conscious customers align more closely with some of the most fundamental principles of true luxury. They are drawn to brands renowned for attention to detail and are willing to pay a premium for products that are expertly crafted and built to endure. Unlike fashion consumers, they are largely unaffected by fleeting trends and tend to demonstrate greater brand loyalty.
Another key trait, crucial for luxury brands, is their appreciation for the intricate work behind a product. They value the research, development, and investment that go into design and production. For this customer, marketing strategies that highlight product quality, fine details, and the expertise of artisans behind the scenes are particularly effective.

3. The Lifestyle-conscious

This category of luxury customers seeks products and experiences that align with their personality and way of life. For them, luxury serves primarily as a means of self-expression, an extension of who they are. What sets them apart is that it often doesn’t matter whether a brand is new or steeped in tradition, as long as it resonates authentically with their lifestyle.

Lifestyle-conscious customers are typically less concerned with the opinions of others than many other customer types. For them, luxury must integrate seamlessly and meaningfully into their personal world. Because of this, they often represent a blend of other profiles, sometimes traditionalists, sometimes avant-garde.

What should luxury brands consider?
Lifestyle-conscious customers are generally highly loyal, provided the brand maintains its identity, staying true to itself while evolving with consistency and integrity. Most importantly, they are among the most credible brand ambassadors, as they embody their lifestyle with authenticity and coherence.
Each luxury brand complements others in a unique way. And so, every lifestyle-conscious customer engages with a brand on a deep, individual level, bringing it to life within the context of their own personal universe.

4) The Traditionalist

For traditionalists, a brand’s history holds particular importance and is reflected in its current image, even where its historical depth remains invisible to most other people.
Traditionalists are people who, upon hearing a name like Alfa Romeo, instantly recall an entire repertoire of models from the brand’s storied past, each associated with specific eras, anecdotes, and cultural moments.

What is important to consider for luxury brands? If you plan to promote your brand (of whatever industry) using the latest Lamborghini model, a traditionalist will probably feel much less addressed than, for example, a status-seeker. But if you happen to have an Isotta Fraschini or a Hispano-Suiza at your disposal, you’re much more likely to capture a traditionalist’s attention.
(Exaggerations aside,) traditionalists are often willing to pay a premium for the preservation of heritage, and for the opportunity to take part in it. Some of the most enduring principles of luxury marketing are especially relevant to them:

• A brand rooted in its place of origin.
This naturally varies by product category, but for many traditionalists, it represents a brand’s true uniqueness. Traveling to the birthplace of a brand, for example Maranello in the case of Ferrari, is the ultimate dream. Even more than owning the product, visiting the origin site becomes a ritual, a meaningful act that connects them to the legacy and spirit of the brand. For traditionalists, luxury is not something that should be easily available everywhere. Purchasing from a dedicated boutique, especially in a specific city, feels like part of the experience, an essential and ceremonial element of the brand relationship.

• Timelesness. This is perhaps the defining trait of the luxury traditionalist: the pursuit of something that transcends fashion and trend. They seek what is not quickly rendered obsolete, but rather gains value over time, beyond economic value: a stylistic and symbolic value.

That said, many luxury brands (even among the more established) cannot always afford to operate entirely on these principles. To remain competitive, they are often compelled to integrate elements of fashion and premium strategies into their marketing mix.

5. The Avant-garde

Customers in this category are among the easiest to recognize, often at first glance: they want to surprise. Not just others, but above all, themselves. As the name suggests, they are forward-looking. Or at least, out of the ordinary. When others see them, they should feel astonished, or at least provoked into asking questions.
One common misconception must be dispelled: avant-garde customers are not necessarily flashy, nor do they seek visibility at any cost. Sometimes they anticipate the times; sometimes, they simply live in their own.

They are often indifferent (or in some cases, easily bored) by trends and everything mainstream. Often, they seek simply to stand apart. Just as often, they are driven by pure curiosity. Curiosity to explore what lies beyond.
Beyond what?
Beyond the ordinary. Beyond the customary. Beyond certainty. Beyond predictability. Beyond one’s own limits.

Innovation is the key factor in attracting avant-garde customers. Not (necessarily) provocation. Not (necessarily) something that demands attention from every passerby. The concept of innovation must be something that every luxury brand must have in its DNA. Knowing how to express innovation naturally, and communicate it by arousing curiosity. Consistency in innovation matters: it must be embedded in the brand’s credo, in the vision that drives its founders, managers, and creators. This is not an identity that can be fabricated; it must be lived, and communicated with authenticity.

Avant-garde customers are willing, often eager, to pay a premium for something that gives them a sense of being ahead. Of being beyond.

Conclusion

Luxury marketing is a complex and nuanced discipline. These customer types are not necessarily in contradiction with one another; on the contrary, they are often complementary. What’s essential is that a brand understands how to address each with the proper nuance.

Luxury marketing is an art. To capture an initially hidden desire, crafting a fascinating narrative, and igniting the dream. A luxury brand must offer a multisensory experience, and elevate its presence beyond what is tangible.
In today’s visually saturated (social) media landscape, the ability to express luxury through its most refined nuances has become a decisive factor in evoking personal pleasure.
But what truly makes a luxury experience extraordinary? What confers exclusivity to a value that defies conventional measure, rendering it absolutely unique and exceptional? It is the creation of an object of desire that stands out from the masses with an exceptional aura. Something capable of embodying wishes, ambitions, and individual lifestyles. Something that can enhance a business, a personality, or simply a special moment.

Why are certain objects able to reach values that exceed all estimates and comparisons?
Certainly, they may be rare, even unique, or customized. In some cases, they might be old. Of course, they have a story, or at least a crafted storytelling. Ideally, their journey to the present is marked by many stories.
From what I have consistently encountered and applied in my work, some of the most fascinating and successful luxury brands embody a mysterious suggestion, that leaves room for individual interpretation, at least as broad as the message the brand communicates explicitly.
In my experience, the most successful luxury brands share one essential characteristic: they possess a specific depth, whether evident or hidden. An artistic, cultural depth that allows a brand to become an outstanding protagonist of the Zeitgeist. It is this depth that renders a luxury brand timeless.

The ability to become timeless is what allows a brand not merely to establish itself in the market and endure, but to cultivate a loyal customer base; and within it, strong brand ambassadors capable of forming an authentic symbiosis with the brand. Timelessness is what enables a brand to become a protagonist of any era, rather than a passive subject to its fluctuations, passing fads, and fleeting trends.
Moreover, an exceptional identity allows a brand to leave its mark on every single era. How? Through a congenial and coherent storytelling that embodies - or subverts - in a distinctive way the most quintessential features and contrasts of the time.
So, what should an effective marketing strategy for a luxury brand consist of? Primarily, in the ability to position the brand’s current image within the aura of its own legend, whether real or carefully crafted, and to present it simultaneously through its most contemporary reflection.

Yes, this is an art, and it goes far beyond the standard principles of marketing. In fact, it often requires overturning them.
A luxury brand must constantly renew itself without becoming subject to fashion or trends. It needs to remain rooted in its heritage. Or, if none exists, in its ideals and vision, while projecting itself into the avant-garde. All of this must be bound by unimpeachable coherence.

Yes, it is indeed an art. And that is why so few brands in the luxury world truly succeed.

One of the questions I am most frequently asked by brands is: who faces the greater challenge: a new brand or an already established one?
A new brand does not possess its own heritage. Of course, it can draw inspiration from something remote: an era, a spirit, that can be revived through its existence. It’s certainly not uncommon for luxury brands to reference their geographical origin, or to align themselves with certain traditions and values associated with their place of origin.
These principles are perfectly in line with a luxury strategy. However, realizing them cohesively requires a great deal of artistry in developing a compelling storytelling capable of shaping an authentic brand identity. And that’s precisely why I enjoy this process so much, and why I chose it as my profession.

Established brands, on the other hand, often face the challenge of avoiding the appearance of being outdated. They turn their tradition into a depth to be explored, not a weight to be carried. A depth rooted in values the brand has cultivated with consistent care, innovation, and originality, and that find their freshest expression in the present.

In the end, this is not simply an art. It is the convergence of many arts, united in the discipline of marketing.

Movies about time travel have taught a couple of things:

1) Traveling to the past will inevitably alter the course of events. Not for any random person, but obviously for the protagonists: they cannot simply return to their own time and pretend nothing happened, but must solve the issues directly.
2) Traveling to the future will also inevitably affect the course of events, even if they haven’t happened yet. More likely, the time travelers will be happy if they just manage to travel back to their present, at the exact point from which they left, and without bringing back any advantageous knowledge.
3) Ultimately, the time travelers want nothing more than to destroy their time machine -assuming someone else has not already done so, usually without their consent, and probably while they still needed it.
But back in 1960, time travelers (at least in movies) handled things differently. Today, a hypothetical inventor of a time machine would pitch his project to co-founders and investors, hoping to become the next big thing. The protagonist of The Time Machine chose a different approach, and did something that future time travel movies didn’t accomplish: just taking the time. Not for the past, nor the future, but to give depth to the present.

The first 10 minutes of The Time Machine represent the genre’s most defining sequence introducing the concept of time travel. George Wells (named after the author of the novel, H.G. Wells) invites four friends to his home to explain the reasoning behind his invention. ...Yes, they simply discuss the idea of time travel (although his friends remain understandably skeptical). No CGI, no instant jumps from one century to another with mind blowing effects. And yet, with an intense crescendo, the atmosphere engages the viewer with each of the protagonists’ points of view.
Most people who know this movie first saw it as children, and the protagonist's enthusiasm was replaced minute by minute by thoughts of what they would have done in his place. The objections of other protagonists became, in the minds of viewers, the objections of family and friends. Although only a few today would prioritize to settle the dispute between Morlocks and Eloi, over the years and decades the first 10 minutes of The Time Machine have become a timeless gateway into the world of time travel.

These are two of the most widely discussed topics, giving rise to a vast array of multifaceted content across various media. Creating my own storytelling platform offered the opportunity to write tailored content, gathering diverse insights and perspectives for a comprehensive, reflective analysis.

The goal: to explore the dedication and compromise with which many pursue their aspirations, questioning how much of one's present time and life should be invested - or sacrificed in the name of a promising future. At the same time, to examine the evolving definitions of a balanced life, and to analyze the common misconceptions surrounding the promise (or illusion) of rapid success.

The result: within a social media landscape where success is often portrayed as easily achievable, I chose to address these subjects through a virtual dialogue with readers. This approach, where the writer appears to stand beside the readers, anticipating their questions and doubts, enabled me to structure content particularly suited for digital platforms, designed to foster genuine engagement and constructive exchange.

>> Read here.

In an increasingly fast-paced world, constantly subjected to a growing number of stimuli and a corresponding shortening of our attention span, we often feel time slipping quickly beneath our feet.

The goal: to explore the underlying causes of this pervasive sense of fleeting transience in our contemporary era. A comparative examination with past decades, focusing on socio-cultural and pop-cultural aspects, and summarizing these insights into a concise article.

The result: a thought-provoking article that unveils fresh perspectives for younger generations (Gen Z) on the roots of their perceptions, highlighting how previous decades have shaped their current awareness. At the same time, it invites older generations to revisit their memories through the lens of today’s world, drawing parallels and perhaps discovering something new in the familiar.

Memories are something really fascinating. You can pick up your favorite ones, romanticize them, leave out all the uncomfortable aspects of a past time, and simplify them to the point where they can be comprised within a representative image. And that's exactly where the problem begins.

Whether we have experienced it or not, essentially every decade of the last century, particularly those most present in pop culture, can be summarized and grasped in an emblematic image. This image is usually composed of elements of fashion, art, technology, culture, style, and entertainment. It is inevitably superficial and partly stereotyped, but commonly identified as emblematic in the collective imagination.

From this result essentially two conclusions: the first is that each decade is characterized by a rather precise picture (which certainly varies from country to country). The second is that the image of each decade is clearly distinguished from the one before and the one after. Not only has a change occurred; there has been an evolution. Just compare an emblematic image from the 1950s: cars with fins and lots of chrome, jukeboxes, rock and roll music, pastel green and pink colors, with the typical picture of the 1970s: disco music, longer hair, and the predominant color combination of brown and orange. Although extremely simplified, each of these images has the magical power to pull us instantly into the decade, especially when accompanied by related music.

It is an image that we have contributed to shaping with our dreams, purposes, and needs. It is a result, direct or indirect, of our previous choices. An image that we have generally experienced without full awareness, as is often the case with the present: one glance toward the past, another toward the future, and the present rushing by so frantically that we seldom have time to realize it is the present. Yet all of this constituted a spirit - a zeitgeist - and a nostalgia, forming a picture whose real depth and complexity we can only fully appreciate in retrospect.

Depending on whether someone has experienced a decade or not, everyone will associate individual elements with it, though always with some clear common denominators.

And today? What would an emblematic image of the decade between 2000 and 2009 consist of? And how would it differ from one representing 2010 to 2019? What styles and colors would define it? How would we distinguish the typical people of these times? In what ways could we identify ourselves?

We obviously have a clear picture of past decades because each one is sharply distanced from our present. The first revivals of the 1980s began around the mid-2000s. They seemed so distant and separate from us because the 1990s lay in between, marked by the emergence of two technologies that changed everything: the internet and cell phones. It’s simple: there was a world before these, and a world after.
And anyway, the revivals of the 1990s followed shortly after.

So, what might constitute an emblematic image of the decade between 2000 and 2009, now almost 15 years past? And what about the following decade?
Wherever I have approached the topic, I have noticed that the most immediate answers for characterizing and identifying the last decades revolve predominantly around technological innovations, their use, and their social impact: smartphones, social media, then influencers, streaming. Beyond that, we might consider SUVs and, as an element of pop culture, perhaps superhero movies (not that we invented them in this century). We could possibly add some dragons from Game of Thrones, but I still prefer the images of Marty McFly and KITT for the 1980s.

A specification at this point: needless to say, these two decades have also been characterized by some significant phenomena of pop culture. To name a few of the most blatant: Harry Potter, the vampire genre, pirates, and so on. However, it is not the mere sum of stand-alone phenomena that constitutes a zeitgeist but rather their essence as it relates to their era.

Regarding what we are experiencing today, or have experienced in the past 20 years, shall we one day say (or wish) that it might come back into fashion? That it represented a clear evolution of earlier times? And, more importantly, that it formed the foundation for the evolution of times to come?

The difference between today and past decades does not lie in time itself but in the way we live it. Or perhaps it’s better to say: the way we consume it. We are subjected to enormously more stimuli than ever before; we also (and consequently) pay less and less attention to each of them, with few exceptions. We give increasingly less time to the elements of our time to establish themselves as a congruent and coherent zeitgeist. As a result, the image of our present appears much more blurred, indefinite. Time has become something to swipe away as soon as any of its elements fail to hold our interest.
We need to experience our time, not consume it. Even less should we resign ourselves to it.

Indeed, we should not resign ourselves to the idea that "we were better when it was worse." (…Remember that to record your favorite song, you had to wait for it to come on the radio and be ready to press REC + Play if you couldn’t find the record or cassette in the store.) Instead, we should ask whether these are the options of choice we created for ourselves - or at least desired.

Why should any of this matter? Because we have always imagined the future from the perspective of the present. (In the 1950s, imagining the year 2000, we thought most vehicles would fly, precisely because the moon had become attainable.) But a blurred and fleeting image of the present is likely to lead to an equally vague vision of the future, in which fears, rather than optimism, may more easily take root.

Obviously, it’s not simply a matter of summarizing each decade in an image. Many cultural phenomena were consequences of sociopolitical events. To stay with the 1950s, for example: the conquest of the moon (and perhaps what lay beyond) and the emergence of a new identity for teenagers. The differences between one decade and another - whose separations are clearly not so fluid - were expressions, in all their forms, of society, its frictions, and the will for new ideas to erupt. These differences represented changes whose time had become ripe, much as we have seen in recent years with #MeToo and movements promoting diversity, equity, and inclusion.

Perhaps it is because we are flooded with stimuli, which we grasp with an increasingly shorter attention span (just as the attention spans of those from whom we seek attention are also short). Perhaps it is because, in recent years, we have been confronted with phenomena - and their consequences - that are unprecedented in the memory of most of us (e.g., COVID-19). Perhaps it is because we have grown a little too accustomed to accepting so-called alternative truths, and sometimes we don’t bother to express our most authentic and essential beliefs. Or maybe it’s because today it seems that more people are speaking than listening, with everyone competing for their own share of attention.

Do we really want the image of this decade to be an influencer taking a selfie in front of an electric SUV? Have we left this decision entirely to the algorithm, ready to swipe away if we don’t like the result - or just get bored?

I think the image we will create of our time will inevitably be less distinct and more nuanced than the emblematic pictures of the last century’s decades. Let’s face it: it’s less simple. But it may turn out to be an image much richer in expressions and impulses, in contrasts and, therefore, in individualities. More multiethnic, not reduced to just a couple of symbolic colors. The challenge lies in giving each color its rightful place in our time and embracing every nuance as a coherent element. Yes, it is a more complex picture, especially to live through and comprehend in the present. But, like great masterpieces of art, by revisiting it over and over, everyone will discover deeper facets of our time with which to identify as they look back.

The complexity of our times is not the real problem. Their vagueness is. To create a clear picture of our present, we first need a correspondingly clear awareness of it. From a perception of the present that is too ambiguous and fleeting, distorted visions of the future are likely to arise - along with their flawed foundations.

Travel experiences are often consumed superficially in media, reduced to fleeting surface impressions. Precisely this tendency called for a more immersive approach.

The goal: to avoid reducing the journey to a mere sequence of obligatory stops, which would have made it interchangeable with many other travel stories.

The result: I have created a multi-sensory narrative that evoked nostalgia even in readers who had never visited the places described. For those familiar with the locations, the story revealed new facets of emotional and atmospheric depth, as if the words cast fresh light on their memories.

What remains at the end of my trip to Sicily is the clear awareness that epochs far distant from each other coexist here in a single time, too profound to be reduced to the mere, ephemeral flow of the present. Time in Sicily does not claim its slowness, as is often said; time claims its depth.

I had been there only once before in my life, almost exactly 25 years ago, as a teenager at the end of middle school. My parents had decided to take me to discover my roots (my mother has distant Sicilian origins). Of course, if I had been asked at the time, before starting this trip, I would have surely suggested different destinations than a place on the opposite side of the planet, of which I had only seen a few old (really old) photographs at home, of people whose names I could barely pronounce.

Well, the experience of a trip to Sicily as a teenager unraveled all its multifaceted aspects only over the years, in the form of nostalgias so profound that they could not be filled elsewhere.
Some impressions had remained static, others had blurred and generally grown vaguer in my mind. I decided to return there, alone, both to reawaken still-existing memories and to update those now obsolete. But mostly, to give a name to the invisible nostalgias that had wandered in my mind for a quarter of a century. It was well worth the effort.

Whoever wants to explore Sicily needs to face one thing that seems to have a different valence there: time. To understand it thoroughly and to experience all its facets, you must abandon the sharp distinction between past and present; not least because the present does not flow there as it does elsewhere. It simply manifests itself as the sum of each past, reflected in it.
During the journey, I was often reminded of the quote by the Sicilian writer Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa from his popular novel The Leopard: "If we want everything to stay as it is, everything has to change."
This is a consideration I found everywhere in people's behavior. They seem to interpret the present, but with their roots firmly embedded in their past, their identity, and their culture.

I landed at Catania-Fontanarossa Airport. It was April, and a gentle spring warmth (gentle compared to the often sweltering heat of the summer months) flooded every corner with rubicund tones.
I had decided to divide my trip into two parts: the first to rediscover my memories, the second to (re)discover the beauty of the land (not that one part excluded the other). As mentioned, I had been there almost 25 years before. The memory existed in my mind as a map of scattered impressions, which I wanted to reconnect. And I knew exactly what the first thing to do was: abandon my time, and abandon being a tourist. In Sicily, there is a very simple way to do that: the littorina.

A couple of days earlier, I had traveled from Milan to Rome on the Frecciarossa, the high-speed train. It was one of the most comfortable experiences I have ever had on rails anywhere in the world. Well, the littorina is the exact opposite. Diesel-powered, often something like half a century old, and with a spartan interior to say the least, the feeling is of traveling on an old truck set on rails. They mostly connect small towns between major cities, and precisely from there, I wanted to dive in.
I still had in mind the magnificent seafront landscape between Catania and the province of Syracuse, like a unique 360-degree postcard: cities like Augusta, Avola, Noto. The latter is a town that encloses so many splendors of the Baroque in a single center that it can be considered a work of art in itself.

For the beginning, I had decided not to follow a specific destination; I simply wanted to discover time and align myself with it. So the next morning, I went to the station, studied destinations, and waited for the first southbound train. A little later, looking out of the window of the littorina, I saw so many splendors in a single vision that I had to borrow Goethe's quote from his Italian journey: "Do you know the land where lemon trees bloom?"

Beautiful citrus gardens lay directly next to the railroad, and the same glance caught a wilder and more unspoiled nature further on, where cacti and carob trees alternated before getting lost in the placid and intense sea just beyond. Turning my eyes to the opposite side, I glimpsed the snow-capped peak of Mount Etna. Exactly the same landscape that, even centuries before Goethe, the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II had admired; almost a millennium and a half earlier, Archimedes; and centuries before that, Dionysius I. In between, there were also the Arabs, Aragonese, and Angevins, among others. Traces of all these influences are visible everywhere in Sicily: in architecture, in the form of palaces and castles - or their ruins anyway - in culture, and in history.

And yet, looking out of the window, I saw nature as impassive, older than anything and still dominant, stoic before everything, unchanged no matter what. A nature that leads you straight to its most archaic origin if you are willing to pause before it. While every conquest over the centuries appears, disappears, and finally remains as a mere shadow in the background. If we want everything to stay as it is, everything has to change.

The littorina slowed down. Nothing strange, I thought; after all, that’s its regular pace. But this time, it reached a small station, seemingly lost in the middle of nowhere. So I decided to get off and found myself in front of the small, old building, which I had no doubt was exactly the same station that had existed since the railroad was built there.
For a moment, I imagined my ancestors, the ones in the photographs I had seen countless times at home, departing from this very station and eventually arriving in America. Although there is no one left who can confirm or deny this to me, I am certain that they would have seen almost everything here unchanged.

I proceeded along the platform, which ended not even fifty steps further on, in front of some cacti and an essentially wild nature everywhere around, just with two old tracks crossing it. And an almost surreal silence, interrupted shortly thereafter by the engine of the train, which left the station, passed in front of me, and disappeared further on, leaving everything in silence again.

I walked back toward the station and noticed some people waiting when I had gotten off, including students with their eyes fixed on their smartphones, and a few elderly people who gave the impression that they had never held a smartphone in their hands.

Seeing the students with their heavy backpacks, I thought it was no wonder summer vacation there lasted three months, from June to September, when it was already so hot on an April morning. The only constant was the sound of crickets in the background.

One of the older men, strolling slowly back and forth, turned to me: "You never know when it arrives, and when it’s here, sometimes you don’t even know when it will start again," he said with a smile of resignation. I understood that he was referring to the train they were all evidently waiting for.

Over the years, I had learned Italian through various evening classes and always assumed that I had reached a good level. However, upon arriving in Italy, I hoped it would at least be sufficient. Had the man addressed me in Sicilian, though, all my efforts would have been in vain. Judging by my appearance - and later my response - he probably understood that I was not exactly a local.

In the early afternoon, I decided to get off at the southernmost station I could remember from my first trip: the small town of Rosolini, a little over a hundred kilometers from Catania. I reached the town center on foot, though not without effort, as the route was uphill. Like any Italian city, no matter how small, Rosolini’s most characteristic gathering places were twofold: the central piazza and the corso. Many towns share the same familiar names for these places: Garibaldi, Vittorio Emanuele, Savoia. Rosolini was no exception, with its Piazza Garibaldi and Corso Savoia.

Piazza Garibaldi is dominated by the Chiesa Madre, the main church, blending Baroque and Neoclassical styles. Standing in the middle of the piazza, I was reminded of another quaint particularity: each town seemed to have a bar devoted to one of the country’s major soccer teams. Even when not named explicitly, these bars were immediately recognizable by the colors of their signs: black and blue vertical stripes, red and black stripes, or black and white stripes. Sometimes, these bars occupied opposite sides of the piazza, as if in silent rivalry. Nearly everyone identified with one of these three teams, and on match day, locals gathered there to discuss the game. The conversations would often continue the next day, and sometimes even the day after that. In some towns, a "neutral zone" also existed, aptly named the Bar dello sport.

I strolled along the corso, which is usually the most elegant street in any Italian town, home to the more exclusive shops, bars, and restaurants. In many cities, traffic is allowed on the corso during the day, but come evening, it transforms into a pedestrian zone. Especially during summer, the corso comes alive with throngs of people, some dressed so exquisitely you’d think they were heading to a grand event.

I stopped at the Bar del corso for an ice cream. On my way out, an unexpected wave of nostalgia swept over me, tugging me toward a nearby spot. It wasn’t a conscious thought that guided me but rather a sweet, familiar scent: jasmine. Another quintessential gathering place, mostly for retirees during the day, is the giardinetti (small gardens): a combination of parks and gardens of varying sizes scattered throughout the city.

I entered the giardinetto near the corso immediately. At that pleasantly sunny afternoon hour, it was sparsely frequented: a few elderly people treating their grandchildren to ice cream, and two older men seated on a bench conversing in dialect. I couldn’t understand a single word they were saying, but judging from their animated gestures, they might have been debating profound philosophical questions. Or simply discussing how their neighbor hung out their laundry.
The scene felt worlds apart from the image of people clutching Starbucks cups, rushing from point A to point B with their minutes carefully calculated, often spent consulting their smartphones. I couldn't exclude myself from that habit either.
I took a seat on a bench to quietly observe my surroundings and let time soak into the sensations. Palm trees alternated with jasmine plants throughout the giardinetto, their fragrant blossoms filling the air. Ancient iron benches stood among hibiscus plants nestled in large terracotta pots. Whatever the world might imagine when it pictures the Mediterranean, be it villas or gardens designed to imitate its charm, this was its truest essence, its most authentic representation. Nowhere else could such fragrances, scents, and lights merge with the profound depth of time in quite the same way. Above all, the sweet, heady aroma of jasmine permeated everything.

Thinking back to my visit 25 years ago, I reflected on how such impressions might have influenced the mind of a teenager visiting in summer. Today, I know the answer: they create nostalgias that remain hidden, only to slowly unravel over the years as one matures enough to understand them fully.
In a brief exchange, a retiree suggested I take the bus back to Catania, as it would be faster than the train. I didn’t doubt his advice for a second, and I decided to follow it.

It was late afternoon by the time the bus departed. As it left town, the fading daylight cast warm, golden hues on ancient iron gates and the cracked, weathered facades of homes. I couldn’t help but wonder if some of those houses had been abandoned - until the sight of fresh plants in pots on their balconies proved me wrong.

- End of part 1.