The Grey Grace
On wearing your time and the sciura approach to style
I’m writing to you from my very uncomfortable couch.
I have a pile of four pillows under my broken ankle, and I feel a lot of resentment toward myself. What was once an exciting month ahead has turned into a small personal nightmare in the blink of an eye. I’m stuck at home, fractured bone and all, with countless plans to cancel. Sigh.
I can’t help but feel like this is karma for wearing platform Crocs in a Victorian house covered in carpet…
I may be physically stuck, but time is indeed still moving, and I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s not just my ankle that’s broken—my perception of time might be shattered too.
Lately, I’ve been wrestling with the idea of time slipping away way too fast. Since turning 30, I’ve spent more money on skincare than anything else, obsessing over a couple of wrinkles, and stressing about three grey hairs, all while lying about my age—accidentally, of course.
But why does the passing of time scare me so much? Growing old seems as terrifying as pairing navy with black (which still goes against my fashion fundamentals).
Society has conditioned us, especially women, to fear aging. Unlike men, we’re rarely described as "aging like fine wine." Our value seems to diminish with time. Aging is often treated as a personal failure, fueled by the anti-aging industry and societal pressures to remain youthful and perfect. I feel like we don't even have the freedom to choose whether or not to get Botox without being judged either way.
Embracing our age is what can kill this social tendency for good. We shouldn’t let anyone tell us that our beauty and worth have an expiration date. Often, easier to be said than done.
And stuck on this couch, I’ve realised that time is indeed a blessing, not something to fear. Ageing is the ultimate flex. Congrats, you did not die! You won more time on earth.
And because aging is simply more time on this planet, I should really worry less and make the most of it. Even from this sofa yeah! So all of a sudden, I’ve decided to stop fearing it. Instead, I want to wear my years with pride, together with the clothes I’ve collected and loved during the years.
I couldn’t help but link this process of thoughts to Sciure. Where I come from, you don’t give up on looking put together—not even at 100. Maybe it’s the Italian sprezzatura (effortless grace), or how judgment seems to be a national sport who knows, but I like to call it grey grace.
The sciure, our immaculately stylish grandmas, are the symbol of this. They never gave up on fashion, and they wear their years with extreme pride.
The sciura, from the traditional Milanese dialect, means “lady.”, Signore in Italian. Milanese sciure are the city’s soul—women who’ve witnessed Milan transform from an industrial hub into a fashion mecca. They are the quintessential Milanese locals—women proud of themselves and their sense of style which will always love an aperitivo at Bar Basso. Their wardrobe staples are iconic: Gucci, Fendi, pearls, low-heeled slingbacks, and a perfectly coiffed head of hair. Timeless sophistication.
This sciura essence has inspired major Italian fashion houses, from Prada to Ferragamo. Think faux leopard fur, a delicate cardigan, slingback shoes, and a flared skirt with a retro vibe—this is the sciura effect in all its glory.
I aspire to grow old with the same grace. And to not give a single care about what people think.
I want to be the career-driven woman in my 40s, and the fabulously accessorised grandma in my 70s, who looks back fondly on the Olsen sisters at The Row and the golden days of Valentino with Piccioli.
I want to keep having fun dressing. I want to be like the women below, accepting the new version of themselves and wearing their time magnificently. Aging, when done masterfully, is never something to fear. It’s just time well spent.
Thank you for being here. I love you! xxx
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Wow this is really inspiring me to up my statement jewelry game!
This resonated so much with me, growing up (and ageing!) in Italy. Even though I have committed the cardinal sin of letting my hair go grey (still a subversive act in Italy) when I was 50, I always aspired to grow old without disappearing, as Italian women do. I wonder if this is also easier to do because the old (and the middle-aged) are not considered irrelevant in Italy?
In any case, when I was younger, I always considered my mother's style a bit conservative, but could imagine that I too would one day aspire to a wardrobe full of Max Mara, and I'm getting there. My mother, on the other hand, is now almost 89, and mainly housebound due to a crippling back, but the other day at lunch she was sporting a burgundy cashmere tracksuit, worn with pearls, her slippers, and her handbag (because the slippers and tracksuit are a concession, but to eat lunch at someone else's house (she lives downstairs) without a handbag is a compromise too far!
I didn't know the wrinkles quote was Anna Magnani, but I feel the same way - I've lived a life, and I don't want to pretend I've had less of it than I have!