How am I going to face my father with this mascara on the eyes? Opera star's thinking I venture to tell what kind of air breathed in those years between the streets of Genoa, where I was born and where eccentricity attracted growing up.
since it promises well in arts subjects and on the other hand, as my grandmother used to say: \u0026lt;\u0026lt;With the head is always between what you want me to do nuvole, ...?>>, fourteen I enrolled, my mother, against the will of my father, at art school, where I could best express my attitudes. During those years I listened to the music of Renato Zero, I dye a green eyebrow and was wearing a blue and in secret from my family black enamel on the nails hands. I hid in the cellar tricks and some accessories like a belt with rhinestones inappropriate that a friend of mine lent me an accomplice. Every morning before going to school I passed by that cramped underground, in dark and damp down the hall, where to get my baby and I headed to school. In class I was free to wear makeup. Strange is not it? Unthinkable now, but then we could. No more lessons, we went out together and went to buy flour in fry, in the alleys of the downtown with the blush undone that dripped on my neck, too much lipstick and mascara strictly black as worn by our myths.
The problem repeated itself every day had to return home, a make-up remover per day was too high in proportion to the pocket money we had, then we shared the expense, but because our make-up required a large amount of detergent is never enough, so that, inevitably, someone would bring home the marks on the face of that ritual and had trouble.
The older kids could afford the most sophisticated tricks through their experience and affordability, some had even punk colorful ridges that were the pinnacle for us small-garde.
was a girl to begin this practice, Eleonora, sister of my classmate, also a student at art school, a few years older.
One afternoon while I was at home to study with his brother Michael, Eleanor invited us to his room which was a true celebration of the cult sexual ambiguity. I was enchanted by the colors, glitter, from photographs of rock stars immortalized in attitudes dreamy, chameleon-like, and then the objects around the room shoes of all shapes, scarves and a spectacular beauty case made brushes, eye shadow, foundation, mascara, blush, mascara, fake eyelashes and nails, lipsticks of different colors, glitter, lakes and fabulous wigs. A real studio cosmetics that would have made a fool of Leopold Mastelloni.
And as I turned, incredulous of these toys, Eleanor lying on the bed with a lit cigarette watching me contemptuous towards my blue sweater, loafers and face furuncolosa.
Unlike his brother that after half an hour he returned to his occupation, I could not tear myself away from the magic of that place. The thing that attracted me most was a black velvet cloak lined with white satin. On that afternoon, every time my friend invited me with joy, his hospitality with the hope that I receive Eleonora in her room.
Soon I affiatai her.
Eleanor and Michele's parents were much more progressive of my at home they were already talking about the time of oriental cuisine, which was unthinkable in my. When I had to reciprocate Invite them to my house, I felt embarrassed because my mother was preparing tea for a "trivial" chocolate cake, uncompromising in the face of my proposal to replace it with french fries and popcorn.
One fateful Saturday afternoon when I stood by them under the pretext of study, while spending time in front of the huge hall mirror to strut with a pair of sunglasses decorated with green sequins which imitated Poses Loredana Berte, my friend decided it was time to let me leave that cell sweaters blue, beige pants and skimpy shirts.
He proposed to prepare to go for a walk downtown. I was excited!
pulled out of the closet a pair of trousers belonging blacks, satin gloss that made me a blouse to wear with knee-length checkered whites and blacks at the waist by a belt of black patent pirate, then, for the first When I went to that table in my eyes took on the sacred aura of a sort of altar and began with the ritual magic of makeup artistry.
From that moment the world opened before me a new horizon, a black veil fell and began the transformation. With the painted face, the problem was tackled with ease the way, as the secret of eccentric look, she explained to me, was to take it with spontaneity needed to flicker among the people as if nothing had happened. I left that room and Michele hard to recognize, then looked at his sister in disbelief and winked. After a trial in the corridor of his house on a pair of irreverent yellow pump shoes with bow, with Kate Bush as background music, we went out.
I felt the beat of my heart in my throat and to be honest, I was not so easy, I could not help but imagine what people thought of me, me up to that point underlying the opinion of all. The comments and giggles from the crowd out there, but with next to me gave me security Eleanor overcame that start with honor. At a time when gave in because of some look more hostile and threatening than usual, I had only to watch her swing in her heels 14 cm, wrapped in a tight pink suit as lipstick, nail polish and a wig and immediately raised his head toward the glances of passersby.
the evening, I returned exhausted and happy.
On the bus back home I fell asleep. With your eyes closed felt street sounds: the roar of cars, the voices of the people and the intoxicating music that came from the bar swirled in my brain.
was 1985, radio was rife "Slave To The Rhythm" by Grace Jones. Carried away by the wave of this pop star, a Saturday afternoon, Eleanor, Angelo and I decided to go for a walk in Italy over clothes and makeup like a diva inspire us. Eleanor was wearing tight pants and a blouse at the waist by a wide range and high-heeled shoes spotted 14 cm, black wig and makeup breathtaking red and green on the eyelids, long eyelashes and lipstick, fingerless gloves where nails sticking out pitch black lacquer. Angelo was wearing a full denim jacket consists of large and tight pants, tucked into a pair of boots with knee-high patent stiletto heels, wig and corvina hoop earrings, eyelashes and black lips. I had a couple of blacks that I fouseaux were provided by a friend on a black shirt with bat sleeves, fishnet stockings and shoes with heels stubbornly 14 cm, slicked hair and a red vermilion makeup on lips and eyelids. And so, with air supernatural walked along the promenade of Genoa, when my eye fell on a white Vespino where a man was watching me with a serious expression: it was my father! As he realized I saw him turn his bike and left.
I collapsed.
I called the attention of my friends who accustomed to this kind of "accidents" advised me not to do and above all not to say anything.
fall. My friend
offered to keep all the equipment "scene".
Get in the house that evening for me was how to enter the underworld.
Although it was a beautiful spring evening, it seemed that the enveloping darkness that apartment austere. Sullla threshold was waiting for my family except my brothers that were too small to tackle the problem.
The firing squad was composed by my father, my grandfather, my mother more options. But the last word, that my fate decreed that he belonged to her grandmother.
I was too dazed and frightened to listen and memorize what they said to me, I just do not ever put on fishnet stockings and stiletto heels, no more makeup, but I was allowed to enroll in an acting class that organized my school, in order, as the grandmother said "let me vent."
Alessandro Dattilo
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| Loredana Berte and Renato Zero |
