There are two things that I have discovered about myself in Milan. The first is that I cannot learn the language of every country I visit. The second is that fashion is not for me. Some of you are saying “duh” right now, because you know these things about me already. It took some time for me to realize the facts of my life.

After five years of French, I can read a menu and exchange a few niceties in Paris, but I’ll never be fluent. As it turns out, I seem to have more of an ear for Italian, although that isn’t saying much, because I began language studies too late in life. So, I must call myself what I am – a tourist. That is not easy to say. I don’t want to be a tourist. I want to blend into the culture and not stand out as a foreigner.

My hosts in Milan pointed out that I look American and I don’t seem to be the fashion type. They said this with caring and respect, because I think I picked the only family in Milan that doesn’t care about fashion. They saved me from buying into the whole “you’re nothing if you’re not fashionable” mindset.

It is natural to want to be noticed in a place where rich tourists parade down the Gallerie Vittorio Emanuele II with their Versace purchases, expensive jewelry and Montblanc watches dangling from their wrists as they carry the bags. Every other woman looks like a model. And boy do they know how to walk with confidence and how to face down anyone not willing to move from their path on the sidewalk. These women pull their fingers through their hair in a certain way that shows they know they have style and they know we are watching them with envious eyes. It is difficult to not feel intimidated by young beauty. Sometimes, though, it is the older women who remind me of my style faux pas. I can tell you I have been sneered at for my gray Sketchers many a time in Paris and Milan. I found out that I will never meet MY expectations when I dress for Milan, because I expect to be fashionable on an unfashionable budget. I cannot justify spending a month’s worth of health insurance premiums on a handbag that is $500 at 50% off. It doesn’t make sense to want to be one of those women, yet balk at the price or not care about the value of a designer label. I finally understood this after a few days in Milan.

There are women who define themselves with fashion. These are women who know what they like and how to wear it, but they choose their clothing by cut and style, not by the hippest designer. They choose a designer because he/she speaks to their style. I know it is a fine line here. There is a difference, though. They are using fashion to augment their personalities and yes, they are using fashion to get noticed. I’ll say it again. We all want to be noticed. It’s just that wearing designer clothes for the sake of being “in fashion” is not being true to oneself.

A tourist must be practical. I walk 2-5 miles a day. I cannot wear high heels or fussy shoes. I can’t afford to dry clean expensive outfits or count on a washing machine or iron. Everything I carry must be able to withstand sink washing with odd soaps and be wrinkle resistant. Yet I continued to deride myself for not being fashionable. My host family told me where to get the best bargains on practical clothing like t-shirts and socks. In the heart of the city center, I bought a pair of pants with an elastic waist for 10 euros. It is the only pair of pants that fit me without falling down to my knees. You know the book about the “traveling pants” that fit all the girls who wore them and how they changed their perspectives on their bodies and lives? Well, these cheapo pants did that for me. When I wear them, I know that I will not be fashionable and it frees me to look for attention in other ways. Or even more important, it frees my mind to take in the incredible sights and experience things outside of the fashion district.

I saw Michelangelo’s Rondanini Pieta in the Castello Sforzesco museum. For ten minutes, I walked around the statue, close enough to touch it, and I was the only person there. I went inside the Duomo with an art historian who explained the gruesome statue of a man without his skin. I went to the other part of the museum that houses The Last Supper. Again, I was the only one in the Sacristia del Bremante in Santa Maria delle Grazie looking at pages from Da Vinci’s Codex Atlanticus. Fashion is a form of art and should be taken seriously, but after I pushed fashion aside, I was able to see some of the other art of Milan.

When I stopped worrying about fashion, I actually found that confidence I lost. I began to try Italian and was willing to sound like a clumsy, clueless tourist. And do you know what happened? I began to be noticed in a good way. I started the real process of being me.