Before traveling outside of the United States and Canada, my concept of
America was most probably consistent with the pop-culture stereotypes. I considered it a
melting pot, a leading political power, the land of the free, as well as a
symbol of hope and opportunity. Moreover, when I tried to picture a typical
American, it conjured up images of obese, lazy, greedy, stupid and ignorant
people with little consideration of or tolerance for differences in other
individuals, lifestyles, societies, and cultures.
I found that my
peers both at home and on this trip have or previously had a similar concept of
America and what it means to be an American. Since traveling, my concept of America(ns) has
been confirmed in some regards, primarily through the realization that most
citizens of other countries view America almost exactly by my previous
definition. However, some components of that schema have altered. After realizing how
far this stereotype had traveled, I began to question it. The worldliness of
this conception frustrated me. Did I automatically embody all these negative
attributes? Was that the first thing people saw when they met me? I began to think of
all the people I knew that weren’t obese, lazy, greedy, stupid, and
ignorant. I came to the conclusion that Americans can’t achieve too strong,
specific, or narrow of a stereotype since the collective population entertains
every stereotype across the board. I found some of the attributes of my previous
American stereotype to be also present in other cultures. Eventually, my
concept of America and Americans became much weaker and broader.
Then, when I was
asked to define Italy and Italians according to my own concept, the first
images brought to mind were overly romantic scenes enriching and tantalizing to
every sense. The taste of the olive oil, the smell of the Chianti, the feel of the
supple leather, the whimsical sensation of walking down narrow, “Disney-like”
streets with brightly colored apartments and a street violinist playing in unison
with my footsteps. I pictured old, Italian men, complete with their short
stature, mustaches, and explicit hand-gestures, sweeping the streets in front
of their family-owned bakeries. I pictured very heavy-set, Italian mothers
creating overly abundant, culinary masterpieces for their very large and very
emotionally involved families. Furthermore, I thought of Italy (particularly
Florence) as “the museum of the world” that would contain all the richest
history and the artwork I would find to me my favorite in the world and most
pleasurable to my senses.
Content with the
romance of these images, I never dared to let my mind wander behind the scenes
of the façade that is Italy to give anything the chance to taint my completely
inaccurate portrait of perfection. However, now that I have been living “behind
the scenes of the façade,” I’ve been forced to taint the perfect painting, or
should I say ‘buon fresco’. I’ve been first-handedly exposed to the faults and downsides of
Italy. I’ve become aware of many accounts of political turmoil through protest
and conversation. From my experiences, it does not seem outlandish to say that the
majority of Italians are dissatisfied with at least a few aspects of the
current government system. I have been exposed to the unfortunate unemployment statistics causing
Italian “children” to live with their parents even into their 30s. I have also
experienced first-handedly and witnessed the incredible bouts of sexism and
vulgarity towards women that my mother warned me about.
Moreover, now that
I’m burnt out from visiting museums, I realize why I never went to them in the
first place. I’ve purposely neglected all but a few that America has to offer. My hometown in the
middle of nowhere in Connecticut has museums as well, but I’ve never made as
much of an effort to explore them as I have while in Florence. Why couldn’t it be
possible for me to like the contents of the museums at home more than the
contents of the museums in Florence? Does renaissance artwork have to be the
best in everyone’s opinion? Do I have to travel all the way Pisa to take a picture with a
particular building, even though I know nothing about the building itself and
Pisa has nothing else at all to offer me aside from it. That’s one expensive
and meaningless photograph. I thought it was called “The Leaning Tower of Pizza” when I was kid for
God’s sake.
This realization
helped me bring Italy (and Europe for that matter) down from the pedestal that
I had put it on. I was taking a picture to participate in a Rite of Passage. So that others could
look at my Instagram photo and be envious of me, like I was of them when they
were studying abroad.
Without these images
of perfection blinding my view, I was able to see Italy (and Europe) for what
it really was. This has helped me, once again, confirm and disconfirm some of the
aspects of my initial concept of Italy. Some confirmed facets of my conception are the
extreme sexism present in Italian culture – more than I have ever experienced
in America or elsewhere.
On a lighter note,
I’ve also confirmed their slow pace of life and active participation in “the
art of living”. I can also confirm that yes, the food the good. They way they live
is decadent and fabulous. It is in the moment. They appreciate the conversation and linger on
your words while Americans blink their vacant eyes and nod just waiting for
their turn to speak. They treasure hospitality. Their need to express their emotions
(exteriority) is also hard to miss and you witness small personal bouts of
theater in the streets – anything from a beautiful young couple kissing on the
steps of Santa Croce to an enthusiastic and passionate debate next to the
carousel in Piazza Della Republica. The stereotype of Italians expressive hand
gestures is also confirmed.
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