Italian Americans loved him more, and now that he’s gone, we celebrate him as one of us. We claim, as sociologist Donald Tricarico says, “a special, more authentic relationship” with all-things-Italian—as well as the ability to know what is “Italian,” and what is just posturing. Giorgio Armani was a real Italian. He only lived in Italy and, in a fashion industry that he helped to “globalize,” he spoke mostly in Italian. He used fibers and skins produced in Italy. His work references the country’s history through materials, methods of production, and design itself. His clothing is the physical embodiment of Italian “cool.”
Socially, economically, and culturally, clothing is central to Italian American identity. Over the past 120 years, we’ve been factory workers and fashion designers, textile weavers and neighborhood tailors. In 1920, my great grandfather, Pasquale Clemente, opened a shop in Pittsburgh’s very Italian neighborhood of East Liberty, where he specialized in suits with the Neapolitan cut (half lining, soft shoulders, wider lapels, and a “barchetta” breast pocket). He made clothing for life’s biggest events—communions, weddings, and the all-important trip back home. A central tenet of Italian immigration is coming and going from Italy. Far more than other immigrant groups, many Italians worked in America and ultimately resettled in Italy on purchased land. Many used these trips to reconnect with home, find a wife or bring a sewing machine to the sisters. Thousands of oral histories of Italian Americans recount their pre-immigration encounters with returning relatives, and recall with vivid detail the clothes they brought as gifts from America. Pasquale’s cousins in Ausonia fumed at his fancy appearance upon every return. Emilio’s dad (also a hairdresser and excellent bocce player) was among the 3 million Italians to come to the U.S. in the 1950s, but he still got his suits made in Italy on trips home.
In the last decades of the 20th century, a new guard of Italian Americans embraced their Italian-ness, where previous generations might have played it down to more easily navigate “mainstream” America. We learned to love our father’s dreaded polenta and talk with enthusiasm about Fellini films. “Armani suits were the currency of success,” said Emilio. In the 1980s, as Italian Americans achieved income levels significantly above the national average, we became what historian Simone Cinotto called “enthusiastic ethnic revivalists.” We went to Italy on vacation to connect with our long-lost cousins. We started wine clubs. For this generation, wrote Cinotto, “ethnicity was not only compatible with a successful economic and social life, but augmented their social and cultural capital.” Wearing the clothing was being Italian American.