Going through my Rolodex of life in Rome

how to grieve "missed content"

It’s safe to say that influencer culture is equal parts damaging and additive. I find myself getting caught up in the constantly moving content fixed with a clickbait headline. I watch it anyway. You’ve seen those videos, they are apparently what the algorithm loves. Fit checks, GRWM videos, tutorials about everyday tasks flood my feed daily-especially those posted from Americans living in France, Spain and of course, Italy. The same characters film videos of them ordering coffee, and breakfast in the language of that place. Or strolling through the grocery aisles pointing out lack of processed food items and the copious amounts of yogurt. As much as I bash on it, I recognize and admit my jealousy. That could have been me, if I had put my profile on pubilc four years ago, but I didn’t. The women that did, gained a heavy following, international clout and the unofficial job title “An American in [insert foreign country here].” 

I feel as though there are a million and one stories of my time in Rome both before and after the pandemic, but before this new wave of mass tourism-which frankly, I’m happy I am not around to see. I have been slowly but surely going through my Rolodex of stories from life in Rome and writing them down with intent. However, I consider myself a writer, not a content creator and most of my experiences were not captured in the form of videos and photos and posted online, so how will people know their value, and in turn my value? I hope that someday soon these stories will be read by my peers and potential copy editors of publications I admire. Italy Segreta has published a few of my stories, and I love the way they turned out. The Italy Edit is another online publication that has allowed me to share some of the technical knowledge I have about Italy’s sustainable wine and food scene. I want to continue to write my stories down and share them with all of you, but I feel trapped in the saturated market of ‘Italy, as told by an American influencer.’

On the steps in Frascati - September 2021. Photo Credit: Galina Akselrod.

I do want to take a moment to recognize some of the original American women in Rome who I looked to for guidance when I first arrived in the city. 

Natalie, a Californian who moved to Rome for grad school (sound familiar) hosts the blog An American in Rome. She writes in detail about Rome’s cultural quirks and traditions that influence it. 

I started following

Gillian Longworth McGuire

in 2021 and I really enjoy the way she provides historical & cultural context to her photos and travel guides and does not sugarcoat life in Italy. 

Sophie and

Elizabeth Minchilli

are two women that I would not call influencers, rather authors. Books take time, research and I value that effort. Plus their food tours support and advocate for sustainable food systems education in Italy, which you know I am all about (even if they don’t use those exact words, that is in fact what it is).

There are also a handful (obviously more than a handful) of American women living their life in Rome without sharing their experiences or story anywhere online. Many of these women I had the pleasure of working alongside during my time The American University of Rome. Their collective stories about living in Rome in the 80s-90s, learning the culture, the language and building careers in another country, are amazing.

My Roman story started in that weird span of time before the pandemic turned the world upside down. When I look back and remember all the moments that shaped me over these last four years, all I can think about is “missed content.” Content that may have resulted in a book deal, or-at the least-a job that would have allowed me to stay in Italy and utilize my degree (which I think is a pretty cool one.) I think about the wine and beer festivals I attended all around the country in search of winemaker to interview for my thesis and how I could have/should have made a reel for reach one. I could have/should have made another 15 reels about the adventurous day trips I took to visit those winemakers at their own vineyards. I think about the photos I never took of all the beautiful meals that were made for me, or the countless beers I bought from Les Vignerons in an effort to learn more about the Italian craft beer community.

I think about all of the mornings I ordered my coffee in Italian, shopped at the grocery store and did all the regular life things one does when they live somewhere. I could have/should have taken videos of all those moments, because it’s apparent now that stories are preferred to be watched rather than read. But I argue videos cannot capture the true essence of an experience, and the emotional and physical feelings of the setting. I don’t want to think about my nearest and dearest memories as missed content, because creating content was not the reason I moved to Italy. I moved to learn more about sustainable wine from the source. I wrote an 80-page, academically sourced, fieldwork supported thesis on the subject. Unfortunately, unless it’s put into an 80 second video, it will never reach a million views.

As many of you know my graduate degree is in Food Studies: Policies for Sustainable Production and Consumption. It’s a nuanced degree that honestly very few employers in the USA know exist. I could have/should have been making videos and storytelling the coursework and lessons learned throughout the duration of the program because I know the current audience (i.e. everyone on IG) would have eaten it up. Pun intended. As a cohort, we took field-trips around Lazio and Abruzzo, visited working farms and saw parts of the country that deserve to be recognized for their efforts to preserve artisan food production methods. I personally spent the entire year traveling around the country visiting winemakers, conducting interviews with them over meals in their homes. It would have been kind of rude of me to videotape a generous meal prepared in their home, now wouldn’t it? Some of the winery owners even let me stage di volontariato (fancy Italian way to say specialized work exchange) inside their cellars and in the vineyards. For example, I worked a short vendemmia with Tenuta San Marcello, I picked grapes for Amarone at Corte Bravi, ho sistemato le vigne at I Fabbri, and led vineyard tours and wine tastings at Poggio la Noce. 

Like I said, I consider myself a writer, not a videographer, not a photographer, not a content creator. But the jokes on me because instead of living in Rome, I spend my nights stirring martinis & old fashioneds behind a restaurant bar in DC, hoping I will make enough tips to pay off my student loan debt for a master’s degree that I am not able to utilize. One that I believe has the power to do some real good for the food system. There is hope on the horizon, applications are out there, pitches have been sent. In the meantime here are some written stories of my life in Rome as a non-influencer. 

The window in my bedroom was broken and the cracked glass rattled inside the window pane every time the Latte di Roma truck passed below. I drank my morning moka and watched on as the milk man made his regular deliveries to all the corner stores. There was a bistrot across the street that was open early & late night - even staying open during Ferragosto - which was perfect for the new Americans-in-Rome like myself who had nowhere to go outside of the city. The night before our first day of classes, the roommates and I had our first dinner together on that bistrot’s patio. A pinsa + spritz for 10 euro. When I answered the Facebook ad about the apartment, I had no idea of the ideally-located grocery store directly behind the apartment building. One of the bedroom’s terraces overlooked the entrance of the market and its loading dock, which made for perfect people watching. Our second summer there, the roommates and I would spend Friday nights having apericena on that terrace as we watched the locals do their last minute shopping. We were all researching our theses at this time and Friday’s were conveniently the day that everyone was home from whichever city, town, winery, agroturismo or farm we had visited during the week. Rosé was our drink of choice, naturally. Whether it was a nice bottle gifted from a natural winery I had visited, or a cheap bottle from the Coop, we drank wine out of water glasses and reveled in the fact that despite all odds, we were living in Italy.

I loved that little apartment on Quattro Venti. Photo Credit: Galina Akselrod.

My first apartment in Rome was situated in Ponte Milvio. A posh neighborhood in the North of Rome. On my very first Sunday in the city, my au pair family had signed me up for a 3k race with the kids. It was a “Fun Run” for the families of the half marathon runners, which my host father was. Unfortunately, I had come to Rome with only two pairs of shoes, blundstone boots and a pair of white sneakers, the ultimate European fashion accessory. I needed running shoes, so I took to Via del Corso and made my first Italian souvenir purchase, a pair of Nikes. On the day of the race came and we headed out the door, with our paper numbers pinned to our new shirts. The youngest girl was going to ride the race on her scooter rather than run, but the boys, the parents and I were all set to go ahead. We made a stop at the bar for a coffee and breakfast. It seemed unconventional to me to drink coffee less than 20 minutes before a run, but hey, when in Rome. The kids shared a healthy breakfast of a Spongebob Squarepants decorated sugar cookie and I took a macchiato. The race started and I quickly realized how long it had been since I engaged in any physical activity other than working 10-hour restaurant shifts. Somehow walking the 13,000 steps at Sunday brunch did not equate to running a 3k on the streets of Rome, but I endured. I watched on as the youngest glided away on her scooter and the boys ran as if they were headed towards the pool in summer. The race took us over the Ponte della Musica, down the Viale delle Olimpiadi, and into Stadio dei Marmi. Growing up competing in track and field, I was no stranger to crossing the white finish line, however the stadiums I grew up with had giant scoreboards and chain link fences, not classical marble statues. My family patiently waited for me as I entered the arena, 10 minutes after they did. After that day, I was inspired to get my health and my endurance back after sacrificing it to the restaurant industry. Long story short, when I moved back to Rome in 2021 I kept my running habits alive, and ironically those same Nike shoes I had bought for the Fun Run were still kicking. Villa Doria Pamphili became my new neighborhood park and my new route. Filled with ancient statues, and the iconic stone pine trees, running through the park feels like traveling through four different seasons in one day. There are grassy knolls, open fields, shaded trails and of course a fountain every couple hundred feet to gawk at. 

Running in Villa Doria Pamphili. Photo Credit: Galina Askselrod.

More stories about my non-influencer life in Rome can be found in this very blog. I know I write a lot about my time in Italy, but this post is about my two months in Portugal and also supports my claim that viral videos rarely tell the whole story. I would love it if you took the time to read them. I think they’ll go great with your morning coffee. 

Postscript: 

The beautiful photos that were included in this piece were shot by Galina Akselrod.

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Thank you for reading, 

Tana