Here’s a look to woo any thrice married bourgeois with cliched visions of writing a cookbook or travelogue from some short term holiday rental in Florence. Beneath their classy pretensions we all know women like these are hopelessly easy. Ride up behind her with the look I’ll describe, accidentally crash into her, then pretend you’re Italian: "Elora! Mumma Mia! I so sorry American lady."
When she tells you she is definitely not American (and after all, why should she be, you’re pedaling along Hunter Street Mall), apologise profusely, that where you come from, Florence, you meet so many Americans, all trying to sell you some water colour they have just painted of the Duomo, in the style of Cezanne, that you take any beautiful well dressed woman to be American. Again you are sorry, for on closer inspection, this women clutching her newly bruised elbow has a certain grace, and sense of restraint, that Americans lack.
Within an hour, you will be back at hers, examining acrylics she did in high school, in the style of Cezanne, and saying you really could find buyers for these. You are in Australia purchasing indigenous art, to take home and sell in your gallery. I’ll guarantee she will end up giving you more money than this little outfit will cost.
Even better than the real thing…
For the slicked back hair you can simply use water. Irish linen blue suit (must have working buttons): $1500. Matching leather through shoes, briefcase and belt: $800. Silk bow tie, somewhat askew: $100. Argyle socks in Indian cotton (she’ll scan every detail, don’t skimp): $30. No need to shave or do anything about coffee breath. Today you’re Italian!