House of Gucci. I’ll start with the premise that I have a very flimsy claim to being a DOC Italian. I wasn’t born there, Italian isn’t my first language, and only my father is Italian. But I did spend a key formative period of my life there, from 9 to 24, did most of my grade school there, and I speak the language fluently. At best, I’m a bastard Italian, but no other culture comes close to having shaped me as much as Italy has. Cultural and identitarian purity is a mirage of course, and the topic of endless and mostly fruitless debate. I’d also argue that cultural purity is hardly desirable either. When I watch a film or a TV show that’s principally about situating itself within a geographical region and language, the result nearly universally is “culture as pastiche” if not “culture as soporific performance of insularity”.
Generalisations aside, authentic Italian culture is intensely regional. I’m using the term “authentic” with caution but it is appropriate here, as unlike countries like Britain or France, there isn’t a strong historical correlation between nation and state as the formation of the Italian state happened in the mid to late 19th century and was driven not by history so much as it was by ideas fashionable at the time with those with enough power to not only decide unification was desirable but also achievable. Naples, Sicily, Milan, and Florence (to name a few) didn’t so much as share a common language prior to unification. Received Italian and the Italian state were imposed onto this complex collection of city states, principalities and kingdoms.