Five Things American Expats Smuggle Into Italy

In the end, it's always the little things that drive you crazy.

It’s no secret that I love my adoptive country of Italy. I love her moody Renaissance skies and her magnificent churches. I love her sense of family, of food, of culture. I love even her faults, and compare her favorably to my native land of America in ways that bewilder my Italian friends. “Why are you here,” they ask suspiciously, “when you could live in America?”

I try explaining to them that Italians love America because it’s new; Americans love Italy because it’s old. I try explaining that life in the U.S. is quite different than the one depicted in movies and shows. We export a fantasy of ourselves and are, in turn, caught in the fantasy we create.

Let’s talk about Sex and the City, for example (full disclosure: that show makes my fillings ache.) Sarah Jessica Parker’s character, Carrie Bradshaw, is a newspaper columnist and later, a freelance writer for Vogue. I know what these people make, and trust me, it’s not enough to float a tony New York apartment and a steady supply of Manolo Blahniks.

Main cast from Sex and the City. I heard even the reboot was awful.

“Oh, but Stacey,” you say, “Sex and the City is fun. It’s a fantasy.” No, it isn’t. It’s manure. Few scenes pass even a simple Bechdel test. Sex and the City, and shows like it, set up unrealistic expectations for young women who dream of living in an “exciting” place like Manhattan, owning a closet full of designer shoes, and dating men like “Mr. Big” (crassly named for his own attributes). It’s an hour-long ad for an aspirational lifestyle that is wholly damaging when you try to apply those values to real life. To me, it embodies everything that’s wrong with American culture and the way we present it across the world.

So, what does this have to do with Americans smuggling consumerist contraband into Italy?

Not a damn thing.

Regarding said contraband, there are a handful of things that are better in U.S. Not better for you or the environment, mind you, but that actually work. In fact, every expat I know smuggles at least one of them back in her suitcase after a trip to the States, and if you’ve lived in Italy for longer than a summer, you’ll immediately know what I’m talking about.

1. Ziploc baggies. They’re like currency over here. If some version of them exists in Italy, I’m not aware of it. On my last junket to Houston, I brought back three hundred of them, and every time I seal the top of the baggie, I feel a smug sense of satisfaction. Italian food is the best food, but manufacturers must assume you have your own method for keeping that food fresh since their packaging doesn’t give you any way to preserve it. I’ve got five Ziploc baggies in the refrigerator right now with cheese, vegetarian hamburgers, and something fuzzy and penicillin-like. Yay for American Ziplocs!

   

   Ziploc, the god of my idolatry.

2. Deodorant. The E.U. (thankfully) has some powerful restrictions on what chemicals can and can’t be used in consumer products. But to be fair, that’s probably why Italian deodorant is so woefully inadequate. Even brands that are identifiable to an American, like Dove or Nivea, are configured differently here. Maybe there’s a deodorizing component but no antiperspirant? Maybe the aluminum and parabens found in American deodorants are what’s actually keeping us smelling nice but are too risky to put in Italian deodorants? Nobody I’ve talked to actually knows why Italian deodorants don’t work, but we all agree that finding a good one requires a backpack, a compass, a map, and a rosary. I just brought two jumbo-sized sticks of powder-fresh Secret back from Houston, and I love them.

   

   “48 hours” is just a wild stretch of the imagination.

3. Tinfoil. I am absolutely certain that Italian tinfoil is better for the environment. I’m equally certain that a warm place in hell exists for those of us who pirate in our pink-and-blue oblong boxes of sturdy American Reynold’s wrap.

   

   In Italian the word for tinfoil is “carta stagnola.” I’m not sure this even qualifies as tinfoil.

   But Italian tinfoil is not only paper thin, the serrated strip on the edge of the box doesn’t work. I’ve struggled in vain to tear off even one flimsy piece, only to find myself cursing like a sailor and with nothing to show for my efforts. And that goes double for …

4. Saran Wrap. Why, Italy? Why bother making this stuff at all? Are E.U. regulations regarding how much plastic per box really this demoralizing? Even American Saran Wrap (you Brits call it “cling film,” which is adorable) leaves me flailing in an attempt to control it, but Italian Saran Wrap is just sticky without the substance. I went through half a box once trying to wrap some leftover steak. That stuff is evil, and I hope a clever Italian invents a viable substitute.

   

   A popular brand. Italians call it “pellicola trasparente.”

5. Tampons. The best I can say about Italian tampons is they are clearly manufactured by men. Who on earth can use these things? They absorb nothing, are poorly packaged, and the applicators are a misfire waiting to happen. Oh, and you know what’s really funny? In Italian, the word tamponi means both tampons and medical tests, especially ones to check for Covid. So if you’re traveling through Italy, need tampons, and go to the pharmacy to get them, don’t be surprised if they hand you a box that has absolutely nothing to do with feminine hygiene.

   

   You are no doubt wondering why the box is printed in English. This is an international company that makes diapers as well, but a lot of Italian companies use English on their packaging because they think it gives them a certain cachet.

And there you have it—a list of things you will likely find in American expat luggage. Some enterprising soul should think about buying a ton of this stuff, bringing it to Italy, and then peddling it to desperate expats like me.

Hey, I’d stand in line. Would you?

If you’re an expat in Italy, what are your thoughts? If you’re not an expat in Italy, on a scale of 1-10, how surprising was this info? Leave your comments below.

Copyright © 2022 Stacey Eskelin