GLAMOUR WEDDING IN CAPRI

WHERE WAS I?

For a wifi-needy type like me, being on vacation in Italy is not always very relaxing. Yes, yes, yes, you eat nowhere better, the coffee is as it should be, and charm is ‘dappertutto’, but it is also the country where the fax still sits on every desk. The country where I stand waiting for a quarter of an hour to pay for my magazines because first a woman comes to buy three stamps, two girls make seven copies, someone scans a driver's license, and then a boy pays for ten balloons. Good. That country then. We are renting a pretty decent house here for a similar price, but Internet? That is not part of the basic needs of an Italian.

This morning I fished (because with such a last-century thing I tried to reel the world in) first at the office of the owner of our vacation home, only to be led in utter despair (was I trembling? I believe a little) to their private house to connect my willing Macbook to their Internet. Just surfing to Amayzine.com, Elle.nl (where I saw that the first edition under the editorship of Hilmar is in stores) and WWD.com where I read that Louis Leeman is married.

One handshake

I hear you thinking. Louis who? Louis Leeman. Italian royalty of Dutch descent. Family friend of Olivia Palermo and Johannes Huebl and of Edgardo Osario, designer and founder of Aquazurra, the hottest shoes of the moment. And Edgardo, that is my handshake to this star-studded ultra-luxury Capri wedding that took place this weekend.

Cocktails at the Carlton

During the last New York Fashion Week, I had a cocktail with Edgardo and his beloved Eduardo (you can't make this up but it's true) in the piano bar of the Carlton. Outside it was a messy -20, inside steaming cozy with the Amayzine editors, our publisher, Edgardo, Eduardo, and Erica. You can't get more Italian than Erica. Intensely slim, great hair, and talking a lot. In her case about her wedding. “Aii tinke aii wiell ask Roberto (Cavalli that is) to desaign mai dressuh. That wayy ai can keep ituh.”

Champagnuh!

A few days later, Liesbeth dined at Indochine. Once a hotspot in New York and apparently still a place where during fashion week it is a real “we-know-each-other’ affair. Erica was shining there too. In London, Jet and Liesbeth were invited by Erica and her love Louis for dinner. As you can imagine, it wasn't in a dive. Afterwards, they went for a drink. It became a London private club where the red carpet was immediately rolled out for Erica and Louis. Jet and Liesbeth knew the moment had come to give something back. A round. But knowing that London is three times more expensive than New York, that was a bit of a gulp for the girls. Especially when Erica ordered “sjampaignuh” and Louis and the rest of the party ordered a hefty cocktail. They placed the order, took a breath, and squeezed their credit card out of their pocket. “It’s open bar, girls!” said the waiter. Speaking of windfalls.

Barneys and Madison Avenue

It was that evening when Jet and Liesbeth met Erica’s fiancé Louis. Louis turned out to be a Dutch shoe designer who studied fashion in Florence. He is now sold at Barneys and has opened a flagship store on Madison Avenue. I was also a bit taken aback. Erica followed the same course (that’s where the spark started), then worked as a stylist for Vogue Japan and together with Louis dived into men’s shoes. Take a look at his site. Tim Walker-esque images. I don't like the term ‘un-Dutch’ but here he is very much in his place.

Where were we?

So this weekend it was finally happening. First, Erica was driven over Capri on a float. Her dress delightfully short so her beautiful legs and (Aquazurra?) shoes were clearly visible. The guests (including Olivia, Johannes, and our friends Edgardo and Eduardo) found espadrilles in their room that Louis had specially made for this day. Their initials were on the sole. How lovely. Then a dinner with tables stretching to the horizon, bridesmaids in Mary Katrantzou. Everything, everything, everything perfectly perfect. The question remains. Where were we? Erica? Who go way back. It must be that cursed Italian Internet. The email with the invitation of course did not arrive.