On the Art of Sprezzatura

Thoughts on a nonchalant lifestyle.

Alain Delon in Plein Soleil

There’s a type of man who can smoke a cigarette, wear a crumpled linen shirt, disheveled hair, and walk around in leather shoes so worn they border on biblical, yet still be able to charm your girlfriend—even though she hates cigarettes or wrinkles. I have to say, this type of man is usually Mediterranean, so tanned it doesn't even look natural.

These men have mastered the ancient art of sprezzatura.

It is, of course, an Italian invention. The Italians, bless them, have an entire vocabulary for beautiful illusions. Il dolce far niente, bella figura, bel vivere, and many more. La Dolce Vita, of course, is not an illusion, but exist for the few who have realised it and made it their own personal reality. But that's a tangent. The point is that among these beautiful words, the Italians also have sprezzatura. One can only assume it was created by someone reclining in a linen suit, sipping a Negroni while pretending not to notice how their tie matches the terracotta floors and the wooden beams.¹

In modern parlance, the word has been stretched thin, applied to anyone who forgets to tuck in a shirt or wears sneakers with a suit. But that's unfaithful. It's not as simple as that. Besides, the word doesn't belong, only, to fashion. To be sprezzaturati requires much more than wardrobe and sheer desire to be so. You might find it exaggerated, but I would say it is a way of life. If not how one lives it, at least, how one approaches life.

I can't think of a more sprezzaturati person than Roger Federer. Not only for how he played — though that alone would put him at the top of the list — but for how he behaved in and out of the court. He rarely looked rattled, whether winning or losing². He answered questions graciously without being stiff, and made jokes that were witty without offending. He is always dressed well but relaxed. The man makes grace look natural to the point of inevitability.

Because Sprezzatura is the appearance of carelessness, effortlessness, which is paradoxically, quite difficult. That’s what makes it exquisite. To make a speech sound improvised even though it was rehearsed a hundred times. To sit down on the weekend with a glass of white and enjoy the moment — even though one has a hundred problems to solve. These things require hours of practice and meticulously not caring. The amateurs get it wrong by doing too much or doing too little. Either way, we see something we were not meant to see: effort.

This is why the truly sprezzaturati are so rare.

The art is not only in hiding effort and making show of mastery. It is also about attitude.

For example, a man walking down a limestone street in clifftop town. His white linen shirt, crumpled ever so slightly, his collar unbuttoned, his hair lightly tousled by the sea. Is he going go to an appointment, or has just come from one? Is he dressed for a dinner, or having a passeggiata recovering from one? The ambiguity is the point.

Now, I’m not suggesting one must live like a Ligurian libertine to understand this art, though it helps. A well misplaced sunhat, an unbuttoned shirt, and a vintage car that runs only when it feels like it are the tools of a man who knows how to live. A man who knows wisely when to care, when to put (and show) effort, and when to just accept and not worry.

There is something seductive about a life slightly askew. Not chaotic, mind you—that's for poets and those who drink vodka before noon. Just imprecise enough, for one is far too occupied with pleasure to be bothered with details. The cuff half rolled to alleviate the heat, the haircut postponed until it becomes fashionable, or the linen shirt ironed by salt and the sea, are great signs of it.

And lest I be accused of praising only the male specimen, I must say that women often wield sprezzatura with lethal efficiency. The art of multitasking without breaking a sweat can never be mastered by a man. Or having the strength of bearing children, often, more than once.

But I digress, again.

If all of this effortless living sounds slippery, it's because it is. Sprezzatura cannot be taught, only absorbed. Like sun or sarcasm. It comes from exposure and trial and error. I recommend several months in southern Europe, an old convertible that breaks down often, and at least one inappropriate summer love affair. One cannot fake insouciance without first having flirted with the abyss of caring too much.

There is something beautiful about appearing not to care, yet acting like you do. Or caring very much and not letting it show.

That, if I haven’t misunderstood the word, is the art of sprezzatura. Or if I did, well — at least this text has a few well-put phrases in it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have highly important businesses to attend to—my wine is getting warm.

Until next time,

1. Actually it first appeared in Baldassare Castiglione's 1528 The Book of the Courtier. But I stand by my imagination.

2. For the purposes of consistency we will forget his early career performances.