In Defense of Guilty Pleasures

Oggi devo prop­prio toglier­mi questo sfizio.
Today I real­ly must take this crav­ing away.

Italians have a deep and lov­ing rela­tion­ship with plea­sure. Whether it’s an espres­so in the mid­dle of the day, an evening strolling the coast­line with a gela­to, or a morn­ing spent in bed eat­ing pas­tries and then mak­ing love in the crum­by sheets, they real­ize that there is no such thing as the very American, Puritanical belief in guilty plea­sure. 

Uno sfizio (pro­nounced “svee-tsio”) is some­thing one can only take away, a long­ing to do, eat, or have some­thing with­out any log­i­cal rea­son for it. It’s an activ­i­ty sim­ply for pleasure’s sake, a whim or indul­gence to sat­is­fy the sens­es. It isn’t some­thing you have to earn – or do penance – for.

Yet every­where you look in Italy, you’re stand­ing in the shad­ow of the Roman Catholic Church. The church is omnipresent in Italian soci­ety, stand­ing shoul­der to shoul­der with the idea of shame. Abundant images of Jesus and Mother Mary con­stant­ly remind Italians that their every thought, word, or deed is being record­ed – and harsh­ly judged – by God. No one does shame like the Catholics. 

But shame and guilt are two dif­fer­ent emo­tions. Guilt is behav­ior-based, a feel­ing of remorse for some offense or wrong, whether real or imag­ined. It’s clos­er to the realm of per­fec­tion­ism than shame. Shame is the painful feel­ing of dis­hon­or and doesn’t nec­es­sar­i­ly depend on our hav­ing done anything. 

Think of guilt as I did some­thing bad. Think of shame as I am bad. 

While shame, that painful feel­ing that we are inher­ent­ly hor­ri­ble peo­ple, is nev­er pro­duc­tive, guilt is a healthy moti­va­tor. As the Italians see it, as long as we’re not hurt­ing any­one else, why wouldn’t we lean into moments of plea­sure? These moments are not sin­ful or self-indul­gent. They are pow­er­ful paus­es in an exis­tence already drown­ing in shame. 

Which brings us back to uno sfizio, that very Italian recipe for life. Sfizio is just anoth­er way to wor­ship because plea­sure is seen as holy, a way to revere God Himself. If God didn’t want us to thor­ough­ly enjoy food, wine, sex, archi­tec­ture, music, poet­ry, or fash­ion, He wouldn’t have cre­at­ed us with the cre­ative curios­i­ty that gave rise to those inno­va­tions. After all, God cre­at­ed wheat, but man fig­ured out how to turn it into mouth-water­ing focaccia.

The sfizio way of exist­ing is far slow­er than American life. The Italian day is carved into sec­tions that allow for a will­ing choice to be present with pleasure. 

Il riposi­no – mean­ing the rest – is that beau­ti­ful time after lunch to recharge, when “open” times for shops are flex­i­ble. When the pro­pri­etor feels the need to smoke, nap, or stroll around town, they close up. No one feels errant in carv­ing out time to savor beau­ty and delight. This is the time to doze (pen­nichel­la, or lit­tle nap), lis­ten to music, or stare out at the land­scape; a time to rest the eyes and gath­er the thoughts. We found this was a delight­ful time to explore the towns, as the streets are almost desert­ed and there is always a beau­ti­ful cathe­dral near­by to duck into if you need a respite from the blaz­ing sun or the loud, rau­cous piazzas.

Apertivo is a hap­py hour upgrade, a sophis­ti­cat­ed time to linger in life’s glim­mers, be it the way the light sparkles in your cock­tail glass or the way that alley cat yawns and stretch­es. Apertivo is a tra­di­tion of con­nec­tion, best shared with friends and fam­i­ly. This relaxed,  post-work but pre-din­ner cadence – gen­er­al­ly between sev­en and nine p.m. – is a glo­ri­ous time to relax over a spritz (pros­ec­co paired with some­thing bit­ter like Campari or Aperol) and beau­ti­ful­ly arranged char­cu­terie. It’s as much about stim­u­lat­ing the visu­al sense as the taste buds, as Il cibo dovrebbe nutire l’anima non solo il cor­po, or food should feed the soul and not just the body.

Passeggiata is the cus­tom­ary evening prom­e­nade, the dai­ly rit­u­al of strolling aim­less­ly through the alley­ways and streets as dark­ness descends. This was where I learned one of my favorite phras­es: amo le tue scarpe, or I love your shoes. Even on the uneven cob­ble­stone streets, Italian women always have on beau­ti­ful shoes (and they always smell amaz­ing). Italians take care to dress well, embrac­ing la bel­la figu­ra, or dress­ing to impress. Never is it eas­i­er to spot the tourists – with their fan­ny packs and sneak­ers – than dur­ing passeg­gia­ta. Forget your fit­ness track­ers; passeg­gia­ta isn’t about dis­tance logged or calo­ries burned. It’s about being ful­ly present in a mov­ing body, using all of the sens­es to inhab­it the now. It often involves a late-night gelato.

Uno sfizio is eas­i­ly my favorite sou­venir from my south­ern Italy trip. I’m releas­ing the idea that I should feel guilty for crav­ing plea­sure and instead am embrac­ing the idea that a full, mean­ing­ful life is made up of a string of these moments of delight. Oggi devo prop­prio toglier­mi questo sfizio.