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The funny mistake of Elisabetta Franchi (and the usual shitty public)

There would be many things to say about the latest scandal du jour, but the most important is: what world does Elisabetta Franchi think she is living in? Because either she lives in a world in which “-anta” women (her definition, which can reasonably be translated into: over forty) you can be sure they will no longer crave to have children, or live in their own ‘Elisabetta Franchi who is officially 53 years old and has two children in compulsory school.

In any case. If you have been reading Musil so far this weekend, you may need a brief profile of the protagonist of the last scandal. Elisabetta Franchi is, according to the legend propagated by herself: a poor and abused ex-child (long ago for Instagram a gentleman who claimed to be his brother was wandering and told that the black fairy tale of the dysfunctional family Elisabetta told her because he was plagiarized from the nanny, a blonde lady who even conjugates verbs and which Elizabeth therefore treats as if she had Grazia Deledda d’Emilia in her house); a former banker on the pitch (rag vendors’ market on Saturday in Bologna); the widow of a man who, before his death, opened a clothing company for her, turning her into Sally Spectra from the outskirts of Bologna.

The daughter had by the deceased has recently gone from a clumsy child to a teenager who takes sexy selfies, with a flowering of bets among the followers: will she seduce the second husband of the mother, or will the mother seduce one of the sweethearts brought home from high school to rich donkeys that you hang out with (and of course I frequented too: if we don’t recognize each other)? For now, the girl has challenged her mother by taking the classic Dior bag on the boat, of which her mother has been making an imitation for years. No, I don’t wear the one with the EF logo, I want the original CD. Who knows what stab, mother’s heart.

Widow, Elisabetta has remarried with what, according to the legend she herself, had been a flirt from the school years, Alan, a man with mysterious professional duties but who probably has the same plastic surgeon as Mickey Rourke. The two had a son, who was called Leo even before a more famous and more decorative Lion arrived in the Instagram: sometimes being the first is not enough.

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In the Franchi house there is a disproportionate number of dogs, each of which is adopted and with some past even more dramatic than that of the owner; past that Elisabetta never gets tired of telling in Instagram stories jumped by even the most devoted followers: yes, we know that the taldeitali bitch had been hit by a car and you saved her, you’ve already told us a zillion times , no, we’re not giving you the money for the foundation that saves Chinese dogs.

But the most supercalifragilistic character of the Franchi house is the waiter, filmed every morning as he brings her coffee to bed and she orders him to sing, or the times he leaves to visit relatives in the country of origin, with multiple Vuitton logos on him. of a tronista.

Elizabeth is methodically unpresentable. She puts her clothes on cheaper celebrities (paying them much more to wear them than the big names pay, the gossip says, and she also tells the logic). In the toughest months of the pandemic she was never ever seen with a mask, not even in her offices where everyone wore it except her. You go to Giorgia Meloni’s conferences. She says the things that they all say on her Instagram – “if you want you can” and other slogans a lot a kilo – but she says badly, she says to her like someone who then photographs herself from the Maldives saying how much she suffers from the war .

I like Elisabetta Franchi because of her mistake. Because she had a wonderful house built by the architect but she had it built in Milano Marittima, since as a young and poor woman she saw it as a goal of her own redemption to have a house there; but what do you get rich to do, if you don’t realize that Milano Marittima has the ugliest sea in the world? Because she rents very expensive yachts but then she uses them to go to Monte Carlo, and she also finds a nice place, that building abuse for the rich, and in Monte Carlo she goes to eat in expensive Italian restaurants and her husband comments “we Italians are always top” . (Her niece – who works with her and is a young woman – every three months she photographs herself with a book, always the same: it is a book by Pierluigi Celli. Each time I would like to ask her a hundred questions about that book).

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In a world of riches without style, Franchi is more sensationally so than the others, she is so without making others morally.

Elisabetta Franchi the other day said the most unspeakable of truths, but – as always – she said it wrong.

It meant: in the land of false invalids, normal maternity safeguards are deformed into mechanisms whereby if an employee has a child she stays at home for four years, and if she returns to work then she runs away from the office at the first snot on the child’s nose, and for an entrepreneur who invests money and time to train a professional this is hell.

He meant: the problem is not that there are not enough kindergartens, if the problem were the welfare state, the United States would always be at zero birth rate, the problem is that for the Italians and Italians, any excuse is good to slack off.

Instead, he said: I hire them in the forties, so they have already married, have given birth, separated, and can work “acca24” (like all those who speak illiterate, Franchi says “call” instead of “meeting”, and he says “accaventiquattro” because, by adding up every half second he saves every time he doesn’t say “twenty-four hours a day”, he can memorize all the works of the Pléiade).

All hell broke loose. Any kindergarten in which there is no place is the fault of the Franks. Every woman convinced by the shampoo commercials to be worth while the job market insists on believing it is not worth a shit is the fault of Franchi. But my favorites are the ones who take the opportunity to say that they have always hated her because she makes clothes for thin women and they don’t go in. Just think if they had ever tried on a jacket designed by Hedi Slimane: they would have gone to put a bomb on him at home. (Reasonably, one who has at one time or another considered buying a Franchi garment is unaware of Slimane’s existence, and it is good that she remains one for the balance of the universe).

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Saturday evening Elisabetta Franchi, whose communications consultant is evidently an exponent of the motion “worse than the patch of the hole”, published an apology text in which she talks about the enormous sacrifices to reconcile work and family that she too had to make (which actually in the speech he said that he spends the weekends with his children, which is a nice pain in the ass for both sides).

He did not say “in my company there will be no nursery but dogs can be brought”, endearing at least half of the instagrammatic sentimentality. She did not say “I hire them forty because that is the age at which children start, as my own life shows, and I want them to have paid maternity.” She didn’t say “I’ve never been asked for maternity leave because all my employees are perceived women, and the perceived women are women, aren’t you going to be so transphobic as to think you need a womb?”. She did not say “I am in favor of mandatory paternity leave, so while you are at the hard work the fathers can stay at home giving bottles of milk that you will have spent your free time throwing at you.”

She hasn’t said any of the things that could have done her as a lifeboat to her reputation, nor has she allowed herself the luxury of saying great truths such as: but you stop expecting singers, sportsmen, stylists and other ontologically illiterate categories to say sensible things about duties. and rights, war and pandemic, mass and power, being and time? Will you stop it, shit crowd?

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