Mid-January in Milan moves differently. The crowds thin and the city settles before the chaos of upcoming fashion weeks. It’s icy and quiet and, to me, the perfect time to explore the city.  

Every year, I come with my dad to visit our suppliers — this time, the craftswoman behind the chains we use at Syracuse Gold Shop. He’s been in the trade for decades; so have they. But I always stay a little longer — a few extra days to wander and to see the city the way I like. 

I always stay in Brera. It’s my favourite neighbourhood because you feel like a local — something a friend's Italian ex-boyfriend recommended years ago. Brera has that lived-in charm: family-run cafes, salumerias and galleries. It kind of feels cosy and intimate, away from the bustle but close enough to everything important. 

Here’s how I spend the next two days, alone in Milano. 

Day 1 

My day starts at Pasticceria Sissi, with espresso (+ sfogliatelle) at the counter, waiting for the city to wake up. Then, Villa Necchi Campiglio — a historic residence and architectural time capsule of 1930s Milan. It’s frozen in time: faded silk walls, untouched marble bathrooms... an essential for your first visit.

Lunch is at Rovello 18, where the menu is short and self-assured. I order Vitello Tonnato and the Tagliatelle with Bra Sausage Ragù. Then I spend the afternoon sifting through my favourite vintage stores; Madame Pauline Vintage, Cavalli e Nastri Vintage, Gioielleria Pennisi and Bottega Rossa. Anything with a past — Milan does this really well: the mix of old and new, the patina of something well-worn. It’s the same feeling built into Syracuse Gold Shop; pieces meant to be worn, lived in, and passed on. 

Later, Bar Basso for an apertivo. A Negroni Sbagliato, because this is where it was invented. Then dinner at Trattoria del Ciumbia — very Milan, very good, no notes. 

Day 2 

Morning coffee at Marchesi 1824, because tradition matters. Then, back to Brera. I walk into a nail salon, and the woman next to me tells me to stop at Pilgio, N.V Milano, Meru Gioielli, and Giolina e Angelo — small, independent ateliers where jewellery is made by hand. 

Later, I take the train out to the workshop where my chains are made. (Even the station feels distinctly Milanese — effortless but considered. See: apple-green chairs.) I walk into a room of women at their benches, voices weaving in and out of conversation, hands moving through gold links and connecting them one by one. There’s something about watching a chain come together: nice, slow, calm. I spend a few hours there, then head back into the city, grabbing a panino on the way to the station from somewhere I don’t remember the name of — because in Italy, you can trust a panino from anywhere. 

Back in Milan, I head straight to my favourite: Bar Paradiso for aperitivo, where the lights are low and the space is tight. Then onto the last stop: dinner at Antica Trattoria della Pesa — a traditional white-tablecloth restaurant, full of suits, couples, and me. I order the Risotto alla Milanese, because it’s what you’re meant to do. 

Buonanotte x