The 7:30 AM Club: lingering under the covers with Casa Parini.
Beloved adornment, none approach you but by caressing your weave, and within your weave the hands that dreamed you, the hands of Viola Stancati, worker of tenderness.
For the past few months, my Loftie alarm has been waking me at dawn. Robin Sharma says successful people rise early. "The 5 AM Club" is not for me. I am more of a 7:30 AM Club member, with a lifetime extension under the covers until 8:30. Balanced people sleep eight hours. That is my credo. But what of those who lose a Sunday just to stay in bed? At the end of the street, my bookseller is discounting his stock. According to him, the seventh day belongs not to the Lord, but to the reader. The stack of Circa Books recommendations piles up at my bedside; the sheet clings, warm, to my skin. Anna canceled brunch. The duvet continues to shape my thighs—little studies in color, folds, and pressure. It holds me. I hold it back, letting it slip over my shoulders. I roll onto my side. The sheet slides over my hip, tightens at the waist, finds the curve of my lower back. It knows my little habits.
My mouth tasted of dirt; I dreamed of primroses. A longing for the countryside, for air, or for unearthing old things—I do not know. I would happily settle for a coffee at Quartz, on the Quai d'Orsay. Earthy, too. Curing bitterness with bitterness. My only outing of the day.
Then, I have been so dreadfully rushed lately that my cupboards are bare, stripped of all my little savory pleasures. Where is my laptop? (Yes, Nathan says laptop, and I have caught the habit.) Click, click, tap, with the tip of my index finger I open La Grande Épicerie: Tyrrells sour cream & spring onion potato chips, Jajaja yellow corn tortillas, Jajaja light chipotle mayonnaise. I have a few fresh eggs left, an avocado, lime, cilantro, and feta… Order placed. Delivery should not be long.
Casa Parini calls me back into its hemp embrace. I dress in my Sunday best for bed, a reader on the reader's day, a glutton on the Lord's day… I will leave you now; I come back down to earth tomorrow.
A little backstory…
Founded in 2021 by Viola Stancati, Casa Parini tucks an old Italian story back into bed. Until the 1950s, Italy was one of the largest producers of hemp in the world. Viola chose to make it the sole fiber of her collections, despite its unjustified reputation, she says, for being a rough material.
Previously, she worked in sustainable fashion in London before returning to Italy. She set up her first workshop on Via Parini in Turin, in the former premises of her grandfather's textile company, where her first sheets were made in collaboration with Colori Vivi, a social enterprise that trains and employs migrant women. Today, production continues near Florence, still centered on hemp—chosen for its breathable and thermoregulating properties—and styled far from traditional hotel white: Marigold, Blu Notte, Carta da Zucchero, Mauve, or Tangerine.
