GC in Florence: A gentleman's journey through Pitti Uomo 109

Tuscany announces itself immediately as the trip planning brews. The image of rolling hills stretching with no end, with background of morning light piercing through fogs, cypress trees lining long drives toward weathered villas, quickly taking shape in the mind. These landscapes resist haste. They ask to be approached slowly. They ask for distance from the city. And so, I decided ,instead of staying near the Fortezza da Basso like most other gentlemen attending Pitti Uomo, I chose to lodge in a 19th century fattoria about twenty five minutes beyond the city centre. Not the most convenient, but I know its something needed to be done.

The everyday commute became part of the ritual. Each morning offered a gentle passage from stillness into movement.

Breakfast at the villa overlooking hills that appeared almost sketched by hand, softened by mist. An espresso crowned with crema, a glass of freshly pressed pineapple juice by the side, and silence broken only by birdsongs. It was breathtaking in the most literal sense. The extra effort driving was more than worth it. I enjoyed the historic intensity of Florence by day, and the quiet generosity of the Tuscan countryside in the mornings and evenings..

Time, however, was limited. My Pitti Uomo unfolded only over the second evening, the third day, and the final day. Every hour carried weight. My introduction to Pitti Uomo 109 began at Hockerty’s soirée, where I reconnected with friends and encountered some of the most recognisable figures in classic menswear scene.

There was a moment of unexpected comedy. As an invite only gathering, names were checked carefully. Somewhere in the process, confusion arose and I was refused entry. It turned out someone had impersonated me. Yes, someone had introduced himself as Amir Benzaki. The matter resolved quickly, but the absurdity lingered. It was surreal, amusing, and oddly flattering.

What struck me most that evening was something simple. I did not feel overdressed. That ease had been absent longer than I realised, and I missed it more than expected.

Walking around the Fortezza da Basso during Pitti Uomo is almost ceremonial. The streets become an open stage for those who love elegance and dandyism. Yet what I always love was the atmosphere. There's no sense of competition, no urgency to outshine one another. Compared to fashion weeks elsewhere, the energy felt gentler, more conversational.

Many of the aspiring gentlemen I met were eager to share rather than perform. To discuss ideas. To exchange observations. To geek with one a other about lapel widths, gorge heights, cloth weights, and button stances. This edition felt more inclusive, improving each year as expected. It was refreshing to see people from across the world expressing their love for classic menswear through their own cultural lenses, regardless of backgrounds, unapologetically.

Style too, had shifted. Where previous years leaned heavily toward the Italian cut, the drape cut had begun to reemerge. Structured shoulders, fuller trousers, and roomier silhouettes returned not as nostalgia, but as an expansion of contemporary elegance.

And yet, my highlight of Pitti was never the clothing alone.

It was the connection, and reconnection. Reuniting with friends separated by continents and calendars. Sharing moments without agenda. Morning coffee at a neighbourhood café that had existed long before the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Lunch at an antico ristorante that has served Florence since the early nineteenth century, where one can witness before them, pasta hand kneaded through a wide window facing the street. And of course, aperitivo before dinner, unhurried and conversational, almost sacred in its repetition. Enjoying again the il dolce far niente.

As a man committed to living in accordance with my spiritual convictions, dining has often invited a quiet explanation. Each time, it was received with kindness and thoughtful accommodation. Some dishes were simply beyond my reach because of the mandatory use of wine and animal stock during preparation. Risotto for example, remained out of bounds. Close enough to admire as it arrived at neighbouring tables, but never to touch.

Everywhere I turned, dry-aged beef short loin hanged proudly on display, and with it came a soft, persistent longing. If only a halal Chianina could still be found, I would have surrendered to a Bistecca alla Fiorentina with grace and without hesitation. The only kitchen I knew that honoured tradition while making space for faith was Ristorante Toscanello, a short walk from the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore. Yet, that refuge too, has since closed, leaving behind the memory of what was possible.

The final day of Pitti Uomo, a Friday, carried a different weight. Spending the afternoon at the Moschea di Firenze Centro for Friday prayer, listening to the sermon in foreign language while dressed well, felt deeply grounding. It recalled a verse from the Holy Book about travel and reflection.

“He it is Who hath made the earth subservient unto ye, So traverse in its paths and eat of His sustenance. And unto Him will be the resurrection.”

67:15

In a city celebrated for human achievement and artistic grandeur, the moment felt quietly profound. Faith, too, has its place within elegance.

Florence, of course, is not merely a backdrop. It is a living, breathing city. Beyond Pitti Uomo orbit, there are workshops tucked in within its narrow streets where artisans still practise their craft. Shops with doors so unchanged by time that one must learn the precise way to turn their knobs to enter the space. Lives unfolding without concern for trends, woven seamlessly into the fabric of Florentine life. Walking through these spaces, each heavy with memory, I understood that this time I needed a souvenir.

Not an object. An experience.

That moment arrived in the chair of an artigianale parrucchiere so old that the owner, a second generation barber, has been cutting hair in the same space for seventy nine years. Sitting in that chair felt like entering living history, participating in continuity rather than consuming novelty. Allowing oneself to be shaped by hands that had shaped generations before. Had his hands guided the scissors through my hair, the experience would have been nothing short of epic. Alas, it was his lunch hour, and after a brief greeting he departed, leaving me to his assistant, a veteran of fifty-two years behind the chair, nearly as formidable, who ultimately cut my hair.

When I left Florence, I realised that this edition of Pitti Uomo had offered me something subtle yet enduring. Not a desire to be seen, but a deeper appreciation for seeing. Seeing people, places, and oneself with greater clarity and generosity.

What began as a visit now feels like a calling shaped by repetition. I wish to return not in pursuit of novelty, but in service of reunion. To let Pitti Uomo become familiar ground where friendships stretched thin by time and distance can gather again without ceremony. A place revisited not for affirmation, but for continuity.

Alongside this, I feel a growing responsibility to open that door wider. To share this experience with other men, especially those closer to home, who carry the same curiosity for Pitti Uomo. From afar, it can appear imposing, elitist, reserved for those fluent in its language. In truth, it welcomes those who arrive with humility. Approached with sincerity, it becomes less about spectacle and more about people, place, and culture. It is this version of Pitti Uomo that I hope, in time, to walk through together with others.

Perhaps this is the quiet lesson Pitti offers when approached without pretense. That elegance does not require volume. That connection matters more than display. And that when one moves through the world with sincerity, even the grandest stages can feel intimate.

And as the journey ends, one does not feel complete. Only gently reminded that there is more to learn, more to experience, and more beauty waiting to be encountered with patience and gratitude.

Because when style lowers its voice, it settles into grace, needing neither excess nor explanation.

Contributor

Amir Benzaki

Amir Benzaki is a Deputy Editor of GC, with profound appreciation for gentlemanly culture and timeless elegance. He finds solace in his passion for suit-making at the small sartoria he owns. Balancing his professional life with his love for classic tailoring.

Instagram: @amirbenzaki