Not pretty. that’s what coMes to mind when I think of Italian style. When, years ago, I came to live in Rome and then Turin, one of the first things I noticed is that the Italian woman doesn’t do pretty. There is nothing cute or dainty about her. Instead she is beautiful, handsome, exuberantly sexy, or even magnifcently vulgar. Te possibilities range from the alt-aristo aesthetic of perennial icon Marella Agnelli to voluptuous goddess-of-the-people Sophia Loren to, say, Alba Parietti in her pneumatic glory days. Te common denominator is sculptural features, abundant hair, Junonian bosom, indestructible skin, and a startling resemblance to Italian art through the ages, whether it be Botticelli, Caravaggio, Modigliani, or Fellini. She’s the only woman in Europe who can pull of the risky combo of big…