Italy's Rain Man

Finding Shelter In Naples With A Bespoke Umbrella Maker

- Ann Hood

Just like you, I own seven umbrellas. They are all broken— blown inside out by the wind, torn by my cat, the metal ribs bent at awkward angles or cutting right through the fabric (which varies from cheap and flimsy to overpriced leopard or cloud print). I used to own 10, but three were left in restaurants, on the subway, or in somebody’s car. I buy a new one almost every time it rains. About 33 million umbrellas are sold each year in the United States, a figure I’m confident comes from the fact that we lose or break our little fold-up portables all the time. In London, tens of thousands of umbrellas are left on the Underground every year.

I grew up watching Mary Poppins fly with her charmed umbrella and Sebastian Cabot with his proper black English one—an accessory that would not abandon them on a windy day, and one that they wouldn’t abandon on a subway or in a car. These were umbrellas of substance. Umbrellas that made a statement. And like Mary Poppins and Sebastian Cabot, I want to throw away my seven broken umbrellas and buy one that will last a lifetime. I don’t leave my good winter coat or fancy high heels in restaurants. I want an umbrella that demands the same respect.

Though the umbrella as we know it today—foldable steel ribs under a waterproof canopy atop a cane—was invented by Englishman Samuel Fox in 1852, I don’t want an English brolly. I also do not want one of the 500 million umbrellas cranked out in the factories of Songxia, China. And I don’t want one of the 5,000 types offered on Amazon.