The girl with the suitcase.
I thought I had stored it in the corner, next to the bookcase, for a while.
But deep inside, I knew that that bit of dust would soon go away.
One journey, yet another. A trip a little different from the others, one of the first "business trips".
My hands are shaking as I write to you that in less than 24 hours I will tell VD Italy to an entire Bocconiani classroom, just like me 3 years ago.
While I write down the first draft / lineup, a thousand doubts assail me.
Will I be up to it? Will I be able to answer their questions? Will I be able to stimulate them in this sometimes rocky and steep world? Will I be able not to disappoint the professor's expectations?
It seems to me, at times, to take a dip in the past, when in December 2014 I had to tell the commission, my mother and all the people I loved about Demarketing in luxury at Chanel.
If I close my eyes, I relive everything so vividly that a handful of hours or so seems to have passed.
The anxiety of the "day before", half spent at work. Relatives arriving from Naples, the cold of a super rainy December in Milan.
Mom's hand, her eyes that reassured me when I felt too fat, with the wrong hair, with the dress too casual or elegant (I don't remember how my eyes saw it), the shoes too or unprofessional (I don't even remember this).
I remember that anxiety that dries your mouth and makes you feel bad. The fear of failure. I remember how they melted in the water, when that funny and plump priest knocked on the door, blessing our house at the columns.
Then I remember, my straight and very long hair, the entrance to the Velodrome still closed and us in the cold, without perceiving it.
I didn't understand anything. I remember Filch (I never knew his name, but he looked too much like that Harry Potter character), coordinating the classroom entrances and my heart beating like a drum. The anxiety of not knowing what to say, that the presentation did not project well. To stumble, to be left without answers to the questions of the commission. To be too detailed or too superficial, to have a too conversational tone: there were children listening to me and not all adults were marketing technicians, I wanted them to take something home.
Fortunately, I was among the first to argue, but while in 2014 I wished it would end quickly and without too much damage, looking back today, I would have liked those emotions to last a minute or ten more.
I enjoyed it, I really enjoyed it. I talked about luxury, marketing, winning strategies, I talked about the brand that I have in my heart and that has taught me so much, as well as making me dream.
I have imprinted in my heart the proud eyes of mum, dad and Francy, the moved ones of the grandfather and those of grandmother perpetually behind his inseparable camera, wandering around the classroom like the most experienced cameraman to immortalize every expression and moment.
Then a few more photos outside the classroom (this time with the university photographer, the real one) while my final grade was decided in the classroom.
My smiles? The most tense, plastic and worried about history.
But what do you want a vote to be? You will have to write it on your CV, perhaps it will allow you to access the selections of some company, perhaps it will be just a little ink on a sheet of paper.
All of a sudden, it seemed to me that I had shot bullshit, that I had too much fun and therefore had taken it lightly.
Then luckily, that (now) super funny suffering melted away. And it broke up in an equally funny way.
"With the powers conferred, I declare that she is a Doctor of Marketing bla bla bla bla with a grade of 110 out of 110". Then he stops and my expression becomes very serious: it was the longest 3 seconds of my life.
... "Then the commission, unanimously, decided to award her praise".
The worried look of my best friend, who meanwhile was thinking about the speech to give me, to convince me "that it is not really that important", dissolved into a relieved smile.
In less than a day, in the classroom, there will be no mum and dad, there will be no friends to support me, but there will be the professor to whom I owe a lot of what I have achieved over time and, with him, about 200 unknown eyes and curious, perhaps even critics, a bit like mine not so long ago.
I feel an immense responsibility: I have to try to make those 90 minutes as useful as a "marketing meeting" of prof. Power And believe me, it's not that trivial.
I feel an irrepressible desire, to make my small contribution to their experience at Bocconi, to help them from tomorrow to look with honesty and sincerity within themselves, at their dreams, at their ambitions.
Here you can view the full video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LkTzFG7kCGE&feature=youtu.be