Mr & Mrs Smith

I’ve stayed in virtually every top hotel in Italy’s fashion capital, but until I encountered Maison Moschino, none had left me feeling as though I’d had a trip down the rabbit hole. It was transcendental, you might say. The hotel has been described as a fashion fairy-tale – fitting in the middle of Milan, a city filled with fashion tales.

The relatively new Moschino had piqued my interest from the street. With a romantic ski sojourn in the Alps on the cards, it only seemed right to start things off here with Mr Smith the weekend before. Two steps into the lobby and you know it’s Moschino by the trompe l'oeil, surreal touches – headless mannequins wearing paper couture and a giant grinning sheep – and an exquisite sense of dislocation. Are you in a department store, an oversized dollhouse, or a fashion showroom? It’s as though Alice and the rabbit went on a date and poured their imagination into an airy-fairy cocktail.

Check in was swift and the receptionist lovely. Each room is named for a bit of fantasy – Alice’s Room, Little Red Riding Hood, Life is a Bed of Roses, Half a Room – and yes, the decor is a literal translation. We stayed in the Forest, a gorgeous corner room that gets an astonishing amount of light for a city hotel. The bedposts are actual tree trunks and a darling owl sculpture sat by the bed. (We had to turn him around because we felt awkward being stared at so intently.) A comfortable sitting area and functional (albeit small) bathroom rounded out the space. I obsessed over the closet, which had ingenious sliding doors that seemed to disappear into nowhere (fantastical yet functional), so unpacking was a breeze. I always unpack, whether I’m staying a day, a week, or a fortnight.

Zipping downstairs for a late morning bite, we ate while lounging on a massive banquette, adorned by life-size replicas of Moschino’s RTW collection. Bright dresses and the line’s signature black-and-white topstitched jackets lined the wall and covered the chairs. Reworking some of the familiar house tropes, the designers had turned a routine space into something playful. We booked for dinner that evening as the chef said, 'you must'. When an Italian man insists on your doing something… well, it depends on the man. But when an Italian man insists that you dine in his restaurant, you don’t question it.

Most people don’t fall for Milan. I’m one of the exceptions, drawn to its nexus of style. Just minutes from the hotel, 10 Corso Como is one of my faves. It’s a virtual museum of fashion, complete with a fab little café for a quickie brioche. Don’t miss the bookstore upstairs – you wouldn’t find it if you didn’t know it was there. We then hit via Monte Napoleone, dipped in and out of a few of the major boutiques, and had a leisurely lunch at Il Bacaro del Sambuco at 13 via Monte Napoleone. In the summer, it has a great outdoor patio, and in the winter, it’s a buzzy spot. Year-round the food is exceptional. I go twice a week.

Jetlag had caught up with us and after picking up a couple books, some new perfume, and something warm for the slopes, we headed back to the hotel for a much-needed nap. Mine was short and I awoke with a leftover appetite for shopping. With Mr Smith still dreaming of large mushrooms and small doors, I hopped in a taxi and headed to my vintage-go-to, Cavalli e Nastri (the one on Via Brera). I browsed through quickly with the owner’s niece and scooped up several finds, then walked to L’Artigiano di Brera for ballerina flats – just one pair in simple black suede.

Slipping back into the suite, I dropped my bags and scooted off to the hotel spa. After a glorious massage, I met Mr Smith for a steam and dip into the adjacent plunge pool. We spent the better part of the early evening languishing in the seductive warmth of both.

Prepped for aperitivo – a ritual that the Milanese have perfected – I tossed on a vintage Missoni (one of my newly bought treasures), and we headed down into the bar for a spritz (that beloved concoction of Campari or Aperol, prosecco, and seltzer) and some gorgeous small bites. Mr Smith preferred the salmon tartare, while I was enraptured by the smoked duck.

Later, the chef teased us with an assortment of what he calls ‘susci’ (Italian sushi creations with provocative twists), a perfectly sexy way to end a perfectly sexy day in a perfectly sexy city. But what happens in Moschino’s wonderland, stays in Moschino’s wonderland.