This is not for everyone, but for those who know. For those who recognise beauty without explanation, who feel the history woven into fine fabrics, who understand that true elegance is found in the details others overlook. Manìn is more than a name. It’s my fil rouge — or perhaps, orange.
My mother found it in a book about Sabaudian women, and before I was even born, I was already Manìn. A childhood name that, though I’ve become a mother myself, she still lovingly uses from time to time — a name imbued with tenderness, curiosity, and quiet wonder.

And so, “Manìn was not just created by me, but also by her — the Manìn of my childhood”: the little girl who looked at the world with wide eyes, always in search of beauty, never tiring of wonder. Today, she is accompanied by her grown-up self — who now gently leads the way.

Like Vita Sackville-West — writer, visionary, and muse to Virginia Woolf’s Orlando — I was raised in a world steeped in artistry, where beauty and culture were a birthright. And yet, like her, I came to understand that true identity is not inherited, but created. Orlando is a tale of transformation: a soul moving through different worlds, always evolving, always drawn to beauty in its purest form.

I know that journey well. I have travelled, observed, reimagined — and shaped Manìn into something entirely my own.

Through them, Manìn still sees the world — not with a mother’s eyes, but with those of a child: where magic is found in the smallest details, and imagination knows no bounds. Achille, with his deep love for nature and animals, has created his own Wunderkammer: a treasure trove of minerals, fossils, and feathers.

Margherita, with her innate and unique sense of style, already understands the language of fashion in a way that is entirely her own.

Their passions — so strong, even at this young age — offer me endless inspiration, reminding me that true beauty is not taught: it is instinctive.

It is composition, like a garden where every fabric, every texture, every silhouette is chosen with an obsession for harmony. My father, artist and garden designer, taught me that true beauty lies in the delicate balance between structure and spontaneity. My mother, with her passion for botany, showed me that no two shades of green are ever the same. From them, I learned that luxury—real luxury—is about selection, proportion, and the quiet confidence of knowing what belongs where.

Perhaps this is why I have always seen beauty as something to be cultivated, much like the peonies my family has collected for three generations.
Four thousand rare and ancient varieties, carefully tended, each bloom a testament to patience, heritage, and an appreciation for the exceptional.