Martina
Pirisi

The daughter of farmers, I grew up among the vineyards: free, and close to the land. I learned to plant and harvest vegetables in our garden, and to cook every family recipe at my grandmother’s elbow. My mother is from northern Italy; my father, from Sardinia — which, by Italian standards, makes me practically multicultural. I watched him, an immigrant in his own country, build a life far from home on strength and stubborn determination. He is the example behind every choice on this page. Even now that he’s gone.

I left home for the first time at twenty-one, bound for China. I was studying Chinese Language and Literature, and I went to Shanghai looking for adventure. What was supposed to be a short chapter became the best four years of my life. I earned a Master’s in International Business at Shanghai Jiao Tong University and had my first brush with marketing (I won’t say how long ago, but Instagram was still in diapers). China made me who I am: patient, respectful, curious, brave. And endlessly adaptable.

Milan, crypto, and the long way back. Hooked on the start-up energy I’d found in Shanghai, I moved home to join an ICO — an IPO, but for cryptocurrency — one of the first in Italy, run by a team in which nobody was over thirty. I spent it flying around the world, pitching. When it wrapped, I went back to Asia, to the Italian Chamber of Commerce in Hong Kong. There I began working with food companies trying to break into foreign markets. Helping them do it became a mission.

Promoting Made in Italy abroad. I took a job at Eataly NY and went from buyer to director in four years. I choose every product on our shelves: authentic, healthy. I’m on best-friend terms with more than seventy vendors, who import a catalog of over 3,000 products with my backing. The dream of helping Italian food travel the world finally took shape. These days I feel like an ambassador of the Italian table in New York — a long way from where I started, though in hindsight, everything was heading here.

I wasn’t sure I had it in me to start over at thirty. I’m glad I did. New York taught me to trust myself, to speak my mind, to be brave. It also taught me elevator small talk, and that “How’s it going?” is a greeting, not a question — nobody actually wants “Good, thanks, and you?” Still, that odd little ritual of stretching out a conversation that’s meant to end has opened a thousand doors for me. By now I’ve heard “Love your accent — where are you from?” more times than I can count. I always answer with a smile. Our accents, everyone’s, from everywhere, are exactly why I fell for this city.

Essays, fiction, poetry. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. As an only child, I filled my afternoons with adventures I made up — when I wasn’t reading, obviously. At the beach, under the umbrella, my grandmother used to tell me to slow down: I was finishing a book a day and immediately wanted another. Now I write COCCI, pieces of my life that help me put some order in the chaos in my head (and, as far as I can tell, everyone else’s). I’m currently chasing a writing fellowship. If you know someone, please put in a good word.