Labour leader Joseph Muscat does not wear his jumpers over his shirt, nor does he tie them around his waist. No sir - since his stint in Europe, he ties his V-necks jauntily, at an angle, over his shoulders, all'Italiana.
Sooner or later all those bobbing up and down at Labour Party mass meetings will be sporting their jumpers that way; already his fellow colleagues seem to have eagerly picked up this trend (see photos of MEP candidates Joseph Cuschieri and Marlene Mizzi, with red sweaters dangling over their shoulders).
Now, this sudden style factor combined with his nonchalance about tardiness and turning up late for appointments without any apologies, makes one think that the guy is on to something. Yes. He wants to sell himself as your typical Italian lad next door.
Why? Because Italian men (with the exception of Berlusconi and his spicy ties with underage girls) are loved the world over. "To be born male and Italian is to have won first prize in the Lottery of Life. This is one of nature's incontrovertible truths," claims British columnist A.A. Gill.
So it could be that Muscat is onto a clever plan, although he certainly needs to work way harder at it: more cashmere, more expensive shoes, more hair, less of that goatie, more stubble, more sun tan. And even then he won't pull it off, because there's a certain something about the guys from the Boot which cannot be copied and pasted, particularly by Anglo-Saxon men.
And for all intents and purposes ours is such an Anglo-Saxon influenced society that although we're bang in the middle of the Mediterranean, we're right up there with the people who butter their bread and not drizzle it with oil.
Compared to Italians, our men sport the stiff upper lip. For all the talk about them being divas, mammoni, and womanisers, your average Italiano lovingly participates actively in his family and you can see the regard and respect they hold for the women and children in their lives. There are three things that make an Italian stand up in a crowd (apart from the turned-up collar):
Their genuine love for children
Their face actually lights up when they see you holding the hand of a child. On a recent trip to Italy, my daughter was constantly entertained on demand: 'Che amore', 'Ciao bella' were the order of the day wherever we went, and as the mamma, I was fervently applauded.
Restaurants, for example, cater willingly for children. They are treated as customers and not met with blank or rolling eyes. Waiters actually check on the children to see whether they liked their food.
When during a passeggiata in the piazza Pippa accidentally fell and bumped her head (ever so slightly) we had Italian gentlemen pouring out from everywhere, offering help, consolation, impromptu songs and icepacks. Most men elsewhere in the world are incapable of such concern for children - it's considered a job for the ladies.
Their ability to converse
Italian guys, whatever their education, age or social status, are able to talk about any topic under the sun. If you go to any Italian square in the evening you'll see the children running around playing footie in front of the church and the grown-ups chatting and gesturing the night away, and mind - the guys would be in charge of pushing the Maxi-Cosies.
Their conversation skills span beyond gossip and it's a pleasure to discuss with people who say what they think rather than parrot others' ideas. And it's even more pleasant to be listened to with attention. This, I find is a serious problem on our island - very few are the people with whom you can have an interesting chat.
Their effortless style and appreciation of beauty
They are to be mostly applauded for their acute sense of beauty and pleasure. In his book, The Italians, Luigi Barzini explains how the Italians will never tolerate incompetent "opera singers, conductors, actors, film directors, cooks, tailors." In a world of disorder, disaster and fraud, only beauty can be trusted and only artistic excellence is incorruptible.
Therefore they only trust what they can experience with their own senses and this makes the senses stronger in Italy than elsewhere in Europe - hence their ambrosial food and wine. If only we were more in touch with pleasing our senses, then we wouldn't have such hideous things as the Luqa roundabout monument.
Which is why I really think we should just go ahead and have faith in Renzo Piano's City Gate plans: there is no one better than an Italian to be entrusted with such an ally crucial project.
It's certainly a long way to go to the Italian goal. And Muscat is not alone in his wanting to mirror them - all the other men in the world want to do so too.