Milan has a reputation for sharp suits, sharper cheekbones, and people who somehow look runway-ready while buying bread, so naturally I showed up looking like a confused tourist with a backpack and an urgent need for a hot pool. Tucked behind ancient brick arches that look like they’ve seen a few centuries of gossip, I found myself waist-deep in steaming thermal water while the winter air tried (and failed) to intimidate us. There’s something deeply dramatic about lounging in a bubbling outdoor spa in Italy while mist swirls around Roman-looking walls and perfectly groomed Milanese locals pretend they’re not checking each other out. I attempted a graceful descent into the pool and instead performed a small but memorable splash, immediately announcing my presence like an overexcited dolphin. Within minutes, though, I was fully committed to the art of doing absolutely nothing—leaning against the warm stone, watching clouds of steam drift upward, and wondering why all important life decisions can’t be made while half-submerged in 38-degree bliss. Milan may be the capital of fashion, but that afternoon it was the capital of doing nothing in the most stylish way possible, and honestly, I’ve never felt more Italian.