Silvia Dellai: Rome as Her Playground

When you think of Rome, you picture ancient ruins, espresso bars tucked into alleyways, and the kind of effortless style that makes strangers turn their heads. But for Silvia Dellai, Rome isn’t just a backdrop-it’s her playground. She doesn’t just live there. She moves through it like it was made for her, and she’s made it better in return.

From the Tiber to the Trastevere Nights

Silvia Dellai didn’t arrive in Rome chasing fame. She came for the light. That golden hour that hits the Colosseum just before sunset, the way it glows on cobblestones and old stone facades. She grew up in the Veneto region, where the pace is slower, the hills are greener, and people still know your name at the bakery. But Rome? Rome had rhythm. It had noise, energy, and a kind of wild elegance that pulled her in.

By her early twenties, she was modeling-mostly for Italian fashion houses, local boutiques, and editorial shoots that needed someone who looked like she belonged on a Renaissance painting but could also ride a Vespa through traffic without breaking a sweat. She didn’t need to pose. She just needed to exist. And in Rome, existing beautifully is an art form.

Her Daily Rituals

Every morning, Silvia walks from her apartment near Piazza Vittorio to a tiny caffè run by an 80-year-old man who remembers her from when she first started coming in, still in jeans and no makeup. She orders a cappuccino, no sugar, and sits by the window. She doesn’t check her phone. She watches the city wake up: the baker sweeping flour off the sidewalk, the old man with the parrot arguing with the newsstand vendor, the student rushing past with a backpack full of books and a half-eaten cornetto.

By noon, she’s either at a photoshoot, meeting with a designer, or just wandering the streets of Trastevere. She doesn’t go to clubs to be seen. She goes because she likes the music. She’s been spotted at Le Mani in Pasta, a tiny trattoria where the owner lets her pick the wine. She’s been photographed leaving Bar del Cappuccino at 2 a.m. after a late-night jazz set, hair messy, coat open, laughing with friends who aren’t models or celebrities-just people who like good wine and bad jokes.

Why Rome Fits Her Like a Second Skin

Rome doesn’t reward perfection. It rewards authenticity. And Silvia Dellai is anything but polished. She doesn’t follow trends. She doesn’t post staged photos just to get likes. Her Instagram is full of real moments: a dog napping on a church step, her feet in the Trevi Fountain at dawn, a plate of carbonara with a single stray basil leaf sticking out.

She doesn’t use filters. She doesn’t edit out the cracks in the pavement or the peeling paint on a doorway. She says, “Rome isn’t pretty because it’s perfect. It’s beautiful because it’s alive. And I’m just one of the things moving through it.”

She’s worked with big names-Italian Vogue, Gucci campaigns, even a short film shot in the abandoned subway tunnels under Testaccio. But she turns down jobs that feel fake. She once walked out of a shoot because the stylist wanted her to wear a dress that “looked like a tourist’s idea of Italy.” She said, “I’m not a postcard. I’m a person who lives here.”

The People Who Know Her

The people who know Silvia don’t call her a model. They call her Silvia. The waiter at La Taverna dei Fori Imperiali remembers she likes her arancini extra crispy. The bike mechanic on Via del Portico d’Ottavia knows she’ll come in with a flat tire every Tuesday. The librarian at the Biblioteca Vallicelliana keeps a copy of La Strada by Fellini for her because she always says she’s “trying to understand why Rome makes people want to cry.”

She doesn’t have a publicist. She doesn’t have a team. She answers her own DMs. She says yes to strangers who ask if they can take a photo with her-unless she’s eating. Then she just smiles and says, “Wait till I’m done.”

What She’s Building, Not Just Living

Silvia Dellai isn’t just passing through Rome. She’s helping shape how the city sees itself. She volunteers with a small nonprofit that teaches photography to kids in the suburbs-kids who’ve never held a camera but have stories worth telling. She’s started a monthly gathering called “Roma Senza Filtro” (Rome Without Filter), where locals bring photos they took that day and share the story behind them. No judges. No prizes. Just stories.

Last year, she helped restore a forgotten fountain near the Appian Way. Not with money, but by organizing a group of neighbors. They cleaned the moss, repainted the tiles, and planted lavender around it. Now, tourists stop there. Locals sit by it. And no one knows it was Silvia who made it happen.

She Doesn’t Need to Be Famous

You won’t find her on the cover of a magazine this month. You won’t see her name in a celebrity gossip column. She doesn’t want to be a household name. She wants to be a part of the city’s heartbeat.

She’s not rich. She doesn’t drive a luxury car. She rides a 2008 Vespa she bought from a retired taxi driver. She wears second-hand coats from vintage shops in Monti. She says, “I don’t need to look expensive. I need to feel free.”

And that’s why Rome loves her. Not because she’s beautiful. Not because she’s famous. But because she’s real. She doesn’t perform. She lives. And in a city that’s been photographed a million times, she’s one of the few people who still make it feel new.

What She’s Doing Next

This winter, she’s working on a short documentary-just her, a camera, and 12 people who live in Rome but aren’t famous. A janitor who sings opera while cleaning the Vatican’s bathrooms. A 92-year-old woman who still makes handmade pasta every Sunday. A teenage graffiti artist who paints murals on abandoned warehouses.

She calls it “Roma Viva.” Alive Rome.

She says, “The world thinks Rome is ruins. But it’s not. It’s people. And I’m just one of them.”

There are thousands of people in Rome who look like models. But only a few who live like Romans. Silvia Dellai is one of them.