The Americans Took Venice: How Bezos, Kardashians & Co. Ran Italy’s Billionaire Wedding Week – And Why I Totally Get It
Ninety-six private jets. That’s how many billionaires, moguls, celebrities, and VIP handlers descended upon Venice for Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez’s wedding extravaganza. But this wasn’t Italy’s moment. This was America’s glossy, titanium-timed, diamond-dripping show — executed with such precision, it made the Italian hosts look like disoriented extras on their own stage.
I live in Italy. And let me tell you — after the last three weeks, I don’t blame Jeff one bit for parachuting in a full Amazon-calibre operations squad. My own life reads like a blooper reel of Italian inefficiency.
My Car, Missing in Mechanic Limbo
Let’s start with my car. Eight months ago, it broke down. Parked at a so-called “garage” and left there like an abandoned Fiat from 1982. It hasn’t moved in eight months, still unfixed. Still blocked. Still a mystery. And no, the mechanic doesn’t answer emails, texts, or reality. The car has basically taken early retirement in Tuscany.
Dolce & Gabbana? Not Without Sweat
Then came my pilgrimage to Rome for the glorious “From the Heart to the Hands: Dolce & Gabbana” couture exhibition. Fashion Sistine Chapel, they call it. So I put on my best tailored dress and headed off… right into the dead air of a broken car AC system. Mid-June, Roman heat, traffic crawling like a dehydrated snail. By the time I arrived, I wasn’t fashion-forward — I was fabric-melted. If Kim Kardashian had faced that air-con horror at Gritti Palace, I now fully understand the drama. I was the melted version of Lauren Sánchez — minus the yacht and lace corset.
Poste Italiane: Epic Saga of the Printed Passport
Need a passport printed? In any functioning country, this might take an hour. In Italy? Half a day. I’m not even exaggerating. Three queues, two sweaty clerks, one malfunctioning printer, and a system crash later, I finally had my travel document. Only took an entire afternoon and the patience of a Tuscan saint.
Amazon, Where Art Thou?
And let’s not even talk about my Amazon driver. He took one look at my location, sighed into the app, marked it undeliverable, and simply went home. No call. No knock. Just a digital vanishing act. When I saw how Bezos’ team was coordinating container loads of Louis Vuitton luggage onto private water taxis with NASA-level tracking, I nearly cried. Jeff, come pick up your people — and can you please drop them off at my house?
Venice Wasn’t Run — It Was Hijacked
Back in Venice, while the rest of us were hunting for the last working fan, America rolled out its billion-dollar checklist. Private water taxis, diamond tiaras, lost-and-found sweeps before housekeeping dared enter a room — every single detail planned and executed like a military gala on Rodeo Drive.
Italian staff were completely sidelined. At one luxury hotel, a Gritti employee whispered that he was still waiting on his new uniform. He wore one with a hole in the sleeve while the Kardashians melted in broken AC. In the land of atelier tailoring and five-star reverie, this was fashion treason. It was less La Dolce Vita, more Budget Express with a chandelier.
Even the Press Room Was an Amazon Warehouse
The press room looked less like La Fenice and more like a hyper-optimized Amazon shipping hub — ergonomic chairs, industrial air con, rows of chargers, laptops humming like drones. I swear if anyone had coughed, Alexa would’ve handed them tissues.
Because you see, nothing was left to the Italians. Not the luggage. Not the events. Not even the espresso machine. Every hotel that hosted guests like Oprah, Mark Zuckerberg, or the Kardashians had American teams embedded into their walls. When it came time to check out, they scanned the rooms with high-beam flashlights for forgotten Cartier rings and crystal-embellished heels. Nothing left behind. Nothing trusted to the locals.
The Billionaires Came, They Saw, They Conquered
This wasn’t an Italian affair. This was Venice being colonized by Hollywood logistics and Bezos brilliance. The Americans came, not to appreciate — but to dominate. They brought the yachts, the lasers, the drones, the spreadsheets. And every Italian staff member just watched, smiling through espresso-stained teeth, holding the fort while the billionaires played.
And frankly, I get it.
After the month I’ve had?I’d hire Jeff’s team too.
