The Masonic Shadow Over North Rome Hair

As someone from the deep south of Rome, I’ve been wondering this since I was a kid: how do the guys from North Rome get their hair like that? It’s set in place, whether it’s naturally curly or not. They all look like they’ve had perms, and it often bends forward like a helmet. They keep touching it, trying to press it down at the front, but that’s not what makes it like that. Along with the hair, there’s always supposedly a Patagonia vest, a black scooter helmet hanging from the wrist, round sunglasses, AirPods, a limited-edition ceramic Rolex, and a sneaker that isn’t “for Blacks,” no overhanging heel, the kind supposedly made for the Negroid foot—a North Rome Aryan sneaker without a heel, in tasteful little pastel shades.

But it all comes down to the hair. Simply because no one knows how it is achieved. Taken one by one, every part of the Parioli aesthetic is perfectly legible, except for the process through which the boys of North Rome seem never to change their hairstyle. In the rain, in the sweat, maybe on a school trip with no access to showers, their hair still remains unmistakably North Rome.

I even remember seeing a friend of mine from Azzarita on Instagram doing volunteer work in Central Africa with a wheelbarrow and rubber boots. But the hair was still the same. Immutable.

Things that cannot be named conceal power.

The only aspect of the radical differences between North Rome and South Rome that has never been analyzed—and therefore the only one worthy of analysis—is the relationship those two factions have with the British, or rather with the Anglo-Saxons, or rather still with the Masonic lodges that follow the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite.

What the fuck does that have to do with hair? Nothing. But the point is always to force things together, to connect useless things and see whether any chemical reaction takes place. Let’s find out together whether I’m insane or an alchemist.

Fleming, Parioli, Prati, Trieste, Corso Francia, the Parco della Musica, Little London, Coppedè, Bologna—these are all English aesthetic and architectural extensions.

Even the rhythms of the people who live there, the argyle sweaters, the embassies, the presence of Masonic lodges with their statuettes and effigies, all sketch out the perfect relationship that has always existed between the post-fascist right and Anglo-Saxon Masonry. Everybody knows it: North Rome is right-wing. Monarchist. Reactionary. Catholic.

South Rome? Architecturally nonexistent. The only master plans the area ever had were EUR, Garbatella, and the Soviet-style public housing built later on; everything else is abusive shantytown sprawl. But EUR and Garbatella? Both wanted by His Excellency, who—pay attention—initially had ties to the British (as Giovanni Fasanella explains in Nero di Londra), ties that were later lost. According to certain deep analysts, the reasons for the rupture are to be found in the shutting out of Masonic lodges from Mussolini. In 1925, in fact, Masonry was declared incompatible with Fascism, and then in 1929 came the masterstroke. The priest-devouring Masons were stunned. His Excellency rewove ties with those across the Tiber. Fractally, you can see it in the hair. The boys from EUR and Garbatella do in fact have something similar in the hair follicle to North Rome, but there is an obvious deviation from the original. That deviation is due to the anti-Masonic, Vatican-leaning fringe of the fascists, which is therefore a different thing from Umbertine, Piedmontese North Rome. And here it is worth remembering that the House of Savoy achieved Italian unification thanks to the British.

It therefore becomes evident that sebum is the secretion of historical processes embedded in the grids of urban planning, which then translate into hairstyles.

South Rome was overtaken by cement, illegal building, speculative hands on the city, with a clear break from the English ideal of urban planning—orderly, purposeful, preparatory. In fact, no one proudly identifies with the consortia, with the monstrous neighborhoods of South Rome. Everybody says, “I’m from EUR,” because they recognize in EUR a womb of protection, of discipline, even if there remains a great energetic difference from the dark neighborhoods of North Rome conceived by the British.

The perfect emblem of this synthesis is the Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana, an exquisitely fine tabernacle of Masonic rigor and, paradoxically, Mediterranean warmth, exclusive to the Littorio style. A marble that warms at sunset and mirrors the light.

Masons first, Lateran Pacts afterward.

But let’s leave EUR aside. The rest of South Rome is run by the native mafioso who has no connection to the rigor that comes from the colonizing ideal of the white Anglo-Saxon Protestant. The mentality of building an illegal house and then improvising pothole-ridden roads with no sidewalks is a direct expression of the sloppiness that comes from the nomad mindset. And indeed, no single type emerges in the hair of South Rome. It is indistinct.

South Rome does have its enclaves, that must be acknowledged. Small happy islands of Soviet-inspired master planning that, for a brief stretch of time, transformed certain shantytowns into public housing, like Tor Marancia.

In fact, I’ve never heard anyone from Shanghai not proudly say they grew up there. Sovietist hair, however, can be traced back to a kind of national-popular double cut. But then we all know, from Instagram, the technique of the peripheral barber needed to achieve it. Never have explanatory videos appeared on Instagram for the qualitative achievement of North Rome hair.

And so one of the founding principles of Masonry—the oath of secrecy—begins to surface. The asphalt laid over the territorial conquests of Anglo-Saxon Masonry inadvertently gives rise to a pact of secrecy among those who know the products, the techniques, or the places (the barbers, perhaps?) needed to achieve perfect hair in every circumstance.

Masonry justifies the pact of secrecy by saying that if information were revealed to the masses, the lodge would be dismantled. The self-styled “based” know that the pact of secrecy exists only to give an informational edge to those who enter Masonry, because they possess knowledge denied to the masses.

The same goes for the hair. The boys of North Rome do not reveal their techniques because then the perfect haircut would become accessible even to the nomadic mafiosi of South Rome, now cut off from the Anglo-Saxon chain of energy, making them aesthetically equal. Unacceptable.

The chain of power must always remain clear, and obedience to the higher rank must never be withdrawn.

Pacts of secrecy are always exciting. Both in keeping them and in breaking them. And one way of letting information leak out is through the sexual exchange by which the men of South Rome can extort it from the women of North Rome.

A very rare occurrence, since usually the opposite happens, but not an impossible one.

In the confessional of the bedroom, during a post-coital cigarette, the woman may reveal the technique, the products, and the places needed to obtain North Rome hair.

This is the only viable path, since woman is the fleeting, explosive feminine element that breaks order and ushers in the new. It is pure movement, anti-stagnation. Only through woman—who maintains her power over man precisely because she knows his secret information—can knowledge be liberalized, especially knowledge of the mechanisms that preserve the order and rigor of the colonizer.

The extortion of information through sex is something James Bond films teach us too. This is what still happens to certain gamma boys from South Rome, who simulate in the name of the liberalization of knowledge.

They scientifically decide to fornicate with the beta females of North Rome and have them recount, for instance, that Rome was divided in two in the postwar period: Anglo-Americans in the north and Cosa Nostra in the south, following the agreements made for the Allied landing in Sicily.

And so it turns out that the north passed from British hands to American ones, while the south was left in the hands of Cosa Nostra and the Sovietists, who by anthropological tradition have more in common with the Jewish instinct to scatter and flee. The Briton, by contrast, with a colonizer’s mindset, builds long-term infrastructure because he does not foresee his own departure.

To discover the deep secret of North Rome hair is equivalent to discovering that the richest part of our country is bankrolled by our tormentors, corrupt functionaries of a system of colonization that passes through the builders of Anglo-Saxon lodges.

In central Rome, by contrast, an unexplored front opens up. The Holy See still holds sway there, dividing the vicariates with the Parisians. But central Rome is another story. Central Rome, in fact, oozes bohemian entrails. The hair of central Rome has greasy, lifeless sebum. Then of course, as you move farther and farther north, you also encounter that strange union between Anglo-Saxon and French Masonry, where the only difference lies in whether or not one is subject to a certain type of smoking habit.

Let us continue with our potion: Lycée Chateaubriand, Trinité-des-Monts, Sacré-Cœur—property of the French state, run by religious institutions tied to France. Beside them stands the College of the French Pious Fathers. Palazzo Farnese. Villa Medici. San Luigi dei Francesi. The Protestant Cemetery. The Swiss Guards (Romandy). All of them are meridians of the strong pact between the Vatican and Paris.

But that is another story.

It is the story that generates the ineffable radical chic in all their nuances. An obvious sign of proximity to the highest spheres of creation, first among the sefirotic and sebatic emanations of this beautiful city of mine, which hosts the most beautiful hair in the world. The hair of the Eternal City—eternally sebaceous—which, without too much noise, hosts the tables of negotiation and encounter between the planetary powers above and below.

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The Masonic Shadow Over North Rome Hair