The Italian language is full of colorful words and expressions, and any learner (from beginner to advanced) knows that. We Italians naturally understand them, but for everyone else? They are confusing, at best.
We like to call them “untranslatable”: words and expressions that are so tied to Italian culture that English people end up fumbling. But let’s be honest: everything can be translated… eventually. You just, sometimes, need a whole paragraph and maybe a gesture or two to get the point across. And even then, the translation itself might not completely explain the meaning!
Have you ever eaten a huge plate of pasta at lunch and felt your eyelids droop with alarming determination? Congratulations! You’ve experienced abbiocco.
This is a very recognizable sensation: the entirely predictable wave of sleepiness that hits right after a generous (not to say exaggerated) lunch, especially if it’s rich in carbs. But it’s not just “being tired,” and it’s not just “drowsiness” either. It’s like a biological step. Food goes in, you temporarily shut down.
As for the translation, English throws “food coma” at us. But you know what? It’s not quite the same. A food come sounds dramatic and exaggerated, something that happens only after Thanksgiving dinner. Abbiocco, on the other hand, is softer. And it’s a daily thing. After all, if you eat your share of pasta for lunch every day you cannot not experience it!
Every family has one. Every friend group too. You probably know one. And if you don’t know one, maybe you are. I’m talking about a “pantofolaio,” basically someone who has turned staying home into an art form.
It’s not just a lazy person, but it’s someone who genuinely prefers the comfort of their own house and living room: slippers on, social obligations off.
The English “couch potato” comes close in meaning, but it’s somehow too narrow. This expression, indeed, conjures the image of someone glued to a TV and surrounded by junk food. A pantofolaio, instead, may not even watch TV while at home. They may be pursuing a hobby, studying, cooking, or anything else. The point is, they just prefer their own peace to the world outside. And to enjoy that, they have no problem turning down plans they never wanted in the first place.
Ok, not even most Italians know this one word, but it’s still an Italian word right? And it confuses everyone equally so it’s just fair to bring it to the table.
Culaccino actually has two meanings. And they are two very specific meanings (though they are not related at all):
In English, you can choose words like “dregs,” “last sip,” “water ring,” “condensation mark,” “wet ring on the table,” and so on. But, again, there’s no one word that can exactly translate it into English. And, clearly, there’s no single word that covers both ideas at the same time either.
Do you know that person who insists on correcting the tiniest details nobody else even noticed? That’s what Italians would call puntiglioso.
This beautiful adjective describes someone who gets stuck on little points: the type who will stop an entire conversation to clarify a minor detail or re-adjust a picture frame by two millimeters because “it was driving me crazy.” They are not wrong (in my personal opinion of the most “puntiglioso” person ever) but it can be exhausting for other people.
In English, you can try “meticulous,” “fastidious,” “nitpicky,” or even “pedantic,” but none of these carry the exact meaning. The Italian word implies a certain stubbornness , almost a moral duty to fix every tiny imperfection. It’s not just precision, it’s precision with unwavering and irritating determination.
If there’s one word that makes learners stop and go “Seriously? You really have a word for that?”, it’s sprezzatura. Which, by the way, is the art of making difficult things look easy, natural. You know, that “I didn’t even try” attitude… right after you spent hours or days doing your best. Like a friend that looks effortlessly stylish even though you know they spent half an hour adjusting their hair to look “naturally messy.”
And the fun thing? It was described way back in the Renaissance, when Baldassarre Castiglione described it as doing everything with a kind of studied carelessness.
Translating it into English is tricky. No single expression carries the perfect blend of poise and intentional effort hidden behind chill. You can say "effortless elegance” or “nonchalance,” but they both feel like they miss something. And the same goes for any other alternative you can find, trust me.
Ever seen an Italian swipe a piece of bread across their plate to wipe up the last precious bit of sauce from their plate? That’s scarpetta, and it’s the best way to conclude a meal (fancy restaurants excluded of course).
So, how do you translate it in English? You don’t, really. You can try all you want but you end up with something like “mopping the sauce with bread.” And it sounds more like a kitchen chore than savoring the last delicious moment of a meal. You could even opt for “wiping the plate” and I don’t need to tell you why it doesn’t sound right, do I?
The English phrasing strips away all the joy and appreciation embedded in the gesture, no matter how hard you try. It just doesn’t sound delicious enough.
Apericena is a relatively new word, but it’s already inseparable from modern Italian culture. Just like “brunch” is born from breakfast and lunch, “apericena” comes from aperitivo (that pre-dinner drink-and-snack moment) and cena (dinner itself).
The idea is pretty simple: you meet for drinks early in the evening (let’s say between 6PM and 7.30PM) and you end up eating enough food to count as a full meal. And I’m not talking just about chips and peanuts; what Italians eat at apericena are pasta, risotto, rice salads, focaccia, pizza, cold cuts, cheese, and sometimes even dessert.
Now back to English. “Happy hour” focuses too much on drinks and clearly not enough food. Then, maybe “buffet”? Too generic. Plus, it doesn’t capture the social, stylish vibe. And, you know, calling it “light dinner” kinda feels like an insult. So what does English have? Nothing but long explanations. Meanwhile, Italians say “apericena” and everyone knows exactly what’s going on.
If happiness had a sound effect, something between a chuckle and a satisfied hum, that would feel exactly like gongolare feels like.
This verb describes indeed that kind of joy that bubbles up from inside you and shows on your face in the most transparent way ever. It’s the feeling of being pleased with yourself, sometimes even a little too pleased. And sometimes it’s also you being pleased at someone else’s slip up (sorry not sorry).
The problem arises when you try to translate it into English. “Rejoice”? Nah, too formal. “Gloat”? Too malicious. “Be delighted”? Definitely too mild. “Beam”? It focuses only on the smile and not on the feeling itself. None of them captures the slightly smug, almost childlike glow of gongolare. You may understand the feeling, but the language? It doesn’t wrap it up as neatly.
Among the best (or worst) untranslatable Italian words, an honorable mention goes to “qualunquismo.” Why? Because of its political baggage.
Qualunquismo comes from an actual political movement (and this alone gives an extra layer of context that English cannot encode) and describes a very specific belief: politics is useless, all politicians are the same, and participating in civil life is a waste of time. It’s like a deep-rooted cynicism mixed with tiredness.
To express it in English, you’d need something like “political cynicism” or “generalized anti-politics attitude.” But can you see how much they sound like academic footnotes? They miss the everyday tone of the Italian word: the almost resigned, almost fed up, and almost “why bother?” You can explain it, sure, but it can’t shrink into a single perfect noun.
Do you know that feeling in your throat or chest when sadness suddenly hits you? Or when you’re overwhelmed by nostalgia or worry? It’s kinda difficult to fully describe right? Well, Italian people went ahead and turned it into a single accurate word: magone.
English, just like other languages, tries its best to capture this emotion but it does not quite succeed. You could try with “deep sadness,” “heavy heart,” “a pit in your stomach,” or even “lump in the throat,” but each of those only describes so far. It’s like you’re always missing a piece of the puzzle, because magone is all of it at one.
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