Hello 👋 Welcome to Finocchio.
Hi! Welcome to Finocchio. This is the newsletter for nuanced, vulnerable storytelling that reflects the depth and delight of modern queer life.
With each edition of Finocchio, I share stories about my life as a queer American in Italy. You’re just as likely to hear about a spicy side quest as you are a wholesome journey to my ancestral homeland.
TLDR: It’s like “Eat, Pray, Love,” meets “Heated Rivalry.”
What to know about author Mike De Socio
I’m an award-winning writer and author. I’m also an American-Italian dual citizen.
I grew up in New Jersey with grandparents who immigrated from Italy to America for a better life, and carried with them the traditions and recipes of their homeland. In other words, my childhood was steeped in red sauce and Catholic guilt.
In 2016, I was lucky enough to study abroad in Venice, where I spent four months living above the best pastry shop in the city (fight me!) and learning about the art history of that magical place. The experience inspired me to seek dual-citizenship, a six-year process that acquainted me with the sheer absurdity of Italian bureaucracy, but yielded my shiny red passport in 2022.
In 2025, I finally leapt into life abroad, making a new home in the very fashionable (and very queer) metropolis of Milan.
Why you should subscribe to Finocchio
When you subscribe, you don’t just to get my stories in your inbox: you become part of the joyful queer experience that I’m creating here.
Receive wholesome (and often hilarious) stories about navigating life as an American in Italy.
Dive into discussions about non-monogamy, sex, body image, and consent—without fear or judgment.
Read stories that reflect the many multitudes we contain as queer people, and appraoch every topic with the nuance it deserves.
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What’s with the name Finocchio?
Ah yes, I’m glad you asked.
Finocchio is the Italian word for fennel (yes, the vegetable), but it has a cheeky double-meaning. In Italian slang, finocchio can also serve as an insult akin to f*ggot.
Oddly enough, I grew up hearing this word all the time, not because it was being thrown around as an insult, but because my family often served finocchio at the dinner table, and I always loved it.
So here I am, grasping this lovely little word for both of its meanings: As an ode to one of my favorite vegetables, and as a reclamation of a slur I intend to imbue with pride.
