“Positano is never likely to attract the organdie-and-white linen tourist. It would be impossible to dress as a languid tourist-lady—crisp, cool white dress, sandals as white and light as little clouds, picture hat of arrogant nonsense, and one red rose held in a listless white-gloved pinky. I dare any dame to dress like this and climb the Positano stairs for a cocktail. She will arrive looking like a washcloth at a boys’ camp. There is no way for her to get anywhere except by climbing.”
—Harper’s Bazaar, May 1953