By Gabriel Harmetz
In the U.S., graduation is a solemn parade of speeches, robes, and tassel flips. But in Italy, la laurea is anything but solemn. It’s equal parts academic milestone, ancient ritual, and public roast—with laurel crowns, prosecco toasts, and plenty of good-humored humiliation.
The most iconic symbol is the corona d’alloro, a fresh laurel wreath worn by every new graduate—dottore or dottoressa, as they are all called—after they have successfully defended their thesis. This tradition dates back to Ancient Greece and Rome, when laurels signified victory and intellect. Today, they’re adorned with red ribbons, berries, and department-specific charms. Friends might pluck a leaf for good luck, hoping it brings them closer to their own graduation.
The academic process itself is no walk in the park. Italian students must orally defend their thesis (tesi di laurea) in front of a faculty panel—often with friends and family watching. It’s a rigorous grilling that ends with a final score out of 110 (with 110 e lode being the highest). Once the committee proclaims the degree, the fun—and the chaos—begin.
The most outrageous and important tradition is the papiro, a massive handmade poster created in secret by friends. Written in rhyming verse (often in dialect), it recounts the graduate’s most embarrassing stories, romantic disasters, and personal quirks. The new graduate is forced to read it aloud in a crowded public square—stumbling, laughing, and often pausing to drink or sing when prompted. Some friends post the papiro around town for maximum exposure.
In places like Padova and Venice, papiri line riversides and student squares. Padova’s traditions are especially rowdy—there, graduates jump a ceremonial chain at Palazzo Bo to mark their exit from student life. In Bologna, the oldest university in the world, students chant “Dottore, dottore!” while playfully kicking the graduate through the city streets.
Graduates are also dressed in outlandish costumes: wigs, superhero outfits, clown gear. Friends might douse them with flour, eggs, or shaving cream, or assign them bizarre tasks—reciting tongue twisters, eating raw garlic, or impersonating professors.
Each city has its own graduation superstitions, too:
- In Bologna, never climb the Torre degli Asinelli before graduating.
- In Naples, med students avoid the Cristo Velato statue.
- At Bocconi in Milan, students steer clear of the campus lions.
- In Pisa, don’t visit—or even circle—the Leaning Tower.
These rituals, especially strong in historic universities like Bologna, Padova, and Ca’ Foscari in Venice, are more than just pranks. They’re a joyful blend of reverence and irreverence—a way of saying: you’ve earned your degree, now don’t take yourself too seriously.
Compared to the polished choreography of American commencements, Italy’s laurea celebrations are wildly personal, defiantly silly, and unforgettable. One part toga party, one part oral exam, and one part street theater—it’s a graduation you’ll never forget.
