From communication to literature, through a personal journey of courage, awareness, and rebirth. Naked with clothes on (Graus Edizioni), the Italian-Brazilian writer Aline Improta proposes a work that intertwines autobiography, reflection, and personal growth, offering readers concrete tools to look within themselves and rediscover their authenticity.
Recipient of numerous cultural and literary awards, Aline continues to promote a culture based on listening, education, and emancipation. In this interview, she discusses her journey, the meaning of her book, and her belief that everyone can find the strength to write a new chapter in their life.
You spent many years telling other people's stories as a journalist and ghostwriter.What was the biggest challenge in going from being the voice behind the scenes to becoming the protagonist of your own story?
For many years, I've chronicled the lives of others. As a journalist and ghostwriter, my job was to enter people's worlds, understand them deeply, and find the right words to give voice to their stories. I felt comfortable behind the scenes, because there, the protagonist was always someone else.
The biggest challenge was accepting that I could no longer hide behind the words of others. Talking about yourself is much more complex than talking about anyone else. When you write your story, you can't protect yourself with technique or professionalism: you must have the courage to be authentic.
For a long time, I was afraid of judgment. I wondered if it was right to expose myself so much, then I thought back to everything I'd done for other people until recently.
Paradoxically, it was precisely the years spent listening to other people's stories that prepared me to tell my own. I understood that every person harbors an invisible battle, and that it is precisely wounds, when consciously navigated, that transform into the most powerful bridges to others.
Write Naked with clothes on It meant finally stepping out of the shadows and taking responsibility for my own voice. It wasn't a change of profession, but a shift in perspective. I stopped being simply the narrator of other people's lives and became a witness to my own, with the hope that, through my story, others would find the courage to recognize themselves in their own.
Today, I believe that sharing one's story isn't an act of self-expression, but an act of service. Because when someone has the courage to say "this is my truth," they also give others permission to do the same.
You were born in Brazil and live in Italy, how much does this double belong?Has this cultural difference influenced your way of seeing the world, writing, and talking about people? And what do you feel you've learned from each of these two countries?
My story has greatly influenced the open-mindedness and empathy with which I've approached the world and people. Being born in one country, Brazil, as in my case, and growing up in another, Italy, meant carrying within me two worlds, two cultures, two ways of life.
Over the years, working across Italy and in multicultural contexts, I began to understand that we human beings function in the same way: we are a mosaic of our historical era, our DNA, our culture, our religion, and our family. What we call identity is nothing more than the result of these factors. This helps you see diversity with different eyes: those of understanding.
This awareness has made me a deeply curious, empathetic, and open person. It has taught me to never stop at someone's behavior, but to always ask myself the story behind it. This is precisely the perspective with which I write and describe people today. For a long time, I also wondered what my life would have been like if I had stayed in Brazil. Would I be the same woman? Would I have the same values, the same dreams, the same sensibility? Probably not.
When I returned to Brazil after many years, I had a surprising feeling: I realized that Naples, the city where I grew up, is in many ways the “South America of Italy.”.
It may seem like an unusual statement, but living in both realities, I recognized the same humanity, the same intense way of experiencing love, the centrality of family, the welcoming nature, spontaneity, creativity, resilience, and that extraordinary ability to transform even hardship into vital energy. These are peoples who, though separated by an ocean, speak an incredibly similar emotional language.
From that moment on, I began to delve deeper into the study of cultures and collective identities. Even today, I still enjoy observing how, even simply by following Brazilian and Neapolitan creators on social media, similarities continually emerge in gestures, humor, ways of communicating, and relationships. It's as if there were an invisible thread connecting these two lands.
This reflection has become so important to me that last April I decided to dedicate an event to it entitled Roots and Identity, an opportunity to discuss how our origins influence our way of being and, at the same time, how possible it is to build an identity that transcends geographical boundaries.
As I also write in Naked with clothes on, Today, I feel profoundly fortunate that, of all the places in the world where life could have taken me, I grew up in Naples. A complex city, full of contrasts, yet capable of teaching me the value of humanity, empathy, and the ability to be reborn, just like Brazil. Perhaps it is precisely thanks to the encounter between the Brazil of my origins and the Naples of my upbringing that today I look at the world with curious eyes, without prejudice, and with the desire to understand before judging.
Telling such a delicate part of your story requires courage. How did you experience theWhen did you decide to share your experience with international adoptions from Brazil with the public?
More than courage, at first I felt great fear. For years I had shared other people's stories, while my own had remained silent. Talking about my adoption meant exposing myself completely, removing all protection and accepting that such an intimate part of my life would also become the heritage of whoever would read the book.
The question I asked myself most often was: "Am I ready?" Then I realized the right question was: "Can my story be useful to someone?" From that moment on, fear stopped being the focus of my decisions.
Sharing this part of my story was also a way to give voice to many people who are experiencing similar questions to mine.
I wanted this story to also be a testimony and, in part, a historical denunciation. Even today, too little is said about what happened during the years of international adoptions and how, behind many of these stories, there are complex scenarios of poverty, inequality, economic interests, and events that deserve to be known and explored in greater depth. Many adopted children don't even know where they really come from or the circumstances that led to their adoption.
I believe each of us has the right to know our own history. Not to live anchored to the past, but because only by reconstructing the puzzle of our origins can we truly understand who we are.
Awareness doesn't change what happened, but it profoundly changes the way we choose to look at it and live our present. When I look back on that decision today, I no longer think about the courage it took to tell my story. I think about the freedom I found in doing so. Because when we stop hiding the most authentic parts of our history, we also stop letting them define us. It's at that moment that the past stops being a burden and becomes a resource, capable of giving meaning not only to our lives, but also to those of others.
In Naked with clothes on the reader is not limited to knowing your story, he is invited, through reflections and practical exercises, to look at himself within to rewrite one's own. Why was it important for this book to become not only a testimony, but also a concrete tool for personal transformation?
I wrote Naked with clothes on with a very specific desire: I didn't want the reader to simply learn my story, but, through mine, to find the courage to encounter his own.
Today, more than ever, I believe people need to return to themselves. We live in an era where we're constantly connected to the outside world, yet increasingly disconnected from our inner world. We rush, produce, and consume content, chasing goals and expectations, but we rarely stop to listen to what we truly feel.
My story is just the starting point. The true protagonist of the book is the reader and the journey they choose to embark on within themselves. If, upon reaching the last page, they have discovered something new about their life, their wounds, or their value, then the book will have achieved its purpose.
Personal transformation doesn't begin when we change jobs, cities, or relationships. It begins when we change the way we look at ourselves. And this is precisely the journey I wanted to offer: an invitation to remove, one at a time, all those "garments" of fears, conditioning, and expectations that often prevent us from expressing who we truly are.
In recent months you have received numerous literary awards and recognitions. Beyond personal satisfaction, what...What meaning do you attribute to these goals and what responsibility do you feel towards your readers?
Naturally, every author wants their book to reach as many people as possible. Copies sold are important because they allow a message to spread and a mission to reach ever further. But, to be honest, the success that excites me most is another: seeing the human value of what I've written recognized.
The first awards, Stories of Women – Female Excellence and Communicating Europe, arrived a few months after the release of Naked with clothes on, They were a wonderful surprise. I didn't see them as a point of arrival, but as an invitation to do even better, to continue writing with authenticity and a deep sense of responsibility.
The press conference at the Chamber of Deputies further strengthened this conviction. In that moment, I clearly perceived that those who write not only have the privilege of telling stories, but also the responsibility to contribute, in their own small way, to the cultural and human growth of society.
I believe that we writers and communicators have a duty that goes beyond the pages of a book: to put our talents at the service of people. Words can leave a mark, shift a perspective, spark a question, offer comfort, or inspire a new beginning. This, for me, is the greatest form of success.
To my readers, I feel a responsibility above all: to always be authentic. I never write to follow trends or gain popularity, but to offer content of real value that can guide people on their journey of growth. If even one person, after reading my book, is able to look at themselves with greater awareness or take a step toward personal evolution, then I feel I've honored the reason I started writing.
You argue that “growth is not about becoming someone else, but aboutand finding the courage to go back to being yourself.” If you had to leave a message to Italian women living in the United States, and who every day try to reconcile identity, family, work and cultural roots, what would it be?
When I say that growth isn't about becoming someone else, but about finding the courage to go back to being yourself, I mean freeing ourselves, little by little, from other people's expectations, imposed roles, prejudices, and even the cultural labels that define us before we can even tell our story.
It's not easy being a woman, and it wasn't even easier to live with the appearance of a foreigner. I know this well; I lived in a country where being a Brazilian woman is still shrouded in labels and prejudices. I clung to the role of the wounded person for a long time, convinced it was now my only identity. Until I realized that nothing around me would change if I didn't change. I overcame this conflict when I began to see the richness of being many things at once in the same person.
To all Italian women living in the United States, I would like to remind them that their roots are not a burden to bear, but a strength to draw from. We often think that to integrate, we must leave a part of ourselves behind, but I believe that true strength lies in doing the opposite: carrying our roots with us and, at the same time, having the courage to grow new branches.
Our job isn't to choose which version of ourselves to show. Our job is to learn to embrace them all. And when you live in a society different from your own, this ability becomes even more valuable.
After the success of Naked with clothes on, whichWhat are your upcoming projects? Are you already working on a new book, or are there other initiatives you'd like to pursue?
Naked with clothes on It was the beginning of a journey. It confirmed to me that people today have a profound need to return to themselves and rediscover the meaning of their own history. This is why I'm already working on my second book, One like me, unique like you.
If the first book was born from the desire to tell the journey into one's own identity, the second arises from an even bigger question: what does it mean to be a woman today?
In an age where we are constantly pushed to chase models of perfection, performance, and approval, I feel the need to bring attention back to what really matters: our essence.
One Like Me, Unique Like You is an invitation to rediscover the value of uniqueness, sisterhood, kindness, vulnerability, and self-love.
These past few months, I've been working on the final chapter, the one I'm most emotionally attached to. It will be a collection of true women's stories. Women of different ages, professions, backgrounds, and life paths, but united by their ability to transform their wounds into awareness. I deeply believe that every time a woman finds the courage to share her story, she reaches out to another woman who, perhaps, until that moment had felt alone.
That's why I'd like to take this interview as an opportunity to extend an invitation. If any woman would like to share her story with me, I'd be happy to hear it. I'll carefully consider publishing some of these testimonies in the book. It would be an honor to transform this project into a collaborative narrative, because I believe that stories have an extraordinary power: not only to be read, but to change the lives of those who encounter them.
