This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
Based in Treviso, Italy, Riccardo Sorgato (@ricsrgt) oversees Operations at Totem Automobili and manages his own collectible vehicle brand, Obsessive Car Disorder. His life is defined by a 360-degree immersion in the automotive world, balanced by interests in music, skiing the Dolomites, and an emerging focus on health and nutrition. Guided by a “buy once, buy well” philosophy, he believes in investing in quality goods that foster a lasting connection between the product and the owner. His approach to work and style is rooted in authenticity and the conviction that true elegance should remain discreet rather than defined by a label. As a personal signature, Riccardo still keeps the Micro Machines that first sparked his passion for car design in his bedroom today.
What are your main passions and how do you cultivate them?
Finding time for hobbies isn’t always easy, but I try to nurture the interests that have shaped me. Music is one of them; I’ve been playing guitar and bass since I was about ten years old. I’m also an avid skier; whenever the weekend allows, I head to the Dolomites to recharge on the slopes.
Lately, fitness has evolved from a simple routine into a true passion. I’ve become fascinated by the “scientific” side of sport, spending my free time studying health and nutrition. During Covid, this even led me to start a small Instagram channel called RicSpecials, where I occasionally share “fit” recipes.
I’m actually very interested in merging what I’ve learned in the high-end automotive sector with the wellness world. My vision is to utilize our complex automotive supply chain—which is used to solving technical vehicle dynamics—to create gym equipment or wellness objects for the home. The idea is to apply the same stylistic standards we champion globally: obsessive attention to detail and the use of noble materials. I’m a firm believer in the “buy once, buy well” philosophy. Whether it’s a car, a piece of clothing, or a well-engineered piece of gym equipment, investing in quality avoids unnecessary spending and builds a lasting connection between the person and the product.
How did your passion for cars start?
I’m a child of the nineties, born in 1992. My earliest memories involve my two older sisters monopolizing the TV, forcing me to watch whatever they chose. Back then, commercials were different—the screens were flooded with toy ads. Like many kids of that era, I was obsessed with Micro Machines, and I actually still keep them in my bedroom today.
I remember a tiny Porsche 959 in a “banana yellow” 1970s livery that I absolutely adored. I had a Ferrari Daytona and a little F40 too, but even then, the silhouette of the 911 was the thing that truly captured my eye.
My first real ride in a Porsche was with the father of a friend, in a 996 Carrera 4 Cabrio—Arctic Silver with a blue interior and top. From that moment on, I was hooked on the 911 and every iteration that followed.
Around age twelve, I even had a brief but intense fascination with 1950s American car design. It was sparked by my love for Elvis Presley and the rebellious world of rock and roll. Seeing Elvis behind the wheel of those incredible Cadillacs led me to collect models and buy my first books on automotive design. I was captivated by how different American design was from what we were doing here in Europe.
What began as a purely aesthetic interest eventually evolved into a professional journey. I believe we always gravitate toward what we are passionate about. Passion subconsciously pushes you to build certain relationships and spend your time in ways that eventually lead you exactly where you’re meant to be. For me, that place was Totem.
How did you first develop an appreciation for style?
I believe that anyone passionate about style or fashion is, at their core, passionate about aesthetics. Aesthetics manifest in many ways, whether it’s horology, architecture, or shoes, but it serves as the common thread connecting them all.
In my house, we breathed style. My father describes our family as “strassari” (rag-traders); he ran a company producing for third parties, so from a young age, I saw him bringing home samples of everything from denim to jackets. My mother and older sisters further influenced me with a focus on “dressing well.” I grew up in a classic Northeast Italian family founded on hard work, where presentation mattered—the kind of home where if I have five millimeters of unkempt beard, they would jokingly tell me “go sleep somewhere else!”
My style journey involved a lot of experimentation. During middle school, I went through a “rap” phase, which led me to explore what we now call streetwear—Nike Dunk Lows, Air Jordans, and eventually Vans once I started skateboarding with friends. Even then, I found myself becoming attached to brands with a story to tell. I didn’t care if a shoe was the best-constructed in history; if I was skating, I wore Vans because they reflected that narrative.
By high school, I started moving away from logos and flashy brands. I remember a quote from Valentino that became something of a religion to me: “elegance shouldn’t be recognized by the label; the label should stay inside the garment.” I began wearing classic sweaters and shirts, and learned that not all wools or cuts are equal in terms of quality.
When Instagram began to take off during my university years, the first person I followed was Alessandro Squarzi. He opened my eyes to the world of raw denim—14-ounce fabric so stiff it could almost stand up on its own. I abandoned the pre-washed, “fake” look of mainstream brands to seek out authenticity. This obsession took me around the world, from visiting Naked & Famous in New York to exploring the incredible shops of Japan.
I’ve always valued local heritage, too: I used to wear friulane, velvet slippers from my home region, very often—long before they were popular on social media or luxury boutiques; lately, however, I almost stopped. In fact, I have a bit of a quirk: the moment I see something I love becoming a mass trend, I usually stop wearing it. I prefer the style to remain personal.
The moment I see something I love becoming a mass trend, I usually stop wearing it. I prefer the style to remain personal.
What does “being well-dressed” mean to you?
To me, being well-dressed is, first and foremost, a form of self-respect. It means choosing garments that truly reflect your personality and make you feel right. When you feel good in what you’re wearing, the clothes act as a catalyst—they help you feel more confident and allow you to give your best in every situation.
Ultimately, dressing well is about staying true to what you believe. It’s the art of translating your internal values into something visible to the world, ensuring that what people see on the outside is in perfect harmony with your character on the inside.
What has been your most memorable or adventurous trip, and what made it so special?
It was during my university years, a journey I took with my cousin Jacques. We took two motorcycles that his father had bought new in his youth: a rare 1969 BMW R75/5 American Roadster with the chrome toaster tank, and a first-series R80 GS from 1981, which still had the optional kickstart alongside the electric button.
I was riding the R75/5, and it was quite a sight: I had my Penny board skateboard strapped to the seat and a vintage military rucksack of my father’s that I’d rigged up as a makeshift pannier. Inside, I kept my running shoes, because even in the wild, I wanted to keep up my ritual of a sunrise run, this time by the sea.
We circumnavigated the island clockwise from Olbia. There was no itinerary. We had a tent just in case it rained, but mostly we just rode, stopped for a swim whenever we felt like it, and kept going. I discovered a Sardinia I never knew existed—far beyond the polished Costa Smeralda. We crossed desert-like landscapes, slept in an old tuna fishery in Carloforte, and ended up sharing drinks with an army sniper at Capo Mannu.
The most unexpected part was the shift in mindset. I’m usually someone who can’t leave the house without a morning shower; I hate the feeling of unwashed hair. For the first two days of sleeping on beaches and riding through the sweltering heat in denim jackets and long jeans for protection, I was in agony. But by the third day, something clicked. I felt a profound connection with the elements. The salt on my skin wasn’t something to wash away anymore; it was part of the experience.
It reminds me of trips to Panarea, where the locals walk everywhere barefoot. At first, it’s painful, but after two weeks, putting shoes back on feels like a cage. These “Into the Wild” experiences reconnect you with a primordial dimension we’ve largely lost in modern life. That’s what I look for in an adventure: a chance to strip away the superfluous and just exist within the landscape.
If you have made a significant career change, can you describe it? What motivated that decision?
Have you ever made a choice and then, hours later, felt that nagging doubt? You tell yourself, “At worst, I’ll just turn back.” But when I made the most pivotal decision of my career, that doubt never arrived. I remember it was a week of terrible weather, but despite the external gloom, I felt an incredible sense of clarity inside.
Let’s rewind for a second: I studied law because, from a young age, I had an almost stubborn sense of right and wrong. I was the kid in class defending whoever was right, even if it meant clashing with professors. I carried that into my legal practice, starting even before I graduated, and I eventually landed at a prestigious firm specializing in commercial law.
But I soon realized that in law, “right or wrong” isn’t the point. What matters is how good you are at making your client’s rights prevail. If you have a strong moral compass, you start at a disadvantage. I saw colleagues stuck in a world of appearances while struggling to make ends meet, bickering over a few hundred euros.
The shift happened during a trip to New York for my mother’s 60th birthday. Standing in that city, I asked myself: “Am I really going to sacrifice all of this just to spend my life looking at the world through the same office window?” I had spent seven years sacrificing everything for a degree that didn’t even come easily to me.
So a few months later, I walked into my boss’s office and resigned. I remember his response perfectly. He said, “Riccardo, I felt the same at your age, watching my friends in business buy cars and houses while I earned next to nothing. But the difference is, I drive a Range Rover now and they’re still in the same cars they bought back then.” That statement was the final nail in the coffin. It perfectly illustrated the “white-collar” world of status and appearances that I wanted to escape.
Shortly after, I found my way into Maserati, breaking into the automotive world. For a man, entering the car industry is as competitive as a woman entering high fashion; you need a mix of awareness and the courage to take a leap.
My path hasn’t been linear, but I’ve come to value that “discontinuity.” I found a lot of resonance in Alessandro Benetton’s book, La Traiettoria. He argues that questioning your path to see if it still aligns with who you are becoming is crucial. Today, I’m certain it was the right move. I’m no longer just looking through the window; I’m out on the road.
Questioning your path to see if it still aligns with who you are becoming is crucial.
Is there a particular item in your wardrobe or accessory that holds special meaning for you?
Without a doubt, it’s a Rolex Submariner 1680 from 1979. My father bought it for himself as a gift for his 18th birthday, so for as long as I can remember, that watch was on his wrist. I have this vivid memory from when I was very small: the dining table felt so tall back then, and at the end of dinner, my father would always ask me to sit on his lap. He’d hug me with his left arm, and as I sat there, my right hand was free to do what children do best—touch and break things. I would spend hours just turning the bezel of that watch.
He’s the kind of person who truly embodies the concept of making things last, whether it’s a pair of Tricker’s boots he’s worn for twenty years or a car he drives until it’s buried in mileage, and he wore it every single day, through everything: working in the garden, at the office, at the beach, in the shower. He never took it off, and he certainly never lent it to anyone. But on the day I graduated from law school, he took it off his wrist and said, “This is yours now.”
Right now, I don’t have an easy relationship with my father, and to me, this watch is like a “Horcrux” of memories, a piece of my carefree childhood and a symbol of his love that I carry with me, even if I’d never admit that to him directly. I wear it rarely nowadays, mostly at home where I can just look at it and appreciate it. My daily life often involves things like jumping into a van to pick up a last-minute delivery of metal from a supplier, which isn’t exactly the right environment for such a watch, but having it near me is enough.
What’s the most unusual job you’ve ever had?
For about six months during my fifth year of university, I worked as a dishwasher. It was a challenging period; my family was going through some financial difficulties, and I had to find a way to make ends meet. My schedule was intense: I’d wake up at 4:30 to study, work all day at a law firm until 7:00 PM, and then study again late into the night. To scrape together the extra money I needed for tuition and to help my parents, I spent my weekends in the kitchen.
I worked in the back where no one could see me. My colleague was a Moroccan chef in his fifties who had emigrated to Italy years before. He spoke perfect Venetian dialect, and I loved talking to him. Our worlds couldn’t have been more different; most of my friends from private high school and university were children of wealthy entrepreneurs, yet here I was, scrubbing pots alongside a man working himself to the bone to put his own children through school.
I remember the first time I drove past that pub with my friends. They had no idea how much I was struggling at the time. I looked at the door and felt a deep sense of shame at the thought of going inside to ask for such a humble job. It’s hard to admit now, but I was embarrassed.
However, that experience taught me more about life than any law book ever could. I realized that every job has its own merit. It pushed me to meet people I never would have encountered otherwise and opened my eyes to realities I had previously ignored. It was a vulnerable time, but looking back, I’m grateful for it. It gave me a perspective on grit and humanity that I carry with me into my job today.
What are your three favorite books and why?
The first is Shoe Dog by Phil Knight. This book was essential for my personal growth. When I was younger, I was hot-headed and easily frustrated when things didn’t go my way. I struggled through law school because when the finish line feels that far away, you just want to quit. Shoe Dog taught me how to “run the race.” I never used to be a runner, but during a difficult period in my life, I started running specifically to train my brain to handle discomfort. Around the same time, I began working on the Totem project. I learned that you can’t “microwave” success. If you want something beautiful and lasting, it takes time, like the sauce your grandmother lets simmer for eight hours. We see giants like Nike or Apple and forget there was a 25-year calvary behind them. This book reminds you not to rush and, above all, not to give up.
The second is Enzo Ferrari by Brock Yates. I am fascinated by what lies behind great personalities. This book perfectly illustrates the power and the cost of obsession. Enzo Ferrari’s life shows that if you pull the rope tight on your professional ambition, something else has to give. It’s incredible to see how a rejection from Fiat turned into a fire that drove him to outdo everyone. It teaches you that “No” is often a more powerful motivator than “Yes.” We all want the easy path, but the denials we face are what truly force us to grow and reach our goals. Beyond the historical value for any car lover, it’s a study in resilience.
And finally, the third one is Fall of The Florios (The Lions of Sicily) by Stefania Auci. This is more of a “relaxation” book, though it still appeals to that entrepreneurial spirit I can’t quite turn off. It tells the story of the rise of the Florio family (of Targa Florio fame). It’s a nice piece of literature that shows how simple ideas can be transformed into empires and monopolies. It’s the kind of book you read when you want to switch off your brain but still feel inspired by a legacy built from the ground up.
What are your three favorite restaurants and why?
I’m not a fan of Michelin stars or “over-dressed” restaurants. I prefer places with history, where the owner is always there, and the atmosphere feels like a warm embrace. If you find yourself in the Veneto region, these are the three places where you’ll truly understand our culture of conviviality.
First up is Antica Trattoria al Castelletto (“Dalla Clemi”). It’s an institution, famous for its antipasti, a continuous flow of traditional dishes like vitello tonnato and classic tomato bruschetta that you share around the table. It’s incredibly iconic; even Alessandro Benetton mentions it as the setting for pivotal conversations with his father. It has stayed exactly the same for years, and that consistency is its greatest strength.
Then Dai Nemici in Cittadella, a little gem I discovered recently. It’s a beautiful spot where they specialize in “forgotten” traditional dishes that you rarely see on menus anymore, like quinto quarto (offal) and tripe. Everything is served in small portions on those vintage white ceramic plates with the blue cursive writing and borders, typical of 1960s Italian osterias. The staff wears Hawaiian shirts and speaks the local dialect; it’s authentic, loud, and full of soul.
Finally, Teo Chef in Bassano del Grappa. The restaurant is run by a real character—Teo looks like a cross between a samurai and a sumo wrestler, often emerging from the kitchen in a Rambo-style bandana. He cooks contemporary dishes deeply inspired by tradition. When you sit down, they bring out warm, homemade bread with whipped butter that is so good you could almost stop right there. It’s the perfect place to treat yourself to an incredible meal without the unnecessary frills of a formal restaurant.
