Just in case you missed it or you’re still a disbeliever, SIZE REALLY DOES MATTER. I can say this with some degree of confidence because life experience tells me so and because I just did a speedy tour through Hong Kong, Bangkok and Dubai, and the proof that XXL beats petite is everywhere you look. Drive from Causeway Bay to Wan Chai, gaze up from the motorway as you cross the Thai capital or do your very best to look away at Dubai Airport and you’ll be confronted by billboards, LED screens and whole sides of office towers selling vehicle models that you’ve likely never heard of from brands you’re only becoming vaguely familiar with. Make no mistake: out-of-home advertising works like no other – especially when the billboards are longer and taller than a Boeing 777. After 72 hours in three Asian mega-hubs, I’m starting to change my long-held belief that China can build products but not brands. 

BYD is not going to win any typography or art-direction awards for its communications around new launches but once you see enough animating screens backed by logos on actual vehicles in the traffic of Sukhumvit, you can see the problem for those sitting in Wolfsburg, Torino and Nagoya. As recently as five years ago, Thailand’s out-of-home ad landscape was filled with special-edition campaigns for the new Toyota Hilux, Hyundai family van or entry-level BMW. As of Friday evening in Bangkok, I couldn’t see one ad for a non-Chinese brand. The Germans have all but vanished from the ad landscape and from the streets. Yes, there are some fancy Thai ladies driving G-Wagons and execs being shuttled around in S-Classes and Alphards – but it’s the dwindling number of Japanese and South Korean vehicles that is most surprising. 

For sure, deep discounts at dealerships are part of this story but not the entirety. Zeekr, GWM and Chery make some good looking cars, even if many models are glowing examples of China’s disregard for the concept of intellectual property. While waiting for the shuttle at Dubai Airport, I was introduced to the Omoda and Jaecoo brands and their latest SUV and crossover offers. From pillars along moving sidewalks to screens outside bathrooms and concourse-long posters, Omoda was everywhere I looked and by the time I was about to get on the train to connect me to gate B30 and my flight to Lisbon, I was becoming a convert. Who wants a Toyota Land Cruiser when Jaecoo offers this? “Explore outdoors with your pet. Best in class, pet-friendly material & easy to clean.” Never mind the catchy copy, there’s also Ludmila in the driver’s seat wearing an impossibly tight ivory polo neck with her little pooch, Sergei, perched on her lap. Both of them are looking towards the heavens. Are they plane spotting? Are they waiting for the next Emirates flight to land from Moscow? Or is that a Ukrainian drone in the distance? 

As media buying goes, the Omoda and Jaecoo crowd (no idea if this is a Land Rover/Range Rover type of brand mix) knows their audience in the UAE – the group next to me from Kazan was snapping pictures, chattering away and looking on with a blend of approval and puzzlement. Were they pondering the same question that I was? Is this the final boarding call for the German, Japanese, South Korean and Italian automakers? Or were they possibly wondering if Ludmila’s ivory polo was also made from pet-friendly material and easy to clean? Then again, they might well have been considering whether a panoramic sunroof is a good or bad idea for monitoring those pesky incoming armed drones. 

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a Londoner in possession of a lunch hour must be in want of a decent meal. And yet it’s not every lunchbreak that you can order a steak and hear it sizzling seconds later. Nor is it every day that you can walk away from a sturdy midday meal of meat and two veg feeling both satisfied and strangely smug. But change has come to the high street: canteen-style dining is back and this time it’s healthy, high-end and served at high-speed. 

Spots such as Farmer J and The Salad Kitchen have sprung up around the metropolis like wildflowers in a spring meadow and Londoners are frolicking among them. But perhaps this isn’t surprising. As the pace of our lives has picked up and al-desko dining became depressingly common, office workers have realised that a walk and a warm lunch counts as an act of self-care. As one health-conscious Canadian colleague noted over his Farmer J “fieldtray” of brown rice, cashew kale miso slaw, spiced-date sweet potatoes and amba chicken with green tahini: “If you’re not eating healthy on Tuesday lunch, when are you eating healthy?” 

In an age when we’re surrounded by “sometimes” foods, Brits are belatedly learning the feel-good properties of nutrients that aren’t sealed in fried batter or plastic triangles. Hence why Monday-to-Friday workers and the hybrid hordes alike are now looking to make the most of their days in the office. “When people come into town now, they’re willing to spend more on lunch,” says Simon Stenning, industry analyst and founder of Future Foodservice. “They want something more exciting, more nourishing – fewer meals out, but better ones. People know that they’re spending more but they also know what they’re getting.”

For The Salad Kitchen, which opened its first outlet in 2014, the surge in popularity has seen its revenue double each year since 2021. Pass by any of its premises in the Square Mile during the lunch rush and you might confuse the queues for a Guinness World Record attempt at the largest gathering of gilets. But beware of pitying the hungry office workers mindlessly marching toward a square meal – Londoners love a queue, a lunch queue doubly so. 

For this isn’t just about the food so much as the strange mix of structure and escapism. There’s comfort in the choreography. You join the relative order and serenity of a London line made up of people who seem like they can keep their houseplants alive and didn’t scoff a block of chocolate before bed. There’s camaraderie in the collective pretence that any of us know what “amba” is. You shuffle along, answer questions with single-syllabic responses and semi-conscious nods. Mercifully, the decisions are so few that vacillation is easily avoided. 

Stenning notes that there is also a strong “pleasure principle” at play. In other words, the “treat yourself” syndrome – a chronic ailment for this writer. And Farmer J is surely playing to the pleasure seekers. It’s the kind of place where everything is “elevated”, including the price. But what’s a few extra quid here and there? The answer: a lot more there than here. Nevertheless, you’re back the next day. 

Concerningly, this new lunchscape could spell trouble for industry leaders such as Pret a Manger and Itsu as they get lost between premium canteen offerings and the holy trinity of the supermarket meal-deal. Londoners are loath to give up the latter: the streets remain replete with people juggling a sandwich in one hand, crisps in the other and a drink lodged somewhere in between. It’s not just a meal, it’s a pastime. So why bother with an overpriced Pret baguette when you can get an inexpensive meal-deal or pay a few extra pounds for a rainbow salad so vivid that it could hang in a fauvist exhibition? It’s a small extra cost for a dish that someone actually put some effort into. At Farmer J they’ve even gone to the bother of giving every item a backstory: every chickpea comes with a CV, every roasted cauliflower boasts a robust provenance. I wouldn’t even be surprised if the ponzu sesame broccoli had a podcast – did you listen to Florets of Wisdom this week?

It’s being called the quick-service restaurant revolution but canteen-style dining is hardly new – it’s just had a makeover. Many private businesses now have their own canteens, The River Café began in just such a fashion. And when Leon launched it pitched itself as healthy fast food in a similar vein. So perhaps we’re witnessing more than just the comeback of the canteen, we’re seeing the return of the lunch hour not just as a meal but a moment. An hour to slow down and check in with yourself, your community and your colleagues. It’s the office crowd’s small rebellion of individual sovereignty. If the system is going to occupy our minds, we might as well reclaim lunchtime for the body. 

And yes, I’ll probably go back tomorrow – because somewhere between the queue, the tray and the medium-rare steak, I’ve convinced myself that I’m making good life choices. And honestly, maybe I am.

Matich is Monocle’s digital sub editor and a contributor.

It will be a very different LGBTQ Pride month this year in the US – the first since the return of Donald Trump to the White House and the implementation of his anti-diversity initiatives across every element of government and society. There’s no blueprint for celebrating a month acknowledging a minority group when diversity initiatives have essentially been outlawed. Grave consequences potentially await companies and institutions that support diversity, equity and inclusion programmes. But while the American public is still ready to fete the queer community throughout June, the private sector has become far less sanguine.

According to Heritage of Pride, the organiser of New York’s annual pride parade, 25 per cent of corporate donors have cancelled or reduced sponsorship this year, which can run from $7,500 to $175,000 (€6,600 to €154,000). Long-time supporters such as PepsiCo, Nissan, Citi, Mastercard and PricewaterhouseCoopers are not returning to this year’s festivities. Other brands are trading marquee sponsorship deals for lower-profile parade booths and product placements. 

Brewing company Anheuser-Busch has ended its PrideFest sponsorship in St Louis, and the same goes for spirits giant Diageo in San Francisco. Such moves not only threaten to reduce the size of Pride events in June but also broader outreach efforts by festival organisers throughout the year. Perhaps most worrisome, nearly 40 per cent of companies plan to reduce internal Pride programming over fears of White House retribution. As Fabrice Houdart, executive director of the Association of LGBTQ+ Corporate Directors, recently told The New York Times, “there are a lot of companies saying ‘I won’t engage on anything LGBT-related because I don’t want to find myself being a target.’”

While this year’s corporate retreat may feel regressive – if not foreboding – the shift does offer a much-needed reset for a Pride industry that many LGBTQ activists felt had become more concerned with celebrating capitalism than sexual liberation. Grassroots groups such as the Dyke March and Reclaim Pride Coalition have long held alternative, “protest” Pride events – the latter under the banner: “NO COPS, NO CORPS, NO BS”. 

Even if it’s possible, ending Pride’s reliance on private sector largesse won’t be simple. Nor will it be easy for Trump to ignore the millions of LGBTQ people and allies that are expected to pour into Washington as it holds the biannual WorldPride event over the next two weeks. Hilton, Delta and Amazon are all listed as sponsors, though the extent of their contributions remains unclear. Even skittish companies such as home-goods retailer Target – which faced a backlash over its Pride fashion collection in 2024 – are finding ways to support LGBTQ causes while still avoiding White House ire: Target will reduce its visible brand presence at New York’s Pride march while still contributing cash to the event. Ultimately, of course, the show will go on. And for all the backroom corporate tussling, there remain few shows with the scale and spectacle of Pride. 

As the third edition of Lisbon Design Week kicks off across more than 90 venues today, it’s clear that Portugal’s craft culture is the event’s defining strength. Running until Sunday, the event focuses less on polished brands and sleek product lines, and more on the tactile stories behind each piece and participating project. 

While other European creative scenes trade off their industrial manufacturing prowess, a lack of major furniture brands and clearly established career pathways means that many Portuguese designers pay more attention to materials, techniques and connection – to the land, to traditions and to each other. The result is a creative culture of experimentation and learning by doing. For many, this involves stepping away from computer screens and into workshops, where artisans take a hands-on approach to making furniture and objects, exploring traditional and innovative techniques with freedom.

For Portugal-based French designer Noé Duchaufour-Lawrance, this allows him to explore beyond the expectations of his established practice. His “Made in Situ” project – on show at Lisbon Design Week – creates designs using a location’s raw materials and knowhow of local craftspeople. Such work doesn’t allow production at scale but still finds a market as a new generation of interior designers seeks to furnish projects with pieces that reflect a sense of place. The heads of international buyers are also turning as they look to take away a slice of the Iberian peninsula.

This year’s edition of Lisbon Design Week also encourages collaboration between collectives such as Bora and Luso Collective, the latter founded by Tomás Fernandes and Natasza Grzeskiewicz (pictured above left), and disciplines from wood and glass to ceramics, textiles and metal. Visitors benefit from these exchanges too, with much of the week’s programme unfolding in working ateliers where audiences get to meet people rather than brands. Even in commercial venues, the directive is to host a maker and shine a light on a craft: event attendees will be able to see ceramicists working in the windows of real-estate offices while showrooms stage live tapestry stitching.

Such events are a reminder that, unlike other European design capitals, Lisbon’s design scene is typically more intimate, open and accessible. And while there is still plenty of room for growth and professionalisation, as well as more top-down support, staying close to its craft roots has paid off so far. 

Lutz is Monocle’s Lisbon correspondent. For more design news and analysis, subscribe to Monocle today.

There have been many calls for resistance against president Donald Trump since he returned to the White House in January – but surprisingly little action. New York, however, appears to be stepping up and taking the fight against executive overreach to the streets – literally. 

Just weeks before Trump’s inauguration, New York introduced the most expansive congestion-pricing scheme in the nation. Under the plan, drivers travelling below 60th Street are now charged $9 (€8) during peak hours – 05.00 to 21.00 on weekdays and 09.00 to 21.00 on weekends – and $2.25 (€2) during off-peak hours for the “privilege” of driving below Midtown. Viewed as an eco-friendly, pedestrian-friendly and cyclist-friendly revenue-raiser, congestion pricing brought in a respectable $159m (€140m) in its first three months of operation, according to New York’s Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA) – well on its way to reaching the $500m (€440m) goal set for its first year. The money will go towards new subway infrastructure along with closing the MTA’s projected $3bn (€2.6bn) budget deficit. 

First proposed back in 2019, congestion pricing has not been without controversy: a group of small-business owners filed a suit in February 2024 to halt its implementation over fears that it would hurt restaurant traffic. But backed by both New York’s state governor, Kathy Hochul, and New York City mayor (and avid cyclist), Eric Adams, the pricing plan commenced this year. And that’s when Trump stepped in. 

Within weeks of his inauguration, the White House pulled the federal approval for New York’s pricing plan granted by the Biden administration back in May 2023. The move was not entirely surprising – in 2019, Trump held up federal approval amid fights with then-governor Andrew Cuomo over immigration reform. New York, it seems, needs White House support for the scheme because it includes highways that receive federal funding.

Five years on, Trump has returned to Washington and congestion pricing has emerged as a high-profile power struggle between frustrated big-city progressives and a regressive (and repressive) White House. The latest flare-up played out this past week when New York ignored a third White House deadline to end congestion pricing — with little to suggest that it will pause the programme anytime soon. The White House, however, appears to have had enough, with secretary of transportation, Sean Duffy, threatening to freeze federal funding for Manhattan transport projects as early as 28 May if the scheme is not paused.  

Hochul, for her part, appears unmoved. “Congestion pricing is lawful – and it’s effective. Traffic is down, business is up and the cameras are staying on,” her spokesperson said last week. The numbers are clearly on Hochul’s side: since congestion pricing began, New York has seen two million fewer car trips per month, according to the MTA, while public transport ridership is up. Most crucially, according to Hochul’s office, rather than businesses such as restaurants and theatres seeing declines in the “congestion” zones – they have actually seen an increase in reservations and sales.

Despite the gripe with Trump, other US cities are taking note of New York’s congestion-pricing wins as they weigh up the implementation of their own traffic tolls. San Francisco, in particular, could take the plunge as it faces major budget shortfalls for its beleaguered public-transport system, which has yet to fully recover from pandemic-era declines. 

In the meantime, all eyes will be on Manhattan this coming week as it faces the first real test of its White House defiance. Without federal support, New York’s already ailing subways will fall into further decline. But this time, rather than blaming Covid, New Yorkers – who overwhelmingly support congestion pricing – will have a more tangible target for their ire: one Donald J Trump. 

Kaufman is an editor and columnist for the ‘New York Post’. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

Bom dia from Zürich, where the sun is shining, the white port is flowing and our HQ on Dufourstrasse is bustling with visitors from across town, Switzerland and around the world. Off the back of our Portuguese market in London, some of the country’s most interesting craftspeople and brands have set up their stalls to not only dispense olive oil, woven rugs, ceramics, jewellery and garments but also to tell the contemporary story of “Made in Portugal”.

To kick things off on Friday eve we were joined by Portugal’s ambassadors to Switzerland and the UN mission in Geneva, along with the Swiss director for Visit Portugal. After a brief discussion about the Iberian nation’s role in the world, its manufacturing dynamism and a few travel tips, the conversation shifted, as it often does, to why a country that makes everything from cars to ships and drones to sweatshirts has not yet managed to produce a global retail powerhouse or fashion brand? How could it be that a country that manufactures so many implements for the Swiss-watch industry (not to mention the provision of manpower to staff factories up and down the Jura) has not managed to produce its own homegrown watch brand? Unsurprisingly, the answers were varied. So too the solutions for getting Portuguese brands on more shelves and spinning in showrooms across the globe. 

“We’re makers, not marketers,” suggested a Portuguese Monocle subscriber based in Zürich. “That’s the problem. We’re solid Catholics but we never inherited any of the brand flair of the Vatican.” After a few more glasses of white from the Algarve I overheard a small group of Portuguese from Geneva suggesting that bureaucracy and taxes stifle entrepreneurship, while a diplomat said that there’s too much focus on the making and not enough on the power and margins that come with intellectual property.

If you pick up the June issue of Monocle, you’ll encounter a new Portuguese player who just might be on the runway (literally) to becoming a global brand in the defence-and-security space. While Tekever didn’t take a stand at our market (wouldn’t have been a bad idea as we had enough military types in attendance), they are fast making a name as the drone supplier of choice to forces around the world – while proving that ingenuity mixed with some PR clout can not only raise a brand’s profile but also create a beacon to inspire other upstarts across Portugal. Should you not be in the market for high-altitude surveillance over the Atlantic, then you might want to check out a few of the following brands for your larder, beach tote, wardrobe or dining table. There’ll be much more from Portugal over the coming weeks and months as new issues land on newsstands, stories hit screens and interviews go out on Monocle Radio. Obrigado.

Here’s what happens. We send the magazine to press on a Monday and then, about a week later, we get to see the first copies in our various offices. Next, they start dropping on subscribers’ doormats before finally nudging their way onto news-kiosk shelves around the globe. It takes roughly two weeks to get to this point – two weeks in which anything can happen. Two weeks during which history, life and twisting news cycles can connive to derail the considered reporting that you committed to print.

And “derail” was the perfect word when, several years ago, we ran a story previewing the launch of the epic London engineering project, the Elizabeth line, only for its inauguration to be cancelled. It was another two years before the story came good. Our enthusiasm for brand Germany and belief in the prowess of German engineering also left us in a similar predicament when we produced a guide to the supposedly about-to-open Berlin Brandenburg Airport.

The new June issue of Monocle is just completing its journey to newsstands and once again fate – events – have intervened.

A few weeks ago, I was talking with Alexis Self, our foreign editor, about whether “soft power” had had its day. In such a brutal news landscape, were diplomats, governments and institutions really going to care about using culture, for example, to make friends and gain influence? Soft power was a term made famous by Joseph S Nye, who worked to promote the concept at the heart of US government and, latterly, at Harvard University. So Lex contacted Nye, who happily took on the commission, delivering, on time, a defence of soft power, as well as a clarification about what it actually is.

But in those two weeks of waiting for the magazine to make it to the newsstand, Nye died. He was 88. What to do? This is where digital news can help in some ways – we immediately published his wise words on monocle.com. When I saw his writing in the magazine, it seemed to have taken on even more power, to be even more pertinent. Soft power has been a key theme at Monocle and so I am proud that some of Nye’s final thoughts on the topic are in the issue, in ink. I hope that you read his story.

Timing has also had an effect on our lead report in the June issue, written by our executive editor Christopher Lord. Formerly our editor in the US, Chris recently returned to San Francisco to meet Jony Ive, the man who designed many of Apple’s most successful products before setting up his own studio. In recent years, Ive has also been involved in a project to revive a key part of downtown San Francisco and was keen to show Chris what he’s been up to. Chris delivered a great story about both urban renewal and Ive’s character. And then? This week a $6.4bn (€5.6bn) deal was announced that will see Sam Altman, founder of OpenAI, purchase Ive’s hardware start-up. It couldn’t be a better moment for us to have had this access to Ive, who is suddenly the man of the moment.

Today, when we need to run with a fast-changing news agenda, we have Monocle Radio, The Monocle Minute and our new, improved monocle.com to ensure that you stay informed. Yet when I see the issue, turn its pages, I know that print is not static; it’s not trying to stop time. It’s live. Across its pages in every issue, Monocle offers up an ever-changing world; unpacks places and people with commitment – and that comes with some risks but that’s OK.

US architect Jeanne Gang established Studio Gang in 1997 and has since built an expansive portfolio of parks, community centres and public institutions. She has also picked up numerous accolades – among them Monocle’s civic, commercial and cultural architect of the year award in 2025 – and is presenting work at the Venice Biennale’s 19th International Architecture exhibition. Key projects include Populus, a new hotel in Denver with a green roof and distinct white façade, and Verde, a residential tower that doubles as a social hub for a new San Francisco neighbourhood. Both are outstanding examples of Gang’s approach to practice, which seeks to connect people, their communities and the environment.

Tell us about Studio Gang’s approach to architecture. Do you have a defined system that you apply to all of your work?
Our core principles come through in how we approach every project, starting with context and what’s already on site. That doesn’t just involve the environment but also people, geology, history and existing buildings. The goal is to work resourcefully, reusing what’s available. It’s about making architecture less wasteful and more rooted in ideas that build on what already exists.

Where do you see opportunities for architects to improve?
Lowering carbon emissions is a huge priority. There’s always more that we can do by using fewer materials, working with existing structures and reducing reliance on concrete and steel. But it’s also about designing buildings that don’t become obsolete. At our Populus project in Denver, for instance, we rethought how it engages with its surroundings. Instead of a big underground parking garage, we focused on creating active street-level spaces.

How do you avoid banality in architecture?
A big challenge in large-scale developments is uniformity. When everything is built at once, it can feel too homogeneous. A great neighbourhood develops over time, with layers of history, adaptation and evolution. But when you don’t have that advantage, you have to think about how to make a neighbourhood exciting and resilient in a short period of time. One way to do that is by balancing specificity and adaptability. A good example is our Verde tower in the Mission Rock neighbourhood of San Francisco, where we led a cohort of architects to ensure cohesiveness. We also worked with them to introduce small-scale interventions in the public spaces, such as seating, fountains and lending libraries, which make the area more engaging. If you design for the human scale – the things that don’t change, such as light, air and movement – you create something flexible and full of character.

Do you see sustainability as designing buildings that serve multiple purposes?
Yes, because good design should always do more than one thing well. It’s not about making a purely sculptural form, it’s about form doing work for the project. Take Populus, again. Many buildings today are entirely made of glass but we designed the windows on this tower differently. Inspired by aspen trees, these windows have a depth that directs light, reduces glare and sheds water. Some of the windows also function as built-in interior seating, making them an integral part of the indoor experience. Sustainability isn’t just about materials or energy use –  it’s also about how a building interacts with its surroundings. If a place is designed well, people will want to be there and they’ll develop a sense of care for it.

Your projects always seem to consider the space around them, not just the buildings. Why?
Even when designing a single building, we consider how it connects to the city and shapes movement through a place. That’s why I love working with landscape architects. They think in terms of time – how spaces will grow and change, how people will interact with them over decades. That perspective is valuable in architecture too. Designing for longevity isn’t just about durability, it’s about creating places that people want to return to.

Monisse is Monocle’s design editor and a former landscape architect, a fact that he’ll seek to share with you at any opportunity.

Stockholm 
It’s Sunday morning and we’re heading out for a stride around the city. The route is generally the same every visit and takes in sturdy embassies, funkis-style apartment buildings, a local shopping mall for a coffee and a spin around the grocery store, a few large parks and then more fine residences and diplomatic compounds. 

Before heading out I ask the gentleman running reception if the weekend papers have arrived and he says that The New York Times in print is a thing of the past in Sweden and that he doesn’t know when the FT Weekend will show up. “It should have been here by now but you never know these days,” he says with a frown. “Everyone wants a newspaper on the weekend and we’d like some alternatives but there aren’t any.” We exchange a few more words on the topic and as I head for the door he says: “Maybe time for you to launch one, Tyler.” 

The idea occupies my thoughts for the rest of the walk, the weekend and the past week. It’s not the first time that I’ve considered the idea but 18 months ago, with other projects on the go, I took it off the back burner, put it in an airtight container and placed it at the rear of the fridge. Now I feel that it needs to thaw out and get some air. Would you buy an English-language paper or are you happy with your current offer? Do you even need paper with so much available on screen? Does it need to be delivered or would you make the trip to the kiosk to secure a copy? On my way back to the hotel I pass the newsstand on Karlaplan plaza and there’s a healthy stack of the FT Weekend piled up at the cashier. I grab two copies (one for Mom too) and head back to the hotel. I’m happy to tuck it into my tote for the trip to Bahrain but something is missing.

Dubai International Airport 
It’s just after midnight on Monday morning and I’m waiting for my connection to Bahrain. The Emirates First Class lounge is sprawling and not a thing of beauty. It’s too bright for the hour, it’s understaffed and there are few places to properly recline. One thing the carrier does well is support its local printers by offering an array of editions from all corners of the world – but there’s something missing here, too. What is the English-language news outlet for the Gulf in print and digi that’s best in business, culture, style and more? Is it Abu Dhabi’s The National? Supposedly things are happening at the Khaleej Times but I can’t find a copy. Is this another media opportunity?

Bahrain 
What a gentle landing – in more ways than one. The airport is human scale and I’m off the plane, through customs and into the car in about five minutes. It’s around 03.00 and the football pitches are full of young men kicking balls around but the route to the hotel is reasonably quiet. I’m greeted by Mohammed, a well-groomed Bahraini, who shows me up to the room and tells me that all is prepped for what promises to be a busy day ahead. I snatch about five hours of sleep, meet my colleagues Davy and Mikey and off we go. Bahrain is not Qatar or the UAE or Oman – it’s tiny, easy to manage and by midday I’m starting to like it. 

Down some streets I feel like I might be in Beirut’s Hamra and then there are flashes of glitz and the Gulf as we know it. The working day ends with a few hours at the barber and then shifts to dinner at the just-opened Brasero Atlántico and rolls onto an impromptu house party at a wonderful 1980s villa in Yateem Gardens complete with 02.00 shawarma delivery. 

Bahrain is generous, welcoming, dense in parts and wide open in others, scruffy in some corners while perfectly polished elsewhere. I like it, I want to see more, meet more Bahrainis and explore more modernist compounds – but the flight to Dubai, then on to Paris, is boarding. More soon. 

“Where are we headed?” asked a moustached man in a Saville Row suit so sharp that it would have made Tom Wolfe feel underdressed. “Haven’t the foggiest,” said a tall gent in a pith helmet. “But someone’s in charge, surely?” No one was. But that was precisely the point of this saunter sans purpose. And so the accidental leaders of some 100 dandies ambled off – perhaps by muscle memory – in the direction of Soho.

Granted, the intrepid duo didn’t have far to go. The Grand Flaneur Walk, organised by Chap magazine and now in its fifth year, starts at the statue of Beau Brummell in St James’s and has no set destination. Brummell, the quintessential 19th-century dandy who spent a mere five hours getting dressed each day, once said that “to be truly elegant one should not be noticed.” By that logic, this writer was among the event’s most elegantly invisible participants. It’s hard to stand out when the person next to you is wearing a floral-patterned Gucci suit with a straw boater and the serene expression of someone who has never heard of cargo pants. Another attendee was dressed like an 18th-century corsair after a particularly lucrative raid: period buckle shoes, velvet dress breeches to the knees, a waistcoat that looked incomplete without a pair of flintlock pistols and a cravat accessorised by – wait for it – another cravat. Even London made an effort with a day adorned in clement May sunshine.

Gustav Temple, editor of Chap, was busy distributing lapel pins and posing for photographs. “It’s getting bigger each year,” said Temple. Indeed, the 100-strong crowd was big and bright enough to have been Instagrammed from orbit. “But the interesting thing is that people are dressing better too, every year they’re raising the bar.” 

That bar was somewhere between Soul Train and an Edwardian séance. Floating through London like a flotilla on the Thames, the procession of flâneurs had come from far and wide to kick it with their kin. An American woman flew in from Munich just for the stroll, so too a contingent from Italy. “There has to be some way for us to parade,” Temple added. “I just wish we hadn’t gone down Shaftesbury Avenue. But a true dandy accepts.” 

Soho, however, was a fitting backdrop. The district’s dandified history was close at hand as the procession drifted past Meard Street, once home to Sebastian Horsley, whose unauthorised autobiography, Dandy in the Underworld, shows the lengths some will go to stand out from the crowd (Horsley had himself crucified in 2000). One is reminded that dandyism isn’t just about dressing up. It’s a reaction against tired trends and feed-filling algorithmic conformity, a refusal to be boring or – God forbid – generic. 

The dandy, once presumed drowned under a high-street tsunami of lycra, puffer jackets and sweatshop-made sneakers, is today sauntering toward a 21st-century comeback, albeit at a suitably meandering pace. From museum exhibitions to last week’s Met Gala theme of black dandyism, the figure’s 21st-century incarnation is reasserting the right to overdress for absolutely everything.

Beneath the panama hats and parasols there was something sincere. At one point in the limbo between pub pit stops, someone produced a clutch of scotch eggs and distributed them among the crowd. The cry went round: “One should never saunter on an empty stomach!” Nothing is too high nor too low for dandies, all the world’s their stage – or in this case, their snack. Far from snobbish, the event’s overarching mood was supportive and celebratory – individuals enjoying a rare jaunt together as a tribe. 

One exquisitely dressed dandy, whom Monocle was assured had never been seen without a waistcoat, was saying his goodbyes when someone entreated him to fix a small frill of leather that was starting to fray from the handle of his vintage cane. “Oh goodness me,” he said. “I’ve let the side down.” He hadn’t. Next year, the tribe will return – lapels pressed and cravats aplenty, sauntering proudly without purpose. 

Matich is Monocle’s digital sub editor and a contributor.