The UK’s Frasers Group – owner of discount sportswear chain Sports Direct – has announced the acquisition of British department store Harvey Nichols from administrators. Frasers paid a measly £40m (€46.8m) for the retailer’s six shops across the UK, as well as its e-commerce platform and international franchises. 

Unsurprisingly, many are concerned about the acquisition, including Harvey Nichols’ some 1,000 employees, luxury brand partners and the industry at large. Frasers founder Mike Ashley has a long track record of buying troubled fashion companies at low prices without a solid plan on how to revive them. Frasers has always specialised in discounting or high-street businesses and any attempts to dabble in luxury have so far failed. Department store chain Flannels opened an Oxford Street flagship in 2019 with big ambitions to create a luxury shop for a new generation. Yet it hasn’t managed to sustain interest, despite the area’s high foot traffic, or convince labels to get on board. The group also bought Matches Fashion, which entered administration a mere three months later. The collapse of Matches pushed many independent brand partners, which were left unpaid for large orders, to the brink of bankruptcy. 

Now there are industry-wide concerns that history might repeat itself, especially because Harvey Nichols has racked up pre-tax losses of £190m (€222m) over the past six years. Ashley has even admitted to the Financial Times that the business is on “a death spiral”.

The difference here is that Frasers is inheriting a history that spans nearly 200 years (Harvey Nichols started as a linen shop in 1831), as well as one of London’s most coveted retail locations between Sloane Street and Knightsbridge. In its heyday in the 1980s and 1990s, the retailer was firmly established in pop culture – with references in the beloved Absolutely Fabulous series – and managed to strike a fine balance between the grandeur of a department store and the intimacy of a neighbourhood shop. Luxury brands, from Loewe and Valentino to Gucci, have also continued to see value in maintaining presence on Harvey Nichols shop floors across the country. 

Over the years, the company has failed to keep up with changes in luxury retail. Selfridges has mastered the art of retail theatre, while Harrods has targeted high-net-worth customers, particularly from the Middle East, with private shopping suites and exclusive collections. CEO Julia Goddard (who joined in 2024 from Alexander McQueen) and creative director Kate Phelan, have been rebuilding momentum, with revamped jewellery and interiors concepts on the ground floor of the London flagship, refreshed campaigns and one-of-a-kind partnerships with the likes of Los Angeles-based beauty retailer Violet Grey. Now there is an opportunity to form more partnerships with international brands looking to increase their London presence and serve the mid-tier luxury customer. But it will take time and investment – two of the most important ingredients in any business model. 

To return to profitability, consolidation and closures of some of the regional shops will also be inevitable: Frasers CEO Michael Murray already spoke of the “tough choices” that he is willing to make. But if Murray plays it smart and keeps experts such as Goddard and Phelan close, he might be able to restore the reputation of this historic British retailer – and finally gain the luxury industry access that he and Ashley have long hoped for.

Unesco’s decision to inscribe Aalto Works – a series spanning 13 landmark Alvar Aalto-designed sites across Finland – on the World Heritage List has been widely celebrated in the late-modernist architect’s homeland. Many locals believe the designation will act as a catalyst for tourism and regional investment, cementing Finland’s reputation as the spiritual home of human-centred modern design. Though the decision brings these architectural marvels onto Unesco’s ledger, it’s not entirely clear whether freeze-drying evolving spaces is what Alvar Aalto, or his co-designers and partners Aino and Elissa Aalto, would have wanted for their legacy.
 
Firstly, there is the glaring question of upkeep, considering that so many of the sites are in a precarious state of repair. Take the National Pensions Institute Headquarters in Helsinki. My recent walk through its red-brick and copper-clad halls confirmed that it requires far more than a cosmetic touch-up. Official estimates indicate that restoration will cost between €130m and €170m. In Imatra, the Church of the Three Crosses has suffered such severe moisture damage that sections have been cordoned off for safety reasons. The problem is not unique to Aalto’s buildings but their new status does make the question harder to sidestep. 

Signing the World Heritage Convention legally commits Finland to protect and maintain these sites in good condition. But Unesco supplies global prestige, not cash. Meanwhile, Finland’s austerity-minded government has introduced sizeable cuts to public-sector funding and is unlikely to foot the bill. The hope is that private foundations will step in, though relying on philanthropy to cover a multi-million-euro shortfall is always a gamble. 
 
Then comes the tricky question of access. Civic accessibility was a core tenet of the Aalto studio’s philosophy, yet several newly listed sites remain off-limits to everyday visitors. The Kela headquarters remains an active administrative workspace for Finland’s social insurance institution, meaning that its interior is closed to the public (unless you happen to be a Monocle journalist pulling strings for a private tour). The Sunila Pulp Mill residential area in Kotka (which Monocle visited in Issue 166) is a neighbourhood of private homes, and residents can hardly be expected to welcome tourists peering through their windows, even in the world’s happiest nation. Meanwhile, the Muuratsalo Experimental House on an island near Jyväskylä is reachable only via guided boat tours during a brief summer window. 

Now, Unesco does not mandate open-door policies for all heritage properties, it only requires host countries to “present and promote” them. In Finnish policy circles, this has been pragmatically interpreted as ensuring that people can physically reach the grounds and gawk at the exteriors. That might satisfy those penning the fine print but does a view from the outside truly do justice to Aalto’s legacy? Alvar, Aino, and Elissa designed total environments. Buildings such as Villa Mairea in Noormarkku are just as extraordinary on the inside, where tailored lighting and bespoke furniture prove just as inviting as the surrounding lawns and swimming pool.
 
Beyond the logistical concerns, there’s a philosophical dilemma: is institutional preservation really what Aalto would have desired? The Aaltos designed their buildings to evolve alongside society. While Unesco has grown more flexible regarding adaptive reuse, its guidelines still stipulate that listed structures must retain their original materials, craftsmanship and composition. This creates an awkward tension for buildings conceived to respond to changing circumstances. Forward-thinking studios are working to navigate this fine line between Aalto’s ambitions and today’s regulations —most notably Snøhetta, whose ambitious masterplan for the Paimio Sanatorium balances wellness with conservation. Still, it will be difficult to ensure that rules do not turn these once-revolutionary living spaces into architectural relics.
 
Ultimately, Unesco’s nod is a mandate for active, imaginative civic stewardship. And yes, that requires financial resources and a more democratic approach to access. If Finland treats these 13 sites merely as museum pieces preserved behind velvet ropes, it risks betraying the very pragmatism that made Aalto’s architecture revolutionary in the first place. 
 
Petri Burtsoff is Monocle’s Helsinki correspondent. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
 
Further reading:
– Snøhetta unveils plan to transform Alvar Aalto’s Paimio Sanatorium into ‘Finnish Camp David’

– Collector by chance: How Pertti Männistö became one of the world’s most accomplished Alvar Aalto archivists

– Inside the restoration of Alvar Aalto’s Sunila housing estate

Update 13 August 2026: Donald Trump has announced that Karoline Leavitt will step down from her role as White House press secretary. Trump wrote in a social media post that Leavitt will be “departing her role at the end of the month so she can spend more time with her beautiful young children and family. Karoline will now be one of my top outside advisors, and an influential voice within the Republican Party, as we work to defy History, and conclusively win the Midterm Elections.”

Leavitt commented that her time in the role has been “the honor and adventure of a lifetime”, saying “It has been a privilege to serve alongside so many accomplished and impressive people, and I look forward to cheering them on over the next two and a half years.”

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When asked a tricky question related to the US cost-of-living crisis by a reporter last year, president Donald Trump knew exactly who to turn to: his press secretary, Karoline Leavitt, who happily obliged with a full-throttle defence of the president’s economic record. So devoted did she seem to her boss’s cause that Trump’s visiting dignitary that day – the now former Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán – quipped that he would like to hire her. In the intervening months, even as Trump’s rhetoric has tipped towards the genocidal and messianic, Leavitt’s dedication to her boss has not wavered, earning her both praise and scorn.

With Maga-blonde locks and an angelic face that can instantly transform into the glare of a loyal attack dog, Leavitt has become one of the most recognisable figures of Trump’s second administration. Utterly committed to the Make America Great Again cause, the 28-year-old is the youngest person in US history to step up to the White House press podium – and is arguably one of its best. She is quick-witted with a pitch-perfect grasp of her commander-in-chief’s messaging and appears to share his deep disdain for many of the reporters who she goes into daily battle with. 

White House press secretaries have always held a higher profile than their counterparts in other countries, which is unsurprising given the fact that their boss is often considered the most powerful person on the planet. But there is also something uniquely American about the performative nature of the job, with telegenic personalities relishing combative back-and-forths with an equally ego-heavy press corps. Try to name any other press secretary in the world and you might be able to conjure up Alastair Campbell – the spokesperson and communications chief of former British prime minister Tony Blair between 1997 and 2003 – who took a similarly combative approach. After which, you would likely be stumped. 

I was a member of the Brussels press corps for five years, and the EU had a host of spokespeople, all of whom were picked for their blandness and inability to create anything resembling news. In the many other countries where I have reported as a journalist, press secretaries exist as conduits for public statements, regurgitating sound bites while keeping the media at arm’s length from those in positions of power. Trump’s approach is different. He speaks to the press regularly, whether it be in the back of Air Force One for an informal chat with travelling media or fielding questions during Oval Office sit-downs. He even picks up the phone for chats with reporters, with the roster of journalists with his personal mobile number growing by the day. So, Leavitt’s job is not so much to act as a gatekeeper for the president but as an amplifier of his message. And for that, she is the perfect pick. 

A lifelong conservative, Leavitt began writing pro-Trump op-eds for a student newspaper in 2016 when she was 19, already laying into the “unjust” and “unfair” liberal media. As a university student pursuing a degree in communications and political science, she interned at Fox News and then at the White House, before joining Trump’s press team as a full-time staff member in 2019. After Trump lost the 2020 election, she unsuccessfully ran for US Congress – but her stardom in the Maga world continued to rise.

In January 2024, she was appointed as Trump’s campaign press secretary and landed the government’s top communications perch soon after his re-election. Now she has crafted an image as a highly effective operator – albeit a deeply divisive one. To conservatives, she is an icon: a whip-smart, beautiful Christian woman who is both a devoted wife and mother. (Leavitt gave birth to her first child in July 2024, three days after the assassination attempt on Trump in Butler, Pennsylvania. She often brings her child to work.) To liberals, she embodies the worst of the Trump regime, spouting propaganda and parroting the president’s many false claims while bad-mouthing journalists.

She has come in for particular criticism as she seeks to justify Trump’s incendiary rhetoric over the war with Iran. When he posted on Truth Social on 7 April that, a “whole civilisation will die tonight”, if Iran didn’t reach a deal, Leavitt insisted the president, “absolutely has the moral high ground”, despite claims he was threatening a genocide. Asked about other extreme rhetoric in the past, she has insisted that the public appreciates Trump’s “frankness” and that his approach gets results. Leavitt has not commented so far on Trump’s rage-baiting (and since deleted) social media post portraying himself as Jesus, but she clearly worships the man.

And Trump? He appears equally smitten. During his first term, the president went through five press secretaries: the most famous of whom, Anthony Scaramucci, lasted only 10 days. But Trump told reporters last year that, “I don’t think anybody has ever had a better press secretary that Karoline.” The big question now is what happens when Leavitt has her second child, a baby girl due in May. There has been no official announcement of a temporary replacement, leading to speculation that she has no intention of relinquishing her podium, and will be back on the job within days of giving birth. That would certainly suit her boss.

With a press secretary who seems to relish forging herself in his own image, it looks like he has found his perfect match. 

In a short film released in May by Christie’s, Nicole Kidman strides purposefully into the foyer of the auction house’s Manhattan headquarters at Rockefeller Center. An elevator whisks her to another floor where she pushes her way through a heavy white curtain, as if entering a crime scene. Inside, on a plinth, is a gilt head by Romanian sculptor Brâncuși, an artwork from the collection of late media magnate Si Newhouse. Within moments, Kidman is dancing seductively around the artwork to David Bowie’s “Golden Years”. In May the Brâncuși sold for just shy of $108m (€94.19m).  

I always feel that it’s something of a gloomy harbinger when celebrities get involved. It smacks of desperation, as if the thing or the message being sold isn’t good enough on its own merits. Though recent reports of an art market collapse might have been greatly exaggerated – and there are few other markets in which hyperbole is as integral or as prevalent – lately there have been incontrovertible signs of a correction.

While big-ticket items such as the Brâncuși are still selling for big numbers at auction, galleries are struggling. Profits are down across the board: mega-gallery Pace has dropped 50 artists and cut 20 per cent of its staff worldwide. Over the past few years, market stalwarts, including Marlborough and Simon Lee, have shuttered, while younger, mid-tier galleries such as Clearing closed their doors, too.

For too long, the art world has expanded while the art market has narrowed. The dinners, parties and biennales carried on, while the clattering soundtrack of gallery closures played in the background like the Titanic’s string quartet. Gone are the halcyon days of buyers schlepping to the outskirts of London or New York to an exciting project space in a former morgue; galleries these days often have the feel of an opulent spa. The global profusion of art fairs has made collectors lazy and gallerists unadventurous. They are also prohibitively expensive – a couple of bad fairs in a row can be the kiss of death for smaller galleries. 

Even though the outlook might seem bleak, there are reasons for optimism. A contraction at the top could result in a market that is less reliant on art fairs and digital interaction. Galleries big and small will then be able to focus on developing closer relationships with artists and collectors on home turf. In too many instances, art and the way it is sold have become indistinguishable from luxury goods. At times it can feel as though the market has forgotten what elevates art and why people want to own it. In my experience as a gallerist, buyers were seeking human connection as much as they were looking to build a collection. 

In his 2015 book, The Utopia of Rules, David Graeber wrote, “The ultimate, hidden truth of the world is that it is something that we make and could just as easily make differently.” The art world of today was made by yesterday’s market. I, for one, am hopeful that it will foster a generation of better, more adventurous art and artists with more sustainable careers. In London, several smaller galleries are punching far above their weight: Ginny on Frederick in Clerkenwell; Soft Opening in Bethnal Green (the gallery started life in Piccadilly Circus station); and William Hines in Camberwell. The art world is like a cruise ship – it might take a long time to turn it around – but galleries such as these give me faith that it’s moving in the right direction. 

Orlando Whitfield is the author of the book ‘All That Glitters: A Story of Friendship, Fraud and Fine Art’. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

1.
Jayden Ali

Age: 37
Profession: Architect and artist
Location: New York

Location: I spend my time between New York and London. I’m in the former now because I have been teaching at Columbia University. We have also just opened a show at the Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum, as well as a small office [an offshoot of the practice’s base in London].

Summer uniform: When I was much younger, I would spend March to November in shorts. Now that I’m getting older, I prioritise comfort. My look today works whether I’m in the house or at my desk. These woollen pinstripe shorts are from Assembly, a multibrand shop on Ludlow Street in New York, which is great for staples. I’m also wearing a white vest and a silky Acne Studios shirt on top because the heat in NYC can be intense. I have this shirt in multiple colours. Long sleeves mean that I can be inside or outside; I can be at dinner or in the park. I like flexibility – and neatness too, as I’m not a scruffy person. I also wear a gold chain from Hatton Garden in London and a wedding band as a pendant. I bought mine in Santa Fe en route to getting married last year in Las Vegas. I purchased it at the last minute and it doesn’t really fit me but I love it. I wore this outfit the other day with Valentino shoes but, for everyday use, trainers are the best.

Fabrics and brands of choice: I love Tumbao, a Latin American store in New York. I often go there and shop for myself and my wife. I also enjoy Ron David Studio for brighter colours – I bought an amazing green shirt there. I’m living out of a suitcase at the moment because I’m travelling for the summer, so I have packed three different Sunspel T-shirts that are made from really fine-grain cotton. I love a subtle pinstripe shirt too. I have a few of those in my suitcase. The one from UK label Martine Rose is blue with fine pinstripes; another is from Gucci. I always opt for subtle pinstripes. The look is a bit basic but it does the job.

Tips on staying cool: In New York, ensure that you get on the right subway carriage. If you feel that the air-con isn’t working, change carriages – that’s important. But I’m not trying to avoid the sun so much. I grew up in London and it wasn’t so warm. When I get the chance, I walk in the sun with my shades.

Travel plans: My wife [set decorator Lotty Sanna] is making a film in Berlin so I’m looking forward to spending some time there over the summer. I hear that they have a beautiful lake culture. I’m also going to a wedding near Beijing, so I’m going to spend a few days walking along the Great Wall of China.
ja-projects.com

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2.
Stefani Stoyanof

Age: 41
Profession: Jewellery designer and founder of Swim to the Moon
Location: Athens

Summer uniform: My summer uniform usually consists of a one-piece bathing suit, such as a navy Lido one, and a pareo, which I try to collect from every island that I visit. I snagged my newest pareo from a shop on Hydra on a girls’ trip. Otherwise, I wear a comfortable pair of Bermuda shorts, with a button-down shirt layered on top of a cotton bralette, a great pair of sunnies from Thistles, jelly shoes from Maison Empereur in Marseille and a straw hat from a shop in Paros where an old man and his wife weave the simple designs. And, of course, jewellery to tie it all together. I’m wearing sterling silver jewellery from Swim to the Moon. My straw bag has survived for 11 years and is in perfect condition. I bought it at a market in Morocco when my husband [photographer Marco Argüello] and I were backpacking around the world.

Fabrics and brands of choice: My go-to fabrics would have to be linen and cotton in the summer, so you can survive the heat. My favourite brands include Lido for swimsuits; It’s a Shirt for buttondowns; By Malene Birger for shorts; Flore Flore for basics; and, of course, anything vintage.

Go-to drink for sunset hour: Campari spritz.

Summer travel plans: A girl’s trip to Hydra, a romantic getaway with my husband to Antiparos, a family trip with my son and grandparents to Camogli in Italy and a roadtrip to the Peloponnese.
swimtothemoonjewelry.com

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3.
Patrick Johnson

Age: 45
Profession: Fashion designer and founder of P Johnson
Location: Sydney

Summer uniform: I wear P Johnson’s unstructured jackets and trousers in light linens and silk blends. They’re great for travelling and you can mix them as separates too. I combine these with a pair of loafers from New York-based Belgian Shoes, often with a white shirt in a lightweight poplin.

Fabrics and brands of choice: I love linen – it’s a really diverse fibre and we weave a beautiful one with Loro Piana that has an amazing drape and doesn’t crease too much. I also wear a lot of silk blends. The silk linens that I use are lightweight and the blend gives you great colour depth. We develop these pieces with specialist weavers on Lake Como. Apart from that, I like wearing jeans. We make ours in Italy. I love the ultra-light wash indigo; I cut off their bases so that they fray a bit and feel summery. For accessories I love belts. My go-to is the custom crocodile-skin belt that was made by an artisan in Melbourne. It’s beautiful and it just gets better with age.

Tips on staying cool: Wear lightweight garments and ensure that you stick to natural fibres.

Go-to drink for sunset hour: A vermouth and soda with a slice of lemon.

Summer travel plans: We’ll mostly be on the smaller islands in the Cyclades. We love the food in Sifnos, the water of Folegandros and Hydra’s convenience.
pjt.com

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4.
Duda Lopes

Age: 30
Profession: Designer and founder of ready-to-wear label Sage
Location: Barcelona

Summer uniform: My Thomaz shirt, which was inspired by my dear grandfather, Odino Thomaz. It’s a white linen style and I pair it with matching linen trousers and a leather belt – everything is from my brand, Sage. I also pair linen trousers with my swimsuits and tend to stick to a sandy colour palette – it feels very Barcelona.

Fabrics and brands of choice: If I’m not wearing an all-linen look, I’m usually in swimwear. Growing up in Angra dos Reis, in the state of Rio de Janeiro, I used to wear a bikini at least 300 days a year. I also love Tag Heuer watches. I have three from the brand but I usually opt for the Ayrton Senna model. I finish my look with a pair of Havaianas – an iconic Brazilian brand.

Tips on staying cool: Always wear a swimsuit with shorts, even if you’re not going to the beach.

Favourite holiday destinations: Menorca and Angra dos Reis – I know every beach there, even the secret ones.

Go-to drink for sunset hour: A negroni.

Summer plans: I’m very excited about presenting Sage’s new collection at Copenhagen Fashion Week for the first time this August. We will showcase 50 pieces and plan to take over a boat. There will be a bossa-nova vibe to it.
sagebrazil.com

A little piece of Shibuya has landed right in the heart of Copenhagen. Its name is Hikari and it is the new, Japanese-themed zone in Denmark’s historic amusement park, Tivoli Gardens. 

“It was a part of the park underneath our Dæmon rollercoaster that really needed a refurbishment,” Tivoli’s CEO, Susanne Mørch Koch, tells Monocle during an exclusive pre-opening tour. “It had an Asian theme but was selling fish and chips, and coffee. The Japanese pagoda was already there but it all needed a narrative to bring it together.”

That narrative cannily focuses on Japan’s highly commodified contemporary culture, so Hikari features a konbini store selling mochi, banana Kitkats, Pocky chocolate and seaweed snacks; a branch of Copenhagen’s much-loved Comé Rice Kitchen onigiri shop; vending machines selling Pokémon figures; and a taiyaki stall. An accent of “high” culture, which Tivoli is also well known for in Denmark, comes by way of an original Takashi Murakami sculpture on the main “street”. 

It is all quite brilliantly packaged within just 2,000 sq m, without feeling cramped. Tivoli is calling Hikari its “most ambitious architectural and spatial investment in nearly 200 years”. Sixty tonnes of ceramic tiles were imported from Japan to build it, along with reclaimed wooden doors and signage for that jolt of Shibuya-style visual energy. The zone also features two new visitor attractions: a wall-of-death-type experience, The Typhoon’s Eye, “inspired by the immense power of Japan’s typhoons” (hmm, wonder how Japanese people will feel about that?), and Hotel Hikari, a discombobulating (though not particularly Japanese) funhouse.

Though Copenhagen is experiencing an inbound-tourist boom, Hikari is designed primarily by Danes for Danes. “Around 65 per cent of our visitors are Danish and in recent years we’ve seen an increasing interest in Japanese food, culture and the number of Danes visiting Japan,” Mørch Koch tells Monocle. Danish travel to Japan increased by more than 23 per cent from 2024 to 2025. “But we aren’t jumping on any bandwagon. This will be here at least while I am alive,” he adds.

Tivoli, which first opened in 1843, does not take such redecoration lightly. Hikari, which was unveiled in mid-August (it means “light” in Japanese), has taken more than five years to develop and involved visits by designers, staff and gardeners to Japan, seeking inspiration for everything from the signage to the materials and plants. 

Of the budget, CEO Susanne Mørch Koch would only say that it was “three-digit million kroner” (€10m-plus) but this is clearly her flagship initiative: she started as CEO six years ago and has led the park’s charge for tech-free fun with record-breaking visitor numbers. 

The amusement park industry is characterised by the ever-expanding scale of the parks themselves and on rides based on existing IP such as Harry Potter, Star Wars, Marvel and the like. But Tivoli doesn’t have the budget to buy those rights and it can never grow beyond its original 80,000 sq m, hemmed in as it is on all four sides by roads and the Central Station, hence the ingenious IP-free, space-busting approach of Hikari. 

But was the park worried about accusations of cultural appropriation in attempting to create its own interpretation of Japanese pop culture? When Tivoli opened its architects felt at liberty to design buildings vaguely inspired by “Arabian” or “Oriental” styles that would probably provoke an outcry today. “We are doing this with dedication, love and respect, and we have Japanese consultants involved and Japanese products on sale,” says Mørch Koch. “We have taken so much care with our selection.”

I visited with a Japanese friend who was actually quite touched by the efforts and commitment of Tivoli’s designers and gardeners. The signage was maybe a little busy, she said, but otherwise she pronounced it pretty authentic.

Further reading: Tivoli Gardens’ CEO on how Denmark’s most renowned theme park has stayed tech-free and relevant for 182 years 

As the host of Monocle Radio’s The Stack, Fernando Augusto Pacheco is a connoisseur of print but he also curates the station’s seasonal playlists. He’s a master of matching music to the moment, from choosing scorching songs for summery nights to Brazilian bops for bloco dance parties. For this seasonal soundtrack, Pacheco has selected 25 tunes for long drives and road trips. 

‘Je pense à vous’, Pierre de Maere
Fluid and breezy, De Maere is one Belgium’s biggest pop stars and has a new album coming out in September. This song is pure sunshine.

‘Lambamor’, Kaoma
Every playlist needs some nostalgia, so we have picked this B-side gem from the French-Brazilian group.

‘Why I Follow the Tigers’, The San Sebastian Strings 
Madonna sampled this chic and mellow track in “Drowned World/Substitute for Love”. This one is for solo drives.

‘Okinawa Fantasia’, Martin Glass
Ambient music that’s full of bubbly beats – a gentle ode to the Pacific.

‘Good Morning America’, Dancing Fantasy
For sunny optimism, nothing beats the work of this German smooth-jazz duo. This song is from their album celebrating Californian grooves.

‘Pela Cidade’, Sandra Sá
A Brazilian boogie from the 1980s, “Pela Cidade” feels like Brazil’s version of Japanese city-pop.

‘Lady’, Modjo
Every road trip needs a track that everyone knows the words to.

‘Up & Down’, Winston Surfshirt
Chilled R&B from one of the coolest names in Australia.

‘Sea, Sex and Sun (remix)’, Montmartre, Serge Gainsbourg
The title says it all.

‘Dove andiamo a ballare questa sera?’, Popa
The Lithuanian singer invites everyone to the dance floor in this track that shows its love for Italy.

‘Paradise (feat Amerie)’, LL Cool J
A catchy and addictive song for those in need of some early noughties nostalgia.

‘Holding On’, Lolo Zouaï
The French singer has crafted one of the best pop songs of the year with this track.

‘True (feat Sadie Walker)’, Nightmares on Wax
A little bit of dub and electronica combined with Sadie’s warm vocals make for a very good long-drive song.

‘Enchantia’, Domenique Dumont
We like the mix of bossa nova, dub and electronica on this Latvian duo’s mysterious number.

‘Way U Do It’, Baauer
A euphoric song that will make you want to dance in the driver’s seat. 

‘Kem-Bô’, Rui Last One
There’s nothing quite like the delicious sounds of 1990s Cape Verde. The nation had a great summer because of its World Cup appearance – now pay attention to its music.

‘Take Me Back’, Charlotte Cardin
The Canadian singer made “Feel Good” last year and now she’s back with new music. This is an emotional and vulnerable pop song.

‘Reza Braba’, Mari Froes
Froes’s samba beats – from her debut album Esquina do Sol – make us very happy.

‘Wonder’, Chenayder
A great song that samples Suzanne Vega’s classic tune, “Tom’s Diner”.

‘Confluence’, Bleu Soleil & Cleo
We like the reggae beats in this escapist track that will take your mind away from the road.

‘Mountain Top’, Rio Kosta
The Los Angeles-based duo makes songs that scream summer. “Mountain Top” is atmospheric and lush.

‘Cairo FM’, Alewya
Alewya is a name to watch. This song samples some Arab classics; it’s moody but in a good way. A groovy tribute to her Egyptian heritage.

‘Notte in Riviera’, Tamati
Pulsating Balearic beats that will get you through the most grating of traffic jams.

‘Catedral’, Jão
One of Brazil’s biggest stars, this is Jão at his best. Even though this song is about grief, it’s also about rebuilding.

‘Garota de Berlim’, Tokyo & Nina Hagen
This was a big hit in Brazil in the 1980s. We like the new-wave beats and the mix of Brazilian and German influences.

You can listen to the playlist on Spotify here.

As soon as the water warms up, people from all corners of the Mediterranean and beyond make for the beach. Whether you’re in the windswept Aeolian islands, on Beirut’s Sporting Club Beach or sequestered in a calm corner of Cagliari, there are unspoken rules governing good and bad beach behaviour.

In my native Portugal, children come to understand these rules before they learn how to swim. I still remember the ritual of going to the beach on the first day of the summer holidays, which involved the careful selection by my family of the best spot for shade and sea access. Why such care? Because from that day on, this hallowed stretch of sand was ours for the season. Amazingly, everyone understood and respected the system. Wander along a Portuguese beach at the end of the day and you will spy hundreds of colourful parasols delineating spaces that local families will return to the next morning.

In Italy, personal space is more regulated. Here stabilimenti balneari (bathing establishments) or bagni dominate the beaches. Orderly rows of sunbeds and shades are arranged with military precision. But there’s still ritual here: many are booked by the same families year in, year out. This is a different form of beach etiquette to Portugal – an address, yes, but a fixed one that can sometimes last generations.

Another culturally specific question that bathers must ask themselves is one of comportment and apparel: how naked is too naked? In Spain, the answer is simple. Along the Costa Brava and across the Balearics, topless bathing draws no glances or whispers, as it might do in northern climes. The real faux pas isn’t taking your top off, it’s flinching when someone else does (take note, travelling Brits, Germans and Scandis). Further east, Greece has a different etiquette. It has little to do with what you wear, where you lay your towel or plant a parasol. Instead, it’s about what you’re willing to share. If a nearby family slices a watermelon and holds out a piece, you never say “no”. All Hellenic hospitality begins with sharing – and accepting – food.

In France, participation in rituals is more a matter of timing. On the Côte d’Azur, the beach empties not because the sun’s afternoon rays are too harsh but because lunch has rumbled around. By early afternoon, most towels are folded, espadrilles are re-donned and swaths of sand fall eerily quiet. Turning down an invitation to lunch, or worse – eating a sad sandwich on your towel – is a social mistake. 

My advice? Don’t rock the boat. Whether you’re setting up camp on a Portuguese strand, bathing in the shifting tides of an Italian bagni or putting your towel down on one of the Côte d’Azur’s pebbled beaches, follow the lead of the locals. Oh, and don’t sit there – that spot is taken.

Joana Moser is Monocle’s radio researcher. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

Suspended above the landscape, the circular pool of Morella Vell, a vast homestead in eastern Menorca, offers an expansive view. The relentless tramuntana winds comb the land, leaving only grass, shrubs and south-tilting trees in their wake. Houses here have also evolved to withstand these powerful gusts. As places of refuge and regeneration, these residences are proof of locals’ ability to respond to the elements.

“Menorca is an island of contrasts,” says architect Antonio Obrador. “But the Balearic way of life is about learning to live in harmony with the outdoors.” Hailing from Mallorca, Obrador heads up Palmabased Estudio Antonio Obrador. Quick to dismiss the spread of cookie-cutter architecture across the globe, he prefers to enhance his projects’ singularity by bringing underlying layers to the fore.

A semi-ruined estate, Morella Vell is surrounded by 100 hectares of protected land, which Obrador first began working on in 2004. Restoration efforts continued until 2011, by which time the former dairy farm had been transformed into an elegant multi-building residence. “From the outset, the vision was to create a network of niches in which to rest and reflect, and give people room to migrate around the house,” says Obrador. “There’s space for privacy, pause and communal connection.” The home is defined by three main structures. Inside, large windows offer cinematic views from the lower levels, while smaller sash windows, known in Spain as guillotine windows, are preserved on the south-facing façades of the upper levels.

Two stone buildings that once housed cows have been converted into guest quarters and capacious entertaining areas. By introducing a degree of separation between homeowners and guests, Obrador sought to strike a balance when it came to hosting duties. “Inviting guests is attractive but also risky,” he says with a laugh. “Clear boundaries are a must.” There’s a leisurely touch to the interiors, with soft textiles, art books and frames enlivening the walls. Cabinets of curiosities filled with sea shells hint at regular walks along the coast. The fireplaces remind us that Balearic homes are used to host guests in winter too. Several years into the project, the discovery of a talaiot, an ancient temple dating back to the Stone Age, added complexity. Mystique surrounds Menorca’s many megalithic structures, with more than 1,600 archaeological sites scattered across the island. “As an architect, chancing upon ruins is both a pleasure and an obligation – namely to respect the past and give it more protagonism in the present.”

The resulting heritage process meant that a basement needed to be relocated and an entire structure had to be de- and then reconstructed. “The discovery became a virtue,” says Obrador. “It pushed us to create more synergy with the house’s colours, textures and the vernacular.”

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It is not easy for Nauru to get on the news. The Pacific island microstate is the world’s third-smallest country by area, ahead of the Vatican and Monaco, and, by population, ahead of the Vatican and Tuvalu. Nauru is in the middle, approximately, of nowhere: an hour and a bit by air from Kiribati, three hours and change from Fiji, four and a half from Brisbane.

The island’s diminutive size and remote location have historically made it difficult for the country to make any kind of soft-power splash. Nauru had a go during the 1970s and 1980s, when deposits of phosphate-rich calcified guano made it possibly the world’s wealthiest country per capita. During its brief, high-rolling run as the Saudi Arabia of bird crap, Nauru built the tallest building in Melbourne, subsidised a national airline, bankrolled a West End musical and didn’t collect taxes. One Nauruan police officer bought a Lamborghini, a debatable purchase considering that the island had 19 kilometres of paved road.

For Nauru, having since mismanaged itself into penury, making headlines now requires bold thinking and there are few manoeuvres more audacious than changing names. Nauru is now the Republic of Naoero and Nauruans are henceforth dei-Naoero. The alteration restores primacy to the Indigenous, traditional nomenclature that had been anglicised in deference to foreigners who struggled to pronounce it (Naoero is Now-ero, give or take, which isn’t that complicated, and certainly less deceptive than Kiribati, which, despite appearances, is pronounced Kiri-bass). When Naoero’s president, David Adeang, pitched the switch earlier this year, he said that it would “more faithfully honour our nation’s heritage, our language and our identity”.

Naoero has not been the only country in recent years to have furnished work for cartographers by making a decision of this kind. Swaziland became Eswatini in 2018, partly as an assertion of national identity, and partly – so King Mswati III claimed – because it was tired of being mistaken for Switzerland. Turkey announced in 2022 that it would prefer to be known as Türkiye, partly as an assertion of national identity, partly because it was tired of its association with an ungainly bird that is synonymous with stupidity and failure.

Some of the 21st century’s other national name changers have acted out of convenience. In 2019, Macedonia added the prefix “North” to finally – if grudgingly – end an interminable and inane diplomatic row with Greece, which staked an exclusive claim to the name. In 2016, the Czech Republic announced it would rather be known as Czechia, much as the French Republic is the official name of France: it’s shorter, snappier and easier to chant at football games.

Mostly, however, national name changes have been undertaken for the same reason as any corporate rebrand: to signal that the enterprise is under new management. This is, in general, perfectly fair enough. Upon gaining independence in 1964 and 1980, Zambia and Zimbabwe no longer wished to be called Northern or Southern Rhodesia, after the CEO of the British mining company that had occupied and exploited their land. Names such as Malawi, Mali, Benin, Botswana and Burkina Faso are also indisputably cooler than whatever those countries were once saddled with by some pith-helmeted European.

There will likely be more reasons not to invest in a new globe just yet. The big one to watch is India. Several Indian cities (Bombay/Mumbai, Madras/Chennai, Calcutta/Kolkata, et al) have already reverted to traditional names, and the prime minister, Narendra Modi, has intermittently flirted with the nation’s official Sanskrit name, Bharat. Georgia might also be worth keeping an eye on. It awkwardly shares a name with an American state and Georgians themselves call their country Sakartvelo, which is pleasingly evocative of some mythical mediaeval realm of mountaintop castles.

In 2021 one New Zealand party – Te Pāti Māori, which held two seats in the House of Representatives – gathered more than 70,000 signatures on a petition to formally rename the country Aotearoa, an Indigenous word translating as “the land of the long white cloud”. Whatever inconvenience might be occasioned by rewriting the national anthem (“God Defend New Zealand”), Aotearoa is way prettier than any bequest of homesick Dutchmen. In the end, maps are not carved into marble.

Andrew Mueller is a regular Monocle contributor and host of ‘The Foreign Desk’. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.