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.

The first half of 2026 has been bumpy for the global travel market. While demand for flights remains high, the conflict between the US, Israel and Iran has disrupted aviation, from complications of planning flight paths around expanding conflict zones to the not-so-small matter of rising fuel prices.

Despite all this, the situation in the Gulf does not appear to have dimmed the appetite for private air travel. As commercial airlines wrestle with airspace restrictions, supply-chain pressures and rising operating costs, the private-aviation market seems to be cruising at a different altitude. International events such as the Monaco Grand Prix and Fifa World Cup have helped to keep demand for long-range business jets firmly on course.

Olivier Perdriel can vouch for the resilience of the sector. He founded aircraft management company Skyfirst with a single jet, a Bombardier Learjet 45, in the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis. Eighteen years later, the Paris-based operator manages a fleet of ultra-long-range aircrafts for business leaders around the world.

On a recent visit to Monocle’s Paris bureau, Perdriel spoke to Tom Edwards about managing uncertainty amid geopolitical disruption, preserving the exceptional service that private aviation clients expect and the direction of travel for the industry. 

This conversation has been edited for clarity and length. Listen to the full interview on The Entrepreneurs on Monocle Radio.

How healthy is the private-aviation market right now?
The market is quite good. If you look at the OEMs [original equipment manufacturers], manufacturers have order books stretching over the next two years, so a significant number of new aircraft is still coming into the market. Flight activity is steady and increasing in some areas. In the US, for example, the market is actually booming, which is striking given the current geopolitical backdrop. At first glance, things look very strong but it’s the uncertainty that causes difficulties. In our business, that uncertainty creates real operational difficulties, when you’re flying around the world and dealing with countries that you can no longer fly over or operate into. So the business is good but the current environment makes it much harder to know exactly where we’re heading.

How do you build a private aviation business that can withstand geopolitical shocks?
When there is instability, the most important thing is to stay steady on our side and keep doing the work properly with even more care than usual. Insurance requirements and landing permits can change within hours, so our job is to stay focused, anticipate problems and be ready to react quickly. Most of our flights are for business travellers and they still need to operate around the world. As countries become more complex to fly into or over, our job becomes more complex as well. The key is to provide a consistent service and remain responsive when something changes.

Tell me about the fleet.
Today we mainly operate Dassault Falcon 7Xs and 8Xs, as well as some Bombardier Global Express aircraft. Each type has its own strengths, whether that’s range, cabin comfort, performance or operational flexibility. Our job is to make the best possible use of the aircraft that we are operating and deliver the service that the client expects. One advantage we have is that we operate aircraft from all three brands, Gulfstream, Dassault Aviation and Bombardier. They all have different cultures too – one is American, one is French – and that also shapes the relationships you have. It makes the business dynamic.

Who is the typical Skyfirst client?
It would be a CEO or a senior business leader who operates internationally. They are all different and want different things, so the key is adaptability. Our job is to understand their needs and make sure that they arrive at their destination in the best possible condition for whatever they have to do next. And of course, we enjoy flying all our clients because, at the end of the day, we’re helping them to save time in the best possible conditions. 

What does aircraft management involve beyond operating the jet?
There are essentially two types of owners. Some buy an aircraft purely for their own use, usually through a company, and create an in-house flight department with their own pilots and technical staff. Then there is charter management, which is where we operate. In that model, the owner entrusts the management of the aircraft to an operator like us. That includes the crew, training, recruitment, maintenance, flight planning, compliance and all the worldwide regulations. It is also about relationships. More and more, simply picking up the phone and speaking directly to a person is what makes the difference.

Tell us a bit more about the company’s hands-on approach and how Skyfirst supports its clients.
It starts with the team; I’m very proud of the people I work with because they do an excellent job. We put people first. We try to stay in contact with everyone, anticipate problems and handle things in the most human way possible. We’re not perfect but that mindset is very important to us. Reputation matters enormously. The goal is that when the passenger arrives, everything feels smooth and effortless from [point] A to B. Most of our flights are for business travellers. They often fly overnight and [head] straight into important meetings. If we can provide a calm, efficient and seamless service on board, we like to think that we are helping them arrive in the best possible condition. In that sense, what drives us is the belief that we are part of our clients’ success.

I’m not normally one for a horror movie – I’ve been known to read a plot synopsis before going to the cinema so that I’m not a shaking wreck throughout. But when Backrooms hit theatres at the start of the summer, I knew that I’d have to watch it. Created by wunderkind director Kane Parsons, the film is a pastiche of 1990s aesthetics and design: it follows the fortunes of a furniture salesman as he makes his way through a landscape of liminal spaces, inspired by the big-box warehouses and the corridors of nondescript hotels and corporate offices of the era.

Think seas of beige carpeting, drop ceilings and fluorescent lights. There are sets filled with chunky pine furniture and skirted, slip-covered armchairs too. The outdated visual landscape was intended to trigger a strange and lonely fear. And it was largely effective. But for me, whenever an overstuffed roll-arm sofa made an appearance (set against a background of chintz) that feeling of disquiet ebbed just a little bit. The horror of the liminal space suddenly balanced out by a sense of comfort.

At the time of viewing, I had chalked it up to pure 1990s nostalgia but a recent conversation with London-based Linda Boronkay for Monocle on Design pointed to the potential for a deeper meaning. Speaking to the designer about how she creates spaces, she mentioned that furniture and objects – not just architecture – are among her most (if not the most) powerful tools. “I choose objects based on their aesthetic and material value, as well as their energy,” she said to me, adding that these still need to work in concert with everything from good lighting to correct placement. “But I believe in animism – the idea that even objects have a spiritual energy and charge.” Such a quality, she said, comes from an object’s ability to carry a memory or an association with a person or moment.

It clicked. What’s terrifying about Backrooms is how it evokes the worst of 1990s environments – a time when soulless big-box shops were ubiquitously rewriting the look and feel of neighbourhoods, and new single-family houses began growing in size, paving the way for McMansions and suburban loneliness. More than any single object, the scale of such spaces – cavernous, overlit corridors and empty, oversized rooms – unsettled me most. In contrast, the film’s furniture – wooden ladder-back dining chairs, moulded plastic seating, honey-oak cabinets – carried an uplifting anima. Despite intending to reference a mismatched showroom display, it recalled feelings of cosiness and closeness, defined by family holidays at rentals down the coast and Christmas at my uncle’s place.

It’s easy to see furniture as second fiddle to architecture. But Parsons, and by extension Boronkay, show that considering the anima of the objects in our curation can shape a space as much as the four walls that define it. So, search for the objects that speak to you – fill your home with pieces that have meaningful energy. And if you’re still scared of watching Backrooms (now streaming and still in a few theatres worldwide), take comfort in its anima-imbued furniture – it might just get you through the terror of its liminal spaces.

Anima in action: Linda Boronkay is a leading interior designer. She’s particularly known for her characterful hotels, including Osborn House in the southern highlands of New South Wales. Read our full report on this outstanding hospitality project here.

First things first: the fear of AI writing replacing that of humans is a big, over-cooked, red herring. A new study published in the Journal of Judgement and Decision Making in the US is being picked up by the panicky press to suggest that humans can’t always tell the difference between human-penned and machine-made prose. Shock horror. Can you hear the novelists and the journalists quaking in their boots yet? I can – but I’m not sure they should.

Beyond the headlines, if I’m permitted to venture so far, the “Bot or not” study suggests some caveats. True, the people polled can’t always tell the difference between work by ChatGPT and a human author but think about it. Are you surprised? Not all human authors are very good. Even fewer are unanimously popular. The study’s main conclusion could as easily have been summed up with a sigh and the phrase “there’s no accounting for taste”.
 
There’s also a perverse logic at play in the panic. Fretting that AI can write better than (some) humans is like pitting a powerful calculator against mental arithmetic, a hammer against a soft human hand or a Range Rover against a sprinter. Praising the tool misses the point. Human endeavour – in sport, literature, art, mountain climbing, whatever – is only interesting because it’s done by weak, fleshy, imperfect, irrational, flighty and benighted people like you (and me, I suppose).

With the complete works of Shakespeare, Baudelaire and Chekhov at its robot-writing desk, it stands to reason that a trained machine could scrabble together the rudiments of a pretty good yarn. There are rules to follow, text to copy and ideas to ape, a Moby Dick to dive into and a Frankenstein to borrow from.

The study suggests that stories composed by computers lack nuance, complexity or ambiguity. They mush rather than meld the human world that they misunderstand. What people like about them isn’t the awesome power of their insight; it is – the study says – their simplicity. But since when are the most rewarding or interesting things always just the easiest to read? How can we solve or discuss the issues we face if everyone is skimming the un-fact-checked dummy’s guide version of reality? Truth, beauty, irony, anger, art, justice, war – not simple.
 
Which brings me swiftly onto journalism and the renewed importance of the human editor (I would say that, of course). Much has been made of the capacity of AI to aggregate news but let’s not forget who’s gathering it. Without a source, a person on the ground to bear witness and be present, there’s no search business for the tech titans to tantalise us with or sell their advertising against. Human judgement, an experienced reporter, genuine insights and fresh ideas are becoming more, not less vital. They are valuable as the reservoir of AI slop and slurry deepens. Publications and people who deserve trust are at a premium, something to cling to in a sea of uncertainty. 
 
Pleasingly, the study also showed that people preferred things they were told were written by humans. Even the naïfs who didn’t spot a computer pretending to be human were rooting for their own species. In the end, we want connections, not “content”.  
 
And last but not least, as cleverer, more amusing people than me have noted long before this little rant, computers can’t do it all. They’re not funny. They lack a sense of irony, timing, whimsy and the absurd. They don’t get it.
 
Like most herrings, red or otherwise, the idea that human experience, insight or creativity can be replaced by a mirthless mimic machine is best enjoyed with a pinch of salt.

Josh Fehnert is inferior to a machine by almost any measure. But he is – for now – Monocle’s editor. Subscribe today to support our independent, human-made journalism.