For the past 25 years or so, Christmas has usually been an Alpine affair. There have been dashes down to Palm Beach north of Sydney, one Christmas in Toronto and a few years back we tried Zürich but it wasn’t the same as being up at our cosy flat in St Moritz with the ancient Denon stereo still spinning well-worn Christmas CDs (Helene Fischer, Idina Menzel, Tatsuro Yamashita, Dean Martin, Ella Fitzgerald and Nancy Wilson), the same decorations on the tree, the amazing smells coming from the kitchen (cardamom, yuzu and dill) and the sounds of the village coming alive for the season. 

This year, for the briefest moment, we thought about doing Christmas in Lisbon and got quite excited about filling the shopping trolley at El Corte Inglés and lunch on the sunny terrace. But then we realised that there would be new decorations to be purchased, revised lighting requirements (it is very different to find just the right level of gold light, which is why my mom tends to paint every bulb to take the edge off) and a race to ensure that Lisbon has all the right Swedish and Estonian ingredients. No such worries up in St Moritz as we know every supplier and retailer, and dinner on the 24th comes together seamlessly thanks to our solid set of purveyors. 

Having an advance party in place is also useful and for the coming season our Zürich colleague Aude is running the show in our St Moritz pop-up shop and mini café at the Hotel Steffani. By far our smallest retail outpost, it has already been doing a roaring trade and if you happen to be up around the Engadine this winter be sure to drop by for a mocha and any presents that you might need over the coming weeks. As ever, we’ll be hosting a little Christmas cocktail sometime between 25 and 31 December. So keep an eye out for the invite – likely to be sent some time next week.

Before pouring gin and tonics (the evening ritual from the 22nd, this is where the fresh yuzu comes in) and breaking open the rice crackers from Mitsukoshi, there’s still a bit of ground to cover. I was hoping to be in London yesterday and today for the Christmas Market but there’s a rather exciting project under way in Zürich that requires many hands on deck to pull it together and get it humming for the year ahead. You might recall that we have a Monocle apartment at the Oxen in Küsnacht – just down the lake from our offices in Seefeld. From next week the Monocle Townhouse will be nearing the finishing line as furniture arrives from various corners of Europe and ‘real’ lightbulbs are screwed into position for just the right tone and glow. An elegant annex of the Widder Hotel in the heart of Zürich, the Monocle Townhouse will be available for short or long stays and is perfectly positioned for quick connections from the main station and an easy tram hop to our café, shop and Trunk Clothiers outlet on Dufourstrasse. Official photography will take place in the new year, so expect a proper first peek early in January. Also, Monocle Patrons can expect a special invite to a debut cocktail at the start of spring.

If you’re passing through Zürich, pop by to say hello, grab a negroni and enjoy the Christmas mood. Ditto in London and Paris as they do negronis as well! Much of the Monocle advertising crew will be in Zürich this week as we plot out 2026, so it will be a full house and we’re on hand if you want to discuss big ideas for your brand or business. The bar is always open from 16.00. Wishing you a good week ahead. We’re in the home stretch!

Enjoying life in ‘The Faster Lane’? Click here to browse all of Tyler’s past columns. 

Eating in Parma means enjoying a trio of heavyweights: Parmigiano Reggiano, Prosciutto di Parma and Culatello di Zibello. These Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) products need little introduction and reward deep exploration. Once you understand that every facet of Parma – its markets and cafés, osterie and trattoria – revolves around the making and eating of these three staples, you’ll start to see the city in its truest light.

From there, the city’s food culture becomes as much about lessons in produce as it does about cooking and tasting. Language and ingredients are intensely local.

Nowhere is that regional loyalty clearer than in a scene witnessed in a cramped bar on Viale Giovanni Mariotti, where a debate unfurled over the specificities of fried dough. Monocle sat back to watch two sharp-suited gentlemen, one from Modena and one from Parma, argue intensely over whether the golden pillows on their plates were gnocco fritto or torta fritta.

Fighting over the etymology of a provincial speciality might seem eccentric. But in Parma, such distinctions matter – as you’ll find out during your discovery of the city. 

Where to eat in Parma if you’re visiting for the day
If you only have a day to spare, give it to the cheese that built the city. Start at one of Emilia-Romagna’s 300 dairies, get lost in the old town for an hour or two and finish at a vintage trattoria, if only to taste what wonderful things can be done with Parmigiano Reggiano.

Caseificio Bertinelli has stood on the same site in Noceto since 1895 and is now run by Nicola Bertinelli, a sixth-generation farmer who knows this cheese inside and out. What looks like mass production, he says, is an ancient process born from four ingredients: milk, salt, rennet and time. In the dairy room, the air is thick with copper steam as the casaro coaxes twin curds from a bell-shaped vat and hoists them into their moulds. Next door, the warehouse is filled floor to ceiling with rows of maturing wheels while an affineur makes his rounds, tapping each wheel with a small hammer to test whether it’s ready for the PDO firebrand.

Back in town there are two essential afternoon stops: Salumeria Garibaldi and La Prosciutteria. Both are stocked with PDO products of every imaginable age and variety, and can count themselves among the most fascinating food shops you will ever set foot in. It will be no surprise if you find yourself leaving with a wedge of 24-month Parmigiano for cooking, a packet of 48-month shards for aperitivo and a vacuum-packed Culatello for whoever waters your plants.

By night the discipline that dictates Parma’s dairies softens into pleasure at an old guard of restaurants that have stood for generations. Trattoria del Tribunale is convivial and gloriously kitsch, the sort of place where the menu hasn’t changed because it never needed to. Ristorante Cocchi, meanwhile, is the 100-year-old elder statesman of the city: think linen-clad tables and waiters who know the wine list by heart. The benchmark, though, is Ai Due Platani. Tricky to get a table, it regularly tops any serious list of the best trattorie in Italy and holds a Bib Gourmand for good measure. 

And with so many well-heeled couples lingering over bottles of lambrusco, you soon see why. The waiter recommends a selection that showcases different ways Parmigiano Reggiano can be used. Great hunks of 48-month-ageed cheese to enjoy as an aperitivo (salt crystals crunching as you bite), then 24-month with hot torta fritta (or gnocco fritto, depending on who you ask). And don’t leave without trying the tortelli. Half the plate is di erbetta, silken and green with ricotta and chard, and the other is zucca, tawny and sweet pumpkin with marsala wine. Both demand a generous snowfall of 12-month Parmigiano Reggiano to make the dish whole. If you only have a single evening in Parma, this is where to spend it.

A gastronomic adventure for longer stays in Parma
If you have more than a day, you have enough time to venture out into the lowlands and visit the curing cellars beginning with Podere Cadassa in Colorno for a masterclass in Emilia-Romagna’s other great obsession. As the iron door swings open, the space nearly knocks you sideways with its scent. “The secret?” asks Enrico Bergonzi, whose family have been curing Prosciutto di Parma and Culatello di Zibello here since 1780. “Good mould!” he says. Ducking between hanging rows of Culatelli – each tied and re-tied throughout the seasons – you feel and smell how produce can hold centuries of family history.

Thankfully you needn’t go far to taste that history either as the Bergonzi family’s cellar adjoins Al Vèdel, one of the region’s most beloved dining rooms. A word of warning: Sunday lunch in Italy is part meal, part opera with families descending on the restaurant in their multi-generational dozens. The volume level rises slowly throughout the afternoon and on more than one occasion, the waitstaff will need to steer the dessert trolley clear of an overly animated hand gesture. The kitchen is just as charming, making fine use of its prized Culatello in dishes such as tortel dols, a bittersweet ravioli, and a selection of rare cuts served with butter from Urzano.

Back in Parma you have the chance to see how the city’s chefs are reimagining its best-known exports. Just behind the yellow façade of Piazza Garibaldi is the pared-back Croce di Malta – welcoming and minimalist with pale walls, soft light and an understated crowd. A highlight is the deconstructed aubergine parmigiana with seared slices resting on a foamy cloud of Parmigiano-Reggiano béchamel. Across town, Cortex Bistrot pushes things even further with ambitious tasting menus that nod to tradition without being bound by it.

Then there’s Parma Rotta: the 40-year-old grande dame of the city. A meal here begins with the classics (tortellini in brodo is a non-negotiable) before a surprise from chef Antonio di Vita, who wheels out a trolley of fior di latte soft serve with an array of retro sauces. Chocolate and strawberry are tempting but he insists on his housemade zabaglione, a warm custard of egg yolks, sugar and marsala wine poured over ice cream. The two components meet, melt and make a strong case for one of life’s great unions.

Parma gets on with things whether you are paying attention or not. Dairies churn at dawn, cellars slice before lunch and dinner lands on linen that never stays white for long. But spend even a short time in this city and what stays with you is the sense that produce and place have never been separate. They are simply the same story, told in a million mouthfuls.

Europe should have seen it coming but the US government’s new National Security Strategy (NSS) nevertheless sent a chilling wind across the Atlantic. The messaging has been there since Trump took office in January: his vice-president, JD Vance, set the tone at the Munich Security Conference in February when he declared that Europe was on the brink of destroying democracy and might not deserve future US assistance. 

It has been put down on paper in a 33-page document alleging that the vieux continent is facing “civilizational erasure” because of migration, while being governed by “unstable minority governments” who “trample on basic principles of democracy to suppress opposition”. Reading more like a blueprint for covert action against a despotic regime than a pragmatic assessment of relations with the US’s oldest allies, the strategy suggests “cultivating resistance to Europe’s current trajectory within European nations”.

Which resistance to cultivate is also spelled out: “The growing influence of patriotic European parties indeed gives cause for great optimism,” the document reads, clearly referring to rising far-right, anti-immigration forces in Europe. While this document could be dismissed as more Trump bluster as he seeks to get his own way on the international stage, particularly on Ukraine, the formalisation of such a fundamental shift in US priorities should be a huge cause for concern in European capitals. 

The NSS is an outline of the foreign-policy doctrine and national security interests of the US, periodically published by the White House to reflect any significant shift in policy. It is meant to inform relevant agencies and embassies about how they should target both their diplomatic efforts and their funding. Trump’s foreign-policy approach is a long way from Joe Biden’s democracy-first agenda, in which Europe was seen as an essential partner in promoting security around the world. 

The president campaigned on an “America First” platform, vowing to protect national interests above all else, which is reiterated in the strategy’s preamble: “The affairs of other countries are our concern only if their activities directly threaten our interests.” What will disturb many in Europe is how closely US interests appear to align with those in the Kremlin. The country is only mentioned in the general context of Europe, stating that the US goal is to “re-establish strategic stability with Russia”. Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov smugly confirmed that the strategy was “largely consistent with our [Russia’s] vision”.

Beijing also gets off lightly, with most of the focus on China’s potential as an economic competitor rather than a strategic geopolitical threat. Middle Eastern nations are off the hook for any human-rights violations, with the strategy dismissing the “misguided experiment with hectoring these nations – especially the Gulf monarchies – into abandoning their traditions and historic forms of government”. 

The US also shows much more interest in its backyard, declaring that relations with Latin America will be reset, along with a warning that “the use of lethal force” would be deployed if needed to stop narcotics smuggling. Any illusions that the strategy is mere words are disproved by Trump’s recent actions. In essence, the document distils everything that Trump has done on foreign policy since his re-election. 

He has given an easy hand to Russia and China and cosied up to authoritarian regimes in the Gulf, while frequently chastising Europe and bombing alleged drug-trafficking boats in the Caribbean. That the strategy and its hammering of the transatlantic alliance came out just as Trump tries to sell his Ukraine peace plan to a reluctant Europe is no coincidence. 

It sends the message that the US has no interest in alliances unless its partners embrace the whole Trump-Maga doctrine. Any misconceptions in Europe that another fawning Oval Office visit will shift the dial on Ukraine or any other matter should be shattered for good.

Charlotte McDonald-Gibson is a Washington-based journalist and regular Monocle contributor.

There has been a lot of shuttling back and forth to Paris since February when we opened our bureau in the city. On many of my stays, I have lodged at the small four-star Hôtel Pulitzer, a short walk from our office. They make a good omelette. I like the rooms. They have me, however, because the staff are nice. At breakfast on Tuesday, it was the same gentleman in charge as usual. He smiled and said, “Hello Mr Tuck, you’re back!” But my favourite part has become the welcome notes that they leave in my room. In the beginning these were a simple “I hope you enjoy your stay” style of greeting but this week there was a note thanking me for my loyalty across the year and explaining why this commitment matters to a hotel. “Guests like you are a gem” it stated (or perhaps I misread the handwriting and it actually said “guests like you are a germ”? I hope not). And someone has noticed where I work – and perhaps even read this column – because another recent note sent best wishes to Macy, the fox terrier. They even congratulated me when I won an award (no, it wasn’t for flower arranging or the nicest plums at the county fair). This week I decided to turn the tables and, on a Monocle card, wrote a thank-you-for-the-thankyous, which I left at reception. Let’s see how competitive this gets.

At dinner with friends last week, I commented to someone who I know very well that he was looking great, annoyingly fresh-faced and youthful all of a sudden. “It’s my testosterone replacement treatment,” he beamed. “It has been a transformation. I feel happier. I’ve got so much energy,” he added with an almost Tigger-ish bounce. Tell me more, I replied, thinking that this sounded like a no-brainer. He then began to detail the self-injection routine that he now follows and, as someone who has a needle phobia, my interest was already becoming flaccid when he added that every few months he would also need to have a pint of blood extracted to prevent it thickening in his veins. And as for prize plums, these might shrivel. That seemed quite a lot to contemplate for the chance of better skin and the potential of more bed ballet with one’s partner. But he was evangelical, even offered to introduce me to the folk at his clinic. But I think I’ll stick to my moisturiser in the morning routine and then a good book at night. Not every evening needs to include a Nutcracker performance.

It would be remiss of me not to remind you that it’s The Monocle Christmas Market in London this weekend. An event, held at our offices in Marylebone, that has become an annual tradition for many of our readers and listeners. There’s Santa, there are reindeer, there are stalls displaying covetable gifts and there’s some booze too. Come along – it would be nice to see you.

Oh, and thank you for reading this column. I mean it.

To read more columns by Andrew Tuck, click here.

As 2025 draws to a close, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva is riding high. Indeed, the Brazilian president is probably looking ahead to next year – an election year – with relish. In 2024, after months of political dysfunction and growing isolation on the international stage under Lula’s predecessor, Jair Bolsonaro, Brazil began to show some of its old self-confidence. This was all the more striking given how many other nations wilted in the face of the destabilisation directed by Donald Trump’s second administration. 

Brazil made its mark in three ways. First, when Donald Trump imposed swingeing tariffs on the country for nakedly political purposes, Brasília refused to be bullied. The US president eventually dropped most of the levies on the South American country’s agricultural sector, recognising that they were only hurting US consumers. Second, Brazil successfully prosecuted and incarcerated Jair Bolsonaro, its former president, for plotting a coup to stay in power. This sent a powerful signal to the world that the nation would not entertain autocratic populists or anyone who undermines its democratic institutions. And third, the country took centre stage by hosting a series of global events, including the Brics summit and Cop30. These grand multilaterals afforded Lula the chance to play global statesman – and he did not waste the opportunity.

So, Brazil appears to be rekindling its mojo. But what does that mean for the year to come? Latin America’s most populous nation enters 2026 with substantial geopolitical leverage. Most obvious is the country’s vast, largely untapped supply of strategic minerals, namely lithium, copper and rare earth minerals. As the global order fragments, companies and governments are desperately working to diversify their supplies of these minerals, which are crucial for next-generation technologies and weaponry. Brazil, with its robust institutions and well-exercised democratic government, is an obvious partner of choice. 

American, European and Middle Eastern diplomats are already hurriedly attempting to woo Brazilian mining companies and officials into deals. Brasília must take advantage of this moment to structure investments and reforms that will translate into long-term growth. The same logic applies to the nation’s oil and gas as well as agribusiness sectors, both of which are poised for strong growth. Spurred by increasing global uncertainty, nations are seeking to lock in future supplies. Brazil must seize this opportunity in the coming months and years.

Investment in Brazil has long been influenced by election results and stakeholders will be closely watching the presidential, gubernatorial and legislative polls slated for October. Lula, an 80-year-old former trade unionist now in his third non-consecutive term, is widely expected to run for a fourth. The wind is currently in his sails; his approval ratings have been buoyed by a statement 2025. But Lula is also benefiting from an opposition in disarray. Bolsonaro, now sentenced to 27 years in prison for a coup plot, remains the leader of the Brazilian right wing. He has baulked at nominating a clear successor, fearing that such a move would consign him to history. But now his son, senator Flavio Bolsonaro, has announced a presidential run. Time will tell whether Bolsonaro the younger can mount a credible campaign.

What Brazil needs in 2026 is the same thing that it has always needed: reforms to the lavish perks and benefits given out to public officials, notably those in congress. Of particular urgency are amendments to a parliamentary budget scheme that hands out billions of dollars to members of parliament to spend in their home constituencies with little to no oversight. Unfortunately, those who can change the system are the ones who benefit from it. The only feasible option for real change is for these parliamentarians to be voted out – something for citizens to think about as they head to the polls in October.

Bryan Harris is a journalist based in São Paulo. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today. You can read more of his pieces here.

One of the things that I get to do as Monocle’s Europe editor at large is compile a mental compendium of how nations on the vieux continent are performing against one another – the doers and the duds. Part of my 2025 involved thinking about how France and Italy had, in many ways, switched positions. France has been racked by debt woes and political indecision and Italy racked by debt woes but proving surprisingly stable politically – something that it hasn’t been used to since the Second World War. As for my 2026? A good chunk of time will be spent pondering Spain.

Spain has consistently and unfairly flown under the radar. The Iberian nation is having a moment – proof that progressive, ethics-based politics has a place, despite the planet’s increasingly nativist turn. For one, Spain has been making strides towards gender parity. While women represent about a third of Italy’s two chambers, they make up almost 43 per cent in Spain, putting it on a heady par with Nordic nations such as Sweden and Finland. What about infrastructure? Spain recently announced that its Madrid to Barcelona line would be upgraded to allow trains to reach 350km/h – speeds normally only achieved by Asian giants.

Then there’s its economic growth, which grew by 3.5 per cent in 2024 and is projected to grow by 2.9 per cent this year (2026 is looking almost as good). Spain’s success is down to sectors such as tourism, services and manufacturing – and another key factor: immigration. The Spanish government has realised that its ageing workforce needs a boost, which is why it has been amending its laws to improve migrant integration. In 2024 the country welcomed 368,000 new arrivals, putting it in the top-five OECD countries in terms of numbers.

So what’s not to love? The problem seems to be that Spain’s left-wing prime minister, Pedro Sánchez, divides opinion. In November thousands of opposition supporters took to the streets in Madrid to call for early elections over a corruption scandal surrounding his Socialist party called the “Caso Koldo” (Koldo Case), involving former transport minister José Luis Ábalos, former adviser Koldo García and former party secretary-general Santos Cerdán, among others. 

And yet Sánchez has managed to rise above it all, speaking out against the far right, attempting to explain the dangers of disinformation to the Spanish public and looking to have abortion enshrined in the constitution. He has consistently taken an ethical line on Israel, denouncing what is happening in Gaza as a “genocide”, implementing an arms embargo against the nation and pulling out of the Eurovision song contest in protest at its inclusion. And despite the centre-right PP and the far-right Vox parties waiting in the wings, he refuses to step down – and has even said that he will run for re-election in 2027. Not that it will be easy. Unemployment remains high at more than 10 per cent, there are difficult regional elections coming up in 2026, inflation continues to be a concern and Spain has irked the US over its low defence spending (Politico recently called Sánchez “Nato’s flakiest friend”). 

Nevertheless, the point is this: you don’t need to agree with everything that Spain is currently doing. But as a leader of a nation that is increasingly becoming the economic engine room of Europe, Sánchez takes a principle-based line and sticks to it. Whether it comes from a genuine place or is mere expediency almost misses the point: he’s a talented politician. 

Ed Stocker is Monocle’s Europe editor at large, based in Milan. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

Few artists have shaped the language of the modern music video as profoundly as the US band Ok Go. Long before Tiktok and Instagram, the group’s DIY treadmill routine for “Here It Goes Again” became a defining moment of early internet culture and a viral phenomenon before the word “viral” meant anything beyond an infection.

Now, following frontman Damian Kulash’s acceptance of UKMVA’s Icon Award for music-video innovation, he is reflecting on two decades of creative risks, homemade spectacle, analogue magic and why the band never chased metrics while the platforms around them were changing everything. With two new Grammy nominations for “Love” (video) and And the Adjacent Possible (artwork) and a decade-long gap between albums finally closing, Kulash spoke to Monocle Radio about the past, present and future of visual music-making.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity. Listen to the full interview on ‘The Globalist’ from Monocle Radio.

Let’s start at the beginning. What was going through your mind when you created the music video for ‘Here It Goes Again’? What did you want it to be?
When we made the video for ‘Here It Goes Again’ – the treadmill video – we were trying to make something for this nerdy group of fans that we had stumbled upon and connected with. At the end of our concerts, we would do a ridiculous boy-band dance on stage to diffuse the hipster tension that was in indie-rock rooms in the early 2000s, when it was cool to smoke cigarettes and shuffle your feet. We wanted music that felt like Queen or Cheap Trick or Joan Jett. We wanted people to be fist-pumping and have fun. So we came up with a dance for a song called ‘A Million Ways’ and a rehearsal tape of that was uploaded online in the pre-Youtube era. It was then downloaded 300,000 times over a few weeks and we realised that we had accidentally created a music video and made a connection with our fan base. So we thought we should make something else for those people. 

We didn’t think of it as a music video but more as just another ridiculous thing. We recorded a routine on treadmills at my sister’s dance instruction studio. We thought it was a weird, modern way of filming a video but we did not think it would ever be seen by anyone outside those few fans.

You were one of the first bands to break through via Youtube. Now artists are adapting to Tiktok and algorithmic discovery. How has that shift affected you?
Oh, boy, that’s a huge question. If you needed a poster child for Youtube, we were the ones. We were right there. We lucked into being the first wave of truly homemade stuff to take on the giant media machine and win, and that was really liberating and fun.

I’m sure that there are people in their twenties who see the canvas provided by Tiktok, Instagram or whatever, and feel genuine art in their souls. I still think in a slightly different framework. I like working for months on end to come up with a nugget of something that could never have existed otherwise. I put all my effort into two, three, four or five minutes of music or film that feels as though I’ve figured out where the edge of impossible is and tipped my finger over to the other side. That’s what art feels like to me.

But that’s not what succeeds on Tiktok. What succeeds is putting something up every day: a low-quality bar, highly repeatable. And that’s only the beginning of the definition of the new form. The fact that it’s now the arbiter of what you see shows how the algorithm isn’t picking content based on how the viewer feels about it but rather how it thinks the broader masses will react to it. It has completely changed the way things move through culture.

I am not changing what I do in reaction to it. I probably should, if I wanted to maximise success or numbers. But you don’t wind up being in a rock band or being a filmmaker because you’re highly strategic about making money. You wind up here because you want to connect with other human beings. 

Listen to the full conversation with Damian Kulash and Monocle Radio’s Tom Webb on ‘The Globalist’.

In a generically opulent kingdom, an emperor roams the streets wearing nothing but an irksome, complacent smirk. The plot of Don Juan Manuel’s El Conde Lucanor (1335) and, for more contemporary readers, Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytale The Emperor’s New Clothes (1837), felt oddly pertinent when the president of Fifa, Gianni Infantino, presented the football association’s inaugural peace prize to US president Donald Trump on Friday. The award – calculated and flagrantly irrelevant – was indicative of an institution that has been consistently obsequious to illiberal powers. Just like the empty looms of Andersen’s swindling tailors, Fifa’s pretences to power confirmed that next summer’s World Cup, held between Canada, Mexico and the US, will serve one man’s vanity in pursuit of his nation’s wealth. 

The 2026 Fifa World Cup draw ceremony was a gauche affair. Held in Washington, it was a protracted pantomime performed to an audience of one: the US president. Infantino played the hits: he led the crowd in chants of “USA, USA…”; he concocted a garish peace prize, including a trophy, gold medal and certificate; and he booked the Village People to sing Trump’s favourite tune, “YMCA”. The award – the creation of which was announced last month without approval from Fifa’s board – was designed by Infantino to soften the blow of Trump’s failure to win the Nobel Peace Prize. And while the commander in chief’s forces gathered off the coast of Venezuela, attendees to the ceremony nodded along and applauded à la the townsfolk before their imperious leader. The world’s sporting elite were never going to play the role of the truth-telling child in Andersen’s tale. Not when the sport’s governing body, like the fabled weavers, was so shamelessly plying Trump with transparent blandishments. Indeed, the only real difference between Andersen’s fraudsters and today’s obsequious CEOs and world leaders is that the presents and made-up accolades given to Trump are anything but invisible – that Boeing 747 gifted by Qatar in May being a case in point.

Infantino is not the first to resort to tacky or tantalising tactics to get the US president on side. In October, Japan’s newly minted prime minister, Sane Takaichi, showed the world that when it comes to the man who has everything – less is not more. Personalised golden golf balls and the putter used by the late Shinzo Abe when he and Trump golfed together were an ace gift that helped pull Japan out of the rough following severe tariff hikes. But unlike Takaichi, Fifa’s flattery did not show nous nor deft diplomacy – it felt singularly sycophantic. Particularly when the US is not hosting next summer’s tournament alone.

What qualifies football’s governing body to assign a peace prize? Little more than its long history of fawning over money and power. In fact, much like its inaugural peace prize winner, Fifa’s shamelessness is its superpower. Lavishing leaders and propping up states with its soft-power machine (aka the World Cup) has become the institution’s lifeblood and raison d’être. Look back at Infantino’s record of elected host nations: Russia in 2018, Qatar in 2022, the US in 2026, Milei’s Argentina hosting with Uruguay in 2030 and, in 2034, Saudi Arabia. It’s an axis not known for its commitment to being welcoming to all, nor for its love of the sport (bar Russia, Argentina and Uruguay). There is, of course, a rationale to hosting World Cups in nations without storied footballing pedigrees; these tournaments help to stretch the frontiers of the sport. However, the blatant and successive rewarding of regimes that operate counter to the more democratic ideals of the sport’s fanbase diminishes the positive impact of the world’s most-watched sporting event.

Infantino’s tenure mirrors much of the World Cup’s past: the tournament is indistinguishable from controversial nation-building. In 1934, the World Cup in Italy provided Benito Mussolini the opportunity to promote Italian craft, design and a dose of right-wing nationalist pomp. In 1978 it was Argentine dictator General Jorge Rafael Videla’s turn to use the games to his advantage. In fact, this political football has been played down the right wing for so long it’s a wonder that Brand World Cup, or Fifa itself, bother purporting a liberal agenda at all. 

And yet in a 2022 speech, the Fifa president declared himself as feeling gay, disabled, like a migrant worker, Arabic, African and others besides. But there will be more to come in the summer. The designated Pride Match at World Cup 2026, held in Seattle, will – thanks to Friday’s draw – feature Egypt and Iran: two nations where homosexuality is illegal and, in the latter country, punishable by death. It could well be a spectacle but don’t expect to see players or Fifa staffers joining in. After all, the football association failed to support players wanting to wear OneLove armbands in support of LGBTQ+ people at the Qatar World Cup by announcing that those individuals would receive yellow cards. 

So, what does summer 2026 have in store? Infantino is keeping many of the tournament’s secrets under wraps (expect naff half-time performances and NFL-style pitch-side interviews). But the real winner of the so-called people’s game will be the continued success of Fifa’s egregious lickspittle tactic. While the losers will be fans at the US legs of the tournament forced to suffer draconian government officials and Trump’s patrolling ICE agents. For Fifa, the US remains the New World and a primed market, especially with the president on board. The previous World Cup in Qatar, and the decision for Saudi Arabia to host in 2034, have already promoted the sport in the Gulf, which is now a burgeoning giant of footballing financial capital. Fifa has clearly decided on its preferred clientele, targeting nations with populations that have vast purchasing power and don’t baulk at ultra-premium ticket prices (tickets for Colombia versus Portugal in Miami have risen 514 per cent since Friday’s draw). Football has never been democratic and Fifa never liberal. The 2026 Fifa World Cup promises to be more nakedly vulgar – and profitable – than ever. Nothing matters more than the bottom line and its showing. 

Thailand’s largest design week might take place in Bangkok every year but Chiang Mai Design Week, which runs until Sunday, takes the honour of being first. A calendar fixture since 2014, creatives from around the country require little excuse to hop on a plane and fly a few hours north every December, especially Bangkokians. Just mention Chiang Mai to a design-minded resident of the Thai capital and watch steely, big-city hardness turn to mush. Many make multiple trips to Thailand’s second city throughout the year. Others yearn to retire there or cherish fond memories of getting married at one of the city’s beautiful venues – such as the Araksa Tea Garden (pictured, below left) and Tamarind Village (pictured, below right) – that blend tropical modernism with traditional Lanna architecture and colourful hill-tribe textiles and textures. 

But beyond the charm and the romance, being in Thailand’s second city makes creative sense. Chiang Mai’s abundance of resources, which range from a community of craftsmen to the chamchuri rainwood tree (beloved by the region’s furniture-makers and homeware brands), more than compensates for a paucity of deep-pocketed local clients. International buyers are, after all, only a flight away. 

Chiang Mai’s litany of markets are another major attraction for creatives, from the Saturday one on Wua Lai Street to Nong Ho a little distance away. On weekends, residents descend on a muddy field to rummage through a huge car boot sale. Virtually anything and everything is available for purchase at Nong Ho in all manner of disrepair. Spectacles, dungarees and dusty hardwood furniture; brand memorabilia, car parts and genuine junk. You might even find a back copy of Playboy – great for ogling the 1980s typography and graphic design, of course. There are plenty of more polished offerings too, such as the showroom of handmade furniture specialists Moonler (pictured below).

Chiang Mai’s devotees and diehards talk about finding balance. It’s not as chaotic as Bangkok but not as sleepy as Chiang Rai. It has energy, convenience and enough to do without being overwhelmed or cut off from the countryside. Designers actually make things in Chiang Mai and get inspiration from being outdoors. They wear hiking boots and vintage, too-small T-shirts instead of spending all day in front of a spotless computer screen dressed in a crisp white shirt and box-fresh trainers. Design is not afraid to get dirty in Chiang Mai and there’s a raw beauty to that – reason enough to visit during design week and beyond.

James Chambers is Monocle’s Asia editor. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

I found myself in the unusual position of nodding along in enthusiastic agreement with the aesthetic tastes of US president Donald Trump last week. This was unusual. We all have our own personal style but Trump’s insistence on deploying maximum opulence to his interiors does not chime with my more reserved British design sensibilities. 
 
Under Trump, the Oval Office has been transformed from an elegant space into an Aladdin’s cave: golden eagles and urns have been unearthed from the White House collection; golden cherubs were shipped in from Mar-a-Lago; the TV remote control has been wrapped in gilt – you get the picture.
 
Trump’s architectural tastes veer in a similar direction. He has issued an executive order stating that classical architecture serve as the preferred architectural style for all applicable federal public buildings, while criticising the “exposed poured concrete” of brutalist and modernist buildings. So it was strange to hear Trump praising the visionary Finnish-American architect Eero Saarinen and his mid-century modern masterpiece that is Washington’s Dulles International Airport.

Its sweeping concrete roof, which evokes the wing of a plane or perhaps the elegance of flight, hovers over the large glass frontage held up by slanted concrete pillars. There is no hint of the Greek or Roman classical styles that Trump admires. But speaking in a cabinet meeting earlier this month, he called Saarinen “one of the greatest architects in the world”. Though he went on to say that while Dulles was a “great building”, it was “a bad airport” and promised to rebuild it. 
 
Again, he was right. While the main terminal is a triumph, everything else at Dulles is a disaster. Behind the airy and inviting main terminal are two separate concourse buildings. They are long and claustrophobic – and no matter how many times you traipse up and down them, it is impossible to find anything worth eating or buying. There is no stylistic continuity between any of the gates, just different levels of confusion, discomfort and overcrowding. 
 
Shuttling people between these terminals is one of Saarinen’s less-enduring designs: the mobile lounge, a lumbering, 35-tonne, bus-like vehicle that raises and lowers to let passengers on and off. When Dulles opened in 1962, these mobile lounges might have seemed like the cutting edge of airport design. Today, they are hot, smelly, overcrowded cattle wagons that I dread boarding. One crashed in November, with 18 people left needing hospital treatment. 
 
But what does Trump have in mind when he promises an “amazing plan” to Make Dulles Great Again? The airport is already being overhauled, with a new concourse opening next year. Since 2010, a rail transit operates between most of the terminals and this will expand. 
 
Maybe Trump wants to put his stylistic stamp on Dulles. Given his executive order suggests that classical architecture is the way forward, can we expect some Greco-Roman flourishes? Perhaps some colonnades slapped in front of the windows and a portico or two over the entrance doors? Trump loves marble – he recently decked out the White House’s Lincoln Bathroom in it – so maybe the toilets will take a more luxurious turn. The tips of the iconic sloping roof would be an ideal place to perch some golden birds or maybe even a floating cherub, if Mar-a-Lago can spare any more.
 
A call for proposals went out on 2 December, so time will tell whether Trump has a Midas touch with airports. As for me, I’d just be happy with a decent café. 

Charlotte McDonald-Gibson is a journalist based in Washington. Further reading? Here we take a look at the Trump family’s plans for a redevelopment in Belgrade.