During a live televised debate last June in the run-up to New York’s mayoral election, the nine candidates who were vying for the Democratic party’s nomination were asked where each would hypothetically travel for their first official overseas visit in office. The candidates dotted from destination to destination: Israel, Colombia, Ukraine, Jamaica, Canada. Apart from Zohran Mamdani, who turned his gaze homeward. “I would stay in New York City,” he said, in what became a memorable exchange. “My plans are to address New Yorkers across the five boroughs – and focus on that.”

Almost six months into his mayoralty, Mamdani has been true to his word. His role so far has been painted in big, broad rhetorical brushstrokes by left and right, supporters and cynics – the former styling him as a grand socialist urban saviour; the latter as the author of a great city’s undoing. But he has placed his focus on something altogether more tangible than either of those caricatures allow: the nuts and bolts of city life.

Mamdani has been keen to demonstrate that he is working – in a visible way – to achieve something that many assumed would elude him once he came to power: getting things done. That has included decluttering public thoroughfares by limiting the amount of time that scaffolding can remain up around a construction site; converting on-street car-parking spaces into areas for large new rubbish receptacles; personally guiding New Yorkers through their preparations for a snowstorm; and visiting subway-maintenance workers underground during a midnight shift.

“A mayoralty is a unique – and uniquely difficult – institution in politics,” says Brian Kelcey, an author, mayoral advisor and commentator on urban affairs based at Winnipeg city hall in Canada. “It’s a role that is highly visible, so people have high expectations of their mayors. But one of the things that has been most catastrophic to public trust in governments has been that many cities have simply been ineffective at making change. It just takes too long to do reasonable things. And that has created a lot of scepticism.” Small, key milestones are critical. Being able to say “we saved $1,000 here” or “we fixed this pavement that hasn’t been fixed in 20 years” builds trust.

By fixating on repairing or transforming the smaller, more tangible aspects of city life, Kelcey says, the way is paved for bigger transformations to come – in Mamdani’s case, for example, city-owned grocery stores or free public-bus journeys. “The momentum that you build by doing that buys you political capital to go back to your state or federal government and say, ‘We’re good partners.’”

Mayors operate in proximity to their constituents in a way that the holders of other high political offices rarely do. But this also means that mayors are often held to account more quickly and acutely for things that occur on their watch. Los Angeles mayor Karen Bass, who is currently involved in an uphill re-election campaign, has struggled to recover her standing since being absent from the city when wildfires arrived in the Palisades in early 2025 – or her on-the-ground mishandling of their aftermath. (She was on an official visit in Ghana when the fires broke out.) Similarly, Pete Buttigieg’s controversial demotion of South Bend’s first black police chief while he was mayor of the Indiana city could still curtail his presidential ambitions among black voters, in 2028 or beyond. 

Mamdani has also learned this recently – a public backlash to a proposal to cut spending on New York’s public libraries spurred a rapid response. Baseline library funding in New York of $37.1m (€32m) will now be protected by law, in effect, forever. 

All of this is something of which leaders perched higher up the electoral ladder would be wise to note. Realising bigger ambitions is often most successful when they are anchored in the smaller achievements that precede them. It’s from there that the bigger picture begins to paint itself.

Further reading:
After 100 days of Zohran Mamdani’s New York, is the first-time mayor living up to the hype?

Is there an antidote to loneliness in our cities? If you ask the Danes, the answer could be co-housing: a community‑led way of living that can improve quality of life while also making urban life more affordable. The concept places single-family homes around shared common areas, giving residents central places to gather, garden and play. With more opportunities to build neighbourly connections, co-housing has been shown to decrease feelings of loneliness in older residents, as well as help young families offset childcare.

Co-housing schemes have begun gaining traction in the UK, with 30-plus projects already established in the country and more than 60 currently in development. Development company Town is spearheading housing builds across the UK and currently has five communities in the works. Monocle spoke to Jonny Anstead, one of the business’s founding directors, about how Town works and how co-housing can improve the quality of life for people from all generations and walks of life. 

This conversation has been edited for clarity and length. Listen to the full version of this interview on The Urbanist.

What is co-housing?
Co-housing is a very simple idea: it’s a community where you know your neighbours. It’s a bit like an old village, where you are familiar with the people living around you. You can rely on them to help you with problems that we all face in life. The basic idea being that people have their own home but, in addition, they have shared spaces, such as a common house where they can cook and eat together, as well as some shared outdoor areas for gardening, children’s play and other uses.

Is that different from what some people might describe as a co-operative? 
The idea of [co-housing is around] co-operative behaviours, living among other people and drawing on one another for support. Co-operative [housing] can mean something a little more specific, in terms of the financial model of a community where things are owned jointly. In the case of co-housing, the usual model is that homes are owned privately but in addition to those private homes, there’s a level of community ownership of these shared spaces.

Let’s talk about Town, which you co-founded in 2014. Tell us about that journey and why you decided to set it up.
We set up Town because we saw shortcomings in the way that housing is planned, designed and built. There’s a mismatch between the quality of housing that is delivered in the UK and the way that people want to live. Housing reflects some of the problems that we have as a society: people are lonely and feel isolated. For children growing up in the kind of housing that we create, there’s a real shortcoming in their quality of life. Some 100 years ago, children had opportunities to play outside, to explore the world independently of their grown ups. These days, [it’s more likely] that they will be inside [looking at] screens and the outside world is something to be feared rather than explored. We saw an opportunity to create a form of housing that would [challenge] some of those ideas.

On ‘The Urbanist’ we talk a lot about the importance of people-centric design and designing places that are at scale – but that’s often difficult to deliver. You seem to have found a way to bring things down to a much more relatable sense of living, both socially and in the built environment.
[Our] model of co-housing is built around scale, which makes some of those things easier. Co-housing is typically between 20 and 45 homes. At that scale, you can achieve a lot of things but first and foremost you can know your neighbours. The modern co-housing movement, which originated in Denmark, talks about social maths of design – the idea being that at these scales, you can share spaces, assets and resources because you have that familiarity with the people around you.

Let’s now dive into some of the projects of these co-housing communities that you have worked on. What are some that come to mind and what do you particularly like about each of them?
There is one completed scheme that Town delivered directly. [It’s] called Marmalade Lane and it’s a 42-home project in Orchard Park near Cambridge that was completed in 2020. It is made up of about 100 people. It’s an intergenerational co-housing community that has a diverse mix of individuals, from people who live on their own to families with young children and so on. Residents can actually benefit from having different kinds of people around them. For instance, at Marmalade Lane, adults who have little ones report that it’s nice having other adults around who can take on some of the burdens of childcare.

You mentioned that this is an intergenerational community. Tell us more about how helping older people feel like they’re part of a community enhances their quality of life.
We’re all living longer. We’re all ageing. The question of how we grow older in a way that is dignified, while maintaining quality of life and addressing the risks of isolation, which become greater as you grow older, is critical. [This is] not just within co-housing but as a society. Co-housing is a valuable model because it means that as you become older and as your needs change, you have people around you who can address some of your day-to-day needs. They’re not carers in an official sense but what they will be able to do is look out for each other. If someone is unwell, [the community] will be able to support them. They can spot if somebody hasn’t been around very much and address isolation before it becomes a real issue.

How involved are the residents in planning their own community?
A lot of co-housing communities have come from people getting together, looking for a site and working together on bringing [the community] forward. Our model consists of a few different ways of doing it. In some cases, we work with groups that already exist [and] we act as a developer. We help them plan their community. We appoint a design team and we have design sessions [where we collaborate with the future residents]. We collectively set the brief and then set the design for the community.

Listen to the full version of this interview on The Urbanist.

It’s a sign of the times that no major international cultural event seems to be complete any more without an accompanying culture war. At the Venice Biennale, conflict has arisen over Russia’s return to the event. The current hotbed of discontent? The south of France, where the Cannes Film Festival is taking place.
 
While many have been talking about Garance and the 12-minute standing ovation that it received over the weekend, the headlines are being hogged by another story that has nothing to do with who is wearing what on the Croisette or which film will snag the Palme d’Or. Instead, the talk is about billionaire industrialist and media tycoon Vincent Bolloré. To the left, he’s a pantomime villain who associates with the far right and is leading France down a retrograde path. Bolloré prefers to call himself a “Christian democrat”, interested in media as a business opportunity rather than for ideological reasons.

On 11 May, a day before the festival opened, more than 600 French industry figures signed an open letter condemning the sweeping “Bollorisation” of film and media, citing a potential “fascist takeover of the collective imagination”. Bolloré’s investments are large, spanning Vivendi (where he is a majority stockholder) and his own holding, Bolloré Group. His portfolio includes Canal+ and Studio Canal – the premier private financier of French cinema – as well as rabble-rousing news channel CNews, Europe 1 radio, Sunday weekly Le Journal du Dimanche and publishing behemoth Hachette. 

Backlash to the open letter came on Sunday, when Canal+ CEO Maxime Saada said that he would no longer work with anyone who signed it. Many signatories were reportedly troubled by Canal+’s acquisition of a 34 per cent stake in UGC last year, which operates one of France’s main cinema chains. Bolloré and his clan are accused of tightening their grip on both the production and the distribution of film in the country.

Yet evidence of an ideological takeover in French film is scant, even if it feels as though someone is taking a wrecking ball to the industry. But there are concerns that this could change if the far right wins big in France’s next legislative elections. Just yesterday, CNews commentator Pascal Praud was telling people to watch L’Abandon, which premiered on 13 May, about a controversial drama about a teacher murdered by an Islamist.

Fears over Bolloré’s level of creative control are also based on the current turmoil at Grasset, a Hachette imprint that has long been seen as a bastion of France’s intellectual spirit for its championing of major historical and contemporary thinkers. Some commentators and writers have reportedly linked the ousting of long-term CEO Olivier Nora last month – as well as a change in the publisher’s editorial line – to Bolloré’s reactionary agenda. More than 200 authors have since quit or refused to write another book for Grasset in protest.

Whether film becomes embroiled in such an existential fight remains to be seen. But wouldn’t it be nice to get back to talking about what’s taking place on screen rather than off it?

Getting to know a foreign country requires plenty of time on the ground, an effort to speak the language and a friendly guide, be they a partner or a close friend. I would now add a fourth pillar to that holy trinity: obtain a local driving license and take to the roads. I have been driving in Thailand for more than a year and the experience so far has been revelatory. 
 
The highways are fantastic, Bangkok’s traffic jams are avoidable with a bit of local knowledge and the Thai capital’s chaotic street scenes are a dream for anyone sitting behind the wheel. Thai drivers are remarkably polite. They routinely let other cars in and no one beeps. Seriously. No one beeps. I waited at a flashing orange light for five minutes, completely confused by this road signal, before the car behind me gave me a gentle toot. And I swear the horn on my sensible, six-seater Hyundai has been modified by a monk to deliver the same umph as a temple windchime.

This lack of honking and road rage more than makes up for some unique driving habits. Put Thais in a car, especially a pick-up truck, and suddenly they are in a rush to get somewhere. Vehicles habitually change lanes, undertake and jump into any gap. It can take a bit of getting used to but every country has its own idiosyncrasies (I once watched a tractor in China driving the wrong way down a motorway) and that’s all part of the charm. 
 
But to back up for a second, I should make it clear that I’m not a car guy and I was living a perfectly happy car-free existence in London, Hong Kong and Bangkok until two kids came along. My midlife U-turn was only meant to be a practical concession, a need for safe passage to football practice, swimming lessons and Muay Thai training. The Damascene conversion came as a complete surprise and now I must confess to loving driving in Thailand. What’s more, the timing of my newfound mobility could not have been better. 
 
A few months after I got my license, we started work on our new handbook about Thailand. This beautiful title, full of original photography and fresh reporting, was released last week and it’s the first in the series to venture outside Europe. We have gone out of our way to make sure that the whole country is captured across 224 pages. Naturally, this required plenty of roadtrips north, south, east and west. I highly recommend driving from Bangkok up to Chiang Mai, stopping off at former capitals Ayutthaya and Sukhothai. I did the return leg in one, epic 11-hour drive and felt very Thai, stopping off at multiple service stations for Americanos at Café Amazon and Thai Red Bull from the 7-Eleven convenience store.
 
The best thing about having a set of wheels in Chiang Mai is being able to explore the surrounding countryside. Some of my personal highlights from the book include visiting the beautiful Moonler furniture factory and driving 90 minutes further north to the Araksa Tea Garden – a must-visit. 
 
But our books are an invitation to relocate and set up a business as much as plan a holiday, so I also called in on the Australian founder of Superbee – a pioneer of beeswax wraps. Antoinette Jackson told me her entrepreneurial story of landing at the beach in Hua Hin before packing her family into a car, driving north and building a global business in the mountains around Chiang Mai.
  
For me, driving has become a weekly wellness routine alongside games of six-a-side football – rare opportunities to focus on one thing without looking at a phone screen. I am as guilty as the next person of jumping into the back of a cab and spending the whole journey replying to emails rather than watching what’s going on outside the window. Getting behind the wheel allows me to see more of the country and be a better correspondent. 
 
Now, I know advocating for more car journeys in the middle of a fuel (and climate) crisis might seem frivolous but petrol prices will soon normalise and the EV network in Thailand is expanding at the speed of a Toyota HiLux pick-up truck on Highway 32. If I worked for Thailand’s tourism authority, I would be building a campaign to promote driving. I’d take a leaf out of Australia’s book, which brands coastal roads as grand expeditions. The journey south on Highway 4 from Bangkok to Hua Hin, Phang Nga, Krabi and Koh Lanta could easily become the Grand Southern Soi. That will be my next driving adventure and our Thailand handbook will be coming along for the ride.
 
James Chambers is Monocle’s Asia editor. Click here to get your hands on a copy of ‘Thailand: The Monocle Handbook’. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

Today was supposed to be the day that I was going to tell you about the many Faster Lane readers who are so switched on when it comes to civil aviation that I had to empty the warehouse to dispense a bumper load of prizes off the back of last week’s quiz. Sadly, this is not quite the case. While some of you did reasonably well, no one scored 100 per cent and I’m struggling to decide if the highest scorer gets the promised prize (one of our Trolley totes) or do I make a little downgrade that’s more representative of the overall score? Just in case you missed it, here’s a speedy recap.

1.
Which airline has understood that the ground experience is integral to overall brand enjoyment and provided a lounge concept so good that you arrive early?

2.
Name the European carrier with the best make-up and hair?

3.
Which European airline wins for having the most masculine, capable crew and consistently good beards?

4.
Can you name the carrier that has a newish in-flight safety video in which the passengers who have been cast for this film are so dreamy, medicated and generally checked out that they don’t stand a chance of evacuating an aircraft that has done a belly landing?

5.
Which supposedly premium airline has made the very bad decision to remove all magazines (including Monocle) from the front of its long-haul aircraft?

6.
Can you name the Asian airline that has no sense of how to conduct service on a six-hour, north-south, overnight flight and thinks it best to just serve dinner, then go straight into breakfast and clatter the night away with the clanking of cutlery and crockery?

7.
Which carrier has had the good sense to build loyalty and create a sense of occasion by introducing a collectable series of destination-focused ceramics for its top customers?

8.
Name the G7 nation that is technologically advanced and a master of big infrastructure and innovative design solutions – but somehow continues to have the most arse-backward immigration and arrivals procedure.

9.
What airline has chosen to fill its home tarmac with decommissioned, sun-baked Boeings and Airbuses when these hulls should really be sitting mothballed in Jordan or Arizona?

10.
What is the most efficient, perfectly designed, best little hub in the Gulf and will be even better when the home carrier takes delivery of more long-haul aircraft?

P.S. Bonus question: Who used to fly 747s from London to their base at the far end of the Med and had Sunday roast beef trolley service, complete with dangerously long carving utensils? I’m talking very early 1990s here.

The good news is that almost all participants passed (the bulk scoring five out of 10), about three landed the bonus question and a lot offered up multiple answers to single questions with accompanying arguments. They were all disqualified. To break the suspense this Sunday morning, here are the correct answers.

1.
Cathay Pacific, with the help of Ilse Crawford, wins for best lounges. No one really comes close.

2.
The ladies of Aegean win for best hair and make-up in Europe.

3.
The best facial hair and overall in-flight air of masculinity in the aisles goes to the men of Portugal’s TAP.

4.
The threesome who star in the newish Swiss safety video are so blissed out and annoying that you hope they get lost on their alpine outing or Switzerland’s aviation authorities have the good sense to yank it – it’s unwatchable and not serving its purpose.

5.
Speaking of things yanked, Swiss has also pulled print from its planes, leaving a bunch of sad, empty racks. What did they miss? Print is the only premium channel that speaks to their top paying passengers.

6.
Many of you identified Asiana and Singapore Airlines for poorly timed overnight meal service but from my experience it’s JAL that needs a smart solution during a five-hour run from Southeast Asia up to Haneda.

7.
Etihad’s destination-based, collectable Arabic coffee cups are not only a smart marketing and loyalty tool, they’re just cute and clever. The carrier still has work to do at the front of the plane but they’re pulling ahead of their regional competitors.

8.
Japan! Sort out your immigration. Please. It’s overly complicated and out of step with the likes of Singapore and the UAE.

9.
Thai Airways. Time to remove all of those sunburnt hulls that greet departing passengers.

10.
Bahrain’s bijou little hub is the best in the Gulf. It will be even better when their new line-up of widebodies arrive.

And for the bonus question, it was Lebanon’s MEA that had a rolling carvery on its 747s in the 1990s. And smoking in the galley. Those were the days.

And the winner(s)?

Congratulations to Otto, Dirk and Bianca. Bravo. Treats airborne.

Happy travels readers.

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

When Oribe co-founders Daniel Kaner and Oribe Canales were developing the hair-care brand, they took inspiration from Jennifer Lopez. Having collaborated with the American pop star for nearly two decades, Canales knew how her perfume would fill a room when she entered and linger long after she exited. “[Canales] snapped his fingers and said, ‘that’s what we’re after,’” says Kaner. The two entrepreneurs worked with scent developer Givaudan to channel that insight into Oribe’s signature fragrance, Côte d’Azur, which combines Calabrian bergamot, sandalwood and white butterfly jasmine. 

After spending decades working in the hair care industry – with experience at Aveda as well as Bumble and Bumble – Kaner built a sharp understanding of salon culture and what consumers look for. In 2008 he launched Oribe with Canales, a renowned celebrity hair stylist behind some of the most recognisable looks of the 1990s supermodel heyday. Canales was known for the voluminous styles worn by the likes of Christy Turlington and Cindy Crawford as they strutted down the runways for Versace, Chanel and Mugler, and posed across the covers of glossy magazines.

With their combined experience and connection to the wider culture, the duo positioned the label as a fashion brand rather than beauty brand. “Professional products were confined to salons, while mass products lacked aspiration,” says Kaner. “There was an opportunity to build something that combined professional performance with true luxury.”

Though Canales died in 2018, his influence still runs through the company, informing product development, education programmes and marketing campaigns. His stylist-first perspective and instinct for showmanship continue to guide how the label creates and presents its work, still committed to sending their teams to style the runways of fashion weeks around the world. 

Today, Oribe is stocked in 3,000 salons and sold in more than 40 countries, with products such as its Dry Texturizing Spray having built a fiercely loyal following (one is sold every 60 seconds). As the brand expands further with the launch of a new curly-hair collection, Kaner speaks to Monocle Radio’s Brenda Tuohy on The Entrepreneurs about scaling a beauty business, brand integrity and the importance of timing in innovation. 

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

When did you realise that hair care is serious business? 
Everybody wants great hair but people don’t know how to [achieve] it. I spent a lot of time in salons with consumers and stylists. That’s how I noticed a gap in the market: every beauty category had a premium tier except hair. Professional products were confined to salons, while mass products lacked aspiration. There was an opportunity to build something that combined professional performance with true luxury. For that, the details matter – from the spray patterns and formulations to the fragrance and packaging. We thought that if we could come close to all of that then maybe we would have a chance of getting there. 

Was Oribe’s positioning between fashion, beauty and luxury intentional?
Absolutely. From the outset, we saw the brand as part of the fashion world. Oribe [Canales] was such a cool guy. He was so embedded in that culture and the brand followed suit. In the beginning, we would hear ourselves saying, ‘We’re a fashion brand – not a beauty brand [and] not a hair-care brand,’ because it was so much about fashion, hair, makeup and getting the look. It was quite intense and intentional; it still is today.

How do you expand [the company] without diluting the exclusivity of the brand? 
Not all press is good press and not all sales are worthy sales. We always wanted the right curator rather than chasing scale. We stayed with some of the best salon owners in the world and that was really the point of expansion. They [shared] a belief and similar values. They had education within their salons. They believed in beautiful hair and precision. So we’re broadly distributed in the right places, but we’re very selective in who we do business with. 

Hairdressers have a special bond with their clients. How do you nurture that loyalty? 
You have got to build trust with the team, and through that comes comfort. Once you have that you can do anything you need to do. Customers have such trust with their hairdressers, it’s unbelievable. No amount of social-media engagement can top that connection. A ‘like’ is superficial compared to the intimacy of a client sitting in a chair, telling you about their family.

What would you do differently if [you were to start Oribe] today?
Very little. Challenges with supply chains or partnerships are inevitable but my core approach would be the same: to hire great people, build a strong culture, identify a real need and execute at the highest level. I would still be married to the idea of value creation, where everyone walks away feeling like a winner. 

How do you sustain success over time?
Don’t get complacent, keep evolving and experimenting. Success should enable reinvention and momentum creates the perfect opportunity to innovate. Too often businesses exhaust what already works instead of investing in what comes next. I read a book by James Kerr called Legacy and he argues that when you’re at the top of your game, you should change your approach.

As one of Southeast Asia’s most visited destinations, Thailand has hotels for every possible taste and preference. 

In our latest travel title, Thailand: The Monocle Handbook, available to order now, we showcase the very best of this sunny nation, including the multitude of excellent hospitality hotspots on offer. Here we round up a few of the book’s hotel highlights – refined city stays and wellness retreats among them – to help you decide where’s best to rest your head.

1. 
Capella Bangkok
Bangkok

Capella Bangkok has one of the most coveted locations in the city and each guest pad features a balcony with an unobstructed view of the Chao Phraya river. To further emphasise the expansive vistas, the interiors are finished in a colour scheme of whites, greys and blonde wood. A Himalayan salt scrub treatment followed by a visit to the Tea Lounge makes for the perfect lazy afternoon.
capellahotels.com

2.
Grand Hyatt Erawan Bangkok
Bangkok

There are few spots better tailored to Bangkok’s business community than the Grand Hyatt Erawan Bangkok. Set in the capital’s Ratchaprasong precinct, the hotel is linked to the wider city via the BTS network. The I.Sawan gym and spa provides travellers with the ultimate jet-lag cure. To maximise rest, make sure to check into one of the signature Garden Villas on the building’s verdant fifth floor, which have private terraces perched high above the city.
hyatt.com

3.
Rosewood
Phuket

Of Thailand’s many island hotels, Rosewood Phuket is a standout. Days here are spent dozing on sundecks, being pampered at the Asaya spa and strolling on the shoreline of Emerald Bay. The main pool and its floating walkways are at the heart of the property. “Our job is to make you really slow down and unwind as completely as possible,” says managing director Andrew Turner.
rosewoodhotels.com

4.
The Barai 
Hua Hin

The Barai is a sanctum of health and wellbeing. At the heart of the property – accessed via a subtly lit entry sequence – is the spa. Finished in ochre and burgundy tones, this maze of 18 treatment rooms is complete with soaking pools, rain showers and steam rooms. The eight exclusive suites are equally impressive. Sitting on almost 2 hectares (4.5 acres) of beachfront, they boast tailored butler service and pristine views of the Gulf of Thailand.
thebarai.com 

5.
Chiva-Som 
Hua Hin

Set on a lush, tropical beach in Hua Hin – known as the Hamptons of Thailand – Chiva-Som was one of the country’s first wellness resorts when it opened in 1995. Since then, it has remained a top destination for those looking to relax and reset. The offerings include fitness programmes, treatments (a papaya body wrap does wonders) and organic fare that often uses produce grown on site. Of the 54 teak-and-bamboo-decorated guest rooms, the Leelawadee Suite is ideal for long stays, allowing ample time to root out any leftover tension with a Thai boxing class.
chivasom.com 

6.
Raya Heritage
Chiang Mai

Raya Heritage is an example of the magic that happens when contemporary style meets centuries-old traditional knowledge. For two years prior to opening, the design team worked closely with artisans across the region, whose handcrafted furniture, decorative artifacts and accessories were incorporated into the resort’s scheme. It’s all complemented by the modern architectural vision of Boonlert Hemvijitraphan.
rayaheritage.com

7.
Six Senses 
Koh Yao Noi

The 56 villas here are decked out with private pools, sunken bathtubs and alfresco dining areas that immerse you in the surrounding natural environment. “Six Senses Yao Noi was born from a vision to let the island speak for itself,” says general manager Graham Grant. Tasteful nods to Thai culture can be found in the hotel’s use of vibrant colours that are typically seen on kolae fishing boats.
sixsenses.com

‘Thailand: The Monocle Handbook’ is available now on Monocle.com and in Monocle shops worldwide.

Friends suggested that we meet for a Sunday morning walk around Regent’s Park. They live close by and we must have done this walk with them hundreds of times over some two decades. It’s something of a weekend ritual if we are all in town. But for the past 10 weeks, since the dog died, we haven’t been to the park. It’s just felt, well, wrong without Macy careering through the gate to locate them, jumping up to kiss them. But we move ahead.

A city park can be a glorious thing and, on Sunday, the place was alive with people like us, doing little more than what the Victorians would have called “taking the air”. Folk wending through the new Queen Elizabeth II Garden, heading to the formal gardens, paying too much for bad coffee, letting children and dogs off the leash along The Broad Walk. There was life and renewal all around.

“Look at that goose!” I said as a hissing mother manoeuvred her flock of distracted goslings out of our way and on to a nearby stretch of grass. There was a general cooing. Then, after a few seconds, one of those questions from the other half – normally the wise owl in this relationship – that makes you wonder what’s going on in his brain.

“Sorry but how come all of you know that’s a goose and not a duck?” We all explained a few of the giveaways: size, the shape of the bill, that one honks and the other quacks. “I really don’t get it,” he retorted, his face sporting the sort of frustrated countenance that I normally produce in my long-suffering Spanish teacher. We might need to go back to basics: “Look at the pictures, which is the elephant and which is the lion?”

Living in a city, in the heart of a place like London, the shifting of the seasons is often gauged by looking at the weather app on your phone. Yet in a great park you see all the subtleties of the seasons arriving and departing up close. The first horse chestnuts – conkers to us Brits – falling from the trees signal that summer is closing down. The arrival of redwings from the Baltic on Regent’s Park’s football pitches let you know that winter is really here. As we walked around the park on Sunday, I realised how much I have missed doing this parade through nature. It felt like adjusting the dial on a radio and finally picking up the right signal.

During the depths of the coronavirus pandemic, the park was our saviour. The laps became a daily ritual, with all four of us when rules allowed. And in that park, the four of us have shared successes, discussed life with a frankness that I value and made each other laugh. There’s something about this promenade, this modest nature-infused perambulation, that gets you talking. And we are not alone in this feeling. 

As we pass other walkers you hear snatches of their conversations – bastard boyfriends, ailing mothers, holiday plans gone awry, a problematic flan recipe – all being picked apart among the roses, below the boughs of ancient trees. Perhaps it’s the expanse of the place, the openness and the big skies, but parks are made for confessionals, assignations and problem pastry debates. A park can also offer a sanctuary. Teenage couples, away from parents’ eyes, canoodle on the grass. Women in abayas sit laughing and gossiping on park benches, young girls play football with no annoying boys around. Regent’s Park’s surrounds are home to all walks of life, it serves everyone, provides a forum, a place to play, a democratic space. And all delivered essentially by some trees and grass.

As we departed the park, we agreed to meet here again as soon as schedules coincide. And I made a promise to myself that I will buy the other half a gift, a book, Wild: A Child’s Guide to the Animal Kingdom.

To read more from Andrew Tuck, click here. 

A few nights ago, I found myself in the audience at the Hammersmith Odeon, watching David Bowie perform his final gig as Ziggy Stardust. He was transcendent: his voice, more raw and potent than I’d ever known, sweat dripping as he bellowed “Rock‘n’Roll Suicide”. I didn’t head to the afterparty at Café Royal with Bowie and Mick Jagger because, well, it wasn’t July 1973. It was 2026 and I was standing in Coal Drops Yard, King’s Cross, levitating from what could reductively be called an “immersive experience”.

I have spent the better part of five years fatigued by exhibitions and such that label themselves “immersive”. Not traditional art shows, obviously, or sculpture parks or even art islands. It’s more the modern pursuit of finding yourself in a cavernous, often freezing, space in an industrial part of town because somebody told you that it was a good place to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Perhaps you know the sort of thing: a projection of a once-great oil painting stretched awkwardly across four walls. A floor “transformed” into a low-res lilypond. And your hard-earned cash spent on the privilege of standing inside what is essentially a Powerpoint presentation. Humanity, once again, humiliated by the technology designed to make life better. 

This push and pull between artistry and technology is nothing new, of course. Look at David Hockney. I loved the 2010 controversy around the then-septuagenarian Hockney creating vast exhibitions from images that he had drawn on an iPad. I also loved it when Hockney said, “Sometimes I get so carried away, I wipe my fingers afterwards thinking that there’s paint on them.” 

The sentiment raised an interesting question: if an artist gets lost in the process of making art with a digital tool, as they had previously with a more traditional medium such as oil paint, why is the final output seen as less valid?

Well, frankly, because digital art is often not very good. AI is the digital tool du jour and is largely, in the context of creating art, seen as cheating. A dirty shortcut. A quick route to something human-seeming rather than the genuine article. 

I have often wondered how I would feel if I cried at a lyric only to discover afterwards that it had been generated by AI. Fury? Betrayal? Embarrassment? The thought leaves me cold. It also explains why I have increasingly found myself fantasising about moving to the windswept Highlands, where technology or AI or immersive exhibitions are not deemed as necessary. I cannot tell you how many things need charging in my London daily life. 

All this is to say that my delight at the new immersive David Bowie exhibition came as such a shock. You’re Not Alone is produced by Lightroom, designed by 59, a Journey studio, and directed by Tom Wexler and 59’s Mark Grimmer (creative director for the V&A’s David Bowie Is exhibition). It is so spectacular, such a feat of creative execution, that I realised I didn’t care if the entire thing was made from AI (as it goes, it was not).

I still don’t quite understand how they managed it but You’re Not Alone has pulled off something extraordinary. An immersive exhibition that left me feeling not as though I had watched a Bowie retrospective (through some clever use of tech) but as though I had actually attended a Bowie gig (through some clever use of tech). Absurd. Thrilling. 

The whole show is dazzling from start to finish. An immaculate union of sound and vision. Across four towering walls and a great big ceiling, Bowie appears and disappears through kaleidoscopic collages and fragments that swoosh all around you. The concert footage is so vivid, so vast and so loud, you feel as though you are standing front of stage at Live Aid, 1985.

What delighted me most was the intimacy of it all. And the sense throughout that Bowie himself would absolutely love it. Despite the scale – the massive walls, the booming, swallow-you-up surround sound – the exhibition pulls you closer to our star as you journey through his many forms. At one point, Bowie discusses William Burroughs’s cut-up technique while pieces of handwritten lyrics scatter across the floor beneath your feet. It’s a clever reminder of the act of making things. No matter the tools, this level of creativity is distinctly human. 

Emily Bryce-Perkins is a London-based writer. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

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It’s a bright spring morning when Monocle meets with Andrea Trimarchi and Simone Farresin in their sunny studio, a former printing factory tucked between Milan’s Crescenzago and Cimiano neighbourhoods. The duo established the research-led practice Formafantasma in 2009, working on both client commissions and self-initiated research projects that explore ecological, historical, political and social forces.

Across more than 15 years of work, they have established academic courses at the likes of Design Academy Eindhoven, published books aimed at demystifying environmental science and developed design-led business strategies for furniture firms such as Finland’s Artek. They have also fulfilled no shortage of the more standard briefs, including spatial design for Marni’s Milan Fashion Week show this year, exhibition design for the newly opened Fondation Cartier in Paris and lighting for Italy’s Flos. The breadth of the portfolio is matched by the quality, which has earned them the nod as Designers of the Year in Monocle’s 2026 Design Awards. Here we dig into their approach and outlook to design.

Your practice spans everything from industrial and spatial design to curation. How do you ensure consistency across disciplines?
Simone Farresin: Design sits between economy, ecology, visual culture and the lives of people. So, why is it so strange that in our work we implement and explore all of these? Design has been described as a study and an aesthetic tool but the best designers never work in this way alone. Enzo Mari, for instance, was very political in his work; Charles and Ray Eames worked for corporations and films. These people have always been our references.

Andrea Trimarchi: There is a history of people who work across multiple media. It’s only in the past 20 years that we have become very set, with people only working on exhibition design, products or fashion.

How do you start to tackle problems and respond to briefs? Do you have a typical approach?
SF: We are visual people. We come from visual culture. We’ve always been interested in design, architecture and art – that’s our DNA. We have a sensitivity where we understand the world through that visual lens. But we also see the complexity that lays behind things. The two are not separate. Then there is the fact that there are two of us, so our work is conversational. Our world does not involve someone sitting down at a table in isolation and starting to draw something. We’re much more about these words that lead us toward the positioning of the design, rather than only an expressive act from an individual.

AT: We don’t think about our work insolation. Take the Superwire for Flos. It’s a beautiful lamp on its own but there’s deeper thinking behind it. It’s repairable and that stems from a project researching electronic waste that we did many years ago. Patterns start emerging between these works. 

As a society, are we too scared of taking risks or being critical?
SF: Yes. There are a lot of people in our industry who will say ‘we can’t do that because people won’t understand’ – and that makes me nuts. Generally, the only people that don’t understand are in the room. There’s a perceived superiority over people in the streets. That’s why we watch horrible movies and have bad journalism – we underestimate the people.

AT: In any case, it feels like everything boils down to simplification – that’s in the cultural world and industry too. Sometimes this manifests in meetings where people want to remove details or even components, such as screws. But you don’t always need to remove the screws. It’s fine to see how things are connected. We don’t always need smooth and perfectly reflective surfaces. It’s a beautiful metaphor – if we smooth out all the friction, then eventually we will just fall asleep.

How do you remain motivated?
SF: The world is increasingly conservative right now, from politics to products. There is fatigue and a sense that we are overloaded with things. We see companies being bought by other companies being bought by corporations, so people go to work in the morning with the objective of making more money. If you have that as your objective, it’s not economy but culture – and that culture shapes our reality. So, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to do something meaningful, which is probably why our practice is so expansive.

AT: In this specific moment in time, we should go beyond surfaces. Design should never feel superficial to me. The best designers have always worked in moments of emergency.
formafantasma.com

Further reading:
– All 25 winners of the 2026 Monocle Design Awards