There’s a festival-like atmosphere at Parc des Expositions de Paris-Nord Villepinte, where the furniture and homewares trade fair Maison&Objet is in full swing until Monday. Some 60,000 visitors and 2,300 brands are packing the halls in Paris. That’s a lot to take in, so here are some key observations from Monocle’s team on the ground.

1.
Arrival experiences matter. Adding to the drama at Parc des Expositions are a host of scalpers selling half-price tickets to the fair (down from €80). Their shouts, combined with the chatter of attendees, added to the sense of anticipation.

2.
“Our challenge, like that of the sector as a whole, is to defend demanding, high-quality design in the face of fast furniture,” says Tolix co-owner Antoine Bejui. The French heritage furniture brand, which Bejui revived in 2022 with Emmanuel Diemoz, is presenting a tight curation of its best works at the fair – a benchmark for other brands more broadly. “The focus is no longer on multiplying new releases but on strengthening strong, coherent identities capable of standing the test of time and remaining relevant to contemporary uses.”

3.
Paris-Nord Villepinte can feel a little like an airport at times. Interior designers, architects and developers can often be seen lugging carry-on sized suitcases packed with samples for furnishing any kind of space. There is, as a result, a sense of constant motion.

4.
There are plenty of art deco references from brands – and across Paris – as the design and artistic style continues to be celebrated after reaching its centenary in 2025. At the exhibition dedicated to the movement at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, a note that one of its proponents, Eileen Gray, composed spaces rather than designing them feels like good advice for anyone seeking to curate a particular atmosphere in their own home.

5.
There’s an ongoing blurring between art and design, as exemplified by Giopato & Coombes, an Italian brand known for its sculptural lighting. It blends traditional Venetian craftsmanship with modern technology and art research. “We see the continued development of the art segment as a key area of cultural exploration and growth,” says Cristiana Giopato, who established the brand with Christopher Coombes. “Here, design can operate beyond function and production, engaging more deeply with research, expression and narrative.”

6.
French silverware specialist Christofle is presenting a new collection, Malmaison Riviera, that is defined by soft, sun-washed yellow hues. It successfully translates a feeling – the summer spirit of the sunny Mediterranean – through colour rather than imagery, no easy feat.

7.
Indoor-outdoor boundaries will continue to blur in coming years – at least according to Ethimo CEO Gian Paolo Migliaccio. “The continuity between indoor and outdoor spaces is now an integral part of contemporary living,” he says, referencing the Italian brand’s new collection, defined by robust materials. “In 2026, the priority is to strengthen this dialogue through collections that place the relationship with nature at their core, balancing aesthetics and function, and embracing a design approach that goes beyond trends.”

8.
Big names can play a significant part in unearthing unheralded talent. Case in point is legendary French designer Pierre Yovanovitch, who has played an active role in the revival of Ecart, a French furniture house known for reissuing works from the early 20th century. The brand, which had been dormant until its relaunch this week under Yovanovitch’s guidance, has reissued 10 pieces by Paul László that were originally produced for interior projects.

9.
Give the people what they want. That’s the message from the president of French furniture firm Fermob. “A priority for us is simply to make products that people keep and use for a long time,” says Bernard Reybier. “That means designing pieces that are solid, easy to repair and well thought out from the start.”

10.
“Engage your core.” It’s not a command that you expect to hear at a trade fair. But, at the stand of Cesena-based Technogym, trainers have been hired to instruct curious passersby to test out its new equipment, including a Pilates machine – a reminder to bring your grippy socks to Maison&Objet’s September 2026 edition.

Nic Monisse is Monocle’s design editor. For more of his insights, click here.

Savills, the international property-services company, puts out an annual Tech Cities report that ranks the 30 metropolises best at luring companies (which pay handsomely for real estate) in this sector. It’s a meaty piece of work that explains how the availability of talent remains the number-one pull for such companies (San Francisco unsurprisingly triumphs). This year, however, Savills has added a new metrics set: a Matcha Index. This is because, they say, “matcha is prized for its slow-release energy and perceived health benefits, aligning with tech workers’ growing focus on wellness”. On this metric, Tokyo triumphs (affordability, quality and good café culture) and London comes in second. I concur with matcha’s dominance – hello, it has taken over in The Monocle Café.

Personally, I despise all types of tea and everything associated with this habit. People who collect teapots, own a tea cosy, “put on a brew”, leave teabags in sinks (or left slunk like a dead mouse in their discarded mugs), folk who say “Ooh, that feels better” as they two-handedly hold a cup of tea – all of these people should be sent on a coffee-conversion course. If regular tea drinking isn’t stamped out early, it can be a gateway to matcha. And suddenly people who were once spotted holding a glass of rosé are chugging down what looks like mown grass and preaching about their health regimes.

But the Matcha Index itself is fun because it is often these odd sets of statistics that unpack how a city functions and reveal the health of its urban fabric (for Monocle’s Quality of Life Survey, for example, we look at the number of bookshops and the ease of procuring a glass of wine at 01.00).

So, I have made up my own new and very insightful urban barometer: the Poodle Index. Now this is a simple and foolproof barometer for predicting whether a neighbourhood is a safe place to live and, to create one, all you need to do is count the number of large men with small dogs. The greater the number of buffed gents parading fluffy poodles (especially if they – I mean the dogs – are sporting miniature raincoats and matching bonnets), the safer the ’hood.

The Poodle Index is also an indicator of property prices. High-scoring Poodle Index zones tend to be occupied by people with large amounts of disposable income and home to numerous pocket parks and well-kept green spaces. If I was a property investor, especially one not too worried with the tech sector, I would rely on the Poodle Index.

But unfortunately, it’s the tech players that every property developer seems to have their hearts set on luring into their projects, not poodle man (or woman).

I spent a big chunk of this week visiting new office projects across London and repeatedly the first tenants to take up acres of space were AI businesses and tech investors. So, sadly, it looks like the days of the espresso bar are numbered – soon every corner of this city, and at least 29 more, will be turning matcha green.

To read more columns by Andrew Tuck, click here.

On 15 January 1834, London’s Royal College of Surgeons invited the public to a special event, where renowned surgeon and antiquities expert Thomas Pettigrew would give a lecture on ancient Egypt and unwrap a real mummy. All in the name of science, of course.

Such presentations soon became fashionable: in France, in Germany and particularly in Victorian Britain. Members of polite society who consider it improper for women to remove their gloves in public watched with delight as the wrappings fell away and the naked body of a millennia-old corpse was revealed to them. Thomas “Mummy” Pettigrew became a star of the unwrapping scene. At first, he performed his shows in university lecture halls and later at dinner parties as well. The combination of morbid eroticism, education, Egyptian romanticism and shiver-inducing entertainment fascinated aristocrats and wealthy bourgeois alike.

It was the era of European Egyptomania and this obsession extended to mummies. In the 19th century, preserved bodies were not only ceremonially unveiled; owning one became a status symbol. “It would be quite unrespectable to return from Egypt without a mummy in one hand and a crocodile in the other,” wrote the Austrian nobleman Ferdinand von Geramb in 1833. Artists painted with pigments made from ground mummy remains. And the dead were literally consumed: the sick and injured ingested powdered mummy as medicine; health-conscious parents sprinkled this “mumia” into their children’s porridge for strength.

The first embalmed bodies had already been brought to Europe during the Middle Ages, mainly for the production of mumia. The powder was believed to have healing powers for several reasons. One being that since antiquity, scholars had trusted the medicinal qualities of bitumen. This tar-like substance – along with resins and oils – was used in ancient Egypt to preserve bodies.

The excellent state of preservation of mummies also encouraged the belief that the bodies possessed mysterious powers. Thus not only bitumen and remnants of embalming materials were crushed into mumia but also the bodies themselves. In 1574, German doctor Joachim Strupp recommended this “useful gift of God” for more than 20 ailments, including sore throats, dizziness, heart pain, trembling and kidney problems. Other physicians and apothecaries prescribed corpse powder for broken bones, toothaches or even as an aphrodisiac.

Body parts at vegetable stalls

In the 19th century, following Napoleon’s campaign, an increased number of Europeans travelled to the glorified land of the pharaohs. And those who could afford it visited the pyramids to see mummies. The interest in human remains became so great that enterprising locals transported mummified remains from remote areas to more impressive burial sites to satisfy tourists. Traders even offered mummified bodies and limbs at fruit and vegetable stands as souvenirs for wealthy European visitors who already had everything else.

The supply appeared large enough. In ancient Egypt, embalming was widespread; not only among members of the elite but also among ordinary people. It was believed that only a body that resisted decay could be prepared for the afterlife. Embalmers opened the abdomen, removed the internal organs and extracted the brain through the nose. The empty and dried body cavity was often stuffed with sawdust or sand and coated with bitumen, resins and oils. The skin was meant to appear lifelike and embalmers tried to preserve facial features so the soul could recognise the body upon its return to the tomb.

But such religious beliefs mattered little to 19th-century Europeans. They imported mummies in huge quantities and were not deterred even when the government intervened. In 1835, Egypt’s governor, Muhammad Ali Pasha, issued a decree prohibiting the export of antiquities without official permission. The preface noted that the passionate interest of European travellers in ancient Egyptian artefacts had caused “true devastation”.

Despite the ban, plundering continued and smuggling boomed. Some travellers had mummies sawn apart and hid hands or feet in their luggage. And locals were enticed by the lucrative opportunities available in the flourishing black market.

A unique shade of brown

Traditionally, mummification in ancient Egypt took 70 days and more than 100 metres of linen were used to wrap a body. The bandages were repeatedly coated with bitumen and liquid resin, which glued the strips together and hardened when dried.

Connoisseurs in the 19th-century greatly sought after the label mumia vera aegyptiaca – “genuine Egyptian mummy”. Even though experts estimate that more than 70 million people were mummified in ancient Egypt, by around 1850, the vast European demand could hardly be met. Swindlers exploited the shortage, creating “instant mummies” from recently deceased bodies and selling them as ancient originals. Some supposedly ancient body parts were even later revealed to be camel meat wrapped in burial cloths.

Even still, the powder remained a popular medicine and tonic, and mummies continued to provide entertainment at unwrapping parties. Since the 18th century, a popular artist’s colour had also been produced from mummified remains: “mummy brown” – a pigment prized for glazes and soft shading. Eugène Delacroix, creator of the famous 1830 painting “Liberty Leading the People”, loved mummy brown as did the English landscape painter William Turner.

The colour also became popular among the Pre-Raphaelites but not all members of the artists’ group realised what the pigment contained. When a colleague informed painter Edward Burne-Jones, he was horrified. He went to his studio, took a half-used tube and buried it ceremoniously in his garden. However, at London’s Roberson & Co, one of the largest suppliers of paints and pigments, whose clients included celebrated artists and amateurs such as the future prime minister Winston Churchill, “mummy brown” remained on sale until 1933.

Cats turned into fertiliser


In the second half of the 19th century, many Britons of means dreamt of owning an ancient Egyptian mummy – or at least receiving an invitation to an unwrapping party. That was especially if Thomas “Mummy” Pettigrew – the grand master who mingled with learned men such as writer Charles Dickens – was hosting.

Not everything always went smoothly at these events. Sometimes the bandages refused to come off, and on one occasion, the mummy of a supposed Egyptian princess turned out to be that of a man. Pettigrew’s reputation nonetheless remained intact, eventually being elected to the Royal Society. A Scottish duke admired him so much that he asked Pettigrew to mummify him after death. And in 1852, after the death of the nobleman, Pettigrew obliged. The embalmed duke was laid to rest in Hamilton in the sarcophagus of an ancient Egyptian princess.

The long wrappings of genuine mummies often concealed jewellery, artefacts or valuable documents – offerings intended to ease the deceased’s journey into the realm of the dead. For guests at European unwrapping parties, however, the relics mostly arouse greed. “The brown, well-preserved body of a maiden who had died in the bloom of her life was revealed to the eyes of those present,” wrote German author Theodor Fontane in 1883 of an unwrapping at Dreilinden Castle in Brandenburg. But “No amulet, no piece of jewellery, no papyrus scroll was found with the body of the holy temple servant. The disappointment was universal.”

Commercial motives also kept interest in mummies alive. In 1850 in the US, paper shortages hampered newspaper production and some considered using mummies as raw material. According to one geologist’s calculation, the linen wrappings of embalmed Egyptians could supply the US with paper for roughly 15 years.

Whether such “mummy paper” was ever actually produced in the US is disputed. It is clear, however, that in Britain large quantities of animal mummies were processed industrially – especially mummified cats, which were used as fertiliser.

£200 for a pharaoh


It must also be acknowledged that descendants of ancient Egyptians were not always respectful of their ancestors’ remains. In the 1800s, mummies in North Africa were often used as firewood: soaked in resin, they burned extremely well. Mark Twain noted in his 1869 travelogue, The Innocents Abroad, that embalmed bodies were used as fuel for steam locomotives in Egypt.

Some travellers found the pushy sales tactics of street vendors offensive. “I was very annoyed by an Arab who offered for sale the hand of a mummy,” wrote an American visitor in 1894. “He followed me, held this horrible object before my face again and again and urged me to buy it cheaply.”

For many travellers, however, acquiring looted antiquities or mummies remained a perfectly normal part of an educational trip to Egypt well into the early 20th century. The Australian Daily News reported in 1907 that a high-quality pharaoh could be purchased for £200 (about CHF30,000 [€31,943] today). The mummy of a priest sold for £12 to £15 (about CHF2,000 [€2,129]) and that of a commoner for just £1 and 10 shillings (CHF200 [€212]). And as late as 1924, German pharmaceutical company Merck was selling mumia vera aegyptiaca at 12 gold marks per kilo (approximately CHF600 [€638]).

Mummy parties fell out of fashion around 1900, as it then seemed tasteless to use human remains as entertainment. Later the legend of the vengeful mummy would find its way into horror films, perhaps rooted in feelings of guilt over the mummy mania that had gripped Egypt enthusiasts in the early 20th century.

A booming black market once again

None of this prevented the next great wave of looting and trafficking roughly a century later. After the Arab Spring of 2011, criminals exploited political instability and armed gangs raided archaeological sites and museums across Egypt. Though unlicensed export of antiquities had been banned repeatedly since the 1830s, and a 1983 law imposed prison sentences and fines of up to EGP1m (CHF16,000 [€123,503]), the black market was flooded with artefacts. Unauthorised trade continued even after president Abdel Fattah al-Sisi tightened laws in 2013: smuggling antiquities now carried a 25-year prison sentence.

Smaller items often left the country in suitcases accompanied by a receipt from a bazaar vendor attesting that an alleged “imitation” had been sold to a tourist. Larger objects were wrapped in bubble wrap and shipped by container to Genoa, Marseille or EU customs warehouses, stored among similar-looking cheap goods. Customs officers could hardly tell the difference at first glance. Experts say that the bonded warehouses of Basel, Geneva, Bern and other Swiss trading hubs are also centres of smuggling, as illegal objects can be stored there securely and tax-free under customs supervision.

Dispute over Schepenese


Meanwhile, critics have been calling upon curators and private collectors in Europe to return ancient Egyptian objects, mummies and sarcophagi that were imported long ago. It is unacceptable, they argue, to continue displaying cultural heritage and human remains that were most likely obtained under dubious circumstances. In Switzerland, the debate is best known in connection with the mummy of Schepenese – a priest’s daughter born around 650 BCE in Luxor – whose embalmed body has been on display for more than a century in a glass coffin in the Abbey Library of St Gallen.

Theatre director and political activist Milo Rau sparked controversy in 2022 with an open letter. Schepenese had been brought to Switzerland illegally, he wrote; her rest had been disturbed; her “display” was disrespectful. The mummy should therefore be returned to Egypt, her “spiritual home”. Roughly 100 people signed the manifesto, which included prominent figures such as Adolf Muschg, Sibylle Berg, Jean Ziegler and French art historian Bénédicte Savoy, a renowned expert on art theft.

But the demand has also met resistance, including from experts. Salima Ikram, archaeologist, mummy specialist and professor of Egyptology at the American University in Cairo, expressed surprise. She stressed that the Egyptian state has not requested the mummy’s return and Schepenese appears on no repatriation list. And for good reason: she is interesting but not particularly spectacular. Finding a suitable place for her in Egypt – still rich in antiquities – would be difficult. Ikram argues that the mummy should remain in Switzerland as a kind of cultural ambassador.

The decision lies with the administration of the Catholic church of St Gallen, which owns the mummy. And they have decided that Schepenese will stay, reasoning that, as far as current knowledge suggests, she left Egypt in 1820 before the first export ban in 1835.

But the question of how to handle Egyptian artefacts in European collections will not go away. Experts call for far greater transparency about the provenance of exhibits and propose partnerships with the communities or nations from which cultural treasures originate, including those of other ancient civilisations, to seek joint solutions. What is clear is that every artefact and mummy has its own history and what should happen to them today is rarely easy to decide, even with the best intentions.

Can we still say ‘mummy’?


One debate linked to these issues seems somewhat eccentric: some curators, especially in the UK, now consider the term “mummy” ethically problematic. They advocate “mummified person” instead to emphasise that these preserved bodies once belonged to human beings – people with feelings, personalities, lives and clear ideas about what should happen to them after death.

They argue that if known, the name of the mummified person should always be stated along with everything else learned about them. But the legacy of 19th-century mummy mania often leaves little room for this. In many cases, not even the burial place of a mummy is recorded, let alone the deceased’s family or profession. Such information might have been gleaned from tomb inscriptions had they not been lost. “It is almost impossible to say anything meaningful about a dead person when all you have, for example, is their left foot,” says Enrico Paust, curator of prehistoric archaeology at the University of Jena.

Whether mummies in Europe will continue to be referred to as mummies remains to be seen. One term that certainly would not be socially acceptable today is a slang expression from the 1990s: dance evenings for older people, where participants moved stiffly across the floor, called “mummy shuffles”.  

Presiding over Pitti Immagine Uomo since 1995 is the affable Raffaello Napoleone. As CEO, he oversees the trade fair’s organisation and ensures its continuing relevance in Italy and beyond. He tells us more about evolving Pitti Uomo and his approach when it comes to personal style.

How do you make sure that Pitti Uomo stays relevant within the industry?
By being curious. Like everything else in life, if you want to maintain a position, you can’t rely on previous results. Season after season, fashion is a sensitive thermometer of social evolutions. The companies that are performing the best at the moment, generally speaking, are the ones that offer clothes that can perform and accompany the way that you move through your life. For example, I travel through cities by motorbike because it’s faster. Then, as an organisation, we keep track of what is becoming mainstream but also what is changing within the mainstream, from colours to the way that clothes are cut. We travel around the world 12 months a year to keep up to date. This is why Pitti continues to play a major role in the industry, because if you want to understand where fashion is going, especially when the market is difficult like it is now, you have to pass through Florence because it’s a completely different approach to the messages that are transmitted at fashion shows. A fashion show is one designer’s opinion; here you see hundreds of companies at once, from small brands to big names.

How do you achieve a balance between championing Italy while remaining a leading international fair?
This year, 53 per cent of the participating brands are Italian and the rest are from around the world. We’re in Florence, where Italian fashion was born. The city became rich from textiles [in the 12th century]. There are deep historic roots here: we have yarn production, tanneries, handmade craft. This has been passed down from one generation to the next. This manufacturing tradition now means that we have a deep relationship with, for example, Japanese brands that are close to the Italian concept of menswear. Chinese brands are producing their clothes in Prato now and using Italian fabrics. We’ve welcomed guest designers from Issey Miyake and Yohji Yamamoto to Jean Paul Gaultier and Donna Karan. We invited Vivienne Westwood to relaunch her brand here after she parted ways with Malcolm McLaren. Raf Simons has exhibited with us three times. For brands it’s an imprimatur to come to Pitti. For anyone looking to understand menswear fashion, you have to pass through Florence. There are retailers and suppliers but also an international community that revolves around menswear.

What rules do you follow when it comes to your own wardrobe?
I’m 71. I was born in 1954. I’ve been dressing the same every day for a long time. I like velvet and a sariana in the summer because it has pockets. I’ve never really felt like a fashion person. I just dress in a way that is comfortable and suits my lifestyle. I’ve never bought anything because it’s fashionable. I have a personal tailor in Rome who is now quite old but I have enough suits for the foreseeable future – as long as I don’t change my figure, so I walk and play tennis and golf.

It’s a satisfying feat of historical continuity that Florence plays host to Pitti Immagine Uomo (or Pitti for short), the biannual menswear trade fair that concludes today. The Tuscan city first made its fortune in the 12th century by trading wool and later expanding its textile expertise to silk and brocade during the Renaissance.

Since the 1980s, Pitti has been taking place at the sprawling Fortezza da Basso, a former military fortress built by the Medici in the 1530s. It is here that a complex of pavilions is divided into loose themes and given names reminiscent of Eurovision Song Contest entries, including “I Go Out” for the outerwear brands and “Dynamic Attitude” for clothes that fall under the streetwear category. More than 750 brands have participated in the January 2026 edition, more than half of them hailing from Italy.

Pitti acts as a barometer for the attitudinal shifts that can be felt from season to season. This January, the existentialism surrounding Donald Trump’s tariffs and the luxury industry slowdown seems to have dissipated and turned to resolve. German, French and Spanish buyers have been out in force while the US and China no longer represent the market goldmines they once were. Meanwhile, Japan offers a curious case study: while the weak yen means the country’s economic might has somewhat waned, it still yields an outsized influence when it comes to aesthetic sensibility and reputation for excellence. Two of this year’s guest designers, Soshi Otsuki and Shinya Kozuka, are Tokyo-based.

“Pitti is akin to the aperitivo before the men’s fashion weeks in Milan and Paris,” the founder of Paris-based accessories brand Bonastre (below, left), Fernando Bonastre de Celis, tells Monocle when we stop by his booth. “We don’t really receive orders here anymore but it’s a good way to make sure that there’s follow-through later down the line.” Many of the exhibitors echo this sentiment. The days of buyers signing off orders in Florence are almost over but establishing a presence at Pitti remains an important marketing exercise, one that lends prestige within a tightknit community of menswear enthusiasts.

Over a glass of chianti classico at Trattoria Cammillo, a collocutor at the neighbouring table tells me that he’s been coming to Pitti for more than 30 years to find new stock for his family-owned Chicago boutique, Burdi Clothing. Around us, Pitti veterans loudly greet each other over clanging plates. Cream cashmere jumpers remain miraculously unstained despite the copious amount of spaghetti alla carrettiera that is being consumed. Coats perched just-so on men’s shoulders finally come off, a signthat the 109th edition of the fair is approaching its finale. But it is these moments on the well-tailored hems of the trade show that represent Pitti at its best – stylish and besuited men gathering to see, sell and sport quality menswear away from the avant garde runways that dominate the season ahead. And while there has been talk of luxury market headwinds – a thriving Pitti is always an auspicious sign for the industry. 

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Want to know the spots frequented by Florence’s fashion crowd? Try these restaurants

This is Italy. Any deal worth making should be done correctly, meaning over a bistecca alla fiorentina with copious amounts of chianti classico. But which trattorias attract the Pitti set? Here are three industry favourites.

1. 
Il Santo Bevitore
The Tuscan dishes at Il Santo Bevitore (pictured) are reimagined for the 21st century in an atmospheric setting complete with vaulted ceilings and dark-wood panelling. Make sure to stop by the restaurant’s lively enoteca, Il Santino, which is conveniently located next door, for an aperitivo or a digestivo. 
Via Santo Spirito, 64/r 
+39 55 211264

2. 
Trattoria Cammillo
This family-owned restaurant is a year-round favourite of the fashion crowd – and for good reason. The trattoria has been serving up a straightforward menu of reliable Italian dishes including tagliatelle, fried zucchini and scaloppine since it opened its doors in 1945. 
Borgo San Jacopo, 57/r 
+39 55 212427

3. 
Trattoria Sostanza
This pared-back trattoria might be small but it is mighty. Its butter chicken and strawberry-topped meringues have attracted high praise since 1869. Pitti pros know to book a table well in advance. 
Via del Porcellana, 25/r 
+39 55 212691

Wherever you look, from social-media snippets to politicians’ soundbites, the story is the same: London is done for. On its arse economically, socially divided and battered by a crimewave of unendurable brutality, the UK capital is written off as a fast-falling hellscape. Residents inhabiting this version of reality, we’re told, are more likely to have their bike stolen than be offered a cheery “hello”.

Well, perhaps the last part is true – it’s not always the friendliest – but most accounts of the city’s demise have been grossly exaggerated and the case against this misinformation is mounting fast. Even bike thefts have dropped by some 30 per cent over the past 15 years. London’s inbound tourist numbers and spending rose 4 per cent and 6 per cent respectively in the year to October 2025. Last year the capital gained 93,000 residents according to the Office for National Statistics and there’s increasing evidence to suggest that the abandonment of the UK by the tax-fearing wealthy (“Wexit”) is, at best, overstated. 

This week the Metropolitan Police confirmed murders to be at a decade-long low in London (a rate five times lower than Los Angeles and half that of New York) and safer than Berlin, Paris and Milan. It’s better than Brussels for goodness sake (an argument that I’d say goes well beyond the murder rate). So why doesn’t it feel as though things are improving?

London has never been popular with the rest of the country but it’s not just homegrown grumblers or headbangers such as the Reform UK leader, Nigel Farage, doing it down. The US president, Donald Trump, found time to dub it a “warzone” and fret about the imminent imposition of Sharia law. That (bullshit) narrative hasn’t been helped by a rise in malicious social-media posts and AI-generated twaddle. Deeply suspect screeds, scant on detail but full of scorn for an imagined lawlessness, rose from the hundreds in 2013 to a peak of about 15,000 last year, according to new analysis by King’s College London. 

Whether the capital is to your taste as a place to live and do business or not, it’s important to distinguish between real life and out-of-context online rubbish. So, here goes: violent crime is falling and already proportionately lower than any other UK city. Despite the headlines about knife crime, NHS data says that hospital admissions for stab wounds are at historic lows. Assaults have halved since 2000, even as the population has boomed. Abhorrent crimes against women and girls rightly make headlines when they happen but, hearteningly, the best, most serious long-term study suggests that women report feeling increasingly safe – a trend consistent over the past three decades. Air quality is up, road deaths are down and that’s before we risk naming some of the city’s pulls: opportunity, world-leading art, culture, science, history, hospitality, education and media.

Of course, the truth – as in any democratic, liberal city of a certain size – is messy and imperfect and there are issues: a rise in phone-snatching and petty shoplifting among them. There’s much still to fix in the city, from housing to the high street, but the story of London’s failure is wrong by most measures. Seeing nearly 10 million people getting on with precious little of the drama depicted online isn’t entertaining – it doesn’t serve the nonsense nativist narratives of decline – but at least it’s true. Winter can be gloomy but to understand what’s really wrong we can’t let bots, bigots and misinformation make the weather.

Josh Fehnert is Monocle’s editor. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

On a weekday morning in Taiwan’s Hsinchu Science Park, delivery trucks queue outside semiconductor foundries. Just a few blocks away, meanwhile, is a hardware shop with many of its lights switched off; its owner sits idly by the counter, staring at his phone. It’s a snapshot of a place that’s experiencing a world-changing boom that doesn’t feel like one at street level. Amid all the geopolitical noise, Taiwan closed 2025 as an indispensable part of the global technology supply chain. As the manufacturer of most of the world’s advanced chips and servers, the island nation’s economic might is on course for further growth as AI continues to evolve. In October exports grew at their fastest pace in almost 16 years, largely driven by US demand for AI-related hardware (a category excluded from Donald Trump’s tariffs). This astonishing run has brought to the fore questions about who benefits from Taiwan’s economic model and its effects on the island’s security. 

Success in technology hasn’t lifted all sectors equally. From tool makers to auto-parts factories, traditional manufacturers have been contending with rising costs, labour shortages and the downstream effects of a supply chain that prioritises semiconductors above all else. The stock market surge has rewarded giants such as Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company (TSMC), the world’s largest chipmaker and the quiet engine behind everything from iPhones to the data centres that the internet relies on. TSMC’s market share exceeds 70 per cent and the company continues to post record profits – a level of dominance that only widens the gap with the island’s other manufacturers.

Currency policy magnifies the divide. The Taiwan dollar is estimated to be undervalued by 55 per cent against the US dollar – the steepest misalignment in the world. This keeps exporters globally competitive but raises the cost of living for everyone else. The strategy of currency devaluation powered the island’s industrialisation in the early 1990s; today it concentrates the spoils. Wages remain flat: the average monthly salary hovers at about NT$47,750 (€1,142). And the sector driving Taiwan’s global clout is small relative to its influence. TSMC employs some 83,000 people in total, almost 90 per cent of whom are in Taiwan; yet this represents a small fraction of a labour force measured in the millions. Outside a narrow class of engineers, the average worker here is effectively underwriting the country’s export success through lower pay and eroded purchasing power.

Housing turns that pressure into something more visible. Low interest rates have pushed demand well beyond what wage growth can support. Taipei is now one of the world’s most expensive cities to buy a home in, with a house-price-to-income ratio at 15.71 in 2023 – considerably higher than even London or New York. In the capital an average household still needs to devote two-thirds of its income to a mortgage, a burden that keeps younger Taiwanese trapped in a cycle of renting. 

All of this is unfolding as the island faces volatile geopolitical pressures. The industry fuelling Taiwan’s economic rise is now at the centre of global security concerns. Beijing has intensified its military pressure, no doubt emboldened by the havoc that Donald Trump is wreaking on geopolitical norms. At the end of December, China held huge military drills around Taiwan, involving fighter planes, naval destroyers, drones and even a simulated blockade; Chinese military aircraft and naval vessels have become a regular presence around the island. 

Taiwan’s strategic value cuts both ways. It heightens Beijing’s incentive to pressure the island while strengthening Washington’s belief that it is too crucial to lose. Washington has tightened export controls on advanced chips bound for China while pouring billions into domestic production, including a subsidy of more than $6bn (€5.2bn) for TSMC’s new fabs in Arizona. Europe and Japan have followed suit, courting Taiwanese firms as they race to build their own chip-making capacity.

Translating Taiwan’s technological stature into broader domestic prosperity remains an unresolved challenge. The geopolitical backdrop adds another layer of uncertainty to an economy already struggling to spread its gains.The island is being asked to anchor the world’s AI ambitions while absorbing the political and security risks that come with it. This year will be a test of whether the benefits of this extraordinary boom can finally filter down to the households carrying its weight.

Clarissa Wei is a US journalist based in Taiwan. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

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The design industry’s year kicks into gear this week in the French capital. Paris Déco Off, which starts today and focuses on textiles and wallpapers, will see exhibitions and product launches take place in showrooms across the city. Featuring name brands and smaller makers, it complements one of the industry’s largest trade shows, Maison&Objet, taking place in the halls of the Nord Villepinte Exhibition Centre. Here, we take the creative scene’s temperature with five of the week’s exhibitors.

1.
John Pomp at Triode Gallery, 28 Rue Jacob

There’s a back-to-school energy in Paris as old friends catch up post holidays and new introductions are made – a boon for designers such as John Pomp and a reminder that in-person events remain important for the creative community. “We are prioritising personal connections,” says Pomp. In Paris, he’ll meet clients and potential partners at Triode Gallery, where he’s showing new work. “Paris Déco Off has become a destination for the international community to celebrate and share inspiring pieces. Many US clients come here and it’s a pivotal moment for us to connect with them and others from all around the world – France, the UK, Spain, Russia, Germany and Japan.”

2.
Haydn von Werp at Librairie Michel Bouvier, 14 Rue Visconti

As much as material innovation is lauded, knowing when to use a specific material is important. It’s something that Haydn von Werp is executing perfectly in his new furniture collection, Arcus. “For my designs, materials are allowed to speak through their inherent qualities: stone for its gravity, wood for its warmth, metal for its precision,” says Von Werp. “Balance, rhythm, weight and clarity have endured because they respond to us in the same way that cities such as Paris or Rome do. The shapes [of the Arcus collection] are simple because they come from buildings and ideas that people already know.”

3.
Pierre Frey at 47 Rue des Petits Champs

For brands such as Pierre Frey – a French design house renowned for its fabrics, wallpapers and custom-made rugs – Paris Déco Off is key: it’s the most significant event that focuses on the sectors of the design industry that the 90-year-old family firm specialises in. This week it will show its new collection alongside a performance by fresco artist Raphaël Schmitt. “Innovation in our sector lies in the dialogue between heritage and experimentation: new fibres, sustainable processes, digital tools and renewed interest in artisanal techniques, especially in wallpapers,” says communications director Pierre Frey. “The future of interiors will be increasingly tactile, narrative and responsible.”

4.
Sandra Benhamou at Galerie Dina Vierny, 36 Rue Jacob

The lines between art and design are becoming increasingly blurry. It’s something that Sandra Benhamou is capturing with her exhibition As de Rêve – a showcase at Galerie Dina Vierny that presents her furniture alongside works curated by the gallery. “Art nourishes the imagination, opening emotional and conceptual territories, while design translates that emotion into something tangible and lived-in,” says Benhamou. “Together, they enrich one another: art brings depth and narrative, while design brings presence, intimacy and duration.”

5.
Toyine Sellers at Hästens, 52 Rue de l’Université

Craft’s resilience – and resurgence – has been well documented. Despite being defined by the use of the human hand, we’re still seeing new machines and materials applied to the creation of furniture and objects. South African-born, France-and-Sweden-based textile artist Toyine Sellers is turning that idea on its head. “Using traditional looms is fundamental to my practice because they embody a deep history of knowledge and skill, and operate at a different pace – one that privileges the journey over the destination,” says Sellers, who is presenting her first outdoor collection this week. “Opportunities for material and textile innovation come from pushing traditional techniques into new contexts. By using historic looms and methods in unexpected ways, new textures and functions can emerge without losing the integrity of craft.”

Nic Monisse is Monocle’s design editor. For more on Paris’s outstanding creative community, head to monocle.com to read our report on its impressive design ecosystem. And don’t forget to consult our Paris City Guide. 

When I have asked a number of Danes how they would feel if they “lost” Greenland, two points have been raised: first, that it’s not theirs to lose and, second, that many of them would not be all that bothered. When I point out that their kingdom would lose the largest island in the world, a crucial territory in what is rapidly becoming the 21st century’s most important geopolitical conflict zone, I have been met with shrugs. “We would only be proud if the Greenlanders took control of their country and if we helped with that in an orderly way,” the director of a Danish technology company told me over lunch last week. A senior civil servant, also at the table, agreed. “I think we’d be very satisfied if they felt they could go it alone,” she said.

With a population of about 56,500, “going it alone” is not really an option for Greenland, which has always been an economic burden on the Danes. Denmark spends about DKK5bn (€670m) a year on the territory – not just within it but also, for example, on flying hundreds of Greenlanders to Copenhagen every year for often relatively routine medical procedures. But it has also been a long-term moral burden. Denmark’s colonial past is much like that of every other nation with such history: there are incidents of which it is not proud.

Last year, for instance, the Danish prime minister, Mette Frederiksen, apologised for contraceptive devices fitted to thousands of Greenlandic women without their consent by Danish healthcare workers in the 1960s and 1970s.

But Danes can also get a little weary of these kinds of grievances. A while ago, I was invited for a presentation at Det Grønlandske Hus in Aarhus. I expected a forward-looking pitch about the wonders of Greenland’s nature and landscape; perhaps something positive about independence. Instead, I received an hourlong lecture about the injustices and hardships suffered by Greenlanders under the colonial yoke over the centuries and a contemporary portrait of social hardship, neglect and victimhood. I left feeling marginally more sympathy towards the Danes than the Greenlanders, which I don’t think was the aim. 

There is, of course, the eternal promise of the mineral riches beneath the Arctic permafrost that would be lost. But Danish friends point out that those riches are as yet largely unverified and will be hugely expensive – perhaps impossible – to extract, even with the ice gone. There is almost no infrastructure in place in Greenland and its hostile climate makes the construction of roads and ports prohibitively expensive, they say.

What Greenland has brought Denmark over the decades is international status, a seat at the Arctic table and the proud if rather hollow boast about the sheer quantity of square mileage at its command. This might explain why Danish politicians have remained so actively engaged in the matter while the populace at large is, at best, indifferent.

When the US president, Donald Trump, first voiced his wish to make Greenland the 51st state of the US during his first term, Frederiksen openly mocked him. She isn’t laughing now but is instead playing the Nato card. The US taking territory by force from another Nato member would mean the end of the Western alliance and of the postwar world order – which is why European leaders have been unusually trenchant in their support of Denmark too. (In a debate in the European Parliament, one Danish right-winger told Trump to “fuck off”. Only time will tell if that was a counterproductive strategy.)

But who really controls Greenland? Not the United States. But not entirely Denmark either – the Danes run foreign and defence affairs only. Even Greenlanders don’t really “own” it, at least not individually. Under Greenlandic law, no one can own the land on which their property stands – they merely lease it from Greenland’s government. Does that make it simpler or more complicated to “buy” the island? To be honest, at this stage, I have absolutely no idea. But what I do know is that the fate of Greenland would seem to offer no upsides for Denmark, either way.

Read next: Shake in your boots, Russian soldiers – I’m prepared to die for Denmark

The Islamic Republic, which was born of revolution in the late 1970s, is still using 20th-century tactics to suppress dissent. Last week the country’s government turned off the internet to stem the protests that have brought what could be the largest crowds to the streets since the Green Movement of 2009. It isn’t working. Cutting off electronic communications in an age of widely available, privacy-enhancing technology is near impossible. 
 
Some protestors are calling for the return of Iran’s royal family through the former Shah’s son, Reza Pahlavi, who has spent most of his life in exile in the US. But the regime’s opponents should be wary of harking back to simpler times. In many ways, nostalgia for the old system is unsurprising. Iran’s youthful population, which has a median age of 34, has little memory of the Shah’s era, so it is natural that they would look back on photographs of pre-revolution Tehran, with its stylish, miniskirt-clad women and disco-playing nightclubs, and yearn for what their country lost. On top of this, the Islamic Revolution has been delegitimised by 47 years of brutality under the guise of a morally righteous theocracy. Over the past decade, Iranians’ living standards have been battered by soaring inflation, largely as a result of US sanctions. This is particularly galling when the sons of mullahs drive around in luxury cars.

However, nostalgia for the system that was deposed in 1979 is both dated and dangerous. The old Shah was already seriously ill when he was overthrown and died a little more than a year later. His son has not been to Iran since he fled as a teenager. In recent days, Pahlavi has begun speaking publicly in support of the protests. While he has said that it is up to Iranians to decide what kind of system of governance they want, he is apparently keen to wield some influence, either as a figurehead or a political powerbroker. If he really wants to help his country and perhaps atone for the mistakes of his father, he should rule out a return to power.
 
The problem is that Iranians have few other good options. Most of the organised opposition is murky and compromised, particularly the most vocal group, the People’s Mojahedin Organisation (MEK), which is cult-like and archaic, having started as a leftist opposition to the Shah. Today it is based in Albania and has won the backing of only a few fringe figures, including Rudy Giuliani, Donald Trump’s former personal lawyer. Some opposition leaders are viewed as aligned with Saudi Arabia, a country that would have much to gain by destabilising its regional rival – but little reason to promote democracy there given that it is also an autocratic state.
 
Nostalgia is a powerful force in modern politics but it necessarily glosses over anything that detracts from its roseate view. The Shah’s regime was not as tyrannical as that of the Ayatollah but neither was it democratic or free. These two things are what Iran’s people need and want. Reza Pahlavi’s rhetoric offers a good impression but there was genuine popular appetite for the Shah’s overthrow in 1979. By rallying around an avowed monarchist, Iran could simply slip from one form of autocracy to another. To reach something better, nostalgia should be tempered with honesty and the courage to forge a new, brighter future for Iran.
 
Hannah Lucinda Smith is Monocle’s Istanbul correspondent. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.