Monocle was on the road this week in Dubai at the World Governments Summit (WGS), where we built a Monocle Radio studio and an outpost of our café. The vast event comprises numerous auditoriums hosting conversations and debates, companies pitching their products and delegations looking to strike deals in the UAE. This year there were just shy of 40 world leaders in attendance, 500 ministers and numerous business CEOs, especially from the technology sector. And many of them came through the front door of our studio.

Meanwhile, over at our coffee hub, the customer base went beyond cool Emiratis. The chief of police came by and generals whose chests were fly-posted with galleries of medals took meetings under our parasols. I also met the inventor of the phrase “fear of missing out”, was entertained by one of Japan’s most famous TV magicians and talked shop with a man who created a successful tech company off the back of looking like Tom Cruise.

I particularly enjoyed this edition because, as well as the discussions about AI, next-generation governance and the race to a future that might obliterate much of what we know, there were gentler, philosophical conversations woven through the programme. This was especially true when it came to the topic of making better cities. What’s more, Monocle got to help nudge this debate along.

On Thursday I moderated a talk between architect Santiago Calatrava and Marwan Ahmed Bin Ghalita, director general of Dubai Municipality, for a session called “How do cities preserve the human soul?” I asked them both about the notion of “invisible architecture”. This is the idea that it’s not just the steel and timber shells of buildings that shape a city – and how we feel in a place – but also numerous silent, unseen elements that help to determine how we respond to a place. Consider how the flow of people through a train station is managed through design, how accessibility is in the DNA of a building (not a clunky add-on) and how tactility and light are introduced. Calatrava placed his hands on the armrests of the chair, using this to mimic the walls of an edifice, and explained that this really wasn’t the important part and certainly not where you discover the soul of a city. Rather, he said, “it’s what happens in the void that matters”. It’s in the bit between the walls where everything happens, where we work, shop and catch the train.

It’s true. Think of how the void in a cathedral or church can make you feel. It’s hard not to be awed, moved, when you enter, say, the monumental Grundtvig’s Church in Copenhagen. A soaring void is also what Calatrava used in the vast white World Trade Center Transportation Hub in Manhattan. And, he explained, these are places where you can have an individual conversation with your surroundings or be one with the crowd. And, perhaps, find some soul.

Dubai is grappling – like many places – with this issue because while it wants and needs to grow apace, it realises the necessity of making a city that people love, feel at home in, become attached to. The director general, a man overseeing endless planning consents, told the audience that his checklist of what made a good building was whether it would be a place where memories were made, not just function efficiently. That’s a powerful point because it’s memories that bind us to a place and allow us to create mind maps of the settings where our life has unfolded in hopefully wonderful ways.

Also on stage with me this week was Kengo Kuma, an architect with a philosopher’s eye on his industry. He was eloquent about the need to work in harmony with nature and how architecture can improve our well-being while going almost unnoticed. 

Dubai wants to be at the forefront of new technology, urban mobility and much more. But it’s also at a moment when it’s keen to develop ideas around city-making, community, co-designing, youth engagement – ideas that could help deliver a place where tradition moves hand in hand with the future. That’s why it was announced during WGS that Kuma and Calatrava will become principal contributors to Dubai Municipality’s Urban Planning and Design Lab, which is focused on participatory design, youth engagement and working with nature.

A city famed for its pace and building skyline-defining towers could also become a laboratory for a gentler urbanism. There’s lots to do – but it is on their agenda.

To hear more voices on city making from the World Governments Summit, listen to the latest episode of ‘The Urbanist’.

Read next: Beneath the skyline: Discover the real Dubai with Monocle’s City Guide

Andrea Fontanari is on the brink of worldwide recognition but you wouldn’t know it from the well-camouflaged location of the artist’s studio in a small hilltop village near Trento at the foot of the Argentario plateau. The massifs of the Adige Valley offer a dramatic backdrop for his canvases, one of which was commissioned as a poster for the Milano Cortina 2026 Paralympics.

It’s an accolade given to many artistic greats: David Hockney, Andy Warhol and Tracey Emin were also selected to create a poster for the Olympics in 1972, 1984 and 2012, respectively. “It’s a huge responsibility to continue the legacy,” says Fontanari, laying out drafts of his poster on the floor of his studio. On the tables are white sheets of paper covered in dabs of Mussini oil paint and tall paintbrushes stored in empty tins of Acquerello Carnaroli rice. “It’s my favourite brand for making risotto,” he says.

For the 29-year-old painter, this wasn’t just an invitation to create a poster but also a chance to explore the intersection of art and sport. “The Olympics and Paralympics are among the few occasions when humanity recognises itself as a global community,” he says. Fontanari’s poster, entitled “Together We Play, Together We Transform”, was inspired by a photograph of Guinea-Bissau’s Braima Suncar Dabo, who helped to carry Aruba’s Jonathan Busby for the last 100 metres of the 5,000-metre heats at the 2019 World Athletics Championships in Doha. This act became a symbol of the magnanimous spirit of international sport.

Instead of runners, Fontanari’s image portrays two cross-country skiers. “You don’t notice that they’re Paralympians,” he says. “Instead, you get lost in the art.” Did the Olympic Committee give him creative control? Fontanari shows Monocle the brief, which includes the broad themes that it wanted the posters to convey. He points to some of the words and phrases that he chose as a springboard. Among them are “courage”, “new Italian spirit” and “universal language”.

After months of back and forth with the Olympic Committee and various draft sketches and pencil studies, Fontanari’s final version came together swiftly. “It only took a week,” he says. “Once we had agreed on the right image, I followed my instincts and got it onto the canvas.” Wide, sweeping brushstrokes and bold injections of colour (chosen at random so as not to represent any country in particular) give the finished image a sense of fluidity.

“Movement was another key theme,” says the artist, who spent his childhood winters skiing in Trentino. “Growing up in the Dolomites, I saw the mountains as a barrier to the rest of the world.” Today he has a different perspective. “Now, I recognise that the region isn’t isolated but geographically well connected. The Italian Alps border France, Switzerland, Austria and Slovenia. There’s a rich cross-cultural exchange, even in a small northern city like Trento. I believe that this is why my work was selected to represent the Paralympics.”

Fontanari, alongside nine others, was chosen from a group of 120 artists from Pittura Italiana Oggi, an exhibition showcasing the work of Italian artists born between 1960 and 2000. The exhibition was on show at the Triennale Milano, one of Italy’s foremost institutions for contemporary art.

Fontanari’s painting, which is reproduced in the poster, is now on display at the Triennale Milano until March, at which point it will be shipped to the Olympic Museum in Lausanne to enter the permanent collection, while the poster will go on display. “One day I would like to go to Lausanne to see it there,” says Fontanari.

He is humble about the growing success of his work, which will be shown at the National Museum of Brasília until mid-February and later in Rio de Janeiro. Fontanari says that he will always find his way back to Trento. “The mountains here are not an easy place in which to work but they constantly open up possibilities and challenge your limits,” he adds. “I don’t think that making art is any different.”

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The next generation of Italian artists designing posters for Milano Cortina 2026

Since 1972 the Olympic Committee has commissioned artists to conceive posters that reflect the spirit of the Games. For the Milano Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics and Paralympics, the committee worked with the Triennale Milano to find 10 promising Italian artists under the age of 40 to interpret the spirit of the Games. “We wanted our selection to showcase Italy’s dynamic contemporary-art scene and the next generation of creatives,” says Raffaella Paniè, the director of brand identity at the Fondazione Milano Cortina 2026. “Through their diverse styles, the selected posters show the intersection of sport, art and society, creating a visual legacy.” We meet some of the artists.

1.
Beatrice Alici Milan
Milan
“I spent my childhood skiing in South Tyrol. Over time, those snow-covered slopes and muted horizons became a quiet archive of belonging. The silvery overcast sky, recreated here using silver leaf, reflects the visual atmosphere and its texture – where recollection turns into light and nostalgia takes on a material form.”

2.
Giorgia Garzilli
Naples and Milan
“I thought about a toy that I had when I was a kid, consisting of a plastic ice-cream cone that, if you pressed a button, would throw the scoop in the air. I’d use it to mark the start of a game.”

3.
Roberto de Pinto Milan
Milan
“I chose to represent the snowdrop. In Italy, we call it bucaneve, meaning ‘snow piercer’. Snowdrops bloom at the end of winter, sometimes breaking through ice. This act of pushing to reach the light became a perfect metaphor for the athletes.”

It starts with sound. First you hear the distinctive clack of skis, then a roar like a military jet in the distance as a suited, booted and helmeted figure hurtles towards the ground, accelerating all the way. Finally, the thud and swish of ski meeting snow as the jumper nails the landing. The sport of ski jumping shows that a human careening through the air is louder than one might expect.

“You get this feeling of flying, especially on the big hills”, says Nika Vodan. She is one of the Slovenian national ski-jumping squad members practising on the 100-metre high, deceptively designated normal hill at the Kranj Ski Jumping Centre, not far from the capital city, Ljubljana. Kranj has five hills of different sizes, starting at just 10 metres, allowing young hopefuls to make safe and steady progress in their training. A nearby high school specialises in the sport, offering dormitories for ski-jumping students hailing from other regions of the country. The infrastructure supporting Slovenian ski jumping has played a significant part in making the national team medal contenders in the 2026 Olympic Winter Games.

High flyers and world-record holders
Vodan, a 25-year-old police officer, positively vibrates with excitement while recounting how she started hurling herself off mountains at the age of eight. “I was the first in my family to take up ski jumping and I just went for it because I knew that I loved it. When you look down and see the people supporting you, it’s something special. All the stress goes down and you just enjoy it.”

Vodan is very good at what she does. She has already won a gold medal at the mixed team event at the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympic Games, plus an overall World Cup title. In many countries, that would make her the star of the team. But Vodan is not even the most decorated member of the outrageously successful Slovenian ski-jumping squad. Going into the 2025/2026 season, the Central European country could boast both the men’s and women’s world-record holders. Even more remarkably: they are siblings. 

Domen Prevc set a mark of more than 254 metres at Slovenia’s legendary ski-flying hill at Planica in March 2025, just a fortnight after his younger sister, Nika Prevc, jumped 236 metres at Vikersund in Norway to break the women’s record. That gives them bragging rights over their older brother, Peter, who is now retired but is himself a former record holder. “From the outside, it looks like destiny,” says Domen. “But from inside, we all know how much hard work went into this.” Aside from his world record, Domen is the reigning world champion in both the individual and team large-hill events. Today, at age 26, he has never competed in the Olympics and Milano Cortina 2026 is a chance to crown his career. “The one thing that we’re still missing in Slovenia is an individual Olympic gold medal in ski jumping,” he says. “In previous years, I wasn’t in shape. But I’m now looking forward to it; I have the focus.”

Just like her brother, Nika will be a strong contender. Her Olympic debut is one of her “biggest dreams” and she hopes to carry the successes of her consecutive World Cup titles, a double World Championship and the world record – all won before the age of 20 – to an Olympic gold medal.

‘It’s in the genes’
Back at Kranj, a team of coaches offer specialised training and instant feedback by iPad after every jump. Given the nature of the sport, the training is not only physical but mental. “This sport is more of a head game,” says Robert Hrgota, the head coach of the Slovenian men’s A team. “You have to have mental training and you need that something extra that nobody else has.”

But some things cannot be taught, he concedes. “It’s in the genes,” he says. That certainly seems to be the case for the record-breaking Prevc family. But one could say it applies to Slovenians in general when it comes to this spectacular sport – just hear them soar. 

Read next: Why the Winter Olympics are better than the Summer Games

The Winter Olympics begin today and you should be excited because these next few weeks outdo the Summer Games for one big reason: the sports are far more dangerous. With the exception of BMX racing, which might have been designed by orthopaedic surgeons working on commission, the greatest risks run by summer Olympians are the sort of strains and sprains that, while doubtless painful for the athlete, are merely tedious for the spectator.

Winter Olympians can crash luges and bobsleighs, wipe out off snowboards, clobber each other into hockey-rink barriers, careen off ski runs into forests and lose their balance mid-leap from the ski-jumping ramp to land with an audible fracturing of limbs. Even the relatively prim and genteel pastime of figure skating offers opportunities to descend from a height, at speed, onto a surface that’s as hard as cement but colder. Winter Olympians are – and the epithet is offered in respect verging on outright awe – total maniacs.

The Winter Olympics have generally been regarded as a junior partner of their summer counterpart. The cold-weather edition started later – the first was held in 1924, 28 years after the first modern Summer Olympics – and they involve a smaller number of competitors, as fewer countries have climates conducive to the training of athletes. Just 91 nations competed at the 2022 Winter Games in Beijing; by contrast, 204 (including the refugee team and independent contingent) attended the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris.

A lack of snow at home does not have to impede competing in the colder months, however – indeed, it should be considered a challenge. Meanwhile, the soft-power benefits to a warm, dry country that decides to take a swing at the Winter Games can be huge. After all, everyone loves an underdog. The Milano Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics will feature competitors from such unlikely places as Brazil, Eritrea, Haiti, and Madagascar, all of which might well leave with no medals but will win a raised profile.

The model for this sort of enterprise was established in 1988 when Jamaica greatly enhanced the general gaiety by sending a bobsleighing team to the Calgary Games. It finished last in the four-man competition but its story was immortalised in the 1993 John Candy comedy Cool Runnings – and nobody made a Hollywood film about the Swiss team that finished first. (Somewhat unfairly, the Jamaican team also drew the spotlight away from its Caribbean rivals from the Netherlands Antilles – whom proved to be better bobsleighers.) But this is surely the Olympic spirit at its purest: the joy of taking part, with not the faintest prayer of winning.

The importance of the Winter Olympics can be seen not just in who wants to take part but who wants to host. It has always been well understood that the Winter Games can be as much an advertisement for a city and/or country as the summer ones. Josip Broz Tito, the leader of what was still Yugoslavia, had been dead for four years when the Winter Olympics came to Sarajevo in 1984. But the bid had been made on his watch, partly with the idea of promoting Tito’s idea of non-aligned socialism to the world, as well as to encourage patriotic cohesion among his own disparate peoples. Neither was a total success.

Russia carefully managed the public relations around two Winter Olympics. In 2014, Russia waited until the Sochi Games were finished before seizing Crimea from Ukraine. In 2022, Vladimir Putin travelled to Beijing for that year’s Winter Games – and it is generally believed that it was then that he pitched his plan for the invasion of Ukraine to China’s president, Xi Jinping, who asked him to restrain the dogs of war until the Olympic flame had been doused.

The 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City gave us what was arguably the most useful and heartening morality fable in the history of sport. On the last lap of the final of the men’s 1,000-metres short-track speed skating, Australia’s Steven Bradbury was a distant last and possibly beginning to console himself by pondering the miracle that he was there at all. Bradbury had come back from hideous injuries twice in his career – an accidental slash from a rival’s blade in 1994, which had spilled four litres of his blood on the rink, and a broken neck from a crash during training in 2000, which prompted the doctors who repaired him with screws and steel plates to tell him that he would never skate again.

But, at the final corner of the race, all four of Bradbury’s rivals fell over each other, leaving the Australian athlete cruising to gold, bearing the expression of a man realising that he would never again pay for a drink back home. It was a reminder that fortune favours not merely the brave but, every so often, the diligent, pragmatic and patient.

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Winter Olympic winners, past and future

Gold: Greatest winter Olympian
Norwegian cross-country skier Marit Bjørgen won 15 medals, eight of them gold, across five Winter Games. In all Olympic history, only American swimmer Michael Phelps and Soviet gymnast Larisa Latynina have won more. Bjørgen isn’t but she should be a household name.

Silver: Best mascot
For the 1984 Sarajevo Games, Slovenian artist Jože Trobec created Vucko, a cheerful wolf draped in a scarlet scarf, prone to misadventure – essentially Wile E Coyote’s Balkan cousin. His signature howl of the host city’s name was furnished by Bosnian-Serb pop singer Zdravko Colic. Besides being extremely cool, Vucko was a fine example of pan-Yugoslav co-operation.

Bronze: Unlikeliest future bidder
Saudi Arabia is due to host the 2029 Asian Winter Games, which has led to rumours of a future Winter Olympic bid, despite what might appear to be a fundamental difficulty: a lack of snow.

Brazilian political-crime thriller The Secret Agent is a visual feast. Set in the late 1970s, when the country was still under military dictatorship, it follows a professor (Wagner Moura) as he travels to Recife during Carnival to start over. The Secret Agent has been a runaway success in its home country and has performed well in box offices in countries such as Portugal and France. The film marks the return of Brazilian cinema to the Oscars, only one year after I’m Still Here won Best International Feature in 2025. The Secret Agent has four Oscar nominations and is up for two Baftas, just in time for its UK release on 20 February. The film’s director, Kleber Mendonça Filho, and its star, Wagner Moura, stopped by Midori House to discuss politics, shooting in Panavision and getting that “World Cup feeling”. 

This film has been a special project for you as you’ve wanted to make it for quite a long time. Is that right?
Kleber Mendonça Filho: It all began with the desire to develop a thriller set in the 1970s and I really wanted to shoot in widescreen Panavision – and to do it with Wagner as the main actor. I spent seven years trying to make my previous film, Pictures of Ghosts. In the process, I had been looking at old newspapers, photographs and films, and that made me reconnect with some childhood memories. Suddenly, I felt that I had the emotional structure to write The Secret Agent. And then the last thing that happened – because that’s how these things come together – was Bolsonaro. The Bolsonaro years were a bizarre mixture of [the] 21st-century far-right with this fetishistic desire to bring back the good old days of the military dictatorship. In many ways I was writing about the 1970s but living the complete madness of those years in the 21st century. A lot of the energy of The Secret Agent came from that crazy and just dreadful moment in contemporary Brazilian history. 

And Wagner, how does it feel to finally work with Kleber and to return to acting in Portuguese?
Wagner Moura: Can you imagine? It was the time of my life. I hadn’t worked in Portuguese for 12 years. I was directing Marighella and I did Narcos – and that took a long time. But things happen when they should happen. I’ve been trying to work with Kleber for a while, basically since I met him. And I think that this was the perfect project for us. It’s very political and we’re both political people. It’s as cinematic, Brazilian and northeastern as it can get. We’re both from the northeast of Brazil and share lots of cultural codes. 

‘The Secret Agent’ feels like a love letter to 1970s cinema but it’s also a portrayal of a difficult time in Brazil under military dictatorship. How do you think about fact versus fiction?
KMF: This film is not based on a true story, it’s all fiction. But the sense of time is quite truthful, I would say. And very honest. It comes from not only my own childhood memories but from many stories that were told to me by family members: my uncles, my parents. And I think that sense of truth is in the film. 

It’s also in the actors. They’re great actors but also incredibly truthful people and there’s a real sense of social, human truth in the film. I’m happy with that sense of truth, which you can pick up even if you’re not Brazilian.

‘The Secret Agent’ has had such success. Do you think this is a particularly interesting moment for Brazilian cinema? 
WM: Yes, it’s a great moment. You cannot disconnect it from the great democratic moment that Brazil is going through. I think that democracy in art, films and theatre walk together. We now live in a country in which the government believes in culture as a tool of development and a mirror for society. And then the world can see this country as well. I hope that we can keep believing in the importance of culture.

After all the nominations, are you getting that World Cup feeling?
WM: [Actor] Fernanda Torres asked us not to go into World Cup mode. And I was like, why not? I think it’s pretty cool. It’s impossible not to do it. One of the things that I loved about I’m Still Here last year was seeing all those Brazilians rooting for the film, those artists saying, ‘Oh my God, we see ourselves in them.’ I think that’s beautiful, especially as our country went through a period in which artists were labelled as enemies of the people. So yeah, I’m good with the World Cup thing. Are you, Kleber? 

KMF: Brazilians are super connected. They’re very aware of and sensitive to the way Brazil is seen abroad. I think having a film on the international stage during the awards season is a pretty big thing. It’s a cool energy. What happened last year with Fernanda was amazing. 

‘The Secret Agent’ is out now in the US, Brazil and Europe and will be released in UK cinemas on 20 February. You can listen to the interview with Mendonça Filho and Wagner on the latest edition of ‘The Monocle Weekly’.

Haute Couture Fashion Week occupies an amorphous space within the industry. Where once it was strictly a showcase for a handful of the wealthiest clients, today its adjacent function is as a brand-marketing tool. For the fashion houses accredited to produce and present haute couture, it offers an opportunity to draw eyes: a theatre of spectacle for the ever-hungrier online ecosystem that we call the attention economy. So if couture today is mostly being consumed as on-screen entertainment rather than an in-person experience for a select few, what does that mean for the designs?

During the presentation of spring/summer 2026 collections in Paris last week, several responses to this question emerged. Perhaps the most controversial was Alexis Mabille, who unveiled an AI-generated collection (though, to be clear, based on his own designs), showcased on virtual models in front of an equally fictitious audience. The living, breathing viewers in attendance at the Théâtre du Lido witnessed the collection just as couture fans at home would: through a screen. On the other end of the spectrum, Matthieu Blazy’s debut couture collection for Chanel drew consternation online for its seemingly muted designs and humble materials – undeserving, some argued, of the “haute” label. But for those fortunate few who experienced the collection up close, the fine materials and stripped-back structures were a study in controlled craft.

One such audience member was Joelle Diderich, Paris bureau chief for Women’s Wear Daily and a fixture at the couture shows for the past 25 years. Fresh from the presentations, she joined Monocle Radio’s Lily Austin on Monocle on Fashion to share her impressions from the side of the stage and to reflect on what this season tells us about the role of haute couture in today’s fashion economy. The following interview has been edited for clarity and length.

How does haute couture fashion week differ from the other fashion weeks?
People use the term ‘couture’ very fast and loose but it actually refers to something specific: made-to-measure clothing. It’s a highly regulated industry that exists only in Paris, which means that there are only about a dozen houses that do it. 

So, compared to typical fashion weeks, you’re dealing with a much smaller number of players. They invite young people as well as [established] guests to keep it fresh. Otherwise, it’s in danger of becoming a dying craft. 

There were a few major designer debuts this past week, such as Matthieu Blazy at Chanel and Jonathan Anderson at Dior. Let’s start with Chanel – what did you make of the collection?
Chanel was highly anticipated. From the moment you walked into the venue, the set was super psychedelic with giant mushrooms and wall-to-wall pink carpeting. What Blazy did was quite daring. He did not do spectacular big dresses, which is the kind of statement that you might have expected. Instead, he went quiet – his first look was like an X-ray or a memory of a Chanel suit, made in see-through chiffon. 

I have to say, if you had the privilege of getting up close and personal with any of the pieces, the techniques and craftsmanship would have blown you away. The amount of work that goes into weaving tweed or [creating] fabrics with feather details – even that black coat with the raffia flowers – is mind blowing. 

Blazy is going back to what Coco Chanel did. Back in the day, there was no ready-to-wear. There was only a couture service, if you had that level of budget. Blazy said, ‘I want to go back to that.’ That black trouser suit that he created – that is ultimate luxury, and that’s what he’s talking about. It was interesting to see that being brought back into the conversation. 

Do you think there is an expectation for couture to be a spectacle for a large audience rather than a product catering to a very exclusive market?
Absolutely. I shouldn’t be giving away my age like this but I started covering couture 25 years ago and, back in those days, it was people such as Nan Kempner and Danielle Steel who were the front-row clients. Those ladies are no longer around and couture has become primarily a vehicle for image-making and selling perfumes: brands have turned it into an advertising platform. The clients are still there but it’s not the same as it was 25 years ago. So to have someone go back to the purpose of couture does stick out. It was a bold statement on Blazy’s part. 

After the show, people online were commenting things such as, ‘How is this couture?’ and ‘This is Zara.’ But believe me, [the clothes are] not made to wow you through the tiny format of an Instagram photo – they’re made to wow you when you touch and wear them.

It seems like Jonathan Anderson went the opposite direction with his collection for Dior, which featured some striking shapes and silhouettes. What did you make of it? 
Anderson did something clever. It wasn’t just a runway show; it was a sequence of events, with some meant for the public and some for clients. The shapes on the runway were quite daring and experimental, which went back to that other purpose of couture: being a laboratory for experimentation. [Couture] allows you to go to the extremes with certain ideas, some of which might later filter its way into the ready-to-wear collections. 

But in the evening, Dior took over a villa and filled it with all the runway looks along with an extra collection of more wearable silhouettes, bags and jewellery for clients. [The villa] catered to both the public appetite for spectacle and the clientele’s need for something practical to wear.

Alexis Mabille got a lot of headlines for his collection. Will you tell us about that?
Alexis Mabille didn’t tell anyone that he wouldn’t show any clothing [in-person] this season. [His show] was put together using AI, with AI-generated clothes on AI-generated models. The audience was a bit discombobulated. 

The question is: is that allowed? Not in the creative sense, of course, because you can do anything that you want as a designer. But as I mentioned at the beginning of our conversation, couture is tightly regulated. There are rules about how many people you have to employ and how many looks you can show per season. Which leads us to the question: if you’re not showing actual clothes, are you still allowed to call it couture? There’s an ongoing debate on that. 

Will Mabille go back to a more traditional show next season? From what I understand, his showcase this year was still labour intensive; he said it took up to 300 passes per outfit to make it look realistic. So it’s not like he was cutting corners and using AI as a quick fix. He was scanning the fabrics and had his atelier give feedback to the people doing the prompting about how certain pieces should look. But what do made-to-measure clothes at the highest level of personalisation mean if they’re all being done on the virtual runway?

It’s a bold move to make that choice. So far, AI is mostly associated with cheap imitations – the opposite of luxury. What do you think was his motivation behind it?
Mabille says many of his clients are asking to see things remotely. They don’t want to go to Paris for the fittings. [Using AI-image generation is] a way for him to get clients’ measurements, and he can send them a simulation of what the outfit might look like on them. I do know that he didn’t use AI to create the design, and that’s a very important distinction. It’s a bit different than [having an AI-image generator create a design entirely,] like putting the Pope in a Balenciaga puffer coat.

And do you think this week’s shows made a case for different kinds of innovations and for couture’s enduring relevance to the broader fashion industry?
The real takeaway for me was couture’s power to make you dream. We all need a bit of escape right now. Couture continues to send us strong messages about brand identity. Each of these labels, in their own way, is telling us something important about its outlook through these shows, while also functioning as entertainment.

And that’s a whole other debate. With fashion increasingly becoming more of a form of entertainment while also simultaneously slowing in sales, what exactly are luxury brands selling? They are sending us messages that will eventually filter through our perceptions of everything else – cafés, perfumes, handbags. It all ties together.

There has never been a better time to be an autocrat. Just ask Turkey’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. His slide away from democracy first attracted opprobrium from Western allies about a decade ago. This shift accelerated following the jailing of journalists and political opponents, the manipulation of elections and wars against Kurdish groups – actions that were criticised by leaders such as former German chancellor Angela Merkel. When his ministers tried to hold political rallies in European countries, they were blocked. The US imposed sanctions over his purchase of a Russian missile defence system and the EU did so over his naval aggressions against Greece and Cyprus in the Eastern Mediterranean. 
 
No more. Erdogan’s authoritarianism has continued to grow – but he now faces little criticism. When the elected mayor of Istanbul and Erdogan’s biggest political rival, Ekrem İmamoğlu, was arrested in March on falsified corruption charges, the EU’s response was limited to statements expressing “deep concern” – hardly a stinging rebuke. As the Turkish government accused İmamoğlu of spying for the British state, UK prime minister Keir Starmer met Erdoğan in Ankara, hoping to secure new trade deals. And, when prosecutors announced that they were seeking a 2,352-year prison sentence for İmamoğlu, the response from the West was silence.

Then there is Viktor Orbán, Hungary’s prime minister, who is now approaching his 16th year in power. Like Erdoğan, he has disrupted Hungary’s independent media, taken over state institutions and cracked down on Pride marches and refugee rights. Orbán, like Erdoğan, is trying to criminalise the mayor of Budapest, Gergely Karácsony, who has become a leading opposition figure. And he also maintains friendly relations with Vladimir Putin’s Russia, despite Hungary being an EU and Nato member. Brussels condemns and occasionally threatens action against Orbán – but after years of doing so with no action taken, it is no wonder that he takes little notice. 

Part of the reason that autocrats such as Erdoğan and Orbán now operate with near impunity is that Putin’s threats against the West have elevated their status. Turkey, in particular, occupies a bulwark position for Nato and Erdoğan has established himself as one of only a handful of leaders who can bring Russia and Ukraine together at the negotiating table. Turkey’s defence industry and army, the second largest in Nato, are vital to the alliance as it seeks to rearm. Hungary, though far smaller and less strategically important, occupies an important geopolitical space as one of the former Soviet satellite countries that turned westward after Moscow’s rule collapsed. The loss of either nation would represent a major blow for the West and a major victory for Putin.

Just as important is the US’s own democratic backsliding and the president’s appreciation for strongmen counterparts. Under Barack Obama or even Joe Biden, the US was at the forefront of upholding democratic values, even if only on paper. Now the pretence is up. Trump has signalled that he will lift the sanctions blocking Turkey from receiving Nato’s new-generation fighter jets, however the Russian S400 system that led to the sanctions in the first place currently remains on Turkish soil. Trump has repeatedly praised both Erdoğan and Orbán, even mirroring the latter’s immigration policies. As the US president’s commitment to European security wanes, the EU and Nato become even more reliant on the autocrats in their midst. In the short term, that is pragmatic. The threat that Putin poses to Europe requires unity among the members of its two key alliances. In the long term, however, the continent’s ever-faltering democracies will pay the price.

Hannah Lucinda Smith is Monocle’s Istanbul correspondent. For more insight and analysis, subscribe to Monocle today.

As the wheels of the De Havilland Q400 jolted down on the runway in Luxembourg Airport, I peered through the airplane window at the thick fog clinging to the nearby spires. It was my first trip to the tiny European nation. Not knowing exactly what to expect and keen to make the most of moments between meetings, I hatched a plan with a little help from some key Monocle contacts. Here’s what I learned on a whistle-stop touchdown in the Grand Duchy.

To stay
Accommodation options have taken a turn for the better with the opening of Villa Pétrusse late last year, an 1880 townhouse in Ville Haute that has been brought back from the brink in a meticulous five-year renovation project. There are two restaurants (one smart, the other outright fancy) and 22 rooms kitted out by French designer Tristan Auer. 

An honourable mention goes to the family-owned Hotel Grand Cravat down the road, which still has the most characterful bar in town: Le Trianon. Its interiors are rather dated, with marble floors, low lights and velvety chairs, as well as some of the most delightfully kitsch painted trompe l’oeil panels you’re likely to see. Monsieur Cravat, please never renovate.

To see
Luxembourg’s architecture ranges from Mitteleuropean fairytale twee to the aggressively functional, with many shades of the beastly and the beautiful in between. If you haven’t been, IM Pei’s museum of modern art, Mudam, might just help restore your faith in contemporary architecture. Built amid the foundations of Fort Thüngen in Dräi Eechelen park, it’s an angular assemblage of stone, glass and concrete that celebrates its 20th anniversary this year. What’s baffling is how a contemporary structure can feel both cutting edge and as meant-to-be-here as the castle foundations around which it’s arranged. It’s magnificent. 

The retrospective of oddball US performance artist Eleanor Antin, on until mid February, is worth a visit too, especially the humorous photo series and deployment of 100 black rubber boots.

To eat
Luxembourg’s best restaurant – according to my trusted source – came with an inauspicious catch: it’s in an art gallery. The Public House in Luxembourg’s Casino art centre is a masterpiece in its own way. Its tall-ceilinged dining room is atmospheric with its decorative plasterwork, antique mirrors and vast windows. The modern touches – a neon light, a hand-drawn logo of a wine glass, something poetic scribbled on the crown moulding – are small and mostly well-considered but the food is the draw. With one starter, three mains and two desserts, the menu set a confident tone: particularly a piquant, fennel sausage from local butcher Anne Kaiffer nestled beside a buttery pomme purée with citrussy mustard greens on top. Glass of crémant anyone? This place deserves a toast.

To shop
Kyo, on Côte d’Eich in the Ville Haute is a good concept shop to stumble across, packed with a range of hard-to-find Japanese makers as well as Finnish blankets, wool from the Faroe Islands and brands including Merz B Schwanen, Howlin’ and Onslow. It’s just missing some nice Luxembourg-made goodies. A thank you to my Luxembourgish colleague Annick Weber for the recommendation.

To ponder
Since 2020, Luxembourg has made public transport free for everyone. It’s good and it works, especially if you’re a small and wealthy nation. But what’s less well known is that city mayor Lydie Polfer outlawed begging two years ago. While locals are split on the ban, it seems to have concealed the issue rather than managed it. A man approached me to ask whether I spoke German or Russian, then launched into a story about hardship while soliciting for change. So as not to fall visibly foul of the law, he used text on his phone to communicate so it might have looked to a passing policeman as if he – or I – were asking for directions. I politely declined and walked away wondering if other cities should be discussing the issue.

To copy
My colleague and I visited Belval in Esch-sur-Alzette, 25-minutes southwest of the city proper. It’s a mixed-use space in an old steelworks complete with eerily well-kept blast furnaces and an old pressure reactor around which universities, offices and homes have been judiciously smattered. The project’s overall success isn’t for me to proclaim but for a cold winter day the streets seemed to hum and the revival of the site tempts 20,000 people a day who commute or live there. 

It’s a pleasant project but also a metaphor for how industry has changed in Europe from the tangible to the technological – and maybe a warning. Of what is being built today by wealth managers and AI enthusiasts, what will we remember, cherish and preserve?

To fix
The city is clean, safe and secure, which is surprising given the global and geopolitical context. It also takes some attractive things from its neighbours in terms of German forthrightness and efficiency, some French food and flair, and a general sense that you’re in a slightly polished version of Europe but not always sure which bit. (In somewhat chaotic Italian fashion, several restaurants I walked past were playing bad music loudly into the street – less of this please.) 

But Luxembourg lacks a little deft branding. Some confidence to speak its mind, perhaps? Everything from the too-colourful buses daubed with the overthought “Multiplicity” label to the AI assistant (Renó the fox) who “helps” you join the airport wi-fi feels slightly like a compromise: too muddled, too busy. I was happy to hear that there is an agency called the Brand Image Promotion Unit under the Ministry of the Economy. Its motto – “Let’s make it happen” – is a start but it needs to follow that promise and help the world understand what the nation stands for and what happens next.

With the city still shrouded in fog, I found myself back at the airport. As the plane headed to the de-icer, I felt that I could begin to discern the shape of this enigmatic and alluring little European nation. Plus, I hope, a few reasons to return soon and learn a little more.

Josh Fehnert is Monocle’s editor.

Dubai has never struggled for attention. What it has lacked is proper interpretation. For years, the city has been seen almost exclusively through extremes of height, scale, speed and spectacle. Such associations are convenient but lazy, flattening a place that is far more nuanced than its skyline suggests. If you spend time here – properly, attentively – a different picture emerges, one shaped not by monument-building alone but by trade, migration, hospitality and reinvention.

As Monocle’s Gulf correspondent, I’ve witnessed the city enter a more thoughtful phase. Creative districts such as Al Quoz are no longer chasing novelty. Waterfront neighbourhoods are being revamped with a discreet approach. Restaurants are being led by chefs with something to say about place and produce. Independent retail is here to stay and cultural institutions are showcasing regional voices, not just international ones. Dubai has not slowed down – but it has learned to pause and mature. 

Monocle’s City Guides have always been more about access than abundance. They are not exhaustive inventories or glossy checklists but rather carefully edited insights into a city’s inner workings – the places people revisit, recommend and build routines around. Dubai demanded the same treatment, perhaps even more than most destinations, so restraint was central to our approach. Not every opening made the cut. Not every landmark earned a mention. The focus is on institutions with originality and purpose, addresses worth crossing town for and returning to. 

Our Dubai guide was shaped through neighbourhoods that reveal themselves gradually: early mornings in Al Fahidi, afternoons spent moving between galleries, cafés and workshops in Al Quoz, late evenings in Satwa. It draws on the perspective of those who live and work here and understands the city’s rhythms beyond the usual weekend itinerary.

What emerged is a place best understood through its contrasts. Heritage courtyards a short walk from glass towers. Working souks beside design studios. Beach clubs that value atmosphere over perception. We also feature new design-led hotels alongside intimate guesthouses in older neighbourhoods. Hyper-seasonal kitchens share a page with long-standing seafood cafés and unfussy barbecue joints. Our retail section explores tailors, bookshops and concept boutiques.

Dubai rewards those willing to look past the obvious. Our guide is an invitation to do exactly that – to navigate the city in search of its quieter strengths. For readers who love cities not for their claims but for their character, Dubai is ready to be reconsidered.

Read Monocle’s guide to Dubai (and download our map) here

In a week when many capitals have traded threats, Abu Dhabi has quietly played host to trilateral talks between Washington, Moscow and Kyiv. At the World Governments Summit in Dubai, Dr Anwar Gargash spoke to Monocle Radio about why the UAE now occupies that narrow diplomatic space – and why the world increasingly needs it. 

Gargash, diplomatic adviser to the UAE president and a central figure in brokering last week’s unprecedented US-Ukraine-Russia meeting, frames the breakthrough as the product of long-term credibility rather than opportunism and confirms that a second round is due in Abu Dhabi “in a few days”. When Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022, the UAE chose to uphold international law, while refusing to sever relations with either country. “Everybody wanted us to take sides,” he says. “Our argument was clear: what we really want to do is to be helpful.” That approach, which attracted heavy criticism at the time, has since delivered results. Abu Dhabi has facilitated the exchange of more than 4,000 prisoners between Russia and Ukraine and maintained open channels with all three capitals. 

The World Governments Summit itself, he acknowledges, has landed at a moment of heightened regional tension. From the Gaza crisis and the renewed presence of US military power in the Gulf to rising international pressure on Iran, the atmosphere is febrile. But Gargash is notably measured. “The region is always tense,” he says. “If it’s not one issue, it’s another.” The task for diplomacy is not to amplify anxiety but to contain it. 

As US rhetoric hardens, Gargash is explicit about the UAE’s position on Iran. “As a neighbour, the last thing that we want to see is a military confrontation,” he says, adding that the UAE is “very concerned” about the prospect of escalation. War, he warns, would further destabilise a region already exhausted by conflict. 

Instead, Gargash urges Tehran to seize what he describes as a narrowing diplomatic window. “This is an opportunity to negotiate directly with the US,” he says, pointing to Iran’s nuclear programme as a central issue. Failure to address this, he cautions, could result in an escalation “not in favour of Iran or any of us”. 

The UAE’s neutrality is not passive. “You have to have enough distance from this party and that party,” he says. “And you have to be seen to say the same thing in public and behind closed doors.” In today’s geopolitical climate, where lines of communication are closing faster than conflicts are ending, that consistency is a form of leverage. The UAE’s growing role as a convenor is not accidental, nor is it ideological. It’s the product of deliberate restraint in an era that often rewards escalation. As the next round of US-Ukraine-Russia talks approaches and as pressure builds over Iran, the UAE is positioning itself not as a commentator on global crises but as a calming voice in the middle of them. 

For now, when rivals need a neutral room, a reliable phone line and a host willing to absorb criticism from all sides, they are not looking to traditional diplomatic capitals. They are calling the Gulf.  

Inzamam Rashid is Monocle’s Gulf correspondent. You can listen to our interview with Gargash on yesterday’s episode of ‘The Briefing’ and learn more about Monocle’s presence at the World Governments Summit here.