By-elections, in the British context, are constituency elections that occur outside general elections. They are most often occasioned by the death, retirement or resignation in disgrace of the sitting MP and are usually of interest only to the voters of the district in question – unless the reasons for the resignation in disgrace have been noteworthily picturesque. 

Yesterday’s by-election in Makerfield, Greater Manchester, was an exception. Makerfield’s voters were likely choosing the UK’s next prime minister. The constituency’s previous MP, Labour’s Josh Simons, stepped aside in May to allow long-serving Greater Manchester mayor Andy Burnham to seek the seat in the House of Commons necessary for the launch of a bid for the top job.

That first hurdle has now been cleared and with room to spare – Burnham convincingly saw off his nearest opponent, Robert Kenyon of far-right populists Reform UK. Burnham was helped by the fact that Kenyon was deeply unimpressive, even by the lackadaisical standards of the party that he represented, and that Makerfield’s seething oddball vote was split between Reform UK and its even more feral analogues, Restore Britain. Burnham has been a popular and effective mayor, hence the hopes at large within Labour that he might be able to do for the country what he has done for one of its cities. 

There will now probably be – and in pretty short order – a challenge to the prime minister, Keir Starmer, for the leadership of the Labour Party. Starmer has vowed to defend his position but he will likely lose it to Burnham, who will take charge of a party with a huge majority in the House of Commons. As such, Burnham will be duly asked by King Charles III to form a government and will become the UK’s seventh prime minister in just over a decade. Another general election is not due until August 2029; Burnham would have three years to prepare. 

These will be three important years. Defeat in Makerfield notwithstanding, Reform UK leads in national polls. Though surveys suggest that some 64 per cent of British voters disapprove of Reform UK’s leader, Nigel Farage, he remains on track to follow Burnham into 10 Downing Street. Burnham might be the last bulwark against the UK emulating the US’s ongoing experiment in turning its governance over to a cabal of clowns, cranks, quacks and grifters.

If any analysis of the Makerfield result is, by definition, a first draft of Starmer’s political obituary, it should at least be noted that his career, which seems to be ending in proverbial failure, can boast one considerable and commendable success. When he became leader of the Labour Party in 2020, it had been out of power for a decade, losing four consecutive general elections – the previous two under Jeremy Corbyn, a backbench barnacle around whom a peculiar cult of personality had coalesced (Corbyn, still an MP, was expelled from the party in 2024 and has resumed doing what he has always most enjoyed, striking vainglorious poses in the service of lost causes and bickering with his fellow left-wingers). Turning Labour back into a plausible party of opposition, then a party of government, in just four years was no meagre accomplishment.

If Makerfield is the beginning of the end for Starmer, he is entitled to feel somewhat aggrieved. Measured on the issues about which British voters profess to be most vexed, he is delivering. Net migration has been reduced, ditto the unsanctioned crossing of the English Channel in small boats. National Health Service waiting lists, though objectively horrendous (there are more than six million people in the queue), are down from their peak and much the same could be said of inflation. Energy prices are up but Starmer wasn’t the one who started a war in the Persian Gulf – and he was the one who ultimately decided that the UK would not, as it usually does, play Sancho Panza whenever the US’s Don Quixote lowers its lance at a Middle Eastern windmill. 

But this is not how politics works, less so than ever in a modern media environment that is ill designed to flatter an earnest, awkward, methodical lawyer in his mid-sixties. Labour will probably turn to Burnham because he is liked, or at least less disliked than anybody else available.

Art Basel is under way and accompanying the artworks on the walls are some shiny new plaques that form part of an initiative called Basel Exclusive. The idea is simple: in a bid to encourage attendees to see art in person, galleries are required to withhold select artworks from the digital previews that they send to buyers. These pieces are then unveiled on the opening day. At Berry Campbell Gallery, the chosen work is a striking, abstract blue-and-yellow painting by Grace Hartigan, priced at $750,000 (€653,000). “It’s like a treasure hunt,” says co-founder Christine Berry when describing the initiative. “This adds a little game to the art-fair experience.”

Whether you praise or lament the gamification of the commercial art fair, Basel Exclusive is a sign that this event, now in its 56th year, is willing to try new things. Also debuting at Art Basel is Zero 10, a new section dedicated to digital artworks and curated by US artist Trevor Paglen. The bleeps, bloops and flashing lights that greet you on entering Zero 10 are a far cry from many of the works on show in the main part of the fair. Among those already sold is Canadian artist Rafael Lozano-Hemmer’s “Pulse Agglomerate”, a biometric piece (worn by a performer during the event) made up of wearable armature to which string lights are attached. Each light represents the pulse of a different person, including heartbeat recordings taken from people in Ukraine. It’s an intriguing, sensitive work that has now been acquired by a private foundation from Kharkiv.

In contrast, sales in the main hall are being driven by pieces from artists such as Pablo Picasso, Gerhard Richter and Willem de Kooning. Most galleries seem to be playing it safe. Considering the volatility of the global art market and the increasing pressure on the mega-gallery model – US behemoth Pace announced that it was downsizing earlier this month – who can blame them? 

Basel Social Club remains the place to see (and ponder purchasing) the fair’s most radical artwork. This year the nomadic commercial event has taken over a labyrinthine, vacant office block, with the space transforming into a nightclub that closes at 03.00. When Monocle arrives for a sneak peek ahead of its public opening, a performance artist is practising dance moves in the underground carpark. Clad only in platform heels and underwear, their writhing movements and Yoko Ono-like screaming suggests that we are in the right place for a taste of the offbeat. 

A sense of freshness might be difficult to feel in the halls of the Messeplatz but it is reassuring to discover it at satellite fairs around the city. The world’s most significant commercial art fair is a little safe but it’s also steady. And that’s more than many in this industry could have hoped for. 

Sophie Monaghan-Coombs is Monocle’s associate culture editor. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

When you’re the descendant of pioneering polar explorer Roald Amundsen, outdoor adventure is less of a calling and more of a birthright. Jørgen Amundsen leaned into his familial connection (his great-grandfather was Roald’s cousin) to found Amundsen Sports in 2009. The Norwegian brand draws inspiration from textiles and techniques used during the senior Amundsen’s era to make clothing and gear for modern-day outdoor sports. 

The outdoor-clothing industry relies heavily on synthetic fibres but Amundsen Sports has carved out a space for natural fabrics. The company sources most of its material from small manufacturers in the UK and Europe: waxed cotton from Scotland; wool from Austria; corduroy from France. Today most rainwear is made from laminated plastic but Amundsen Sports uses Ventile in its collections, a water-resistant cotton constructed from densely woven fibres. The material doesn’t disintegrate in the same way as synthetics, meaning that it can withstand years of use.

Monocle spoke with Jørgen Amundsen about the origin of his brand, how it has positioned itself in the industry and the value of wearing silent clothing. This conversation has been edited for clarity and length.

How did your connection to Roald Amundsen impact your approach to the brand?
I’ve always been inspired by Roald Amundsen’s story – not only his feats but also his philosophies. He lived with the Inuits in the Arctic for three years, learning cold-weather survival, and combined that knowledge with the cutting-edge technology of his time. We apply a similar philosophy at Amundsen Sports by looking at how things were done in the past and asking: ‘What can we learn from that?’ We combine that approach with modern technology to create our products. 

What inspired you to launch Amundsen Sports?
When I was living in Switzerland, I struggled to find things that I needed for my outdoor lifestyle. It was impossible to get my hands on any wool. There were no good cotton anoraks. I couldn’t find wool ski sweaters. Everything was fleece; it was all plastic. It seemed like the whole industry had forgotten how things used to be and what has always worked. I wanted to do something about that.

How do you design clothing that draws on historical influence while meeting the needs of customers?
We always challenge ourselves to make clothes that we believe in, that are differentiated and that the market will hopefully understand. For 15 years, the knickerbocker trousers have been our flagship product. This is an item that everyone used to wear – hikers, hunters, skiers – but at some point it disappeared. We researched and tested why knickerbockers were superior to pants [and we found that] they offer more adaptability and mobility. If you wear them with gaiters, you are fully protected.

It wasn’t easy to launch with knickerbockers because people didn’t understand them. It took some education before they started taking off. Now, I would say there aren’t many Norwegian outdoor enthusiasts who don’t own a pair of Amundsen knickerbockers. We just have to do the same outside Norway.

Within your inventory, what’s the perfect example of a natural textile that you believe outperforms synthetics?
We have a collection of cotton mountainwear sewn in Ventile, which was invented in England during the Second World War. It only uses the top three per cent longest cotton fibers in the world. It’s very densely woven, so when it comes in contact with water or moisture, the weave swells and [the fabric structure] becomes more compact. It’s not waterproof but it’s highly water-resistant. The fabric is just so much more comfortable. It’s silent and it feels great on the skin. We use it to make jackets, anoraks, pants and knickerbockers.

You mentioned silence. How important is it that clothes don’t make noise?
Hearing the swishing of your garments as you move reduces the pleasure of being outdoors. We view silence as part of our products’ performance.

Are textiles and fabrics the most important part of Amundsen Sports?
The materials provide our products with versatility. It’s easy to wear technical clothing when you’re on the mountain but [when it’s made from] natural materials, you can wear them to a restaurant or the office too. [Natural materials] age so beautifully compared to synthetic [alternatives].

We also do some synthetics, including a three-layer ski suit. If you’re going to be outside for days on end and it’s raining, there are benefits to [synthetics]. But it won’t have the same lifespan. The lamination will wear off and then you have something that isn’t breathable, that isn’t silent, that isn’t waterproof. So, yes: you can say materials are the most important thing to us.

Given that the brand has a higher price point and is more niche, how do you strategise for growth?
We would not be successful if our business model focused on producing something cheap or by following trends. The only reason why we have had this strong growth is because we do our own thing. Being a small company, we don’t need everyone to like our products. But we are growing. Last year, we had a $50m [€43.05m] turnover, which sounds small but that’s coming from zero 15 years ago.

You have shops in Norway, the US and Verbier. How does retail factor into your plans for growth? 
We want to continue opening shops in Europe and the US. [These locations] are very important for us; it’s where the customer can really understand the whole brand. We want to follow our customers where they are. They don’t live under a stone in the mountains – they have normal lives in cities. Our e-commerce orders come from New York and London. We opened [a shop] in New York’s Nolita neighborhood four years ago. The natural next step is London. After a few recent visits, we’re still looking for the right location. But we’re hoping to open there this year.

The 110th edition of biannual menswear trade fair Pitti Immagine Uomo comes to a close today. Monocle has been on the ground at Florence’s Fortezza da Basso to take the industry’s temperature. Here are five observations from the fair.

1.
Whether or not it’s worth the time or money to set up a booth at Pitti is a frequent topic of discussion among brands. “We hadn’t been at Pitti for a few years but we decided to return to see how it has changed,” says Marin Corti, co-founder of St-Tropez-based resortwear brand Baindemer. “We make T-shirts out of wood and shorts out of superfine silk but it’s hard to stand out and to tell our story when all the booths look the same.” Some exhibitors professed frustration at the old-school Italian business mentality that pervades Pitti – namely, a reliance on putting pen to paper to make orders instead of using digital systems. But other exhibitors say that the trek to the Tuscan capital is worthwhile. “For us, this is always an important moment to make sales and meet new buyers,” a sales rep at London-based sunglasses brand Oscar Deen tells Monocle. “It’s a no-brainer to return year on year.” 

2.
If the lovingly (or perhaps derisively) named “Pitti peacocks” are anything to go by, it’s time to invest in a safari jacket. This summer the men preening for attention at the Fortezza da Basso and on the narrow streets of Florence have leaned into pocket-forward numbers, cinched in just so at the waist. We have our eye on a navy linen version by Manhattan-based menswear label J Mueser or Armani’s classic beige take. For those prepared to take their Pitti-inspired look to the next level, a straw boater hat by Herno, paired with a leather briefcase, is strongly encouraged. 

3.
The guest designer slot is always a highlight of the Pitti programme. This year, Irish designer Simone Rocha presents her first independent menswear collection at the event, following in the footsteps of Giorgio Armani, Jean Paul Gaultier and Yohji Yamamoto. Rocha’s work is best known for its whimsy, oversized proportions and intricate embellishments. Bringing this identity to menswear is an opportunity for Rocha to rise to a new challenge. 

4.
Away from the fashion capitals of Paris and Milan, there is talent brewing in Florence. On Monday evening, 20 graduates of Polimoda (the city’s highly regarded fashion school) presented the culmination of four years of studies at the Manifattura Tabbacchi. As with any student showcase, there were a variety of ideas on the runway. Ukrainian student Evelina Kryvopust’s collection was inspired by the archetype of the piano teacher. For Thai graduate Jirat Jitdee, the experience of moving from the countryside to Bangkok influenced shirts with loud prints and sarongs. Whether these students go on to start their own brands or find placements at luxury fashion houses, the next generation is coming prepared with fresh ideas. 

5.
In Florence, the undisputed master of ceremonies remains Brunello Cucinelli. The Italian septuagenarian’s Pitti dinners are a masterclass in the power of a great venue and generous portions of pasta. On Tuesday night, guests gathered in the cloisters of the Santa Maria Novella church (steps away from frescoes by Domenico Ghirlandaio and a Giotto crucifix) to toast his brand’s summer collection.

Is art created through AI worthy of museum recognition? The use of generative AI to make artwork is a Marmite topic – disparaged as a blow to creativity or heralded as the chance for incredible visual experience. Championing the latter is Dataland, a new museum devoted to the medium, which opens on 20 June in Los Angeles. Co-founded by digital artist Refik Anadol and his studio partner Efsun Erkılıç, the institution aims to be a “living museum”, in which the artwork is constantly evolving. 

The building was developed with architects Gensler, best known for designing the first 100 Apple Stores and the Shanghai Tower, China’s tallest building. Dataland’s new home consists of five galleries across 2,300 sq metres of public space (about the size of a standard blue-chip gallery in New York’s Chelsea neighbourhood). The building was also realised in collaboration with climate and sustainability consultancy Arup. Ethics and ecological thought are high on the agenda here – something that is also evident in the programme.

Dataland’s first major show features Anadol’s Machine Dreams: Rainforest, one of a series of ongoing immersive works highlighting the natural world. The artwork uses “permission-based” datasets provided by the Smithsonian, the Getty Foundation and London’s Natural History Museum, among other sources. The large nature model at the heart of Anadol’s work is shaped by ecological data – such as temperature, light and moisture – streaming in real time from rainforests around the globe. The work also reflects biofeedback taken from the audience in the room. 

“The work is in continuous production,” says Anadol. His work is immersive, surrounding its viewers with continuously moving images. The piece’s aim is to highlight the human connection to the environment, even nodding towards the spiritual. The idea is epitomised through a collaboration with the Amazonian Yawanawá people in Brazil: Nixiwaka, an indigenous chief, political activist and spiritual leader of the Yawanawá people, has named the computational system “Ruwe Pinu”, meaning “iron spirit”, bringing an ancestral practice of naming forest presences into a technological context. The artist’s work resists greenwashing by aiming to create a mode of sourcing and using data in a way that is collaborative rather than extractive.

Anadol’s immersive and psychedelic work garners the kind of public adoration many artists dream of. Nevertheless, this is not just a vanity project. “Dataland’s mission has always extended beyond a single practice,” says Anadol. “The museum is committed to building a comprehensive collection of AI art, and to presenting work by digital and AI artists more broadly.” 

Dataland launched an artist residency programme in partnership with Google Arts & Culture in October 2025. Selected artists will spend six months developing new projects at the intersection of AI and creative practice, and the work will be showcased on site. In an era of AI fascination – and resistance – this is a space that aims to make digital art a firm part of the cultural future.

Dataland opens on 20 June.

On Sunday, Colombians will head to the polls to elect their next president. The neck-and-neck contest pits two of Latin America’s most polarising figures against each other, which is saying something. In one corner is Abelardo de la Espriella, also known as “El Tigre”: a 47-year-old lawyer and lifestyle entrepreneur who presents himself as a Colombian-Caribbean equivalent to Javier Milei, Donald Trump or Nayib Bukele. 

To his critics, De la Espriella is a tacky, opportunistic grifter who made a fortune in Miami by representing people linked to corruption scandals and paramilitary groups (including the likes of Nicolás Maduro’s ally ⁠Alex ​Saab, who has been charged with money laundering). He has returned to mansplain and insult the residents of his motherland, while disingenuously promising to save them. His enemies warn that he will be a menace to Colombia’s unique biosphere and inevitably become Trump’s puppet, before taking off again on a private jet to the US or Italy, where he has property and passports. 

In the other corner is Iván Cepeda, a Bogotá-born philosopher who spent part of his early years in Soviet-aligned Prague and Cuba, before studying at Bulgaria’s Sofia University. Cepeda became a human-rights campaigner after the assassination of his father, a Marxist senator, in 1994; today he is known for his ill-fitting, Mao-collared outfits. His opponents accuse him of being a terrorist sympathiser with awful teeth and bad posture, who will turn the country into a communist narco-state. They see him as cog in the long-running effort to destroy the nation and turn it into another Cuba or Venezuela. Cepeda is the candidate favoured by the incumbent, Petro, who is the first leftist elected to lead Colombia. 

These are obviously caricatures but the stakes in this election feel extreme, with political polarisation at an all-time high. Colombians in both camps are convinced that the other side threatens what remains of their country’s democracy, institutions and economy. “Remember Hugo Chávez,” says the right. “Remember fascism,” says the left.

Will Colombia choose a showman who swears to “stand firmly for the homeland” and bring prosperity to the poor through unspecified policies or a boring commie dinosaur who pledges to defend the nation’s natural beauty and increase social spending at all costs? El Tigre’s campaign has been far more fiesta-flavoured and AI-enhanced than Cepeda’s familiar leftist repertoire of marches, slogans, victimhood and clenched fists; both sides, meanwhile, have played dirty. It would be incredibly entertaining to follow if the consequences weren’t so serious. 

De la Espriella frames his political inexperience as a strength, hoping that his outsider status will lure voters who feel perennially left behind. Cepeda cites the opposite: he has been everywhere, walking up and down the country beside victims of war. Polls suggest that El Tigre has the edge. He was the unexpected winner of the first round on 31 May, with 43.7 per cent of the vote, ahead of Cepeda’s 40.9 per cent. The result stunned supporters of the latter, who had convinced themselves that they were heading for a landslide. It also marked the defeat of the traditional right, pushed aside by a loud insurgent from the coastal provinces.

There are, however, millions of votes still in play. Both candidates have accordingly spent the past few weeks desperately courting Colombia’s four million or so undecided voters. Cepeda has even tried to be funny – which is clearly not his natural register. De la Espriella has toned down his opposition to adoption by same-sex couples and his threats to end the 2016 peace process and pull Colombia out of multilateral bodies. He promises that, following his vision, Colombia can become as successful as, say, South Korea – though he has yet to explain how. Despite its distaste for his loud antics, shady past and questionable wardrobe, the centre seems to be leaning towards El Tigre.

Whoever wins on Sunday, it’s clear that Colombia urgently needs a proper third way. Those who are not on the extremes are called tibios, which means “lukewarm”. Maybe this election will prove that it’s time for the country to embrace moderation. Colombia has been passing the baton from extreme left to extreme right since its inception, resulting in a traumatised society. It’s time for the tibios to lead. 

The concept of the mega-flagship emerged over the past decade as luxury houses’ profits ballooned and production cycles sped up following the coronavirus pandemic. It’s now almost expected for the world’s biggest fashion brands to open shops that double as art galleries, restaurants or even private members’ clubs. But as with everything in the industry, the trend can be taken a little too far. Today, many global flagships with their high-end digital queueing systems and copy-paste interiors feel detached from their brand’s founding values – let alone a sense of fun.  
 
Refreshingly, this isn’t the case with Hermès’s newest maison, which officially opened its doors on London’s 166 New Bond Street yesterday morning. The debut was followed by a summer party by the river Thames. The space – comprising six buildings, four staircases, 55 rooms and a roof terrace – is certainly larger-than-life, outshining many of its luxury competitors on the street. As you enter the ground-floor atrium (originally an outdoor area) and look up, it’s hard not to be awestruck by the glass roof and imposing spiral staircase – the work of architecture studio Foster + Partners. Yet at the same time, the sense of elegance and intimacy that Hermès is known for remains intact, thanks to details such as a deep-burgundy leather railing. A series of rooms dedicated to fine jewellery and watches are painted in a range of bright-yellow shades that take you from sunrise to sunset. The bathrooms are a fiery red.  

There’s also plenty to discover outside the products on sale, from a horse sculpture by British artist Jessica Wetherly to the 500 artworks selected by artistic director Pierre Alexis-Dumas, which span illustration, classic and contemporary art.  
 
Upstairs rooms, dedicated to the home, accessories and ready-to-wear, are smaller in size to allow for one-on-one service. Hermès customers will no doubt be delighted to discover floor-to-ceiling displays of one-of-a-kind bags and private repair stations on the top level, too.

Hermès has always been known for timeless products but developing spaces that also turn the spotlight on its seasonal, runway collections feels particularly timely. Recently, the work of Nadège Vanhée-Cybulski, artistic director of women’s ready-to-wear, has been gaining traction at Paris Fashion Week. Backstage at one of her shows, she told me that she has been feeling far more confident and able to make bigger statements. She also recently hosted a destination show in Los Angeles and is preparing to present her first couture range. Meanwhile, the label’s menswear business will also begin a promising, new chapter, when London-based Grace Wales Bonner – a designer lauded for her mastery of tailoring as much as her cultural credibility – showcases her debut collection as artistic director of menswear in January 2027. 

Over the coming months, Hermès will continue to evolve. With this new chapter, the house is entering a fresh growth phase (last year there were also ambitious openings across the US, including Nashville). The brand is playing the fashion game by its own rules, staying clear of the aggressive marketing tactics and trend cycles that some of its competitors have succumbed to. In doing so, it is helping to divert modern-day luxury away from scale, logos and it-products, and instead towards craft, privacy and a healthy dose of fun. 

Natalie Theodosi is Monocle’s fashion director. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

Further reading?

– Meet the design minds creating beautiful Hermès boutiques worldwide

– How Hermès Watches joined the watchmaking big league

In October 2025, Jimmy Donaldson – better known as MrBeast – posted a short clip on Youtube entitled “Reacting to ‘Hi Me in Ten Years’”, in which the North Carolinian content creator watches a message to himself that he filmed when he was 17 years old. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of Youtube,” says the teenaged Jimmy, who was then aiming to reach the milestone of a million subscribers within a decade. Last week the MrBeast account became the first to log 500 million followers and the video-sharing platform’s CEO, Neal Mohan, personally presented Donaldson with a special “Diamond Play Button”, a cool silver trophy celebrating the unprecedented achievement. 

Donaldson is one of the world’s biggest stars, with a production team employing hundreds, as well as a thriving spin-off chocolate company, Feastables. Time magazine once called him the “the most watched person in the world” and, with a Youtube presence dwarfing that of pop stars such as Taylor Swift, he probably is. Because of the siloisation of popular culture in the streaming era, his celebrity might seem somewhat remote to those who don’t have children, his core audience. For many teens, tweens and younger, however, he is the limitless promise of the internet personified.

My son, Kurt, is nine years old so we’ve been immersed in the antics of Donaldson and his crew for a few years now. We’ve watched them spend “7 days stranded in the Arctic”, attempt to escape a desert island by building a raft and more. Once, Donaldson buried himself in a reinforced-glass coffin for a week. When a new video drops, usually in the weekend, Kurt sits on my lap with a Feastables chocolate bar in hand and we hit play – my son chatting through the show, offering a rolling commentary not only on the gang’s latest adventure but also about the episode’s production values, effects and effectiveness as a piece of entertainment. 

Like many of his schoolfriends, he thinks of being a Youtuber as a potential career. And why not? It’s a fantasy that’s qualitatively no different from mine at his age of one day becoming a film-maker. Donaldson’s business has been mired in several high-profile controversies and legal challenges, including a class-action lawsuit alleging unsafe conditions during the filming of his Amazon series Beast Games, but his blundering as a young CEO doesn’t eclipse his positive contributions: his vast philanthropic efforts; his decision to keep his enterprises based in his hometown of Greenville, North Carolina, helping to turn a stretch of America not known for showbiz into an entertainment hub; and so on. There are far worse things for kids to aspire to than to be the next MrBeast. 

Yet the UK prime minister, Keir Starmer, evidently disagrees. This week his government announced that it would block social-media access for under-16s, a ban that is expected to begin in early 2027. Among the platforms affected will be TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, X and YouTube. The policy follows Australia’s introduction of the world’s first outright ban on social media for children in December 2025, as well as similar measures taken in countries including China, Vietnam and Indonesia. 

The Labour Party’s acknowledgement of online harms, especially when it comes to child safety, is, of course, welcome. Organisations such as UK charity NSPCC have long warned of the risks of under-16s being exposed to images of sexual abuse and content promoting terrorism, eating disorders or toxic ideologies; AI is also increasingly being used to generate indecent videos, reactionary slop and inflammatory fake news. Yet proscriptions of this kind are bound to be ineffective solutions to a problem that lies not with kids but with social-media platforms, which have persistently been underregulated by supine governments unwilling to disrupt their monetisation of social division. (The NSPCC, meanwhile, has raised concerns that some young people – particularly among the disabled and LGBT+ communities – could be left cut off from supportive web-based groups.) If it’s the algorithms that are at fault, why not target the technology, rather than its victims?

Social media is now an intrinsic part of many people’s lives. It comes as no surprise, then, that Australia’s ban seems so far to have been pretty ineffective. According to a compliance update published by the country’s online safety commissioner in March, about 70 per cent of households continued to have active social-media accounts for their children. Where there’s a will to stay connected, there’s a way – and kids have plenty of will. There is little reason to assume that the results will be any different in the UK. 

Starmer’s ban might be framed as a way to protect the young and vulnerable but it can more accurately be described as yet another incursion into our digital privacy. Age verification will require mechanisms allowing tech firms to gather more information about users of all ages – facial recognition, our internet usage, and so on. “Surveillance is not safety,” messaging app Signal recently warned, suggesting that the UK government’s latest efforts to improve child safety might amount to the stealth erection of an “invisible surveillance infrastructure”, ripe for future abuse. 

Kerry Moscogiuri, chief executive of Amnesty International UK, has described the social-media ban as “a case of the right diagnosis but the wrong prescription” and it’s hard to disagree. “Too many social-media companies have built products and business models that prioritise keeping children engaged for longer, often at the expense of their wellbeing, privacy and rights,” she said in response to the plan. “The problem is not that children exist on social media. It’s that social-media companies have built platforms that are unsafe by design.”

And then there’s the matter of stomping on aspiring Youtubers’ dreams. Donaldson started his channel when he was 13 years old. Soon, British kids won’t be allowed to follow in his footsteps. That feels mean-spirited to me, as well as unenforceable. It’s the duty of governments to rein in the tech giants, preventing them from permitting online abuses. Providing the likes of Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg with yet more free data about UK residents seems like a dumb way of going about it to me.

Yitzhak Rabin and Yasser Arafat shook hands here to cement the historic Oslo Accord in 1993. Jackie Kennedy had tended her roses nearby. And on Sunday night, an American wearing little more than a pair of tight trunks beat a Spanish-Georgian gentleman to a bloody pulp here in front of Donald Trump as a crowd brayed, “USA! USA! USA!”

That was the scene on the White House South Lawn as the spectacle of an Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) bout took place to mark the nation’s 250th anniversary (and the president’s 80th birthday). The bout happened to fall on Flag Day, commemorating the US’s adoption of the Stars and Stripes, and the flag was abundantly on display. Beefy fighters draped themselves in it; skin-hugging shorts were emblazoned with it; and a colossal structure called “The Claw”, erected especially for the fight and dwarfing the White House, was lit up in red, white and blue. It was an orgy of pumped-up patriotism and testosterone, the manosphere that helped to sweep Trump to power manifest on his back lawn. 

“This is the most historic sporting event of all time,” said an overexcited announcer, which, as well as being factually questionable, seemed a bit disingenuous, considering that the US is currently hosting the World Cup and the New York Knicks won a long-awaited NBA Championship on the same weekend.

For weeks, the US media has been scrambling for the best metaphor to describe the celebration. Is it politics as a blood sport? An emperor with his gladiators? The commercialisation of the White House or the melding of politics and entertainment? 

What struck me as I watched the parade of shirtless men grappling each other as pools of blood gathered in the Octagon was the over-the-top machismo. One fighter came on to the tune of “Real American”, a wrestling theme song most closely associated with Hulk Hogan, and that’s what the evening seemed to offer: a very specific view of what it means to be a man in the US today. 

This is man as a muscular, fearless warrior without pain or sorrow – and, according to the barrage of advertising, one who also drives a Ram truck, invests in cryptocurrency and bets on Polymarket. There are female UFC fighters and referees but the only women seen in the Octagon were wearing skimpy Stars-and-Stripes dresses and carrying signs. So intense was the masculinity on display that at times it seemed to slip into camp parody: sailors singing along to “YMCA”; fighters complimenting Trump on his balls. 

There were also flashes of cruelty. American fighter Josh Hokit used his victory speech to fire off a series of profanities and declare, “Michelle Obama is a man,” on a lawn that was once her own. The final fight between American Justin Gaethje and Georgian-Spanish fighter Ilia Topuria continued even after a visibly staggering Topuria said that he couldn’t see out of one eye.

Trump won the election just a couple of years ago with the help of this fanbase. More than half of men aged 18 to 29 voted for him in November 2024, a 12-point shift from the previous election when Joe Biden won the group by 11 percentage points.

But that was before the Iran war, persistent inflation and concerns about a future job market hobbled by AI, which the administration has done little to address. A recent Harvard University Institute of Politics poll found that only 28 per cent of young men approve of Trump’s job performance. But it didn’t make it any less weird, as the fighters paraded through the rooms of the White House under the gaze of portraits of previous US presidents. Brazilian fighter Mauricio Ruffy summed it up when he said, “Fighting at the White House is really surreal.”

That was the understatement of the night. A calendar full of similarly excessive spectacles is coming up as part of the celebrations to mark the 250th anniversary of American independence. Expect more bread and circuses.

Journalists have been scribbling worrisome screeds about their industry’s imminent demise for as long as their job has existed. Before the arrival of social media or AI, frighted writers feared rolling news, radio broadcasts and even the dizzying speed of the electric telegraph. 
 
It’s the same with our current collective unease about AI. Reporters who are paid to explain the world – and fill column inches, books or TV slots – are continuing their illustrious record of reflecting their own insecurities. But will technology unmoor us from facts, insights and fresh ideas? Will the sheer volume of slop available dull our appetite for a good story? Will a computer replace a person who is able to get out in, experience and interpret the world? I’m not so sure.
 
Monocle, like many publishers, is on the faultline of this tectonic technological shift. AI is here but I hope that our position – to only publish work written, photographed or illustrated by humans – offers some pragmatism in a moment of hard-to-fathom hysteria and downward-pointed graphs. Many fears hinge on the overwhelming quantity of information that’s now at our fingertips. We would all do better to focus on the quality of what we’re told. In a world where so much is readily accessible, shouldn’t we ask what’s useful or what’s trustworthy?

We still believe in the importance of journalism and remain optimistic about its role in helping to make sense of a rapidly changing world. Journalists can do far more than scrape content from secondary sources. They can meet people and ask questions, seek new information that’s not part of the online narrative and subject it to scrutiny, and understand the world in a fuller sense than any machine will ever manage.

Monocle isn’t pessimistic about technology. AI can help with research and transcription – and a zillion other things. It can analyse medical scans, model data and churn through calculations at unimaginable speeds. Still, for the situation to work, the person posing the question must remain responsible for the answer, while the reader (or patient, or homeowner, or astronaut) should be alert to the risks of uncritically relying on AI output. The problem isn’t the technology – it’s no one being accountable for the claptrap that it can come out with.

In an age of misinformation and misattribution there’s also a missed opportunity. Skilled, seasoned and well-connected reporters must gain access, argue the toss, risk a joke, plump for an amusing adjective and bring stories that matter to life. 

Perhaps it’s time for journalists – and others unnerved by change – to stop moaning about the precarity of their professions and start making a better case for their relevance.

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