Straddling a peninsula at the tip of the African continent, Cape Town is famous for its beaches and dramatic landscapes, even though much of the city is flat and far from the ocean. In 1908 the Long Street Baths, a beautiful Edwardian swimming pool, was opened in the South African legislative capital’s CBD to provide respite for residents during the summer. Since then, a further 36 public pools have been built, many of them since the end of apartheid in the early 1990s, in neighbourhoods once designated “black” or “coloured”. It is the residents of these areas who are most likely to be without easy access to the coast.
“Our beaches are world-class and we’re very proud of them,” says Francine Higham, the member of the city’s mayoral committee in charge of community services and health. “Public pools serve a different purpose. They’re embedded in communities: places you can walk to, visit after school or pop into on the weekend.” Severe drought (Cape Town almost ran out of water in 2017) and the coronavirus pandemic meant that the city’s government reduced investment in recreational facilities.
With those challenges behind it, Cape Town, under the leadership of its young, driven and popular mayor, Geordin Hill-Lewis, has invested R40m (€2m) in upgrading its public pools. This summer all but one of the city’s 37 community pools are operational, the highest number in 15 years. “In many areas, particularly those facing daily challenges of poverty and crime, these spaces provide structure, opportunity and hope,” says Higham. Monocle visited three (Sea Point, Muizenberg and Newlands) at the beginning of the school holidays to take the temperature of this refurbishment programme poolside.
Sea Point
It’s 17.30 on the first Sunday of the holidays and the sun is leaning towards Robben Island. Many young people are grouped around the edges of the vast oceanfront pool. A chant cuts across the gentle murmur of the swimmers: “Go! Go! Go!” At the end of the three-metre-high diving board a teenage boy peers down nervously at the water. Eventually, a lifeguard leads him sheepishly off the board and back down the ladder. Seconds later, it’s back to business as usual, with acrobatic men and boys performing flick-flacks and swallow dives from the five-metre-high platform.
One of the most impressive divers is Keano Cedras, who lives in Athlone, 20km away. He has been coming to Sea Point since he was a babe-in-arms. Indeed, the swimming pool is home to his family’s business: Cedras’s grandparents have rented out umbrellas here for more than 30 years and now he and his brother, Reece, perform the same service, charging R40 (€2) a day. “It’s a good job,” he says. “You enjoy yourself while you work. Sea Point is my second home.”
The coastal resort of Sea Point was established in 1880 by British colonists inspired by Victorian bathing spots back home. On a rocky stretch of coastline with few places to swim, the current facility, which still pumps water directly from the Atlantic Ocean to fill its pools, was opened in 1959 at the height of apartheid. In the beginning, its azure waters and pristine lawns were accessible only to white people but this restriction fell with the end of the segregationist policy. These days it’s common for long queues to form outside its art deco entrance long before the pool’s 07.00 opening time.
Sitting nearby are Shakeelah Saayman, Ashif Abdulkader Gaylanie, “El Chapo” Williams and Sadiq Stemmet. The friends have travelled from Manenberg, a small suburb with a big gang problem: you’re three times more likely to be murdered there than elsewhere in South Africa. “We come here every weekend,” says Saayman. “The pool is much better than the beach. If we go to the beach, I can’t leave my baby sister to swim alone. It’s safer here.”
On a sweltering Sunday afternoon, Sea Point echoes to the sounds of Capetonians enjoying the first of the summer’s consistent heat. During cooler times of the year, this is a popular training spot for open-water swimmers – many of whom make up the Friends of the Sea Point Pavilion (FSPP), a charity that runs swimming programmes for local residents. The FSPP, which is funded by the rental income collected from food vendors on the complex’s forecourt, recently spent R2m (€100,000) to refurbish Sea Point’s original 1950s entrance.
Muizenberg
On the opposite side of the Cape Peninsula is Muizenberg Swimming Pool. Also founded as a Victorian seaside resort, Muizenberg is flanked by wealthy suburbs such as Lakeside to the north and the Cape Flats, an expanse of townships and poorer suburbs, to the east. Macchiato-sipping, 4×4-driving surfers lounge alongside families who have come on public transport with packed lunches. Muizenberg’s pavilion, which has been repainted as part of the mayor’s refurbishment programme, is designed to look like a ship, while the landscaping, palm trees and contorted water slides give the place a Caribbean atmosphere.
Its spruce-up has brought a bigger crowd than usual this summer. Khaaliq Khan is an 18-year-old graduate from Lavender Hill, a low-income suburb 5km away. He is here on an end-of-year excursion with his madrasa, an Islamic religious school. Khan and his mates started queuing to get in at 06.30 and, 10 hours later, show no signs of flagging.
“We are just waiting for 17.00 – that is our time,” he says, with a devilish smile. “I’m not sure if the lifeguards know but that’s when we’re all going to jump in the pool.” Lounging in the shade nearby, unaware of the impending splash mob, are sisters Evelyn and Beauty Zimba, and Evelyn’s four-year-old daughter. “I’ve been coming here my whole life,” says Beauty, who lives in Capricorn Park. “It’s good to see it looking cleaner.”
While it should hopefully be all fun and games for the swimmers at Muizenberg today, Aziz Rayners – one of 557 lifeguards on duty across Cape Town’s pools this summer – is on constant alert. “This is my second season,” says the lean 20-year-old computer-science student, sporting retro round sunglasses and a sparse goatee beneath his wide-brimmed red hat. “It’s a good holiday job but it’s also a big responsibility – last year I prevented a few drownings. They look like they’re swimming but then their eyes go big and they start panicking. Even the person next to them won’t know that they’re drowning.”
Reassured by Rayners’ vigilance, Monocle takes a dip. On this sultry afternoon, as the sound of children laughing wafts along on the gentle sea breeze, it’s difficult not to see Muizenberg as emblematic of a brighter future for Cape Town, a city still riven with divisions that, while no longer enforced by the government, are nonetheless evident in many areas. This swimming pool might represent the idealised rainbow nation. As part of the citywide R413m (€21m) seafront upgrade, Muizenberg will see R228m (€12m) invested in its parking areas, seawalls, coastal paths and beach huts. A brighter future indeed.
Newlands
Nestled in Cape Town’s southern suburbs, not far from the cricket stadium that shares its name, Newlands pool used to be South Africa’s home of competitive swimming. Today regional heats and Olympic training take place at the University of the Western Cape. Newlands’ grandstand is off-limits and the diving board has been removed but the crowds flooding into the pavilion on the first day of the summer season are enjoying a complex that has had a winter makeover. Many of the pool’s pumps have been replaced, while the changing rooms have been retiled and painted. Newlands’ location in a richer part of town brings a wealthier clientele but there’s still an unrestrained atmosphere that only sun and a large body of water can bring.
Back for the first time in 10 years is Taariq Adams, who works on cruise ships in the US but has returned to South Africa with his wife and children for the summer. “Newlands has a park and a pool; the children can play and I can swim,” he says. “We’ve had an awesome time and the tariffs are so cheap.” Despite a higher social bracket, a family of four pays little more than R24 (€1.25) for a day pass to Newlands, similar to the rate at other Cape Town public pools, all of which are subsidised by city hall.
Beyond the jovial din is the sound of thrashing as a lone serious swimmer ploughs back and forth across the deep end. He scythes through the water in a metronomic freestyle, before breaking into an explosive butterfly, revealing dark Speedos emblazoned with the South African flag. “While Newlands was closed, I’ve been training in the gym or the sea,” says mechanical engineer Louis Gouws, as he rests on the edge of the pool. “But this is much better. It’s outside, it’s 50 metres long and I can look at Table Mountain every time I breathe. I’ll be here a few times a week for the rest of the summer.” Lucky him.
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Community meetings can easily devolve into neighbourhood cranks ranting about potholes. But when the setting is the interior courtyard of a lovingly restored 16th-century building with a well-dressed crowd sipping sangria, the tone can never be anything but congenial. That, at least, is what Monocle discovers upon arrival at a regular gathering of the Colonial Town Owners and Residents Association in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic (DR).
Holding court during an evening celebrating the year’s wins is Raquel Casares, who founded the association in 2021. A Madrileña by upbringing, Casares is the in-country representative for an international charity. She has led the way for a wave of foreigners to relocate to Santo Domingo, especially its 500-year-old historic quarter. Newcomers are drawn by a Caribbean climate and quality of life, warm Latin American culture, dynamic economy, thriving creative sector and sense of security that is rare for the region.
When Casares first arrived two decades ago, Santo Domingo’s old town was a bohemian enclave – full of artists, poets and cheap spots for a late-night cerveza or a spin on the dance floor. Though the Ciudad Colonial is the oldest European settlement in the Americas, dating from 1496, and has been a Unesco World Heritage Site since 1990, the walled city and its stunning coral limestone buildings had been somewhat overlooked. Tourists flocked to the all-inclusive resorts in Punta Cana, while upwardly mobile Dominicans were more enamoured with Miami-style high-rises as the city, today a metropolitan area of four million people, sprawled away from the historic centre where the Ozama river flows into the Caribbean Sea.
The district stopped flying under the radar 12 years ago when the country’s Ministry of Tourism conducted an international design competition for an old-town master plan and the Inter-American Development Bank began financing an urban infrastructure scheme to upgrade streets with proper drainage and hand-laid paving stones. These improvements have raised property values but also prompted concerns about overtourism.
For now, Santo Domingo has avoided the fate of old towns elsewhere in the region, such as Cartagena in Colombia, that are little more than historical theme parks. The quarter is still home to 7,500 residents. Casares is raising a family and proudly handles her daily needs on foot – there are still useful local businesses such as grocers, tailors, bookstores and pharmacies – but sends her sons to school outside the neighbourhood. A lack of child-friendliness – no playgrounds in the parks, for example – was part of her motivation to start the association, something that she says was not looked at askance despite her foreign passport. Instead, she galvanised a community that was eager to speak with a unified voice and convey similar concerns to City Hall under the slogan “people live here”.
Despite the challenges, Casares is more enthusiastic than ever about her adopted home. “It’s the best moment for the old town in 20 years,” says Casares. For anyone looking for a 16th-century fixer-upper, there are still a few left, plus a handful of modernist apartment buildings on Conde, the main drag, but savvy property firms are making moves. The latest marquee opening came in 2024 when IHG Hotels & Resorts unveiled the Kimpton Las Mercedes, bringing in Mallorquin hospitality specialist Marta Amengual as general manager. The boutique hotel is the work of Moneo Brock, a Madrid-based firm that has been active in Santo Domingo for more than a decade. It won the Ministry of Tourism’s master-plan competition, though the company’s co-founder Belén Moneo ruefully notes that the winning designs were never implemented.
Moneo Brock’s handiwork is prominent, however, at Casa Velázquez, an upscale residential building that is a showcase for restoring the colonial town’s building stock. Co-owner Claudio Suarez stumbled into the project when he was looking for a retail space in 2009 to open a shoe shop. What he found was an abandoned 1926 façade with three 16th-century buildings next to it. Against local perceived wisdom, his Dutch business partner insisted that they buy the heritage properties. “For Dominicans it was too risky but he showed me that history retains its value,” says Suarez. The renovations took 12 years largely because of permitting delays. Planning officials had never seen something as ambitious as reconfiguring a group of heritage buildings into a set of spacious, family-sized apartments with ground-floor shops and restaurants.
The headaches with Casa Velázquez nearly cost Suarez his marriage, he says. Today, neighbours hail from Belgium, Colombia, Germany, Mexico, the Netherlands, Peru and the US, and his persistence has opened the door to smart renovations. “The government has made a lot of improvements. To come here and do something now you will not go through what we went through,” he tells Monocle before heading off to meet his wife for dinner at the Italian restaurant on the ground floor.
Another Casa Velázquez tenant is Casarré, the city’s hippest dining room. Swiss-Dominican chef and restaurateur Olivier Bur relocated from Zürich in 2023 after years of culinary research on native plants and seafood across the Dominican Republic and neighbouring Haiti (the nations share the island of Hispaniola, which is the second largest island in the Caribbean). He has distilled his findings into a multicourse dinner for which every ingredient, plate, cup and utensil is locally made. “I’m not a fan of tasting menus personally but we have so many ingredients that nobody knows, not even locals, so we would need one hour to explain everything to you,” he says during afternoon prep. Bur settled in the Ciudad Colonial in part because of a strong creative community that still values craftsmanship.
In between showrooms for noted Dominican fashion designer Jenny Polanco and edgy new contemporary art shows at the gothic-style Los Remedios chapel, the sights and sounds of busy hands making things lurk behind nearly every door, from amber and larimar jewellery from Joarla and hand-rolled cigars at Caoba to an entire ceramics workshop housed in the courtyard of Casa Alfarera. Many products bear the label of Manos Dominicanas, a national initiative to promote Dominican crafts, including the well-curated gift shop at Centro Cultural Taíno Casa del Cordón, the latest addition to the old town’s rich stock of museums and cultural centres, and concessions at Las Américas airport.
A sack of heirloom limes dropped off that morning sits by the door at Casarré. Too many for that night’s dinner, says Bur, so the extras are destined for the upscale Piantini neighbourhood across town where haute gastronomy with Dominican ingredients first took off. Ahead of the citrus delivery, Monocle makes a call at Ajualä. With its thatched roof, secluded garden and clean lines, the restaurant’s tropical modernism could slot easily into São Paulo’s Jardins neighbourhood.
Originally from Venezuela, Ajualä’s owner and chef, Saverio Stassi, has cooked in seven different countries. When he arrived in Santo Domingo in 2003, he estimates that there were 50 restaurants, 10 of which were of decent quality. Today there are more than 80 on Piantini’s main avenue alone. “It’s a city of opportunity that respects foreigners,” says Stassi. “You can live well here without the million dollars you would need in Malagá or San Sebastián – I’m 10 minutes from the beach and half an hour from the mountains.”
Pending traffic. The city’s transportation network leaves much to be desired, with a limited metro (the only subway in the Caribbean) running a total length of 48.5km and no rapid bus transit of which to speak. Taxis are plentiful but gridlock can be gruelling. Despite its seaside setting, the lack of a clean beach within city limits is also a drawback, though the mayor, Carolina Mejía, is touting improvements with the Malecón Deportivo, a corniche for the sporty set opening later this year as a legacy of the city’s host role during the 2026 Central American and Caribbean Games.
Juan Manuel Gaitán, a Colombian ad executive who has completed stints in Buenos Aires and Melbourne, was recruited by Ogilvy to serve as the agency’s chief creative officer in the DR. The Santo Domingo traffic was a grind and road trips to the interior were hampered by poor nighttime illumination, so he turned the crumbling infrastructure into creative inspiration for client Chevrolet. The campaign Night Signals installed billboards that function as car ads during the day but double as road-safety signs after dark. The clever concept won two awards at last year’s Cannes Lions, which was vindication for Gaitán and his Colombian actress wife that they had made the right choice when moving to Santo Domingo and starting a family here. “I’ve always wanted to live on an island,” he says. “The nature and the sea inspire my creativity.”
For residents across the city, from denizens of the high-rise precincts to old-town dwellers, security is not a major concern. Stassi relates how the morning before he meets Monocle at his restaurant, he accidentally left the keys in his motorcycle while playing tennis. It was still there when he got back – not something to recommend but encouraging, nonetheless. Ciudad Colonial residents feel similarly as they take an evening stroll or head for a night of salsa, bachata and merengue. The Dominican Republic’s tourism police, Politur, are widely respected and effective. In 2024, the homicide rate dropped for a third consecutive year and the DR now ranks as the second-safest country in Latin America – all achieved while holding free and fair elections and without installing a “cool dictator” like El Salvador’s Nayib Bukele.
This momentum is drawing Dominican talent back to the island, such as interiors and travel photographer Victor Stonem, who returned from Barcelona in 2021 and recently published a photo book of interiors from across the old town. It’s also keeping ambitious locals from leaving, such as Omar Garcia, better known by his nom d’artiste, Angurria. Together with his partner, Venus Patricia Díaz, they run a cultural production agency that works with Unesco to promote the creative economy in the DR and organise art and entertainment festival Caye, which takes over a plaza outside the old town walls. The last edition attracted 13,000 attendees; its first edition generated RD$3.8m (€50,300) in economic activity.
Díaz, a former shortstop who works on mural commissions for Major League Baseball – the sport being one of the country’s leading soft-power exports – understands the appeal of moving abroad but with solid air connections from Las Américas airport to Miami, New York and Madrid, he finds that Santo Domingo suits him just fine. “The sport and entertainment industries are looking to the Dominican Republic as both a market and source of cultural raw material,” he says. “The sky is the limit here.”
Open for business
A business-friendly climate under the Dominican Republic’s president, Luis Abinader, who was re-elected in 2024, is a national draw paying dividends in Santo Domingo. The DR jumped the most out of all Latin American countries on the Latinvex Global Business Complexity Index, from among the eight worst to the five best, chiefly thanks to a 2023 national law introducing mandatory electronic invoicing for all enterprises. Foreign direct investment is also at record highs, totalling $2.89bn (€2.46bn) through the first half of 2025, a 15.3 per cent year-on-year increase.
Less than a year after Takahiro Homma established Japanese lifestyle brand Sanu in 2019, a small house by the sea in Chiba provided the inspiration for what is now the company’s flagship second-home service. It was there that Homma escaped Tokyo life during the early stages of the coronavirus pandemic.
After a morning surf with fellow Sanu co-founder Gen Fukushima, he would spend the day working remotely before returning to the nature on his doorstep. He realised that this way of life would resonate with many people at a time when dual-base lifestyles were gaining traction and city dwellers – young families in particular – were seeking more access to nature.
Plans for a subscription-based service providing access to a network of villas were soon in the works, with Homma honing a model that would result in Sanu developing sites across the country, installing cabins that members of its network could rent or buy as a home away from home.
“In Japan, second homes have tended to be more luxurious – large villas with five bedrooms and marble floors in places such as Karuizawa or Zushi,” Homma tells Monocle from the company’s Tokyo headquarters. “Many were simply status symbols for the wealthy. But right from the outset, we wanted to go in the opposite direction and give more people easy access to nature, even those who hadn’t ever considered a second home. A simple cabin, well designed with the bare necessities, could make that a reality.”
When it came to giving physical form to these ideas, Sanu sought out the services of Kotaro Anzai from Japanese architectural collective ADX. Born and raised in Fukushima, the award-winning architect has, over the course of his two-decade career, become known for designing human-scale buildings using wood from Japan’s forests. Also an avid mountain climber, Anzai builds on the work of his father and grandfather, who constructed mountain huts across the peaks of the Tohoku region. “Wood was always the most readily available material in our town,” he tells Monocle. “There was a sawmill nextdoor to our family’s business, while lumber yards, furniture shops and forests were all part of the community’s essential infrastructure.”
Presented with Homma’s brief for simple, refined architecture akin to a “white vessel”, Anzai developed a beehive-inspired structure for Sanu: Cabin Bee. This kit-model-style cabin features a distinctive V-shaped roof and raised pile foundations, designed to minimise clearing work and the impact on the surrounding flora and fauna. Made exclusively with Japanese timber, the interior draws on the concept of shakkei or “borrowed scenery”, where distant landscapes – mountains, trees, the sky – are framed by windows, making the spaces feel larger and more expansive. It’s an approach that also helps to bring a sense of the outdoors inside.
When it came to construction, Sanu’s initial aim of installing 100 buildings across Japan in its first year of operation required speed and scale. So Anzai completely modularised Cabin Bee’s design for mass production. He also sought to simplify construction work by creating a structure that could largely be assembled, rather than built, reducing the need for highly skilled labour. “The aim was to create architecture that wasn’t entirely dependent on carpenters being on site,” he says.
In addition to fast-tracking the construction process in the face of chronic labour shortages in Japan – where the number of skilled workers has fallen by 12 per cent in the past decade – the assembly-led approach allows minor enhancements to be made post-completion, improving both performance and longevity.
Starting with the inaugural deployment of five buildings across two sites in 2021, Cabin Bees have spread across Japan’s eastern Kanto region and become synonymous with Sanu’s pitch to nature-seeking urbanites. And with their domestic timber construction, among other sustainable features, they have also helped to establish the B Corp-certified company as a model for regenerative businesses.
Rising demand for Sanu’s second-home subscription and co-ownership services has driven the company’s plans to expand. This growth has resulted in Sanu’s line-up of original architecture growing to include terraced-house designs by architects such as Keiji Ashizawa and Puddle, and a second modular-cabin commission for Anzai in 2024.
Sanu’s expansion to new locations throughout Japan called for another Anzai design to be tailored to a wider range of conditions, from the snow-laden mountains of Hokkaido to the subtropical humidity of Okinawa. The architect responded with Cabin Moss, a building made to perform under harsh conditions, ranging from 50c to minus 20c, while connecting with the landscape and providing a feel for the elements – rain, hail or shine. The variety of wood was also expanded, with Hokkaido elm, Aizu-Wakamatsu chestnut and Kitayama cedar from Kyoto among the species used as part of an effort to support regional forestry.
Another development was the modular design, which has been configured based on a 2.7-metre grid calculated with the most efficient freight transport in mind. “Construction-worker numbers are decreasing and, as we enter more remote locations where populations are declining, building not only becomes impossible but so does maintaining the finished product,” says Anzai. “Between 70 and 80 per cent of Cabin Moss’s construction is completed in advance, reducing site work to just two weeks.”
The pre-installation work is carried out in a factory that’s about half an hour’s drive south of ADX’s Fukushima headquarters. When Monocle visits, a dozen seasoned carpenters are making their way along a row of sauna add-ons for the Cabin Moss series. Sheets of cork lining are secured in place and windows fitted ahead of their journey north to Niseko, Sanu’s first site in Hokkaido.
In another corner of the workshop, a wooden skeleton structure is being laden with weights to test its resilience in the face of heavy snowfall. “Some of the professionals are self-employed, while others are from regional businesses,” says Keita Noji, ADX’s factory manager. “But they have developed a sense of camaraderie that goes beyond our directions, which ultimately leads to the creation of great products.”
The workshop’s standing as a place for knowledge-sharing and craftsmanship has taken on new significance with Sanu’s acquisition of ADX last year. The teams are now joining forces to plan the integration of architectural design, manufacturing and operations. Central to this transition is the transformation of the current production facilities into a semi-automated manufacturing base, which Homma has dubbed Sanu Factory. It will aim to deliver 300 buildings a year by 2028. “There will be a role for machines in some cases but there will also be times when skilled hands are required for a quality finish,” says Noji. “Our challenge will be finding the ideal balance between the two.”
Sanu expects to expand its network to 40 locations across Japan by the end of this year and is planning for 500 sites worldwide by 2035. The factory will place the business in a unique position to tackle issues surrounding architecture and construction. “The industry is currently confronting labour shortages as well as environmental, energy and emissions issues,” says Sanu’s head of business development, Yusuke Ishikawa. “Building in nature, we’re dealing not only with the environment but the future of the industry too. The world is calling for net zero by 2050. While no one has the answers yet, we’re working hard to find solutions and provide leadership in the field of architecture.”
Over the past six years, Sanu’s evolution from ambitious start-up to leading nature-focused business has gone hand in hand with architectural and design innovations. This year’s release of the first Sanu Factory-made prototype is eagerly anticipated and has the potential to set a new benchmark for the manufacture of wooden modular buildings at scale. And with global expansion slated for 2030, its applications have the potential to reach far and wide, shaping everything from affordable housing to forestry and the future of craftsmanship.
sa-nu.com
Q&A: Gen Fukushima
Sanu’s Hokkaido-born co-founder tells us about Sanu Factory and the dual roles of automated manufacturing and craftsmanship in the company’s future.
What is your vision for Sanu Factory?
The main idea is that it’s not simply about mass production. By developing the factory and mechanising operations to a certain extent, we can have more fun with designs. The ideal facility would be one in which techniques can be passed down. That means balancing machine-based processing with finishing touches completed by skilled craftspeople.
How has the acquisition of an architecture firm such as ADX changed Sanu’s approach to manufacturing buildings?
We’re now in a position to realise a circular production process: drawing up blueprints, building, operating, repairing and then using dismantled materials for future buildings. Maintaining our own buildings also means that we have real-time feedback, helping us to make slight updates. Integrating the entire value chain will allow us to be truly original.
How would you describe your approach to making?
It’s about the enjoyment of creating things but also about reducing our burden on nature. It’s important to remember that what’s good for nature is also good for humans. At Sanu, we value a sense of wonder and Kotaro Anzai’s designs can be quite unusual at times. That’s the kind of architecture – slightly strange and playful – that we might be creating in the future.
It’s perhaps not an obvious milestone to celebrate but Monocle now has 23 bang up-to-date city guides (including downloadable maps) and we are adding to our collection of destinations at pace – Dubai and Sydney are being polished as we speak. Why not wait to celebrate until we hit 25? Self-interest: I wrote number 23, Palma, and would like to get it in front of as many people as possible.
Monocle has a long relationship with city guides. We used to have a digital collection called 25/25, which featured 25 cities and 25 snow and beach resorts. Then we produced a series of guides in print (should they return?). But when we relaunched monocle.com last year, we decided that it was time to rethink our digital guides and make use of the website to deliver concise information, considered recommendations and a handy map. And judging by the numbers that our head of digital shares with me every day, they have been a great success.
Our readers trust Monocle to guide them around London, Jakarta, Lisbon and beyond. And they should – we use our network of bureaux staff and trusty correspondents to create these passes to a city’s inner workings, to walk you around neighbourhoods that are, well, proper neighbourhoods. It’s our Asia editor based in Thailand, James Chambers, who wrote the Bangkok City Guide, Monocle editor Josh Fehnert who put together London and our Vienna correspondent, Alexei Korolyov, who names the best places to dine and drink in his hometown. And, of course, Fiona Wilson, our senior Asia editor and a resident in the city long before Monocle launched, opens her address book for Tokyo.
Then suddenly it was my turn. I have a home in Palma and have lived a life there for some years. But the connection long predates me getting the keys to my apartment. In the early days of Monocle, we held a summer pop-up shop in the city’s Santa Catalina neighbourhood and I had a stint as its shopkeeper. I loved it – both the retail experience and the city. I then started spending more time on the island. I met architects, potters, designers and so many others who opened doors for me. Friendships were forged. Mallorca and Palma slowly revealed themselves. But it still keeps many secrets behind those shuttered windows and high-walled courtyards. And so it should.
When it came to sharing my address book, I wanted to do right by the city and spotlight the people and places that I have come to know and admire. Nothing is ever conclusive but I hope that our guide to Palma will allow people to enjoy getting lost in the Old Town, find architectural gems not in most guidebooks, have the best ice cream going and even find their way inside a private palace. I will keep adding to the guide, reflecting how Palma changes, as will all our network of contributors for their cities.
By the end of the year, we should be approaching the 50-guide milestone and will have created a valuable and fun set of directories for people who want to shop, eat well and see places afresh. These are guides for people who love cities.The Monocle City Guide series is free to all subscribers. Want in? Subscribe here.
On a recent afternoon, I found myself reading an essay in a curiously titled online publication called A Fucking Magazine (AFM). The essay’s title, “Mother, Maybe”, was so intriguing and the author’s voice so engaging that I barely noticed the QR code at the bottom of the web page, inviting me to download an app called Feeld. The magazine, it turned out, was run by a dating app.
Why, some might ask, would such an organisation publish a magazine? Companies exist to make money and periodicals are notoriously hard to profit from. Yet Feeld isn’t the only non-media company succumbing to the charm of the journalistic endeavour. In October 2025, Mozilla Foundation, which promotes an open and accessible internet and is the parent organisation of Mozilla Corporation, unveiled Nothing Personal. The online publication bills itself as a “counterculture magazine and platform for independent thinkers”. A month later, payment processing company Stripe launched the first print issue of Works in Progress – an online publication founded by four journalists in 2020, which the financial platform acquired two years after.
The furniture company Henrybuilt has been running a stellar design magazine called Untapped for some time, while co-working company The Malin has its own online journal (also named The Malin). It seems the more you look, the more you will find thoughtful publications that are funded by companies with potentially conflicting interests such as products to sell and services to promote.
Perhaps the oldest example is US manufacturing company John Deere, which launched its own excellently titled magazine, The Furrow, in 1895. The agricultural journal featured John Deere ads and advertorials but it was primarily created to educate and support farmers rather than simply to promote the company’s equipment. It was (and still is) delivered free of charge to customers, which likely contributed to its rapid growth, reaching more than four million readers by 1912. Almost a century later, in 1993, the UK supermarket chain Sainsbury’s unveiled its first food title, Sainsbury’s Magazine. Featuring British chef Delia Smith on its inaugural cover, the publication featured accessible recipes for home cooks, plus health, fashion and general household advice. It’s still being published today, both in print and online.
Since the turn of the millennium, there have been scores of company-backed publications by the likes of Airbnb, Uber, Asos, Bentley, Soho House, Away, Dollar Shave Club and many more. Some of them were digital; others were printed on glossy paper. Most of them no longer exist. To the cynic, these journals can be seen as fleeting, if clever, marketing experiments that begin with a bang and end in budget cuts. But the new crop – including Feeld, Stripe and Mozilla Foundation – feels different. For one, they offer a tantalising home for journalists as some legacy media companies struggle under the weight of declining revenues and mass layoffs. For its Nothing Personal magazine, Mozilla Foundation hired Bourree Lam, an editor with more than 15 years’ experience across publications including The Atlantic, Refinery29 and The Wall Street Journal. The magazine also partners with The Onion for a regular humour column. Meanwhile, for A Fucking Magazine’s second issue, the editors commissioned stories and visuals from heavyweights such as photographer Nan Goldin and journalist Mona Chalabi. The publication’s editorial heft is reflected in its price, £18 (€20.75) an issue, and the quality independent bookshops and magazine retailers that it is sold in around the world.
Still, the question remains: why are companies investing in the printed word? For Dayo Lamolo, who spearheaded the launch of Nothing Personal, the goal was to start a conversation around digital privacy and ethics – topics that are key to Mozilla Foundation’s work. “We’re interested in belief change,” Lamolo tells Monocle. “The intention is directed towards thinking critically.” As for the team behind Feeld, the magazine was conceived as part of what its editors call “a larger cultural reimagining of dating”. The publication features Feeld’s logo on the spine of its print edition and the web version has that QR code, but the team says the primary goal is to help build a community.
These periodicals aren’t meant to sell products. Instead, they help build cultural cachet by signalling depth, taste and a willingness to engage in larger conversations. Notably, none of them carry advertising, meaning their revenue models rely entirely on backing from their parent companies as well as reader subscriptions. (Readers need to pay for most of these new titles, including A Fucking Magazine and Works in Progress.) While that raises questions about ethical journalism, the editorial teams do have independence. When Stripe bought Works in Progress in 2022, the founding editors announced that they would avoid subjects that Stripe might have a direct interest in. The company has since remained so removed from editorial decisions that I had been reading the magazine for more than a year unaware of the connection.
The real test, of course, will be longevity. If these publications survive, they might offer a blueprint for how companies can meaningfully contribute to culture – not by exploiting it but by embracing it. That’s a future worth rooting for, even if it arrives with a logo on the spine.
Elissaveta M Brandon is a New York-based writer and Monocle contributor.
For many Ethiopians, a drive to Bishoftu – a town about an hour outside Addis Ababa – has long been a gentle escape from the capital’s frenetic pace. The climate is cool and the landscape softened by scenic crater lakes and a sweep of cultivated green. But Bishoftu’s serenity might soon be a thing of the past as the area is destined to be the site of Africa’s largest airport. A vast aviation hub, it’s designed to handle 110 million passengers a year, a number that surpasses even Atlanta, currently the world’s busiest.
The new airport, designed by Zaha Hadid Architects and scheduled to open in 2030, is intended to relieve Addis Ababa’s Bole International Airport, which prime minister Abiy Ahmed Ali says will reach capacity within the next two to three years. Hemmed in by the city’s relentless growth, Bole has no room to expand. Bishoftu, by contrast, offers space and, more importantly, the chance for Ethiopia to reposition itself as the continent’s principal aviation crossroads.
“If Ethiopian Airlines intends to compete on a global rather than continental scale, it must eventually double and even triple in size,” aviation consultant Sean Mendis tells The Monocle Minute. “That is impossible without a home base capable of supporting it.” The flag carrier already dominates Africa’s skies. Ethiopian Airlines is the continent’s largest and most profitable, serving 145 destinations across five continents with the newest and biggest fleet in Africa, more than twice the size of its nearest rival, EgyptAir. Its rise has been anything but accidental. “Despite being state-owned, the airline has consistently operated as a commercial institution rather than a political instrument,” says Mendis. “No other African flag carriers have been afforded the governance stability or long-term strategic patience required to achieve this.”
Geography, too, is on Ethiopia’s side. Addis Ababa sits neatly at the intersection of Africa, the Middle East and Asia, the world’s fastest-growing aviation markets, while remaining within easy reach of Europe. Bishoftu’s lower altitude will also allow long-haul flights to North America to operate without the payload penalties that currently limit range and profitability. New highways and a high-speed rail link will stitch the airport into the capital, turning what is now a provincial town into the nerve centre of a global network.
But will the airline’s track record and Addis Ababa’s central location be enough to make the new airport a global player? It faces little serious competition within Africa but the mega-hubs of Dubai and Doha continue to siphon off African long-haul passengers, while Saudi Arabia’s aviation push is gaining pace across the Red Sea. Istanbul, driven by Turkish Airlines’ steady march, has become a favoured gateway for African travellers who are heading to Europe and beyond. Meanwhile, Gulf carriers continue to deepen their reach through codeshare agreements with African airlines. Ethiopia, Africa’s second-most populous country and one of its fastest-growing economies, remains politically brittle and unevenly secure. Abiy’s ambitious programme of reform and state-led development has advanced in parallel with a tightening of the democratic space and periodic crackdowns on dissent. The Bishoftu project will displace some 15,000 people, with compensation still unresolved. Looming over it all is the lingering risk of renewed conflict, particularly with neighbouring Eritrea.
Still, the political and economic situation seems only to have increased the prime minister’s appetite for grand projects. “Ethiopia has a track record of delivering large-scale infrastructure,” says Mendis, pointing to the continent’s largest hydroelectric dam and Addis Ababa’s sweeping urban-renewal schemes. For Abiy, the airport is also a political wager that investment, connectivity and momentum can help steer a nation of some 130 million back towards stability after years of internal turmoil. The new airport, expected to cost at least $12.5bn (€10.5bn), will be financed largely through international capital rather than the national budget, insulating it from domestic fiscal strains. Ethiopian Airlines, which will build and operate the facility, is expected to contribute about one fifth of the total, alongside a consortium of domestic and international lenders. The airline group has been profitable for nearly two decades and last year reported record revenues of $7.6bn (€6.4bn), an 8 per cent increase year on year. Abiy is tethering his country’s success to that of its flag carrier and hoping that both will take off.
Florian Siebeck is Monocle’s Frankfurt correspondent. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Read next: Addis Ababa’s recently renovated Africa Hall is a symbol of the continent’s unity
Art SG, Southeast Asia’s global contemporary-art fair, has transitioned from a speculative venture into a structural anchor. The fair, which wrapped on Sunday 25 January and coincides with Singapore Art Week, no longer needs to outshout Hong Kong or Paris. It simply needs to continue doing what it does best: organising space, time and money well enough for an art scene to grow.
Singapore is frequently called the “Switzerland of Asia” and the label is increasingly apt. The city-state has successfully absorbed a massive migration of capital, now hosting roughly 2,000 single-family offices – a nearly 4 per cent increase since 2020. For this time-poor, globally mobile elite, the art market is not a bohemian pursuit but a sophisticated asset class. It requires the same stability, logistical excellence and transparent governance that Singapore provides in spades.
While older European fairs rely on legacy and bravura, Art SG succeeds through a distinctively Singaporean infrastructural confidence. The strategic consolidation of the 2026 edition – folding contemporary-art platform SEA Focus into the fair floor at Marina Bay Sands – was a masterstroke of efficiency. It offers a streamlined, high-density environment that is precisely calibrated for a demographic that values summit-like experiences over the sprawling, exhausting festival models.
Crucially, 2026 marks the moment that this wealth has moved beyond mere transaction. We are witnessing a rare synergy: a contribution from both established regional dynasties and committed global expats to build a civic legacy. This is evidenced by the inauguration of the Tanoto Art Foundation at New Bahru, alongside the expansion of the Pierre Lorinet-backed Sam Art SG Fund to S$250,000 (€166,000). These are not the consequences of “hot money” looking for a quick exit; they are the anchors of a city moving beyond offshore insulation.
Critics might argue that Singapore lacks the gritty soul of established art capitals but they’re missing the point. In an increasingly volatile global landscape, the ability to provide a secure harbour for both assets and ideas is the most radical cultural act of all. By remaining the world’s most efficient hinge between Southeast Asian growth and global capital, Singapore proves that where capital flows, culture does more than follow – it settles.
Read next: Is Singapore building the next Silicon Valley?
Under normal circumstances, the Gulf monarchies are at pains to project an image of calm, cohesion and predictability. Disputes are managed quietly and disagreements smoothed over with summitry and ritual declarations of unity. But the latest escalation between the UAE and Saudi Arabia over Yemen suggests that those conventions are breaking down. Long-standing points of friction are now out in the open – and in an unprecedented way.
The immediate flashpoint was a burst of reporting by Saudi state media after journalists were granted access to detention facilities on former UAE military bases in Yemen. The access was facilitated by the Yemeni government, which is backed by a Saudi-led coalition. It brought renewed attention to allegations that Emirati forces ran a network of secret prisons during Yemen’s decade-long civil war. Abu Dhabi has categorically denied the claims. What mattered politically was not just the reporting but the decision to allow it.
It seems that Riyadh and Abu Dhabi are now prepared to use the media as leverage. The co-ordinated nature of the coverage marked a clear break from the Gulf’s traditional instinct to keep disagreements behind closed doors. It also deepened one of the region’s sharpest rifts, raising the prospect of a fallout with consequences well beyond Yemen.
This is not really about detention centres. It is about power, primacy and diverging visions for the Middle East. Saudi Arabia and the UAE are both engaged in ambitious national projects, each determined to set the pace for the region’s economic, political and security future. As their interests have become less parallel – in Yemen, Sudan, trade policy and influence – so too has their tolerance for quiet compromise.
Media has become the chosen battleground because it is effective and deniable. It allows pressure to be applied without the risks of economic retaliation or military escalation. Carefully curated access, selective amplification and strategic silence now sit alongside diplomacy as tools of the trade. The messaging is no longer subtle.
The rivalry is also being exported. Both countries are shoring up alliances outside the Gulf, pulling external powers into what increasingly resembles a broader strategic contest. Saudi Arabia has strengthened defence and security ties with Pakistan – a nuclear-armed state – as well as with Turkey, a regional power with its own ambitions. The UAE, meanwhile, has leaned into a growing axis with India and Israel, focusing on technology, intelligence-sharing and defence co-operation.
These partnerships are not virtue signalling – they are insurance policies. As the US recalibrates its role in the Middle East, Gulf states are seeking autonomy, leverage and deterrence. That these alliances now align so neatly along Gulf faultlines suggests that the rivalry between Riyadh and Abu Dhabi is no longer contained. It is shaping relationships from South Asia to the eastern Mediterranean.
There is a final irony. Even as the two Gulf heavyweights trade blows through media exposure and diplomatic manoeuvring, both are positioning themselves as responsible custodians of regional stability. Nowhere is this more striking than in Gaza, where Saudi Arabia and the UAE are expected to sit on international boards shaping postwar governance and reconstruction. The contrast is hard to ignore: advocates of peace abroad, while relations at home remain brittle and unresolved. This is a new phase in Gulf politics – one that is more exposed, more competitive and less carefully choreographed. The age of quiet co-ordination appears to be over.
Inzamam Rashid is Monocle’s Gulf correspondent. Read his take on how the year will shape up in the region here. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
The Paris autumn/winter 2026 menswear edition had the unenviable task of taking place while The World Economic Forum was unfolding in Davos. The US president, in attendance, was dominating the global agenda and the media’s attention as he raised the spectre of hitting countries that opposed his takeover of Greenland with tariffs. And to think that, just a year ago, brands in the midst of a round of swapping creative directors were the ones grabbing headlines in the business pages.
“The US administration’s decision to impose a 50 per cent tariff on India a few months ago has rippled through the ecosystem in ways that are both abstract and brutally specific,” said Kartik Kumra, founder of the New Delhi-based brand Kartik Research. “We can follow the money; shift focus and try to sell more in Asia to cushion a slowdown in the US. But for the fabric vendors, embroiderers, loom artists and dyers in India, their margins are thinner,” he added, explaining how tariffs impact the fashion industry.
At his show (pictured above) an emphasis on craft infused the collection with a sense of generosity and national pride in the face of a lingering industry slowdown and the persistence of single-digit sales growth – and those tariffs. Elsewhere, designers also sought a sense of normality by celebrating the mundane as a form of resistance to an economic moment that is often beyond their control.
Clothes for the work commute and the boardroom took centre stage. At Louis Vuitton (pictured below), the brand’s American creative director of menswear (and general multihyphenate), Pharrell Williams, showed his strongest collection to date. Models in ties and grey suits – rendered in technical, thermo-adaptive materials developed in the French luxury house’s atelier – evoked the Wall Street salarymen of the 1980s. Alexandre Mattiussi’s label, Ami Paris, brought a cross-section of Parisian society to the runway, from Sorbonne University students in baseball caps and wired headphones to financial consultants in oversized camel coats.
This pursuit of the everyday (and the everyman and everywoman) is particularly salient in a time when many customers are tightening their purse strings. As a result, brands are doubling down on attending to the top-spending tier of VICs (very important clients). According to global consultancy Bain & Company, this group represents 2 per cent of the customer base but accounts for 45 per cent of global luxury purchases. In other words, the high price of luxury goods is not necessarily in line with a creative director’s intent on the runway, where functionality and accessible designs are shown and lauded for their effortless ease.
For creative directors, the challenge now lies in developing their vision and sustaining interest as their luxury parent groups ride out the economic uncertainty. As the industry recalibrates and regroups after its flurry of new appointments and hirings, seeking simplicity where possible is an understandable urge.
Grace Charlton is Monocle’s associate editor of design and fashion. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
The competition for attention is fierce in Paris, where 67 brands staged presentations and shows as part of the autumn/winter 2026 line-up. We round up the 10 that caught our eye, from the end of an era at Hermès to a masterclass in colour courtesy of Japanese brand Auralee.
1.
IM Men
Issey Miyake’s menswear line, IM Men, presented its latest collection under the stone vaulted ceilings of Collège des Bernardins, a 13th-century school located in Paris’s 5th arrondissement. The first third of the show featured ample black coats with sculptural appeal – a calling card of the Japanese brand – that would suit a modern-day monk. Then came a series of voluminous, quilted coats rendered in an optic-white recycled polyester. The show ended on outerwear with different colour gradations achieved through artisanal dip-dyeing techniques. Clean, precise and endlessly wearable, IM Men brought a welcome sense of calm to this season’s menswear edition of Paris Fashion Week.
isseymiyake.com
2.
Louis Vuitton
Louis Vuitton’s creative director of menswear, Pharrell Williams, presented an ode to the salaryman. While his appointment as creative director in 2023 caused some to question his lack of formal fashion training, this season’s collection was the strongest to date. Making their way around a set featuring a house made in collaboration with Japanese architecture firm Not A Hotel, models wore ties under double-breasted suits in thermo-adaptive and aluminium-bonded materials developed in the Louis Vuitton atelier. Raincoats were embellished with droplet crystals. The message was one of luxury – not quiet but earned – and confirmed that hard work does, indeed, pay off.
louisvuitton.com
3.
Auralee
How can winter dressing bring joy to the everyday, when the days are short and the weather bleak? For Japanese designer Ryota Iwai, founder of Auralee, the answer lies in relishing moments of seasonal joy – from the feeling of crisp air against the skin to slanted rays of sun cutting across a room. Or by using a delicate palette that might be more readily associated with spring, and wafty layers of contrasting textures, from shearling-lined jackets to cashmere jumpers. On the runway, models wore red-and-blue chequered flannel shirts tucked into mid-waist jeans, a cobalt-blue duffel coat paired with a purple scarf and a verdigris suit offset by a red vest. A masterclass in colour, Iwai’s quiet vision for brightening up the colder months affirmed why the designer is emerging as an industry darling in Paris.
auralee.jp
4.
Yoke
Making its Paris runway debut this season was Yoke, a Japanese brand founded by Norio Terada in 2018. Upon arrival, guests were given a small ceramic sculpture handmade by Terada himself – a nod to the French surrealist painter, sculptor and poet Jean Arp, who inspired the collection. “I want to blend art with everyday clothing,” said Terada backstage after the show. “My aim isn’t to shock but to provide comfort to the people who wear my clothes.” As such, silhouettes in a muted palette took on a sculptural quality, with jumpers tied around the waist and on the shoulders over jackets.
yoketokyo.com
5.
Ami Paris
For the house’s 15-year anniversary show, the founder of French label Ami Paris, Alexandre Mattiussi, presented a cross section of Parisian society – albeit a version that functions more as a Platonic ideal than a representation of reality. “It’s about everyday life on a Parisian street. When you sit at a café terrace, you see all kinds of people passing by,” said Mattiussi. “It’s never the same stories, characters or clothes: this diversity is fundamental for me.” From the city banker commuting to the office in a grey suit and baseball cap, to the Sorbonne student in a hoodie with wired headphones, and the fashion executive in a leopard-print coat, Ami Paris offered something for everyone.
amiparis.com
6.
Willy Chavarria
American designer Willy Chavarria brought dramatic flair to his show that was held in the Dojo de Paris in the south of the capital. Between (very much lip-synched) musical acts by the likes of Puerto Rican pop singer Lunay and Italian heartthrob Mahmood, models with pompadour hair wore ankle-length cigarette trousers, football jumpers (a collaboration with Adidas) and cocktail gowns. “I live in New York City, street level, corner apartment, big windows,” said Willy Chavarria in his show notes. “I watch people. I watch them rush to work while I make my coffee. I watch them meet on corners. […] I watch them fall in love. I watch them fall apart.” A tribute to the Latino experience in the US, in the aftermath of the political events that took place in Venezuela just a few weeks ago, the designer’s contribution to the Parisian calendar was high camp and highly enjoyable.
willychavarria.com
7.
Dries Van Noten
“In this second men’s collection, I wanted to explore the idea of coming of age,” said Julian Klausner, who became creative director of Dries Van Noten last year after the eponymous founder of the Belgian label stepped down from the role. “Not in a dramatic or romantic way but praising the joy of new beginnings. The unfolding of possibilities; the naivety and the honesty of experiments with self out of the comfort zone.” As such, models wore jackets worn at university that no longer fit but carry the weight of memories. Patterned knitwear and beanies that wouldn’t easily blend in in corporate environments represented the rites of passage that every young adult must go through.
driesvannoten.com
8.
Dior
Irish designer Jonathan Anderson presented his second menswear collection for Dior. A starting point for the collection came in the form of a blue plaque dedicated to the French couturier Paul Poiret, located just outside the hôtel particulier on the Avenue Montaigne where Christian Dior founded his maison in 1946. Through Anderson’s lens, Poiret’s affinity for a worldly opulence became refracted to suit the lifestyle of a modern-day flâneur. Polo shirts that feature embroidered epaulettes, shrunken Bar jackets and skinny jeans certainly wouldn’t suit the lifestyle of the average commuter but the line-up was an affirmation of esoteric ideals and the value of experimentation on the runway – the kind we have come to appreciate from Anderson.
dior.com
9.
Celine
“Character over costume,” said American designer Michael Rider’s show notes for his sophomore collection for Celine. The succinct declaration was one in favour of clothes intended to be worn, not paraded. In practice, this looked like tan lace-up shoes and boots, denim shirts worn over white turtlenecks and a return to slimline silhouettes on suit trousers. Models tucked small leather pouches into their belts or clutched large carryall bags close to their bodies. As in Rider’s first collection, how the pieces were styled mattered as much as the clothes themselves. With shirt collars and cuffs flicked out, khaki overshirt tied around the waist and blazers carried rather than worn, Rider succeeded in capturing the essence of the modern Parisian man, sauntering along the Left Bank.
celine.com
10.
Hermès
There was a unanimous standing ovation for Véronique Nichanian’s final collection as the artistic director of Hermès’ menswear. The French designer’s 38-year tenure came to an end with a show that felt like a victory lap, one that captured Nichanian’s signature approach to menswear: sleek, understated and endlessly wearable. The maison’s mastery of leather was on full display, with full-grain lambskin jackets, shearling coats and a single-breasted crocodile coat making their way down the runway. Reimagined pieces from the designer’s previous collections made appearances (if you can’t reminisce on your life’s work upon retirement, when can you?), including a leather jumpsuit from 1991 and a reversible lambskin blouson from 2000. It’s a testament to Nichanian’s steadfast vision that these clothes designed decades prior looked as contemporary today as they did then. As one era ends, Grace Wales Bonner prepares to take over the menswear reins at Hermès – although the transition will not be rushed. The British designer’s first collection for the house will take place in January 2027.
hermes.com
