Think of Brazil and Rio de Janeiro will likely spring to mind: the golden-sand beaches, the mountainous backdrop, the gentle yearning of bossa nova or samba’s lively percussion echoing in the distance. It’s a familiar image and one that the country’s tourism authorities have long promoted. But it’s also increasingly out of touch, especially in light of the cultural, economic and geographical transformation that has taken place in Latin America’s largest nation over the past two decades.

Once the country’s capital, Rio is now mostly a tourist attraction. Today the real engines of the Brazilian economy are the agricultural powerhouses in western states such as Mato Grosso, Mato Grosso do Sul and Goiás. For centuries, this vast swath of Brazil – an area roughly the size of Western Europe – was considered inhospitable and unsuitable for agriculture as a result of its extreme temperatures and dry, baked soil. But scientific developments in crop production and soil management have tamed the land and the region is now a leading producer of some of the world’s most important foodstuffs, including beef and soybeans. The agricultural boom has minted a new generation of millionaires and billionaires, while states such as Mato Grosso now have some of the highest GDPs per capita in the country. Out west, progress and development are the buzzwords of the day.
 
The economic changes have led to a cultural shift. Migrants have flocked to these new boom towns, fuelling the rise of a new conservative culture. In religion, that has meant the spread of evangelicalism. In terms of politics, conservative figures such as former president Jair Bolsonaro have enjoyed a rise in support. And in the popular imagination, it has meant cowboy culture and, above all, sertanejo – Brazil’s version of country music that is typically performed by double acts, or duplas, wearing hats and boots. While the traditional ballads were about the joys and hardships of rural life, the modern iteration tends to focus on love affairs and heartbreak. Today sertanejo is Brazil’s most popular musical genre; according to a recent survey by polling company Quaest, some 26 per cent of the population listened to it. Gospel music, often linked to Brazil’s conservative rebirth and the spread of evangelical churches, is the second most popular genre at 19 per cent. Samba places fourth and its offspring, bossa nova – that stereotypical sound of Rio de Janeiro – does not make the list at all.

Harris is a Monocle contributor based in São Paulo. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

Boeing has finally had a good month. On the eve of April’s annual shareholder meeting, the aerospace giant beat investor expectations with a reported $300m (€265.9m) of losses in the first quarter and quickly earned a stock upgrade by market analysts. Not turning a profit isn’t usually something to brag about but the numbers are a vast improvement on the combined $10bn (€8.86bn) in losses in the second half of 2024.

Boeing’s new CEO, Kelly Ortberg, has expressed optimism about the company’s recovery, declaring it to be in “full swing.” On 28 April, the manufacturer announced an agreement with rival Airbus to take assets from aviation parts supplier Spirit AeroSystems. The move will bring Boeing’s supply chain in house, assuring quality control on parts such as door plugs. Last year the door plug on a Boeing 737 Max blew out in mid-air and machinists went on a 53-day strike. 

For Ortberg, one of the most important factors in turning Boeing’s fortunes around might just be his address. He is something that his predecessors were not: a Washington state resident. In September, he purchased a $4.1m (€3.6m) home in a prestigious Seattle neighbourhood. It was an important signal that Ortberg was casting his lot with the engineers who make Boeing planes, rather than the executives in Virginia who have overseen the company’s tailspin.

Since taking over in August, Ortberg has been visiting production lines across Seattle in a bid to figure out what has gone so horribly wrong for the company. Some nine months into the job, Ortberg claims to have found solutions to issues such as mechanical flaws and the high cost of fixed-price defence contracts, including the Air Force One programme. Donald Trump’s trade war with China has also negatively affected the manufacturer, after jets intended for Xiamen Airlines were returned to the US.

Though many analysts expect Airbus to dominate the aviation industry over the next decade, there are still bright spots for Boeing, including the launch of its long-delayed 777X model in 2026. Ortberg, a mechanical engineer by training, also has plans to create a new type of commercial jet rather than redesign an older model. This is the type of project that could make Boeing a dynamic, attractive workplace for the next generation of aerospace engineers. Ortberg’s job in the cockpit is to stabilise Boeing long enough to get there.

Scruggs is Monocle’s Seattle correspondent. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.

Tonight the steps of New York’s largest museum, The Metropolitan Museum of Art (Met), will transform into the year’s most extravagant red carpet. The Met Gala, also known as “fashion’s biggest night”, is a star-studded charity benefit that raises funds for the museum’s Costume Institute and opens its annual exhibition. For the first time in more than 20 years, the focus is on menswear.

Superfine: Tailoring Black Style traces the cultural history of black dandyism within identities of the Atlantic diaspora, particularly in Europe and the US. The dandy, so obsessed with style that it becomes a raison d’être, first appeared in eighteenth-century London through the likes of Beau Brummell and his cohort. The style was imposed on black servants and later embraced as a tool of both self-expression and social commentary.

“Fashion and dress have been used in a contest of power and aesthetics for black people from the time of enslavement to the present,” says guest curator Monica L Miller. Her 2009 book, Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity, inspired the exhibition.

During the Harlem Renaissance, jazz musicians wore tailored suits in lush materials with polished shoes and sharp accessories to break racist stereotypes and exemplify their humanity and dignity. Voluminous zoot suits soon followed; think long jackets, wide lapels and oversized pants tapered at the ankle.

“What we see when more African American people are creating representations of their own culture is a sense of coolness, assuredness, beauty, calm, reflection and inner life,” said scholar Bridget R Cooks on a 2024 Met podcast about the Harlem Renaissance.

That same sense of coolness could be seen in the 1980s, when Dapper Dan remixed luxury logos into streetwear, bringing European heritage brands to the hip-hop scene. The Met exhibition includes such examples of historical dress alongside prints, drawings, paintings and photographs. It also spotlights contemporary fashion by talented black designers working today.

An indigo crushed-velvet ensemble with intricate shell trim from Grace Wales Bonner and a slim-tailored, checked suit by Pharrell Williams for Louis Vuitton illustrate how dandy style continues to evolve. They’re part of a recent revitalization in men’s fashion – fueled by forward-thinking designers as well as global celebrities willing to take more risks – that prompted the Costume Institute’s curator in charge, Andrew Bolton, to explore menswear for the first time since 2003.

The show isn’t just an acknowledgement of the black dandy as an overlooked cultural icon but also a chance for the institute to expand its menswear holdings and invest in a more diverse range of designers.

“Superfine reflects our ongoing commitment to the fundamental principles of diversity and inclusion in a way that is genuine and authentic to the department,” said Bolton in the exhibition’s catalog, which features images of modern-day dandies shot by photographer Tyler Mitchell.

It’s a bold statement at a time when DEI is under fire in the US. In January, the National Gallery of Art and the Smithsonian Institution shuttered their diversity offices, and just last Friday, the National Endowment for the Arts began cancelling grants – many of which supported works by artists of colour – after Trump proposed eliminating the agency from his next budget. For cultural institutions that rely on federal dollars, championing diversity can now mean serious financial repercussions.

While the Met accepts some federal funding, most of its budget comes from its endowment, private donations and the City of New York – insulating the museum from White House pressure.In that respect, Superfine couldn’t be timelier. Just as the black dandy has long used fashion to fight oppression, perhaps by highlighting this figure tonight the Met is doing the same thing.

A few years ago I had dinner at a trendy, much-hyped Helsinki restaurant and was served a solitary carrot. It was a steamed carrot, cooked to perfection, but with nothing on the side and no sauce. “This is peak New Nordic,” I thought, referring to the food movement that belaboured hyperlocal ingredients and elevated long-forgotten and highly esoteric Nordic staples, from wild herbs and foraged berries to obscure mushrooms. At its best, it was brilliant. But it was often a little pretentious.

In hindsight that carrot probably was peak New Nordic. So influential was the movement that restaurants from Singapore to New York, which had little to do with the cuisine’s roots, described themselves as New Nordic-influenced. Usually, that meant obscure regional ingredients cooked in an ambitious fine-dining style, where plates were presented like abstract art and chefs had an obsession with tweezers and microherbs. Luckily, it seems that the Nordics are beginning to move on. 

The Nordic restaurant scene has undergone a profound transformation in recent years. Most of the popular places that have opened in my native Helsinki, such as Maukku, Jason and Mat Distrikt, are casual bistros with chalkboard menus that serve hearty, down-to-earth food, often inspired by either French, Japanese or Italian cuisines. Gone are the days when top restaurants in Stockholm opted for tasteless Swedish truffles instead of their clearly superior counterparts from Piemonte. 

The decline of New Nordic cuisine is related to the waning popularity of fine dining. It’s a trend across the Western world that is related to both the downturn in our economies and the move towards a more relaxed working culture. But diners have also started to reject New Nordic’s dogmatic and fussy approach to food. With naming names, I have eaten in Michelin-starred New Nordic restaurants where presenting the menu felt more like a lecture than a treat. 

When a cuisine becomes a movement, it can sometimes lose sight of the basics. Dining out should be a fun and social experience. People like food for its taste, not for its intellectual or philosophical underpinnings. 

My favourite restaurant in Helsinki, Nolla, is case in point. It’s a relaxed bistro with fun and interesting owners who are full of stories and laughter, and the menu is a wonderful mix of Serbian, Finnish, Portuguese and Catalan flavours. It also happens to be a world pioneer in zero-waste cooking, which isn’t even trumpeted on its menus. Why? Because that’s not why people eat in restaurants. 

Another Helsinki example is French bistro BasBas. It has been voted the city’s most popular restaurant so many times that you now need to book your table weeks in advance. The restaurant floor contains so much energy that your spirits are lifted as soon as you walk through the doors. The menu isn’t conceptual or stuffed with the names of wild herbs that no one knows. Not all of the food comes from within a radius of five kilometres either – and that’s okay because people still eat here.

The New Nordic movement had its place and will have its legacy. It put Scandinavia on the culinary map. Copenhagen’s Noma, the epicentre of the movement, was doubtlessly one of the world’s best restaurants for many years. Yet, for all of Noma’s influence, Nordic diners now crave something different – and their appetites are taking them elsewhere. As for me? I’ll skip the carrots for now, thank you.

I was about to wish you a “good morning” but stopped for sensitivity reasons. I then decided “happy Sunday” might be better but, for sensitivity reasons, I held back. “Sunny greetings” seemed like a good idea too but, for reasons of sensitivity, this wasn’t appropriate either. So here we are at a feelings stand-off because just when we thought it was safe to venture back out into the world and say what you want, we’re being bombarded with the most perverse marketing nonsense to ever be deployed by a send button.

To be fair, this is not a global phenomenon (thank heavens!) but something that has taken hold in the sensitivity departments of companies up and down the UK. If you’re not up to speed on this new form of e-blast, it’s meant to make the recipient feel like their personal history is at the core of a fragrance, fashion or hospitality company’s every concern as you’re asked to opt out of correspondence for Mother’s Day, Easter, Father’s Day and any other day that is important for sales but might somehow cause offence, bring back bad family episodes and demand a week or two off work. What a lot of insincere, stupid nonsense!

For starters, if you’re a brand that is so concerned about the words “Mother’s Day” causing offence, then why bring it up in the first place? If you don’t want to encourage your customers to buy something for their mum then get your clever marketing team to cook up a better idea to flog your new scent or sell your discounted suites – and don’t send out an email that might already cause extreme pain by mentioning “mother” as a starter. Second, what does it say about your marketing department and brand in general when you send out something so half-baked and kneejerk? I received such a drippy email from a company I like(d) very much but I’m now wondering: who on earth is running the show over there? Do they really think that they’re going to win loyalty with such correspondence? And third, where do you draw the line? Do you stop at “good morning” because some customers might have woken up with extreme diarrhea at 07.00 and are forever traumatised because they narrowly missed the toilet bowl? Should a company stop sending email correspondence after sundown because some people might be scared of the dark? And what about seriously offensive words such as “wishing” or “kindest” in a sign off? I might be in therapy because not all of my wishes have so far come true and people haven’t always been at their kindest over the past five decades. 

That managers and business owners allow this behaviour to pass, and even flourish, is at the core of the ongoing collapse of common sense and the erosion of resilience. At a time when companies should be concerned with their bottom line and embracing as many customers as possible, the idea that there are sensitivity gains to be made by attempting to be a “feeling brand” is most offensive. We have been through a solid six to seven years of this type of behaviour and it’s not working. UK retail is in crisis and brands are presenting seemingly perfect worlds in their campaigns that are completely removed from the reality of demographic data – they need to get back to running customer-service training programmes that attract talent and retain passionate employees. They must park their politics and focus on selling better products and creating environments where people feel good and want to consume.

So far, I’ve not received any of these opt-out-of-daily-life emails from Sweden, France, Switzerland or the US. Hopefully this is one of those British curiosities that remains on the islands. Wishing you the sunniest, happiest, motherly week ahead.

Before I get into my impassioned dismissal of streaming services, I have to admit that, as the music curator of Monocle Radio, I do use Spotify and other apps. They allow me to easily discover new artists and quickly create bespoke playlists. But when it comes to listening to music in my own time, I prefer physical media over streaming.

I still listen to CDs and collecting them during my travels is a hobby that I have maintained since I was a teenager. Schlager disco from Germany, amazing city-pop compilations from Japan or fresh electro from France are always top of my list when I’m on the move.

An increasing number of young people value physical experiences over streaming. Not only do these formats feel more nostalgic but they also offer better sound quality, allowing you to connect more meaningfully with your music. I still own a beautiful walnut-veneer CD player by British audio brand Ruark. There is nothing better than arriving home, choosing a CD and listening to it front to back with a glass of wine or two. Will it be a Madonna Ray of Light kind of day or more of a bossa nova-compilation evening?

I recently started to feel dreadful anxiety that my seventh-generation iPod Touch (the last model that Apple produced) was reaching its full capacity. I really didn’t want to delete any of my 28,000 songs. So how could I obtain more space while sticking to a streaming-free experience? Following lengthy research and recommendations, I found a website that sells custom-made iPods with storage of up to 2TB. I chose a chic mustard-yellow model. After three long months, it arrived through the letterbox, ready for my freshly acquired stack of CDs to be uploaded. Yes, I do it the old-fashioned way: I burn my CDs onto my laptop then upload the songs to my iPod.

Many music fans are unhappy with the poor sound quality of streaming platforms. According to a survey from Dolby, 80 per cent of streaming users have upgraded or switched services to one with better audio quality. There’s the added drag of needing a working internet connection to browse these platforms. How well would Spotify work if you were stranded on a desert island and in the mood for some French electropop?

But it’s not just music-streaming services that are pushing users towards physical formats – film and TV platforms are guilty too. When it comes to choosing something to watch via streaming, there are seemingly endless options. But it feels almost impossible to find the one classic that you really want to see when algorithms thrust selections upon you instead. I prefer to make my own choices. The image quality on certain platforms can also be extremely poor; it’s no surprise that the sales of 4K Ultra HD discs went up in 2024. 

So buy a DVD. I promise that it will be worth it. The quality is superior to streaming in every way: subtitles are guaranteed, image quality is sharp and you can collect beautiful sleeve artwork. Clever companies such as Criterion Collection have made this even easier.

Innovation and technology are amazing things. But the quality of streaming services is not as good as it could be, especially for those of us who grew up with records and CDs. My cute mustard-coloured iPod has been a game-changer. And, yes, I always use it with wired headphones.

1.
The fading of April and easing into May has seen London basking in temperatures that a Brit associates with full-on summer. By Thursday the weather app confirmed that we had hit 27C – not Dubai perhaps but certainly hotter than much of southern Europe. And with this climatic gearshift the city instantly changed. Even if it was only going to last a few days, people were back in shorts. At Monocle, it’s not the first swallow gliding through the air that heralds the arrival of summer but the appearance of Fernando in his above-the-knee tailored looks and the return from trouser hibernation of the tattooed animals that reside on the calves of my Urbanist colleague, David. And yes, Fernando’s knees and the inked menagerie have both been in evidence this week.

But it’s more than that. As soon as the heat arrives the city exhales, shoulders drop, people spill onto pavements and park picnickers eat their lunches sprawled on carpets of green grass. London – sometimes a place that can seem unbending, slow to let you in – becomes open-armed. It’s like when someone finally smiles and you are reminded of what makes them special.

2.
We have two foxes who live in the ’hood. They regularly nip along the terrace that runs alongside the editorial floor. But this week they also wanted to chill. I’d look up from my desk and there they would be, sometimes watching us but mostly peering down into the park below, wondering when they might have the place back to themselves or whether anyone might be about to leave a Pret a Manger sandwich for them to dine on. One of the foxes has a resplendent coat and the other is a little shabbier but they see past their different fur statuses and seem to enjoy each other’s company. Their passion for high-end leftovers is a little irksome, however: they seem to have no intention of helping to control the neighbourhood’s mouse population. We need their help.

3.
It has been so nice feeling the heat that I have walked everywhere this week. Crisscrossing the city, taking short cuts that I can’t even do on my bicycle. On Wednesday I walked down to Grosvenor Square for a reception at the Italian embassy. At a moment when the allure of soft power seems to have waned in some quarters, it was such a pleasure walking through the front door and into a world of art, good furniture (antique and modern) and well-dressed staff. In truth, too many embassies are a little drab. Budgets to redecorate are scarce and fixtures and fittings sourced from some government depository. But not here. The occasion was a talk by Claudio Marenzi, president of luxury brand Herno. Diplomacy and design uniting to tell a story about the enduring potency of Italy Inc.

4.
Then, on an almost steamy Thursday evening, I slipped through alley, lane and street as I headed to a dinner at the Saatchi Yates gallery, invited by my friend Emily. I spotted the Italian ambassador on a leisurely walk. Passed Stella McCartney as she left her shop and engaged with some fans. The gallery dinner was to mark the opening of an exhibition for American painter Peter Saul, who is now 90 and still turning out works that feel potent. They’re large-scale canvases that mock the art world and pierce the bourgeois façades of the very people who can afford his works (you’ll need a few hundred thousand dollars if you want to red-dot one). There were martinis, cool people, fun speeches and the scent of wealth. A week of slipping between worlds.

I ambled home through London, leaving the calm of St James’s, crossing under the bright lights of Piccadilly Circus, passing the theatres shuttering after their shows. London when it smiles is a special place to be.

Chengdu-based Liu Jiakun is the winner of this year’s Pritzker Architecture Prize. Since its inception in 1979, the annual award has been a barometer of where the architecture industry is heading. Naturally, designers worldwide are poring over the Chinese architect’s work. For many, it will be the first time that his work comes under their scrutiny. Liu tends to stay out of the limelight, mostly creating public works in his native Sichuan province.

His commissions are focused on his community, reflecting its traditions and responding to its needs. It’s a theme that the prize’s jury, chaired by 2016 Pritzker Prize laureate Alejandro Aravena, picked up on. “Architecture should reveal something; it should distil and make visible the inherent qualities of local people,” says the jury’s citation. Here, Liu tells us about how his start in architecture is rooted in literature and how his hometown influences his work.

Why did you spend your first two decades after graduation writing novels?
During the 1980s and 1990s I was unsure which facets of architecture I wanted to pursue. Though I had completed a degree in architecture, I didn’t really understand the profession but I had always loved literature. Studying architecture actually helped me to write novels. It’s like riding a bicycle – it’s not something that you can forget.

Given your buildings’ varying styles, is there such a thing as a typical Jiakun design?     
It’s not my intention to change my style with every project but I also don’t want to limit myself. What I usually try to do is offer a creative approach to the problem presented to me with all the resources that I have available. I pride myself in my attention to detail and believe that there are distinct characteristics in my architecture.

Can you give us an example of this approach?     
Nature and architecture are always closely related in my projects. I like to limit the appearance of technology as much as possible and my work tends to have more of a meaning within society. Finding an ecological balance between a project and the buildings surrounding it is another one of my priorities. I want my work to assimilate to the space that it’s in. I also have a great respect for Chinese history, specifically in architecture. I want to preserve these traditions in our contemporary world.

Has Chengdu influenced your architectural approach?     
Definitely. It has somewhat of a subconscious influence on me and my work as I was born and raised in the city and I currently work here. Chengdu residents really enjoy recreation and leisure, and that certainly seeps into my work. 

Which of your buildings in Chengdu express the city’s character?
West Village Basis Yard is surrounded by a lot of residential communities. The previous space wasn’t living up to its potential in terms of its interaction with residents. I wanted to turn it into a hub for the area, where people could congregate. As the site was a former green space, we had to incorporate recreational areas into the design. But we also wanted there to be commercial spaces that fed off the energy from the street. We created what the Chinese would call “a yard within a yard”. The rooftop running path was designed to bring people together, as well as fulfil recreational requirements. Back in the day, all you needed to have fun was space and maybe some trees. The village has elements of that naivety. I have heard people say, “This is very Chengdu.”

A pharaoh eagle-owl named Shamsa flicked her amber eyes upwards towards the rafters of the Sheikh Saeed Hall 3 in the Dubai Convention Centre. Had she spotted a rogue dove or a gate-crashing white-eared bulbul hiding from the oppressive heat outside? Whatever she had seen, the bird from Al Ain Zoo was, for the briefest of moments, the only thing that was motionless at the Arabian Travel Market (ATM), which concluded yesterday. Amid the 2,800 exhibitors and 55,000 visitors – from tourism boards and destination marketers to hotel groups, airlines and delegations from 166 nations – there were retinues of basket weavers, oud players and Malaysian dancers. Here are some of the things that Monocle learned at (and beyond) the fair:

Next stop: Future Street?
The UAE literally changes faster than satnavs and apps can track. Old place names reveal past priorities. One busy thoroughfare – already once re-named Happiness Street and moved – has now been re-dubbed Al Mustaqbal (“Future Street”). That’s one way to signal the nation’s direction of travel, I suppose.
 
Viva Ras Vegas?
Less well-known Emirates such as Ras Al-Khaimah have plenty to offer. Sometimes, their appeal lies in the fact that they are exactly what more boisterous neighbours such as Dubai aren’t: think a quieter coastline, closeness to nature and mountain views. That said, Ras Al-Khaimah’s plans to open a casino are a gamble that many are watching closely. 

Away with the tides
The word “old” can feel like an overstatement in a city as young as Dubai (its first high-rise landed in the late 1970s) but there’s a growing sense that some things need to be preserved for posterity. An anonymous photography project started in 2021 is chronicling details of traditional villas and abandoned sites along its coastal residential stretch. “Goodbye Old Jumeirah” shows what is lost when we move fast.
 
A new chapter for UAE publishing?
Japanese bookseller Kinokinoya in Dubai Mall is, forgive the cliché, an oasis in what’s otherwise a desert for print and newsstands. The vast space is piled high with hard-to-find books and excellent magazines, Monocle and Konfekt included. Doesn’t the absence of a homegrown alternative present an opportunity for a great UAE firm to take the lead with a great bookshop brand and kiosk concept? 
 
Trump this
Potus progeny Eric Trump was in town on Tuesday to mark the inauguration of two new Trump-branded towers with developer Dar Global in Dubai (see you in the 2030s). Will they one day house casinos too? Don’t bet against it.
 
Think of the children
Abu Dhabi’s summer campaign is all about children and what they make of the Emirate. A trip to the new Teamlab Phenomena museum on Saadiyat Island with our publisher, Luke, confirmed some suspicions: it takes a mature destination to confidently market to kids. The museum is also genuinely wonderful. Go. It’s a hoot.
 
Forever changes
There’s an article in Gulf News showcasing exhibitions from previous iterations of the Arabian Travel Market from the past three decades. Some a little dated, the pictures reveal the rapid progress and increasing sophistication of Dubai’s brand and how the city has evolved from hopeful beach resort to booming business hub. But I do wonder whether we’ll look back and ask: was it really necessary to drag that poor eagle-owl into the conference hall? The Emirates are turning heads without it.
 
Fehnert is Monocle’s editor. For more on-the-ground reporting and comment, subscribe today.

A true holiday is less about geographic adventure than finding a dreamlike alter ego. It’s the idea of a sun-dappled place where oversized eyewear, white shorts and endless apéritifs are the order of the day. Some destinations conjure this more easily than others. For me, Lake Como ushers in an otherworldly change of tone. Its azure waters, flanked by vertiginous green hills punctuated by palazzos, prime me for a transformation of self.

It’s this feeling that director Sofia Coppola cited as an inspiration for the short film that she made for the Chanel Cruise show, which took place this week in Como on the terrace of Villa d’Este. For her, the film, which features Danish model Ida Heiner, was “about that version of yourself when you get away” – the experience of time suspended.

As we gathered on the terrace of the 16th-century villa for the evening show, the waning light glistened off the lake while a gentle breeze blew through the wisteria and the guests’ coiffed curls. Margaret Qualley (in a chignon and shades) strode by with a tiny poodle in tow and we took our seats. The first pieces to emerge on the grey gravel runway channelled the 1960s as a soundtrack curated by music director Michel Gaubert set the mood. The light-tweed pedal pushers and tunics, shift dresses and silk bandanas summoned the spirit of Romy Schneider. Then the tone shifted to a 1970s-style moment of crochet and flowing, rose-hued lamé, with capes and ruffled collars. One look, a striped set made from terry towel paired with a pale straw hat and pink camellia, felt like a homage to the lake, the villa and the days when the likes of Rita Hayworth, Aristotle Onassis and Maria Callas would holiday here to escape the paparazzi.

It was also a nod to the maison’s cinematic past. Gabrielle Chanel dressed the young Romy Schneider in Le Travail (1962) for her filmmaker friend Luchino Visconti, whose family’s estate included the nearby neo-Renaissance palace Villa Erba.

The show crescendoed with some disco-inflected high glamour: a short, black taffeta bustier dress with an elegant cape, white taffeta evening trousers and a resplendent ball gown took us to a new-romantic dance floor.

As the post-show party got started, I stole away to take a look at the house and grounds that architect Pellegrino Pellegrini designed as a summer residence for the Cardinal of Como, Tolomeo Gallio. Later owned by Caroline of Brunswick, the estranged wife of the future King George IV, the gardens have a sumptuous, symmetrical grandeur. The landscaping’s intricate mosaics reminded me of the rich textures seen in the show – it was as though the metallic tweeds and bead-embellished jackets had taken their cue from Pellegrini.

The layers of history on the lake are clearly a rich seam for the Chanel studio. Villa d’Este is a spot that has a tradition of escapism, grand artistic ventures and fantasy. Inside, white-jacketed waiters topped up glasses engraved with filigree decoration and the spirit of the past was alive in filmic vignettes and inimitable Como memories.

This story originally appeared in Konfekt Kompakt, a newsletter from Monocle’s sister publication Konfekt – a quarterly magazine for sharp dressing, drinking, dining, travel and design. Subscribe to Konfekt Kompakt here, and see more from Konfekt on Instagram.