In 1988, 19-year-old British singer Tanita Tikaram achieved chart success and recognition across Europe with her debut album, Ancient Heart. The moody single “Twist in My Sobriety” became an enigmatic yet undeniably catchy late-night classic. In the years since, Tikaram has intermittently released new music, drifting in and out from under her early-won popstar crown. Now she returns with the new album LIAR (Love Isn’t A Right) and a show during the EFG London Jazz Festival. Here, Tikaram discusses how her songwriting has evolved over the years, learning to collaborate with other creatives and her musical influences.
Is the new album a follow-up to ‘Ancient Heart’?
Not necessarily but the albums mirror each other. Ancient Heart’s songs reflect a teenager’s search for identity and belonging in a world that she often felt alienated from. The pieces featured on LIAR are from the perspective of someone who, having found her place in the world, now sees that world and its values and ideals crumbling around her.
Musically, both albums find the right balance between light and dark, which I always strive for. When I started my career, I was the archetypal singer-songwriter penning lyrics in a bedroom with no experience of playing with other musicians or arranging a song. That has changed over the years. What I am most proud of in LIAR is bringing out the best in the collaborators who I have been working with and – thanks to producer Andy Monaghan – creating a unique and compelling sound.
Has your approach to making music changed throughout the years?
When you are young, you are thrilled by writing and producing anything. But as you get older, the editing and selection process is harsher. I was also creating alone when I was younger. I am now more aware of the musicians I work with and their qualities. Though I’m not specifically writing for them, I consider very early in the arranging process how a particular player can enhance a song. I often use the lead instrument in a composition as the other voice telling the story.
Who are your musical influences? Have they changed over time?
When I was very young, it was my parents’ record collection, which included the occasional crooner, such as Nat King Cole and Dean Martin, from my dad and the likes of Barbra Streisand and Shirley Bassey from my mum. Others were releases from Trojan, Atlantic and Stax records, as well as albums by the Beatles. As kids, my brother and I were obsessed with a rock’n’roll radio station that we listened to late at night in Germany. Then I discovered singer-songwriters as a teenager. I was 30 when I began playing the piano, which introduced me to classical music and opened my ears to jazz. If there were to be a single artist who covers the whole universe of music, it would be Nina Simone – there is usually a song by her in my head that I’m obsessed with.
There are strong political themes in your new album. How does songwriting help you understand the world?
I was conscious of trying to find a poetic language for troubling political events. I suppose that finding a way to express those feelings is a comfort. Judging by how people have thanked me for not pretending that everything is normal and writing songs that recognise we are living in a very dark time politically, it makes me feel less alone.
‘LIAR’ is out now. Tikaram plays at London’s Royal Festival Hall on 15 November.
During the years that I lived in the US, I brushed shoulders with power – real political power – twice. The first was meeting Barack Obama’s chief of staff, Denis McDonough, at the White House. The second was sitting down in the Capitol office of then House minority leader, Nancy Pelosi, a few years before she would become speaker for a second time. Pelosi wasn’t (and isn’t) a natural orator and seemed socially awkward. And yet it was obvious that she carried political clout – something that radiates from those politicians who possess it. This is why the recent announcement that the 85-year-old Democrat will retire when her current mandate ends in January 2027 is such big news, even if it didn’t grab as many headlines as the recent victory of democratic socialist Zohran Mamdani in the New York mayoral election. In truth, it says more about the future of the Democratic Party than a New York upstart who, until recently, had a paid staff of just five.
Due to the odd way party politics works in the US – meaning the opposition is often leaderless – Nancy Pelosi has on occasion been the Democrats’ most senior politician. Hailing from Baltimore but representing her long-time home of California, she has been in Congress for almost 40 years. A tough negotiator who is not scared to use her elbows, she has spoken her mind about Donald Trump (he, in turn, called her an “evil woman” on learning of her retirement) and proved quite impossible to topple – even now, she is going out on her own terms. One reason for her staying power has been her spectacular fundraising efforts. According to one estimate, she has raked in $1.3bn (€1.12bn) for the party during her career.
Pelosi’s departure, when it does eventually come, is a sign that the guard might finally be changing. Friend and fellow Californian political juggernaut senator Dianne Feinstein died in office in 2023 at the age of 90. Even the party’s current Senate minority leader, New York’s Chuck Schumer, is no spring chicken at 74. Pelosi calling time on her career – a bold move given that she is choosing to relinquish power voluntarily – could help put an end to tensions between the party’s old guard and the younger, progressive types agitating to move it further to the left. The lack of a unified identity and direction – opposite Trump’s steamrollering of the GOP – has arguably contributed to the situation in which the party finds itself now.
The progressive wing, represented by Mamdani, isn’t new. Bernie Sanders, an independent who caucuses with the Democrats, also calls himself a democratic socialist. And who can forget the young Democratic crop first elected to Congress in 2018 – the so-called “Squad” – including Mamdani’s fellow New Yorker, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, better known as AOC. Could Pelosi’s passing of the torch mean a new generation is a step closer to power? The 2028 presidential election will make for interesting viewing, even if telegenic Californian governor Gavin Newsom – at 58, something of a bridge between the oldest and youngest Democrats – is jockeying for the nomination already.
Pelosi was rumoured at one point to have had a complicated relationship with AOC. It wasn’t so much her ideas but apparently her inexperience about how politics really works. Mamdami, a 34-year-old with a background in the state assembly, might be equally naïve. Whether a relative lack of experience matters any more is questionable (just look at Trump) – and clearly Pelosi’s departure will give the Democrats more opportunity to think about the sort of party that they want to be. But Pelosi’s real quality has been, for better or for worse, a world-weary realisation that politics is a tough and transactional game.
Ed Stocker is Monocle’s Europe editor at large. He was formerly Americas editor at large, based in New York.
I nearly skipped past the press release. Its headline is not exactly enticing: “NTU Singapore scientists develop 3D concrete printing method that captures carbon dioxide”. But something made me pause for a second look.
The wordy announcement from Singapore’s Nanyang Technological University (NTU) refers to a new 3D-printing process that injects carbon dioxide into concrete as it prints. Though it might sound complicated, it’s simple chemistry. As carbon dioxide reacts with the concrete mix, it turns solid and gets trapped in the material. The aim? To reduce concrete’s sizable carbon footprint – the building block of modern society is the second most-used material in the world and a source of around 8 per cent of global CO2 emissions due to the energy-intensive process that goes into producing it. It’s a noble cause, given the beauty of the material, showcased by architectural masters such as Carlo Scarpa (pictured top), with NTU’s work complementing other concrete innovators including Swiss-headquartered Holcim (pictured bottom).
Admittedly, it’s hard to draw attention to carbon-eating concrete at a time when bold space ventures, sleek gadgets and ever-smarter AI capture imaginations and headlines. The obvious hooks are missing: no celebrity founder, no life-changing promise. But hidden in the university’s no-fanfare project is a compelling idea, the undeniable elegance of turning a problem into a solution – it transforms concrete production and its construction into carbon capture, reversing the plot.
It reminds me of US-Israeli designer Neri Oxman’s provocative question: “Is there a world in which driving a car is better for nature than a world in which there are no cars?” Is there a world in which using concrete is better for the environment than not using concrete? Not less bad but actually good?
NTU’s innovation suggests this very possibility. For developers and architects, the idea is liberating. Imagine designing without climate guilt, where every bridge, tower, column and beam is a net good for the environment, actively improving the surroundings.
What makes this innovation promising is that it combines two frontiers of innovation: carbon capture and 3D printing. While carbon capture has been retrofitted into traditional cement plants, NTU’s innovation integrates the abatement method into the production process itself. The technology also makes for a superior concrete: it is stronger, easier to print and captures more carbon than other types of 3D-printed concrete. This means faster construction with less material and labour. This method breaks new ground, enabling design that optimises form and carbon capture in ways traditional casting never could.
But here’s the challenge. While digital innovation races ahead with weekly breakthroughs, the building and construction industry plods along, operating on decade-long cycles. Concrete remains pretty much locked in 20th-century processes. Yet the climate urgency demands transformation at speed and scale.
The NTU team is already pushing its work further while it awaits a patent, exploring how to capture waste gases instead of pure carbon dioxide. But breakthroughs that only excite industry insiders only partially drive the transformation that we so desperately need. Where are the visions that are bold enough to capture broader imaginations? The kind of moonshot ambition that rallies the rest of us?
Maybe it’s time to take a page from big tech’s playbook. Instead of asking “How can we get concrete to be five per cent greener?”, we should ask, “What if concrete made the planet better, not worse?” Shifting from mitigation to mission – from villain to hero – in the climate story. Now that’s exciting.
Yvonne Xu is a Singapore-based design writer and regular Monocle contributor. Fancy more concrete ideas? Find a debate on the material here, featuring Holcim, and read up on an expert use of it by Carlo Scarpa here.
Australian writer Helen Garner has been turning the fabric of her life into unforgettable literature for almost 50 years. Speaking to Georgina Godwin on Meet the Writers, Garner discusses the diaries that have shaped her work, the chaos of her earlier years and the serenity of being a grandmother.
Let’s start at the beginning. Take us back to Paris in the late 1970s – what was life like?
I moved to France with my daughter when she was eight. I had just published Monkey Grip and received a grant from the Australia Council that would sustain us for a few years. So I thought, let’s live in Paris! My daughter picked up French in about five minutes but I never quite felt at ease. I was used to big hippie houses in Melbourne, full of single mothers and children in happy chaos. Paris felt alien. I eventually realised that I had nothing to do with that place and it had nothing to do with me. We moved back to Australia but I had met a lovely Frenchman while in Paris. He came back with us and we married. Though we have since parted, I still have great warmth for him.
One of the pleasures of your diaries is their domestic detail; the cherry-red boots, the soap-dish quarrels. How do such moments become material?
I’ve always kept a diary. I use my immediate surroundings as subject matter. A quarrel about who cleaned the soap dish can loom as large as a major fight when you’re writing on an intimate scale. Those things carry weight: they reveal how people really live together.
And yet there were big fights too, such as that unforgettable kitchen scene.
Yes. I discovered a letter from my husband – my third husband – to the woman I suspected he was having an affair with. I went berserk. There was beetroot soup on the wall; it looked like blood, though no one had actually been killed. I even had a hammer in my hand. A friend told me, ‘Helen, put the hammer down.’ And I did.
The diary format seems perfect for that immediacy.
It suits me. My novels were always close to being non-fiction anyway. Writing in a diary taught me to seize the moment as it happens.
Are you still keeping a diary?
Oh yes. I steady myself by making a record of things and trying to tell myself the truth. These days I write about being a grandmother. Living nextdoor and helping raise my grandchildren has been the happiest time of my life. I probably won’t publish those diaries; they belong to them as much as they do to me.
You sound content.
I am. After my third marriage ended, I thought that I’d given it my best shot. I decided that I’m not going to try again. And that’s when real happiness started.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity. Listen to the full conversation on ‘Meet The Writers’ on Monocle Radio.
Gaza’s future is being contested on every front. The Gulf states propose sweeping reconstruction while Israel advances a security blueprint and Palestinian groups set out their own competing visions. Into this fraught landscape enters a different idea: “A Land For All” is a joint Israeli-Palestinian initiative that advocates for two states within a shared homeland, a shared Jerusalem, joint security and, eventually, freedom of movement. It challenges the old model of separation and asks both peoples to imagine a more humane existence. The movement’s directors are May Pundak, an Israeli lawyer and feminist activist, and Rula Hardal, a Palestinian citizen of Israel and lecturer in political science.
Pundak and Hardal spoke to Monocle Radio’s The Globalist to share their vision for a united future.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity. Listen to the full conversation on ‘The Globalist’.
May, what kind of political future do you imagine for Israelis and Palestinians beyond the current reality?
This is exactly the moment that we should all face the unknown and start articulating a clear vision for the future of Israeli and Palestinian people. And, of course, how to solve the conflict in a way that would be sustainable, just and acceptable for both. What we are offering is ‘two states, one homeland’: two sovereign and independent states, Israel and Palestine, with a clear border along 1967 lines. And, on top of that, there would be another added value: a new model of shared institutions to take care of the things that have to be taken care of, shared and jointly, without taking away from the sovereignty of the two states.
I refer to France, Germany and the EU models as inspirations that can lead us to the independence, separation and safety that we need. But we understand that there are multiple challenges, including security, economics, water and Jerusalem, as well as infrastructure and climate, which demand us to work in tight co-operation. Any realisation of interdependency between Israelis and Palestinians at this point demands a political vision that answers those needs.
Rula, how does this differ from the classic two-state solution?
The whole approach is different by moving away from segregation and separation – which we view as immoral, supremacist, unrealistic – into a new approach and paradigm of how to get to the two states based on sharing. We are using the same land, the same resources, the same streets, sometimes the same economy.
A second difference that we offer with the confederation model – shared institutions and freedom of movement – is that it will gradually and hopefully lead to new approaches and solutions to the deadlocks of the classic two-state solution, which include Jerusalem, the right of return of Palestinian refugees, settlers and settlements.
May, how would you plan to deal with the complexities of Jerusalem?
It is becoming clearer for anyone who has lived, resided or visited Jerusalem in the past few years that the city is not meant to be divided. Carving up the capital is impossible by its own internal logic, not to mention the soul of the city or the way that we perceive it. And then for practical reasons, we’re not going to build a big wall in the middle of the holy city.
Jerusalem is a place that tells the story that we’re trying to tell on a more political level: most Israelis and Jews see all of this homeland, from the river to the sea, including Judea and Samaria, as their homeland. Jews have an attachment to the entirety of the land – but so do Palestinians. For Palestinians, from the river to the sea will always be Palestine, including Jerusalem and other cities that would remain, in our plan, under the jurisdiction of Israel.
But the idea that we both share the attachment to this homeland – such a strong emotional connection – as a place that divides us is where we differ from the classic two-state solution. This is where we say that we will have to share some things in order to make it work. Jerusalem is a great example for that for practical reasons and emotional ones.
And Rula, what are the challenges that you face in implementing this plan, from politicians and two divided populations?
The first challenge is that leadership on both sides are unwilling to find a solution to the conflict and seek symmetry between the warring parties. From the whole development of the Israeli political system to the ideologies and components of the current coalition – particularly the Likud party, which has been governing Israel with one short exception since 2009 – it is clear that everything is being done to prevent the establishment and the recognition of a sovereign Palestinian state. It’s not a hidden agenda; it’s something that they emphasise every day, including Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu.
The second obstacle is the recent political developments. It has been about a month since the announcement of Donald Trump’s plan, a historic stop to the atrocities and genocidal war in Gaza. But still, there is no serious conversation about a Palestinian state or a permanent solution to the conflict. I am afraid that, following this fragile ceasefire, we might enter a new-old status quo, where we are still not speaking about the recognition of Palestine, ending the occupation and creating two states.
May, how do you go about getting buy-in from all the other interested parties, from the Gulf states to the US?
The commitment needs to be about realising a ceasefire – which has already been breached multiple times at this point – but also putting forward a clear, rational and acceptable vision for how to solve the Israel-Palestine conflict once and for all. If we do not commit to such a vision, we are going to be in a much worse situation than 7 October. This is a historic moment that has to be seized. From our experience over the past few months, there has been growing interest in Israel, Palestine, the Gulf states, the Middle East and in the international community over a pragmatic approach to the two states that will allow us to solve the dispute.
What we are trying to do now is build a movement of Israelis and Palestinians – people committed to ending the conflict and taking agency for our own future as our leadership has failed to do. Important interlocutors from across the globe are buying into this idea, especially as we have already been able to solve some things that seemed intractable.
What we ask is for people to read our vision on the website, to start talking about it and understand that this conflict will end, as all conflicts do, and that it can end. We offer a roadmap, a vision and a solution that has been created by experts and multiple people from different communities in Israel and in Palestine over the past 15 years. We have the answers and now we have to move forward and have a clear vision that learns from the mistakes of previous failed negotiations, as well as the success stories of other conflicts that have been solved in a sustainable way. That’s exactly what we’re doing, building from the bottom up and the top down.
From Hollywood reboots and retro car models to vintage fashion, a swath of industries are doing a roaring trade in nostalgia. But there’s a fine line between celebrating your legacy and being stuck in a creative ditch. By failing to embrace fresh ideas, some brands risk trading their future appeal for the comforts of the past.
Visitors to the French capital can currently see two major exhibitions looking back at the historic achievements of storied brands: Louis Vuitton Art Deco at LV Dream, the luxury giant’s Paris headquarters; and 1925-2025: One Hundred Years of Art Deco at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, which explores the design legacy of the Orient Express. Both shows mark the centennial of a major art deco exhibition held in the city. There’s plenty of exquisite craftsmanship on display, both by major figures of the art deco movement and by modern-day artisans and designers.
A standout piece from the Louis Vuitton exhibition is a trunk designed for British conductor Leopold Stokowski in 1929, which folds out into a portable desk. This clever feature allowed Stokowski to travel with his documents and sit down to write wherever he happened to be. The piece is emblematic of the brand’s history of innovating to meet the evolving needs of wealthy globetrotters throughout the 20th century. With the advent of cars and transatlantic steamers, Gaston-Louis Vuitton, the grandson of the brand’s founder, oversaw a period during which aesthetics and functionality went hand in hand.
At the Louis Vuitton shop above the exhibition space, you’ll spot an updated version of the Stokowski trunk, the Secrétaire Bureau 2.0. Usefully, it has a wider work surface that’s designed to accommodate laptops – but it seems more likely to grace a collector’s lounge than to travel the world with its owner.
That’s not to say that past icons can’t be resurrected to break new ground. Renault, for example, has successfully launched updated versions of classic models such as the Renault 5 and Renault 4, with the Twingo next in line. The refreshed Twingo features a design similar to the 1992 original, which sold 2.6 million models over its 20-year production run, as well as all-electric drivetrains. By combining nostalgia-inducing design with significant hardware upgrades, the automaker is making contemporary electric vehicles more appealing to drivers who aren’t yet fully comfortable with the technology.
What if brands such as Louis Vuitton and the Orient Express reclaimed their status as cutting-edge innovators in travel, while staying true to their legacy? Perhaps we’d enter a new golden age of travel – one that pairs timeless elegance with genuine progress. The 2026 christening of the Orient Express Corinthian, the world’s largest sailing yacht and a partnership with LVMH, could be a groundbreaking moment for the sector. Combining luxury amenities and destinations that are often out of reach for conventional cruise ships, it will be charting new waters for hospitality, while still evoking the Old World glamour of the Orient Express. Fresh ideas such as this are why these brands rose to prominence in the first place.
Simon Bouvier is Monocle’s Paris bureau chief. Fancy more from the French capital? Check out our City Guide. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Arriving in Muscat, you’re struck by the absence of construction cranes and the sense of calm that hangs in the air. In a region where perpetual transformation has become the default, Oman’s relative stillness feels almost subversive. The country faces many of the same pressures as its Gulf neighbours: its population is projected to grow by almost 50 per cent to 7.7 million by 2040 and oil production is expected to fall from a million barrels per day to 700,000 over the same period. But instead of turning to the familiar megaproject playbook, Oman is attempting something more difficult: measured densification.
Sultan Haitham City, designed to house 100,000 residents, is the clearest expression of this approach. Oman has long intentionally avoided building skyscrapers, prioritising low-rise development. Its focus now is on drawing a population – 89 per cent of whom are homeowners accustomed to villa living and privacy – into walkable neighbourhoods without resorting to towers. It’s an experiment in Middle Eastern urbanism that prioritises liveability over spectacle, though whether Omanis will embrace this shift towards urban consolidation remains to be seen.
The country’s emphasis on restraint extends to its cultural infrastructure. The Royal Opera House, opened in 2011, was built on the orders of the late Sultan Qaboos, a music lover with a meticulous ear for acoustic detail. The venue hosts world-class performers in a building designed for music fans rather than photographers.
Tourism follows the same measured logic. Oman is expanding its luxury-hotel inventory – Jumeirah, St Regis, Four Seasons, Mandarin Oriental – without remaking whole districts. Where its neighbours build smart cities and urban forests, Oman is banking on a quieter proposition. A limited nightlife, yes – but unlike the metropolises nextdoor or in the West, there’s always space to think.
Vision 2040, the country’s economic and social road map, articulates this explicitly, with human-centric development, cultural preservation and sustainable growth at the top of its agenda. Similar language appears in many countries’ planning documents but Oman means it. With oil accounting for about 70 per cent of state revenue, diversification isn’t aspirational – it’s a structural necessity. Meanwhile, Oman Air’s recent entry into the Oneworld alliance signals that travel infrastructure is maturing without the fanfare that typically accompanies aviation expansion in the Gulf.
The model has obvious trade-offs. Whether you’re a linen-suited old Gulf hand or a newly arrived expat from London or Mumbai, you’ll find that Muscat moves more slowly than Dubai. Some find this boring. But the hypothesis is that second-tier cities can compete with their more established counterparts through developments that prioritise preserving regional culture.
Some early cracks are visible. Waterfront-development renderings show a few high-rise towers that would significantly alter Muscat’s traditionally low skyline. For developers and investors, the more upwards-thinking approach of cities such as Dubai and New York remains seductive. Still, the idea that moving at a deliberately slower pace might produce more durable networks and communities in the Omani capital is alluring. After all, who wins by playing to the strengths of competitors?
Muscat’s radical proposition of restraint in a region defined by bold timelines is worth keeping an eye on. Perhaps the most subversive part of it all is Oman’s apparent comfort with letting the answer emerge gradually, rather than forcing it through capital deployment. Whether that patience pays off remains to be seen but, a short flight from the bustle of Dubai, at least the question is being asked.
Colin Nagy is a Los Angeles-based journalist and frequent Monocle contributor.
Read next: Oman is carving its own path with the Vision 2040 plan
You’ve done all your last-minute travel prep, ticked off your packing list and remembered to water the houseplants. But have you done a deep dive into the soundness of political institutions and the robustness of civil society in the country to which you’re headed?
Barring a substantial outbreak of violence or the credible risk of terrorist activity, most of us don’t tend to dwell much on geopolitics as we jet off on holiday to places whose regimes might be less salubrious than our own. Perhaps it’s because a cursory check of your government’s advisory scale can change your behaviour – but, honestly, if people followed rules to the letter they might never leave home (in only two of Mexico’s 31 states, for example, are you currently free to “exercise normal precautions”, according to the US Department of State).
Heading on assignment to Tanzania recently, bound for a luxury tented camp in the country’s northwest, I hurriedly tried to get up to speed. One line that kept appearing across various sources was, “Tanzania is one of the most stable and peaceful countries in East Africa.”
So it was until one afternoon, when the internet connection went down. Initially, I didn’t think much of it. After it had been down for much of the day, I casually enquired about it and was told that the government had shut it off across the country. The reason, it turned out, was that Tanzania was holding elections. In what is effectively a one-party state, opposition had unexpectedly flared. Flicking the switch was a gesture of control. As startling as this was to me, it is rather common in much of the world. In May, Libya enforced a shutdown in the face of election protests. Some crackdowns have been more parochial: in Syria earlier this year, a countrywide internet outage was ordered to break up organised “cheating networks” in state education exams.
Being cut off from the outside world and put into an enforced digital detox, we struggled to make sense of events. The Tanzanians present at the dinner table were pressed into impromptu political analyses. One theory making the rounds was that the opposition was being stealthily promoted from within the ranks of the Chama Cha Mapinduzi, the party of the Tanzanian president, Samia Suluhu Hassan, because of her status as a Muslim woman from Zanzibar who was appointed by succession rather than democratically elected.
I felt a bit like the protagonist of Eric Ambler’s classic thriller State of Siege, in which a hapless foreigner is caught up in a Southeast Asian coup. But more pressingly, international flights in and out of the country were being cancelled. Fortunately, I was able to hitch a ride on a hastily arranged charter flight to Nairobi, though a new hurdle loomed: I didn’t have a yellow-fever certificate (required for Kenya). Thankfully, the fact that I transited through the international zone of the airport and didn’t have to retrieve luggage meant that I never actually entered Kenya.
So here are two pieces of advice: always do your geopolitical homework; and always travel with a carry-on.
Tom Vanderbilt is a regular Monocle contributor. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Do you use your Sunday to look back over the past five or six days and take stock? Or are you one of those look-ahead types who ploughs on and does little in the way of a weekly audit? Or are you something of a seventh-day swinger and find moments for reflection while also eagerly entering plans and lists in the diary for the weeks and months ahead? To stay crisp, I like to play back the week on Saturdays and Sundays and recall the high points (and lows), who was brilliant, what was tasty and where was worth documenting and might demand a return visit. Most importantly, I ask: “What did I learn and who taught me?”
Fellowship
On Tuesday morning, I had the honour of sharing the stage with Tilda Swinton. The venue was the Capitol Theatre in Singapore and in the audience were several hundred students from universities across the city-state. I was moderating and Ms Swinton was there to talk about her career, new projects, the creative process and to take questions from the students. Best of all, it was a trip down memory lane as she reminded me about our days in London in the early 1990s, the people we hung out with, the clubs we frequented and the wonderful jobs we did for very little money. About halfway through our talk, Tilda hit upon the importance of fellowship and how we’ve somehow landed in a place where the individual and personal brand has become far more important than being part of a troupe or team. It was a simple observation but refreshingly on point. “Aren’t we motivated by the process and the people we work with? And the people we return to work with?” Tilda asked. “It’s about fellowship.” This definitely struck a chord with the students and it has stayed with me all week.
Chairman’s flight
On Thursday it was another talk – this time I was answering the questions on stage at The Foreign Correspondents’ Club in Hong Kong. Before taking up my position, I was chatting to one of the club’s leaders and he mentioned the beauty of flying around Asia from HK and catching the chairman’s flight to Tokyo, Singapore and Jakarta. Chairman’s flight? I’d never heard the term. And given my card says chairman, right below my name, why wasn’t I aware of this service, concept or secret society? “The chairman’s flight is a weekday departure that leaves midmorning and means that you can have a gentle start, do a little work in the lounge, have a drink and lunch onboard and maybe there’s even a little nap,” explained the club grandee. “And given these are all three-to-four hour sectors, the meeting at your destination is most likely drinks and dinner.” I’ve now instructed my travel agent, Jill, that chairman’s flights are the only way to go.
Secrets are important
I just landed in Tokyo and I’m meeting my friend Noriko for dinner at the same restaurant that we sampled two weeks ago. It’s hidden away up a staircase on a third floor in Hiroo. It’s open late and the kitchen will cook up pretty much any classic dish that you fancy. The crowd is exclusively Japanese and it feels a bit like Tokyo circa 1998. Heaven. The lesson here is that personal connections are everything, as this semi-secret establishment needs to know its patrons before allowing them to book. Not only does this keep the tourists out, it also creates a certain kind of intimacy between staff and patrons. I’m looking forward to going back for thirds.
Enjoying life in ‘The Faster Lane’? Click here to browse all of Tyler’s past columns.
Do you want to be a better writer? Well, I do, and that’s why I have a suggestion for you: go to Cecil Beaton’s Fashionable World at London’s National Portrait Gallery. Curated by Robin Muir, it’s an extraordinary visual celebration of the British photographer’s career, from society portraits to fashion shoots for Vogue; from men of war to Hollywood. It’s definitive and beautiful, and so many images feel new and innovative, even after the passing of numerous decades. The show is also a masterclass in how to write. Next to each image is a little card that helps illuminate what you are looking at and the wit, craft and skill that have gone into writing these is a joy to read.
This week we have been meeting with all of Monocle’s editors to review the year but also to lay down some plans for 2026. We’ve looked at how we told stories, what worked a treat, what fell by the wayside. We’ve talked about writers we would like to work with and the varying needs of print versus digital. We’ve debated why length adds delight sometimes and leaves you cold at others (it’s all about how you use those big words). We’ve talked about inspiration, too. And that’s why I’ve told everyone: go to the Beaton show and read those little cards, which are as honed as any haiku.
OK, I’ll show you what I mean. The note for a picture of the Viennese dancer Tilly Losch says that “Her freedom on stage was matched by her personal style – Beaton compared her to ‘a rifled drawer’ – but she could be modern too, here in a Yvonne Carette suit and a felt turban designed by Charles James, a friend of Beaton’s from Harrow school”. A rifled drawer! You want to know Miss Losch – in just a few words you slide back through time, see the connections; a snapshot becomes a bigger picture.
Or how about this one for an image of The Honourable Mrs Reginald Fellowes, who “was considered the best-dressed woman in the world. The title might have implied frequent changes of wardrobe but, in fact, the distinction was hers on account of a rigorous simplicity of style.” We learn that Lady Ottoline Morrell presided over “a salon of the brilliant and eccentric minds of her age” and was described as having “magenta hair and two protruding teeth”. What a time and all unlocked for visitors in a series of descriptions just 75 words long. It’s writing that’s lean, evocative and fitting. I have waded through numerous magazine profiles and interviews with today’s rich and famous that leave you none the wiser and certainly don’t make you smile. Verbosity can be such a mood killer, as off-putting as a hot date who wants to keep their socks on in bed.
I am certainly not going to lecture anyone on this topic (good writing, I mean, not the socks in bed bit – my views on that are clear) but for me the best journalism is concise, avoids jargon and industry speak, doesn’t reach for arcane words to try to prove the writer’s superior intelligence (or reliance on a thesaurus), dodges clichés, knows how to use words to change pace and mood, delivers some delight and understands what to leave out of the narrative in the pursuit of clarity. I certainly keep striving for all these things (and benefit from the corrective tonic of a crack team of sub editors). But head to the Beaton show if you would like a lesson in delivering brevity, charm and knowledge inside a few short sentences.
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