Issues

What Macron’s Dior habit says about the politics of the presentation and the smell of success

There’s an entire industry of consultants working on what national leaders look and sound like – but the question of how they smell is less frequently pondered. Not many voters get close enough for it to matter.

At least one current national leader does reportedly care about scent a great deal, however. According to a recent book, The Tragedy of the Élysée by journalist Olivier Beaumont, the French president, Emmanuel Macron, slathers himself in sufficient Dior Sauvage for his staff to detect his approach from an Élysée palace corridor away. In so doing, Macron observes a national tradition. Napoleon Bonaparte had a standing order with his preferred perfumer, Chardin, for 50 bottles of eau de cologne per month. Louis XIV, who was reputedly frightened of bathing, commissioned his perfumer to design a different scent for every day of the week and had his shirts rinsed in a potion of rose-water, jasmine, musk, nutmeg and much else.

Conventional wisdom suggests that smell is the most powerful sense in evoking primal emotions. The historical record certainly suggests a long-established and pretty much universal belief that scent is a potent communicator of power: palaces and temples have dazzled and dominated visitors and worshippers with the deployment of odour since antiquity. Egyptian pharaohs pleased their gods – and demonstrated a connection to them – with offerings of incense. Chinese emperors were so preoccupied with perfume that Mao Zedong seized on it during the Cultural Revolution as symptomatic of the decadence that he wished to extirpate. (Mao’s personal hygiene was legendarily dreadful – his doctor, Zhisui Li, recalled him never bathing, as well as brushing his teeth with tea – though it remains unclear whether this was some cunning olfactory intimidatory tactic.)

Personalised scents of state have now largely faded, with a few exceptions. The late Sultan Qaboos of Oman collected and commissioned perfumes and presented them to his guests. He also founded a fragrance brand, Amouage.

Less majestically, Donald Trump includes perfumes among his hefty range of self-branded merchandise. The Victory 45-47, which comes in a bottle adorned with a little gold statue of him, retails at $249 (€213) – or $398 (€340) for two bottles and $597 (€510) for three. Perhaps the importance of scent in the mass-media age hasn’t dissipated entirely.

Are Poland’s efforts to bolster its defences enough to deter Russia?

As part of Monocle’s November 2025 report on Poland’s defence capabilities, writer Julia Jenne and photographer Jedrzej Nowicki travelled to a US-run ballistic-missile defence base on Poland’s Baltic coast, which had been inaugurated the year before. The base is a key point of defence for Europe. As the threat of Iranian ballistic missiles hitting Europe has made recent headlines, we are republishing this piece to give readers insight into the fragility of the defence pact between the US and Europe, and how the continent’s capitals are walking a diplomatic tightrope to keep their security intact.

It’s a blustery day on Poland’s Baltic coast, where Monocle is being shown some SM-3 interceptor missiles. We’re at the Aegis Ashore Poland base and our US guides joke around as they open up containers housing 1.5-tonne rockets, which can travel through the air at speeds exceeding 4km per second. With the missiles out of their case, the mood becomes more serious. “We have the capability to defend all of Europe,” says Captain Michael S Dwan, who is overseeing the command of the base at the time of our visit.

The opening of Aegis Ashore was also a stormy affair. First mooted in 2002, the base became a source of tension between the US and Russia – the latter seeing it as a major provocation, despite what Washington and Waraw insisted were purely defensive capabilities. When it was finally declared active 22 years later, during the dying days of the Biden administration, Warsaw had good reason to feel vindicated for the decades spent lobbying the Americans to build it.

Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Moscow’s aerial assaults on the country have sometimes spilled over into neighbouring Poland. In September, Russian drones made it as far west as Olesno, with Nato jets scrambled to shoot them down. Aegis Ashore, then, is a key pillar of Poland’s military deterrence, founded on both a centuries-old suspicion of Russia – a nation that has invaded on several occasions – and a post-Cold War alliance with the US. When the base opened, America’s commitment to Polish and European defence appeared unshakeable. But now there’s a very different president in the White House. Donald Trump has made no secret of his intention to pare back the US military presence on the continent and has even refused to defend its Nato allies in the event of an attack. The fact that US reticence has come at a time of Russian belligerence is particularly concerning for Poland.

After the end of communist rule, Warsaw went all in on the transatlantic alliance, cosying up to successive US administrations in a bid to establish a permanent American military presence in the country. Today there are about 10,000 US troops stationed here. But given the geopolitical climate, Warsaw has had to seek alternatives. In just two years, it has become Europe’s largest military spender as a percentage of GDP and built the continent’s biggest land army. Poland’s defence budget has increased by 50 per cent since 2023; while in 2024, it commanded 205,000 military personnel – third only to the US and Turkey (countries with far greater populations) among Nato member states. But with Vladimir Putin hovering and Trump wavering, the question remains: is it enough?

When Monocle speaks to veteran politician Michal Kaminski, he’s clear that warm relations with the US are still essential to Poland. “Being anti-American is impossible,” he says. “There’s a feeling that our liberation in 1989 was thanks to the policies of Ronald Reagan.” Yet behind closed doors, contingency plans are being made. “Though it can’t be declared officially, there’s a growing scepticism about America among Poland’s political elite,” says defence and security analyst Tomasz Pawłuszko. Such scepticism, born of a history of invasion by larger powers, is what has fuelled the recent military expansion. “The first thing that you need to know is that the Polish people are prepared to face Russia, even alone,” says Pawłuszko. “I wouldn’t have even begun to imagine it during the Biden administration but this is the style of political thinking that we have adopted.”

In 2025, Poland will spend almost 5 per cent of its GDP on defence, the most among Nato countries, including the US. The country is also debating a law to allow Polish forces to shoot down (without prior Nato or EU approval) Russian objects flying over western Ukraine. “Poland is, along with Finland, among the best [militarily] prepared countries in Nato,” says Pawłuszko. “We have the biggest army on the eastern flank and good co-operation with our biggest allies.”

Pawłuszko says that a major sea change in Polish military thinking happened in 2016. “Russia had annexed Crimea two years earlier and our politicians decided to throw their support behind our army,” he says. “Under Trump’s first presidency, the government aimed to please Washington by buying US weapons.” Yet, even then, there were signs of US fickleness. “The Americans weren’t willing to share military technology with us. Even PIS [the far-right, Trump-friendly Law and Justice party] realised that they had become a little arrogant,” he says.

So, Warsaw began to look farther afield to meet its growing materiel needs. Since 2022, the country has spent more than $20bn (€17bn) on South Korean arms, including hundreds of K2 tanks, light combat aircraft and heavy-artillery systems. For the Poles, this partnership has plenty of upsides. Quick turnaround times are coupled with the fact that South Korea has proved a willing partner in sharing technological know-how. Lengthy supply chains have been circumvented, with companies including WB Group and Hanwha building missile-production facilities in Poland.

Monocle sees some of the South Korean K2 tanks in action at a large military exercise in Poland’s northeast. Alongside troops from the US, Lithuania and the Czech Republic, Polish forces are simulating an attack on the Suwałki Gap – a land corridor wedged between Kaliningrad, a Russian exclave, and Belarus, a Kremlin ally – which has been called Nato’s Achilles heel. Military analysts believe that this picturesque region would be among the likeliest places to be struck, were Russia to attack the alliance. Venture close enough to the border with Kaliningrad and one will receive an unnerving SMS proclaiming, “Welcome to Russia.”

But during the exercise, codenamed Brave Boar 25, mobile-phone service is scant. Deep inside a thick forest, we hear jets roaring overhead. The exercise is intended to co-ordinate the full panoply of Nato aerial and land capabilities on Polish terrain. “The landscape that we’re training on here is completely new to us,” says one Czech captain who Monocle speaks to on condition of anonymity. We meet him in a mocked-up town surrounded by pines and thicket; while we talk, his men drill how to capture one of the larger buildings, creeping along roads and pathways modelled on a typical Polish settlement.

“At first, our tactics are a little different but after a few hours, we start to co-operate with more ease,” he says, explaining the importance of conducting exercises on unfamiliar terrain. “What we have seen during our time here is very impressive, especially the large numbers of soldiers and equipment. Poland’s command and control is on a high level.”

Leading today’s exercise is the Polish Armed Forces’ 16th Mechanised Division, which is based near the Suwałki Gap. Captain Karol Frankowski, a press officer, tells Monocle about the recent improvement in his country’s defensive capabilities. “When I came to the military in 2017, our division had seven units,” he says. “Today we have 11.” He reels off the names of some new pieces of equipment that the brigade has gained in the past few years, including K2 tanks and HIMARS rocket launchers.

Once a successful sports journalist, Frankowski joined up after Russia’s annexation of Crimea. “In 2014 a kind of information war started,” he says. “I realised that I needed to be a part of this structure to help Polish citizens.” In many ways, Frankowski’s career change mirrors the way that Poland has shaken itself out of its post-Cold War slumber in response to the growing Russian threat. Now, the press officer is tasked with attracting others like himself into fatigues, leading a government-backed initiative with the aim of recruiting 100,000 volunteers by 2027. In online videos, Frankowski attempts to appeal to Gen-Z Poles. “I explain that it is an adventure and that you get the chance to prove yourself,” he says. “People pay money to train in the gym – but here, you get paid to do physical exercise.”

Frankowski’s Instagram posts are part of a wider drive to make military training available outside the armed forces to hundreds of thousands of civilians. There is a recognition that Poland lags behind other front-line Nato countries, especially the Nordics, when it comes to civilian preparedness. “For many years, officials have been informing people that we are building our military power – that we’re buying tanks and helicopters, and creating new divisions,” says Pawłuszko. “But at the same time, people aren’t prepared for typical wartime threats such as bombs or rescue operations, let alone hybrid threats.”

Poland’s defence minister, Władysław Kosiniak-Kamysz, emphasises the importance of involving all members of society in preparing for war. “Our priorities are a strong army, a strong society and strength in the Nato alliance,” he tells Monocle. “I would like elements of defence education to become more widespread in schools and workplaces, and for the private sector to be more deeply involved in exercises and resilience planning.” This would involve a huge societal change. “The armed forces rank among the institutions with the highest levels of public trust,” says the minister. “ This shows a sense of shared responsibility for security. At the same time, we recognise that preparing society is a long-term process. That is why we are preparing voluntary universal training; we are running educational campaigns in schools and information campaigns in the media. It does not mean living in fear – it means confidence and calmness in the face of challenges.”

However, an aversion to joining up persists in many sectors of Polish society – a lingering effect of communist rule, which eroded trust in the state. This is exacerbated by acute political polarisation. Today only a third of Poles view the government positively. A lack of trust was evident after Russia’s drone incursion in September. According to a poll in the immediate aftermath, a third of Poles believed that Ukraine was to blame, rather than Russia. This wasn’t helped by mixed government messaging, which initially claimed that a Russian drone had struck a civilian house, when it could have been a Polish missile fired by an F-16.

After the incursion, which the prime minister, Donald Tusk, said had brought Poland closer to war than at any time since 1945, worried citizens took to social media. “What does a drone sound like?” asked one Facebook user. “How do I know if it’s flying close or far away from me?” Such questions are signs that the government’s crisis messaging isn’t getting through – as is the fact that many civilians affected by the air alert did not receive adequate instructions.

On Poland’s northern coast, the Aegis Ashore site continues to operate under US personnel and Captain Dwan is eager to stress that things, for now, remain business as usual. “Our mission has not changed,” he says. The base is equipped with SPY-1 radar, which offers a round-the-clock detection range of more than 300km. Still, many Polish politicians are privately wondering if capabilities such as this are of any use. In March, Washington informed its European allies that it would no longer participate in military exercises on the continent – though in a meeting with Poland’s president, Karol Nawrocki, in September, Trump said that he had not considered withdrawing US troops from the country.

The definitive year in Poland’s historical memory is 1939, when the country was divided between Soviet Russia and Nazi Germany despite the rhetoric of Western allies. Today the situation is different. As the defence minister points out, European Nato allies, including Italy and the Netherlands, were involved in shooting down September’s drone incursion. “Poland is not alone,” he says. But Warsaw knows that if it is attacked, actions will be more important than words. The country is leading the way when it comes to European rearmament but it cannot afford to be complacent.

How Animo is leading the rise of new super-boutique gyms

What if the gym was more than just a place to sweat through a workout? A new generation of “super-boutique” gyms is challenging the fitness market by offering environments where you can take classes and chase a new personal best but also run work meetings, eat in healthy restaurants and stock up on athletic gear in concept shops. It’s a shift that’s aimed at a new generation of people for whom fitness is a way of life and central to their social lives.

“Classic gyms have no vibe,” says Alexandre de Vaucleroy, the 32-year-old co-founder of Animo Studios in Brussels, the latest super-boutique to flex its muscles in this emerging sector. “Crossfit doesn’t always come with good facilities, while places such as Barry’s only do one kind of thing.” A former analyst at management consultants Bain & Company in London, De Vaucleroy teamed up with Antoine Derom, a business and economics graduate who had previously founded a dating app, to launch Animo in 2020. This four-floor site – their biggest yet – opened in March.

“We always wanted more from the gyms that we went to,” says De Vaucleroy, clutching a flat white as we sit in the Animo café. He and Derom spent much of their spare time exercising and saw a gap in the market for something more ambitious than what was on offer. “We wanted to add food, recovery and a social aspect,” says Derom.

Animo feels a little like an all-inclusive holiday resort for fitness enthusiasts. In the lobby, there’s a shop selling sports kits, a coffee shop and protein-shake counter. Upstairs is the gym, which balances an industrial aesthetic with lush plants and is drenched in natural light from the numerous windows. Then there are separate studios for classes offering workouts such as Reformer Pilates and rooms used by the on-site physiotherapists. Down two flights of stairs, you’ll find saunas, steam rooms and ice baths, plus a beauty salon and spa offering facials and massages. It’s the gym as a destination.

Its opening was the culmination of five years’ work and is perfectly timed to mine a rich and evolving fitness market. Gym use is rising, with more than 100 million people in Europe expected to have a membership by 2030 (though that figure will include many who pay a fee but fail to get up from their couch). Some 77 million Americans were signed up to a gym or studio in 2024, up 20 per cent from 2019, according to global trade organisation the Health & Fitness Association. But it’s findings such as those of McKinsey & Company’s 2025 report on the $2trn (€1.71trn) wellbeing industry that show where the money really is. The management consultancy concluded that millennials and Gen Z consumers consider wellness to be a “daily, personalised practice” rather than just a matter of “occasional activities or purchases”. Animo leans into this trend.

“Everything is here so it saves me time,” says Dali Jelassi, a 40-year-old member who works in education technology. “I can get a massage, use the sauna and have lunch.” Earlier, he also had his VO2 max test, which shows how much oxygen your body can use during intensive exercise. “I don’t have to go to a therapist somewhere else and it’s easy to try new things,” he adds.

De Vaucleroy uses a term that he believes sums up the Animo offer. “We are a Social Wellness and Performance Club,” he says. Indeed, he and Derom have even trademarked the phrase. “It’s about responding to the way that people want to live their lives now.”

Since the height of the coronavirus pandemic – when many people took part in “couch-to-5K”-style initiatives – the fitness boom has snowballed. Marathon participation, for example, is now at an all-time high and concepts such as Hyrox, a gym-based competition launched in 2017, are now part of a global fitness movement.

After our tour, De Vaucleroy and Derom lead us back to Animo’s café, a calming space filled with boucle sofas and armchairs. It’s 12.00 on a Monday and members are eating açaí bowls and basil-topped fruit salads served on stainless-steel tableware, while tapping away on their laptops. Flat whites and matcha lattes come in handmade ceramics; protein shakes are served in glasses. “It’s about giving members a better experience and value for their money,” says De Vaucleroy, as he sticks a fork into a lightly peppered, beetroot-dyed egg. The business shares a kitchen with Seven, a Brussels all-day café that’s on the ground floor and is open to the public.

The path to Animo has not always been easy. In 2019, De Vaucleroy and Derom each invested €50,000 to launch Animo and a year later unveiled a studio for classes. After just 45 days, however, it was forced to close because of lockdown restrictions. “Our bank accounts were absolutely wiped out but we hired out our spin bikes and delivered them to people’s apartments,” says Derom. “We did what we could.” While many traditional gyms were shuttered and never reopened, things turned around for Animo in 2021. People were desperate for real-life experiences. “As soon as we reopened, we were very busy,” says Derom.

To launch a more ambitious space, they needed to raise funds. “That was always the goal but there’s no way that two [then] 27-year-olds could bootstrap a project like this,” says De Vaucleroy. “We had to prove our concept first.” The pair raised €1m from various sources. This money helped them take on a new site, a multistorey car park that the duo transformed into their state-of-the-art premises. In its first five months, the club has signed up 1,500 members who pay between €209 and €249 a month.

Among them is thirtysomething brand consultant Marine Lambert. As she picks up an iced Americano, she tells us that she likes Animo because the classes here are “very difficult”. She proudly pulls out an Animo water bottle from her Animo tote bag. “I was given the bottle after 100 classes,” she says. “I got the bag after doing 200 classes. It made me feel special and appreciated.” After 1,000 classes, Lambert received a gift box, which also includes a hoodie.

Gyms have traditionally been function first, with unflattering lighting and ugly machinery. Animo, however, is furnished like an upscale hotel, with a custom scent that wafts through the air, vases of fresh flowers and plenty of modernist furniture. There’s also a fridge that’s filled with eucalyptus-scented facecloths. It’s far nicer than most offices – and possibly many members’ homes.

The duo have created a space that aspires to be a little “sexy” and borrows lessons from the world of hospitality. De Vaucleroy’s CV includes two years as the head of brand for a global luxury-hotel portfolio and the influence of that time on his way of running Animo is clear. “Staff members are instructed to remember faces, names and orders,” he says. “That’s really important. For some people, that 30-second ‘Hi, how are you?’ might be their only real-life interaction that day.”

Animo’s social focus is central to the operation. One member, Jelassi, tells Monocle that he met about 90 per cent of his friendship circle through Animo since it first opened. This is especially important in a freelance economy, in which many people don’t have regular colleagues. It’s partly why members use the café as an on-demand workplace.

In the gym, I spot a member wearing a black tank top emblazoned with the Animo logo. It’s part of an own-brand line that includes dual-layer shorts for men, bras and leggings for women and unisex Pilates socks. “Our socks business is insane,” says Derom. “We sell 500 pairs a month.” The Animo kit is sold alongside shorts from On Running, Normatec compression boots from Hyperice and Swedish laundry detergent made especially for gym kit.

De Vaucleroy and Derom have big dreams for Animo, with their sights set on Paris. For now, pay a visit to the Brussels location, where visitors can buy a €70 week-long “discovery” pass. Been there, flexed that, bought the grippy socks.

Following specialist investigators on the hunt for Nazi-looted works of art

When Dutch journalist Peter Schouten rang the doorbell of a house in Mar del Plata in early August, he didn’t know that it would unleash a global media storm. Schouten had travelled to the Argentinian city at the behest of a colleague, Cyril Rosman. For a decade, Rosman had been on the trail of a trove of missing artworks; the story of which reads like a thriller, with an intriguing cast of characters and a plot that spans geographies and generations. Rosman’s investigations centred on the family of Friedrich Kadgien, a financial adviser to Nazi politician Hermann Göring, who escaped to South America after the Second World War. Rosman had long suspected that Kadgien’s two daughters, Patricia and Alicia, might have knowledge of artworks looted during the Nazi regime from Jewish art dealer Jacques Goudstikker. The latter’s heir, Marei von Saher, is in her eighties and lives in New York; she has spent much of her life searching for her father-in-law’s collection.

A dog barked inside the house but no one answered the door to Schouten. As he waited, he noticed a “For sale” sign and took a photo on his phone. Later, while having dinner at his hotel, he found the listing for the property online and spotted an image of a gilt-framed painting hanging above a green velvet sofa. He sent the link to Rosman in the Netherlands, who, the next morning, replied with excitement that he was reasonably confident that the artwork was the 1710 painting “Portrait of a Lady”. Over the next couple of weeks, Schouten was able to confirm that the painting was still in the house and tried to contact Patricia Kadgien through multiple channels. He received some ambiguous replies before being blocked on social media. Schouten’s story about the discovery was published on the Dutch news site Algemeen Dagblad (AD) on 25 August. “And then the rollercoaster started,” he says.

Along with the world’s media, multiple law enforcement agencies – Interpol, the FBI and the Argentinian police – quickly became involved. But when officers raided the Kadgien house and four other properties a few days later, the painting seemed to have vanished. The artwork’s second disappearance did nothing to quell the interest and the local general attorney assigned 15 people to work on the case. Eventually, the collective pressure of the media and the police yielded a response from the Kadgiens. On 3 September, the family handed over the painting and it was put on view at a media conference.

A criminal investigation has since been opened, which will focus on Patricia and her husband, and whether they attempted to obstruct justice by hiding the painting. “Portrait of a Lady”, meanwhile, will most likely make its way to New York and to Marei von Saher. “To dedicate your life to getting back all of your family’s possessions must be unbelievably tough,” says Schouten today, who was in regular contact with Von Saher throughout the saga. But he wishes that he could have spoken to the Kadgien sisters and heard their side of the story. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a father like that,” he says. “You are not to blame for your parents’ behaviour but you carry it with you your whole life.”

The Nazis are thought to have looted about 20 per cent of Europe’s art between 1933 and 1945, much of which – at least 100,000 objects – has yet to be returned. Of course, their regime was just one perpetrator of art theft. Schouten’s story made headlines across the globe but the everyday work of hunting for (and occasionally finding) lost or stolen artworks usually takes place with less fanfare.

On a quiet lane in central London is the unassuming office of the Art Loss Register (ALR), an organisation with the world’s largest private database of stolen art, antiques and collectables. Unlike Rosman’s quest to locate artworks from Goudstikker’s collection, the ALR checks individual items entering the market to investigate their provenance and demonstrate due diligence. The register currently features more than 700,000 lost or stolen artworks and the ALR performs about 450,000 searches on items prior to their sale. These are carried out on behalf of the likes of governments, law enforcement, museums, auction houses or private individuals.

“What we are looking for is some proof that the item can be sold on the open market,” says Olivia Whitting, the ALR’s head of cultural heritage and client manager. The organisation also registers the theft or loss of items and helps to reunite some of them with their owners. “It’s quite exciting because it’s the kind of detective work where you end up knowing so much about random parts of history, such as the great telephone exchange of the year 2000,” says Whitting. “That was when London phone numbers went from starting with ‘0171’ or ‘0181’ to ‘020’. If a document is from before 2000 but it has the newer telephone code, you might question whether it’s real.”

The work of registering objects on the database – or trying to match items to them – is usually done digitally. But when Monocle visits in early autumn, among the desktop computers, coffee mugs and copies of the Antiques Trade Gazette is an extraordinary artefact. In the corner of a room, under a blanket, is a 14th-century cenotaph. The grave marker was handed over to the ALR for restitution by an antiques dealer who had been tipped off that it was probably stolen. The ALR is now researching its origin to enable its return. The organisation has ascertained that it is probably from the late-medieval Timurid empire and from the grave of a young man or a child. The next step will be to approach the relevant embassy and investigate whether it can be returned to its country of origin.

When something is registered as lost on the database, the ALR will ask for proof of loss (such as a crime reference number) and of ownership. This might be an acquisition invoice or insurance document but it could also be a family photo featuring the artwork. Whitting was recently sent an image of a three-year-old girl having a tantrum on the floor in front of a Palmyrene sculpture and another picture of a Roman bust dressed in a tinsel crown at Christmas. “It’s a window into someone else’s childhood,” she says.

The ALR database of missing artworks reflects the breadth and strangeness of the wider market. It includes a toy car (an Aston Martin replica), JMW Turner’s death mask and a set of George Washington’s false teeth. “When human remains come up, that’s often when we think, ‘I wish this wasn’t on the art market,’” says Whitting. She recounts how a Belgian zoo recently wanted to look up a human head that had somehow, years ago, ended up in its collection. The ALR refused to search it and advised the zoo to try to return it to the Polynesian island from which it originally came.

Items on the register – paintings, vases or the occasional body part – might have been taken in a burglary or looted as the spoils of war. In the estimation of James Ratcliffe, the director of recoveries at the ALR, about a quarter of the database consists of works that were lost during the Second World War. “That doesn’t even touch the sides of what was taken by the Nazis,” he says.

Others are looking for these objects too. In Magdeburg, the German Lost Art Foundation acts as the country’s central body overseeing looted cultural property. It oversees hundreds of projects exploring Nazi looted art and manages its own register, the Lost Art Database. “We always have to keep in mind that we’re not only talking about the works of Pissarro, Picasso and Cézanne,” says Andrea Baresel-Brand, the head of the documentation and research data-management department. “We’re also talking about everyday things: knives, forks, cups and plates. For a family, they could mean everything.”

The story of looted art is tied to history but shaped by the present. In Germany, that often means contending with right-wing political parties that, says Baresel-Brand, “prefer not to deal with the past”. Elsewhere, attitudes in the art market have changed when it comes to dealing with items from colonised countries. “It’s interesting to think about the new frontiers of repatriation and the moral side of acquisitions,” says Ratcliffe. “Ten years ago the colonial history of an object was a curiosity. Now there’s a recognition that it’s an issue that needs to be addressed.” It’s a complex environment and Ratcliffe believes that the art market is sometimes a scapegoat for bigger questions facing society. “We’re calling this decolonisation but it’s not,” he says.

The field of looking for lost artworks is changing in other ways too. There has been a move towards “positive registration”, with the cataloguing of artefacts in museums that might be in danger because they are in a region at risk of conflict. Meanwhile, artificial intelligence is expected to improve the image-matching process but it will take longer for it to perform the intricate work of due diligence. It’s also likely that technology will be used to create fraudulent documentation. “Say you have an export licence for a Roman mosaic from Lebanon in the 1970s,” says Ratcliffe. “Suddenly it’s possible for that document to appear with another mosaic. Tech will help people fighting against art crime but will also help those committing it.”

Combining the knowledge of an art historian with the nous of a detective, solving art crime is a complicated business. From the ALR’s database of artworks, three to five matches a week are made, while another department – the organisation’s busiest – looks into stolen watches and logs about 15 matches a day. Meanwhile, finding a “just and fair solution” to the question of what to do with a found stolen object is often not a straightforward process. Legal technicalities clash with the beliefs of individuals and, sometimes, the history of entire nations. As Schouten has discovered, the simple act of ringing someone’s doorbell can have sweeping consequences. It seems that the past, with all its painful memories and unresolved questions, is closer than we think.

How Villa Ervi in Helsinki preserves Finland’s mid-century modernism

What’s the best way to protect architecture of note? One solution is to seek heritage listing, which would help to prevent demolition or unsightly additions. “Often protected buildings are made into museums,” says Mauri Tommila, who established Tommila Architects in Helsinki in 1984. But Tommila decided to take a different approach when he and his wife, Aila, bought Villa Ervi in 1990.

The building was looking somewhat tired and didn’t reflect its status in design circles: the former residence of prominent mid-century Finnish architect Aarne Ervi, it’s a notable example of the country’s postwar residential modernism. Mauri, now 74, says that if the structure had been listed or turned into a museum, small alterations to make it liveable would have been almost impossible. “There would always have been someone looking over your shoulder,” he adds, explaining that, without any interference from a heritage body, he has been able to maintain the building’s original function – that of a residence and architecture studio.

The first part of the structure was built in 1951, the year when Mauri was born. Ervi wanted the site to function as both a family home and a studio (an office annexe was added in 1962). Amid a maritime landscape in the Finnish capital’s Kuusisaari neighbourhood, the villa has a white, plastered façade that is softened by lush vegetation, and is positioned to take advantage of sea views. The roof is made from clay brick and stone tiling appears on the thresholds, where large windows open onto a garden planted with alpine roses and a Japanese maple, with the water visible beyond.

When Monocle visits, Mauri and Aila are waiting at the wide wooden front door – their usual spot when welcoming guests as they reach an entrance hall that has curved ceilings rising high overhead and natural light flooding in from skylights. Elements such as oak cabinetry with patinated brass handles feature in the foyer, which has a floor lined with handmade Italian tiles. The effect is both ethereal and earthy.

From here, the interior unfolds in a sequence of staggered, interlinked spaces: the living room, the dining room, the kitchen and the bedrooms. Each has large windows with views of the garden, sky and sea. Natural materials and a connection to the elements are prioritised. The living room has a central, open fireplace; in the kitchen, you’ll find sapele mahogany cabinets; bedrooms can be closed off by sliding timber doors and feature the original oak cupboards; the bathrooms are defined by deep-green tiles. Transitions are marked by columns wrapped in rattan cord and doors provide direct access from the kitchen and living room to the garden.

Mauri tells Monocle that the building still works well as a home, decades after its construction. It is human in scale, delivering comfort without ostentation. “Villa Ervi was built to be a home and should be used as one,” he says. The kitchen and living room, with an original Aalto table and a smaller side piece by Ervi, are still where most of the family’s everyday life takes place. The long and welcoming dining table is surrounded by 1950s Fanett chairs by Ilmari Tapiovaara, with Paavo Tynell’s lighting fixtures and Unikko-patterned Marimekko textiles dotted throughout the space.

Meanwhile, the garden is used during summer, as is the swimming pool, whose form echoes the staggered footprint of the office annexe. The sauna, an anchor of Finnish life, is in regular use, thanks to a 1995 renovation that restored its original patinated iroko-wood façade.

The office annexe now serves as the home of Mauri’s architecture practice. As in the residence, there is a strong focus on embracing the site and the use of natural materials. “It’s the most Japanese building in Finland,” says Mauri, as he walks Monocle through the low, long structure, which is defined by a Oregon pine façade. Its proximity to the home means that work often overlaps with personal life; staff meetings take place in the garden and over long dinners at the weekend.

It’s a situation that has benefited Mauri and Aila’s daughter, Miia-Liina. Now the CEO of Tommila Architects, she was immersed in her father’s practice while growing up in Villa Ervi. “I was surrounded by it all and it shaped how I think about space,” she says, recalling how she used to look into the garden, perching on the building’s broad windowsills and noticing how the changing light would alter the appearance of the walls and wood grain. “It made me an architect because I understood the value of good architecture early.”

The family-run practice now works on strategic planning, and regeneration and repair projects – architecture that’s not just about building but also maintaining and evolving an environment. Its approach is partly a response to what Mauri and Miia-Liina see as a tendency among developers to demolish old buildings, even when they still have plenty of life left in them. “We should preserve the layers of architecture in our cities,” says Mauri. “They are layers of our culture.”

It’s this outlook that continues to inform Mauri and Aila’s hopes and dreams for Villa Ervi. With their children grown and no longer at home, the scale of the residence exceeds their daily needs. As such, the property has been put up for sale, though not aggressively. The couple is particular about potential future owners – and for good reason. The property’s future custodians will not only inherit walls and windows but a way of being, an architectural legacy of care and a collection of historically significant buildings that remain in constant use. It’s not, according to Mauri, architecture to be preserved as an exhibit – it’s to be lived in.

“If it sells, it sells,” he says. “If not, we’ll stay. What matters is that this place continues to be used – not turned into a museum.”

Poltrona Frau is the quiet €120m powerhouse behind luxury car interiors

Halfway down Italy’s Adriatic flank, inside a bustling factory in the municipality of Montegranaro, car parts are zipping off the production line. Stacked on moveable shelving while awaiting the next step, every piece will be shifted around an open-plan space to different workstations. In one area, people wearing masks are spraying a blue adhesive that will be used to bind the leather upholstery to the panel through a combination of heat and pressure. This plant, which was founded four years ago, might seem like a car manufacturer’s home base. But it actually belongs to Poltrona Frau, a storied design brand that dates back to 1912 and is better known for furnishing living rooms than the insides of sports cars.

“The company has transformed in the past few years,” says senior designer Luca Bellomarì as he takes Monocle on a tour of the buildings. Bellomarì is talking about Poltrona Frau’s In Motion business, which provides pristine leather-wrapped products, including seat covers, for high-end vehicles. While Poltrona Frau is a household name as a maker of sofas and armchairs, collaborating with such design luminaries as Gio Ponti and Pierluigi Cerri, In Motion has been quietly – and rather successfully – working away from the limelight.

Founded as a standalone business division in 1985, In Motion’s first automotive project was on the Lancia Thema, which had a Ferrari engine. Today the business’s client list includes Range Rover, McLaren, Pagani, Lamborghini and Ferrari. But glance inside the leather interior of a Ferrari and you won’t see a Poltrona Frau logo anywhere, even though it has decked out all of its vehicles since 1998. And though automotive is its biggest segment, In Motion also has a footprint in the yachting and aviation sectors.

As Monocle passes workers dressed in Poltrona Frau T-shirts, some of them wearing sweatbands and gloves, Bellomarì explains that In Motion’s biggest shift has been its decision to start supplying what he calls “systems”. Rather than just upholstering pieces sent to Poltrona Frau, the business now makes everything from headliners – a car’s inside roof – to door panels. “We co-design with the original equipment manufacturers,” he says.

Though there’s plenty of powerful machinery at the plant, it’s clear that In Motion fits out vehicles in the same way as the rest of the Poltrona Frau business approaches furniture. That means it wouldn’t be anywhere without skilled artisans stretching, smoothing, cutting and checking the quality of the hides by eye. Red lasers projected onto the leather might help stitchers to maintain a straight line but technology is only intended as an aid to those carrying out the work. “We still work with our hands,” says Bellomarì. “This is something that often doesn’t get contemplated in the automotive industry.”

Later in the day of our visit, Monocle leaves Montegranaro for the brand’s headquarters, a short drive away in Tolentino – home to a brand museum designed by Michele de Lucchi. On hand to meet us in its café is Giovanni Maiolo, the general manager of Poltrona Frau In Motion. Maiolo joined the company in 2019 and has been responsible for much of its recent success. “Before our change of business model, we were just the last step in the value chain,” he says. “We have completely transformed our approach and started to work with the customer at the beginning of a project.”

In Motion has the advantage of servicing a luxury car industry in which the vehicles are often limited editions and maintain or increase their value over time. This makes the business largely recession-proof. Demand in the segment outstrips supply and Maiolo says that while there was a global slowdown in the furniture market last year, In Motion has been moving in the opposite direction, with an expected turnover of €120m this year. “We have increased turnover by 100 per cent in five years,” he says. “We are now considered a pillar of the group.”

In Motion is clearly a well-oiled machine – and it has to be in a business where a competitor doing something better or more quickly could lead to the loss of a vital contract. Its leather needs to behave in a different way to furniture upholstery too. Designer Bellomarì talks about it being more rigid and “having a completely different characteristic”. In the boating, car and aviation worlds, Poltrona Frau must strike the right balance between craft and performance. Exactly how hardy it needs to be becomes apparent at a testing lab, where leather is exposed to temperatures ranging from -30C to 115C and put through a stress test of being repeatedly tugged for as many as 100,000 cycles – an attempt to cover all bases for the sorts of extremes that the leather might be exposed to in its lifespan.

Daniele Gardini, the R&D leather manager, says that In Motion has about 10 leather collections and can provide the client with everything from digital printing to microembroidery to complete a custom look. The search for innovation is constant. Gardini says that metallic leather is a recent addition, something that has clearly been borrowed from the fashion-accessory world. One major breakthrough has been Poltrona Frau iBreathe, a product that came out of development in 2024. “We have been working on the lightness of leather,” he says. “Removing 10kg from the weight of a vehicle is a good saving for speed and fuel consumption.” It weighs less because there are wider spaces between the fibres in the fabric. Aesthetically, however, you wouldn’t know the difference.

Innovation is crucial to In Motion’s survival. If a declaration of intent were needed, it came in June 2024 when it bought a majority stake in KJ Ryan, a UK company based in the city of Coventry that makes high-end automotive components. It was Poltrona Frau’s first overseas acquisition. With Italy and the UK producing more than 80 per cent of the world’s luxury cars, it was a shrewd move from In Motion, which has worked in the country since 2007 and has clients including Rolls Royce, Bentley, Aston Martin and Range Rover. “The UK was already a market that we knew in some way,” says Maiolo. “But what we were missing was all the rest – everything connected with the culture.” The plan is to eventually shift more production to Coventry for local clients.

With more than 600 employees now spread between Italy and the UK, In Motion continues to move through the gears, even if its touch, in many ways, remains light. Poltrona Frau doesn’t make a song and dance about the work that it does at In Motion but Maiolo jokes that he needs to start talking about it to keep winning more clients and ensure a resilient future – which he has started to do more now that the “hardware” of the business model is airtight. With it, he hopes that the work of In Motion will soon be as recognised and requested in cars as a Bose stereo or a Brembo braking system. “Our goal is that in five years’ time, when you shop for a luxury car, the first thing you ask when looking inside it is, ‘Is this made by Poltrona Frau?’”

Vale Palheiro Earth Resort, a countryside retreat in Portugal that promises total relaxation

In the raw beauty of Portugal’s Costa Vicentina natural park, the ochre buildings that make up Vale Palheiro Earth Resort don’t just complement the surroundings – they were literally built from the earth beneath it. To erect the dozen structures perched on the verdant hillside, the hotel’s founders, Madalena and Pedro Rutkowski, turned to rammed-earth construction, a sustainable but labour-intensive method once popular in Portugal but long in disuse. “Very few people know how to build like this today so we needed specialised hands who started working on this project 12 years ago,” Madalena tells Monocle. Combined with dry-stone walls of local schist, and brick roofs and floors from the region’s still thriving pottery industry, this rural retreat feels as though it has always been there.

The attention to provenance carries through to the interiors, which have been designed by Lisbon’s Arkstudio. “The goal was to create comfort with these organic materials,” says Arkstudio principal Margarida Matias, who went through an exercise of her own to uncover regional materials and crafts suited to the terrain. Natural cotton fibres woven on traditional looms upholster generous wooden benches, with clay amphorae decorating tables and outside spaces. Thick, textured tapestries by artist Rita Sevilha adorn walls, where unpainted patches show the layers of the earth within. Meanwhile, windows open onto views of the surrounding valley, with whitewashed houses of nearby beach town Aljezur climbing the hill at a distance. “It was very important that everything felt integrated into the landscape,” says Matias. The result is decor with a rustic charm but an open, uncluttered feel.

Spread across 60 hectares, the accommodation is split between selfsufficient villas with kitchen and dining areas, and smaller but equally comfortable suites with high-domed ceilings. Vale Palheiro also has a pool, a wellness centre and a farm-to-table restaurant that draws on the estate’s hives, orchards and chicken coop, as well as seasonal ingredients from the surrounding region. Shaded porches invite slow afternoons with a book; games rooms come with fireplaces for cooler nights; and the rooftop terrace, equipped with firepits, is designed for stargazing. “We wanted to create plenty of space for contemplation,” says Matias. “Somewhere to read, draw and dream.”

Designer Harry Thaler’s breathtaking Dolomites farmhouse transformation

Stay at Ansitz Layshof, a new guesthouse in Merano’s Maia Alta neighbourhood, and you might well find the owners’ three children playing football on the garden lawn behind the historic property with new-found friends lodging for the weekend. “It’s a family-like atmosphere as it always has been,” says Christa Klotzner, who runs the place with her husband Andreas. “But now it’s for everyone.”

The beautiful, traditional South Tyrolean house – a stone’s throw from the Dolomites – can trace its history back to 1254 and has been in Andreas’s family for more than 150 years. Until recently, though, it was a private farmhouse. Even today, the tractor parked in a dark-wood barn round the corner from the main building points to Andreas’s main job, tending nearby fields. Hailing from the fifth generation of apple farmers, he grew up in the home with his five sisters, parents and nonna. “There was always family in the house visiting my grandmother,” he says.

With the passage of time, it became clear that the house needed work – and was too big for the family’s changing needs. “We got to a situation where we had to decide whether we wanted to go somewhere else to live or refurbish it,” says Christa. The couple, who took over the farm in 2013, decided on the latter, embarking on an ambitious two-year project that converted part of the space into a guesthouse. The work retained the beautiful wooden beams, old doors and stucco ceilings that date to the 18th century, focusing on much-needed structural updates such as restoring the roof and stabilising the structure. Happily for Christa, who jokes that she was always cold when she first moved in, there is now central heating throughout.

The five spacious guest apartments – all with kitchens and one with a private rooftop sauna – are set over the first and second floors, with the owners living at ground level. The rooms mix tasteful contemporary oak parquet with original pieces from the family, including traditionally painted Tyrolean cupboards and sturdy wooden beds.

At one point during the thorough renovation, the couple understood that they needed a designer’s magic touch. “When the work was almost done – and we had wanted to do a lot ourselves – we realised that we needed some help,” says Andreas. The couple drafted in a designer who grew up in Maia Alta, Harry Thaler, the man behind the Monocle Design Awards trophy, who had gone to school with one of Andreas’s sisters.

Thaler’s flourishes take Ansitz Layshof to the next level. As well as turning his attention to all the room lamps, he designed a mezzanine level in the “Weyer” apartment and advised on the rooms’ armchairs. But it’s his work in the firstfloor communal area that stands out the most. The huge, sculptural copper chandelier hangs from the ceiling above a circular sage-green sofa – also Thaler’s work – juxtaposing wonderfully with old paintings and a grandfather clock set against a wall. “When we saw how beautiful the restoration was,” says Christa, “we knew that we wanted to share it with others.”
layshof.com

A tour of the spectacular upgrade of Kämp, Finland’s first grand hotel

There are hotels and there are institutions – and Kämp in Helsinki is among the latter. Since opening in 1887, the country’s first grand hotel has been a discreet stage for diplomats, composers, artists and statesmen. Kämp didn’t just offer comfort: it introduced Finland to an entirely new vision of civility and cosmopolitan life. Beneath its soaring chandeliers, Helsinki’s high society gathered in the Mirror Room. Kämp housed one of Finland’s earliest cinemas, its American-style bar brought cocktail culture to the nation and its suites were the backdrop to cultural breakthroughs and political meetings that changed the course of history: including the founding of the newspaper of record and being a HQ for resisting the Soviets.

More than two decades since its last overhaul, Kämp is preparing for its next act. The €100m renovation isn’t simply a matter of upgrading rooms or adding floor space (though it will do both). “This is about staying relevant without becoming a museum,” says Tuomas Liewendahl, Kämp’s general manager. “It’s the setting, not the story itself. But, for it to serve people today and tomorrow, it needs a face-lift and a bit of modernisation.”

The renovation, which began in late 2023 and will continue in phases until 2026, is being overseen by Finnish architecture studio Sarc 1 Sigge, with interiors led by Helsinki-based Fyra and London’s Archer Humphryes Architects. The building will remain open throughout the revamp – no small feat when all of its 179 guest rooms, along with the public spaces, are being reimagined. The most visible change so far is the new extension into the adjacent Helander House, a historic building that will contain 22 suites and rooms and a new entrance to Esplanadi park. “This is where the city breathes,” says Liewendahl of the boulevard that cuts through central Helsinki. Kämp’s original entrance faced the bustling thoroughfare but, in recent decades, the hotel has been using other doors on the quieter Kluuvikatu street. This is now being reversed. A restored grand entrance, complete with a new reception, will open later this year.

The Helander House suites are notable not only for their size and views but also for the ways in which they accommodate modern travel trends. Four include kitchenettes, spacious wardrobes and cocktail stations with shakers and recipe cards. “We’re seeing longer stays, more private chefs, more people who treat their suite as a personal residence – so we designed for that,” says Liewendahl. Kämp will also offer a new spa, including two pools, a well-equipped gym, treatment rooms and – this being Finland – three saunas. The ambition is not just to pamper guests but to enhance their long-term wellbeing – an aim aligned with the global shift towards holistic travel. “We’re thinking about how people want to feel, not just what they want to see,” says Liewendahl.

The dining areas are also being upgraded. Kämp’s bar will be moved to make way for a new reception hall. An improved restaurant offering will anchor the ground floor, while a breakfast space on Kluuvikatu will serve as a florist and deli by day. The terrace spaces are being kitted out for year-round use too.

The hotel’s guests might include heads of state and international pop stars but it’s the personal connections that give Kämp its resonance. Staff members such as Anders Sjöblom, Kämp’s guest-relations manager, have worked here for more than 20 years. Liewendahl’s grandparents once danced in the Mirror Room; a photograph of the space was presented to him when he hosted a party in the same space. “There aren’t many hotels where the staff, the guests and the city all feel invested,” he says. “But Kämp has always been more than just rooms and keys.”
hotelkamp.com

Les Roches opens its first hospitality school in the Middle East, aiming to elevate the Emirates’ luxury industry

“When guests arrive, they should feel an Emirati welcome,” says Scott Richardson, the academic dean of Les Roches Abu Dhabi. We’re sitting in the sleek rotunda of the Swiss hospitality school’s new campus, where students in chef whites are bustling around us. Richardson’s phrasing distils a big shift in how the uae wants to present itself. For decades, luxury hospitality here was an import. It was delivered, sometimes falteringly, with European precision and Filipino and South Asian resilience – but rarely with a local voice. Things, however, are changing.

In a country known for building big and thinking bigger, a quiet back-of-house revolution is under way, complete with a well-choreographed turndown service. Abu Dhabi might be a capital more commonly associated with museum-scale statements but with Les Roches’ Middle East campus, it is betting on a different kind of soft power: fluency in five-star service, with an Emirati accent. Minutes by car from the Louvre and the forthcoming Guggenheim, the new campus is designed to back talent from within the region, not import it. While the original institution in Switzerland boasts alumni in top-tier hotels in cities from Singapore to New York, its UAE outpost is trying to localise leadership in an industry that has long been defined by transience.

“Being in Abu Dhabi is absolutely crucial to the success of this academy,” says its managing director, Georgette Davey. “Students can experience so much here.” She points to Abu Dhabi’s expanding cultural footprint – from global museum collaborations to the arrival of Disney – as part of a broader movement. “We’re teaching them about the diversity of the world of hospitality. It’s not just a hotel any more. It’s also about luxury retail and theme parks. It’s about corporate head offices too.”

Alumni and students are embedded across the capital and hospitality here is beginning to feel more elevated – and more Emirati. The next time a visitor checks in at a luxury hotel or enters a restaurant, the person greeting them might just be a local – fluent not only in service standards but also alive to cultural nuance. “We couldn’t just copy-and-paste a European model,” says Richardson. “Hospitality is cultural. It’s about how you make people feel.”

Davey agrees. “In our first intake, about a third of the students were uae nationals,” she says. “Now it’s closer to 95 per cent. We’ve even had requests to launch summer camps for 15-to-17-year-olds.”

Among those leading the shift is Abu Dhabi native Tahnoon Al Qubaisi. “As Emiratis, hospitality runs in our blood,” he says. “From an early age, we are taught to welcome, serve and honour our guests as a reflection of who we are.” Now on placement at Emirates Palace Mandarin Oriental, Al Qubaisi says that he sees hospitality not only as an industry but also as a cultural inheritance.

Richardson has plans to have more Emirati professors. “Up to this point, local professors were in engineering and petroleum but things will change,” he says. “We already have an Emirati professor teaching our hospitality culture course. He teaches respect for elders, open-door policy and being welcoming.”

There’s a business case for this shift in emphasis. “Abu Dhabi wants to provide 178,000 tourism-related jobs by 2030,” says Emirati student Mohammed Al Hammadi. “I want to see at least 78,000 of those being filled by Emiratis.”

“We’re already seeing the ripple effect,” adds Al Qubaisi. “Emirati and non-Emirati students are gaining experience at top five-star hotels, government tourism entities, museums, historical attractions and more. This is the beginning of something truly powerful.”
lesroches.edu