By now, you’ve likely scrolled past at least a dozen Instagram Stories captioned “LIDOooo 🐚☀️🎶” featuring blurry shots of someone’s £18 canned cocktail and the unmistakable shimmer of a sequinned co-ord in the Victoria Park sun. Welcome to LIDO—London’s new 10-day festival that somehow made sustainability cool, turned headliners into curators, and gave us the most fashion-forward crowd this side of Paris Fashion Week. If Glastonbury is a muddy rite of passage, LIDO is its polished, pop-literate, sound-obsessed younger cousin, with better coffee and a crowd that actually cares about SPF. The inaugural edition wrapped on Sunday with a cinematic headline set by London Grammar—yes, that band whose music you only realise you've been crying to on public transport after the third verse kicks in. The trio brought their signature widescreen melancholy to the festival’s final night, with Hannah Reid’s vocals soaring over Victoria Park like they were hand-delivered by a Hermes courier. Their cover of Kavinsky’s ‘Nightfall’ was unexpectedly tender, while songs like ‘Wasting My Young Years’ and ‘House’ gave the kind of sonic catharsis only found when you’re three cocktails deep and swaying in a field that smells vaguely of Diptyque and drizzle. But LIDO wasn’t just about closing night—it was a cultural moment wrapped in curated soundscapes, surprise celeb sightings (hello, Harry Styles), and sustainability that wasn’t performative. This is, after all, a festival that opened with a 100% battery-powered day designed by Massive Attack, who brought out Elizabeth Fraser, Yasiin Bey, and Horace Andy like it was a casual Tuesday. When a festival starts with that much taste, you stay until the end. Each day was programmed entirely by the headliner, a format that gave rise to beautifully chaotic bills that felt more like a playlist than a lineup. On Saturday, Charli XCX presented Party Girl , a hyperpop fever dream starring Gesaffelstein, 070 Shake, and A. G. Cook. There was a surprise appearance by Amelia Dimoldenberg, who led the ‘Apple’ dance (if you know, you know), and a few rumoured cameos in the crowd—namely Harris Dickinson and Paul Mescal, whose mere presence somehow made the VIP section look even more exclusive. Friday brought Outbreak Fest to London for the first time, led by Turnstile, who delivered a headline set so kinetic it might’ve shifted tectonic plates beneath Hackney. And if you needed a moment to recover, Jamie xx’s day offered just the right kind of euphoria, with B2B sets from Skrillex, Shy FX, Nia Archives, and a surprise The xx reunion. Did Harry Styles dance in the crowd? Yes. Was he wearing something sheer and fabulous? Of course. But LIDO also had its softer moments. Sunday opened with spoken-word meets lo-fi groove from Dan Whitlam, followed by the Wasia Project (aka Will Gao and Olivia Hardy), whose dream-pop-meets-classical vibe is perfect for anyone who once studied piano but now prefers synths and feelings. Clementine Douglas played a new track called ‘Tokyo’ that basically begs for a club remix, and The White Gates Band brought Essex rock realness to a third stage affectionately dubbed “The Club.” The fashion? Think gauzy trousers, archival Jean Paul Gaultier, and the kind of deconstructed tanks only achievable if your full-time job is being very online . Celeste arrived in front of a swaying crowd for her main stage set and proved that she’s not only London’s sonic siren but also the queen of vibey existentialism. ‘Could Be a Machine’ tackled our slow descent into techno-human ambiguity, while unreleased track ‘Only Time Will Tell’ already feels like a future festival classic. And then there was Róisín Murphy. Icon, shape-shifter, technicolour priestess. Emerging in something between a dreamcoat and a fever dream, she opened with Moloko’s ‘Pure Pleasure Seeker’ and didn’t let up until the front row had practically collapsed into her outstretched arm bearing long-stem roses. If there was a religion that revolved around Róisín Murphy, LIDO just became its first cathedral. Meanwhile, Pip Millett offered the kind of set that makes you want to quit your job and start journaling again. Her take on ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ was soft and honest, and she reminded the crowd—many of whom were probably hearing live R&B for the first time since 2020—that connection is still possible through a mic and a bit of good reverb. There was even space for nostalgia. Maverick Sabre performed ‘Can’t Be Wrong’ stripped-back with just vocals and guitar, before slipping back into full-band soul mode. “This year marks my 20th year doing shows,” he told the crowd. A few people gasped audibly. Some of them weren’t born yet. Underpinning the whole operation was LIDO’s crisp ML3A sound system from Martin Audio, which deserves its own headliner slot. It delivered the kind of detail that lets you hear the sharp intake of breath before a lyric or the subtle rise in synth you’d otherwise miss on a Bluetooth speaker. Tech heads were whispering the name Robb Allan (the engineer behind it all) like it was a luxury password. More than a music festival, LIDO was an expression of taste—of who’s next , who’s still iconic , and who can make you feel something in a field of strangers. A festival curated by artists, not marketers. One that took sustainability seriously but never sanctimoniously. And above all, one that let London be cool in a way that wasn’t try-hard, just honest. The bar for music festivals has been raised, and it’s wearing tinted sunglasses, sipping iced matcha, and humming ‘Strong’ as the sun sets over Victoria Park.

The Charles Hotel in Munich has always been that sort of place — discreetly opulent, confidently five-star, and, like a well-cut Max Mara coat, quietly elegant in every season. But this summer, the Rocco Forte property has unveiled a bold new look, one that trades buttoned-up classicism for a more botanical, design-forward glamour. A Lobby That Says, “Yes, You’ve Arrived” The newly redesigned lobby makes a first impression in the way that only truly great hotels can — dramatically, but never shouty. There’s a grand floral display on a central table, sculptures that nod to classicism without veering into cliché, and curved plasterwork by French artist François Mascarello that’s more gallery wall than hotel wall. It’s elegant, it’s surprising, and it’s exactly the kind of space you’d expect to check into while carrying Loewe. Florio Restaurant & Bar: A Greenhouse, but Make It Chic The updated Florio Restaurant & Bar, named for Italy’s famously decadent 19th-century industrialist family, feels like it was designed for the Instagram age — though thankfully, not just for it. Italian culinary icon and Rocco Forte’s Creative Director of Food, Fulvio Pierangelini, has crafted a menu inspired by the nearby Old Botanical Garden. Think: moss-green linen wallpaper, silvery olive trees, and prints of flora that are more Fornasetti than farmer’s market. The newly launched Florio Bar continues the theme with rainforest-green marble and strelitzias so tall they practically deserve their own suite. Drinks are very much in the Italian aperitivo tradition — expect Campari, but elevated — and the setting is perfect for mid-afternoon Negronis or post-opera gossip. There’s also a Private Dining Room, which by day hosts breakfast beneath floral murals and by night transforms into the kind of space where you might accidentally share too much over Chianti. And outside, a 200-square-metre terrace beckons with wrought-iron furniture, oversized parasols, and those elusive balmy Munich evenings. The vibe is curated garden party, but the lighting (thank you, Haberdashery) is pure jewellery box — 258 porcelain leaves, some glazed in actual precious metals, hanging from near-invisible threads. The Circle Bar: Because Not Everything Should Be a Square And then there’s Circle Bar, whose name is a nod to the room’s shape — and, in a slightly more conceptual twist, to a red steel ring sculpture by Italian artist Mauro Staccioli that sits in front of the hotel. If Florio is where you go to see and be seen, Circle is where you go when you want to be lightly seen — over champagne, patisserie, and polite murmurs about the current state of European art collecting. Why It Matters Luxury hotels relaunch all the time. But The Charles’ new look feels different — not just another facelift, but a point-of-view shift. It’s rare that a hotel refresh manages to be both aesthetically relevant and emotionally resonant. This one does both, managing to capture something we don’t talk about enough in luxury: joy. It’s colourful, it’s confident, and yes, it smells faintly of jasmine. With this renovation, The Charles has positioned itself not just as one of Munich’s most luxurious hotels, but one of its most fashionable. And in a city that’s not always known for taking risks in design, that’s no small feat. Dining & Drinking at The Charles Hotel: Florio Restaurant Open daily Lunch: 12:00–14:30 Dinner: 18:00–22:30 (kitchen closes at 22:00) Florio Bar Sunday–Thursday: 12:00–00:00 Friday–Saturday: 12:00–01:00 Terrace (weather permitting): 12:00–23:00 Circle Bar (Lobby) Daily: 10:30–20:00

Let’s start with the facts. A custom-built Porsche 911 Targa—glossed in period-correct Metallic Nachtblau and finished with brushed aluminium details—has just been unveiled at Hotel Byblos in Saint-Tropez. It costs precisely €370,067. The number is not arbitrary. “67” nods to the year Hotel Byblos opened its famously pastel-hued doors to the jet set, which then included Brigitte Bardot, Mick Jagger, and anyone who could credibly wear white flares with a tan. It is called the Byblos B00 (pronounced “boo,” in case you’re wondering), and like most things in Saint-Tropez, it’s as much about a feeling as it is a thing. Created in collaboration with Hedonic Machines, a boutique French atelier best known for its bespoke restorations of classic vehicles, the B00 isn’t just a car. It’s an homage to a very specific kind of 1970s excess—the good kind. The kind with disco. And chiffon. And that curious ability to appear both totally undone and utterly composed, even while peeling down a coastal road with a Gitanes between your fingers. Hotel Byblos, for the unfamiliar (read: anyone who has never flipped through a Slim Aarons coffee table book), is something of a Mediterranean icon. Tucked into the heart of Saint-Tropez, it has long been a playground for rock stars, fashion royalty, and actual royalty looking to disappear under the Provençal sun. The hotel itself has long dabbled in the art of icon-making. Its nightclub, Les Caves du Roy, is still the kind of place where you might overhear a billionaire ask a model if she’d like to see his boat, and where the DJ probably has better jewellery than you do. So, it makes a certain kind of sense that Byblos would collaborate with Hedonic Machines on a custom Porsche. And not just any Porsche—a Targa, one of the more photogenic models of the early ’70s, known for its distinctive roll bar, removable roof, and the kind of rakish profile that begs to be valet parked next to a martini. But let’s talk details. The B00 stays true to its roots. From the elongated bonnet to the upright windscreen and brushed steel roll cage, the car retains the essential DNA of the original 911 Targa. Its bodywork has been painstakingly reimagined by Hedonic’s artisans, with special touches like a backlit Targa roll bar and hand-engraved aluminium panels. Inside, it’s all beige full-grain leather and polished restraint—if your idea of restraint involves digitally re-skinned dials in Byblos blue and subtle nods to Saint-Tropez’s most glamorous decade. The analogue instrument panel has been replaced with a bespoke digital system that merges retro flair with millennial legibility. You can feel the Hedonic ethos at work here: a reverence for mechanical heritage with a clear refusal to be stuck in the past. The engine has been rebuilt and converted to fuel injection, so you get all the purr and torque of the original with none of the temperamental mood swings. Even the sound system—a nod to Les Caves du Roy—is discreetly built in. Because if you’re going to drive through Ramatuelle at dusk with Sade on the speakers and your scarf in the wind, you might as well do it properly. According to Antoine Chevanne, the third-generation owner of Floirat Signatures (which operates Byblos), the car is “a marvellous addition to its new Owner’s collection this summer.” Capital O included. One assumes said Owner will also be summering in Saint-Tropez, where the B00 will be on display starting June 21. And while €370,067 may seem excessive for a vintage-meets-futurist weekend cruiser, let’s be honest: for the Byblos guest who travels with their own staff and only wears vintage Cartier when diving into the pool, it’s practically reasonable. The B00 is more than just a car. It’s a statement. One that says, “I remember when luxury was playful. When glamour had grit. And when the only algorithm that mattered was the one that got you into the VIP room at Les Caves.” In other words, it’s Saint-Tropez distilled.

In the race to charm both the collector and the cocktail crowd, distilleries are trying just about everything short of aging whisky in lava. But Ad Gefrin, the Northumberland-based distillery tucked inside an Anglo-Saxon museum (because of course it is), is doing something refreshingly old-school: making heritage feel exciting. The name Tácnbora (Old English for “standard bearer,” in case your medieval linguistics is rusty) isn’t just a historical flex. It’s also the through-line for Ad Gefrin’s growing whisky story, one that leads to their first Single Malt release next year. But for now, we’re left with just 1,800 to 2,000 bottles of this Cognac-finished expression—and yes, there’s already a membership list if you’re the type who likes bottle #1. Expect honey, raisin, and sandalwood on the nose; apricots and fudge on the palate; and a finish that’s basically your countryside dreamscape in flavour form: gorse flowers and freshly cut wood. It's giving Game of Thrones, but with a better aftertaste. Is it niche? Definitely. Is it indulgent? Of course. But that’s the point. With this release, Ad Gefrin isn’t just making whisky—they’re making a moment. You can purchase your bottle here .

If you’ve been paying attention to the subtle yet unmistakable shift in the wine world—the way fashion types have suddenly started name-dropping Stellenbosch and corking bottles of Swartland Chenin like it’s Chablis—you’ll know that South Africa is having a moment. A long-overdue one. But if there were ever a wine label poised to turn that moment into a movement, it might just be Belle Montagne . Launched this year out of South Africa’s Franschhoek Valley, Belle Montagne is the kind of brand that doesn’t whisper about exclusivity—it builds a wine club so selective you have to apply to join. With its debut cuvée, a 2022 Cabernet Sauvignon of which only 1,000 bottles exist, the label is positioning itself as less a vineyard, more a luxury maison. And it’s working. The wine, a layered expression of dark fruit, chocolate, and dried herbs, was created in collaboration with award-winning winemaker Coenie Snyman , who calls it “structured and ageable,” though it’s already drinking beautifully. It’s not just the wine that’s turning heads. Every detail—from the hand-stitched leather strap sealing the bottle to the Italian-textured Fedrigoni paper wrapping and velvet-lined wooden box—feels more Louis Vuitton trunk than winery merch. Behind the label are Nick and Roslyn Holland , a South African couple with global taste and what seems like a designer’s eye for storytelling. Rather than simply slap their names on a label, they’ve gone full couture. The duo took over a historic Franschhoek farm, uprooted its underperforming 25-year-old vines, and began again—literally. With help from Vinpro, South Africa’s leading wine body, they mapped the terrain using heat sensors and soil analysis to replant for the long game. The estate’s first estate-grown vintage will be ready in 2027. Until then, this 2022 Cabernet serves as both a teaser and a statement of intent. The label’s membership model mirrors the drop-culture mechanics of streetwear and the scarcity-driven tactics of luxury skincare. Only 500 memberships are available globally. Members receive three annual cuvées—Cabernet, Chardonnay, and Shiraz—delivered at their optimal release moments. Think of it as a wine calendar curated by someone who understands both terroir and timing. And while the bottles are rare, the brand isn’t shy about its ambition. “Belle Montagne,” the press notes read, is not just a wine club, but “a symbol of African ambition, refinement, and excellence.” That may sound lofty, but maybe it’s time the global wine conversation got a little less French—and a lot more bold. Applications for Belle Montagne’s Members Club are now open. Just don’t expect a waiting list—you’ll need a velvet rope-worthy reason to get in.

There’s something undeniably charming about entering a bakery and heading upstairs to a hidden tea room—as though you’ve stumbled upon a well-kept secret that Chelsea women would rather you not know about. That’s exactly the feeling Bread Ahead conjures with The Tea House, its new afternoon tea concept perched above the much-loved Pavilion Road bakery. Bread Ahead may be best known for its pillow-soft doughnuts and queues of tourists outside Borough Market, but this foray into the more rarefied world of afternoon tea is a subtle flex—and a rather good one. Founded by Matthew Jones, the brand has always tiptoed the line between classic and cultish, but The Tea House brings its patisserie credentials centre stage with an offering that feels at once traditional, generous, and knowingly unfussy. Bread Ahead may be best known for its pillow-soft doughnuts and queues of tourists outside Borough Market, but this foray into the more rarefied world of afternoon tea is a subtle flex—and a rather good one. Founded by Matthew Jones, the brand has always tiptoed the line between classic and cultish, but The Tea House brings its patisserie credentials centre stage with an offering that feels at once traditional, generous, and knowingly unfussy. The menu is both familiar and self-assured. We began with pots of Fortnum & Mason loose-leaf tea—Earl Grey and Royal Blend—elegantly poured and served with all the ceremony you’d expect, minus the pomp. Soon after, the first course arrived: the bridge rolls. These are often forgettable—supermarket-style buns stuffed with uninspired fillings, more canapé than culinary moment—but here, they were a quiet triumph. The cloud-soft texture of the rolls, paired with pulled meats and carefully balanced flavours, made for an unexpected delight: London smoked salmon with lemon butter, bright and briny Coronation chicken, creamy but never cloying Egg mayonnaise sharpened with mustard cress—so balanced it would satisfy even the pickiest eater Cucumber with whipped cream cheese and dill—a nod to tradition, reimagined with freshness Then came the showstopper: a three-tiered tray, the kind that demands a moment of quiet admiration. The middle tier, in particular, was a carousel of nostalgic British bakes—each one precise, thoughtful, and baked with real technical finesse. We devoured a flawless traditional Battenberg (light as air), a jammy apricot and almond tart with a hint of lemon thyme, and a decadent Matthew’s chocolate cake layered with raspberries and even more dark chocolate. Rich, unapologetic, and utterly satisfying. On the top tier, the scones—still warm from the oven, crisp-edged and pillowy inside. Both plain and fruit, served with Cornish clotted cream, strawberry jam, and a zingy lemon curd. If you judge an afternoon tea by its scones (and you absolutely should), these could make a convert of you. At £35 per person, it’s more accessible than many of its West End counterparts and all the more special for it. There’s no hotel lobby clatter, no need to whisper. It’s relaxed, well-paced, and just the right level of indulgent. For those wanting to take things further, The Tea House now offers afternoon tea masterclasses—hands-on, intimate sessions where you can learn to craft these bakes yourself. Just don’t be surprised if your scones don’t quite reach Bread Ahead standards. It’s rare to find an afternoon tea that feels as personal as it is polished. The Tea House is that rare gem: rooted in tradition, elevated by skill, and entirely worth the indulgence.