On safari, you spend a surprising amount of time waiting. It started the moment I stepped off the plane, waiting for my luggage.

After three increasingly desperate circuits of the baggage carousel, it became clear that while I'd made it to Kilimanjaro Airport, my suitcase had not. Around me, a gaggle of befuddled travellers formed. Rumours spread, predictions were made (the winning guess being that yes, our luggage wouldn't arrive for at least another 72 hours). As more disgruntled passengers joined our little union, I became something of an authority on the situation. I knew nothing, but why let a lack of knowledge get in the way of a leadership position?

At the time, losing my luggage—or rather, KLM losing my luggage—felt irritating, but in hindsight it seems like an appropriate introduction to safari, which, I'd learn, involves an astonishing amount of waiting. There's waiting for luggage, waiting for weather, waiting for movement, waiting for animals; waiting for something to happen.

I didn't know it yet, but I arrived in Tanzania needing exactly that lesson.

I wanted Tanzania to change my outlook on life, broaden my horizons. Ultimately, I wanted it to make me happier. That's an enormous burden to place on a holiday, but perhaps a distinctly modern one. Increasingly, we don't simply want experiences to entertain us; we want them to transform us. We want our holidays to return us to our lives as better versions of ourselves.

At Gran Meliá Arusha, each morning began with the aroma of coffee harvested on the estate, poured into mottled glass coffee cups handblown by artisans from Sanaa—a pioneering on-site social enterprise that teaches traditional crafts to disabled locals. On the rooftop, we’d gorge on fresh pastries, tropical fruit, eggs cooked to order, and uji, a warm millet porridge lightly spiced with cardamom and cinnamon as Mount Meru hovered in and out of the misty view. It was the last place where my usual pace made sense. I was in Tanzania, but mentally still in London, refreshing emails, thinking about deadlines and wondering what I was going to do with all these experiences—how I might turn them into something.

Even on the drive from Gran Meliá Arusha to Ngorongoro, I found myself caught between observation and expectation. Outside the window were flooded roads, livestock, motorbikes and Maasai children shepherding cattle through impossibly vivid landscapes. I was in awe, but overwhelmed by the desire to capture everything.

Our next stop was Ngorongoro Crater, the world's largest intact volcanic caldera and a UNESCO World Heritage Site home to around 25,000 animals, including the Big Five. Perched on the edge of the ancient crater, Ngorongoro Lodge Meliá Collection reopened in 2023 following an extensive renovation that has integrated the sprawling, open-plan property with both the landscape and Maasai culture. Inspired by local traditions, the lodge blends earthy textures, traditional patterns and artwork from Sanaa with expansive windows that pull your attention to the caldera below.

Built in 1969, Ngorongoro Lodge was the first permanent lodge on the crater rim. More than half a century later, it remains one of only a handful in the conservation area, its unrivalled position making even its design-led interiors feel secondary.

The crater itself changes by the minute as light shifts across the floor and clouds roll in and out. On our first evening, we watched local Maasai leaders stop mid-performance and simultaneously crane their necks towards the caldera.

"Wildebeest," they whispered. "How on earth do they know?" we wondered. A fellow guest pulled out a pair of binoculars and... nothing. The binoculars were passed around to no avail until one of the Maasai men, playfully despairing of us, directed our eyes towards a clearing beside the softly shimmering water far, far below. Even with binoculars, we could barely make out the animals, yet every Maasai man had heard them.

Later, back in my room, staring out over the crater, I found myself unexpectedly teary. Sure, the cynic in me could've put it down to the generous pours of South African red I'd enjoyed over a long dinner built around local ingredients—smoked fish, grilled meats and dishes that fused African flavours with Mediterranean influences—served against a backdrop of crater views. But beyond the jubilations of the staff greeting us in song and the awesomeness of the landscape before me, I suspected something else was at play.

The world seemed both thrown into sharp perspective and a million miles from what I thought I knew it to be. I had the sudden feeling that life here is what it should be—not so much living in a luxury hotel, but living in symbiosis with nature and the other animals we share this planet with. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been getting everything so far wrong.

And yet even as I stood in front of one of the most extraordinary landscapes on earth, part of me remained tethered to the life I'd left behind. Perhaps that was the first clue that this trip wasn't just going to teach me how to slow down; it was going to show me how difficult I found it.

The following morning, we descended into the crater itself. What struck me first wasn't just the wildlife, which I'd spent months anticipating, but the scale. Looking down from the rim the night before, the crater had seemed almost abstract, too vast to properly take in. On the ground, however, it was alive with the weight of 2.5 million years of history.

Lions lounged in the grass, post-coital. Our guide explained that during mating season, they'll—to quote Bloodhound Gang—"do it like they do on the Discovery Channel" every 15 to 20 minutes, 24 hours a day. We stayed for a few performances, but once the claim had been confirmed, we began to feel oddly predatory. It’s an uneasy contradiction when an apex predator seems to occupy the moral high ground, so on we drove.

Elsewhere in the crater, hippos surfaced briefly before disappearing beneath the water again like shiny boulders we'd easily have missed were it not for our eagle-eyed guide, Alex. Herds moved slowly across the landscape, and even the migration we were so fortunate to witness didn't seem hurried. Nothing seemed concerned with efficiency; the animals weren't performing for us, and the landscape was indifferent to our presence.

The wild operated entirely independently of our expectations; there was no app to track a leopard sighting, no shortcuts. Back home, waiting is something to be eliminated. Here, it was the experience.

The lesson seemed baked into life at Ngorongoro Lodge itself. Having finally been reunited with our luggage, we were due to head for dinner when a member of staff suggested we delay it. The weather forecast had predicted clouds, but there was a chance the sunset might be worth sticking around for. So we waited.

When we returned to the rooftop, a crescent moon of chairs had been laid out facing the crater. Apricot gave way to orange; orange deepened into a moody shade of pink. Then, just when it seemed the sunset was over, the clouds cracked open like a hard-boiled egg, hairline fractures spreading across the horizon as lightning flickered through the distance. Not for the first time, as a storm rolled across the crater, I found myself thinking how Lion King-like it all felt.

The feeling followed me into the Serengeti. Built into the naturally terraced slopes of the Nyamuma Hills, Meliá Serengeti Lodge seems to follow the contours of the landscape; rooms spill out towards sweeping views of the savannah, while neutral colours, natural materials and Maasai-inspired details (again, by Sanaa) ensure attention remains firmly fixed on the plains beyond.

I’d wake before sunrise with every intention of sorting through yesterday’s photos, driven by a familiar urge to document and distil the experience before it had even finished unfolding, only to find myself distracted by the view instead. From the balcony, the Serengeti looked different every morning as light shifted across the grasslands. The landscape was never static, yet nothing about it felt rushed.

The lodge seemed to operate according to the same rhythm. Time was measured not by meetings or notifications but by game drives, meals (oh, how there were meals) and whatever wildlife happened to wander into view. Local Maasai guides patrol the grounds and escort guests back to their rooms each night.

It was on one of these walks that I learnt that a few nights ago, a leopard was headed for reception when Mompati intercepted it. "They see this red," he said, pointing to the traditional shuka he wore. "They run." I was glad to have Mompati’s company, his spear never far from his side. After dark, the lodge sounded different. Hyenas whooped somewhere beyond the floodlit paths while insects provided a relentless soundtrack.

On our first game drive, the landscape at first glance appeared empty. We'd drive through vast grasslands beneath enormous skies while Alex scanned the horizon with almost supernatural focus. Then someone would point towards what appeared to be absolutely nothing. We'd squint, pull out the ever-ready binoculars and still see nothing. Until slowly, a tuft of grass would move just so and, impossibly, an entire cheetah would emerge from the landscape.

The Serengeti is never empty; I simply hadn't learned how to see it yet.

If modern life rewards scanning, then safari life rewards attention—and patience. The more time I spent looking, the more I noticed. Birds circling overhead, vultures gathering in the distance, grimly devouring a fallen wildebeest. Tiny movements in long grass; clues that something was about to happen. The wild refused to perform on demand, and in an age of instant gratification, that's what made it feel all the more precious.

Even conversations had slowed. Tucking into grilled lobster, served family-style beneath a smattering of stars in the bush after an especially memorable walking safari, entire discussions were dedicated to what we'd spotted that day and which animal each of us had found most enchanting.

It was hard to choose just one. That, too, forced us to slow down, to revisit days organised around game drives and meals rather than emails and deadlines. Lunch one day was served in the crater, where the hotel's head chef barbecued giant prawns and great hunks of meat while an elephant looked on, totally nonplussed.

The rhythm of Tanzania seeped into everything. On our penultimate day, long before dawn, we climbed into a hot-air balloon and rose surprisingly peacefully above the plains.

Below us, elephants moved through the grassland, buffalo gathered in vast herds looking like a colony of ants from our vantage point, and that famous horizon stretched endlessly in every direction. And yet even then, a tension emerged: I didn't want to miss anything, but I also didn't want to forget anything.

Throughout the trip, I'd found myself caught between experiencing and recording. I photographed animals, filmed the sky as it splintered with lightning, and filled pages of notebooks each morning before sunrise to the sound of cicadas and the smell of African sage.

I wanted to preserve every detail, but I also kept returning to the same question: would the experience be richer without a camera between me and the moment? I still don't know.

Today, I am grateful to have the photos and videos, but they pale in comparison to how it felt to be there, turning a corner to see a pride of lionesses, one lazily flopping into the shade cast by our jeep, offering a closeness I hadn't dared imagine was possible.

One afternoon, we watched a lone buffalo wallowing in a muddy pool while a warthog repeatedly attempted—and failed—to approach. The buffalo clearly wasn't in a rush. Why should he be?

The warthog would have to wait—it's simply part of life in the wild.

When Milly Goldsmith uploaded a TikTok describing herself as “chronically single”, she thought a handful of people might relate. Instead, millions watched, and thousands of women flooded the comments to admit they'd never had a boyfriend either, confessing feelings they'd not shared out loud: that they felt left behind, embarrassed or convinced something must be wrong with them.

For Goldsmith, the response was a revelation. For years, she'd believed she was the only woman approaching 30 who'd never experienced romantic love. Instead, she’s since been called the voice of a generation and “the Gen Z Bridget Jones”.

Here, she reflects on shame, loneliness, people-pleasing and grieving the life she thought she'd have by now, and explains why she's finally stopped seeing being single as her greatest failure.

What It Feels Like To Have Never Had A Boyfriend

As told to Mischa Smith

I always thought getting a boyfriend was something that would just happen. It seemed like one of those milestones everyone reached without really thinking about it, like learning to drive or moving out. Everyone around me just seemed to find someone naturally, so I assumed the same thing would happen to me.

It wasn't until I was about 18 that I realised maybe it wasn't going to be that straightforward. By the end of school, I'd never had a boyfriend. I'd barely spoken to many boys, and all of my friends were starting relationships. At first, it was just something I noticed in the back of my mind, but over the years, that feeling slowly turned into fear.

I got to university and still hadn't had a boyfriend. I hadn't even had a situationship, and the longer I stayed single, the more it became my normal. Being independent became my comfort zone, so the idea of letting somebody into my life started to feel unfamiliar, and because it felt unfamiliar, it also felt frightening.

Even now, relationships are still this huge unknown to me because I've never experienced anything different. Love is such a huge shared human emotion, and I haven't really experienced that side of it. For something that's such a fundamental part of so many people's lives, it can feel quite isolating. There's definitely a sense of fear, but there's also a huge amount of FOMO.

I think the turning point came after Christmas in 2024. I come from a family of four siblings, and Christmas has always been loud. There are loads of people in the house, presents everywhere, food everywhere, games, and conversations. I absolutely love Christmas. But that year, all of my siblings were with their partners and for the first time ever, it was just my parents and me.

If I'd had a partner, I would've been doing exactly the same thing as everyone else. Instead, I felt like I'd been left behind. Not just within my family, but somehow in life itself. I remember sitting there thinking: why? Why does this seem so easy for everybody else? Why can't I experience something that everyone else seems to experience naturally?

I'd been going to therapy already, but I'd never really spoken about being single. I think part of that was because I hadn't fully acknowledged how much it affected me, and the moment I said it out loud, it would become real. It would stop being something I could blame on bad luck or bad dates or bad men.

Deep down, I think I knew there was something about me that I needed to understand, but I wasn't ready to face it yet. Then I started journaling. I'd never really journaled before, but suddenly I had all these emotions that needed somewhere to go. There was a lot of crying, a lot of confusion, and a lot of anger.

I kept thinking: why me? As I wrote, I slowly started connecting the dots. One of the biggest revelations was learning about attachment styles. I'm an anxious avoidant, which is probably one of the worst combinations if you're trying to build relationships. I need enough space to realise I actually want somebody, but by the time I've taken that space, I've usually pushed them away.

To someone else, it looks like I'm not interested; to me, it feels like I finally feel safe enough to let them in, but by then, they're already gone. That cycle suddenly explained so much about my life.

One of the strangest parts of all this has been talking about it publicly. When I first made a TikTok about being "chronically single", I genuinely thought people would think I was weird. I honestly didn't know anybody else who'd reached 28 without ever having a proper relationship.

I uploaded the video without overthinking it, which is unusual for me because I'm a perfectionist. I just wrote honestly about how I felt. Then it exploded. Suddenly, thousands of women were commenting, saying they felt exactly the same way, which completely changed my perspective because I'd spent years believing I was the odd one out.

The more I started understanding myself, the more I realised this wasn't just about dating, it was about the way I'd learnt to protect myself. One thing therapy made me think about was how difficult I find vulnerability.

Saying "I love you" to my parents honestly feels like saying a swear word. Everything in my body just tenses up.

It feels like I'm stripping away every layer I've built around myself. Every wall I've spent years putting up suddenly comes crashing down. They're only three words, but they carry so much weight. I just haven't had enough practice saying them to make them feel normal.

Even now, after my parents have read the chapter in my book where I write about this, my whole body tenses up knowing they know how I feel. There's still a small version of me that's trying to protect herself.

Growing up, love wasn't really expressed through words in our family; it was always through actions. My mum would cook dinner, and she'd give me a hug. My dad would give me £10 after a dance exam and tell me he'd been proud of me, that was our version of saying, I love you.

I know my parents love me; I've never doubted that for a second. It was just something that went unsaid. Now that I'm older, I can see how growing up in an environment where we didn't verbalise those feelings has shaped me. It makes sense why opening up to people doesn't always come naturally. It's something I'm still trying to unlearn.

With some people, saying "I love you" feels completely natural. One of my best friends says it to me all the time, so I say it back really easily because I know there isn't any risk. I know it'll be received in exactly the way I intend it.

The same is true with my nieces; I'm always telling them how loved they are because I want them to grow up hearing those words. Maybe there's a part of me that's trying to give them something I would've found easier to hear growing up.

I don't think I'm broken; I just think some relationships require me to unlearn habits that have been there for a very long time. The same thing happened with people-pleasing; for years, I thought I was simply being kind. I thought changing my plans to suit somebody else or making myself endlessly available was just what nice people did. I didn't even know what boundaries were. Therapy taught me that being a kind person and being a people pleaser aren't the same thing.

When it came to dating, I'd let people move dates three or four times because I didn't want them to think I was difficult. I'd convince myself it was absolutely fine. Now I realise I could've said, "No, this day works, or it doesn't." That isn't rude; that's self-respect. I think there were lots of moments where I could've respected myself more.

For a long time, I worried more about whether someone else was annoyed with me than whether I was happy. I was constantly moulding myself to fit other people. Eventually, I had to ask myself a really uncomfortable question: If I'm changing myself depending on who's in the room… Who am I?

For years, I believed being single meant I'd failed somehow, that there must be something wrong with me. Now I see being single completely differently.

It's actually the default; it's where we all begin. It's given me an incredible amount of independence: I can travel on my own, spend weekends on my own, enjoy my own company, and I know myself incredibly well. Some people joke that maybe I know myself too well now.

Of course, there are moments where I think it would be lovely to have someone to book holidays with, cook dinner with or go to the cinema with. I'm still human, I still want love. But I don't see being single as something that's wrong with me anymore.

That's probably been the biggest shift of all.

When Conor McGregor, the UFC fighter whom an Irish civil jury found had raped Nikita Hand, walked onto one of America's most-watched talk shows, there was no difficult conversation or acknowledgement of that finding. Instead, there were jokes, promotion and the whirring machinery of celebrity rehabilitation.

It is hard to imagine a clearer message to survivors of sexual violence: even when the court believes you, the court of public opinion is ready to move on.

The Tonight Show appearance was far from an isolated incident. This came despite a court hearing medical evidence that doctors had documented extensive bruising across Hand's body following the assault, while a paramedic testified she had "not seen someone so bruised, with that intensity of bruising" in a long time. Yet just two months after the verdict, McGregor made his first major public appearance, attending Donald Trump's inauguration in Washington, D.C., no less.

That appearance was followed by a string of other high-profile outings, including another visit to the White House, as well as interviews with Tucker Carlson and Fox's Sean Hannity. Neither interviewer addressed the civil case, instead allowing McGregor a platform to sound off about immigration and his presidential ambitions.

We often talk about why victims don't come forward. We list shame, fear of not being believed, and the trauma of reliving an assault in court. All of those barriers are real. But there is another question we ask far less often: what incentive do survivors have to endure years of investigation and legal proceedings if the person they accuse appears able to resume public life almost immediately afterwards?

This week, the Crown Prosecution Service announced changes designed to make rape trials fairer for victims. Prosecutors are being encouraged to focus more on a suspect's pattern of behaviour, rather than placing survivors under the microscope. As Victims' Commissioner Claire Waxman said, survivors need confidence that they will be treated with "dignity, respect and fairness" throughout the justice process.

These are welcome reforms, but justice doesn't end when a verdict is delivered.

If the legal system is working harder than ever to encourage victims to come forward while wider culture continues welcoming powerful men back onto our screens, we create an impossible contradiction. We tell survivors that reporting matters while showing them that accountability may only last as long as the news cycle. "We all know reporting is essential for change but society must hold up its end of the bargain," says Tabitha Morton, Executive Director, UN Women UK.

As campaigner Eliza Hatch puts it: "It's not just an incredibly insensitive and thoughtless insult to Nikita Hand. It's also a slap in the face for all survivors of sexual assault and rape, who are constantly told that men's careers and future prospects are worth more than their pain, suffering and lived experiences of trauma."

That contradiction isn't reserved for celebrity culture, either. Just last month, three teenage boys in Hampshire who were convicted of raping two girls avoided immediate custody. The judge cited, among other factors, their youth, low IQ and, maddeningly, a desire to avoid "criminalising" them unnecessarily. The sentences are now under review.

Though the details differ, the underlying message feels depressingly familiar. Again and again, attention focuses squarely on the futures of perpetrators, not the lifelong impact on survivors. We've heard countless examples of judges worrying about perpetrators' careers, their prospects and their supposed sporting promise. Too rarely do we ask the same questions about the people they assaulted.

This pattern stretches back decades. Brock Turner, the Stanford swimmer convicted of sexually assaulting an unconscious woman, received a mere six-month sentence after the judge cited concerns that a longer prison term would have a "severe impact" on him. His case became a global symbol of whose futures the justice system instinctively protects.

And though the country and court differ, the instinct to protect offenders is startlingly consistent.

As Sinéad Geoghegan, Head of Communications at the End Violence Against Women Coalition (EVAW), says: "The fact that a man found by a civil court to have raped a woman has been platformed on one of the world's most popular TV shows exemplifies the lack of meaningful accountability so many perpetrators face, particularly those with power and status. We see this time and time again and it sends a harmful message to all of society that rape isn't that serious, when in reality it devastates women and girls' lives." Morton adds: "Justice cannot live only in courtrooms. It must live in behaviour—in who we platform."

Of course, none of this is to argue that every offender is beyond redemption or that rehabilitation has no place in justice. But when we rush to restore powerful men to positions of influence while the people they harmed continue to navigate lifelong trauma, it sends a message, whether intentionally or not, about whose pain matters more.

While practical and convenient, it's rare that self-catering accommodation can be romanticised in the same way as a luxury hotel. Le Jardin de Verre, a new project from Locke Living, dispels this myth, bringing its signature hybrid of spacious apartments rather than (let's face it, it's Paris) somewhat cramped hotel rooms and boutique amenities. Not to mention a showstopper restaurant that draws in diners from all over the city.

While there may be the option to dine in with a fully-equipped kitchen in each apartment, Bibie at Le Jardin de Verre, helmed by renowned chef Loïc Julliand, is well worth the visit, drawing nightly crowds thanks to its unique setting and dedicated cocktail bar. Wellness fans can enjoy the 24-hour gym and a dedicated yoga studio. Then there's the lively courtyard decked out in fairy lights and plush furnishings, with plenty of comfy spaces to curl up in with a book. Or your laptop, if you're living that digital nomad life.

Housed in what was once a set of French Baroque mansions and a 20th-century industrial factory, Le Jardin de Verre is Locke Living's first outpost in Paris, marking the group’s 17th property to date. This feels like a natural fit for a city so focused on creativity, considering Locke's design-led aparthotel concept. Le Jardin de Verre brings something new to the City of Lights with its unique blend of traditional Haussmann-style touches, bold colour schemes and industrial elements that pay homage to its heritage.

Locke Living is known for its creative collaborations, and Los Angeles-based architecture and design studio Fettle dreamed up its Paris outpost, inspired by the hotel's connection to nature. The reception area offers a calming space adorned in stone, terracotta and timber. Locke's trademark playful styling can also be seen throughout the aparthotel, with patterned lampshades, vibrant artworks and comfy-looking soft furnishings at every turn, designed and made by textile artists Sinéad and Mark Hanlon of Studio Knot.

Paris is known for being très expensive, and an aparthotel would suit those who want to mix dining in and eating out, or anyone staying for a longer period who would like the option to do their own laundry. The courtyard and coffee bar double as a welcoming co-working space during the day, so this is an excellent location for digital nomads to settle into the city. The beauty of Le Jardin de Verre is that, despite all these conveniences, it still feels like a design hotel.

ROOMS

Don't let the unassuming entrance fool you; Le Jardin de Verre is a sprawling property with 135 rooms across 11 categories. The categories range from the compact 'City Studios' to impressively large suites; the most impressive being the grand split-level Begonia Suite and the Roseraie Suite. The hotel's greenery inspires the Begonia Suite, a two-story duplex apartment with a serene green palette. The Roseraie Suite is the hotel's penthouse suite and features a showstopping glass ceiling inspired by the hotel's atrium. The Roseraie Suite is designed for entertaining, with an eight-seater dining table that sits beneath a grand chandelier and a corner sofa for a comfortable end to the evening. Parisian dinner party, anybody?

All rooms come with a fully equipped kitchen with a stove and fridge, as well as dining space ideal for longer stays. Again, nudging more towards hotel than aparthotel, luxurious Kinsey Apothecary products are available in the bathrooms, as are plush towels.

FOOD & DRINK

Since opening in summer 2025, Bibie has received a positive reception from diners and established itself in the Latin Quarter's bustling restaurant scene (no mean feat in a dining scene as competitive as Paris). Diners can enjoy French classics, often with a contemporary take, served in a serene, plant-filled atrium (Le Jardin de Verre means 'the glass garden'). Think moules-frites or steak au poivre, with other European influences woven into the changing menu. There's also an impressive 200 wines on offer, with a focus on natural wines.

The restaurant doubles up as a coffee shop in the morning, where guests and visitors can enjoy fresh coffee and pastries at Bibi Cafe, taking in the morning light under the atrium's glass ceiling. The evening calls for sipping classics like a Kir Royal or a French 75 in the snug-like cocktail bar.

ACTIVITIES

Le Jardin de Verre sits on Rue de Lacépède in Paris’ historic Latin Quarter in the 5th arrondissement, surrounded by quaint cafes and cosy bookshops. It's quieter here than the more touristy parts of central Paris and the kind of streets you can stroll around without the crowds, window shopping or making a pitstop for morning pastries.

The aparthotel is also a short stroll from some of Paris' most beautiful gardens, the Jardin des Plantes and the Jardin du Luxembourg, as well as cultural landmarks including the Panthéon. Saint-Germain-des-Prés, a lively central neighbourhood, is also within easy reach. Browse the art galleries along the Rue de Seine and enjoy Parisian cafe culture at the atmospheric La Palette.

NEED TO KNOWS

Rooms at Le Jardin de Verre start at €275 per night for a City Studio with a balcony, and you can book through the Locke Living website.

Address: Le Jardin de Verre by Locke, 7 Rue Lacépède, 75005 Paris, France

Four years after nearly dying during childbirth, Louise Thompson still finds herself poring over scan reports late into the night, trying to understand just what exactly happened to her. She went into hospital as a healthy young woman to give birth to her son and left physically and psychologically traumatised, facing years of surgeries, recovery and unanswered questions.

Thompson, a former reality TV star turned author and activist, has spoken publicly about birth trauma, emergency surgery and the perilous road to recovery before. But what continues to surprise her is not just the trauma itself, but the realisation that some experiences don’t simply fade with time and that perhaps the only way to make sense of the pain is to turn it into purpose.

Here, she reflects on living with the aftermath of the birth that almost killed her, the anger that followed, and why revisiting the darkest period of her life ultimately led her to campaign for change in maternity care.

Sign Louise’s petition for a Maternity Commissioner to improve maternity care for mums and babies here

What It Feels Like To Turn Pain Into Purpose

As told to Mischa Smith

If I think about my birth experience now, four years later, my mind goes to Saturday night last weekend. I’d had a day to myself. My son and my partner were away. Most parents would think that’s a really joyful experience, having a day to themselves. But I’d been hugely triggered by a book I’ve tried to read fairly regularly over the last four years: The Body Keeps the Score.

Reading about trauma and about other people’s experiences has really reaffirmed to me that this is not something that I will ever get over. It opened the floodgates again. Then, after a very, very dissociated day on my own, where everything flooded back into my mind, I spent four hours reading through scan reports and being reminded of everything that had happened. It’s genuinely bizarre to me that, as an intelligent young woman, I still haven’t managed to digest all of the information that’s happened to me.

I was putting scans into AI, creating emails to send to medical professionals and lawyers, trying to figure out what the hell really happened, because ultimately, I was a super healthy person who had everything going for me. A lot of privilege.

That was all basically ripped away from me. My health was taken away from me. It was incredibly scary; there’s no better word than scary. I was full of fear 24 hours a day, and I feel pretty angry as well.

There are women who are probably dying right now, frankly, and I think it’s fucking unacceptable. It’s unacceptable. It is one of the grossest failings in humanity that women are treated like this.

The lack of education around hormones and women’s health and maternity care in this country is ruining people’s lives so that we cannot live full, interesting, happy, efficient, productive lives. Women are being held back. The more I dig into this, the more I realise that every single day someone is coming to me with a story, and it makes me feel sick to my core.

Four years later, Ryan is still affected by what happened. We watched that Panorama together, and he threw up all night afterwards. That is the visceral reaction people can have years after a traumatic birth.

People often think about birth trauma as one moment, but every single part of our world was shattered the day I went into that hospital. Every single thing. The lack of someone writing the right thing on the whiteboard, the investigation, the birth debrief, the information that was wrong; it’s everything. It was a complete car crash.

I lost 12.5 litres of blood in a year, and I had to have my colon removed; it’s phenomenally upsetting. And what I’ve realised since is that this isn’t an isolated incident. When this first happened to me, I left the hospital, and I couldn’t really speak to anybody for months. If someone said, “Oh, my birth was quite bad as well,” I would think, there’s no way anyone could be on the same wavelength as me, but the more I speak publicly about my situation, the more I realise there are thousands of women. Tens of thousands of women.

Over 150,000 people signed our petition in less than three months. People are being told that what happened to them is normal. They’re being told that they’re the problem. They go home assuming there’s nothing they can do.

Speaking publicly wasn’t something I planned; I think I was still quite numb when I started sharing things online. I wanted to explain that I’d had a baby and that the circumstances were weird. I was so used to sharing everything publicly that not sharing felt really jarring. In some ways, it connected me with my old self, and I found writing became an outlet.

I would lie in bed with my son for hours while he slept, and I’d write these captions and just mind-dump. I found this connection with writing that I’d never had before. I’ve always been a control freak; I could never express myself so freely, but I actually just didn’t care. I had nothing to lose. I was like: I don’t care if everybody hates me. My life couldn’t be any worse.

There was a phase where people around me suggested I stop sharing such honest accounts of my mental health because they worried I was holding onto things for too long, they worried it might put off work opportunities, but I couldn’t stop.

I’d already lost so much; two of my businesses were basically wiped out as a result of the birth trauma, and one even destroyed my relationship with a business partner. I couldn’t go back to being the person I was before.

It’s only really been in the last year that something has shifted. Now I’m sharing more to help other people versus helping myself, and that’s partly because I’ve realised how many women have been through something similar.

I remember when women I knew started telling me about their own experiences; women I’d gone to university with, women who nearly died, women who couldn’t access their medical notes. I even spoke to doctors who had experienced traumatic births themselves. Consultant obstetricians and gynaecologists who told me this was a problem.

Even people who worked at the hospital where I had my traumatic birth told me they supported what I was doing; that was when I realised this wasn’t personal, it really is a systemic issue. And once you see that, it’s impossible to ignore.

My book happened to come out the exact week the Birth Trauma Inquiry was published. I connected with Theo Clarke, who became my co-petitioner, and when we met, we realised we needed to do something.

Since then, the campaign has become a huge part of my life. Suddenly, I’m hiring someone with a political background, I’m speaking to MPs, I’m meeting policymakers, I’m reading medical negligence cases at two in the morning – I never imagined any of this would become my life, but I think I’ve realised that if we don’t keep talking about it, nothing changes, and women deserve better than this.

The public cares deeply about this issue; the question is whether the people in power will listen. My long-term goal is to set up a charity facility for women. I’ve realised I’m going to have to network, ask people for help, and keep having difficult conversations – none of that comes naturally to me. But the time is now to put on my big girl pants and see where we can go with it. Because the thing I’ve learned over the last four years is that recovery and forgetting are not the same thing. And some experiences change you forever.

Walk into the vast, marble-floored lobby at the Boston InterContinental, and you know pretty quickly that you're going to be well looked after. A fire roars in the fireplace, modern monochrome artwork adorns the walls, and travellers sink into plush, low-slung sofas everywhere you look.

While a lot of Boston's hotels sit in the very heart of the city and right in the centre of the hustle and bustle, the InterContinental - a five-star property from IHG Hotels & Resorts - is tucked away in a quieter part and on the harbour front. The hotel occupies a prime position between the Financial District and the Seaport. All of Boston's must-try attractions are walkable, and everything is within your reach.

The location in and of itself is beautiful. On the warmer days of our trip, we spent our mornings strolling along the harbour walk, and our evenings enjoying a drink on the terrace overlooking the famous Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum, a series of replica ships that commemorate the city's history and one of its most significant sites.

But this InterContinental has far more on offer than just its location and views. Despite pretty sizeable conference facilities and a reputation for being a business base, it strikes a rare balance: polished enough for business travellers, yet characterful enough to appeal to leisure guests.

For more on the Boston InterContinental's facilities - a unique waterfront location, spa facilities, and modern interiors despite a historical setting - plus why I'd recommend it for your next Stateside stay, keep scrolling.

Boston InterContinental: "Tranquil, modern charm on the historic waterfront"

The vibes

Despite my preconceptions of the chain as a hotel exclusively designed for those on business trips or conferences, the InterContinental is friendly, welcoming and unpretentious - a far cry from the corporate vibes of other chain hotels.

Attentive, welcoming staff and a warm, relaxed ambience set the tone - you feel instantly at ease and at home in the light-dappled lobby. With floor-to-ceiling windows, marble, and polished stone covering the floors and ceilings, the interiors are contemporary without feeling cold. Centred on calming, neutral tones, the colour palette centres on soft creams, warm woods and brushed metallic accents, making the space feel considered and modern.

At certain angles, you can see right through to the rippling water which runs alongside you, reminding you that you're in Boston. Top tip, too: do make sure to try the river taxis, which drop you right outside the hotel and offer a more adventurous way to explore the city.

The rooms

The hotel has 424 rooms in total, with many offering floor-to-ceiling windows and stunning views, especially as the sun sets in the evening.

Our room is notably spacious - ours had two double beds, a lounge area, a desk, and a bathroom with a bathtub, two sinks, and a shower. Plush bathrobes, marble interiors, and BYREDO bath amenities in my favourite “Bal d’Afrique” scent add to the luxe, elevated feel.

If you're a member of Club InterContinental, there's a spacious lounge on the twelfth floor which has private dining, workspaces and drinks options - we enjoyed light bites, coffees and a few glasses of wine here over the course of our stay.

The food

There are three different restaurants on site, meaning you're really spoilt for choice and have plenty to choose from every day. We mainly eat at Matria, a Northern Italian-inspired restaurant which has a waterfront terrace and fresh, seasonal menus. As we were in Boston during the Boston Marathon weekend, they put on a specific "Runners Menu" on the Sunday evening, which included plenty of fresh salads, tomato pasta iterations, protein sources, and garlic breads.

The food ticks all of the right boxes - dinners are fresh and flavourful, and the breakfast buffet is extensive but expertly cooked. I enjoy porridge with Greek yoghurt and fresh berries one day, and scrambled eggs and sourdough the next. You can also order from the à la carte menu and enjoy American staples, the waffles being a standout highlight (when in the US, right?).

Perhaps surprisingly, the bar, Bar Fellini, is buzzing every night, which I'm sure was aided by the fact that we stayed over the marathon weekend. An Italian aperitivo-style cocktail bar that sits in the heart of the hotel radiates a more intimate, evening-vibe - we enjoyed a glass of champagne here after the race.

There's also a speakeasy-style cocktail bar, the Loyall Counting Room, inspired by Boston’s colonial history. My top tip? I'd highly recommend getting breakfast room service, if you can - it was one of the highlights of our trip. Think eggs over easy, crispy-as-anything Turkey bacon and thick, fluffy pancakes.

The amenities

There are ample amenities on site - a spa, sauna, swimming pool, and spacious, well-equipped gym with all the equipment you could need for a good workout. There's also a full-service spa and treatment options, if you'd like to book in some dedicated downtime. Wellness isn't an afterthought here; it's baked into your trip.

Of course, there are also the conference and event facilities throughout the hotel, should you be travelling for business, not pleasure - but the staff do an excellent job of maintaining the hotel feels elevated and friendly, rather than overly corporate.

As with most high-end hotels, a concierge is on hand with recommendations for during your stay, so do check in if you're unsure on an itinerary for your trip.

One of my favourite amenities was the simplest, though; the direct access to the Boston Harborwalk for morning runs and waterfront strolls.

The need to knows

Stay at the Boston Intercontinental from around £250 a night, depending on the season. 510 Atlantic Ave, Boston, MA 02210, United States, ihg.com.

Towering palm trees dot the coastline, their fronds gently undulating in the breeze, and the jade green sea laps at coves of powdery white sand: Pangkor Laut Resort offers an unforgettable taste of Malaysian island life.

Here, beaches curl between dramatic rock faces and overlook still, glassy waters, offering sun-soaked days so peaceful and still that it feels like a private paradise. Wildlife roams freely, oriental pied hornbills casually join breakfast tables, and giant fruit bats hang happily in the sea almond trees, as the rolling rainforest becomes a verdant backdrop to the opulent overwater villas, stilts rising from the emerald and turquoise sea. Set on a private island, the 5* Pangkor Laut Resort is, undeniably, luxurious; but, infused in its culinary excellence and first-class hospitality, is a commitment to Malaysian tradition, culture and warmth.

The Vibe

Malaysia is rapidly asserting itself as an affordable alternative to Thailand and Indonesia, offering swathes of untouched beaches and unparalleled snorkelling spots. Approaching Pangkor Laut Resort by speedboat is nothing short of breathtaking; the dense and majestic greenery, sprawling across 80% of the island, is interrupted only by slivers of golden sand and a sprinkle of pitched wooden roofs. Traditional Malay design elements are laced throughout the resort; the open-air pavilions are dotted with rattan furniture, sleek marble floors and deep-set balconies, every area brought to life with natural materials and local art. Beyond the reception, villas are found on both land and sea; The Estates are exclusive hubs comprising apartments, pools and private hot spas tucked away for unrivalled privacy, while the sea villas sit on stilts atop the silky green ocean, with balconies perfectly positioned to watch a mellow, coral sun rise over the neighbouring islands.

On the west coast, the ethereal Emerald Bay offers a secluded beach that’s so picture-perfect it’s likely no other will ever compare; think sand that’s bright and soft, water that’s exceptionally clear and astoundingly still, and sun loungers shaded under the trees’ blooming branches. Best enjoyed with a continuous supply of refreshing coconuts.

But, despite the sprinkling of infinity pools and private beaches, it’s the Spa Village that will really make your stay at Pangkor Laut truly unforgettable.

The Spa

If you think you’ve experienced all a spa can offer, think again. The Spa Village is not just an additional experience during your stay at Pangkor Laut – it is one of the experiences that will define your entire trip. While that sounds like a bold claim, it’s not award-winning for nothing. The entire offering is its own holistic retreat within the resort: a maze of treatment cabins and indulgent ritual spots for personalised experiences that give massage a whole new meaning.

Long before your treatment begins, you’ll enjoy 45 minutes at the Bath House. Enjoy the Spa Village’s signature foot pounding, inspired by Chinese tradition, before heading to a series of outdoor pools embracing various healing practices. The first large pool, inspired by Indian purification rituals, is tucked below the trees and sits under large vases of streaming water. Let it wash over you before heading to the Ayurvedic steam pots, inhaling the various scents. From there, you’ll be guided to a washroom – much like those at Japanese onsen – before heading to the outdoor rock pool to sit and meditate under the blue sky.

Treatments can last up to four hours, and they’re worth every deliciously relaxing minute. The incredible Royal Secrets of Puteri Lindungan Bulan is a wonderful invitation to unwind, and includes a flower petal milk bath, body scrub, full body massage and nourishing hair mask, while the personalised experience with a Chinese specialist is a tailored to whatever your body and mind needs. Don’t skip a visit: it’s a truly unique experience, and one you’ll think about long after you’ve returned home.

The Rooms

Across the 300 acres, you’ll find several different offerings. There are 140 villas in total - a mix of hillside, garden, beach and sea – and 8 Estates. Opt for a sea villa in the Spa Village – it includes access to a private pool, and you’re just minutes away from the best resort treatment you’ve ever had.

The sea villas hover over the water on stilts and include a king bed, veranda and panoramic landscape views. In the bathroom, there’s a deep, marble bath flanked by a trio of windows that open out to the ocean – turning every soak into a tropical dream. You’ll want to get up early and throw all the shutters open to watch the sun inking the sky as you float in the tub. Unreal. The balcony is where you’ll find peace at first and last light; in the morning, perch on the bench with a coffee in hand, or head out to listen to the water lapping below as you wind down for bed.

Food & Drink

Uncle Lim’s Kitchen is where you’ll find mouth-watering Chinese dishes using locally sourced produce that blend Nyonya and Hock Chew-style home cooking elements. Known for its deep fried calamansi chicken, juicy Kung Po calamari and tender butter prawns, you’ll be spoilt for choice when it comes to seafood. And, within the open-plan restaurant, you’ll get a gentle breeze and views of the moonlight sparkling on sea.

For buffet-style dining, head to Feast Village. At breakfast, order a freshly squeezed juice and fill up on brightly coloured fruits, from tangy pineapple chunks to pink slices of watermelon. There’s an array of hot dishes for each and every diner – otak-otak steamed dumplings and red bean buns, flaky rotis and rich dahl, creamy scrambled eggs and roasted tomatoes. Finish with Malaysian kuih-muih, traditional sweets and desserts.

Make time to visit Fisherman’s Cove, an adults-only restaurant specialising in elevated seafood dishes. The views are sublime, but when it comes to the menu the crispy soft-shell crab is not to be missed, and the dancing prawns – delicately tossed with citrus aioli – are a standout. For mains, order the flaky pan-fried Manong River Jade perch or grilled barramundi with tomato salsa. End with the rich, citron chocolate mousse with lemon curd. Divine.

Additional Information

Direct flights operate daily between London Heathrow and Kuala Lumpur International Airport, but opting for a short layover offers more flight flexibility. Transit through Istanbul Airport and enjoy the comforts of the Turkish Airlines lounge on your outbound and inbound journeys.

Global-All-Inclusive packages can also be booked directly, and will unlock complimentary speedboat transfers from Pangkor Laut to the mainland. The all-inclusive getaway includes curated dining, logistics with return land and sea transfers for Pangkor Laut, and a programme of immersive activities such as jungle treks and turtle education as well as wellness offerings including yoga and meditation.

How To Book

For more information, visit YTL Hotels. To book directly, reservations can be made via the Pangkor Laut Resort website.

What to Pack

It's rare in life to have had as varied a career as Jodie Kidd. From being one of Britain's most recognisable 90's supermodels to fronting the male-dominated world of motorsport, Kidd has done what very few before have even attempted, swapping catwalks for cockpits and proving that you're never too late to pursue your passions.

And passionate, she is: she's loved cars since a young age, admitting when we chat to a childhood obsession with Ayrton Senna. In later life, a chance encounter with none other than Jeremy Clarkson changed the course of her career - and the rest is history.

Below, she chats about her life in motorsport - on her early years in the fashion industry, the scepticism she's faced in a male-dominated industry, and her drive to champion the next generation of female talent. Plus, she deep dives into her passion for electric vehicles, and the role she reckons they're set to play both on and off the track.

Keep scrolling.

Jodie Kidd: "I’m hopeful we’ll find a female Formula 1 racer who can compete alongside the boys."

What’s your earliest motorsport memory?

Watching Ayrton Senna race in Formula 1. He was a big part of our lives. My nephew has Ayrton as his middle name; that’s how obsessed with him we were. He was definitely my earliest memory.

What was the moment that made you realise you were ready for a career change from modelling?

I decided to stop modelling after around a decade of a wonderful career in the industry and accidentally fell into motorsport by taking part in the Gumball Rally.

Through doing that, I had a chance encounter with Jeremy Clarkson, which led to him inviting me onto Top Gear. I did the ‘Star in a Reasonably Priced Car’ lap, went to the top of the leaderboard and fell in love with cars and racing from that moment onwards.

Are there any similarities between the worlds of modelling and motorsport?

They’re very different, but high adrenaline is a strong similarity in both. It sounds strange, but you get the same adrenaline walking down a catwalk as you do when racing cars.

What makes EVs in particular so important to you?

They’re the future and a necessity in order for the world to evolve - we can’t be living off petrol and crude oil forever. Some of the cars are fantastic, and you can get some incredibly quick cars with extraordinary power, so it ticks that box.

I just love the ease and the feeling I get from driving one! They're so smooth, and you can drive anywhere in them, whether it’s a short or a longer drive, especially as I recently learned that there are more than 118,000 public chargers now – nearly twice as many as fuel pumps!

I recently worked with the Department for Transport (DfT) to showcase the vast UK charging network. I curated my own electric road trip from Land’s End to the Angel of the North and found chargers at the most beautiful, unexpected places. You stop, charge up, take in the view, and you're back on the road.

What’s one thing you wish more people knew about EVs in motorsport?

I wish more people realised the extent to which EV motorsport is driving technological progress off the track. Series like Formula E and electric off‑road racing show that EVs can be competitive, durable, and exciting, not just environmentally friendly.

As E racing is growing, so is the demand for EVs in the real world – in March this year, the UK’s EV market achieved its strongest performance to date. Registrations of EV's reached an all-time high with the highest monthly total ever recorded.

Even in Formula 1, the increasing use of hybrid battery technology has significantly changed how cars are designed and raced, and these innovations are slowly filtering into everyday road cars. EV motorsport isn’t just entertainment - it’s actively shaping the future of vehicle technology.

What challenges have you faced entering a very male-dominated sport?

It’s been difficult because when I started racing, it was the 90s and early 2000s when there were very few women racers. Thankfully, this is something that has increased dramatically in the last 20 years. At the time, however, for me, it was tough because people didn’t take me seriously -especially as I had come from a modelling background. It’s fair to say that it isn’t the norm to see models go from fashion week to pit lanes. When women were initially spotted on race tracks, it was as a spectator, and when my career started, it was incredibly rare to see women in race overalls. It was definitely tough, but I got over it and showed the world that women can race too.

How has the industry changed over the last ten years?

Dramatically! We’ve seen women come to the forefront in engineering and in running F1 teams, such as Claire Williams. There’s even now an all-female race series, so it has undeniably come on leaps and bounds in the last ten years.

What do you hope the future of motorsport looks like?

I’m hugely optimistic. It seems that everyone is obsessed with Formula 1 now; it’s become huge! I’m hopeful that with the amount of intrigue, we’ll find an amazing woman Formula 1 racer very soon who can compete alongside the boys.

What would your advice be to young women who dream of a career in motorsport?

There are so many more routes into motorsport now for women, whether that’s engineering, design, or the racing itself. You just have to stay driven and keep putting yourself out there. Despite the fact that there is now far more opportunity, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy; setbacks are inevitable - but that’s part of it. The important thing is not to let the setbacks define you. Take the negativity, turn it into motivation, and use it to push yourself forward. If you keep working hard and keep going, the opportunities really are there.

Nestled between Hyde Park Corner and Wellington Arch, The Peninsula London is an elegant sanctuary with a timeless quality; a relative newcomer on London's luxury hotel scene that can rival the Capital's most iconic establishments.

The Peninsula is one of those grand hotels that feels as if it has been stationed in Belgravia, near the likes of The Connaught and The Dorchester, for decades. Yet, the hotel actually opened in 2023, marking the brand's debut in the UK, following hotels in Hong Kong, Shanghai, Tokyo, Paris, and New York, among others. Rather than inhabiting one of the 19th-century buildings like its neighbours, the hotel was built from scratch—and rumour has it that Hong Kong and Shanghai Hotels spent 30 years finding the ideal spot.

What cements The Peninsula's success amid such fierce competition is its distinctiveness; there's no hotel like it in the city. Rather than attempting to be hyper-modern (which can, let's face it, often feel a little sterile), it exudes the elegance and warmth of a bygone era, along with genuine, old-fashioned hospitality. Luggage is whisked away instantly upon arrival. Staff are warm, attentive, and discreet. And the uniforms, designed by London fashion royalty Jenny Packham, are impeccable. A masterclass in understated sophistication before you've even left the lobby.

The Peninsula is owned and operated through HSH, Asia's oldest hotel company still in operation, and its heritage is gracefully woven throughout the hotel's design, from the hand-carved guardian lions at the hotel's entrance (a Peninsula tradition) to the artful displays of fine Chinese porcelain. Tea time at The Peninsula is treated as a ritual to be taken slowly and thoughtfully. In the tranquil courtyard, designed by celebrated designer Enzo Enea, you'll find 120-year-old Japanese maple trees and the sweet scent of jasmine.

The Peninsula London's story didn't begin in Belgravia, but in the heart of 1920s Hong Kong. Dubbed the 'Grande Dame of the Far East', The Peninsula was one of Hong Kong's first luxury hotels, quickly becoming a benchmark for high-end hospitality, known for its fleet of Rolls-Royces and opulent lobby. The lobby is the heart of the hotel at Peninsula properties; a place to dine, sip cocktails, relax, or people-watch.

The Peninsula's refined character is well-suited to London's refined and historic Belgravia. After all, London has always been a pioneer of top-tier, white-glove service, particularly in the most prestigious neighbourhoods of Belgravia, Mayfair, and Knightsbridge—it's safe to say The Peninsula fits right in.

Here's everything you need to know about The Peninsula London, including what to expect from its £1,300 a night rooms, its incredible restaurants, in particular Brooklands by Claude Bosi and Canton Blue, and the hotel's vast wellness offering, including a new partnership with cult LA brand, Ricari Studios.

THE ROOMS

The rooms at The Peninsula are refreshingly large for a city centre hotel, starting at 50 square meters. Esteemed interior designer Peter Marino, who was at the helm for the entire design process of the hotel, creates a 'home away from home' feel with bespoke furnishings, a mix of textures and original artworks that add character and eclecticism to the rooms and suites. The colour palette is gentle and refined, featuring rich creams, off-whites, and soft blue accents that contrast with deep mahogany wood. Rooms also feature a mahogany-pannelled dressing room, or walk-in wardrobe in some instances.

Amenities are impressive and position The Peninsula as forward-thinking, despite its classic design elements. There are wireless chargers, 'spa mode' lighting in the bathrooms and even a nail dryer to eliminate smudges — a genius addition.

The hotel features a total of 190 rooms and suites, each boasting a spacious layout. The uniformity of rooms in terms of size is possible due to the hotel being a new build, constructed from the ground up as part of a £1 billion project. Before The Peninsula London, the Bulgari was the city's last new-build five-star hotel, built in 2012. In a city known for its sometimes cramped rooms, considering their high price points, this space is a welcome addition.

THE FOOD AND DRINK

There are seven places to eat and drink at The Peninsula London, including The Peninsula Boutique & Cafe and The Lobby, where breakfast and afternoon tea are served. Notably, Canton Blue is an opulent, multi-level restaurant, inspired by the design of the Keying Junk, a trade ship that sailed between Europe and Asia. Canton Blue serves Cantonese Chinese with a fine dining twist.

Situated on the ground floor, the atmosphere is seductive, with soft lighting, intimate booths, and striking design features—the handiwork of esteemed Hong Kong-based interior designer Henry Leung. Dining here has a certain magic; the magnificent ceiling has a vast backlit panel depicting a celestial map inspired by Keying Junk's journey from East to West. Little Blue is the cocktail bar next door, serving inventive concoctions and late-night noodles.

Brooklands is situated at the top of the building, offering a distinguished rooftop spot helmed by Michelin-starred Chef Director Claude Bosi. The hotel is currently hosting the 'Claude & Co at Brooklands' dinner series; special one-night collaborations between Bosi and world-famous chefs.

ACTIVITIES

With one of London's most famous parks, Hyde Park, just a stone's throw away, there's the opportunity to team a city break with some time in nature. Part of London's appeal is its vast green spaces, which feel a world away from the hectic metropolis. Polished Belgravia is also worth exploring, with the charming Elizabeth Street and Motcomb Street lined with artisan shops, luxury fashion stores, buzzy restaurants and florists. Eccleston Yards is also within easy reach, home to the stylish wine bar and studio Amie, the beautiful Wild By Tart restaurant, and Re:Mind studio, which offers restorative meditation, healing, and breathwork sessions.

Back at the hotel, guests can unwind in The Peninsula Spa and Wellness Centre, which includes a 25-meter heated pool, thermal rooms, an ice fountain and a relaxation room with heated loungers. There's also an on‑site beauty salon called the Atelier. Peter Marino also designed the spa, drawing inspiration from the serenity of nearby Hyde Park and Green Park, using earthy tones and natural materials to enhance the space.

The Peninsula has also recently announced some exciting partnerships, including a collaboration with Cult LA brand Ricari Studios, who offer their one-of-a-kind ‘Ricari Method’, a blend of hands-on and machine-led massage to stimulate blood flow and air lymphatic drainage. Meanwhile, ONE: Personal Training offers guests personalised one-on-one training sessions in the high-tech gym.

NEED TO KNOWS

Rooms at The Peninsula London start at £1,300 per night, and you can book through the hotel's website.

Address: 8/F, The Peninsula, 1 Grosvenor Place, London SW1X 7HJ

Phone: 020 3959 2888

When Nelly London discovered she was pregnant, there was no moment of uncertainty and no difficult decision to make. Instead, she knew immediately that she didn’t want to be pregnant. Her focus turned to getting the care she needed as quickly as possible.

Here, she talks about certainty, relief, the realities of having a medical abortion, and why the experience was so different from the narratives as a millennial woman she’d grown up seeing in popular culture.

What It Feels Like To Get A Medical Abortion

As told to Mischa Smith

My period is literal clockwork. I was about 12 hours late, and I immediately thought, fuck. I just knew. I ran out, bought a test, took it, and it was positive. And I immediately thought, no. This is not something I want to see.

There was no joy in seeing that result. There wasn’t a question. There wasn’t a discussion I had to have with myself. I was almost physically rejecting it. Like, no, this is not correct.

The first person I told was my partner. He was actually the one who had suggested taking a test because it’s so unusual for me to be late. I went downstairs and told him, and I think I looked so upset and horrified that he was just like, “Right. What shall we do? How do we sort this, and what can I do to help?” Obviously, in reality, there’s little somebody else can do to help, but it was nice that he asked.

Within minutes, I found MSI and called them. I remember thinking beforehand, “How do I even start this conversation?” Then I remembered the line from Sex and the City where Miranda calls her doctor and says, “Hi, I’m pregnant, and I need not to be.” I’m pretty sure I stole Miranda’s exact line.

The woman on the phone was incredibly kind. She told me I’d called the right place, took a few details and arranged for a midwife to call me back. I remember feeling reassured almost immediately. She was just very calm and very clear. She told me not to worry, that I’d done the right thing by calling and explained what would happen next.

What surprised me was how completely consuming it became. I was looking at the next couple of weeks in my calendar and thinking, I can’t do any of this while I know I’m pregnant. None of it would actually have changed. They were meetings, dinners with friends, completely normal life things. But my brain couldn’t think about anything else. I’ve since learned that a lot of women experience that feeling.

Even though abortion is straightforward healthcare and waiting times in the UK are thankfully quite short, when you know you don’t want to be pregnant, it becomes all-consuming. You just want it resolved.

My entire process took about five days from finding out to having the abortion. Which is nothing. It was incredibly quick. But those five days felt so long. All I could think was: I want this to be over. I wasn’t really spending time thinking about fears. I was counting down the hours. The difficult questions actually came afterwards.

Once it was over, I could finally breathe again. And then I started wondering why my reaction had been so immediate. Why did pregnancy feel so catastrophic to me? Why was my experience so different from all those pregnancy announcement videos we see online? You know the ones where somebody sees a positive test and bursts into tears of happiness while their partner cries beside them.

When I saw a positive pregnancy test, I wanted to call an abortion clinic immediately. So then I found myself asking questions about what that meant. Did it mean I don’t want children right now? Did it mean I don’t want children ever? I still don’t know the answers to those questions, but those were the conversations I had afterwards.

One thing I do wish somebody had prepared me for was the pain. This is a difficult thing to talk about because abortion is so politicised, and I don’t want my experience to be used by people who are trying to take reproductive rights away from women. But for me, having a medical abortion was unbelievably painful. The closest description I can give is that I entered another universe of pain.

I know that isn’t everybody’s experience. Some women have cramps and carry on with their day, but it was mine. The second medication causes your uterus to contract; for me, those contractions were intense.

I blacked out for around 90 minutes. I remember opening my eyes when it was dark outside and feeling completely lost. I didn’t know where I was or what time it was. My partner told me that around two hours had passed.

What I find difficult is that women don’t always feel able to talk honestly about experiences like that. There’s this fear that if we talk about the pain, people will use it against us. But equally, women deserve to know what they might experience; it’s complicated.

The strange thing is that despite all of that, I never regretted my decision. Not for a second. I didn’t spend the process wondering whether I was doing the right thing. I knew I was. And I know that can sound shocking to some people because we’re often told that abortion should be accompanied by enormous guilt or regret, but that simply wasn’t my experience. And it isn’t the experience of a lot of women.

The morning after, I woke up feeling exhausted but relieved. Really relieved. I just felt grateful that I could move on with my life again. That I could go on with my week, my month, my plans. And that’s probably the thing I wish people understood better about abortion.

A lot of us grow up imagining that we’ll be judged, that we’ll be lectured, that we’ll walk into some awful clinic and be made to feel like we’ve done something wrong. That wasn’t my experience at all. I was treated with kindness, respect and understanding from beginning to end. Nobody asked me to justify myself, nobody demanded a reason, nobody tried to make me feel guilty. The people caring for me simply wanted to make sure I was OK.

And after everything I’d worried about, that was probably the biggest surprise of all.

If you’re considering an abortion, get in touch with MSI Reproductive Choices UK to find out about your options and access NHS-funded abortion care.

It’s not every day you get to stay in one of the leading hotels of the world.

It’s even harder to find a truly unique and unforgettable hotel in New York. Sure, the city that never sleeps has plenty to offer, but many face the same pitfalls: a focus on style over substance, tiny yet expensive box rooms, and generic, inauthentic luxury.

Head to the northwest corner of Fifth Avenue and 28th Street, though, and nestled unnassumingly between the Flatiron District, Chelsea and Midtown, you’ll find The Fifth Avenue Hotel - which, despite only opening in October 2023, has received near-instant critical acclaim.

Stepping into the lobby on a sweltering hot day in April, it’s easy to see why. While the outside of the hotel appears modest and unassuming, don’t be fooled by the facade. Because inside - well, they’ve brought together some of the most creative minds in design, art, gastronomy and hospitality to create a truly unique and unforgettable location.

Built around a Gilded Age mansion owned by banker and socialite Charlotte Goodridge in the mid-1800s, the hotel combines a restored Beaux-Arts building with a modern glass tower, creating a striking merge of old and new in the heart of Manhattan.

No two rooms are exactly alike, but each is a riotous nod to maximalism, the complete opposite of the minimalist luxury that’s dominated for the last few years. Expect loud wallpaper, velvet furnishings, Murano glass chandeliers, antique cabinets, and hundreds of curated art pieces throughout the 24-storey hotel.

It’s near faultless; original, effortlessly stylish, and unpretentiously luxurious. Plus, for any travellers, the location is hard to beat: quiet enough to get some quality shut eye but within walking distance of all of the major attractions (including the Sky Line, Grand Central and Times Square). It’s situated in the buzzing heart of the city; a perfect balance of creative energy, history, and central location.

Keen to read my full review and stay at New York’s most exciting new opening yourself? Keep scrolling, because spoiler: I’m already plotting my next trip.

The Fifth Avenue Hotel Review: “Faultless, iconic New York charm”

The vibes

Instantly welcoming, polished, and warm, wander into The Fifth Avenue Hotel lobby and you’re met with floor-to-ceiling antique mirrors, polished marble floors and plush velvet sofas to sink into. You could while away hours flicking through the coffee table books on offer or perusing their “cabinets of curiosities” - two towering vintage oak cases packed to the brim with crystals.

The first thing we notice, though, is how good it smells - a delicious mix of polished wood, antique books, and floral citrus. I’m still yet to find out what the signature scent is, but I can still smell it - intimate, opulent, and quietly theatrical, which tells me everything I need to know about the hotel before we’ve even been shown to our room.

Walls are an eclectic mix of coral, buttercup yellow, and green, making whichever area of the hotel you’re in mood-boosting, joyous, and unique (the elevator lobbies are even wrapped in ruched rose-coloured silk, pleated by Parisian craftsmen). Priceless paintings sit alongside treasures from flea markets and far-flung travels; it’s whimsy made elevated, all seen through interior designer Martin Brudnizki’s lens and perfectly curated to never once feel gaudy or kitsch.

As founder Alex Ohebshalom says, “The Fifth is the realisation of many years of dreaming and discovery. We are creating a one-of-a-kind experience; it’s a whimsical, transformational escape in the heart of Manhattan. Our creative spirit will allow us to elevate the guest experience, introducing a new level of service designed to inspire and delight.”

The rooms

There are 149 guestrooms and suites to choose from, all of which are unique in design and interior. Brudnizki’s passion for individuality results in a thoughtfully curated, deeply residential atmosphere that blurs the line between hotel and home - I felt more like I was staying in a wealthy collector's private residence than a hotel.

We stayed in a Mansion Suite, and our room is decadently spacious - the biggest hotel room I’ve ever stayed at in New York before. Our double room has a well-sized lounge area, complete with sofa, mini bar, pantry and dining table, bathroom with bathtub, bathroom, and shower room, and bedroom area, complete with king-sized bed, plush Egyptian cotton bedding, and twinkling star-shaped ceiling lights. As with everything in the hotel, the attention to detail is second to none and the guest experience, unrivalled: nightly notes from the turn-down staff, sweet treats from the kitchen staff, and daily pantry restocks of high-end snacks, low-sugar soda options, and sparkling water.

If you’re looking for something more special, they’ve also recently launched a collection of new suites that feature stone terraces and breathtaking views of the Empire State Building and Manhattan skyline.

The food

You know you’re in for a treat when the bar and restaurant are renowned in their own right, with both packed during our stay. Café Carmellini, the hotel’s main restaurant, is the brainchild of acclaimed and award-winning chef Andrew Carmellini and seems to attract locals as much as tourists. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the interiors are breathtaking: two sculptural trees dominate the space, with mood-lit, cosy booths setting the tone for the evening. We’re sat right next to the open-plan kitchen, so happily while away our evening with a glass of champagne, watching the chefs at work.

With a menu packed full of Italian, French and classic New York dishes, our standout highlights include the Crab Mille-Feuille, Duck Duck Tortellini, and Scallops Cardoz. As a carb-lover, the pre-entrée bread course is also spectacular: think sky-high, crisp grissini breadsticks, warm, freshly baked breads, cultured butter, olives, and the best quality olive oil.

We can’t resist dessert, and I’m so glad we didn’t - the olive oil & Sorrento lemon coppa is one of the best I’ve ever eaten: a bright, light, and delicate lemon-soaked sponge layered with silky vanilla cream, lemon sauce and chopped pistachios.

Come breakfast, you can order from the à la carte menu, which offers an array of elevated classics, from eggs to yoghurt parfait. If you’re feeling indulgent, don’t miss the fluffy-as-anything buttermilk pancakes with a mouthwateringly sharp lemon-berry compote or the croissant trolley, stacked with made-in-house daily specials.

For a nightcap, don’t skip a dirty martini at The Portrait Bar, an intimate, firelit space offering signature classics and playful classics from Bar Director Darryl Chan.

The facilities

While the facilities at The Fifth are fairly minimal - there’s a small 24-hour gym, and no sauna or spa on site - I wouldn’t expect anything else for such a central NY location. Make the most of cardio machines and weights at their in-house fitness space, or if you’d rather enjoy a specific class, ask for a complimentary day pass to Life Time Fitness, located at 23rd Street and 6th Avenue. There you can enjoy several floors of fitness equipment, saltwater lap pools, and eucalyptus steam rooms.

The team ensure you’re well looked after, with a dedicated porter and concierge on hand to help you with route plans and reservations. They also offer complimentary dry cleaning, pressing of up to three items per guest, and overnight shoeshine.

Up to two dogs per room can stay for an additional cost of $250.

The need to knows

Stay at The Fifth Avenue Hotel from around £350 a night, depending on the season and room type. 1 West 28th Street, New York, NY 10001, thefifthavenuehotel.com.

This summer will see a rise in staycations thanks to the jet fuel crisis, which is leading to cancelled flights and soaring costs. The BBC has reported that booking platforms such as Airbnb and Booking.com are already seeing a spike in UK travel plans, with many deciding to swap flights for a Land Rover Discovery-worthy road trip instead. If the pandemic taught us anything when it comes to travel, it’s that you don’t need to go far for a memorable holiday. Whether you are looking to explore untouched beaches, reach an all-time high daily step count or simply have some time away from your emails, below is a guide to some of the best places to stay and explore this summer.

Farm Stays

While Soho Farmhouse has had city types donning wellies and taking a turn through stables for several years, a more authentic agritourism concept is currently flourishing. “There’s something about being properly surrounded by nature that feels increasingly precious,” says Aimee Hodgkin, curation and hotels director at Mr and Mrs Smith, highlighting Louma in Dorset as a key property. “What makes it special is how immersive it feels. Life here unfolds around the practical realities of the farm—animals moving through the day, fires tended, meals prepared and shared—with time shaped by the land rather than a timetable.”

Fowlescombe in Devon opened in May 2025 and is the blueprint for how luxury farm stays should look—it is a working farm where guests are encouraged to learn about the land, whether that’s picking vegetables, feeding livestock or a guided tour of the mechanisms of this sustainable farm. Influencer Lucy Williams, who has impeccable taste when it comes to hotels, hosted a stay here for the launch of her With Nothing Underneath collection, where guests collected eggs and enjoyed the farm-to-table offering. As a working farm, this is much more than a gimmick for TikTok, as everything is a genuine celebration of local biodiversity—even the mattresses are made using wool from Fowlescombe sheep.

The Restairies at Paradise Farm in Suffolk is another leader in this category, as Gem Boner (formerly of Soho House) and her husband Thom, opened a five-bed retreat in a 16th-century farm. “Farm stays are special because they reconnect you to all the things modern life quietly steals from you—space, nature, slow mornings, proper food, muddy boots, fresh eggs, fires, stars, and conversations that aren’t interrupted by inboxes,” says Boner. “We wanted to create more than a beautiful place to stay. We wanted to build an off switch. Also, frankly, life is better when there are alpacas involved.” We can’t argue with that.

For something more intimate, the cottage Homestead in the North York Moors is a family-run business with an attached restaurant where the menu is based around the flourishing kitchen garden.

What to Pack:

Surf and Turf

Cornwall is hardly a groundbreaking staycation idea; however, there’s been a wave of London influencers and editors moving here for the surf-filled lifestyle. Think coastal walks, seafood platters and salty hair. “Cornwall is super special all year round,” says Lindsey Holland, a fashion influencer who runs a surf retreat company, Marnie Rays. “The best waves tend to be in the winter, but spring and summer are also putting on a show at the moment! I love surfing at Godrevy and Gwithain—the beach cafe at Godrevy is amazing and there’s also an incredible coastal path walk that starts there too.” While she adds if you’re heading to the north coast, you need to visit Gorse Bakery for a bacon butty. If you don’t want to do any organising, the Marnie Rays retreats are ideal for those learning to surf.

“Obviously Newquay is Cornwall’s surfing hotspot, with great surf schools and some of the best beaches for all levels, from Watergate Bay to Fistral beach,” says Emily Dawes, a fashion editor who lives in Cornwall. “But if you want to experience surf culture like a local, it’s worth heading (way) out west to the wild and beautiful Sennen Cove (next door to Land’s End), which has a legendary surf school, miles of white sand and clear blue Caribbean-like seas. For post-surf fuel, the Sennen Surf Lodge is a chic beach bar with barefoot vibes, a killer sunset and delicious food and drinks. Don’t miss their Pizza Roja pop-up for the best pizza in Cornwall (or maybe even the UK).” For days when you want to avoid the crowd, she recommends going to Gwynver Beach which is an “off-the-beaten-track surfer’s paradise.” For heading West, Dawes recommends you stay at Farraway House in Sennen or at Pembrooke Lodge or Little Pembrooke, the Cornish house which was thoughtfully renovated by fashion PR Bianca Fincham and is far more elevated than your typical rental.

What to Pack:

Saltburn Cosplay

Stately homes and grand estates will always be an indulgent option for a UK staycation, whether you’re pretending you’re the lady of a manor house or reign over a castle in the Highlands. Emerald Fennell, eat your heart out. “There are certain houses that come into their own in summer, and Cowley Manor is very much one of them,” notes Hodgkin. “Set deep within the Cotswolds, it has the quiet confidence of a grand estate that knows its place in the landscape—elegant without being imposing, and best enjoyed slowly. What draws me back, time and again, is the sense of space and ease. The gardens—originally laid out by Capability Brown—unfold with a natural rhythm, dense woodland giving way to open lawns, water moving gently through the grounds.” British heritage brand Barbour just hosted a trip at Aldourie Castle in Loch Ness, which is an exclusive-use house for those wanting to have something truly luxurious. Send your group chat a photograph of the formal dining room as your sales pitch.

What to Pack:

A Londoner's London

If you’ve done the Tower of London and don’t want to go anywhere near the M&M store, why not Lime bike your way around the city like a Londoner, sticking to neighbourhood haunts only. No Pret allowed. “There are London hotels made for sightseeing — and then there are those that feel entirely of the city,” says Hodgkin. “The Broadwick sits squarely in the latter camp. Set on a quietly storied street in Soho, it has the relaxed confidence of a place designed for people who already understand London’s rhythms. From here, the capital is best explored instinctively: hopping on a Lime bike, slipping down side streets, cutting between favourite restaurants, record shops and late‑night haunts rather than following a map.” Plus this summer, El Fenn has a rooftop residency at the hotel. Add onto your itinerary lunch at Cafe Cecilia (where Jonathan Saunders recently hosted industry friends to celebrate his creative directorship for & Other Stories) and a stroll of Broadway Market (Rites is excellent for second-hand designer finds on this street) and a visit to the recently opened V&A East, which has an exhibition ‘Music Is Black’ and quite possibly the best museum eatery in the city, Café Jikoni.

Right now, Marie Claire has some exclusive discounts on hotel booking sites such as 8% on select hotels at Hotels.com and Expedia.com—well worth checking out for more options in the UK and beyond.

What to Pack:

Coastal Path

When visiting the coast this year, why not branch out beyond Margate. Hannah Almassi, MD of Marie Claire and Who What Wear, has seen first-hand the rise in visitors to the South Downs. "When I moved to Eastbourne four years ago, it felt like a little untouched pocket of calm, palm trees and retirement properties. Lately, there's been a noticeable increase in people hiking across the South Downs and the town and walking paths have become full of well-dressed Gen Z groups—and I’m not mad about it! It feels like it’s experiencing a renaissance many years after its original Victorian seaside town boom.” As for what to do when you get there, Almassi recommends you visit the Towner Gallery, stay at the Port Hotel and book a table at Foundry for brunch and have a romantic dinner at Skylark. And because what is a UK staycation without a walk to a pub, she recommends you take a small hike via Butts Brow to the Eight Bells in Jevington. If you’re driving, it’s always worth detouring via Charleston House, the magical home of Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant.

There is also a rise in properties that combine the coast with countryside, such as Fowlescombe in Devon. Updown Farmhouse near Deal is another hotel that masters this concept, with a charming main country house, quaint cottages on site and a serene terrace restaurant, where you can eat breakfast in the cottage-style garden. It’s one of the most relaxing hotel breakfasts I’ve ever had and is the perfect place to unwind after a day navigating crowds at the beach.

What to Pack:

A Great British Menu

Dining in the countryside can have a reputation for mediocre pub grub, however one of the most exciting restaurants in the UK is nestled in a seemingly sleepy corner of Somerset. Bruton might be a small village, but people plan holidays around a dinner reservation at Osip, where chef Merlin Labron-Johnson puts an artistic spin on seasonal local produce and was awarded a Michelin star in 2021. There are four rooms for those who want the full Osip experience, while The Newt is just down the road and is without a doubt the best place I’ve ever stayed in the UK. Opened by Babylonstoren, everything about the property is magical, from the Alice in Wonderland-style gardens to the hearty breakfasts to the outdoor hot tub. The restaurants are a celebration of British produce, with cider made from apple trees on site and vegetables plucked from the sprawling estate. Holm is another new addition to the Somerset line-up, and Hodgkin notes that here “the excitement comes from immediacy—open‑fire cooking, exceptional ingredients and a closeness to the land that makes each meal feel elemental, tactile and completely absorbing.”

The Lake District is also a foodie destination and hub for fine dining: 13 Cumbrian restaurants featured in the 2026 Michelin guide. The gothic country house Forest Side has one of the most in-demand restaurants, with an eight-course tasting menu that uses lots of ingredients from the expansive kitchen garden and local Cumbrian farmers.

If you are in the mood for a very fancy pub experience, then head to The Three Horsehoes in Batcombe, Somerset. With the menu crafted by chef, caterer and writer Margot Henderson OBE and Head Chef Nye Smith, this is the perfect, low-key destination for delicious food with friends or family and to take in the charming sights at nearby Petworth.

What to Pack:

We want more from our summer plans than just a bit of sun and sea (although they’re nice to have in the mix). We crave holidays built not around a destination but around a premise: the ancient train journey that takes four days to cross a continent; a lake so still it looks painted; the off-grid cabin with no Wi-Fi and a wood-fired sauna. “People want more than just a fly-and-flop holiday,” agrees Tom Barber, co-founder of the luxury travel operator, Original Travel. “They want time to pursue a hobby, learn a new language, learn to cook, dive, or even explore regional dances - and there is real kudos in discovering somewhere new before everyone else does.”

To help you plan your summer break, we’ve rounded up the best trips that will fill you with wonder and reignite the joy of travelling, not just being on holiday.

Swap the Sea for a Lake

It feels natural to book a summer break by the sea. But at some of Europe’s busiest beaches, you can be hard pushed to find enough space to lay a towel. So if you’re craving a break by water, try a lake destination instead.

Lac d'Annecy is well-known in France, but barely on the British radar. Annecy itself is a beautifully preserved medieval town, with smaller villages dotted around the entire lake, all connected by cycling paths (with bike rental services) and a very regular bus service. Talloires is a great place to stay: it has a sheltered swimming area with a swimming platform and water slide that is popular with kids and adults alike, and a big cafe/ bar on the lake front that serves beers, wines and pizzas to a laid back crowd. There are plenty of Airbnbs, or for a treat stay, check into L'Auberge du Père Bise (from €440 perebise.com).

Slovenia's Lake Bled is no longer a secret, but Lake Bohinj in Slovenia is in the same Triglav National Park as Bled but almost entirely overlooked by visitors. It is wilder, more mountainous, swimmable, but almost no commercial development. Hotel Bohinj is a stylish base near the lake with rooms (from €180 per night, hotelbohinj.si).

For an even further under-the-radar option, head to Lake Prespa on the North Macedonia-Albania-Greece border—one of the oldest lakes in the world, where you’ll see extraordinary pelican colonies and 11th-century Byzantine frescoes painted directly onto the rocks. Stay in Villa Prespa, a rural B&B in the village of Dolno Dupeni (from £110 for a double room, villaprespa.com).

Try an Unusual Road Trip

The road trip has been the basis for some of the best movies. Much like train travel, it’s not solely about the destination: you need to put thought into plotting an interesting route.

The North Coast 500—Scotland's 516-mile loop from Inverness around the far north of the country—takes in the dramatic sea stacks of Assynt, to the white sand beaches of Durness. Jump into your Land Rover Discovery and stop at charming hotels along the way, or hire a campervan from Goboony, the Airbnb-style camper van rental platform (from £50, goboony.co.uk).

Further afield, Albania’s Riviera, running south from Vlorë toward the Greek border, offers beautiful views of a dramatic coastline as you take in the towns of Himara, Borsh, and Dhërmi and thousands of concrete bunkers, relics of the former Communist president Enver Halil Hoxha’s era, that dot the landscape. Fly to Tirana, where you can stay at the chic Faces Places (from €60 facesandplaces.al).

While everyone’s visiting Lisbon, take an unhurried trip through the interior of Portugal, threading through the Alentejo's cork-oak plains, olive groves, and fortified hilltop villages, including the small walled town of Monsaraz, and the medieval village of Marvão. Stay in Santiago Hotel (from £105.71, mrandmrssmith.com).

PS. If you want to live life on the edge and book as you ride, check out the LastMinute.com exclusive discount codes Marie Claire is running at the moment.

Go for Off-Grid Luxury

Off-grid luxury is now one of the fastest-growing segments in high-end travel, although of course, you can choose just how “off grid” you want to be.

In Norway's Lofoten Islands, Eliassen Rorbuer has converted 12 traditional fishermen's cabins into wonderfully atmospheric cabins with wood-burning stoves. Eliassen Rorbuer (from £240/night, lofoten-rorbuer.no).

The highlands of Scotland still feel like vastly under-explored territory. Glen Dye cottages are in the middle of a 15,000 acre estate surrounded by wilderness and forests that you can walk through and swim in the river. (Prices from £195, glendyecabinsandcottages.com)

If you really want to switch off—but don’t want to travel too far—check into one of Unplugged’s 52 cabins in England and Wales, where you lock your phone away on arrival and immerse yourself in nature. (Three nights start from £390, unplugged.rest).

Take a Train

Watching the world thrum past your window is one of the best ways to travel. Original Travel reports enquiries are up 125% for rail trips, with bookings up by a 1/3 since 2023. How quickly you get there is not the point: it’s about savouring the journey.

For a spectacular rail route that takes you overnight from London to Fort William, then over the 21 arched Glenfinnan viaduct to Mallaig—the iconic route to Hogwarts from the Harry Potter films. (Book a cabin from £719 per person, trip.byway.travel).

For continental travel—that’s not the Orient Express—the sleeper networks of Scandinavia and central Europe are worth checking out. The Nightjet network, operated by Austrian Federal Railways, now connects Vienna, Zurich, Amsterdam, and Rome on routes where waking up in a new city after a civilised night in a couchette feels like a minor act of magic. (Nightjet passes available direct from ÖBB from €124 in sleeping car with private toilet and shower, oebb.at).

For a spectacular train ride on The Glacier Express, combined with walks across mountain routes surrounding Zermatt’s mountain, book a guided tour. (From £2,451pp inntravel.co.uk).

Visit a Lesser-Known City

Leave Paris and Barcelona alone during the summer months (come back in winter), and explore a city that is less crowded.

In Tbilisi, the Georgian capital, the old city's wooden balconied houses lean over narrow streets in various states of picturesque dishevelment and the Persian-influenced bathhouse district in Abanotubani offers a genuinely ancient urban spa tradition. Stay in the boutique hotel Communal Hotel Plekhanovi (from £53; mrandmrssmith.com).

Valletta in Malta is Europe's smallest capital, featuring densely Baroque that has had years of careful restoration. The Grand Harbour at dusk, approached through the Upper Barrakka Gardens, is one of the great theatrical views of the Mediterranean. Try the charming Valletta Boutique (from €140, vallettaboutique.com).

Once the great seaport of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Trieste is often overlooked in favour of Venice or Rome, but it has beautiful grand architecture, extraordinary food and a beautiful, painterly light. L'Albero Nascosto is a charming boutique hotel (from £130, alberonascosto.it).

I’ve always loved long-haul flights. As someone who struggles to relax, the forced idle time to do little else but stare out the window, wondering who in my life would be most devastated were the plane to go down, is a vanishingly rare opportunity for rest and reflection, and no opportunity to “better” spend my time.

That changed on a recent flight when I felt the all-too-familiar tug to be productive. Instead of flicking through the in-flight entertainment like any sensible person, I found myself hunched over my phone, sorting through holiday photos to post.

There were sunsets and street scenes. A heaving plate of garlicky prawns. A beach I’d snapped from every conceivable angle. Hundreds of photos that should stir wistful nostalgia for a trip I’d spent months anticipating and days promising myself I’d stay present for. Instead, scouring a gallery of images no one forced me to take, I felt overwhelmed. A flight that should have been an extension of the trip became the site of a small social media centre.

All of this feels—and is—ridiculous, because I’m not an influencer. I don’t make money from Instagram. Brands aren’t waiting for my content. Nobody is demanding a holiday recap. In fact, when I do post these holiday dumps, I often add an apologetic disclaimer of sorts: “You might want to mute me now, ha ha!” to signal I’m not completely mad and self-involved, that I do have some sense of humility.

And yet, every time I’m away, I find myself facing the same peculiar conundrum: do I post in real time and feel less present, or wait until I’m home when suddenly my memories become admin? Neither feels particularly satisfying. The obvious third option (to not post at all) doesn’t feel like an option at all.

There are photos to sort through, stories to catch up on, carousels to curate. An entirely self-imposed pressure to post before the moment somehow becomes stale. I’ve started thinking of it as the psychological admin of documenting joy.

All of this, and for a few thousand followers. If people like me, who don’t make a living online, feel obligated to narrativise their holidays, what does that say about how normalised this performance has become?

“Ourselves become shaped by public performance,” Sherry Turkle tells me. If anyone can explain why a holiday can feel unfinished until it’s posted online, it’s Turkle. For more than three decades, the MIT sociologist and author has explored how technology subtly alters our relationship with attention, memory and the self.

When I asked Turkle why so many of us feel compelled to document meaningful moments immediately, rather than trusting the experience itself to be enough, the response was hauntingly familiar: “We don’t feel we’ve had the experience until we share it.”

It tallies with writer Jia Tolentino’s observations. In “The I in the Internet”, one of the essays in Trick Mirror, she writes that as more people began to register their existence digitally, “a pastime turned into an imperative: you had to register yourself digitally to exist.”

Why do we feel pressure to post holiday photos?

I thought back to all of the moments that should have affirmed to me the majesty of the natural world—seeing an orca erupt from the ocean as the sun slipped into the Tofino harbour, say—but instead raced to pull out my phone, practically salivating over how well I expected this to ‘perform’ on social media.

Now, my memory of that night is inextricably bound to the 10-second reel I posted. In my mind, Rainy (that was the whale’s name) dove back into the deep sea just as quickly as he’d emerged, but when I recently backed up my phone and watched the unedited video, I realised he’d actually put on quite the performance, charting across the length of Vancouver Island harbour until the spray from his blowhole was all that was visible in the distance.

How social media shapes our memories

“There’s growing evidence that what we share on social media ends up being what we remember best,” explains Kathryn Jezer-Morton, author of The Story of Your Life: How Social Media Shapes the Way We Experience Everything. “This makes sense if you think about how we might revisit an image to see what people are commenting on it, or who’s liking it.” A single image, she says, can end up standing in for an entire evening in our minds.

Jezer-Morton argues that the more time we spend immersed in the visual language of social media, the more we search for opportunities to reproduce it in our own lives. We learn what an aspirational holiday or a beautiful moment looks like. “When an experience succeeds in this way, we think of it as fun,” she says. “But really, the ‘fun’ isn’t the experience itself … but rather the feeling of having stage-managed a momentary scene that will appeal to other people.”

Hearing this, my mind scanned through my own camera roll—and Instagram grid. Pet nat in glasses branded with the cool font of a local wine bar. Ballet flats posed on a cobbled street. Endless aesthetically pleasing details that say nary a thing about me as a person and aren’t, if I’m being honest, especially interesting to me save for the fact that I’m living out my own For You page. Truthfully, I’m not sure if I’m documenting my own life or just emulating the visuals I’ve absorbed from thousands of other people online.

The supposed satisfaction, Jezer-Morton argues, “has nothing to do with you, or even with the people you’re hanging out with. It has to do with people who aren’t present in the room.” The result, she says, is “fundamentally alienating.”

Are we turning our holidays into content?

And yet even when I know this to be true, the compulsion remains. “If I don’t post it now, I never will, and it’ll drive me mad,” one traveller told me on a recent press trip as she pulled out her phone to capture (and then quickly ignore) the verdant vista sprawling out in front of us.

And it’s not just those of us with content creator-adjacent jobs either. “I can’t explain it, I just need to get it posted,” one friend, with 331 followers, stressed to me. Another told me how she feels “guilty” about wasting good photos. This struck a noisy chord with me.

You don't have to be an influencer to feel this pressure

I wasn’t always cynical about this. In fact, I remember downloading Instagram for the first time with genuine excitement.

My uni flatmate had shown me a selection of photos on a new app I thought was the height of cool: a cupcake with a perfect swirl of frosting, a syrupy cocktail from a long-since shuttered Camden bar, and a new style of self-portraiture we didn’t yet have a name for. I’ve loved taking photographs for as long as I’ve lacked the technical skill to be particularly good at it, and I was instantly drawn to these ready-made filters with fun names like Valencia and X-Pro II.

I decided I needed Instagram for my upcoming holiday. By New Year’s Eve, I was posting from my then-boyfriend’s family home in Switzerland. I remember one especially “arty” image—snow-tipped fir trees flanking an icy clearing as though leading to Narnia—attracting a fistful of likes and feeling a new creative medium unfurling in front of me.

Armed with my new iPhone 5, I went off in search of Instagrammable moments with the zeal of Lee Miller documenting war-torn Europe. The aim wasn’t to make my meagre following jealous, or—heaven forbid—to build a brand. I simply enjoyed experimenting with a new creative outlet at a time when I was desperately trying to find my own creativity.

Early Instagram felt more playful than performative. It’s hard to imagine now, but it felt democratising. Suddenly, anyone could turn an ordinary photograph into something atmospheric, and it was fun finding things worth documenting. It made me seek out new experiences and, at that time, actually experience them rather than simply document.

But somewhere between the rise of influencers, creator culture and the relentless pressure to be visible online, holidays (and everything else) became content opportunities, and photos became inventory waiting to be processed.

According to Brooke Erin Duffy, an associate professor in the Department of Communication at Cornell University, the behaviours once associated primarily with influencers have seeped into the rest of us.

“Like social media personalities, ordinary users may feel compelled to mine their lives for content,” she tells me, describing a culture in which people stage photographs, tag products and project themselves as personal brands. Platforms themselves encourage this behaviour, continually prompting us to “put ourselves out there.”

Duffy explains that many of us have also been socialised to see self-presentation through the lens of work. What we post online might get us fired, but it could also get us hired. The highly curated posts that dominate social media, she suggests, reflect wider economic uncertainty, while platforms and brands continue to encourage what she calls “aspirational labour”: the idea that freely sharing content and growing an audience might one day pay off.

It’s an observation that helps explain why people like me, with a few thousand followers rather than a management team, can feel oddly burdened by documenting our downtime.

The result is a strange contradiction. We talk more than ever about being present. Wellness culture encourages mindfulness. Travel writers (I, too, have been guilty of this) extol the virtues of slowing down. Yet many of us move through our holidays with one eye on an imaginary future audience who might eventually consume them.

On a recent trip, I spent half my time trying to stay present, and the other half mentally scheduling future Instagram posts complete with captions about being present.

The experience and its documentation become inseparable.

Can we enjoy a holiday without posting it?

The annoying part is that I genuinely enjoy sharing my travels. I like photography. I like storytelling. I like seeing what friends have been up to. The problem isn’t posting; it’s the sense that a holiday isn’t over until it’s been posted, and the feeling that there’s the holiday, and then there’s the documented second version of the holiday that has to be curated later. Sometimes the two are wildly different.

A few years ago, I tacked on a few days at my boyfriend’s aunt’s house after a group trip to Spain. We stayed on the sofa of her one-bedroom apartment in the middle of a golf resort up the coast from Alicante, packed to the rafters with sunburnt Brits, but you wouldn’t know it from the pictures I posted.

Ironically, the dearth of content opportunities made that stay one of the most relaxing, and in turn, memorable trips of recent years. Now, when I look at those photos, of which there are few, I don’t feel overwhelmed wondering what to do with them so long after the trip. I look at them to remember. After all, isn’t that what photos are for?

It’s 5.45 am, and I’m Boston-bound, lugging a carry-on packed with carbon plate trainers, gels, kit and electrolytes through Heathrow Terminal 5. I’ve got 45 minutes until boarding, so I grab my usual—a Pret porridge, protein pot and cappuccino—and settle down with my book near the departures board.

If you saw me, you’d probably assume I was off on an early summer holiday or sightseeing trip. But rather than heading Stateside purely to explore the historical Harvard campus, grab far too many Dunkin’ iced coffees and catch some games at Fenway Park, I’ll be lacing up to run the infamous Boston Marathon.

The first time I travelled abroad for a race was in 2019, when a group of friends and I headed to Lisbon for the half-marathon. Post-pandemic, I travelled to Chicago to complete my first marathon abroad. And since then, I’ve kind of lost count, travelling all across the UK and abroad for races and fitness events. I’ve completed the Berlin, Valencia, and Boston Marathons, a four-day wellness retreat in Spain, and even ticked off a marathon walk along the Northumberland coast with my family.

Using my annual leave to tick off bucket list events that also boost my mood and fitness isn’t a question anymore; it’s just how I enjoy spending my spare time.

While holidaymakers have long prioritised “fly and flop” vacations, opting for all-inclusive resorts in sunny destinations decked out with pool, restaurant and bar, our appetite has shifted dramatically over the last decade, with travellers increasingly seeking out holidays centred around wellness, fitness, and active experiences.

While once seen as niche and reserved mainly for serious athletes and wellness enthusiasts, I’m now far from alone in choosing to use my annual leave in a more active way. While retreats have long been popular, travelling for fitness events like Hyrox competitions, international marathons, or dedicated hikes is only growing in popularity, becoming both a social and status-driven experience. Fitness and sports tourism is a half-trillion-dollar-plus industry that accounts for roughly 10% of global tourism spending. And data shows that wellness tourism is actually growing faster than traditional tourism and leisure travel segments, projected to grow at around 14 to 17% annually over the next five years.

More people than ever are planning their holidays around movement, whether that’s a marathon, half marathon, fitness competition like Hyrox, or yoga or Pilates-focused retreat. So what does the rise of “fitness tourism” say about how we’re choosing to travel and how we want to switch off? Is it about community, achievement, or a deeper shift in how we define rest and reward?

Don’t get me wrong—poolside holidays will always have their place. But alongside them, a surprising underdog has emerged in the form of fitness tourism. Below, I chat with some of the experts at the forefront of the movement to get their take.

How Fitness Tourism Is Redefining the Way We Travel

If you’d told fourteen-year-old Ally that she’d use a large chunk of her annual leave each year to run races abroad, she’d probably have laughed at you. I wasn’t a sporty kid —far from it—and I loathed exercise with a passion. But in my early 20s, I found running, and it’s no exaggeration to say it’s shaped my life, travel, and worldview ever since.

Many of my friends are the same; one person I spoke to for this piece has run several races around the UK and abroad, combining her love of running with travel. “I do it for the adventure,” she shares. “It’s such a great way and reason to see new places.” Many others I asked echoed the same sentiment, that travelling for fitness boosts adventure, opportunity, and discovery. “It’s an amazing way to explore new places and chase personal bests.”

For some, it’s about seeing destinations through a new lens—“I enjoy seeing areas of a city that aren’t on the typical tourist trail when running marathons”—while for others, it’s about seeing the best of the locals, too: “Nothing brings humans together more than cheering complete strangers taking on sporting events in their hometown. I love meeting people in other countries and sharing life experiences.”

One friend put it well, when I asked what the appeal was: “Someone said the NYC Marathon was the best day of their life. I entered the ballot there and then.” And this I really resonate with. Marathons are such a monumental achievement; completing one somewhere new offers a deeply tangible sense of purpose, adventure and connection.

There’s also an element of emotional escapism. Destination fitness events masterfully merge your athletic achievements with travel, culture and identity. Travelling to a new city to meet new, but like-minded, people can help you to realise a version of yourself outside of your everyday routine and boost your self-confidence tenfold.

One friend that I spoke to for this piece spends her weekends travelling to different Parkruns with her husband. She’s done 226 so far, eighteen overseas, and has no plans to stop any time soon. “Parkrunning is more than just a 5K for me. It’s quality time with my favourite people and getting outdoors. And then there’s all the places it takes me to, whether that’s a random park in a part of the UK I’d never have visited otherwise, or an underrated racecourse or the grounds of an epic country house."

Ultimately, everyone’s “whys” have a connecting thread: we’re actively seeking experiences for our annual leave that boost our body, mind, and mood. Holidays need to be restorative, but what we now view as restorative has undoubtedly evolved. “Building some element of wellness into a holiday is the only way I actually manage to switch off,” shares Marie Claire's Social Media Editor Dionne Brighton. “It’s become the main thing I look for when booking.”

Movement-Packed Holidays > Fly and Flop

Across the industry, experts are noticing the same: people are shifting from seeking out passive to experiential travel. As Alex Rowe from Motiv Sports UK, the organiser of HOKA Hackney Moves, puts it, “People want trips that feel earned, purposeful and shareable. In this digital world, holidays are no longer just about relaxation; they’re about storytelling and achievement.”

Take Hackney Half Marathon, as an example: runners took to the streets this year from 33 different nations, with people flying all the way from Hong Kong, Singapore and New Zealand.

Jeff Adams, President of Marathon Tours & Travel, agrees. They’ve long been leading the charge on the active holiday front, combining world-class marathon experiences with expertly curated packages for runners, turning race day into a seamless travel adventure. They’ve seen enormous growth over the past ten years, and he believes that many are replacing “standard” holidays with more fitness-focused fun. “Today's travellers are turning the most remote corners of the planet into a collective celebration of community, culture, and healthy living."

Restorative Time Off As the New Non-Negotiable

There are many reasons this may be happening, including the fast pace of modern life and a shift in our understanding of how fundamentally integral wellbeing is. As Louise Day, Fitness & Wellbeing Director at Champneys Wellness Spas, one of the UK’s most established wellness destinations, says, “Wellness travel has shifted from indulgence to essential maintenance for mind, body and soul. It’s no longer just about relaxation; it’s about expert-led programmes that deliver physical and mental benefits.”

Lewis Moses from RunThrough, a leading organiser of mass participation running events, reckons that COVID played its part in encouraging people to live healthier lifestyles. “Having [freedom of movement, travelling and fitness events] taken away during COVID made many put a value on exercising and making the most of the time you have off. People want to come back from holiday feeling good as opposed to feeling wiped.”

Community, Culture, Identity

Of course, fitness tourism also offers something that your standard holidays may not—it brings you together with like-minded people who you otherwise wouldn’t have met. “Not only do you get a chance to see a global city, but you get a chance to interact with people and communities,” Moses adds. “You’re not just ticking off life goals in terms of travel; you’re also ticking off big goals in terms of personal development.”

It’d be remiss to overlook the wider cultural shift towards wellness as an identity. People no longer work out purely for aesthetic reasons; millions around the globe move to boost their mental health, improve self-development, and be part of a wider community. As Moritz Fürste, Co-Founder and Chief Marketing Officer at HYROX, puts it when we catch up, “It says something quite profound about how our relationship with both health and success has shifted. People's priorities have changed.”

More than 111,000 athletes have now travelled to compete in HYROX races across two or more regions worldwide, with nearly 30,000 athletes competing in three or more regions (for context, there were just 50 travelling competitors in 2018 compared to more than 111,000 in 2026). He reckons this is because generationally, our attitudes have seismically shifted: we now crave identity, community, and performance in an increasingly isolating world. “HYROX represents the desire to perform. It's not just about feeling well, it's about testing yourself, competing and coming home with a result after training so hard. That pursuit of personal excellence, regardless of age or background, feels very much like the defining attitude of this current generation.”

In an era of burnout and digital overload, fitness tourism offers an experience people can’t get elsewhere: structure, connection and an unrivalled sense of accomplishment, all while exploring somewhere new.

Redefining Luxury

At the same time, how we view luxury has quietly shifted: now, it’s not enough to book a five-star hotel with an all-inclusive food and drinks package. Travellers expect a fully fledged wellness offering—Pilates, yoga, saunas, guided hikes, state-of-the-art gym facilities, nutrient-dense menu options, and non-alcoholic, low-sugar drinks, too. Oh, and don’t forget the sound baths.

As Adams reflects, “Fitness tourism consistently shows that our ideas of luxury, achievement, and self-care are expanding and intersecting. True luxury is about feeling alive, pushing your limits, and treating your mind and body right.” He also shares that a growing number of their clients are willing to spend more on more high-end fitness experiences—take the recently launched Marathon Tours and Travel “Prestige Packages" for example, which sold out almost immediately.

The more I dive deep into this topic, the more apparent it becomes to me that fitness tourism is multifaceted and likely highly individual. Hyrox fans may combine a holiday with a competition for a sense of personal accomplishment and to ensure they stick to a training plan; marathon runners may tick off 26.2’s around the globe to tap into the wider running community and to meet like-minded people; low-impact enthusiasts heading to retreats may be looking for new ways to unwind and return home feeling their best selves.

But they all have one thing in common: that people are viewing wellness as part of their identity. For some, true luxury now lies in how we feel, both physically and mentally, day to day—it's not about designer bags or luxe brands, but rather the quality of life.

Dr Melanie agrees that the meaning of status has changed. “It’s less about visible luxury and more about access to time, expertise, prevention and highly personalised care. Being able to invest in one’s health has become a new form of privilege. However, the most meaningful part of wellness travel is not symbolic, but practical. Its value lies in whether it helps people live with more energy, clarity and long-term health.”

Fürste adds: “People no longer prioritise materialism; rather, access to experiences, and that's exactly what we're building with HYROX Experiences. Our first-ever HYROX Cruise in October will host a never-before-seen training concept built around our four core pillars ‘Foundation, Engine, Power and Complete’, combined with exclusive access to world champions and internationally renowned coaches sharing insights into their training, nutrition and performance strategies. That kind of access was previously reserved for elite athletes. Now it's available to anyone willing to show up and put in the work.”

For so long, travel was a pretty “one size fits all,” with data showing that while many wanted to explore new places, the majority just wanted to switch off somewhere hot and with good food and drink options. Now, the face of travel as we know it has evolved: people are actively seeking more, and that “more” is movement.

No longer a niche, but a fast-growing sector reshaping how we holiday, wellness shouldn’t be an afterthought, extra cost, or add-on; it should be integrated, so that more people get to experience the life-changing benefits that good sleep, regular movement and nutrient-dense food can bring.

All I have to say? Well, that you heard it here first.

If you’re chasing that elusive Parisian sweet spot—somewhere intimate yet polished, central yet calm—Padam Hôtel is for you. Tucked on a discreet street in the 16th arrondissement, just minutes from the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs-Élysées, this boutique hotel is a quietly chic Paris bolthole perfect for a quick city break, or, in my case, a base during Paris Fashion Week. With early starts and late returns, finding a hotel that is both stylish and well located is always essential. For my full review of the hotel, plus tips if you do decide to stay, keep scrolling…

The Vibe

Small enough to feel like a well-kept secret, Padam trades grand-hotel theatrics for something softer and more contemporary. Housed in a beautiful Haussmann-style red-brick building—a classic example of traditional Parisian architecture—it sits with quiet elegance on the street. If you’re a fan of Soho House interiors, the mid-century wood finishes, bouclé sofas, and earthy marble bathrooms will be pleasing to the eye. Most importantly, it feels instantly calming after a day navigating the city’s intensity.

The Rooms

Padam Hôtel’s rooms blend contemporary Parisian style with understated elegance. Neutral tones, subtle pops of colour, and sculptural lighting create a calm, refined feel. Though compact, they’re thoughtfully designed, with plenty of natural light and sleek marble bathrooms. The result is a quiet, comfortable retreat that feels polished, intimate, and distinctly boutique. I stayed in a Junior Suite, complete with a desk area for late-night editing and ample wardrobe space—a must during Paris Fashion Week.

The Location

This is where Padam really shines. Set in a polished yet relatively peaceful pocket of the 16th arrondissement, it’s within walking distance of major landmarks, with metro stations like George V close by—making it easy to dip in and out of the city while still enjoying a quieter, more residential feel. This is by far the reason why I would book this hotel again.

The Facilities

For a boutique hotel, the offering is surprisingly well-rounded. There’s a small fitness space and a hammam—ideal for unwinding post-sightseeing or, in my case, after a busy day of back-to-back fashion shows—as well as a cosy restaurant serving classic French cuisine, perfect for early morning breakfasts or a quiet meal at the end of the day. On evenings when I returned to the hotel later, there’s also a great Italian restaurant just a two-minute walk away.

The Verdict

Padam Hôtel is a quietly confident addition to Paris’s boutique scene: stylish without being showy, central without being chaotic. It won’t suit those craving sprawling suites or palatial grandeur, but for design-conscious travellers who value location, comfort and a sense of calm, I would recommend it without a doubt.

Marie Claire verdict: A polished, intimate base for a chic Paris city break—best booked with a room upgrade for that extra breathing space.

Le Mas de Chabran sits quietly in the Alpilles, a sun-warmed corner of Provence that feels removed from the pace of everyday life. From the moment you step through the gates, the beauty of it all immediately slows you down. It’s often booked for weddings, birthdays and anniversaries, and after a few hours here, I can see why. The gardens are immaculately kept, and there’s a romantic, almost storybook stillness to the estate that makes everyday life feel very far away.

The magic of Le Mas de Chabran is cumulative: beautifully tended gardens, artworks placed with intention, and design choices that feel considered with a consistent sense of care running through the house, all contribute to an atmosphere that feels personal, relaxing, and built for a beautiful time.

The Vibe

There's a quiet rhythm to life at Le Mas de Chabran that’s hard to come by elsewhere. Mornings are slow and unstructured, often beginning with breakfast outside, accompanied only by the sound of the central fountain. Time stretches easily here, with no real distinction between morning and afternoon, as breakfast drifts into a stroll, a dip in the pool, and then getting ready for a long, leisurely lunch.

There’s a kitchen garden to wander through, and, tucked into the greenery, a striking pool surrounded by art rather than neat rows of loungers. Apart from the occasional splash, there’s very little to interrupt the calm. Slowing down the Provençal way quickly becomes second nature, with long lunches, golden evenings, unhurried dinners, and plenty of wine.

The Story

The mas dates back to the 18th century and was originally built to produce olive oil, a purpose that still shapes the property today. Parts of the original structure remain intact, including architectural elements and installations once used in the oil-making process, giving the house a tangible sense of history rather than a purely decorative one (although it is decorated to perfection).

In 2017, the estate entered a new chapter when it was carefully restored and reimagined, opening to guests in 2019. The result is a rare balance: a house that honours its past without feeling stuck in it, made modern through art, light and thoughtful design, and a room you never want to leave.

The Rooms

The interior is just as impressive as the exterior. The house is filled with curated pieces of art, many by local artists, and it’s the kind of place where you keep noticing small details you missed earlier in the day.

There are eight bedrooms in total, all beautifully finished, each with its own bathroom and views across the grounds. Waking up to see the estate’s horses quietly grazing nearby became one of my favourite parts of the stay. At the very top of the house, a converted loft houses a small gym and sauna. Service throughout feels effortless. The house is immaculate at all times, but never in a way that feels intrusive or over-managed. Everything simply happens when it needs to, leaving you to enjoy the space without ever thinking about logistics.

Food and the surrounding area

Food quickly becomes a focal point here. Guests can choose to book a private chef for their stay, either full-time or for select evenings, and it’s well worth doing so. During my visit, dinners prepared by resident chef Quentin Laidet were consistently memorable, thoughtful, and deeply rooted in Provençal flavours. It’s the kind of cooking you find yourself thinking about weeks later.

Beyond the estate, the surrounding area lends itself to slow exploration. Think vineyards, long lunches and time spent outdoors. Horse riding through the wider landscape, including nearby wetlands, offers a completely different perspective on Provence, while the local villages provide just enough bustle before you’re happy to retreat back “home”.

How To Book

Le Mas de Chabran is exceptional. Between the beauty of the setting, the depth of its history, the art-filled interiors and the quiet care behind every detail, it’s a place that stays with you long after you’ve left.

The estate is available for private hire and sleeps up to 16 guests across eight bedrooms, with the option to add a private chef and tailor your stay depending on how you want to experience it.

To find out more, visit the official website, call +33 (0)6 51 52 09 99, or email reservations@domainesdechabran.com.

Quietly arched between Thailand and Indonesia, Malaysia is often overlooked by the throng of beach-seeking travellers heading to the familiar sandy shores of Bali and Koh Samui. But they’re missing something quite extraordinary by skipping over this diverse and vibrant destination: islands with lush, sprawling rainforests and stretches of unspoilt beaches, luxury sea villas bobbing over sparkling emerald waters, and a feeling that there's far more to explore than its traditionally popular neighbours.

Why Go

While it feels significantly less populated by tourists, this year Malaysia beat Thailand to become Southeast Asia’s most visited country. It’s gaining momentum as an affordable alternative that doesn’t compromise on luxury, with a number of five star resorts offering guests a taste of untouched paradise. At Tanjong Jara Resort in Terengganu, a snorkelling trip to Tenggol Island means you’re the only small boat in the water. Further west, Pangkor Laut Resort boasts one of the most surreal and dreamlike private beaches, Emerald Bay, where just a handful of guests can be found lounging under the palm trees on any given day. So, if there’s ever a time to visit Malaysia - it’s now.

Where to Stay

Ritz Carlton Kuala Lumpur

Fly into KL and check into the Ritz Carlton Kuala Lumpur for five star inner-city luxury in the covetable Golden Triangle business district. Spend a couple of days exploring Malaysia’s bustling and busy capital city, and don't miss the mouthwatering food scene; book a table at the hotel’s award-winning dim sum and Chinese restaurant, Li Yen, or head out to explore Jalan Alor’s famous street food market in Bukit Bintang. Brimming with Malaysian, Chinese and Thai dishes, it satiates both locals and tourists.

From the hotel, take a leisurely twenty minute stroll to The Petronas Towers - lit up and glistening by dusk, these unmissable beacons stretch 1,500 ft into the night sky. Head to China Town for a night cap at one of the area’s hidden speakeasies - you’ll even find a secret underground bar within the old Oriental Bank vaults, underneath the Moxy Kuala Lumpur Chinatown hotel. For panoramic views of KL, Heli Lounge Bar sits on the 36th floor of Menara KH and transforms from a functioning helipad by day to a thriving rooftop bar by night.

Tanjong Jara Resort

When you’re ready to leave the busy city behind, head north east towards Terengganu and check into Tanjong Jara Resort for laid back coastal charm with a luxury lilt. The journey will take around four hours by private transfer, and the region offers unparalleled diving opportunities. Book a boat trip to Tenggol Island, an unbelievably quiet and largely untouched spot where you can snorkel in glassy waters spotting turtles, reef sharks and eagle rays, then head to the cove’s pristine white sand for a sun snooze.

Back at the resort, you'll find an unbelievably quiet stretch of beach punctuated by canopy day beds. Make sure you set an alarm to catch the sunrise from here; the sky streaks red, coral and lavender as the day breaks, and it's a truly spectacular way to start your day. Don't miss the Taste of Terengganu Signature Experience, which takes place every Saturday and offers guests the opportunity to sample local delicacies. From May to August, you can also visit the turtle hatchery and witness the hatchlings being safely guided to the sea by in-house conservationists.

Pangkor Laut Resort

From Kuala Lumpur you can also head north west towards Pangkor Laut Resort - similarly, a four hour drive by private transfer - and enjoy the breathtaking beauty of this private island. Here, you can really slow down; the only place you need to be is by the pool, or by the sea. Book an overwater bungalow and marvel at the deep-set marble bath that overlooks the softly lapping water below. It's impossible to feel anything but peace here. During the days, gently hike through the sprawling rainforest, sip fresh coconuts alongside the resident hornbills, or spend lazy afternoons at the majestic Emerald Bay beach.

Before you leave, book a treatment at the Spa Village. The experience is incredibly unique: to start, you'll visit the secluded and leafy bath house which takes you on an invigorating journey of Asian wellbeing practices, from Indian purifying ablutions to a traditional Japanese onsen. The 3-hour Dandan Puteri Tujuh treatment, featuring massages, scrubs and a rose petal milk bath, will leave you feeling like royalty.

How to get there

Direct flights operate daily between London Heathrow and Kuala Lumpur International Airport, although you’ll find more flight flexibility if you opt for a layover. Transit through Istanbul Airport and enjoy the comforts of the Turkish Airlines lounge on your outbound and inbound journeys.

How to book

For more information, visit YTL Hotels. To book directly, reservations can be made via Pangkor Laut Resort, the Ritz Carlton Kuala Lumpur and Tanjong Jara Resort.

Global-All-Inclusive packages can also be booked directly via the resorts websites (for Pangkor Laut and Tanjong Jara Resort) and will unlock complimentary speedboat transfers from Pangkor Laut to the mainland. The all-inclusive getaway includes curated dining, logistics with return land and sea transfers for Pangkor Laut, and a programme of immersive activities such as jungle treks and turtle education as well as wellness offerings including yoga and meditation.

Public Service Announcement: after a long, cold, dark winter, and a slow-to-star spring, the summer is finally here - and if the recent bank holiday sunshine excitement is anything to go by, city dwellers will be booking the best London rooftops imminently. Here at Marie Claire UK, we've rounded up our pick of the best rooftop bars offering everything from cosy corners to stunning views, whether you need space for six or unforgettable food.

If you're looking for a hangout to enjoy a cocktail or two with a delicious small plate, then look no further than our roundup of the best rooftop bars in London. It's time to head skywards.

Best Rooftop Bars in London

Aqua Kyoto x Beluga Vodka Japanese Rooftop Bar

Tucked away just a minute's walk from Oxford Circus tube station, Aqua Kyoto boasts one of the prettiest and sun-soaked rooftop bars in London. This summer, the iconic Japanese restaurant is partnering with Beluga Vodka to offer a yacht-inspired deck on the 5th floor, serving signature cocktails and succulent sushi boats. Order the mouthwatering 12-piece sashimi set from the set lunch menu, and wash it down with a Kuro Pearl cocktail, which blends matcha, padrón pepper and yuzu. Delicious.

For more information, visit www.standardhotels.com.

The Rooftop at The Standard

The Standard rooftop bar is one of the best places to be in the summer. From the 11th floor hotspot, you're treated to unparalleled views of King's Cross and central London and can enjoy spicy margaritas on tap as well as delicious bar snacks from the Michelin-starred team at Decimo. Book a spot ASAP.

For more information, visit www.standardhotels.com.

Seabird Rooftop Restaurant, Southwark

If you're looking for a rooftop bar and restaurant with incredible panoramic views of the city, an impressive food and drinks menu and some serious Gatsby decor, look no further than Seabird. Head to the top floor of The Hoxton and wrap up on the rooftop with the Rubis cocktail in hand (trust us, it's divine). Surrounded by lush plants, glittering fairy lights and a beautiful outlook of the capital, you'll be hard pressed to find a better skyline spot for a tipple and delicious Portugese and Spanish influenced plates.

Sample some of the freshest fish dishes - start with a selection of fifteen delicious sweet or salty oysters (they're the proud owners of London's longest oyster list) from the UK to France to Portugal. Then dive into a number of small plates - the mouthwatering octopus roll and heirloom tomatoes are highly recommended. And no visit is complete without tucking into a sensational seafood main, whether you're tempted by the Cornish plaice or mackerel. Treat yourself to a dessert cocktail as you sit back and enjoy the lively atmosphere until midnight during the week and 1am on weekends.

For more information, visit Seabirdlondon.com

Coq D'Argent, Bank

Zip up the glass elevator at 1 Poultry and head to Coq D'Argent, a stunning rooftop bar, restaurant and terrace in the city. It's under cover but you'll get plenty of sunshine whilst soaking up the skyline. Unforgettable views and rich green foliage make this a must-visit spot during the summer months.

For more information, visit https://www.coqdargent.co.uk/

Savage Garden, Tower Hill

Overlooking Tower Bridge, Tower of London and the city's iconic skyline, Savage Garden is really not savage at all, just plain fun. From the jazzy cocktail options through to a quirky menu offering (funky mushroom bao bun, anyone?) you'll be well fed, watered and soaking up the rays of this restaurant and rooftop bar location.

For more information visit https://www.savagegarden.co.uk/

Frank's Cafe

Arguably Peckham's best rooftop bar, Frank's Cafe has legendary status in South London. It's huge, with space to enjoy stunning sunsets over the city and offers evening drinks, daytime small plates and brunch, too. It's also got an interesting history, being the first big project from Practice Architecture. It was once an abandoned car park, now transformed into one of the best rooftop bars in London.

For more information, head to boldtendancies.com

Radio Rooftop 

There's a reason Radio Rooftop is one of the most iconic rooftop bars in London - just look at that view. Located on the tenth floor of the ME building, you'll get epic views of central London - great for a dates, or catching up with friends. Do note, there is a dress code: they ask you to be both 'smart and glamorous'.

For more information, head to www.radiorooftop.com

Queen of Hoxton

Located in - yep, you guessed it - Hoxton, this popular city bar is also a club by night. Throughout the summer, enjoy live music and DJ sets with a backdrop of neon signs and twinkling fairy lights. Order fruity cocktails, to Moet slushies or local lagers, and this summer the food menu is stacked with Bajan delights.

For more information, head to www.queenofhoxton.com

The Abbey Tavern Pub, Kentish Town

If you live near Camden or Kentish Town, you'll know The Abbey Tavern. It's one of the biggest rooftop bars in the area, with an outdoors beer garden to boot, and is well known for its buzzy atmosphere and delicious pub-style grub from Nanny Bill's. Think burgers with gravy bowls and mac and cheese croquettes. It does get busy, so make sure you book when you can.

For more on how to book The Abbey Tavern, head to their website: www.abbey-tavern.com

NT's Loft East London

NT's is your best bet if you live in East London or spend a lot of your time in Hackney. Situated in Netil House, it's a bit of a speakeasy in that it's hidden away - you wouldn't know it was there unless you knew. It's a big space, and you'll be able to soak up the East London skyline on the gorgeous roof terrace.

For more information, head to www.ntbar.co.uk

Sabine London St Paul's Rooftop Bar 

Anyone visiting London with fall in love with Sabine given that, if you're sat at the right table, you'll get a pretty unparalleled view of St. Paul's cathedral. Cocktails are tasty, the vibe is top tier, and it's a great spot for a drink or two if you're after a bar in central.

Top tip: make sure you go in summer and specify that you want to sit outside when you book for the best view.

For more information, head to sabinelondon.co.uk

Sky Lounge

Situated in the famous Shangri-La hotel at The Shard, the Sky Lounge is situated on level 34 and offers breathtaking views of the city. Sip on one of their signature Veuve Clicquot cocktail and nibble on grilled tuna steak as you see if you can spot Tower Bridge, the Gherkin, and other iconic London landmarks.

For more information, visit skylounge-shangrila.com.

Shoreditch House

The pool at this East London members' club is about as well-known to Londoners as it's sister staycation spot, Babington House. With a new poolside bar, decadent changing rooms, and Wes Anderson-esque furniture, this is not just a, but the spot to unwind (and celebrity spot) in the sunshine. Order a Picante and enjoy. Members only, mind.

For more information, visit sohohouse.com.

When Nikki Lilly jumped on the 2016 TikTok trend, she expected the same nostalgic reactions everyone else was getting. Instead, she watched as strangers began using AI to “fix” her face: cropping one side, mirroring the other, and spewing back versions of her visage without her facial difference. Many called it a compliment. Some told her they had “fixed” her.

For Lilly, who has spent years rebuilding her confidence after developing a facial difference as a child, the experience was deeply violating. Here, she talks about identity, online cruelty, disability, and what it feels like to watch people use AI to erase parts of who you are.

What It Feels Like To Have Strangers Use AI To Manipulate Your Face

As told to Mischa Smith

I posted one of those trends where you share a photo of yourself when you were younger and then swipe to a photo of you now. It was completely harmless, everyone was doing it, and I remember the video starting to go quite viral very quickly. It was getting millions of views, and I went into the comments because I like seeing what people are saying and replying to people. And I was just completely bombarded.

I’ve been on social media for over a decade now, and hate is never something that’s OK or should be normalised, even though, unfortunately, it has become normalised online. But this felt different. It almost felt more passive-aggressive than direct hate because people genuinely seemed to think they were doing something positive.

They were saying things like, “You’re so beautiful,” but attaching it to AI-generated versions of me where my condition had been removed. It was like people had created this entirely different version of me and decided that was the version worthy of praise. It became a trend in itself. There were thousands and thousands of comments doing the exact same thing.

People had cropped my face to only show one side, or they were using AI to completely change my appearance by removing the side of my face affected by my condition and mirroring the other side instead. And people were commenting things like, “The potential,” or “Look, I fixed it.” I was honestly gobsmacked.

I remember sitting with it for over a week before I addressed it publicly because I didn’t want to give people the satisfaction of reacting immediately. A lot of the time, when people leave hateful comments online, that’s what they want. But at the same time, I also felt like I couldn’t not address it because it had become such an epidemic in itself.

As someone with a facial difference, appearance and identity are incredibly complicated things. I was born with both sides of my face looking the same, but when my condition became active at six years old, my appearance changed drastically. So all of my childhood photos before then look like a completely different person. When my face changed, I felt incredibly ostracised. I felt like I lost my sense of self and identity. My whole life became being stared at, being asked what had happened, feeling like a complete outsider, especially at such a young age; that’s incredibly difficult.

I had to grieve my old appearance and what my life had once been, and so much of my life since then has been about trying to believe that I’m good enough looking the way I do now — both to society and to myself.

For years, my appearance made me a recluse; I wouldn’t leave the house, I was too scared to speak to people at school, my face completely shaped how I moved through the world and how people treated me. So for people to then use AI to create this alternative version of my face — this version of me that they thought looked “better” — felt incredibly cruel.

It felt like people were shoving this alternate reality in my face. Like they were saying, my potential had been wasted because of something completely outside of my control. And the strangest part was that so many people genuinely believed they were helping me. They thought they were doing me a favour. They were saying, “Look, I fixed it.”

I just kept thinking: what planet are you living on where you think I’m going to be grateful for that? It was very dehumanising. It felt like someone was taking away my identity, my autonomy and my sense of self and basically saying it wasn’t good enough. It just erased half of what my identity is.

Social media has always been a very complicated thing for me because, in many ways, it was also my lifeline. When I was diagnosed at six years old, I was in and out of the hospital constantly and barely at school. I had to stop doing so many of the things I loved because I was too unwell, and I became scared of interacting with people because of my appearance and the comments or stares I would get in public.

Social media became my safe haven. It gave me a connection to the outside world when I felt completely isolated. It allowed me to escape into other people’s lives for 20 minutes and forget about being this very sick child. And when social media first started, it really did feel like a place where you could find community if you didn’t have it in real life. But now it’s easier than ever for people to anonymously comment abuse or harassment and face absolutely no consequences for it. People have become very brave online in ways they never would be in person.

I know for a fact that most of the people who comment these things online would never say them to my face in real life. What frightens me most is how quickly people stop seeing the human being behind the screen. When you use AI to alter somebody’s appearance, you are erasing part of their identity. Whether we like it or not, our appearance forms part of who we are, our story, our experiences. And when someone decides that your real face isn’t good enough and replaces it with something they deem more acceptable, that is incredibly damaging.

People don’t put themselves in other people’s shoes enough anymore. If thousands of people are all telling you in one singular moment that all the work you’ve done to accept yourself means nothing, that has an impact. It takes away from years of self-work and rebuilding confidence.

After it happened, I had to completely step away from social media for a while because I couldn’t even interact with the positive comments without seeing all the AI edits and abuse mixed in.

I’m lucky that I have a very strong support system around me. I’ve learned that it’s incredibly important to have a life and relationships outside of social media. If your whole world becomes online, then moments like that can completely consume you.

But I also think reclaiming your identity means refusing to let those people win. For me, that means continuing to speak about these issues publicly, whether that’s online, speaking at the United Nations, working with charities, or simply existing visibly as I am.

The best way you can revolt against people like that is by showing them that you’re still living your life to the fullest regardless. I’m not going to disappear because strangers on the internet decided my face wasn’t good enough for them.

I’ve been keeping a secret for a decade. It’s about an experience I had in 2016, and a story I wasn’t sure I’d ever tell.

It’s been 10 years since my brush with reality TV, when I joined Channel 5’s dating show Strip Date. After it aired, I wanted to put as much distance as possible between myself and the experience. But after serious allegations this week against former Married At First Sight contestants, I’ve found myself reflecting on what my own experience taught me — not only about sexism, but about an industry that has repeatedly prioritised entertainment over women’s wellbeing.

You might struggle to recognise the person in the image below, as I certainly do. I was about three seconds away from bursting into tears, and I’m amazed that the professional shot is still being used as a placeholder for the show today.

BBC Panorama reports allegations from two women who say they were raped during filming of Married At First Sight UK. While the TV industry’s shocked response may seem sincere, the entertainment industry has consistently prioritised ratings over women’s safety.

Shows such as Love Island, Love is Blind and MAFS Australia have all faced allegations of misconduct and poor aftercare. Many of these formats are exploitative by design. The MAFS contestant the BBC called “Lizzie” said her screen partner threatened, “You can’t say no, you’re my wife”.

If a show asks contestants to share a bed the day they meet, it’s hardly surprising that those environments can become unsafe. No amount of vetting can ethically guarantee protection when vulnerability itself is part of the entertainment.

My experience on Strip Date was nowhere near comparable to the allegations surrounding MAFS, but it left me deeply uncomfortable. In hindsight, the reason I can share this unlikely backstory is that it’s become much harder to ignore the impact it had on my feminist values today.

I’m now a feminist activist and founder of the platform Cheer Up Luv, which documents survivors’ experiences of sexual harassment in public spaces. But back in 2016, I was a newly single 21-year-old in my final year of university, making a project about dating culture.

My tutor suggested I go one step further and try to get onto a real dating show and document the whole thing to bolster my portfolio. Producers casting for a new programme were looking for applicants with a “unique style”. My tutor sent me the details, I applied, and landed a place on the show.

To my great relief, there was no actual stripping involved. You did, however, have to dress a stranger as your “ideal date”, go on a blind date, and then there was a “big reveal” where you dressed normally. The more visually opposite the pairings, the better television. The question the show clumsily asked was: if you strip away someone's identifying characteristics — their fashion, tattoos, hairstyles, piercings — and swap their identity, how does that affect attraction?

At the time, I had no understanding of what made “good television” or how storylines could be manipulated and influenced behind the scenes. Before filming, producers begged me to come on a specific day because they had found someone “perfect”. Naively, I thought they meant perfect for me. In reality, they meant perfect TV.

Contestants were kept apart throughout production. We travelled in different cars, stayed in different parts of the hotel and were shepherded separately to different parts of the studio. Blissfully unaware of what was going on behind the scenes, I began getting myself ready for the “big reveal”. Unbeknownst to me, in a different corner of the studio, producers were plotting something very different and were encouraging my date to perform an elaborate reaction.

Standing behind the curtain, I was excited and nervous. It never crossed my mind that the opposing difference wouldn’t be our style, but our inherent values. As the curtain dropped, so did my date’s face, and I was surprised to see a relatively normally dressed man. Laughing as I approached him for a hug, he promptly declined and offered me his hand instead, despite having hugged me the previous day. He wasted no time telling me he would cross the street if he saw me in public.

From the “reveal” onwards, I was treated like a different person. Off camera, he didn’t acknowledge me; when the cameras were on, he was all “I-wouldn’t-be-seen-dead-with-you”. He refused to even meet my eye on the train home. I had taken part in this strange show for a bit of a laugh, but his motives, I couldn’t work out.

That was until the show aired, and my friends alerted me to some tweets. It turned out my date and his friends live-tweeted the show, trolling me and trying to make a viral moment out of his five minutes of fame. The double whammy of a public shaming, followed by a swathe of online harassment, opened my eyes to the double standards women face.

It also left me with uncomfortable questions about how contestants are manipulated for “good television” — questions many viewers may now be asking of reality TV more broadly.

I’m immensely grateful I didn’t have social media at the time, and that I got off lightly by comparison. I’m also sure that going on Strip Date contributed significantly to my life’s work campaigning against sexism.

It’s only now that I can take the pieces of the puzzle and put them together. I can make sense of something I never wanted to acknowledge. Importantly, I can forgive my younger self and my shame, and tell that young woman that one day she will channel that rage and turn it into something powerful.

Two years after Gisèle Pelicot first made headlines, #EndEyeCheck is a sober reminder that drug-facilitated rape is still prevalent. This is how two survivors are fighting back.

When the residents in Zoe Watts’ local community learned that her then-husband was being prosecuted for drugging and raping her, she wasn’t just shunned by those around her — she was vilified. Amanda Stanhope, who was also a victim of drug-facilitated sexual abuse committed by her husband, had a similar experience.

The visceral reaction from the people who knew them laid the foundation for #EndEyeCheck — a new campaign that raises awareness of drug-facilitated rape and pushes for legislation to prevent the dissemination of image-based abuse. “There was a fear of, if I walk into the shop, am I going to get screamed at again in front of my children?” says Zoe. “That was one of the reasons why [Amanda and I] kept quiet, and this is what we're looking to change. We want to put the responsibility [for sexual abuse] where it belongs.”

#EndEyeCheck, the pair’s campaign, refers to a CNN investigation, which found that in the online realm of so-called ‘sleep content’, a perpetrator will carry out an ‘eye check’ by lifting the eyelid of their victim to make sure they’re adequately sedated. Photos and videos of these ‘checks’ are then shared on groups like Telegram. In some cases, videos of women being raped while unconscious have been uploaded to porn websites.

Zoe describes coming to terms with the reality of her former husband’s abuse as a “very slow learning curve”. “I started to break down what he must have done to prove that I was out cold before he sexually assaulted me, and it really brought it home when I saw the imagery of an eyelid being pulled up,” she says. It’s one of the reasons she decided to name the campaign #EndEyeCheck — as a way of disorienting the men searching for ‘sleep porn’. “When all these men are typing in #eyecheck on their computer, [our campaign is] going to come up. We're going to change the narrative.”

Before 2024’s landmark Gisèle Pelicot trial, drug-facilitated sexual abuse was typically associated with drink spiking and ‘date rape’ drugs, not something you’d suspect from your spouse. “It's brought to the fore the reality that it can happen to anyone, and it can be perpetrated by those closest to us,” says Amelia Handy, Head of Policy and Public Affairs at Rape Crisis England & Wales.

“I think it speaks to a wider issue of women living in a rape culture where men and boys feel entitled to women's bodies,” adds Handy, who says that for women to be truly safe, the structures that enable rape culture have to be dismantled.

#EndEyeCheck has already begun challenging some of those systems. Changing the laws that allow people and online platforms to profit from the distribution of images and videos of sexual assault is a core function of the movement. Zoe explains: “We want to make amendments to what some might call loopholes in the law. We want to see more of a direct approach to mandatory reporting [of sexual abuse], lay out clearer guidelines for anybody who has a duty to make mandatory reports, and work with various agencies, colleges, and schools to improve education earlier on. That includes tackling things like consensual and non-consensual porn.”

Multiple studies have associated the use of violent pornography with harmful sexual attitudes and behaviours towards women. Aggressive porn has been proven to influence men’s views of women as sex objects and increase acceptance of sexual aggression towards women. It also shapes men’s sexual expectations of women and increases the likelihood of them committing both verbal and physical acts of sexual aggression.

Clare McGlynn, author of Exposed: The Rise of Extreme Porn and How We Fight Back, says the popularity of ‘sleep content’ legitimises and normalises rape and sexual assault. “It sends a clear message that gaining sexual gratification from forced sexual activity is acceptable and normal.”

And though the government recently announced new laws that could see tech executives face prison or fines if their platforms fail to remove non-consensual intimate images, porn sites have been able to circumvent barriers to abusive videos in the past. “While there have been some steps to make it more difficult to access this content since the Pelicot case, it is all still there. You just have to use some slightly different wording. Searches on Google also take you to this material,” says McGlynn.

In cases where drug-facilitated sexual assault has been shared online, victims can experience a unique type of trauma. “There is something specific about the impact of being sexually offended against when you're unconscious. There are gaps in your memory where you don’t know what has happened,” says Dr Fiona Vera-Gray, Professor of Sexual Violence at London Metropolitan University and Co-Director of the Child and Woman Abuse Studies Unit. “[The perpetrator] has taken a record [of your assault] and they've shared that record with people, showing what happened to your body in a way that you are not aware of. Just think about how completely destabilising that is for someone.”

As both Zoe and Amanda learned early on, this form of abuse can also be extremely isolating. “It was very bittersweet when Amanda and I met,” says Zoe. “It was great that there was actually somebody tangible we could touch and give a cuddle to, but very sad that we both experienced this.”

In the week since #EndEyeCheck launched, they’ve been contacted by women from more than 20 countries, some of whom are talking about their rape for the first time. “We’re developing a community where people can share their own experiences worldwide,” says Zoe.

Zoe is optimistic about the campaign’s potential not only to bring forth meaningful change, but also to protect women from the abuses she’s had to endure. “We’re wide awake. We are not backing down. I'm not saying that it's not going to be hard, but I'm not going to give up, and neither is Amanda. One small step, right?”

Support the campaign

Six days after giving birth to her son, Alex Light went to a routine postnatal check-up. Instead of asking how she was coping, the midwife immediately commented on her body.

Privately struggling with debilitating postpartum anxiety, the moment crystallised for Light just how intensely — and immediately — the pressure to “bounce back” begins. Here, as part of Marie Claire UK’s new What It Feels Like series, the activist and author of The Price of Pretty, talks about postnatal pressure, shame, the silence around gaining weight after pregnancy, and why she no longer wants to “erase” what her body has been through.

What It Feels Like To Battle The Pressure To ‘Bounce Back’ Postpartum

As told to Mischa Smith

I remember the six-day check-up so clearly.

I had a huge amount of swelling when I was pregnant, especially towards the end, and after giving birth, it just dropped off me. My body went back really quickly to how it was before, which I know is not the normal experience – and it didn’t end up staying like that – but in that initial period after giving birth, I dropped a huge amount of weight. I remember the midwife saying to me, “I can’t believe you’ve just had a baby. You don’t look like you’ve had a baby. Where’s your stomach?” And I remember thinking, I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. Why are you talking to me about my body? I have this six-day-old baby, and I am terrified, and I’m so anxious, and I have to keep this lovely little thing alive. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.

I was just looking at her, completely dumbstruck, while she was talking about my body. A lot of people opened with that, actually. A lot of people commented on how slim I looked. And I was like, I cannot believe this is what you’re focused on. I have grown and delivered a whole human. I have been through the most intense mental, emotional and physical upheaval I’ve ever experienced, and people are still talking about the size of my body.

It made me really sad because it felt like proof that no matter what women do, the most interesting thing about us, according to society, will always be how we look. I wanted people to stop talking about my body. I thought, I need help, I need advice, I need someone to tell me whether my baby is feeding OK, whether he has tongue-tie, whether I need to wake him up to feed him. I don't need you to tell me how slim I look.

I’ve always had anxiety, so it wasn’t a surprise that I was going to have anxiety as a mother. Suddenly, you have this precious, tiny, fragile person who is entirely dependent on you and your decisions, and I found that absolutely terrifying. I didn't sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time for four weeks because I was checking that he was breathing every 10 minutes. The constant state of anxiety was paralysing.

I had intrusive thoughts as well, which I only realised afterwards are really common postpartum. These horrible, intrusive thoughts would plague me and haunt me. I was scared to take him outside in case something happened to him. I was scared to put him in the car. I was just terrified all the time.

Food has always been one of my emotional coping mechanisms, and during postpartum anxiety, I turned to it because it brought relief. That meant I ended up putting on weight afterwards, which is actually quite common, but something that’s not talked about because the focus is so often on bouncing back and losing the baby weight.

Around six weeks postpartum, I remember thinking, right, I want to stop living in leggings and oversized jumpers. I want to put make-up on. I want to wear one of my old outfits and feel more like myself again.

So I tried on one of my old outfits, and it went nowhere near me. I was really shocked. I realised in that moment that I had put on a significant amount of weight. I felt completely blindsided by it because nobody talks about gaining weight postpartum. The focus is always on losing weight, shrinking yourself, getting back to your pre-baby body. I didn’t realise that this was a common experience, and so I felt like a failure. I remember thinking, I’m supposed to be losing weight after birth, not gaining it.

But looking back now, it makes complete sense. I was going through an unprecedented, extraordinary time. I can't stress enough that I was so, so tired. I needed sugar. I needed that boost of energy.

It makes total sense now, but because we’re culturally so fixated on weight loss, it didn’t feel acceptable.

I have never craved sugar like that in my life. I’m usually a savoury person, but postpartum, all I wanted was cake, biscuits, pastries — anything sugary. I became obsessed with Gail’s almond croissants to the point that now I can’t even look at them because they remind me of that time. I couldn’t get sugar into my body fast enough.

At the time, I felt a lot of shame about that, too. I thought I should be fuelling my body in the “right” way. I thought I should be eating perfectly nutritious meals and nourishing myself properly.

And I think a lot of that pressure comes from the messaging women absorb around postpartum bodies. Everything is about shrinking. You’re surrounded by messaging about getting your body back, losing the baby weight, snapping back. I felt intensely targeted on social media by postpartum diet content when I was pregnant and after I gave birth.

I feel really strongly about the words “bounce back”; it’s a phrase that’s used so casually as part of the normal timeline of motherhood. But our bodies are not rubber balls. They’re not supposed to bounce; they’re supposed to grow and expand and adapt and evolve. Pregnancy is such a physical, mental, emotional and hormonal transformation. It literally rearranges your organs and shifts your bones and stretches your skin. Why are women expected to erase all traces of that afterwards? Why are we expected to look exactly the same?

It feels vastly unfair, and it happens during one of the most vulnerable periods of your life. Your priority at that stage should be surviving, healing, bonding with your baby and keeping this tiny human alive. But at the same time, there’s this pressure to “snap back” into your jeans and erase all evidence of what your body has gone through.

I think it prioritises aesthetics over women’s wellbeing. Even now, there’s such a huge double standard around parenthood and bodies. People joke about “dad bods” and how they show that a man is too committed to his kids and fatherhood to go to the gym — like, isn’t that commendable? But when it comes to mothers, the expectation is completely different. Women are expected to erase every sign of motherhood from their bodies. The double standard is wild.

A few days after giving birth, I looked in the mirror and realised my body looked completely different. I had what they call a “C-section shelf” — loose skin and stretch marks where the scar is tight, so the tummy sort of hangs over the scar. My boobs were bigger than they’d been before. And I realised this wasn’t going away. But I also realised I didn’t necessarily want it to.

Growing and delivering my son changed me physically forever, and honestly, I want it to show. I want to bear the scars of that. It’s the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I’m proud of what my body did.

People say all the time that women should appreciate their bodies for what they do rather than what they look like, and honestly, pregnancy made me understand that on an entirely different level. Creating and delivering another human being is unbelievable. It’s magical. I refuse to let society tell me that the physical evidence of that is something shameful.

What surprised me most was how much pregnancy changed my relationship with my body overall. I struggled with disordered eating and eating disorders for most of my life. By the time I was an adult, I was completely disconnected from my body. I stopped listening to hunger cues years earlier. Pregnancy actually bridged that gap for me. For the first time in my life, I felt genuine awe and gratitude towards my body. I felt connected to it rather than at war with it. And that felt incredibly emotional because I’d spent so many years fighting against it.

When I eventually spoke about gaining weight postpartum on Instagram, the response was overwhelming. So many women messaged me saying they’d experienced the same thing and had never heard anyone talk about it before. It was a huge relief. It took away that feeling that I had somehow failed right after giving birth.

I’m pregnant again now, and this experience has been different. I’ve gained weight much earlier this time because of hormones and IVF treatment, and there have still been moments where I’ve struggled with the loss of control that can come with your body changing. But I also have so much more grace for myself now. I trust my body in a way I didn’t before. I trust that it’s doing what it needs to do.

And I think that’s what I wish someone had told me the first time around: that your body changing after birth is not failure. And that there is nothing shameful about a body that shows evidence of motherhood.

As told to Mischa Smith

There’s a scene in my novel, Turn Back Time, when my main character Erica is looking back on life as a midlife woman, now that she’s had the—fictional, I hasten to add—WULT® treatment to make herself look twenty years younger. “Middle-aged women are background noise”, she muses. “Unless you’re in a ‘role’, like being a mother, or doing your job, or you’re famous or something.”

When I was writing Turn Back Time, I became interested in exploring the different things invisibility can mean to us in midlife: whether we notice the moment we disappear, and what—if anything—we choose to do about it.

Spoiler alert: midlife invisibility is not just about that deafening silence from the building site when you walk past, which actually came as a huge relief to me. Like most women, I hated wondering what would be shouted out, and trying to walk normally while knowing that at every step I was being scrutinised. For me, this would usually result in a strange, bow-legged walk akin to a cowboy in one of those stand-offs you see in old westerns.

It’s also more than that day-to-day preference the world has for a younger, attractive woman: it’s what Sam Baker, author of The Shift, describes as the point at which women become “underestimated and ignored”; not because they have less to offer, but because society decides they’re no longer useful.

If it hasn’t happened to you yet, here’s a PSA: you won’t write about it in your diary. Because it’s not the big moment you might think. It creeps in uninvited, some parts welcome, some less so. And you explain it away at first: “I didn’t get served for ages at the bar because the barman was chatting to his friends”... “Nobody let me out at the junction today because I was wearing my old hoodie and had no makeup on”...

Each time, there’s a reasonable explanation, and all the while, undetected, we are fading like Marty does in that photo in Back To The Future. Which I realise is a very Gen X example to use, and dates me somewhat.

Not getting these minor ‘leg-ups’ that you can enjoy as a young woman is liveable. However, stage two of invisibility, which, I warn you, comes hot on the heels of stage one, isn’t just about being overlooked, but about being ignored, discounted and even spoken over.

And yes, you still make excuses to begin with: “They didn’t listen to my point in that meeting because the Zoom was running over and nobody wants that on a Friday”... “The email thread moved on without my input but it was urgent, so I get why”...

This stage is hard to stomach. Because it’s about opinions becoming disposable and authority depleting as fast as collagen levels. Collagen I can stir into my smoothie, but this feels like something that will take generations to change.

As Erica observes in the book, it’s about roles, and visibility is dependent on them. Once your role as an attractive young woman—or, more sepcifically, a fertile young woman—is over, then what do you ‘do’? How do you ‘serve’? Are you a mother? OK then. A carer? Fine. A worker? Check. But if you're just a middle-aged woman and don’t fit neatly into one of those categories, it can truly feel like nobody can see you.

Playing with the idea of having that visibility switched back on in Turn Back Time was fascinating. It’s like a test: what happens when the gradual fade is interrupted? What do we notice? What interested me most wasn’t the novelty of being seen again, but what came next for Erica. Because once you’ve noticed the photograph fade, you know what happens… and you can’t ‘un-know’ it.

As midlifers, mid-youthers, or—and I’m quite comfortable with this moniker—middle-aged women, we might not get to decide how visible we are to the world, but we do get to decide what’s important to us and where we channel our energy.

For many women, that means caring less about being what society expects of us and more about being honest—and about being ourselves. Speaking up. Taking up space. Choosing the people we have around us and not putting up with relationships or friendships that don’t serve us. There’s such a power in this; a lot more power, in fact, than getting let out at a junction, or being served first at the bar.

And I’m here for it.

Turn Back Time by Eleanor Tucker is out now

Why Go

When you're in need of a weekend reset, the easier it is to reach the better. And for those looking to unwind here in the UK rather than booking a trip overseas, the De Vere Cotswold Water Park is a serene and peaceful bolthole in the heart of the Cotswolds. It may be located in south-west England, but the lush landscape feels as expansive as the Lake District. While conveniently located just 20 minutes off the M4 and M5, you'll feel as though you've been transported miles away; as a large, tranquil nature park surrounded by 180 lakes in the region, it's incredibly peaceful.

There’s also lots to do, whether you want to wander around the hotel’s sprawling grounds or leisurely explore the nearby country parks and inland beaches. For thrill seekers, there's plenty of opportunity for adventure with a variety of water sports, horse-riding and even archery. A highlight is, undeniably, the nearby Cotswold Country Park and Beach. It’s the UK’s largest inland beach with plenty to keep the whole family happy, from boat hire to little karts for kids. And, importantly, lots of space to relax.

The Hotel

The hotel comprises 328 rooms and apartments in total, and is modern, spacious and great for families. An intimate nature retreat encased by lakes, wetlands and grassy areas, the hotel is by Lake Six and has stunning views of the water and wildlife: think natural materials like wood, stone and glass, all designed to make the most of natural surroundings. On arrival, you'll receive a handy map of the site and lake, as well as a guide to all the activities around the area. You have the option to stay in rooms, or to select self-catering pet-friendly studios. If you're travelling with little ones, the one or two-bed, apartments come with a kitchenette and lounge area, private balcony or garden, making it a spacious and well-equipped home away from home.

Food and Drink

There are two main restaurants on site - The Brasserie, where you'll find a delicious breakfast, quaint afternoon tea and a laid-back, family-friendly dinner. On the menu, there are charcuterie boards to share, juicy steaks, towering burgers and an excellently rich banoffee cheesecake. Make sure you leave time to visit The Old Boathouse, too. Set by the lake with breathtaking views of the surroundings, it’s an Italian-inspired restaurant with an elevated dining atmosphere (especially if you go around sunset). Here, you'll find crispy calamari, oozing burrata, creamy wild mushroom and truffle ravioli, and a silky Panna cotta.

Things to Do

Spa6 is the hotel’s large wellness facility, and a great spot for afternoon relaxation by the pool. Boasting massage jets, a hydrotherapy pool and a relaxing sensory shower, there's also a large gym and various treatment rooms offering massages and beauty therapies. Try the Japanese Head Spa treatment - it's totally invigorating, and you'll feel utterly renewed. For those with children, the little ones will love the on-site playground, with plenty of space to run around freely.

Beyond the hotel, the Cotswolds is famous for its ornate towns and villages which are dotted with cosy cafes and fine dining restaurants. It's also close to Cirencester, an historic town thriving with markets, museums, cafes and an open-air swimming pool. Spend time at the Cotswold Sculpture Park and Cotswold Country Park and Beach, with its large inland beach, SUPs, boat and kayak-hire.

Relaxed, well-located, and enough to keep even the most active in your group occupied, this is an easy win for chilled breaks and activity-filled weekends alike.

Booking information

Rooms from £119 a night. Visit devere.co.uk, or call 0333 344 9200

I asked him for a ride home. It was late, the wedding was winding down, and Uber’s surge pricing had turned a ten-minute journey into an extortionate sum I wasn’t willing to pay. He had been avoiding me all night. At one point, he physically stopped someone from leaving us alone together.

He told me to give him a moment. A few minutes later, when he thought I wasn’t looking, I watched him run out of the venue. That was when it became clear.

For most of my life, I have been preoccupied with whether the men I was interested in liked me. That question shaped everything. It made me attentive, accommodating, and at times, anxious. I learned how to present myself in ways that felt appealing, how to read signals, and how to adjust in order to be chosen. What I hadn’t learned was how to ask a much simpler question: Do I like him?

Women are not taught to centre their own desire. In dating, being chosen is often framed as the reward. We are taught to interpret male interest as validation, and to treat that validation as something meaningful. The result is that our attention is directed outward. We learn to assess how we’re being perceived, rather than how we actually feel.

By the time I met a man I truly liked, that pattern was still intact. We were introduced through mutual friends, and the connection felt easy. There was alignment across everything, from intellect to faith. What drew me in most was his ability to hold nuance. As a Christian woman, I had struggled to meet men who didn’t carry rigid, often harmful views of women while still claiming values like kindness, love, and patience. He seemed different, and more importantly, capable.

So I responded in the way I always had. I paid attention to whether he liked me. I analysed his behaviour, waited for signs of interest, and adjusted myself accordingly. The question of whether I liked him wasn’t something I thought to interrogate.

That changed during a conversation at Christmas. He told me he had chosen women out of duty before, not because he genuinely liked them. They were “good girls,” he said, but he felt nothing. He told me it was different with me, although he could not explain how.

I had spent years in therapy, and enough time dating to recognise patterns when I saw them. What he described was not a one-off. It was a pattern, and without a real commitment to change, it wasn’t going to shift.

I could see where it came from: a history of emotional neglect, shaped further by social and cultural conditioning. But understanding it didn’t change the outcome. I knew I would not be the one to fix it. Women are often expected to take on the emotional labour in relationships. Though invisible, it’s a constant burden that easily leads to exhaustion and resentment.

This labour can look like translating someone’s behaviour back to them in gentler terms, softening your own disappointment so they don’t feel criticised, asking the right questions in the right tone so that they might begin to understand themselves. It is, in many ways, the work of building a bridge between who someone is and who they might become, then waiting there while they decide whether to cross.

For a long time, I believed that was part of the connection. This time, I didn’t.

As bell hooks writes in The Will to Change, many men are socialised away from their emotional lives, taught to suppress or fear their feelings altogether. I felt the pull to stay and understand, but I also recognised what that would require of me, and that recognition allowed me to cut contact.

Seven months later, we again found ourselves at the same wedding. I felt a flicker of nerves when I saw him. We had spoken briefly a few months earlier, and he had told me he still really liked me, that I didn’t understand the depth of his feelings.

As he approached me to say hello, he seemed uncomfortable, and as the evening unfolded, the same pattern became clear. He kept his distance, avoided direct interaction, and found ways to maintain space between us.

And at the end of the night, when I asked for a ride home, he left. Watching him walk away, I realised something with a new clarity. I had liked him fully, and more than I had liked anyone before. But liking someone isn’t enough to build anything real.

For a long time, I had mistaken proximity for connection and attraction for compatibility. When you are not centred in your own experience, it’s easy to overlook that. You make allowances. You fill the gaps with someone’s potential. And slowly, you lose your ability to trust yourself.

Unlearning that isn’t immediate. It happens in small moments, in decisions where you choose to pay attention to your own discomfort instead of explaining it away. For me, it started with a different question: Do I actually like him? Not the idea of him, or who he might become, but who he is in front of me.

Once I started asking that question, everything else followed. I noticed how he spoke, how he listened, how he responded to discomfort, how he treated other people, and how he made me feel. Those details became impossible to ignore.

Slowly, I stopped confusing attention with care and proximity with closeness. My friendships became the reference point. The care, curiosity, and emotional safety I expect there is now what I expect in romantic relationships.

Choosing myself didn’t look dramatic. It looked like trusting my own responses, even when they went against how I had been taught to think about love.

I don’t know if I will meet someone I genuinely like who can also meet me fully, but I do know this: Being chosen is no longer enough.

Curled along the Grand Gaube coast on the northern tip of Mauritius, Veranda Paul et Virginie Hotel and Spa is cushioned by a sprawling verdant landscape and minty green shores. The adults-only resort, which underwent extensive renovations in 2023, offers guests the opportunity to slow down in style - whether that means reading on the sandy coves peppered with thatched parasols, or devouring succulent seafood enveloped by the sparkling stretches of the Indian ocean.

Why Go

Mauritius draws in over 100,000 UK tourists each year, and it’s easy to see why this lush and idyllic island has, for decades, remained a popular destination for Brits seeking sun and serenity. Sandy coastlines are hugged by ombré waters, shifting seamlessly from deep turquoise to steel blue, and temperatures remain pleasant throughout the year making it an excellent sun-soaked spot for winter getaways. The island also stands proud of its rich Creole heritage, the beating heart of Mauritius’ culinary and cultural identity, and promises a vibrant immersion for all those who visit. On the quiet shores of Grand Gaube, Paul et Virginie is the four-star hotel and spa that effortlessly blends laid-back island living with indulgent resort comforts.

The Vibe

Fusing rustic touches with contemporary charm, the resort is a love letter to traditional Creole design elements; airy, open spaces and tall ceilings meet exposed stone and stacked wooden beams. Outside, paths weave between unfurling palm trees and sun beds are expertly positioned to catch the swirling strawberry sunsets. But the endlessly unfolding infinity pool is, undeniably, the jewel in the resort’s crown. Here, guests swim under the sun and alongside the horizon, taking in the panoramic views of the pristine bay beyond. By nightfall, it’s awash with low-lighting and the quiet buzz of diners.

The vibe is unmistakably romantic, yes, with gorgeous peaceful pockets and venust views that guarantee glassy eyes - but you'll find a mix of couples, friends and solo travellers. A hub for rest and relaxation with delicious beachfront beauty, it caters not just to loved-up honeymooners but acts as a soothing sanctuary for those seeking stillness and self-care, too.

The Food and Drink

Paul et Virginie has a small but robust culinary offering, with two main restaurants and two bars spanning casual beach bites to more elevated dining. Isle de France, the resort’s main restaurant, curves around a glassy drop-pool and places diners under a traditional Mauritian thatch while directly in front of the peachy evening sky. By morning, the restaurant hosts a breakfast buffet boasting both continental and cooked options. Alongside succulent chunks of pineapple and mouthwatering papaya, you’ll find flaky pain au chocolats, creamy yoghurts and a variety of meats and cheeses.

But if you’re looking for something really special, head to Le Saint Géran. With tables lining a sandy pier, listen to the waves lapping gently at the shore as you dig in to a seafood feast. Try the juicy prawn skewers followed by a buttery soft steak, and leave room for a smoky and sweet banana flambé.

Throughout the day, there are sweet treats in abundance - the pancake station is a delicious sugar-fix in the late afternoon - and the resort also hosts lobster nights on the beach. Evenings focus on a community feel, featuring live music and light bites to draw guests together and share both food and stories.

The Rooms

With 81 sea-view rooms, the sparkling ocean and towering palms offer a picturesque backdrop to your downtime. Opt for a Superior Room, which includes a balcony overlooking the northern islands - a deliciously calming spot for a morning coffee as the sun rises. Inside, a grounding palette of earthy tones compliments the natural materials: think wicker chairs, rattan lampshades and flowing, cotton curtains. Comprising the usual comforts - king bed, wifi, AC - you'll also be privy to a pillow menu if you upgrade to a slightly larger Privilege Room.

Things to Do

Book the Seven Colours Signature Ritual massage at the onsite spa, a 90 minute holistic and chakra-informed treatment focusing on physical and spiritual relaxation. Throughout the week, the resort hosts a range of activities for guests, ranging from water volley, dominos at the boathouse or Creole language lessons. It’s also well placed for boat trips to snorkelling hotspots, and guests can enjoy free use of kayaks, paddle boards and pedal boats.

Beyond the resort, take a free shuttle to the nearby town of Grand Baie - just twenty minutes away - where you’ll find plenty of markets and a thriving nightlife. Here, you’ll also find the family-friendly Veranda Grand Baie; an all-inclusive waterfront hotel that feels intimate and warm.

To learn more about the island’s history, a trip to L'Aventure du Sucre is a must. While primarily a museum focused on the evolution of sugar production in Mauritius, it also offers visitors an in-depth overview of the island’s colonial, political and economic history.

Additional information

Air Mauritius and British Airways offer direct flights from London to Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam International Airport (MRU). For connecting flights, Emirates offer several daily services via Dubai. On arrival, take a 90 minute taxi to the north of the island to the village of Grand Gaube, where Veranda Paul et Virginie is located directly on the coastline. Private transfers are bookable through the reservations team. The hotel offers free parking and can facilitate taxis, car rentals and excursions. The facilities also include a full spa, gym, and an onsite boat house for water sports (including free kayaking, sailing, and windsurfing).

How to book

For more information about booking a stay at Paul et Virginie Hotel Hotel & Spa, visit Veranda Resorts. For general enquiries, events and corporate bookings, you can contact the team by phone (+230 260 5101) or via email (resa@vlh.mu).

At 20 weeks pregnant while on her babymoon, Erin McGoff, a 30-year-old career advice content creator, punctuated her typically educational posts with a rare personal update. She was pregnant. “Within 24 hours, I’d lost 6,000 followers”, she says. “I posted a picture, and it was like, lights out for me”.

Initially, Erin hadn’t planned to announce her pregnancy at all. “I'm an educational creator, I'm not a lifestyle creator, so no one would really notice because I only film my videos from the chest up”, she says. But she began to feel as though she were keeping a part of herself hidden, both mentally and physically, and her manager assured her that pregnancy announcements were typically “very good for engagement”. Instead, the opposite happened.

Quickly, her post was flooded with comments like “another one bites the dust”, alongside messages lamenting that the “service” she provided was now changing. What shocked her most was that many came from long-time followers; people who had engaged with her work for years.

Although fellow content creators warned Erin she might lose followers by announcing her pregnancy, she wasn’t prepared for the sheer scale of the vitriol directed at her. “If somebody needs to unfollow because they’re dealing with infertility or maybe they just don’t need my content anymore, that's one thing. But the reaction wasn't related to any of that”, recalls Erin.

“It ruined my babymoon,” she says. “I didn’t post anything for a month afterwards because I was so traumatised.”

Erin isn’t alone. Fitness creator Whitney Simmons was criticised for being “irresponsible” in the face of climate change after announcing her pregnancy in October last year, and Nelly Toledo lost 15,000 followers—alongside brand deals—after announcing her pregnancy. “It was the happiest time of my life, and I felt really alone,” she says. “It was like I was suddenly going to become a ‘mommy blogger’, even though I made it clear my content wouldn’t change.”

This backlash sits within a wider cultural shift. In England and Wales, more than half of women reached 30 without having children in 2020—a record high—and birth rates continue to fall, faster than any other G7 nation. At the same time, online spaces are increasingly shaped by evolving attitudes towards relationships, motherhood, and autonomy.

Dr Charlotte Dann, a critical social and developmental psychologist at the University of Northampton, links this in part to the rise of “heteropessimism”; a growing scepticism towards traditional heterosexual life paths, highlighted through movements like South Korea’s 4B movement, where women ‘boycott’ heterosexual relationships in response to patriarchal expectations. “There is female solidarity in these changes, and better recognition around poor relationships and future generations”, she says. “But the problem is these societal shifts are being mediated by online spaces”.

For others, unfollowing is also about curating their feed. Sarah, 36, describes pregnancy announcements as a “predictable” heteronormativity that she’s not interested in. “I see a baby scan and think, ‘oh here we go’,” she says. “First there will be an engagement—and loads of posts about wedding planning—and next usually comes a photo of a baby with muck all over its face”, she admits.

Even for those hoping to have children in the future, pregnancy announcements can indicate an unwanted shift in content. Annie, a 26-year-old interior designer, enjoys “some mum content” but says “it gets a bit much and boring”. For Annie, the issue seems to lie in the algorithmic structure of social media: “If you follow someone who posts that content, your algorithm starts feeding you [more] even if you aren’t interested”.

On the surface, this feels like a harmless preference, “I think you should be able to choose who you follow and what content you want to see. It’s not that serious”, adds Sarah, but the scale and tone of reactions suggest the response can sometimes be more loaded.

While some women are punished for showing motherhood, others are criticised for not performing it enough. Margot Robbie recently made headlines for reportedly not mentioning her child frequently enough in interviews, prompting speculation about her priorities and identity. The contradiction is stark: women risk losing relevance when they become mothers, yet are scrutinised if motherhood doesn’t visibly define them.

As Professor Abigail Locke, who specialises in gender and parenting, notes, pregnant people often “stop being an individual in the people’s eyes” and instead become “a mum first” in the public imagination.

Dann sees this as mothers being concurrently asked to lean into motherhood or reject it and maintain a separate identity. Both breed criticism centred around what it is to be a ‘good mother’.

Erin finds preemptively unfollowing someone reductive and misogynistic. Referring to the comments she received after her announcement, she says, “even the positive ones were like ‘everything's gonna change now, Mama’. And I was like, ‘don't call me Mama. I'm Erin, like I was before. And, second of all, please stop telling me that my entire identity is going to shift.”. ​

“I got married, I moved cities, I got a dog. None of that made people unfollow me. But for some reason, when I got pregnant, I was put in this box”.

Dann says mothers online “have to fight to override the societal opinion of what motherhood is or what it’s about, and prove that it’s not all-consuming. But at the same time, it is all-consuming”. She says what’s missing in the conversation is thinking about why people assume mothers aren’t relatable.

Perhaps the issue isn’t just that motherhood changes content, but that we’ve collectively decided it makes women less interesting, less relatable, or less valuable.

“I think the more men that make their partner’s pregnancy part of their identity,” Erin says, “the less women will be punished for doing it themselves.” She leaves another thought hanging, “Are people unfollowing men once they become fathers?”

I was sitting across from a 25-year-old accounts manager who had just been described by her boss as ‘not committed enough.’ She had left work at 5pm to get to her favourite gym class.

When I asked what it was like hearing that, she said something I hadn’t expected. That she was tired. Not physically. Tired of performing commitment in a way that had nothing to do with the quality of her work, and tired of the unspoken rule that staying late meant caring more. She’d watched women fifteen years older than her run themselves into the ground and call it ambition.

As a psychotherapist and advisor for twenty-five years, I have worked with leaders, co-founders and teams. Conversations like this one are happening everywhere right now. Different names, different industries, same dynamics.

One generation looks at the other and thinks: they do not understand. They do not care. They do not want to work hard. The other looks back and thinks: You do not look well. You do not have to do it that way. You don’t value what I bring.

The sad reality is that both are missing the point.

The Lazy Label (and Why It Sticks)

I don’t believe Gen Z is lazy. A 2023 Samsung survey found that half of 16–25-year-olds want to start their own business. Over 80% of Gen Z entrepreneurs describe their ventures as purpose-driven. They are not short of ambition, but they do not believe that destroying yourself for work proves you have any.

But I can understand why this label sticks. I grew up in a world where you showed your worth by showing up early, late and at weekends. The unspoken contract was simple: sacrifice your time, and we will reward you with stability. And for a long time, that contract held.

Gen Z grew up watching that contract break. They watched their parents get made redundant after decades of loyalty, and they have never known a world where a job for life was a realistic promise. When they create their own thinking about their time and energy, they are described as lazy. But they have looked at the deal on offer and decided it is not worth burning out for. That is not a character flaw. It is a survival response.

The Burnout Problem Nobody Wants to Own

What we need to acknowledge is that all generations are exhausted. Gen Z is exhausted by a system that measures commitment in hours rather than impact. Older generations are exhausted by the feeling that the rules have changed, and nobody told them. Society for Human Resource Management research shows that 61% of Gen Z workers would leave a job for one with better mental health support. Deloitte found that only 56% feel comfortable discussing mental health with their managers.

What none of the surveys talk about is that exhaustion is not really about workload or burnout. It is about disconnection.

The Gen X colleague sees someone who will not pick up the phone and thinks they are avoiding real communication. The Gen Z colleague sees someone who insists on a call for something that could be a message and thinks they are wasting time.

The challenge is that both are failing to understand what the other actually needs.

Guess Who Ends Up Bridging the Gap

If you are a woman reading this, you already know the answer.

Research published in the Journal of Marriage and Family in 2024 confirmed what most of us have known: women carry a disproportionate share of the invisible cognitive labour, the remembering, the anticipating, the smoothing over. At home, yes, but at work too. Women are more likely to be the ones translating across generational lines. Softening the feedback that came out too bluntly from the Gen X director. Explaining to the senior partner why the new starter is not being difficult. Doing the relational labour that keeps the team functional while still being expected to deliver on their actual role.

McKinsey’s Women in the Workplace research has consistently shown that women in leadership invest more in supporting their teams’ wellbeing than men do. That work matters. It is also unpaid, unmeasured, and very rarely mentioned in a performance review.

I see this in my work constantly. Women who are exhausted not by the work itself but by the weight of making the relationships around the work function. And when they burn out, nobody connects it to the relational load they have been carrying. They just get told to be more resilient.

What Is Actually Going On

There is a term I keep coming back to in my work: relational poverty. It is what happens when the connections between people thin to the point where they can still function together, but they cannot actually relate. They can exchange information, but they cannot be honest. They can sit in the same meeting but not feel safe enough to say what needs to be said.

Gallup puts the global cost of disengagement at $8.9 trillion. But behind that number is something simpler. People go to work every day and feel alone in a room full of people. Not because anyone is intentionally being cruel. Because the quality of how people relate has eroded to the point where genuine connection feels like too much effort.

Gen Z did not create this. They inherited it. And they are the first generation to say out loud what others have been tolerating quietly for years: the way we are with each other while we do the work is not working.

Gen Z is not lazy. They are relationally different. Shaped by a world that trained their expectations in ways previous generations do not fully understand.

The question is not whether they are tough enough for the workplace. It is whether the workplace has the capacity to hold what they are bringing. Whether we can stop turning generational difference into a hierarchy of who is doing it right.

Because we need both the innovation and the resilience. We just have to stop blaming each other long enough to figure out how to relate and reconnect.

Boasting a coastline that stretches almost 13,000 km along the Indian Ocean, Western Australia draws in adventure-seekers and beach dwellers with an abundance of rugged landscapes and white sand.

Why Go

Those with a penchant for outdoor thrills and extraordinary road trips will head north to swim with whale sharks at Ningaloo Reef or hike spectacular trails in the Kimberly, while the south proposes unmissable experiences for laid-back and epicurean travellers; the Margaret River region, a culinary pocket poised to satiate foodies and wine aficianados, is populated with world-class vineyards and immaculate beach houses. Given it’s sizeable chunk of the land mass (accounting for a third of the country, no less), WA offers a diverse flavour of Australia - whether you’re into island hopping, diving, wildlife or wineries.

The Vibe

Perth, the state’s capital, is fast becoming a cultural touch point for tourists. It was, famously, Coldplay’s only Australian stop during their 2023 world tour, and most recently the city hosted the first test during the 2025-26 Ashes series. Luxury hotels line the CBD skyline while some of the country’s most spectacular beaches buffer the shore, offering a rather magical front-row seat to peachy sunsets and midnight blue waters. Despite being a relatively small city compared to its east coast counterparts, the suburbs have distinct personalities; Northbridge is dominated by lively wine bars, Cottesloe boasts fine dining and even finer sand, and Fremantle is the embodiment of easy-going Aussie coffee culture.

The city also acts as a convenient launchpad to explore the epic beauty of the northern bays and beaches. The journey to Broome is punctuated by sea turtles in Monkey Mia, coral reef in Exmouth, and red gorges in Karijini National Park. Drive south from Perth to Esperance and you’ll be met with cooler temperatures, surf spots and leading gastronomy.

What to Do

From Perth, head to Fremantle and catch the indoor market every weekend - you’ll find everything from handmade trinkets to mouth-watering gozleme. A leisurely twenty minute walk will take you to South Beach, a popular spot for calm, clear water and squeaky-clean sand, and a thirty minute ferry will transport you to Rottnest Island. Yes, that is the home of the exceptionally cute quokkas. There, rent a bike and cycle to secluded coves and cyan lagoons before checking into the luxe Discovery Resort tents for an overnight stay. It’s a comfortable choice for glampers with an in-built kitchenette, wooden flooring, power shower and king size bed.

Back in the city enjoy a rooftop climb at Optus Stadium to watch the sun set from the brim of the iconic venue, and leave time for a walking tour with Oh Hey WA - it’s a fun way to explore Perth’s street art, history and architecture. If you’re keen for more beach hopping, add Cottesloe, Scarborough and Coogee to your list. Rockingham is where you’ll find a glassy shallow shore, and it’s also the pick-up point for Perth Wildlife Encounters, an eco-tourism award-winning operator and one of the only ethically recognised wildlife tours in the country.

For a trip within a trip, drive down to Busselton and enjoy light bites and a pint at Shelter, an airy and vibrant brewery overlooking the jetty. Pop to Little Otto’s Big Choc Shop for some incredibly moreish chocolate-covered crisps before heading to the heart of Margaret River for a robust taste of Western Australia’s culinary region. With a drier Mediterranean climate, it’s home to more than 200 sprawling vineyards, a smattering of revered cheesemakers and chocolatiers, and a handful of olive farms. Book a day tour with Forage Safaris to explore the very best of the local produce, from wine tasting at Voyager Estate to a paddock-to-plate experience at Glenarty Road farm.

Nearby, you’ll also find a unique opportunity to learn about the land and its history. The Koomal Dreaming Ngilgi Cave cultural tour is a truly special guided exploration of local indigenous culture from Wadandi custodian, Josh ‘Koomal’ Whiteland. After a bushwalk identifying indigenous plants and delving into the six Noongar seasons, descend 39 metres into the belly of this historic and fascinating karst cave.

Where to Eat and Drink

Perth

Wildflower - set on the fourth floor of COMO The Treasury, this fine-dining restaurant focuses on a rotation of ingredients and dishes that compliment the six distinct seasons of the indigenous Noongar calendar

Gibneys - this award-winning Cottesloe hotspot is one for the foodies. The menu is bursting with exceptional seafood: pillowy oysters, succulent ceviche, decadent pastas tossed with lobster - and there's even world-class Glacier 51 Toothfish

Shadow Bar & Kitchen - with low lighting, small plates and a carefully curated wine selection, enjoy delicious light bites and apertifs in this chic and trendy Northbridge nook

Margaret River

Lamont's Smiths Beach - Laid-back dining that doesn't compromise on flavour, enjoy fat tiger prawns dripping in harissa and honey and half shell scallops topped with tobiko and nori butter. Leave room for the deliciously rich dark chocolate cheesecake with espresso mascarpone

Glenarty Road farm - Perfect for foodies and wine-lovers alike, sample premium produce in the rustic farmhouse kitchen. After some mouth-watering charcuterie with a flight of five wines, take a tour of the working farm

Busselton

Shelter - a relaxed beachfront brewery on the jetty serving a range of locally brewed beers and pale ales alongside wood-fired pizzas, crisp salads and juicy burgers

Where to Stay

In Perth, The Westin offers sprawling suites with breathtaking panoramic views of the city. It also boasts an exceptional spa and peaceful rooftop pool - impressively quiet considering its inner city location. If you're looking for inescapable dazzle, across the Swan River sits The Crown Perth: a thriving, golden mini-city comprising almost 1,200 rooms across three hotels, plus a smattering of high-end dining options, designer boutiques, water parks and a buzzy casino.

Further south in the Margaret River region, spend a few nights at Smiths Beach Resort for unrivalled coastal opulence - think large, light and airy waterfront homes peppered between along the sandy Cape to Cape track, overlooking the glittering Indian Ocean. Bliss.

For more information and to plan your trip, visit www.westernaustralia.com.

“I want nothing more than for the bride—my friend—to be happy, but the thought of messing this up is keeping me awake at night,” says *Carla, a thirty-something content creator tasked with turning her friend’s wedding footage into a suite of reels and carousel posts she hopes will jump-start her influencer career.

What began as a single two-minute video quickly snowballed into two five-minute edits, then five to ten additional reels. “She asked me to give this to her as my wedding gift,” Carla says—on top of travelling and spending more than £1,000 to attend.

Carla is far from alone. Increasingly, the role of wedding guest comes with an unspoken add-on: content production. “Guests are now part of the content engine,” says Reneille Velez, founder of Gian Events, a luxury event planning and travel design agency. “There’s an immediate reaction of ‘I have to post this’ before the moment even settles.”

The blurring of celebration and content creation isn’t limited to guests, either. Just last week, Binky Felstead faced criticism after an illustrator claimed she’d been asked to create wedding designs free of charge in exchange for “exposure” on social media. In today’s frenzied wedding economy, worth a cool £14.7 billion annually in the UK alone, visibility is increasingly positioned as currency.

Perhaps no clearer example of this is the 2022 Dolce & Gabbana–branded nuptials of Kourtney Kardashian and Travis Barker—a trilogy of ceremonies staged across Nevada, California and the Italian Riviera. And yet even the Kardashians weren’t the first at this game. When Victoria and David Beckham sold exclusive rights to their wedding photos for £1 million, the hoopla was tightly controlled, professionally produced, and highly lucrative. Today, that process has filtered down; only now, the production is decentralised, and often unpaid.​

You don’t need a fashion house or a magazine deal to produce a wedding that looks like a campaign. You just need a camera roll, a content plan, and a guest list happy, or at least, willing to play along.

And increasingly, that’s exactly what a wedding demands.

Even the timeline of the day can start to resemble a shot list. “Couples are thinking about angles, lighting, and timing in a way that mirrors a production set,” Velez adds. “Moments become scenes.” QR-code platforms allow guests to upload photos in real time to shared galleries, while hired content creators capture behind-the-scenes footage designed for immediate posting. “A wedding is no longer just a private celebration—it’s a visual experience designed to be shared,” says planner Victoria Morris.

“I’m always happy to take photos,” Carla says. “But being in charge of the wedding video—and the edits—is very stressful.” It’s a dynamic many millennial women will recognise: somewhere between guest, bridesmaid, and unpaid production manager.

Weddings have always had a fairly performative element, cycling through the same acts: the aisle walk, the first dance, the cake-cutting. But increasingly, they’re being produced like campaigns, complete with creative direction, visual strategy, and built-in distribution.

The numbers only partially capture it. According to Hitched, 7% of UK couples now hire a dedicated content creator, while nearly a third spend over 18 months planning their weddings. Guests, too, are part of the equation: the average attendee takes 167 photos, with more than half admitting they’ve missed key moments while trying to capture them. According to research from Three, 43% of Gen Z say they are creating content to boost their own social media presence.

“I was at a wedding recently and couldn’t believe that more than one guest used it as a backdrop for their own content,” says *Emma, 27. “I checked their accounts afterwards, and there was no mention of the bride and groom; it was as if they were there just to get content.” Another guest recalls bridesmaids changing out of gowns—paid for by the bride’s family—to take their own photos under the flower arch. I appreciate a photo op as much as the next Millennial, but is this really how we want to be treating our friends?

Whether we like it or not, the reality is that most modern weddings have expanded beyond the day; it lives on feeds, in reels, and across group chats, like one long, ongoing piece of content.

Outfit changes are increasingly common, with some brides opting for multiple looks across the day to create distinct visual moments. “The word ‘editorial’ comes up constantly,” says Cat da Silva of The Bridal Edition. “Brides are thinking about how their wedding looks come together cohesively in the content they’re planning to capture and share.”

“We’re seeing a lot of brides using a ‘will it go viral?’ mindset,” says Leila Lewis, a wedding PR who works with content creators, pointing to the rise of photo booths, backdrops, customised “merch” and late-night fireworks; moments designed to generate content. It’s not enough to host a wedding; couples are expected to set a scene.

Katherine Rose Woller was 32 when she called off her wedding just weeks before the ceremony. “On social media, everything looked perfect,” she recalls. “But underneath it, the weight of expectations was pushing me toward something I didn’t actually want.” What began as a personal commitment had, she says, started to feel more like “a content production” she was responsible for.

But while the results can be visually spectacular, the line between sophistication and performance can blur, leaving guests feeling like unpaid stagehands. Who here hasn’t at one time or another been tasked with corralling drunk guests to visit the Polaroid station or make use of the artfully displayed disposable cameras?

“When a bride chooses her look based on how it will photograph, rather than how it makes her feel, something gets lost,” says Megan of Grace Loves Lace. “The content captures the moment, but it can’t capture what it felt like.”

That tension can course through the entire day’s or days' event. Guests document rather than experience; the couple anticipates the audience—the ones present and the more still who’ll only experience it through other people’s content. Vendors have to navigate the competing priorities of creating an experience and also capturing it.

Photographer Libby Clark has seen ceremonies delayed so vendors can film content. “Everyone wants their 15 seconds of Reel,” she says, “but it can come at the couple’s expense.”

The modern wedding may only be experienced once in real time, but it can be replayed endlessly—and increasingly, the second version shapes the first. It’s still a wedding, it just comes with a content strategy.

I’m a magpie. Challenge me to weave through a souk without pawing at mismatched crockery and curly-toed shoes I’ll, of course, never wear back home, and I’ll fail miserably. You’d have to blinker me like a racehorse, and, believe me, my boyfriend has tried.

On my first ‘adult’ holiday, I returned from Tunisia with swollen socks cocooning the individual dishes that collectively made up a supposedly hand-painted chip-and-dip shaped like a Hamsa hand. It was a cringingly clichéd memento, a whisker away from the billowy harem pants my gap-year friends would soon be bringing back from India and Bali. I like to think I’ve refined my taste since then, but one thing has remained constant: travelling abroad means I’ll always be on the lookout for something to bring home. Something that, when I’m fumbling my way to the coffee machine in the early morning, my bleary eyes can land on — a cup, a bowl, a too-small pinch pot — that reminds me my life doesn’t revolve entirely around work. That there is an expansive world beyond my tiny London flat.

This morning, as I reached for a mug, my hands passed over paint-splattered cups from Tamraght, Morocco; one with a base shaped like a dreidel, making it entirely useless for holding liquid. More practical is the hand-blown glass coffee cup I picked up on a recent trip to Tanzania.

Tucked behind the Garden Café at Gran Meliá Arusha, at the foothills of Mount Meru, is Sanaa, a social enterprise studio. Here, molten glass glows in open furnaces, fibres are pulled tight between practised hands, and metal is hammered into objects that carry the marks of how they were made. Tiny glass beads — melted down from bottles that, not so long ago, were discarded by nearby hotels — are threaded into jewellery, placemats and intricate wall hangings like the one above the bed in my room.

The studio was founded as a space for artists with disabilities, with the aim of creating long-term, meaningful employment through craft. Today, it functions as both a workshop and a community: somewhere skills are shared and, over time, turned into livelihoods.

You won’t find slogan tees here — though if that’s your thing, might I suggest the local store Max, where I had to re-buy my wardrobe after losing my luggage. Instead, Sanaa’s work is defined by what it describes as “beautiful imperfection”: the subtle irregularities that come from making something by hand, rather than by machine. It’s a slower way of working, but really, what is the rush?

Over the past decade, craft has gained new visibility in fashion. At houses like Chanel, the annual Métiers d’art collections have become a way of foregrounding artisanal skill. First introduced in 2002, the initiative was designed to preserve specialist workshops, from embroidery to featherwork, that require years, sometimes decades, to master.

Other luxury houses have increasingly turned towards handicrafts, like weaving, embroidery and leathercraft, not only as a design choice, but as a way of communicating value. Under Jonathan Anderson, Loewe placed craftsmanship at the centre of its identity, from its Craft Prize — an annual international award to celebrate innovation in modern, handmade craftsmanship — to its collections centred around artisanal techniques. Elsewhere, brands like Dior have spotlighted embroidery ateliers across India, while Chloé has leaned into handwork and traceability as part of its sustainability commitments.

At the same time, this renewed interest in craft reflects something broader. Insights from Etsy suggest that many shoppers are moving away from digital saturation and looking instead for objects that feel personal. At a moment when almost anything can be bought with a tap, heritage techniques signal something different: time, skill and human touch. It’s that last quality that, in an increasingly digitised and accelerated world, begins to feel like a luxury in itself.

There is, clearly, a growing appetite for authenticity. But within fashion, authenticity can be difficult to locate. Craft is often romanticised — as things that harken to the past so often are — yet the realities behind it are not always visible. The people who carry these skills can remain distant from the finished product.

Long before it appeared on runways or in marketing campaigns, craft existed as a way of working tied to place, community, and knowledge passed between people. At Sanaa, artists move between disciplines — glassblowing, weaving, metalwork — developing skills gradually and often collaboratively. The workshop is open, and the process is visible. Visitors can see how objects are made and who is making them, making the connection between product and person harder to ignore.

This shift is not exclusive to fashion. People are looking for things that feel grounded; objects that carry some trace of how and where they were made. It’s what has always drawn me to holiday keepsakes. As our lives become increasingly digital, it makes sense that we search for something more tangible, something that exists beyond aesthetics.

Last year, in its Travel Trends Report, Expedia put a name to this instinct: Goods Getaways, suggesting we are entering a “souven-era”. It may be a playful piece of marketing, but I think it truly speaks to our human craving for connection and for something to transcend our screens. Something we can touch that becomes almost talismanic, transporting us to a place and time — an idea that doomscrolling promises but rarely delivers.

Of course, as craft becomes more visible, it also becomes easier to aestheticise. Sanaa sits slightly outside of that cycle. It doesn’t need to reinterpret craft or position it as something newly discovered. What it offers instead is a clearer line of sight between material, maker and meaning.

I think that is what feels most relevant right now. Not just the idea of authenticity, but the ability to recognise where it already lives.

Astrology is becoming the latest addition to the wedding planning checklist, promising meaning, alignment and the “perfect” date. And after internet sleuths speculated that Dua Lipa may have timed her recent wedding by the stars—or, more specifically, the Blue Moon—the trend has never felt more mainstream. But as couples increasingly look to the cosmos for answers, Mischa Smith asks: is this a genuine ritual, or simply another way to optimise an already over-engineered day?

When Dua Lipa married Callum Turner in Marylebone Town Hall on Sunday, astrology accounts wasted no time analysing the date. Within hours, social media was awash with theories that the singer may have used electional astrology—the practice of choosing auspicious moments for major life events—to plan her wedding. There is no evidence that she did, but the speed with which the internet began searching for signs of cosmic timing was revealing. Astrology has become so culturally embedded that major milestones are now regularly interpreted through an astrological lens.

That shift extends far beyond celebrity weddings, too. Once considered a niche spiritual practice, astrology is increasingly being folded into the wedding planning process itself. Couples are consulting astrologers to choose dates, times and even locations for their ceremonies, hoping to imbue the day with meaning, alignment and, perhaps, a little extra luck. In an era of rising costs, endless choice and Pinterest-perfect expectations, the promise of cosmic certainty can be difficult to resist.

When one couple began planning their Ibizan wedding, they weren’t just thinking about the venue or the guest list; they were thinking about the energy. Working with astrologer Clarisse Monahan, they set out to create what Monahan describes as “a raucous wedding”, building the day around “a lot of fire energy” and an emphasis on excess. Set on a Balearic island already synonymous with indulgence—and with one of the couple’s Jupiter lines coursing straight through it—the wedding chart (an astrological “birth chart” for a marriage, not to be confused with the more traditional wedding seating chart) leaned into that atmosphere. “Very showy and over the top”, recalls Monahan, with the focus less on tradition or stability, but instead on spectacle and pleasure.

Where ceremonies were once defined by religion, and more recently by aesthetics—the perfect tablescape, photo moments, those all-too-ubiquitous namesake cocktails—they are now being treated as moments that need to carry cosmic meaning. Weddings today don’t just have to look good; they have to feel good, too.

For a growing number of couples, that feeling is being shaped by astrology. “Couples spend so much on their wedding anyway,” says Monahan. “So it makes sense to want to have the ideal time to do it.” Neda Farr, whose astrology-led relationship reels have racked up 170 million views on TikTok alone, has seen a similar shift: where clients once asked when they might get engaged, they’re now asking when to marry, and how to make sure “nothing is working against them” when they do.

Of course, none of this is entirely new. Astrology has long shaped wedding timing in places like India, where muhurats—auspicious times—are traditionally used to determine when a couple should marry. What’s changed is the framing, especially for Western couples who are navigating an ecosystem of abundant choice, pressure and personalisation rather than utilising inherited rituals.

If astrology is finding new relevance in weddings, it’s not happening in a vacuum. The modern wedding is an unusually high-stakes event: financially costly and often logistically fraught. Couples are expected not only to host, but to produce something memorable: an experience that feels seamless, unique, and increasingly, shareable. When a single day can cost tens of thousands—the average UK wedding costs £21,990—the pressure for it to be meaningful, if not perfect, is difficult to ignore.

At the same time, personalisation has become its own form of cultural currency. To choose well is no longer a private act. Weddings have always functioned as a form of social signalling, a way of demonstrating taste and discernment; yet where once that might have been reserved for the day alone and the guests present, today they live online forever.

Increasingly, weddings are being planned for how they will be seen, shared, and, in some cases, validated by external arbiters of taste. In a culture that rewards individuality, even individuality begins to look formulaic against a backdrop of hyper-curated aesthetics. Astrology, in that context, doesn’t just offer meaning, it offers a way of explaining why this date, why this location.

“I think what people want is an alignment,” says Chani Nicholas, an astrologer and New York Times best-selling author. “Astrology is not about control… it’s about meaning.” To choose a date under “good omens”, she suggests, is less about predicting the future than it is about creating a moment that feels intentional, and, above all, right.

Faced with an overwhelming number of decisions, couples are looking for ways to narrow the field. “A lot of the time, just knowing you’ve picked a good electional (date) gives you a sense of confidence,” says Monahan. “It makes you more thoughtful.” Rather than dictating every detail, astrology becomes a way of approaching those decisions with a degree of certainty, however provisional.

But astrology doesn’t actually give couples control, at least not in the way they might hope. Most arrive at it late in the process, after the major decisions have already been made: the venue booked, the Saturday secured. “Most of the time it’s like, ‘We’re getting married on this day—can you tell me the best time within that?’” says Nicholas. “You’re working within a lot of constraints.”

Then there are the exceptions where astrology doesn’t just guide the wedding, it structures it. Neda describes clients seeking “the perfect step-by-step” timeline: when to schedule beauty treatments, when to shop for a dress, when to get married. Rather than a single auspicious date, the process becomes a carousel of optimised decisions. “There are usually three good windows,” she says, “and one perfect window.” Whether that alignment has any measurable effect is, of course, harder to prove, but its emotional appeal is undeniable.

Astrology’s growing role in weddings is also a product of how widely it now circulates. Once the preserve of specialists, it’s become part of our daily language, delivered through apps like Co–Star and an endless stream of TikTok explainers. “People are learning tidbits of astrology… in slideshow form,” says Neda, often distilled into insights that feel immediate and personal.

That mainstreaming is also clear in how quickly astrology has been absorbed into the wedding industry itself. Sites like The Knot now publish guides to “lucky” wedding dates, while Brides offers zodiac-based advice on the best time of year to marry. Even dating apps are following suit: Tinder has introduced an “astrology mode”, using birth chart data to shape matches. According to insight analysts at TrendHunter, this signals a broader shift towards “hyper-personalised compatibility scoring”, where identity, rather than behaviour, becomes the basis for recommendation.

Taken together, it suggests a shift in how astrology is being used. What was once a reflective practice is increasingly packaged as a service: something you can use to optimise almost every aspect of your life. As Monahan cautions, that can flatten it into something reductive. “People are still reading for their sun sign,” she notes, a shorthand that risks oversimplifying a much more complex system. In that sense, astrology’s rise is not just about belief, but about how it fits into a culture already geared towards personalisation. The promise, then, isn’t just meaning, but a version of it tailored and sold precisely to you.

That desire for an entirely personalised experience reaches a fever pitch when it comes to weddings. Monahan describes working with a bride determined to create a fully Disney-themed wedding: dress, setting, atmosphere and all. To match that vision, the chart was built around Neptune, the planet associated with dreams, fantasy and illusion. “Disney for me is so Neptunian,” she explains, describing how the couple chose a date where those qualities would be most pronounced, with the aim of creating something “ethereal” and immersive.

It’s not Monahan’s typical wedding chart experience, but it is a telling one. In a culture increasingly oriented around individual expression, the pressure to avoid anything that feels ‘cookie cutter’ has intensified. Weddings aren’t only expected to be beautiful; they’re expected to be distinct. Astrology offers that.

For some, the question goes beyond timing altogether. Around a quarter of Neda’s clients, she says, are seeking reassurance that they’re marrying the right person in the first place. “They want to make sure that they’re cosmically aligned with that person they’re marrying,” she explains.

Astrology, of course, doesn’t remove all uncertainty. “You always have to beware—you might get the answer that you don’t want,” says Nicholas. And even the most carefully constructed chart, like the Ibizan wedding engineered for excess, can only help guide the mood, not the outcome. But for an industry increasingly shaped by pressure, cost and expectation, astrology offers something else: the feeling, however fleeting, that the moment has landed exactly where it was meant to.

It's rare in life that you find a hotel that's really, truly hard to fault. So many miss a crucial element - the foods isn't the best quality, the rooms a touch on the small side, or the wellness offering a small, box room with no air conditioning and minimal equipment. But not the newly opened The Newman hotel in Fitzrovia, which I was lucky enough to stay at last month and have been raving about ever since.

It's hard to know where to begin - from a full-floor wellness centre, to independent and thoughtful mini bar options, to the effortlessly welcoming and sophisticated Scandi design, every touch has been thought through and does exactly what it says on the tin: making you feel instantly at home. If your home had been curated by award-winning interior designers, of course.

Situated in the very heart of London, between Marylebone, Mayfair and Soho, the art-deco hotel from Kinsfolk & Co has been highly anticipated - and for good reason. The British hospitality newcomers don't do things by halves: with design from Lind + Almond and nods throughout to Fitzrovia's literary past, it's boutique but design-led; friendly, while always offering five-star service.

With CEO and founder Paul Brackley at the helm, you can see why. His CV spans the Shangri-La Group to The Shard, and he's clearly brought his magic to this new opening, too.

For my full review of the hotel, plus tips for if you do decide to stay, keep scrolling.

Honestly? I can't recommend The Newman in Fitzrovia highly enough

The vibes

The interiors have been carefully curated, combining calming, wooden tones with modern stainless steel.

Artwork from Christopher Brown, Marcel Garbi and Sandhills Studios runs throughout the hotel, with black and white photos of the local area from Rory Langdon-Down.

The staff are instantly welcoming without being overbearing - attentive while letting you enjoy your stay.

The rooms

The Newman offers 81 rooms and suites, with a cohesive design throughout. Warm, natural hues and curved furniture edges sit alongside stone bathroom walls and textured artwork.

The view of the BT Tower from our room instantly reminds you that you're nestled in the very heart of London. Pillows are plush, and the mini bar offering is extensive, with a variety of independently owned snack brands, drinks, and even wellness amenities on offer (I'm talking CBD drops, mood-boosting supplements, and more).

The bathrooms are particularly beautiful - they feel nostalgic yet perfectly modern, and are kitted out with Anatome amenities, a brand I've long loved for their essential oil-rich products and sustainable business credentials.

If you're feeling really boujie, do check out The Penthouse, a spacious, decadent room with a private terrace, sauna, and cold plunge.

The food

Head to the ground floor and you'll find Brasserie Angelica, a light, bright space offering breakfast, lunch and dinner. On the menu, a variety of modern European food - think steak tartare, grilled prawns, and a Swedish west coast salad packed with prawns, mussels, crab and mushrooms. I enjoyed the pickled gravadlax (the mustard sauce is particularly special) and the buttermilk fried Haddock with celeriac remoulade, and couldn't fault it.

Just behind the restaurant, you'll find Gambit, an atmospheric bar with regular live music. Every single cocktail on the menu can include alcohol or no alcohol, a detail I found particularly impressive and inclusive.

Come breakfast, you can enjoy an à la carte menu downstairs or opt for room service instead. They offer all your usual favourites - smoked salmon, eggs Florentine, and a hearty porridge. But don't sleep on the artichoke on sourdough - a stroke of culinary genius.

The facilities

Now this is where, in my opinion, The Newman truly comes into its own. There are plenty of UK hotels doing boutique stylishly and well, with pretty unparalleled attention to detail and customer service. But if you're on the fence about staying at TN, know this: the amenities on offer are truly unrivalled.

As a Health Editor, you best believe I headed almost instantly to their floor-wide Wellness Centre, a catch-all term that many other hotels use to refer to a boxy, unairconditioned room with a few kettlebells. At The Newman, the gym is spacious, light, and bright, decked to the nines with state-of-the-art Technogym equipment, Peloton bikes and Hyperice recovery tools. There's room temperature and chilled tap water, towels, and even a dedicated yoga and Pilates studio, where some of my favourite teachers, including Ashlea McKee and Eva Syti, offer complimentary classes.

Just around the corner, you have the wet room, which includes a sauna, steam room, experience shower, hydrotherapy pool, and ice and salt room, marking a first for any London hotel. I've tested a fair few wellness-focused hotels in my time, and this is up there with the best: wellness, winding down, and taking time to centre yourself woven into the very fabric of your stay, a simple inclusion rather than an add-on or an afterthought.

The space is calming, grounded, and welcoming - it's hard not to feel instantly at ease. If you'd like to book a treatment, they offer facials and massages on offer in the spa.

To book your stay at 50 Newman Street, W1T 3EB, head to The Newman website or call 020 3989 8100. Double rooms with breakfast included start from £695 in low season and from £765 in high.

As a child, I lived next door to a playground that I was never allowed to play in. I watched other kids run around in it after school through the window while I played librarian and scullery maid inside, alone. I tried a few times to make friends with the children in the house opposite, but I was never allowed to cross the fence to play with them either. In fairness to my parents, it was the notorious 1980s in New York City, and at night the playground hosted parties, leaving broken bottles and drug paraphernalia behind to be found in the morning. The house next door, where several women lived with many children but only one man who came and went, was, to put it diplomatically, not an ideal playdate spot. My parents and extended family were also World War II refugees who viewed the world as a dangerous place by default. The legacy of their war trauma compounded the genetic hardwiring for anxiety they had passed on to me.

So it’s not surprising that I became an anxious, panicky, phobic adult. Throw in running through the streets to escape the collapsing Twin Towers and two terrifying, traumatic childbirths, and by age 37, my fight-or-flight meter was permanently stuck on danger. And that is an exhausting way to live. But of all the fears I had as a mother of young children—for their safety, their future, their health, their education, their happiness—my biggest fear was that they would be like me: afraid of everything. Always unsafe, forever insecure, waking up anticipating a perpetual worst-case scenario.

Then one afternoon, I hosted a Halloween party for my then-three-year-old son’s nursery class. The craft table was organised, and the cupcake decorating station was under control when my younger son, then 18 months old, climbed the sofa to the ledge of an open window and went for it. Luckily, I ran, and I caught him. Sure, my two boys were active, fast, physical, joyful chaos whirlwinds, but as I clutched the seat of my toddler’s trousers, I realised they were also curious, see-what’s-out-there, fearless, let-me-escape-through-this-window kids. They were not like me at all. They had no internal alarm bells, no built-in disaster preparedness instinct. And to maintain their joy and energy and sense of adventure, I would have to listen to my anxiety, which wanted to stop them from doing anything, and then do the opposite of everything it told me to do. If I wanted free and fearless children, I’d have to free my inner librarian/scullery maid and learn to let them really play.

When they were small and wanted to jump off a piece of furniture/diving board/climbing frame/precarious rock formation, I said, “Okay,” knowing I had the first aid kit I took everywhere. When their eyes lit up at the sight of a muddy obstacle course made of rusty farm equipment in some dodgy park in the countryside, I said, “Okay,” secure in the knowledge that their tetanus shots were up to date, at least. They ski fast, they run fast, they play rugby, and they love it, though watching them do any of this kills me inside. A recent video shows me on the sidelines of a pitch with my back turned to the action as my son’s team plays an epic match, which I can only describe as “terror-inducing.” My younger son plays the drums, and when most parents learn that, I can see the “why would you allow that?” rolling across their foreheads. The answer is that I’ve learned that his freedom to be who he is is more important than my fear. I’ve learned that my children’s freedom has also given me some of my own.

Now that they are 13 and 15, I look for the signs of anxiety that I had at that age—perfectionism, headaches, worry—and I don’t see them. They’re bigger and stronger every day, their broadening shoulders building the outline of the men they will become. Every match gets harder for me to watch as they push themselves to their physical limits.

My older son recently took a day trip to London with a friend, and of course, I tracked him on his phone every minute. The sun was shining, and the streets were filled with shoppers. Crowds are, as you might expect, a nightmare for me, something to be avoided always. Although he’s seen Big Ben hundreds of times, London was very beautiful that day, and unbothered by the crowds, he called just to hold up his phone and show me and say, “Look, this is amazing.” Despite the minutes I spend tracking and worrying about him on the Tube, and nervously waiting for him to come home, it’s worth it. Although I’ll only ever see danger through old, anxious eyes, he sees an amazing world, and he is not afraid.

Five by Ilona Bannister is published by Juniper, 5^th May 2026. You can pre-order it today.

Last winter, I got a lucky break in every sense. I was a friend’s plus one on a Caribbean cruise. But for an eco warrior, this comes with more baggage than my Patagonia rucksack can carry. On average, a cruise ship emits more carbon per passenger mile travelled than a short-haul flight.

But to paraphrase Katy Perry, I took a cruise, and I liked it, especially the interesting sustainability.

The most unexpected? The fact that our ship, The Arvia, was doing a roaring trade in preloved Chanel Flaps, Louis Vuitton Speedys and Hermes classics.

Power houses of vintage resale

Yes, I discovered that luxury liners are unexpected power-houses of vintage resale. According to a Cunard insider, some passengers book on a cruise just to secure a luxury bag. There are several reasons – of course, there’s cachet in returning with a holiday glow and a historic, luxury bag; there’s the tax-free pricing too. But mainly, customers love that specialist retailers Harding+ (they operate Cunard’s Reloved programme) source, vet, and authenticate each item before it reaches the ship. They can trust in the provenance and therefore know there’s resale value.

Back at home, I wondered if the same shift in fashion was detectable on land. First, I checked the data. US-based ThredUp is one of the world’s largest online secondhand stores, and its reports act as long-term weather forecasts for preloved. The latest shows uninterrupted sunshine. Secondhand is predicted to reach $367 billion by 2029. Everywhere I looked for evidence that this was something, I found it. Resale data from the RealReal shows the value of the Louis Vuitton Speedy is up 13% since 2021. The Hermes Birkin has risen by 15% in the same timeframe.

Across Vinted’s European markets, Louis Vuitton stands out for speed of sale. This is also an important marker. It offers proof of liquidity. Fashion pieces are no longer status objects collected (or hoarded), but are moving fast enough to create a recognisable economy. The Vintage Economy has arrived.

The Vintage Economy has arrived

The first time I heard of "dresses as an asset class" was from Eshita Kabra Davies, the founder of By Rotation, some years ago. I remember thinking she was very smart, but I didn’t really get it. By Rotation’s close-knit rental community has done a lot of the heavy lifting, proving clothes are no longer static possessions, but monetised repeatedly through the platform and sold off once the rental curve flattens.

Over the last few years, from Nadine Merabi's twinkly jumpsuits to host award ceremonies, to a Farm Rio number to appear on This Morning, I’ve rented prolifically. Experiencing clothes moving with speed through rental, resale and re-contextualisation so they’re less like traditional garments and more like liquid cultural assets. Eshita, I think I’ve finally got it.

Asset logic spreading to the middle market

It’s not just high price point items. This asset logic has spread into the middle market, too. Zara resale is a good signal. There are now more than 61 million Zara items listed on Vinted. On one level, this sends me into panic-attack territory because why must they produce so much? But on the other hand, it’s a miracle that tech stops this from becoming an online jumble sale. The second life is now visible when we purchase. A £59.99 Zara blazer, a COS coat, a Rixo dress: each comes with an implied future route, whether that be rental, a thrift+ donation-resale credit or Zara’s own second-hand services.

Companies like Trove provide the behind-the-scenes system for brands to buy back their own used items from us, authenticate and resell to new owners. Now, when we search, we’re offered the vintage equivalent. We can mix and match new and old in our shopping carts. It used to be that you couldn’t really do vintage and preloved successfully unless you were gifted an art-school eye and the patience of a Buddhist monk to make random stop-offs at flea markets. Liberation has come through searchability, price transparency, fit familiarity and algorithmic demand.

The margin doesn't rest just rest in creating product

Brands are finally joining in. For years, they fought resale tooth and nail because recommerce meant surrendering control over pricing, over presentation and over customer data. But the smartest players are coming on board because they realise that the margin doesn’t just rest in creating product, but in owning the second and third monetisation cycles.

Cue Patagonia’s Worn Wear, Levi’s SecondHand, lululemon’s Like New, Ganni’s Repeat, COS Restore, Dr Marten’s Repeat… and I could go on. ThredUp’s figures show 32% of shoppers bought directly from a brand in 2024, while 47% say trade-in credit makes them more likely to try a brand for the first time.

The game is changing

Plus, it is the right thing to do. This being Earth Month, we should remember the hit our planet takes thanks to our linear systems that produce consumer goods, including fashion. We take (from the ground), we make (manufacture), and then we waste (years before we need to). This Take-Make-Waste system is the biosphere’s worst enemy.

Just over half of all clothing purchases made this year will be dumped within twelve months. But the game is changing. Rental brought us "Buy-Wear-ResellGet Credit-Repeat." Now, vintage economics with its sophisticated technology and brand-involvement moves us further still. We’re edging towards Rediscover-repair-reuse-resell-repeat. That’s exciting! We’re starting to see the circular economy in action, where materials are continually recirculated, and waste is driven out. It’s a lifeline for the biosphere and makes sense for our closets too.

“Something you hope to never experience: your baggage gets lost.” So reads the copy on [redacted airline]’s ‘help’ page. The tone, that of a smug, knowing elder, does little to assuage my burning fury.

Though to my surprise—for I am not a woman known to take things in her stride—I’m not all that fussed about my lost luggage. I realise quickly that I am a sheep, and as soon as I discover half the airport has lost their luggage too, a great wave of camaraderie sweeps over me.

“We’re all in this together,” loops around my head like the empty luggage carousel in front of me. I start bandying around the phrase “it’s all grist for the mill!” before explaining to my fellow luggage-less passengers that “I’m a writer, see. In fact, I’m actually on a press trip.”

By the time the rest of my group—held up at border control—join me, I’ve become something of a character in the growing band of travellers who’ve flown in from such exotic locales as Manchester, Dublin, and, to our excitement—as it proves what we’ve long suspected, that this is an airline issue and not the sole reserve of the UK and Ireland—Paris.

Our Parisian traveller is in the country to film Big Fish (an artist I instantly Google—and by Google, I mean Instagram—and discover has 9.5 million followers), who is set to perform at the next day’s marathon. The aquatically named artist is forced to wait for his cameraman, his own luggage stacked neatly beside him: Louis Vuitton, by the look of it. Big fish, indeed.

“It’s all colour for the story!” I proclaim to our ashen-faced PR. By the time she joins, I am already at the 28th stage of grief: group delusion.

Below is (almost) every thought I have before and after.

1. Wait, where’s my suitcase?
2. In fact, where is everyone’s suitcase?
3. No, that’s definitely not the right amount of luggage for a Boeing 787-9.
4. How big is a Boeing 787-9?
5. Did I miss the last snack on the flight?
6. I really need one of those eye masks that say, “Wake me up for food and drink.”
7. At least I have my silk eye mask and anti-malarials. *Frantically checks hand luggage to confirm*.
8. Come on, focus.
9. This must be the most understaffed airport I’ve ever encountered.
10. Why do airlines always make me feel personally responsible for their organisational failure?
11. I wish I had a more recognisable suitcase.
12. I’m taking this really well. Am I a cool girl after all?
13. How long can I feasibly get away wearing this fleece-lined grey jogger set?
14. Do I look like I’m on day release?
15. Is that smell… me?
16. Did I just see someone else’s identical suitcase?
17. Who designs luggage tags that tear off at the exact moment you need them?
18. Is this what it feels like to be in a low-budget spy movie?
19. Should I be concerned that I’m already mentally planning my “lost luggage” Instagram story?
20. If I tag the airline, will they give me preferential treatment?
21. What did I even pack?
22. Of course I lost my luggage in an airport with not a single shop.
23. Wait, where am I going to buy new clothes? And pants? And socks? And a toothbrush?
24. Do I have anything at all in this carry-on?
25. Why did I bring three cameras with three different chargers instead of anything vaguely useful?
26. I wonder what that mob of sweat-slicked Brits is kicking off about. *Joins mob*.
27. These are my people.
28. £400 allowance per day, you say? Maybe this will be the making of me.
29. Oh, so that’s totally unconfirmed?
30. Has anyone actually spoken to anyone from the airline?
31. How do I even speak to someone from the airline?
32. This queue is a hotbed of misinformation.
33. But if there’s one thing Brits do well, it’s queue.
34. Why is that French man pushing to the front? Somebody stop him!
35. What a bunch of lily-livered cowards.
36. We’re never getting our luggage back.
37. I can’t remember a time in my life before this airport.
38. I feel like Tom Hanks in The Terminal.
39. I wonder if my luggage is in a better airport than this one.
40. So this is why people buy AirTags.
41. I just knew this would happen.
42. Is my suitcase going to hit “40 countries before 40” before I do?
43. So my packing style is “emotional,” I always wondered.
44. Will this finally teach me the virtues of minimalism?
45. I’m going to invest in a capsule wardrobe courtesy of KLM.
46. Why is my hotel suddenly less appealing without my holiday outfits?
47. Philosophical questioning of life choices.
48. I think I’ll check the baggage carousel one last time.
49. This airline attendant says she’s here to help, but her face says otherwise.
50. Oh, she works for the airport, not the airline.
51. Does anyone work for the airline? Clearly not the baggage handlers.
52. Phew. The bags will be on the next flight.
53. The next flight is in three days?!
54. I can’t believe I stood in this queue for over an hour only to be directed to an online form.
55. *Phone pings*. Thank you, KLM, for letting me know my luggage missed its connection—10 hours ago.
56. I still can’t believe there isn’t so much as a duty-free shop.
57. I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. I get to shop on someone else’s dime. This is basically Supermarket Sweep.
58. I’ll be the judge of what counts as an “essential item.”
59. Get in, Loser, we’re going shopping.

Shop The Travel Essentials I Wish I’d Bought

Over two years ago, Parliament passed a landmark bill, the Protection from Sex-Based Harassment in Public Act, a legal safeguard designed to combat the public harassment that 1.5 million young women have faced on UK streets. It came after violence against women and girls was declared a national emergency, but to the dismay of many, the law sat in a kind of legal hinterland for years, while gender-based crimes continued to rise.

Today, that new law, which criminalises public sexual harassment, has finally come into force in the UK. However, campaigners say legislation alone won’t be enough to change the reality women and girls face every day. In the UK, 89% of women who had experienced harassment said they felt “very or fairly unsafe” walking on their own in the dark in a park or other open space, according to a survey.

Plan International UK and Our Streets Now have long pushed for public sexual harassment to be recognised as a standalone offence, something they say sends a powerful signal that behaviour long dismissed as “normal” will no longer be tolerated. From school halls to city streets, the burden to stay safe has been left to women and girls, as well as disabled and LGBTQ+ people, who face harassment at rates two to six times higher than others.

But while the legal shift is significant, the scale of the issue remains stark. According to research from Plan International UK, 75% of girls have experienced public sexual harassment, and 49% say things have actually gotten worse in the two years since the bill was passed. Which is why to mark the long-awaited arrival of the law, Our Streets Now has launched a new campaign, Culture Must Change, calling for urgent action beyond the legal system. “If women and girls could solve gender-based violence, it would have been solved a long time ago,” agrees male ally, Ben Hurst, who works with men and boys to rethink masculinity and understand that patriarchal influencers and the Manosphere damages men as well as women.

“Our work is very much not finished,” says Georgia Theodoulou, Director of Advocacy at Our Streets Now. “While this law sends a clear message that public sexual harassment will no longer be normalised, legislation alone will not change the problematic culture we still live in.”

That culture, often rooted in deeply entrenched misogyny, is exactly what the campaign aims to confront with a short film spotlighting the everyday reality of harassment, both on the street and online. It’s an unflinching reminder that for too many young women, simply navigating public spaces is tinged with fear and hyper-vigilance.

While the law represents long-overdue progress, real change will depend on shifting the behaviours, assumptions and power dynamics that have allowed harassment to persist for so long.

What does this law actually mean for you?

Street harassment is now explicitly illegal

For the first time, behaviour like catcalling, following someone, making sexual comments, or blocking someone’s path in public can be treated as a specific criminal offence, if it’s done because of someone’s sex.

It carries real consequences

Offenders can face up to two years in prison, signalling that what’s often dismissed as “minor” or “everyday” harassment is being taken seriously under the law.

It fills a gap in existing law

Previously, many of these behaviours sat in a grey area unless they were escalated. This law strengthens the Public Order Act 1986 by recognising sex-based harassment as a distinct, more serious offence.

But intent still matters

To prosecute, it must be shown the behaviour was intentional and motivated by the victim’s sex, something campaigners warn could make cases harder to prove in practice.

Campaigners say it’s about validation as much as punishment

The law formally acknowledges that these everyday experiences, too often brushed of, are harmful and unacceptable, giving women and girls stronger grounds to report them.

It won’t fix everything overnight

While the Act is a major step, experts stress that legal change alone won’t shift the culture that allows harassment to persist.

The bottom line

It’s a landmark shift in recognising public sexual harassment as a crime, but whether it changes women’s day-to-day reality will depend on enforcement, awareness, and wider cultural change.

"Oh, yeah. He's like that. He's got a bit of a reputation," says Lauren* as she takes the final drag of a cigarette before stubbing it out on the balcony wall of a Shoreditch hotel.

We're dressed in leopard print for the staff party—jungle themed—which feels fitting for the wildly inappropriate interaction I've just had with a senior member of staff. To my horror, he has just told me I have very large breasts and that he likes them, while continuing to make comments and stare at my chest like a cartoon character.

Without saying much, Lauren has told me all I need to know: that this sort of thing has happened with, let's call him Tim*, before, and the other women in the office know to steer clear of him at the company Christmas party. Strangely, despite the humiliation I feel at Tim’s lurid gawking, Lauren’s words are a comfort: a warning signal telling me to keep a keen eye on my drink and to avoid him for the rest of the night.

This subtle exchange of information has a name: the whisper network. It comes with its own language, rules, inferences, and subtext, allowing it to fly under the radar.

At their heart, whisper networks are informal exchanges, often in the workplace, helping women and minoritised groups navigate gender-based inequality, violence, and sexual harassment. They operate on the expectation that you, or a woman you work with, are likely to experience the sexual violence continuum to some degree, and that formally reporting incidents is unlikely to lead to accountability or justice.

Despite my best efforts to heed Lauren’s advice, the night ends in disaster. Unwelcome hands grab at my waist and backside as Tim tries to spin me around on the dancefloor. Words bubble like bile in the back of my throat as I scream, “Fuck off, seriously, just fuck off,” until, startled, his grip loosens. I wriggle free and make for the exit, hot tears streaming down my face.

The interaction became the topic of conversation the following Monday between the girls and me. Lauren and another colleague encourage me to have a quiet word with HR. But I worry I won’t be believed—or that maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing. After all, I’m still young, and I haven’t learned how to tell men like Tim off, or that I shouldn’t have to.

Like all forms of gossip, whisper networks are often dismissed as untrustworthy fabrications designed to ruin men’s reputations; nothing more than office chatter. Yet culturally, whisper networks are crucial for understanding the commonality of experience where sexual harassment, abuse, and violence are enacted upon women and girls by men.

This is partly because women’s words have long carried an air of mistrust; a superstition reinforced when gossip, originally genderless, became female-coded in the Middle Ages.

The word, originally used to describe someone or something in relation to God, was sacred: gossip, or God-sibb. Over centuries, it evolved to describe trusted groups of women, like nuns or midwives, gradually infused with a sense of mystery and distrust. Later, gossip came to mean an unruly, talkative woman who would spill secrets or speak ill of her husband, and gossipers were considered sinfully disobedient.

Herein lies the crux of women’s battle: wanting to be taken seriously but having no singular system that reliably helps them.

Now, almost ten years later, I don’t think about Tim often. But one evening, while finishing some notes for my research into the necessity of whisper networks for my debut non-fiction, Beyond Belief: A Defence of Gossip and the Women Who Do It, his words about my body come back to bite me.

It takes a second or two for my heart rate to stop thrumming against my ribcage. When it does, I can see clearly how, in an environment where I was vulnerable, women came to my aid. They reassured me that what happened wasn’t okay, and while there might not be swift justice, I was believed, and that meant something.

Whisper networks thrive because real-world support and justice are lacking. In fact, they’re thriving so much that in January 2026, Forbes reported on a new website, WallStreetDiscrimination, which encourages women to report discrimination and harassment anonymously. Wherever women encounter the sexual violence continuum, a sorority-style support network will likely exist.

But it isn’t just about being believed. There is also a retributive threat many women know intimately when they attempt to warn others about a man’s behaviour. Members of the Facebook group, Are We Dating The Same Guy, learned this when faced with defamation lawsuits for warning one another about potentially dangerous partners. The backlash is swift and particularly vicious.

The demand for peer-to-peer protection has even led to businesses offering specialised assistance. Tea is one such app, which found itself at the centre of controversy when hacked by a group on a Manosphere site. The attack exposed thousands of women to danger, sharing personal information like home addresses, driver’s licenses, some 70,000 photographs, and private messages—along with the chilling message, “enjoy.”

These spaces, online and offline, are often the last bastion where survivors’ voices are given the benefit of the doubt over alleged perpetrators. Women, by virtue of gender, occupy a space beyond belief by default. Yet there is solace in shared glances, knowing nods, and supportive sanctums. In exchange for their stories, support is given, and, perhaps most importantly, belief.

*Names have been changed

Beyond Belief: A Defence of Gossip and the Women Who Do It by Katie Baskerville is published by HQ, £20.

I have always been a grafter. Born in the mid-80s, fuelled by an adolescence of Spice Girl empowerment and a shiny Record of Achievement to show off my certificates, I wasn’t worldly—but I knew two things for certain: 1) I wanted to be a PE teacher, and 2) there was no backup plan. I locked in early on teaching as a career and worked hard to get the grades to join the tribe of the ‘African Violets’ at Loughborough University (IYKYK). I qualified and started full-time teaching just ten days after my 22nd birthday, spots that rivalled my students, but with an intrinsic belief that I was going to change children’s lives, one PE lesson at a time.

That was 2006, and I lived my dream for nine glorious years. During this time, I met my husband, Chris, who was also a PE teacher, and I really believed I had it all mapped out. We married in 2014, and shortly after I became pregnant. I was thrilled for us as a couple, but I sobbed as I told my department I would be going on maternity leave. Naively, I thought I was indispensable to the school—that I’d just have the baby and come back to work. Mic drop… that’s not how it went down.

Fast forward to two children in 19 months—a period I can only describe as ‘chaotically beautiful.’ I loved being at home, but I missed the camaraderie of the PE office and the feeling of being a little bit important (cringe admitting that out loud). I soon realised I wouldn’t be able to go back to work—the childcare bill alone made my salary pointless. With my husband’s career going from strength to strength, and living by the PE motto that ‘teamwork makes the dream work,’ we decided I would resign and stay home to look after the children.

I busied myself with playgroups, nappies, and celebrating milestones. I was happy enough, but I felt a sense of grief for who I used to be. In May 2019, we moved into a more spacious house—a total rip-out renovation. We had a little equity from our sale and started enthusiastically, but renovations are expensive, and progress soon stalled. Then, I badly ruptured my anterior cruciate ligament playing netball. It was my lowest point, but it catalysed something I never could have dreamt of.

I had started an Instagram account a couple of months earlier just to snoop at pretty interior pictures. With time to recover from my injury, I began to dream of what our house could look like: panelling, a wall mural for my daughter’s room, maybe a fluted sideboard in the living room. But the budget was low, family life and free time were limited, and, of course, I had the small problem of one leg that wasn’t working properly.

One day, during nap time, I sat staring at a peg rail I was desperate to hang. Clutter was mounting in our mid-reno home, and so was my frustration. We had limited tools, but we did have a drill. I decided to just go for it. I drilled a slightly wonky hole, then a better one, and screwed the peg rail in place. I had done it!

That little spark of productivity ignited a fire. Every nap time or quiet moment was filled with stripping wallpaper or painting. I loved the progress, and how it made me feel. I started filming myself and gaining followers. I couldn’t believe people actually wanted to watch. My confidence grew beyond DIY, and I loved the online community: conversations with tired mums, first-time homeowners hunting décor ideas, and a huge army of women wanting to learn power tools too. I was signed by FARQ, a talent management agency, and they helped me realise there was a whole world of opportunities beyond the classroom.

I had moved into teaching Science by this point. By day it was physics and chemistry, and by night it was panelling and editing videos for my online community.

I have since grown to over 450k followers across various platforms, and I am proud that 91% are women. I pitched an idea for a book to empower, educate, and inspire DIY newbies: Nailed It! The Essential Guide to Do It Yourself is the buddy I wish I had back when I was bursting with ideas but unsure of where to start. I wrote it for anyone who wants to get stuck into making their house a home, acknowledging that time is limited and sometimes we just need the simple steps written down.

I juggle teaching, the children (who are now 8 and 10), an almost-finished home, and my social media work but I thrive on the excitement of no two days being the same. Am I exhausted? Hell yes, but I have found that fulfilment again in my toolbox, and I hope to give that glimmer of empowerment to others to just give it a go! You just never know where that drill will take you.

Nailed It: The Essential Guide To Do It Yourself by Laura Deller (Pavilion, £20) is out March 26th.

In some homes, the latest design feature isn’t something you add, but something you remove. Analogue rooms, spaces designed for reading, listening to vinyl, or ‘just being’ (as an emerging wave of Gen Z aspiring Luddites tell me on TikTok, ironically), are catering to a new kind of luxury: being unreachable, at least for a while.

In our always-on culture, there is something faintly unnerving about the idea of a room in which the USP is absence. Maddie Cordle, co-founder of the architectural and interior design agency MIRAHSTON, describes it as “almost reminiscent of a panic room”: a contained space you retreat to escape a force (technology) that has taken over the house. And there’s little denying that tech has taken over. Where once there were boundaries — a computer in the study, a shared landline coiled on the wall — tech today is ever-present and, quite literally, wearable. We carry our connectivity with us 24 hours a day. The analogue room attempts to reverse that.

At first glance, analogue rooms seem like a specific kind of solution: architectural, aesthetic, and, not incidentally, expensive. Disconnection, once a luxury afforded to all, is now something to be designed for and, increasingly, something to be afforded. But the desire to disconnect is less niche than it seems, even if a dedicated tech-free space is the reserve of those with not only the finances to fund it, but also the square footage.

Modern life has become defined by a persistent state of over-saturation: late-night scrolling, half-finished conversations, the feeling of being always available. A recent study by Simba found that we’re regularly engaging in habits that disrupt our REM sleep — the phase essential for memory, emotional processing, and mental clarity — leaving many of us technically rested but mentally depleted. Part of the problem isn’t just that we’re busy; it’s that we’re rarely, if ever, offline.

The appeal of analogue is easy to understand. Collectively, we’re craving bygone eras we’ve mythologised as simpler times. This plays out in our appetite for 90s nostalgia — most recently seen through the frenzy over the CBK and JFK Jr show — as well as the resurgence of traditional arts and crafts and the rise of listening bars.

At Bambi in London Fields, owner James Dye describes vinyl as an antidote to the endless, frictionless scroll of streaming. Records, he explains, impose limits: you have to choose one, play it through, flip it over. “It offers boundaries,” he says, along with a sense of permanence that digital music struggles to replicate. That structure extends into the room itself. The DJs he books have often spent decades building their collections, records not only sourced over years but hauled from space to space. “They’ve spent 10, 15 or 20 years digging,” he says, and the result is a sound that feels deliberate rather than algorithmic. Over the course of an evening, that becomes part of the experience: music opens gently over dinner and builds as tables are cleared and the room shifts into something looser and louder.

The promise, as Dye puts it, is a few hours away from “the humdrum of phones and constant notifications.” A short distance away, The Glendronach Listening Bar experience — a month-long residency at Equal Parts — offers its own version of that escape. “We wanted to create an immersive experience that encourages people to pause, be present, and engage all their senses,” says Glendronach’s Dr Rachel Barrie.

For Michael Sager, the bar’s owner, this reflects a broader shift: a reaction to a decade defined by “speed, optimisation and constant stimulation.” What people are seeking, he suggests, are spaces where “time stretches out a little”.

Elsewhere, it looks more modest. On platforms like Pinterest and Etsy, searches for “micro escapes,” memory journals, and traditional crafts are surging, driven in large part by users looking to reclaim experiences that can’t be swiped away. Then there’s Mosaic Journal, which gets images off your phone and into old-school photo albums.

As Paul Firmin, co-founder of Earl of East, puts it, such rituals “act as anchors” in a culture of endless scrolling, helping people reconnect with themselves and their surroundings.

Caroline Milns of Zulufish reports a growing demand for spaces explicitly designated for offline activity. Other designers describe similar adjustments: living rooms are being reoriented away from televisions, with seating arranged to encourage conversation rather than passive viewing. Screens, if they stay, are hidden within cabinetry or disguised as artworks.

The goal is not necessarily to eliminate technology, but to manage its visibility; to restore, at least on appearance, a sense of balance. There is something faintly absurd in all this; the idea that simply being present requires such elaborate staging, but there’s no denying that these environments are appealing.

Whether it’s a bespoke-designed analogue room or lighting a candle at the end of the day and listening to a record all the way through, the budgets differ, but the desire is the same: to step outside the flow.

The question is whether that feeling can be meaningfully achieved through objects and environments alone. A phone can be put in another room, a record can be played from start to finish, but the same systems of work, communication, and expectation remain largely intact. The risk, then, is that analogue living becomes less a form of resistance than a kind of aesthetic buffer: a way of softening the edges of a life that is otherwise unchanged.

Back at Bambi, the record comes to an end. There is a brief pause before the next one begins, and for a moment, diners resist the urge to check their phone.

We haven’t exactly logged off, but we’re learning to simulate what it might feel like.

I ended 2025 exactly the way I began it: legs trembling, hurtling (albeit not very fast) down the side of a mountain—all in the name of fun, ha! I’m neither a skier (nor a sadist), but after finding myself in yet another ski family, and a few years into what is now a decade-long relationship with my avid skier partner, I realised resistance was futile. My snow-plough hasn’t improved much in the years since, but happily my après outfits have. Ditto my winter holiday planning. I struck gold (or whatever the skiing equivalent might be) when I landed on Magic Megève Bois, a charming ski-in chalet in France’s exclusive Megève.

Megève is known as one of the French Alps’ plusher ski resorts, famous for its wide, tree-lined slopes and reliably good snow. Unlike purpose-built resorts, Megève has a traditional village feel, with cobbled streets, a central square, and horse-drawn carriages carrying heavily furred tourists across the piste.

What really sealed things for me though was that research (and by research, I mean Instagram) told me that it was as much about the lifestyle as the skiing: I was told to expect a strong food scene and designer boutiques alongside the resort’s well-maintained runs with views stretching towards Mont Blanc.

The Vibe

Tucked into the folds of Megève, Magic Megève Bois feels a world away from the gloss of the village below. The chalet sits peacefully among the trees, its wooden façade and carved balconies dusted with snow. Inside, though, it’s all warmth and considered comfort: soft lighting, thick wool throws, and a deliberately “home away from home” feel. This manifests in a strict no-shoes rule, which means you’ll find moneyed Europeans padding around in terry-towelling slippers, on the phone trying to arrange heli-skiing between Courchevel and Mont Blanc—something I know thanks to my friend Google Translate.

The usual chalet touches appear in the pale timber and a warm palette of evergreen, scarlet, and cream. An air of easy relaxation is encouraged through low-slung sofas in bouclé and linen, soft lighting, and the occasional contemporary artwork breaking up the traditional chintz. Despite the chalet catering to outdoor types more adventurous than myself, mornings at Magic Megève Bois begin quietly. There’s no rush, but by 8am a full continental spread is laid out with generosity: fresh bread and flaky pastries, bowls of fruit, yoghurt, cheeses, and cured meats, all arranged in an unfussy, help-yourself way.

Eggs come however you like them—softly scrambled, poached, or fried—and guests drift in at their own pace before heading out to the piste. The hotel offers a shuttle to the two nearest lifts, the closest of which is an easy downhill walk that, in full snow gear, takes just over five minutes.

The Rooms

The 12 rooms at Magic Megève Bois follow the same fuss-free traditionalism as the rest of the chalet. Each one is slightly different, but all toe the line between classic Alpine aesthetics and a more contemporary, design-led sensibility. Exposed beams, pale wood and sloped ceilings are softened by tactile rugs and low lighting—almost to a fault if you find yourself, as I did, scrabbling around for a lost ski pass. If pressed to sum it up neatly, I’d opt for something like “thoughtful farmhouse” over full chalet cliché.

There’s also a noticeable artistic thread running through the spaces: a sculptural chair here, exhibition-style prints on the walls, and my personal favourite—the vintage Ralph Lauren wallpaper.

Layouts vary, but many rooms open out onto balconies or terraces. Some are split over mezzanines. Things feel a little more rustic when it comes to the facilities: while some rooms have baths, ours was fitted with a shower missing a holder. I was told this was typically French, though it did mean hovering the shower head overhead to wash, which I had less enthusiasm for after a full day battling the slopes.

The rooms are generous enough to spend time in comfortably. I found myself lingering over a morning coffee by the window as the sun turned candyfloss pink, and later, enjoying a cold rosé on the balcony.

The Food & Drink

At the heart of the dining experience at Magic Megève Bois is a wine collection that’s become something of a legend. Curated over decades by the chalet’s patriarch, the cellar stretches far beyond what you’d expect from a ski retreat, bringing together rare and expressive vintages from classic regions like Burgundy, Bordeaux, the Rhône, and even California. On the evening I dined with the family, bottles were hauled up from the cellar below, and our host animatedly shared the backstory of each selection.

Dinner is intimate, seasonal, and comfort-driven, with dishes that showcase French Alpine classics alongside lighter, modern touches. Local cheeses, charcuterie, and hearty mains sit comfortably alongside fresh fish and seasonal veggies. There’s a cosy, relaxed rhythm to the meals, perfectly mirrored by the crackling fire from the nearby hearth.

The Facilities

What better way to unwind after a day risking life and limb mountainside than in the hammam or soaking in the jacuzzi, which offers views of the snow-dusted trees outside? There’s also a salt inhalation room, and a cinema room equipped with Netflix, as well as a small library of art books for quieter, more contemplative downtime.

For those seeking more advanced wellness experiences, a short drive away at the chalet’s new luxury annex, cutting-edge therapies are available, including cryotherapy and the Alpine hay immersion ritual, alongside traditional treatments like massages and facials. Adventurous only when it comes to wellness, I opted for the Alpine hay immersion ritual and was promptly enveloped in a sack of freshly harvested, aromatic mountain hay. The hay was warmed in a bath-like setup I couldn’t entirely understand, but found pleasantly soothing—especially when paired with a half-body massage afterward.

How to Book

Magic Megève Bois packages typically bundle chalet-style accommodation, daily breakfast, and shuttles to ski lifts, with starting prices from around €250 per night depending on season and room type. For more information visit the Magic Megève Bois website.

What to Pack

For as long as I can remember, I've been a pretty stressed-out person. While on the surface, all might seem calm, underneath, I'm anything but. My mind is constantly racing, overthinking is my middle name, and me and anxiety - well, we've long been on first name terms.

Despite this, until fairly recently, I thought I had a good handle on stress. After all, I manage to hold things together day-to-day, juggling a busy career, three children, a dog and more, without any major red flags beyond the occasional lapse in memory (really, though, who can keep up with life admin anyway?)

However, one of the perks of my job as a Health and Fitness Writer is that I have access to tests and gadgets giving real-time feedback on my mental and physical health, and they're all saying the same thing: I'm stressed. Even when I think I'm doing just fine, my metrics are telling a different story.

So, over the past few months, I've been on a quest to lower my cortisol, one way or another. I've been trying new approaches to calm my frazzled brain, and my latest hack is possibly the simplest of them all: breathwork. Given that we're all breathing literally all day long, how hard could it be to tap into this most intuitive of habits to cultivate some calm?

Never one to sleep on the science, I was interested to learn that a breathwork practice boasts some pretty impressive benefits. This meta-analysis of randomised controlled trials (published in the journal Nature) shows that slow, controlled breathing and faster breathwork may help reduce stress and improve mental health, while further research (see this study, published in the journal Cell Reports Medicine) shows that just five minutes of daily breathwork can be effective in enhancing mood and lowering respiration rate (aka, relaxing us). Music to my time-poor ears.

To find out how I got on trying breathwork every morning for a week, carry on scrolling. And for more on all things breathwork and mental health, take a moment to read our guides to the best five-minute meditations, the best expert-approved somatic healing techniques, and the best exercise moves for relieving tension, plus, find out how I got on when I tried a tai chi flow for reducing stress, here.

Breathwork is hailed as the key to inner calm and clarity - so I tried it everyday for a week

What is breathwork?

If you've never paid much heed to the breaths you take every day, you're not alone. And breathwork might sound complicated, but it needn't be. While at its most basic level, breathing is (for the most part) almost entirely subconscious, focusing on how we're breathing and training our bodies to breathe in certain ways can make a huge difference to how effective that simple habit actually is.

"Breathwork is simply the practice of becoming aware of how we breathe and using that breath more intentionally," explains Shalin Balasuriya, wellness expert, certified sound healer and co-founder of Spa Ceylon. "It may sound simple, but breathing is one of the most powerful ways we can influence how the body feels."

Despite the power of our mind in driving mental health, when we're chronically stressed, the body needs an extra boost to regulate itself.

"You cannot think your way out of stress, but you can breathe your body back to safety," notes coach and mentor Debbie Lucas. "In my work supporting women with self-trust and nervous system regulation, I often see how quickly the breath can bring someone back into their body when stress has taken over. Your breathing is one of the fastest ways to show your nervous system that you are safe."

How is breathwork connected to the vagus nerve?

So far, so simple, but what about the vagus nerve? Well, for those of us who have never heard of it, the vagus nerve is an important part of our parasympathetic nervous system, responsible for rest, recovery, digestion and regulation.

"The vagus nerve runs from the brain through the neck and into many of the body’s major organs," says Balasuriya. "It plays a central role in regulating the parasympathetic nervous system, the part responsible for rest, digestion and emotional balance.

"The body often speaks to the brain through this pathway. When breathing becomes shallow and fast, the brain interprets that as stress. But when breathing slows and deepens, the body sends a signal of safety. That signal allows the nervous system to move away from tension and into a calmer, more restorative state."

In this way, breathwork is essentially a way of communicating with the nervous system using the body’s natural breath rhythm.

What are the benefits of breathwork?

As we've already seen, breathwork can be a powerful tool for calming our nervous systems and helping us cope with stressors - but the benefits don't end there.

1. It's simple and accessible

First and foremost, breathwork has to be the most accessible wellness tool out there. No fancy equipment or knowledge needed, and it's effective even if you only do a few minutes a day.

"The breath is always available to us!" says breathwork and running coach, and founder of Evolve Breathwork, Ramon Ghosh. "Learning how to use it deliberately can be one of the simplest tools we have for regulating the nervous system."

2. It can energise as well as calm us

While much of the talk surrounding breathwork centres on how effective it is for calming us down, we can also use the breath to energise ourselves, too.

"Different breathing techniques can either up-regulate the body ahead of an event requiring energy or focus, or down-regulate the nervous system (more commonly needed in modern-day life) to move from ‘fight or flight’ into a more relaxed state, often referred to as the parasympathetic state," explains Ghosh.

3. It enhances focus and clarity

Struggling to concentrate? Us too - and breathwork could be the answer.

"When the breath becomes slower and deeper, the vagus nerve becomes more active, which helps shift the body away from a constant stress response," notes Balasuriya. "Many people notice their shoulders drop, their mind quietens slightly, and their breathing becomes more comfortable. Over time, this can support better sleep, improved focus, and a more stable emotional state."

4. It has a full-body impact

As well as the mental health benefits, breathwork can alter our physical state, too.

"From an osteopathic perspective, the vagus nerve travels widely through the upper and mid body, passing through structures of the head, neck, thoracic cage, abdomen and pelvis," says osteopath and wellbeing specialist Manjot Dehala. "Breathing therefore has the potential to influence multiple areas of the body through this physiological relationship."

5. It improves vagal tone

"When we engage in activity which involves the vagus nerve, we stimulate what is often referred to as vagal tone," explains Ghosh. "Much like working any muscle repeatedly and making it stronger, repeatedly practising breathwork will improve vagal tone, helping reduce stress, encourage a lower resting heart rate and support better sleep.

"In practical terms: better vagal tone enables the body to move more seamlessly and efficiently between states of activation and recovery - like shifting gears of how we operate and feel in the body."

Who is breathwork best for?

Put simply, breathwork can benefit pretty much anyone and everyone.

"While breathwork can benefit most people, more intense breathwork is contraindicated for those with cardiovascular conditions," advises Ghosh. "Breathwork can be categorised into three broad areas that can be adopted for beginners and more experienced practitioners alike, as follows:

• Functional Breathwork: this focuses on how we breathe, and concentrates on improving breathing biomechanics during the day and night to support energy and restful sleep.
• Everyday Breathwork: this includes simple tools that can be used in work or daily life, such as breathing practices to reduce fatigue and improve clarity and practical techniques ahead of meetings, presentations and demanding work periods.
• Nervous System Reset: typically longer, guided breathwork sessions designed to move the nervous system into a state of deep rest. This type of breathwork often involves structured breathing patterns and guided sessions, and is best practised with an experienced coach.

I tried a simple breathwork exercise every morning for a week - here are my honest thoughts

Days one to three

Having done my research, I'm excited to get started with my week of breathwork. But I'll level with you: I've never been what you'd call good at mindfulness or meditation, so I'm also slightly sceptical that I'll be any good at it, or even be able to do it properly.

So, before I dive in, I ask the experts for their top tips - and am relieved to find that they're not only easy, but they're quick and can be done anywhere. Ghosh recommends starting with a simple lengthening exhale for two to four minutes.

"Inhale gently through your nose, then exhale through your mouth slowly for as long as you can," he advises. "Think of it like slowly emptying a balloon (your lungs) of all of its air. Inhale again and repeat. This will naturally slow your breath down to between three and five breaths per minute, which will typically mean a calmer nervous system."

Deciding this is as good a place to start as any, on day one, I take a few moments as soon as I wake up to try it out. Normally, I'm very much a tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen type, so sitting for a while, looking out at my garden and slowing my breathing down feels quite radical!

I'm surprised (and pleased) to note that I feel my shoulders drop on the very first exhale - a result, as someone who carries a lot of tension in their upper body. And I don't even sit with the practice for long (old habits die hard here), but I really do feel calmer and more able to take on the day. For the first ten minutes, at least.

Day two continues in the same vein, with a lovely few minutes of connecting with my breath before tackling my day, but it's day three that reality hits. Starting the challenge on a Saturday has lulled me into a false sense of security, and on the Monday I totally forget about my breathing until almost lunchtime, when I berate myself and head into the sunshine with a cup of coffee and sit for a while - bliss!

Days four to seven

So far, I'm really loving this challenge. It takes less than ten minutes, and I'm finding that I'm really enjoying taking a moment for myself, even (especially) on the busier days. Whereas usually, I might feel a pang of guilt in stepping away from my laptop and sitting quietly (or, I'd use this time to mindlessly scroll on my phone), somehow focusing on my breath melts this negativity away - and I'm not even tempted to check Instagram. Win, win.

As the week progresses, I get a little more adventurous in where I practice breathwork - and it's true what the experts say, little and often really does work. Just a couple of deeper inhales and exhales helps me feel instantly calmer, even when I'm on the train with all my kids (surely the ultimate stress test?), and what's more, no one even knows I'm doing it.

Whereas with mindfulness, I find my brain going off at a tangent, breathwork feels more natural to me, and therefore the practice is easier to stick with - and there's no guilt over failing. As for the benefits, I'm surprised and pleased to discover that I do feel calmer.

So, what do my metrics say? While my wellbeing trackers are still registering, I'm more stressed than restored, my resilience has improved, going from solid to strong - a sure sign that something has shifted over the week.

Will I keep up my newfound skill? Absolutely. I'm a breathwork convert, and wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone seeking just a little more calm in their everyday.

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I'm a firm believer that the best wellness investments are the least complicated ones. There are countless supplements, treatments, pieces of tech, and fads swirling around that have most of us scrambling to keep up, so anything that can become a simple and quick addition to my day while adding multiple health benefits, is my idea of a very worthwhile investment. Greens powders are exactly that.

My Bloom review goes to show just how highly I rate multi-tasking formulas, and the science behind products like Free Soul mango greens proves that you really can get 20+ superfoods into your diet in one go. Offering a concentrated hit of nutrients, greens powders can help with your digestion, gut microbiome diversity, immune system, and even nervous system.

Of course, they're not a magic potion, and they certainly aren't a replacement for a balanced diet and exercise routine. Like all supplements and protein powders, greens powders work in addition to nutrient-dense foods, plenty of water, and daily movement - not as an alternative. But if, like me, you struggle to get all your nutrients in, they can make for a seriously beneficial shortcut when you need it. In the same way you might use creatine supplements or stress supplements for an added boost, greens can function as a great all-rounder to keep your body in check.

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I must’ve slipped into a time vortex because I’m suddenly 35 and closer to menopause than the start of my periods, yet every time I scuttle to the bathroom with a tampon up my sleeve, I’m thrown back to secondary school, embarrassed and ashamed of my monthly bleed.

Whether it’s tucking keys between our fingers when walking home alone or folding a pad into our palm, as women, our lives are made up of these small gestures. We learn early on to accept that this is just the cost of being a woman. There are literal costs too, and they aren’t cheap.

New research from period and cycle tracker Clue puts a number on it: £20,359 over a lifetime: that’s the estimated amount people who menstruate in the UK spend managing their periods. It’s a staggering figure, but once you start adding it up—pads, tampons, pain relief, emergency purchases, ruined clothes—it makes frustrating sense.

As Ashley James , who’s partnered with Clue to raise awareness of the ‘Cost of Bleeding’ and campaign for change, points out, £20k isn’t just about period products; it’s everything that comes with them. “Since having my kids, my periods are so heavy that I’m always having to replace bed sheets and clothes,” she explains. “And then I’m going through private healthcare testing… like that endometriosis battle that I think so many of us have to go through.” According to the same research, more than a quarter of people are now paying for private healthcare to manage conditions like PCOS or endometriosis, often because NHS wait times are too long. It’s a statistic that shows we’re living in a system where being able to function increasingly depends on what you can afford. “It feels like a financial luxury to be able to function,” agrees Ashley.

We tend to talk about periods as a personal issue, something we have to grin and bear, but the reality is more complex. Nearly 40% of people say they’ve cut back on essentials like food, bills or transport to afford period products. A similar number have resorted to makeshift alternatives like tissues or wipes. “That is so dehumanising… how can we expect women and girls to thrive when their dignity is robbed from them just because they cannot afford basic health needs?”

It’s been just over five years since sanitary products stopped being taxed as luxury goods. As recently as 2020, when the UK economy suffered a record annual slump and ‘austerity’ was shoehorned into seemingly every political speech, women were still paying a ‘tampon tax’ on essential healthcare.

For context, exotic meats, edible cake decorations, and Jaffa Cakes were all zero-rated for VAT. Tampons, by contrast, were subject to a 5% VAT rate, while period pants were taxed at 20% until 2024. “I think there’s a real lack of compassion and understanding about period pains and how much pain that is normal to tolerate,” says Ashley.

“How many of us feel empowered to say, ‘actually, do you know what, I’ve got really bad period pain, I’m not able to come into the office’?” Instead, we push through, and, over time, learn to second-guess our own bodies. I’ve seen this kind of internalised misogyny in real time when a colleague once asked to work from home because of her excruciating period pain (this was pre-pandemic), only for our female boss to audibly scoff.

In Ashley’s case, she lived with severe iron deficiency for two years without even realising, dismissing the exhaustion as the byproduct of work and motherhood. “I felt like I was really tired, but I kind of just put it down to being a new mum… and again I dismissed it,” she says.

The word advocate comes up repeatedly in our conversation. Not just Ashley’s need to self-advocate in healthcare settings, but everywhere. The time it takes to explain symptoms, to be believed, to push for referrals, tests, and, if we’re lucky, answers. Even with private healthcare, Ashley describes it as “still a bit of an uphill battle.” This is one of the least visible costs of menstruation: not just money, but time, energy, and persistence. Add in the mental load, the motherhood penalty, the medical gap, the gender pay gap, and it’s hard to name a space where women aren’t on the back foot.

“I just wrote a book, Bimbo, and it looked at shame and how society and patriarchy kind of strips women of dignity and confidence through shame,” Ashley tells me. “And I think often when something is seen as a woman or girls' issue… we very much view nearly everything through the male gaze and male comfort.” You can see it everywhere, from the blue liquid still used in adverts as a clinical stand-in for blood to the language of “hygiene” around periods, implying something inherently unclean; the instinct is to conceal.

Heaven forbid we make a man mildly uncomfortable.

As we trade teenage ‘shame’ stories—me with my school sleeve wadded with a pad, Ashley playing lookout so a friend could buy sanitary products without being spotted by boys—it becomes clear how early this conditioning starts, and how long it lasts. At 35, I still avoid light clothes if I’m on my period. Ashley remembers a moment she “bled through” on a flight as “mortifying.”

“I feel like it’s all very much seen as something that’s like a dirty taboo secret that we should do in silence,” she says. But silence has consequences; it impacts how seriously pain is taken and how quickly conditions like PCOS and endometriosis are diagnosed, as well as how policies are prioritised, or, more often, not prioritised. It’s why something as basic as access to period products can still feel precarious in objectively rich countries like England and Wales.

“We’re punished because of our biology,” Ashley says. “Which seems crazy when none of us would be here if it weren’t for periods.” There are structural shifts needed: better research, better healthcare, and more supportive workplaces. But there is also a clear starting point: free, accessible period products. “It’s a no-brainer,” Ashley says.

“When you think about the financial implications… how can we expect women and girls to thrive when their health needs are not being met because of money?” We’ve been taught to treat periods as something private, something to manage discreetly. The £20,359 figure doesn’t just expose the financial cost of that silence; it reveals how much we’ve been expected to pay, physically, emotionally, and financially, without question.

Sign the petition today to make period products free and widely available in England.

Being both petite and curvy, finding workout leggings that are the right length, don't roll or slip down, don't dig in or cause discomfort, and wick sweat well enough often feels like searching for a needle in a haystack. But that hasn't stopped me from trying. I've sampled countless brands over the years, regularly reviewing the best workout leggings money can buy. The latest on my hit list is On's Studio Leggings, and I think I might have finally found my forever pair.

With campaigns fronted by Zendaya and a collaboration with Spanish fashion house Loewe under its belt, On knows a thing or two about elevated sportswear. But truly great kit doesn't just look the part - it performs on all fronts too. You're probably familiar with the brand's trainers, namely the Cloudmonster silhouette that comes approved by our marathon-running Senior Health Editor, Ally Head. But On also has a huge range of super technical workout gear that leaves no detail overlooked. Think ultra-soft finishes, seam free designs, and handy storage too.

After wearing the Studio Leggings for several weeks for Pilates workouts, lengthy walks, cycling, studio classes, and even just lounging around, I can confirm that they are worth every penny. Made for low impact sessions and designed without front seams to maximise comfort and minimise distractions, the buttery fabric feels incredibly high quality. Here's exactly why I'd recommend this pair to anyone.

On Studio Leggings: My review

Fit

Above all, the fit of a pair of workout leggings is the one thing I scrutinise. Even though I primarily do low impact forms of exercise, I won't compromise on the right inseam length and a high rise fit that won't move.

I'll admit that when I first opened my On leggings, they looked pretty small. But the stretch is seriously impressive, meaning there was no uncomfortable squeeze or the fear of seams popping. I followed the size chart measurements, and can confirm they come up exactly true to size. I'm not exaggerating when I say they basically slipped on - no need to jump around whilst pulling them up or battle with clingy fabric. But despite that, they still have a lovely level of compression that makes you feel sculpted in just the right way without cutting into the waist or ankles.

The high rise fit sits just above the belly button, which is my ideal cut. It can be worn with longline sports bras or cropped tees comfortably, but it also isn't too bulky to be layered with longer tops if you prefer.

But best of all, the 7/8 length means they have the perfect inseam for me. Zero bunching at the ankles or having to roll them up - they hit just at the right point on the leg.

Quality

Made from four way stretch, you get serious flexibility with the Studio Leggings. You've probably heard the description 'buttery' associated with sports kit, but these really live up to that title. I can really feel the difference between this pair and my budget leggings, mainly through the finish of the fabric that has plenty of give and elasticity.

It's made from the brand's softest fabric yet, SenseTec™, which feels light, soft, and mouldable, but the high quality is evident. Made from 73% recycled Polyamide and 27% elastane, you've got the right amount of stretch on offer.

I tend to avoid light coloured leggings as much as possible, both for fears of see-through-ness and huge sweat patches appearing. Surprisingly, these leggings have neither issue. Although they're lightweight leggings, they're thick enough not to showcase every drop of moisture.

I can also confirm that they don't lose their shape, or change after going in the washing machine. They bounce back into their original form, and still feel brand new after several wears. Yes, they're some of the pricier leggings on the market, but there's a noticeable difference between these and the £30-£40 models.

Design

Aside from the aforementioned fit, there are several design aspects that make the Studio Leggings a cut above the rest. I often find that the features I value most are the simple ones that will make any type of workout that little bit easier. Namely: pockets.

With a spacious phone pocket on the right hand side, there's space for your mobile and a small set of keys. Or, if you prefer to hold your phone, you've got room for a little snack, mini water bottle, or your headphones.

I also appreciate that there is no front seam, which both looks more sleek and makes for a more comfortable high-rise fit. The back and leg seams offer reinforcement and support throughout the leggings, but without getting in the way of your movement.

More than anything, the minimalist design just looks good - the Heron colourway adds a sophisticated hit of colour to my workout wardrobe, but there's also black and pink shades to choose from.

Performance

In terms of performance, they're designed specifically for low impact exercise. Now, I'm no long distance runner, but I did wear the Studio Leggings for a Reformer class, session on the treadmill and gym floor, and a HIIT-style movement class - and they performed equally as well in each case.

Except for sports bras, I tend to ignore the recommended use for pieces of kit. I regularly wear low-impact leggings for all sorts of exercise, and I've never had a problem. I value comfort above all else, so I have no problem opting for a softer pair of leggings vs a pair with more compression that might technically be better for certain sports, but I don't enjoy wearing as much.

Unless you really need high levels of support, or leggings with a waist tie, or a particular fabric for your sport of choice, I think this pair can take you almost anywhere.

Standing outside the Gunung Kai Sebatu Temple, on the outskirts of Ubud, I’m struck by the beauty of its towering stone walls and lush, forest-green foliage. Hawkers hover behind me, offering up patterned pareos and their hand-woven wares, the rising heat of midday pricking at my skin. I quickly learn that I’ll be unable to immerse myself in the purifying turquoise pools that shimmer inside though: tradition states that women who are menstruating (or breastfeeding) aren’t allowed within the inner sanctum of Bali’s sacred shrines. It’s a disappointing curveball.

Yet, like many unexpected travel experiences, one that delivers a truly authentic introduction to the local culture and customs. Because beyond Bali’s honey-hued beaches, hip hotels and poolside bars lies an island that is still largely governed by not only religion and the guiding principles of gratitude and respect, but also some questionable attitudes to gender equality and animal rights (cockfighting is common here and still routinely used in sacrificial ceremonies).

Despite feeling a bit bruised by the rebuffal, it also feels oddly refreshing. Here is a culture unlike my own; a locals’ custom that refuses to bend its knee. After all, isn’t venturing off the beaten tourist track to explore alternative perspectives and panoramas what travelling is really all about? Perhaps that’s a tad optimistic and fanciful, but clawing at the notion of authenticity is a theme that thankfully continues throughout my week-long tour.

A hidden paradise

I’m travelling with Intrepid – a company renowned for its sustainable, small-group, adventure-focused trips – and the stereotypical bar hops and beach flops have been replaced with experiences that capture the cultural heart and heritage of this beautiful Indonesian island.

After initially taking in the kaleidoscopic buzz of Ubud – a busy town studded with Hindu temples and famed for its traditional crafts and Legong dance performances, we head to Mount Batur in Kintamani – a two-hour, boulder-strewn hike that starts at an ungodly 3am and ends at sunrise, 5,500ft above sea level.

Delivering amber-streaked vistas that stretch across the Lombok Strait and out to the majestic peaks of Mount Rinjani, it’s a soul-lifting climb that’s made all the sweeter with a summit-rewarding massage back at base. I book myself in for a full body reset at Inka – a heavenly, Aesop-like spa situated near Ubud Village Hotel – and let the lavender-infused oils restore my aching calves. Authentically Balinese? Not so much. But it proves utterly blissful nonetheless.

The heritage-filled homestay

Arguably the most restorative experience is yet to come though: my homestay in Karangasem’s Sibetan Village, near the foothills of Mount Agung. Nestled in 30 miles from the hustle and bustle of Ubud, deep in the island’s rice terraces and banyan-rich forests, lies Bali’s largest salak plantation – a 10km-square fruit farm and village that delivers a slice of traditional Balinese life. Having opened up its doors to tourists five years ago, paying guests are now invited into villager’s homes to experience their customs, culture and cuisine; to discover a simpler, rural existence couldn’t be further from the tourist-ridden beaches of Kuta and Canggu.

My host for the stay is a petite mum of three called Armini – or ‘Mini’, who, it turns out has a passion for looking after a big brood. I’m soon introduced to her dogs Momo, Terri and Moco; cats Mimi, Mini and Minu; a coterie of clucking chickens, roosters and caged birds; and finally her husband Komang Ada and their beautiful 15-year-old daughter, Komang Ayi, who still resides in the family home and speaks an impressive amount of English.

The welcome here is warm; the double bedroom clean and simple; the strong cups of coffee and plates of fresh snake fruit, rice and mango welcome. Initially it’s awkward: ‘Mini’ doesn’t speak English; I don’t speak Balinese, but, with the help of Komang Ayi, we soon find some middle ground. We pet the cats, marvel at the beauty of the birds and swiftly move onto what motivates Mini to keep welcoming strangers into her home. “Guests become family to me,” she says warmly as a wedge of warm midday sun hits the centre of her beautifully arranged courtyard. “I love meeting new people and… honestly? I actually love showing my house off,” she laughs.

Later, we round the evening off with a hearty salak soup, sunset views over the surrounding forests and a melodic rindik performance – a traditional Balinese instrument featuring bamboo tubes suspended in a wooden frame. It’s all very rustic and homely and tribal, and I wonder if this is a nightly routine? Their sole source of entertainment? “Oh no,” Adit – our enthusiastic village tour guide for the day – laughs. “We love karaoke – we’re always lining up Alan Walker songs.”

And there it is again: a refreshing dose of authenticity. Because no matter how many bike rides through scenic rice fields you book (check out Dewa Bikes for the best routes around Ubud) or traditional village homestays you hit, Bali is an island suspended between its past and present – and I’m just glad I got beyond the tourist-trap beaches to meet both.

Intrepid Travel offers 11 trips to Bali ranging from family to adventure. This trip combined experiences from Beautiful Bali (9 days, from £660pp) and Premium Bali and Java (11 days, from £2,575pp). Prices include accommodation, ground transport, selected meals, and activities. International flights are extra. Book at intrepidtravel.com; 0808 274 5111.

On the sun-drenched shores of Lake Como, quietly nestled behind the verdant landscaping of famed botanist Patrick Blanc, sits the now iconic Il Sereno – a contemporary design hotel with almost more architectural accolades (hello, #1 Resort in Italy, #1 Resort in Europe and #1 Hotel in Italy in Travel + Leisure's World's Best Awards) than suites (40; all lakefront-facing, naturally).

The vibe

If you’re coveting an bellissimo base from which to explore the area’s storied villas and quaint, cobbled towns, it really doesn’t get more ‘quiet luxury’ than Il Sereno.

What’s more, the hotel has a chic new addition: The Darsena Listening Suite – an immersive, personal offering from owner and audiophile, Luis Contreras. Created in collaboration with lauded designer Patricia Urquiola, this stylish, innovative space offers a sanctuary of sound for guests seeking a nostalgic, cultural experience on the emerald waterline of Italy’s most glamorous lake.

The Rooms

With just 40 rooms spread out across the sprawling lakefront property, a spacious, light-filled space is guaranteed. Views out across the water (and, in my case, also the pool and bobbing Riva boats) are also par for the course. No broom cupboards. No dark corners. No roadside vistas, thank you very much.

For truly elevated views head for The Penthouse – a swanky, 100 percent shoppable suite (yes, even the designer furniture can be snapped up and shipped off for the right price) that boasts hefty slabs of carrara marble for walls, a walnut-wrapped dressing room, luxurious lounge and outdoor areas ideal for entertaining, plus an amber-hued bathroom, replete with Urquiola’s signature tactile materials and natural flair for mastering modern elegance.

Vinyl devotees – or, indeed, those seeking the ultimate Mad Men aesthetic – should look to the ground-level, though, where the hotel’s newest, sleekest suite reigns.

Launched last summer, the Darsena Listening Suite delivers 200 square-metres of nostalgic beauty and is the brainchild of Il Sereno’s music-mad owner, Luis Contreras. Positioned at lake level, Darsena is the only room to feature a charming stone staircase that leads straight into Lake Como itself; it’s also the only suite with a private garden.

Yet the true pull for guests is the immersive sound sanctuary that resides inside: a stylish sweep of state-of-the-art audio equipment, including Klipsch La Scala II speakers, a glowing McIntosh MC275 amplifier, a MacIntosh C22 Preamp, a Thorens 1601 turntable with Sumiko Amethyst cartridge and the same restored Revox deck that sparked Contreras vision shortly after lockdown – a period of time in which he found himself transfixed by the warm, analogue hum of a vintage Revox B77 reel-to-reel tape deck.

Indeed, the suite features a library of 500 vinyl records thoughtfully curated by Contreras and pulled from his own personal collection. From Deutsche Grammophon box sets to original Bowies, guests can lose themselves in the music while a private Michelin-starred meal is served at the 10-seat circular dining table, or request their own favourite tracks are sought out and added to the edit before lounging on their private sun-dapped lawn.

Food & Drink

The property’s timeless lake-facing restaurant, Il Sereno Al Lago, is a Michelin-starred oasis overseen by Executive Chef Raffaele Lenzi. Renowned for combining innovative flair and an honest approach to ingredients, his menus are unpretentious, bursting with flavour and crafted with typical Italian passion.

With a toddler in tow (the hotel’s minimalistic aesthetic may appear child-averse, but the warmth of staff and well-considered family services ensured our stay was seamless and stress-free), we opted against ordering leisurely tasting menus, choosing sumptuous dishes of porchetta, figs and walnuts; spaghetti, griffon hazelnut ‘butter’ and capers; and seared Italian endive, celeriac, bergamot and Asetra caviar from the à la carte instead.

If you’re lucky enough to have time on your hands, plump for the ‘Modo Mio’ menu, comprising gastronomic delights such as curry chicken dosa; savoy cabbage tempura; lentil plin ravioli; and spaghetti, bergamot and mullet bottarga. There’s also the ‘Omaggio alla Tradizione’ offering, which boasts broad beans, pecorino cheese and chicory; sautéed wild mushrooms, hazelnut miso and parsley broth; lamb chops, egg sauce and black cabbage; and pear and cinnamon strudel.

As a seafood fan, I loved the monkfish, cacciucco sauce, sea lard and turnip greens dish, which was devoured shortly after arriving, plus the all-day comfort-food menu designed for in-room diners. The luxury of being served succulent roast chicken, olive-oil mash, beef sirloin and crispy roast potatoes while drinking in dazzling lake views at dusk shouldn’t be passed up.

Wine pairings courtesy of the property’s expert sommelier are, of course, also part of the dining DNA (Cantine Angelinetta La Moglie Del Re is a rated local wine served), while chic cocktails made using fresh, seasonal herbs from the hotel’s chef and botanical gardens are perfect for taking in golden hour on the terrace. Oscillate between Monsoon (a Mezcal, grapefruit soda and saffron fusion) and Ennergo (gin, wild berries and kombucha) for the chicest take.

Activities

The hotel is perfectly positioned as a base for visiting the nearby quintessentially Italian towns of Bellagio, Varenna and Menaggio. But if you’re only staying for a few days, I’d strongly advise hiring a car, as driving to these cobbled hilltops from Il Sereno is often quicker than exploring by boat. We booked a sleek Mini Countryman through Sixt at Milan Bergamo Airport, providing a seamless, stylish 1.5-hour transfer from Milan to Lombardy, plus the freedom to explore the region at our leisure. Having a car at our disposal meant we could nip into nearby Como for dinner; plan our days around our toddler’s needs rather than ferry times, and have a comfortable ride to rely on if the waters looked choppy.

That said, the ultimate thrill here is undoubtedly taking a spin round the lake on a stylish Italian Riva boat, of which Il Sereno owns a stunning fleet of three, plus the Vaporise del Lago water limousine – a beautifully designed wooden vessel featuring interiors by Urquiola.

Confident zipping around on your own? Ask the hotel if you can hop into one of its self-driven Jetto boats or forgo an engine entirely and take a picturesque paddle along the azure shoreline on Il Sereno’s Inglesina row boat, commissioned and built on Lake Como specifically for English tourists in the 1930s.

The Spa

Once you’re finished exploring, take a (fabulously heated) dip in the hotel’s freshwater infinity pool for what is surely one of the chicest swims in Italy, then head to the property’s five-star spa for a heavenly Harmony massage. Housed in the property’s former boathouse, this intimate, yet lavishly-appointed spa also offers up a sauna, steam room and lake-facing outdoor Jacuzzi charmingly nestled into what was once its grand slipway.

Need to know

Rooms at Il Sereno start at approx £825 per night; book through ilsereno.com, email info@serenohotels.com or call +39 031 547 7800. Car hire with Sixt at Milan Bergamo Airport starts from approximately £104 per day; book via sixt.co.uk

In 2026, the year which so far has been defined by the return of analogue hobbies, the idea of downloading an app in the name of mindfulness might sound a little contradictory. Let’s face it, only recently, I was telling you about my experiment with friction-maxxing, where I deliberately made my life less convenient to stop technology from doing all the thinking for me.

Surely then, meditation, one of the oldest analogue practices in human history, should be the last place I suggest that you reach for your phone?

But hear me out. Because the truth is, like many of us, I’ve tried meditating the analogue way and have never managed to make it stick. And since we can’t realistically disengage from the digital world entirely - our phones double as offices, diaries and social calendars - I’d argue it makes sense to at least interrupt the scroll with a notification which reminds you to pause for a few minutes.

Of course, mindfulness meditation apps aren’t a substitute for professional support, particularly during periods of acute mental health crisis, when your first port of call should always be your GP or another mental health service such as Samaritans. But if you’re managing everyday stress (who isn’t?), then studies suggest that as little as five minutes of daily practice may be able to take the edge off your anxieties, stress or frazzled nervous system.

So, with that in mind, I decided to put one of the world’s most popular free mindfulness apps, Insight Timer, to the test. For one week, I committed to meditating every day to see whether it could genuinely help someone with a busy brain build the habit.

For my honest review, keep reading. And if an app isn’t for you, there are plenty of other ways you can engage with mindfulness and nervous system regulation. Just check out our guides to silent walking, somatic Pilates and EFT tapping for inspiration. We’ve also got specific guides to gratitude meditation and the best five minute meditations for those after small mindfulness snacks.

I Used Insight Timer, a free Mindfulness App, to Practice Meditation Every Day for a Week - And My Mind Feels Clearer Than Ever

What actually counts as meditation?

Before I properly started engaging with meditation, I truly imagined it as sitting in a lotus position for hours on end. I convinced myself it was something that required a big block of dedicated time, and that meant I was always finding reasons not to try it. You probably know the excuses: I never had enough time, energy or space to make it happen.

As I’ve discovered, though, meditation can be far less structured. It might last five minutes or fifty, and you can do it from the comfort of your bed or sofa. It’s also, contrary to common misconceptions, not about switching off your thoughts entirely. “Meditation might have relaxing effects, but at its core it's actually about training your attention and grounding you in the present moment,” says Ciara McGinley, meditation teacher and founder of Finding Quiet. “It teaches us to notice our thoughts, emotions and sensations, and encourages us to sit in awareness with them rather than reacting instantly.”

Of course, a quiet environment, awareness of your breath and a willingness to engage with the practice are key ingredients, but beyond that, meditation doesn’t look the same for everyone. “The best meditation routine is the one you can stick to,” says McGinley. “For some, that might be a seated morning practice, for others it could be a short breathing exercise on their commute, or body scan meditation before bed.”

Why do so many people find meditation difficult?

I won’t pretend that finding time for meditation is easy. Life is undeniably busy, especially if you have children or other dependents to care for around your own schedule. That said, in many cases, it’s our misconceptions about meditation that sabotage us from engaging with the practice.

“Many people believe they are failing when thoughts arise, but noticing the busy mind is actually the core of the practice,” says sound practitioner Nancy Trueman, founder of True North Sound Studio.

McGinley agrees. “It doesn't matter how many times your mind wanders, as long as you start to notice it and draw your focus back to your anchor, then you are meditating. It's all part of the practice.”

How can mindfulness apps help with meditation?

As I’ve mentioned, I’m generally trying to be less digitally connected and will avoid recommending anything that requires you to download yet another app. But when it comes to mindfulness, I’m willing to make an exception. That’s because, as Trueman explains, for those who struggle to bring attention to their thoughts, “guided meditations give the mind a structure to follow.”

It can be particularly helpful if you have a loud inner critic that insists you’re doing it wrong, or that the practice is a waste of time. “Having someone gently guide you through it can add a level of reassurance and support,” says McGinley.

There’s also the question of notifications. Unlike alerts from social media platforms, which are designed to pull you into another scroll, prompts from a mindfulness app are intended to do the opposite: remind you to pause, step away from the noise and make space for a habit that benefits your mental health.

They’re flexible, too, allowing you to experiment with different styles of meditation, which can be particularly useful when you’re starting out. “Apps usually have a range of techniques ranging from short sessions of just a few minutes to longer, more in-depth practices,” adds McGinley. “You can experiment and find what you connect with most.”

4 tips to improve your mindfulness practice, from to a top meditation teacher

If you’ve made it this far, you’re probably tempted to give meditation a go. My first tip, naturally, is to download a free mindfulness app. But while you’re here, McGinley has a few tips to help you get the most out of the practice.

1. Start small

You don’t need to sit in stillness for hours each day to build a meditation habit. “Begin with just a few minutes and build up if you would like to. Consistency is what is most important,” says McGinley.

2. Try different practices

Meditation doesn’t have to mean sitting still at all; if that feels uncomfortable, letting go of rigid ideas about what meditation should look like can make it easier to engage with the practice in the first place. Recent research with university students has even shown that integrating mindfulness into your daily walk can improve mood and sleep quality. “Try tuning into your senses as you walk, or experiment with gentle breathing practices such as box breathing or wave breathing,” says McGinley.

3. Expect resistance

Like any skill, meditation takes practice, and struggling at first doesn’t mean it isn’t working. “Expect that some days might feel challenging,” says McGinley, who encourages us to resist the urge to give in to a wandering mind. “Remember that it's all about training your awareness - and just because your mind is wandering, it doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong,” she explains.

4. Try meditation snacking

If carving out time for one long meditation session each day simply isn’t realistic, McGinley recommends ‘meditation snacking’, which means weaving small mindful moments into your daily routine. “This could be while you wait for the kettle to boil, before you open your emails, or when on your commute home,” she says. “Each time, choose a different anchor to focus your attention for a few minutes - such as your breath, a body sensation, or simply noticing your thoughts and letting them come and go.”

This is where mindfulness apps can be particularly useful, as they take the pressure out of deciding where to focus your attention, freeing up mental space for you to engage with the practice.

I Used A Free Mindfulness App Every Day For A Week - and Noticed Huge Shifts in My Mood, Energy and Focus

Days one to three

For a long time, I didn’t see how a meditation app could offer anything I couldn’t find on Spotify or YouTube. But after downloading Insight Timer for the first time, I quickly realised there is a difference.

For one, there are no adverts - something I find really disruptive in YouTube sessions. More than that, though, a dedicated app removes much of the cognitive load required to find a practice in the first place.

Instead of scrolling through endless channels and episodes, Insight Timer groups the sessions into various libraries dedicated to meditation, breathwork, sleep and morning practices, along with more tailored categories designed specifically for parents or women. You can also follow teachers you connect with and join their live sessions directly through the app.

This level of curation was one of my favourite parts of Insight Timer - it made me feel more like I was part of a meditation community. After each session, the app tracks your streak (like Snapchat, but healthier) and prompts you to reflect on how the practice made you feel, asking whether you’d like to repeat something similar or try a different session the next day.

Within a couple of days, I noticed myself becoming more curious about all the practices on offer within the app. Whenever I’ve used Spotify in the past, I’d search for a specific meditation, listen, and move on with my day. Now, I was finding myself browsing other libraries after the meditation ended, and finding inspiration for other practices I’d like to try.

I’d originally downloaded the app for sleep sessions. Bedtime is when my brain tends to run through ideas and worries, so introducing a wind-down practice felt like the obvious place to start. But before long, I was doing short morning sessions too, inspired by the affirmation-focused practices shown to me on the app.

As expected, my mind wandered a lot, but thanks to McGinley and Trueman, I knew this was normal and didn’t let it put me off. I actually managed to start embracing it, and found it quite interesting to notice just how many places my thoughts could take me in the space of ten minutes.

Days four to seven

Before I knew it, I wasn’t doing the one daily session I promised myself, but had reached for Insight Timer three times in one day.

The sessions were always short. I love the concept of meditation snacking because it feels manageable amidst my schedule, rather than a chore to add to the to-do list.

I also stopped being so precious about where I meditated. On day five, I even tried a walking practice, swapping it in for my usual podcast. I found it to be a welcome change: I love podcasts, but they tend to fill my head with more information, whilst meditation gives me mental breathing room to process the thoughts which are already there.

When I’m home, sometimes I’ll meditate lying down in bed, sometimes I sit curled up on the sofa, and occasionally I’ll listen while cooking dinner. The lack of rules is such a refreshing change to the way I approach meditation and makes it so much easier to keep returning to it.

What I realise by the end of the week is that meditation is predominantly about momentum. Once you get into a habit, and start to see the benefits, keeping going stops feeling hard.

For me, the app helped because it got me over the initial hurdle of habit formation. If you already want to build a meditation habit but struggle to make it stick, a mindfulness app could be the helping hand you need. There’s nothing revolutionary in there, and you still have to choose to show up. What the app gives you is the structure that could be the difference between you giving up and following through.

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