In January 2025, beauty YouTuber Gigi Beauty, also known as Gabby Sterling, took her then-husband, King Adri (Ari Aiano), on an all-expenses-paid eight-day trip to Dubai for his birthday. Later that year, on 18 November—her 30th birthday—he asked her for a divorce.

"He left me crying there on my birthday, the whole day for two days straight," she later said in a now-deleted video. Although he briefly retracted his request, the couple announced their divorce three months ago.

When I put the question out, more than 120 women got in touch. My inbox was overrun with stories of happy memories sabotaged by the men they were close to. Though I came across this through the use of birthdays, it became clear that this was a much bigger problem sullying any possible moment of joy potentially experienced by women.

I spoke to clinical psychologist and bestselling author Dr Sophie Mort about why this seems to happen. From a clinical perspective, she says it's often twofold: significant occasions bring difficult emotions to the surface, while the pressure of the moment can overwhelm people who feel "ashamed, resentful, depleted or uncomfortable with emotional expectations."

Though poorly timed, she explains how the timing of these confessions may just be “avoidance reaching its limit”. She does acknowledge, though, that sometimes this is done on purpose.

“For some people the timing is the point, because it guarantees the maximum effect and it guarantees the memory belongs to them permanently. That deserves to be named plainly.”

​Because so many of these moments involve men, I question if this is something unique to straight relationships. Socialisation can provide certain scripts and permissions, but it does not make the behaviour inevitable. She tells me: “Some forms of “masculine” socialisation may also shape how insecurity is expressed. Men can be encouraged to value control, self-reliance and emotional restraint, while vulnerable feelings are treated as weakness. Saying, “I feel irrelevant,” “I am frightened you will outgrow me,” or “I am ashamed that I am struggling” may feel less available than anger, criticism or withdrawal.”

The most haunting example of this behaviour was around work. Many women shared that the night before big interviews, the first day of a new job, or even sharing the news of a new role, created fertile ground for arguments, fights, ghosting and silent treatment.

​“My mum's ex took the family car to the garage on the first day at her new job when she was planning to drive to work. There was nothing wrong with the car, and nothing had been mentioned before. He was a mechanic,” Lenna told me.

“I had an ex-boyfriend that started a massive argument with me the night before a huge interview. When I broke up with him, he admitted it was because he wanted me to be exhausted for the interview and not get it. Got it anyway, though, so that showed him.” April shared.

In 2024, on the first day of her new job, Samadreeta’s ex broke up with her and blocked her everywhere. “I couldn't even get to enjoy the achievement properly because I was feeling miserable the whole day,” she writes.

“Within research on intimate partner violence and economic abuse, employment sabotage is a recognised pattern.” Dr. Mort shares. “It can include interfering with someone’s ability to study, find work, attend work or progress in their career.”

When men aren’t eclipsing the joys, they’re making the difficult moments harder. “I phoned my then-boyfriend of four years after finding out my nan had passed away, and he decided that was the right time to tell me he’d cheated on me three days before”, Amy remembers.

Anita had a similar experience: “I got cheated on while I was overseas for my father's funeral. Found out when I got back and had a mental health spiral which landed me in hospital with a serious migraine. He refused to believe it was due to his behaviour and it must have been because of my smoking.” ​

Several women spoke of men suddenly feeling neglected when they had to redirect time and energy caring for elderly or sick parents. In so many of these cases it seemed that time not dedicated to the relationship was an affront to the men, as if women could not be loving partners and carers to others. Dr Mort chimes in on this observation: “Some men may have learned, explicitly or implicitly, that a female partner’s time, care, domestic labour and emotional attention should remain available to them, or that her ambitions should fit around the existing arrangements.”

Many of the stories people shared centred on holidays: girls' trips, solo travels, and even family holidays. “My boyfriend called me while I was on my best friend's birthday girl trip, saying he was going to unalive himself. He did the same thing while I went on a solo trip for my birthday too,” Amie tells me.

Not even sporting events were safe; the night before Molly ran her first-ever marathon was one she’ll never forget: After not hearing from him for months, I got a message from him saying he was in the hospital because he drank too much and it was because of me…I ruined his life when I ended our relationship. He was also in the running community and knew the marathon was the next day. I slept so poorly that night.

"It taught me to dread days that were about me"

Several women spoke to me about a lingering fear of celebrating achievements or even sharing them with people, for fear of reliving the disappointment. These moments begin to feel “unsafe”, Dr Mort tells me, “because experience has taught her that being celebrated comes with a cost.”

Even Dr Mort felt the weight of this too: “As a woman… I’ve experienced this myself; it taught me to dread days that were about me. So much so that I spent this birthday alone for the first time so I could fully ensure nothing anxiety-provoking was likely to happen. The phenomenon is real; it has lasting consequences.”

Despite her own experience on this, she reassures us that these moments need not be ruined forever; you can reclaim these moments and celebrations and form new memories. This doesn’t mean “forcing yourself to feel positive about what happened”, she stresses. “It may mean celebrating again with safe people, choosing a different date, creating a new tradition or simply deciding that the original event does not get to be the final version of the story.”

She tells me to invent new traditions by first asking: what was taken from you? That way you can figure out the most effective way to re-write the story and not feel like you’ve lost a moment that can never be recovered.

Take a minute. I want you to choose a car that can handle a major city, a motorway and a mountain range all within 90 minutes. Parking on a steep hill is non-negotiable. It's 30-plus degrees, so the aircon needs to be exceptional. The sat-nav must be effortless to follow. You'd like to stop somewhere scenic along the way without taking your hands off the wheel. There are two car seats in the back and a tent in the boot. One of the children has fallen asleep, so you need quiet in the back while you lip-sync, silently and with full commitment, to whatever is playing up front.

If you have an answer, I'd genuinely love to hear it, because I was completely stumped until last week, when that exact scenario played out during a test drive of the Volvo EX60 around Barcelona. A test of the car, yes, but also of my ability to navigate rush-hour traffic in the Spanish capital for the first time. Olé! Nervous drivers need not apply. And yet I'd actually use the word enjoyable, even while weaving between taxis, tourists and more cyclists than you'd find at the Tour de France. Because the new fully electric version of Volvo's bestselling XC60 can, as I discovered, handle just about anything. And not just handle—actively assist.

"Hey Google, play summer house hits." "Hey Google, what's the most scenic rest stop along this route?" "Hey Google, re-route us to a coffee shop." The AI-powered voice assistant became my default co-pilot for the day, and an exceptionally good one. A feature rolling out to all Volvos shortly, though the EX60 leads the charge. Hey Google can also control all 28 speakers individually, adjusting the volume in each zone of the car independently. Sleeping babies no longer require total silence. Quite the gamechanger.

Add Apple Music, Spotify, 5G, Waze, Google Maps, Apple CarPlay, a wireless charging pad and every in-car entertainment app worth having—displayed across a central iPad-sized screen and a smaller driver-facing panel—and every element of modern in-car technology is accounted for. All of it housed in a compact SUV small enough to squeeze into a narrow mountain monastery car park—with all-round parking sensors, cameras and a bird's-eye view to assist—yet large enough to comfortably fit two car seats, a passenger in the back and a full camping set-up in the boot. Or, more realistically, the weekly shop, a pram and whatever else needs hauling. The hidden under-boot compartment was a personal highlight: additional space and the kind of security that means the days of hiding a handbag under a rogue blanket are firmly over.

The design is a more minimalist take on the classic Volvo—inspired, lead designer Sara tells me, by "interior design, fashion, craftsmanship and contemporary art and architecture". Available in frost green, ice white, onyx black, heather bronze, aurora silver, sand dune and vapour grey, with four interior options spanning both leather and wool-blend finishes. Sleek is the operative word, if I'm only allowed one.

"The key design features are the aerodynamic exterior design with new door handles, and the airy interior with a lightweight textile dressed dashboard with a curved oled screen," she adds. Noting it was built for modern families in mind. A trait that's easy to spot with the near-never-ending list of mod cons.

Then there's the matter of range—the question that inevitably comes before everything else when it comes to electric. The answer is an 800V battery with a choice of either 660 or 611 km range, with 16 minutes of fast charging adding around 70% charge. Enough to see me through five hours of driving—aircon, music and Hey Google all running at full capacity—with only a marginal drop in battery.

A can-do-anything car, in other words. And one that, rather inconveniently, I now can't stop thinking about (as well as the patatas bravas). Oh, and did I mention you can add the car key to your phone, just like your credit cards? The future of cars is officially here.

Click here to find out more about the Volvo EX60

No relationship is experienced in the same way by the people involved. We can’t know each other’s thoughts; we can’t hear each other’s hearts when they are beating fast. When we fall for someone, when the fact that they exist crushes us, we often don’t know anything about them, but we pretend that we can find out.

I was asked recently about the role that social media plays in our crushes, and what it was like before we had access to the faces, captions and tagged displays of the people we were crushing on. I grew up in the 80s and 90s, and bought my first smartphone in 2009, when I was 25. I feel lucky, because my early crushes were entirely nebulous—there was no way to know anything beyond what I was shown in real life. The yearning was analogue.

These days, we can burrow down into the mystery of someone we might have feelings for, trying to dig up every worm. Some of us believe that this can dilute or intensify the experience, and it can, but not in the ways we imagine.

In my day job as a counsellor and social worker, I have worked with many people addicted to escaping their realities. Humans can’t always cope with what we have been through, and the ongoing effects of trauma and mental illness can lead to addiction. Escape can be found through our phones, the internet and social media, just as it can be found in alcohol, drugs and sex.

When I started to notice my own reliance on my phone, I also started to write a character who was consumed by hers. The phone of my new novel Worry Doll’s protagonist, Heloise, is her best friend and her worst enemy. She picks it up and puts it down, her use unmanageable. She tries to make rules for herself and breaks them. In the same way Heloise is addicted to love, she is addicted to checking and scrolling. She wants love, connection, approval and reassurance, but she is looking for it in places it can’t be found. Interactions with her phone and her crush mimic the experiences she desires, becoming obsessions that take her away from reality.

Like alcohol or drugs, many of us have become addicted to our phones: the scrolling, the notifications, the endless stimuli. Our brains have become reliant on these pops of dopamine. If we put our phone away, we are left with nothing but ourselves. In the throes of a crush, we search for digital intimacy. Perhaps there is no such thing.

When writing Worry Doll, I wanted to explore the way a crush can take over our consciousness and render us insane. The characters abandon themselves for the unknown quantity of another, but the sacrifice plays with their realities, leading the reader to question their own. I wanted the book to read like a horror movie: without the blood and guts but with all of the perversion.

I recently watched Obsession, the new independent horror movie starring Inde Navarrette as the most deliciously unhinged girlfriend I’ve ever witnessed. When Bear (Michael Johnstone) makes a wish using a cursed novelty item, the One Wish Willow, from a woo woo store, he asks for what we have all wanted—requited love. His wish comes true, but it’s not a happy thing. He is cornered and haunted by the very fantasy he indulged for so long.

The movie says, in no uncertain terms, that having a crush on someone is a figment of the imagination. It reminds us that we can’t understand or control the way another person feels about us, or how they see the world. It achieves what I hope to achieve with my book: a blurring of what is possible in order to focus on what is not. The exaggeration of yearning, obsession and forgetting creates a version of the fantasy world we have all lived in.

Perhaps this is why it feels so breathless, so urgent, so delulu, to have a crush on someone—and why we will go out of our way to feel close to them, even if that means rewatching their Instagram story over and over. Our body starts to panic because it doesn’t know what might happen and can’t find out, despite how much we try. We have all gone out of our minds just to see their face again.

Worry Doll by Laura McPhee-Browne is out now

"I should have put my rent money on that."

It's one of the first TikToks I see after the Love Island USA finale. A woman screams at her TV as the winners are announced, lamenting the money she could have made if she'd backed them. Around it, my feed is filled with videos encouraging viewers to turn their encyclopaedic knowledge of reality TV into cash. The message is clear: your pop culture obsession doesn't have to be a guilty pleasure. It could be profitable.

For decades, gambling companies largely targeted men, building businesses around football, horse racing and poker. But a noticeable shift is underway. Increasingly, women are being treated as the industry's next major growth market, with products and marketing designed around reality television, celebrity culture, influencers and social media rather than traditionally male-coded interests.

Prediction markets have ramped up their culture offerings, allowing people to trade on reality TV, Spotify streams, and even Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce’s wedding. Currently, there is a $548,978 trading volume on the Love Island UK market, with Lorenzo and Julia leading.

The strategy reflects a broader cultural shift. Women today have greater financial independence, higher workforce participation and are investing in greater numbers than previous generations. Fidelity's 2025 Women and Investing Study found Gen Z and Millennial women are becoming increasingly engaged with their finances, while the proportion of women who own investments continues to rise.

A recent study from Deakin University found that gambling promotions linked to influencers, women's sport and lifestyle content increased the normalisation and social acceptability of gambling among women aged 18 to 40. Rather than trying to persuade women to engage with products designed for men, companies are redesigning the products—and the marketing—to meet women where they already are.

This is reflected across social media, as more content is dedicated to promoting financial literacy cheat sheets, stock tips, and the girlification of retirement accounts. Some of it blurs with self care and empowerment messaging, designed to be easily digestible, from get-ready-with-me videos, quippy listicles, and girl math equations that really work. It’s girl’s-girl behaviour delivered with a forehead kiss to your savings account.

"Women are actively seeking financial participation and literacy," explains consumer behaviour expert Ammarah Ahmed. "The challenge is that gambling companies are adapting to this content style too. You now have women who are engaged with reality television, celebrity culture and social media who are also being invited to see those interests as financial opportunities."

Rather than presenting gambling as risk-taking, these campaigns often frame it as savvy decision-making. Rather than betting, users are encouraged to think of themselves as making predictions, participating in markets or applying knowledge they already possess.

Dr Devin Proctor, a digital anthropologist and professor at Elon University, believes this represents a much broader cultural change. "This communicates to a whole new population of fans that their cultural knowledge has economic value," he explains. "The same knowledge that has often been dismissed as trivial or 'trashy' is suddenly presented as something capable of generating capital. What's changing isn't necessarily the activity itself—it's the moral framing around it."

His description of the "financialisation of cultural expertise" captures what feels so distinctive about this new wave of marketing. Knowledge of football statistics has long been monetised through sports betting. What's new is encouraging women to view their expertise in reality television, celebrity culture or internet trends through exactly the same commercial lens.

The marketing reflects that evolution. Influencer partnerships, creator-style videos and user-generated content dominate feeds where traditional gambling adverts would once have felt jarring. Instead of loud bookmakers and football pundits, viewers are met with relatable creators, casual conversations and lifestyle aesthetics that blur the line between entertainment, recommendation and advertising.

Dr. Rey Junco, a licensed trauma therapist and research psychologist, says he’s concerned about gambling being disguised as lifestyle content. “There isn’t any good regulation around this and therefore can present a risk for those who are prone to such addictions. If you lower the cultural and social barriers to gambling (‘hey this is fun, all the people you look up to are doing it’), more people will gamble and more people will develop problematic gambling addictions.”

Aside from its current regulations, Dr. Junco isn’t convinced the app will go further with its user protections. "I absolutely think that platforms should be better stewards of public health," Dr. Junco continues. "Do I have hope that they will? Absolutely not. We've seen this time and time again."

All of this is also happening at a particularly dark time for many people: the economy feels tumultuous, the housing market is in crisis almost everywhere, and politically, nothing feels even close to being in favour of women. So, the desire to find the golden ticket is higher than ever. Gambling companies are just hoping you’ll believe it’s on their app.

“The long-term problem here is not just individual financial loss in an economy where the younger generation is already struggling to be able to afford things like buying a house,” Ahmed warns. “It's what happens when a generation grows up with this behaviour hardwired into them before they could ever even tell the difference.”

The branding may be softer and the influencers may look different from the bookmakers of old. But beneath the lifestyle aesthetics and empowerment messaging lies a familiar business model: finding new customers and convincing them that this time, it's different.

The Sanderson, standing proud on Berners Street in the heart of Fitzrovia, is one of the city's modern icons. Its playful, avant-garde interiors, dreamed up by the world-renowned architect and designer Philippe Starck back in the early '00s, offered a new take on luxury, providing an alternative to the classic opulence of London's heritage hotels.

Instead of the hallmarks of ornate sculptures, parquet floors, plush velvet, and lots of marble, Sanderson London offers something much more imaginative, inviting guests into a whimsical wonderland where obscurity rules. Fantastical touches, consisting of sheer drapes, eclectic artwork, and the odd optical illusion, soften the modernist architecture in which they are housed and give the hotel's spaces a slightly surreal feel. Arts and culture fans will note plenty of pop culture references dotted around, too; there's a Salvador Dalí-inspired couch, and nods to Lewis Carol's Alice in Wonderland throughout (the Mad Hatter's Tea Party is a delight, with 'drink me' potions and vintage crockery).

London has no shortage of design hotels, with some of the stand-outs being the charming literary-inspired retreat The Bloomsbury, the art-deco-inspired The Savoy, and Blakes, which was widely considered the world's first luxury boutique hotel when it launched in 1978 (Morgans in New York was another notable contender). But Sanderson London, housed in a grand 1950s building originally home to Arthur Sanderson & Sons wallpaper and textile company, brought something new to London's hotel scene with its fantastical design and social atmosphere - the hotel's 'Long Bar', an 80-foot glowing onyx bar surrounded by Philippe Starck's signature 'eye' stools, was the place to be seen in the early noughties.

The whole place is brimming with nostalgia, from the old-school iPod docks in the bedrooms to its minimalist styling and silver-and-white colour palette with accents of chrome, glass, and sheer textiles, typical of early '00s design. Sanderson London may not reflect what a modern London hotel looks like; instead, it takes guests back to the era in which it was designed.

THE ROOMS

Initially designed by Philippe Starck, the rooms at The Sanderson were updated by Tim Andreas of Banjo, a protégé of the world-famous designer, who sensitively updated the hotel's 150 rooms and suites while maintaining their original character. The simple colour palette of silver and white filters through to the rooms, the minimalist look softened with sheer drapes and peaceful landscapes hung on the wall. Texture plays a big role in the design, with semi-sheer drapes continuing the '00s theme from the lobby.

The entry-level rooms have comfy Queen-sized beds, but the Deluxe Kings and above feature an impressive silver-leaf sleigh bed as the central focus. All beds are dressed in soft 300-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets and fluffy pillows.

Bathrooms are suitably luxurious, with the Deluxe Kings, Loft Kings, and Penthouse suites offering freestanding baths. The Penthouse suite is a truly spectacular place to stay in London, with its own private lift, a living room, kitchenette, two bedrooms, three bathrooms and sweeping views of the London Eye.

FOOD & DRINKS

Sanderson London excels in originality when it comes to food and drink. Its menus are designed to spark imagination, from the whimsical Mad Hatter's afternoon tea to the creative cocktail list served alongside light bites enjoyed while basking in the late-night glow of the Long Bar. On weekends, the hotel's atmosphere becomes more lively, with guest DJs on Fridays and Saturdays.

The Restaurant serves refined Italian food with a few surprises, with an eclectic menu curated by Chef Daniele Zaffora; the homemade tagliatelle is a highlight. Meanwhile, the Mad Hatter's Afternoon Tea, served in the atmospheric Courtyard Garden, serves savoury dishes such as The Cheshire Cat (king prawn tart, horseradish, lettuce, lime & potato puffs), and the hotel's signature dessert, The Queen of Hearts pastry (pistachio & ricotta cheesecake, wild berry curd). Even if you're not sampling Sanderson London's afternoon tea, the Courtyard is a lush space to relax in and escape the chaos of central London, offering calming water features and a tropical feel.

THE ACTIVITIES

Aside from the extensive dining and drinking options, there’s a gym and a billiards room that doubles up as an event space. There's also the option to book in-room massages when there's availability. Pets are welcome at the hotel for an additional £100 non-refundable deposit (service animals are exempt from the fee).

But one of the most appealing parts of this hotel is its location. While the hotel is technically in Fitzrovia, it's within easy reach of Oxford Street and the vibrancy of Soho's many bars and restaurants, as well as the bustling areas of Bloomsbury to the east and Marylebone to the west.

NEED TO KNOWS

Rooms at Sanderson London start at £256, and you can book through the hotel's website or by phone at 020 7836 4343.

Address: 50 Berners St, London W1T 3NG

Two years ago, during Euro 2024, I wrote about the rise in domestic abuse around England football matches. Violence against women and girls had just been declared a national emergency and, while the statistics were already well known to campaigners, seeing them enter the mainstream conversation felt like progress.

Last night, after England’s latest defeat, a friend turned to me and said, matter-of-factly: “I keep thinking about how many women are going to bear the brunt of this loss.” But the statistic I remembered was bleaker still: domestic abuse incidents rise by 38% when England lose—and by 26% even when they win or draw.

Given how much attention those figures have received, I had hoped things might be different. But when I reopened my 2024 article today, expecting to update it, I realised I was about to write almost exactly the same story.

I'd be reiterating, the same 2014 Lancaster University study, with those figures showing domestic abuse incidents rising by 26% when England play and by 38% when they lose. The same warnings from charities. The same insistence that football does not cause abuse, but that the heightened emotions, alcohol consumption and volatility surrounding major tournaments can exacerbate violence where it already exists. Something I always feel at pains to reiterate after facing a swathe of online abuse whenever I post about the correlation between football and domestic violence.

What Has Changed in Football Then?

What has changed since 2024, then, is not the underlying pattern; it is how prepared we have become for it.

Before this World Cup had even begun, Women’s Aid launched The Other Kick Off, a campaign built around 11.37pm: the estimated time abusive partners might return home after England’s opening match. Digital billboards appeared near fan zones and football hotspots, hijacking one of the tournament’s most searched questions—“What time is kick-off?”—and replacing it with the time many victims and survivors dread.

The Crown Prosecution Service also issued a warning that domestic abuse was expected to rise during the tournament, while police and prosecutors said they were working together to identify offenders and bring cases forward.

According to National Police Chiefs’ Council data, more than 300 domestic abuse offences were reported during Euro 2024 in cases where victims believed the perpetrator’s behaviour was linked to football. The CPS now says that four in five domestic abuse-flagged cases referred to prosecutors, where a charging decision is made, result in charges.

In one sense, this is progress. Institutions are talking openly about what happens around major tournaments. Police forces are preparing; so too are prosecutors and charities. Campaigns are more visible and better targeted.

But there is something deeply bleak about this level of preparedness. Have we really reached a point where a rise in domestic abuse is treated as another predictable feature of tournament football? As expected as crowded pubs, delayed trains and arguments over referee Ismail Elfath.

Before a ball is even kicked, helplines brace themselves. Charities like Women’s Aid and Refuge prepare campaign materials, police issue warnings, and journalists like me pull from the same decade-old statistics. Everyone knows what is coming—it’s right there in the campaign material: He’s Coming Home. That should shock us more than it does.

The 26% and 38% figures come from research published in 2014, based on reported incidents in Lancashire during the 2002, 2006 and 2010 World Cups. The study was limited in scale and researchers called for its findings to be replicated. Yet, more than a decade later, it remains the evidence base almost everyone reaches for. Why then has such an urgent, repeatedly cited finding not led to a larger national body of research?

Perhaps because awareness has become easier than action. Of course, awareness campaigns matter: they direct women towards support, help friends and relatives recognise signs of abuse, and remind people that coercive control, emotional abuse and financial abuse can be as devastating as physical violence.

But how many more awareness campaigns do we need before the emphasis shifts decisively towards prevention, perpetrator accountability and long-term cultural change?

Women’s Aid describes this summer as “another World Cup, but the same problem”. That’s difficult to argue with. Its latest campaign follows its 2022 He’s Coming Home campaign. Every tournament brings a new creative treatment of a reality that remains stubbornly familiar.

There Are Positive Signs Football Is Changing

There are signs that parts of football culture are beginning to grapple with masculinity more seriously.

UN Women UK’s Same Side campaign, in partnership with Vodafone Foundation, called on athletes to speak to boys and young men about empathy, vulnerability, relationships and respect. Its latest phase includes toolkits for teachers and sports coaches, recognising that sport is one of the places where boys learn what leadership, courage and strength are supposed to look like.

Other green shoots have come in the form of my social feed, which has been filled with clips of Jude Bellingham and Norway’s Erling Haaland embracing, supporting and defending one another, even when playing on opposing sides. And, of course, Haaland’s enviable Birkin collection. These are small moments: two footballers showing affection won’t dismantle misogyny, but still, it matters.

Young male fans are watching and absorbing what strength looks like, how men relate to one another, and whether intimacy, tenderness and emotional openness are compatible with elite masculinity.

But for real change to happen, we have to move the burden away from women and towards the men who abuse, as well as the institutions that respond to them and the cultures that excuse them. It would also mean refusing to treat this pattern as inevitable.

By Euro 2028, football will return home to England, Scotland, Wales and the Republic of Ireland. The celebrations will be enormous. The campaigns about connection, identity and national pride have already begun. One of the first, from BT, sees Frank Skinner and football legends from across the Home Nations celebrate the game's power to unite us. Football can be a great force for connection. But if we're willing to celebrate that power, we also have to confront what it reveals when some women still dread the final whistle.

As England looks to lick the wounds of last night’s loss, those campaigns will start gaining momentum, but I wonder whether the parallel campaign—the one warning women about what may happen after the final whistle—will still be necessary in two years' time. I hope not.

Charlotte Street has a vibrant history. The Bohemian hub has long attracted a colourful crowd of artists, intellectuals and restaurateurs, with the famous Fitzroy Tavern a meeting point for literary greats like George Orwell and Dylan Tavern. Today, it remains one of London's prettiest and most eclectic streets, peppered with buzzy restaurants and independent businesses that manage to foster a sense of community in the hectic metropolis.

Standing proud in the centre of Charlotte Street, the Charlotte Street Hotel is dressed in sage green, with signature striped awnings and elegant seating. Its entrance is framed by two pastel-coloured lamp posts, which add an inviting glow after dark. One of London's best hotels for design fans, the boutique bolthole could be straight out of a Wes Anderson film, inviting passers-by to stop and admire its dreamy facade.

And stepping inside feels appropriately surreal, with Oscar Bar and Restaurant on the ground floor transporting guests back to a bygone era of white gloves and elegant glassware. On the walls you'll see colourful artwork inspired by the Bloomsbury Set, a group of creatives including Virginia Woolf, that congregated in the area in the early 20th Century, with a large mural of London life by British artist Alexander Hollweg dominating the space. Kit Kemp, the hotel's interior designer, is clearly a fan of dopamine decor.

It's this slightly fantastical experience that makes The Charlotte Street Hotel one of the most beloved hotels in London. The classic hotel opened in Fitzrovia in 2000 and is the third property from the now hugely successful Firmdale Hotels group. Since its '00s launch, the Charlotte Street Hotel has retained a steady stream of visitors, whether that's Londoners looking for a stylish place to drink and dine, colleagues who favour a more relaxed location for a business meeting, or out-of-towners seeking a luxurious base to explore the capital.

ROOMS

Rooms at The Charlotte Street hotel may be slightly pricier than your typical London hotel—but with good reason. Each of the hotel's 52 rooms is individually designed by Kit Kemp, the mastermind behind the rest of the hotel's playful spaces, and features bright, bold colours and patterned textiles that feel like artwork rather than interior design. The actual artwork on the walls is of high calibre, featuring artists associated with the early Bloomsbury movement such as Vanessa Bell, Roger Fry and Alexander Hollweg. This eclectic mix of modern art, textures, patterns, and colours gives rooms at The Charlotte Street Hotel a lived-in luxury; an antidote to the more generic hotel rooms guests sometimes encounter in five-star hotels.

Beds are plush and comfy, dressed in high-quality linens with bold, patterned headboards, while bathrooms are clad in granite, mahogany, and glass and feature luxe toiletries from RIKRAK by Kit Kemp. For a real treat, the split-level Loft Suites are spectacular, offering a free-standing tub, walk-in shower and views over London's rooftops.

FOOD & DRINKS

Oscar Bar and Restaurant pays tribute to a nearby private cinema that screens Academy-worthy films. The front section is the bar area, serving unique cocktails and an extensive wine list. It's the ideal place to enjoy a festive glass of champagne, or you could retreat to one of the armchairs in the hotel's cosy library, complete with a roaring open fire. The warmer months invite guests to live out a Parisian daydream, sipping fizz on the pastel-hued front terrace and watching the world go by.

The bistro restaurant, situated at the back of the hotel, offers more formal dining with talented Head Chef Ben Porter at the helm. The restaurant serves modern European classics such as pancetta-wrapped monkfish, roast rack of lamb with fondant potato, black cabbage, and bagna càuda, or sticky black cod. Oscar always looks busy, with a reputation for fine dining and a lively atmosphere, bringing in crowds every day of the week who are looking to experience a little Parisienne café culture in Fitzrovia.

In the bar, you'll find a cocktail menu as creative as the surroundings. Perch on a humbug-striped stool at the hotel's glitzy bar and sip on a Salome's Whisper (basil vodka, Benedictine, lemon, sugar syrup, and aquafaba), Lady Windermere (Tokaji Late Harvest, Tanqueray, Saint-Germain, lime, and fresh mint), or the signature Lady Charlotte (gin, maraschino, apricot, lemon, sugar, egg white).

ACTIVITIES

At the Charlotte Street Hotel, you're right in the heartland of London's restaurant scene. The many bustling bars and glamorous restaurants of Soho and Mayfair are a short walk away, but if you want something closer to the hotel, the options are still strong. Hakkasan, a Michelin-starred uber-glamorous Chinese restaurant, is a short stroll away on Hanway Place, while Charlotte Street itself boasts Roka, a modern Japanese restaurant, and The Ninth, a buzzing contemporary French and Mediterranean bistro.

Oscar also serves an ‘Afternoon Tea with a Twist’. The 'Indulge menu' allows guests to add three miniature cocktails to their tea, with non-alcoholic options available too. Guests can enjoy their scones and finer sandwiches in the drawing room or the hotel's restaurant.

At the hotel, you'll find a fitness centre and a sauna available to guests. There's no official spa, but guests can opt for a treatment in their room, whether that's a facial, massage, reflexology or a touch of grooming, organised through Soholistic. There's also a private screening room where guests can enjoy recent releases, classic cinema and Christmassy films during the festive period.

NEED TO KNOWS

Rooms at the Charlotte Street Hotel start at £390 per night, and you can book through the hotel's website.

Address: 15-17 Charlotte St., London W1T 1RJ

“Claude, fix my face.” That was not the prompt that I, or rather, my boyfriend, gave an AI platform, but it decided to enhance me anyway. A few weeks ago, my partner was taking a photo of me when a woman strolled past, walking a dalmatian. “I should've asked to borrow her dog,” I quipped, as I too was bedecked in spots. “Stick out your arm like you're holding a leash,” he replied. I didn't give it much thought, but within minutes, he'd uploaded the photo to an AI platform, and back came a rendered image of me holding a dalmatian.

He presented the image to me, perhaps expecting me to be impressed by the speed with which this relatively new tech could update my image when, only a short while ago, it would have taken someone experienced in Photoshop to create it. But the first thing I noticed wasn't the dog; it was my face.

Without prompting, the AI had given me a beaming smile with perfectly straight, white teeth. My cheekbones were higher, my face smoothed out, my eyebrows better groomed. It still looked like me, but I guess the intention was to show a 'better' version of me, when all that had been requested was for a spotted dog to be added in.

Later, when I told friends about this odd experience, they suggested I prompt the AI further, turning me into Cruella de Vil. What came back was an even more yassified version of me: the smile tighter, the skin tauter, even if a dodgy wig did crown the look.

I thought again of this incident, when Meta's latest AI rollout, which has since been pulled, prompted a flurry of concern. During my afternoon doomscroll, my feed became awash with the news that users would be able to generate AI images using other people's likenesses, with news reports rushing to show people how to opt out. The fury of users was so widespread that Meta made the unusual decision to reverse this feature; posting on their newsroom that: "We've heard the feedback that this feature missed the mark, so it’s no longer available." Much of the conversation rightly centred on consent, ownership and the implications of AI-generated versions of ourselves.

But my mind kept returning to a different question, because before AI can manipulate our images, it first has to decide what we should look like. I thought back to yet another conversation I'd had, this time with Nikki Lilly, who told me what it feels like to have strangers on the internet use AI to manipulate your face. Again, supposedly to "fix" her, or, more specifically, her facial difference.

Though the severity and mental health implications varied wildly, in both cases, no one had asked for a makeover.

For my part, there was no prompt requesting whiter teeth, smoother skin or more sculpted cheekbones. Yet the AI seemed to assume those were improvements worth making anyway. It wasn't simply following instructions; it was making aesthetic decisions on my behalf.

That might sound trivial. After all, we've spent years voluntarily downloading beauty filters and smoothing apps. But there's an important difference between choosing to alter your appearance and having an AI decide to do it for you, especially given that there's an entire cottage industry sprouting up which allows users to upload their image to AI platforms that will then suggest—and later sell—beauty tweakments. Qoves, a facial aesthetics platform that uses AI and computer vision to analyse users' facial features and provide personalised appearance assessments and recommendations based on aesthetic research, has 1.1 million followers on Instagram alone.

The more I spoke to experts, as well as friends who’d had similar experiences (unkempt eyebrows seems to be an Achilles heel for AI), the more I realised my experience wasn't just an odd quirk of one platform. It points to a much bigger question about the beauty standards being baked into the AI tools we're increasingly relying on to create, edit and represent us. If these systems are learning from the internet's existing ideals of attractiveness, are they also reinforcing them—one automatically enhanced image at a time?

​According to psychologists, that's exactly what makes these seemingly minor edits so powerful. "When people repeatedly see a slightly enhanced version of themselves—smoother skin, more symmetry, subtly narrowed features—it can recalibrate their internal standard of what they 'should' look like," explains Tara Well, associate professor of psychology at Barnard College of Columbia University. "Over time, the unedited face can begin to feel like a deviation rather than the baseline."

We've become used to talking about social media through the lens of comparison. For years, experts have warned that scrolling through impossibly beautiful celebrities and influencers can leave us feeling inadequate. But AI introduces a new, more intimate–and insidious–comparison: instead of measuring ourselves against other people, we're measuring ourselves against idealised versions of ourselves.

Where traditional beauty filters require an active choice–we know we've selected one, and we're usually aware that what we're looking at isn't entirely real–AI-generated enhancements are different. They're often subtle, automatic and, in my case, completely unsolicited.

"Traditional filters involve a degree of choice and awareness," says Well. "Automatic enhancements blur that boundary. Because the changes are subtle and default, users may not fully register that their appearance has been altered, which can make the enhanced version feel more 'real'. The less effortful and more invisible the modification, the more psychologically persuasive it becomes."

"In short," says Well, "these systems don't just reflect beauty standards—they quietly standardise them. And because the changes are subtle and automatic, they may be more powerful than traditional filters in shaping how people see themselves."

If AI is discreetly reinforcing conventional beauty ideals, the next question is where those ideals came from in the first place.

Professor Clare McGlynn, an expert in law and gender-based violence, argues that these technologies don't exist in a vacuum. They are trained on the same cultural biases that have long shaped women's relationship with their appearance.

"Your example shows just how deeply embedded traditional views of women and beauty are," she tells me. "We know social media exposure has adversely impacted girls' self-esteem and body image, contributing to psychological distress and self-harm. The concern is that AI could intensify those harms because it makes these 'improvements' feel even more seamless and inevitable."

In many ways, that's what unsettled me most. It wasn't that the AI had made dramatic changes to my face. Quite the opposite. The edits were subtle enough to feel plausible. The kind of tweaks you might struggle to put your finger on (worryingly, my partner hadn’t even noticed), but that, combined, nudged me a little closer to a familiar beauty ideal.

I’m not the only person left questioning myself. Journalist Kish Lal had a strikingly similar experience after asking Claude to analyse her appearance as part of a reporting project. Like me, she thought she'd be able to keep an emotional distance from the results. Instead, she found herself dwelling on critiques she'd never previously considered.

"I'm an AI hater to my core," she laughs. "I hate the way it smoothes and flattens whatever it touches." Even so, one suggestion lingered: again, it was the eyebrows. "The robot told me my eyebrows would look better if they were more manicured," she says. "I'd always loved my bushy brows. I used to rip photos of Natalia Vodianova out of magazines because of hers. I even joked to a friend that the AI must just be telling everyone to thread their eyebrows."

Then her friend tried the same experiment. "It complimented her brows and told her to get filler instead," Lal recalls. “I couldn't believe that my theory was not only debunked, but that I perhaps, maybe I could look better if I got my eyebrows threaded regularly. I scheduled an appointment to get them done the next day.”

It's easy to dismiss moments like these as trivial or even funny. But they reveal something much more uncomfortable. AI doesn't need to tell us we're unattractive to influence how we see ourselves. Sometimes, all it has to do is quietly suggest that we'd look a little better if we were just... slightly different.

The more sophisticated these tools become, the more they're marketed as neutral assistants—helping us create images, edit photos or generate avatars in seconds. But assistants aren't neutral if they're making value judgements on our behalf.

On their own, those edits seem almost laughably insignificant. I joked about my 'glow-up' with friends the way Kish Lal did and yet in both instances, we were left wondering what difference those subtle suggestions would make to our appearance.

As AI-generated images become more common—and companies race to build tools that can create ever more convincing versions of us—we'll spend a lot of time talking about consent, copyright and misinformation. We absolutely should, but I'd argue we also need to ask another question: when AI decides what we should look like, whose idea of beauty is it reproducing?

Because if I ask it to add a dalmatian, I'd quite like it to stop there.

I flew to Rio expecting to report on Shakira's record-breaking concert. Instead, I found myself inside a fully immersive brand world that made me question whether holidays themselves have fundamentally changed.

Increasingly, it seems we're travelling not just to see places, but to become part of a moment—and brands have noticed.

By the time I arrived at Copacabana Beach for Todo Mundo No Rio, the free open-air festival where an estimated two million people would gather to watch Shakira perform—and, crucially, the reason for my visit—I owned a Corona sarong, a Corona T-shirt, a Corona cap embroidered with "Copacabana" in the brand's signature font, a raffia beach bag, badges and enough merchandise to convincingly pass as a member of staff.

I had spent the previous evening drinking shimmering Corona beers brewed to mirror Rio's golden-hour glow at a sundowner DJ set atop Sugarloaf Mountain. On the day of the much-anticipated festival, artists hand-painted silk scarves featuring illustrations of Sugarloaf, Copacabana, and, of course, the Corona logo. There were customisation stations where we queued to make our merch bespoke.

It seemed that I hadn't just travelled to Rio; I'd stepped inside the Corona universe. I've been lucky enough to go on my fair share of press trips over the years. They usually revolve around a beautiful hotel, a launch dinner or a carefully curated itinerary. This, though, was different. Not so for my travelling companion, who had previously flown to Corona Island, the beer brand's own tropical enclave off the coast of Cartagena, Colombia.

At first, it felt like very slick marketing backed by a very big budget. But between those customisation stations, sunset parties and Shakira performing to millions on the beach, I realised Corona wasn't simply sponsoring a festival—it was offering something increasingly valuable: the feeling of belonging to a moment. Being a Brit, my mind drifted to the silky-smooth M&S ads of yore… "This is not just a brand activation… this is a Corona brand event."

Or, to use the brand's own parlance: "This Is Living." That fittingly apt brand slogan neatly sums up something we're all craving—something that should be a given—but feels increasingly elusive in our digital-first world: living.

We're No Longer Just Travelling to See Places

Was Rio an anomaly—or a glimpse of where travel is heading? We often talk about experience-led travel as though it's another passing holiday trend, lumping it alongside sleep tourism, wellness retreats and solo travel. But I wonder if something more fundamental is happening. Increasingly, we're not content to travel simply to see places; we're travelling to step inside worlds.

Just look at the holidays dominating our wish lists. People don't just go to Edinburgh; they go because Taylor Swift is in town. They don't simply book Silverstone; they travel for Formula One. Sicily isn't just Sicily anymore—it's The White Lotus, Euro Summer and Dua Lipa's wedding destination. Thousands of people fly across continents to run marathons, attend immersive wellness retreats or spend weekends at festivals where the destination is almost secondary to the event. Yes, the place still matters. But more often than not, it's the moment that gets us on the plane.

The data suggests this isn't simply anecdotal. Mastercard's latest travel report argues that people's motivations are becoming one of the biggest forces shaping how—and where—they travel. Researchers identified two growing groups: those seeking immersion in local culture and those travelling for a specific experience, whether that's a sporting event, nightlife, shopping or a festival. "Today's tourists are looking for travel experiences that leave a lasting impression, helping them to create memories," explains Natalia Lechmanova, Mastercard's Chief Economist for Europe.

Of course, people have always travelled in search of memorable experiences. Safaris, pilgrimages and even the humble package holiday all promised some form of escape or enrichment. What's changed is the expectation. Today's holidays increasingly claim transformation. They're sold not as a chance to switch off, but as an opportunity to become someone else, however briefly.

Rio made that very clear. On paper, I'd travelled there to report on a music festival. In reality, I'd entered something closer to an immersive universe. Every touchpoint, from the Fairmont hotel takeover to the personalised merch, reinforced the sense that I was part of something designed to feel bigger than a holiday or even a festival.

Perhaps that's why the trusty old travel brochure feels so outdated. For decades, holiday marketing asked a nostalgically simple question: Where do you want to go? Today's savviest brands seem to be asking something altogether different: Who do you want to become while you're there?

The New Luxury Is Access

It's easy to dismiss Todo Mundo No Rio as a one-off. After all, not every brand has the budget to take over one of the world's most famous beaches or sponsor a concert for millions of people.

Then I found myself at Silverstone. This time, I was there as a guest of Revolut. Officially, I'd been invited to the British Grand Prix. In reality, I'd been invited into Formula One itself: hospitality suites, behind-the-scenes access, choreographed moments, including a Q&A with driver Gabriela Boroleto, and a front-row seat to one of the biggest weekends in British sport.

Despite the frighteningly hot weather (climate change, people!), it looked very different from Rio, but there were similarities. Both weekends were designed to make guests feel less like spectators than participants. Again, the event wasn't something just to watch; it was something to inhabit.

Neither brand was selling the event; they were selling proximity. Proximity to culture and exclusivity—a moment millions of other people wanted to be part of. Brands used to sell products. Then they sold lifestyles. Increasingly, I think they're selling memories—or perhaps more accurately, the opportunity to create them.

It's easy—and tempting—to dismiss this as clever marketing, but I don't think that's the whole story. If brands are investing millions in immersive experiences, it's because they've recognised something about the way we now travel. We no longer want to be passive observers. We want to belong.

Perhaps that's because modern life increasingly fragments us. We work remotely. We consume entertainment alone. Algorithms personalise everything we see. Even the internet, once imagined as a shared public square, increasingly serves each of us a different version of reality. Travel—and music festivals, which so often go hand in hand—have become one of the few places where we can still experience collective joy.

Standing on Copacabana Beach, surrounded by, quite literally, millions of people, I kept returning to a thought: I am part of this. That desire—to participate rather than just bear witness—helps explain why so many of today's biggest travel trends revolve around events, communities and transformation rather than destinations alone.

Of course, that doesn't mean we should surrender ourselves unquestioningly to branded worlds. There's a fascinating conversation to be had about commercialisation, authenticity and whether our experiences are becoming increasingly mediated by corporations. But dismissing experiences like Todo Mundo No Rio as simply marketing misses something important because they reveal how profoundly our relationship with travel has changed.

For my part, I went to Rio expecting to write about a beer brand throwing an extravagant festival. Instead, I came home wondering whether holidays themselves have fundamentally evolved, and thinking about why, increasingly, we're chasing moments that make us feel part of something bigger than ourselves.

Ultimately, I think we travel to step inside worlds—to belong to a moment, if only for a weekend, and return home feeling as though, however briefly, we were part of something bigger than ourselves.

Le Meurice is a dream for art lovers, its prestige unmatched worldwide. The luxury Paris hotel, situated on the historic Rue de Rivoli since 1835, is considered Paris' first 'Palace Hotel' and has a storied past. Le Meurice famously hosted the lavish wedding banquet of Picasso and Olga Khokhlova, bringing together Parisian high society in the hotel's Versailles-inspired Salon Pompadour. Le Meurice also charmed Salvador Dalí, who was so captivated by the hotel that he booked the Royal Suite Alphonse XIII for a month, every year for over three decades.

It was Dalí's part-time residence that inspired the father-and-daughter designer duo, the legendary Philippe Starck (the mind behind Sanderson London) and Ara Starck, when they refreshed the Dorchester Collection hotel in 2016, leaning into surrealism within the décor. Most notably, the Dalí restaurant features a stunning ceiling mural by French artist Ara, where dancers glide beneath the restaurant’s glass dome.

Stepping into the lobby, there's a lot to take in; Le Meurice's unique style blends traditional elegance with modern flair and a firm focus on art, both classical and contemporary. Leather seats are surprisingly embossed with portraits of 18th-century figures, mixed with Dalí-inspired furnishings. A painting by Baron François Girard, showing the hand of the 19th-century Parisian socialite Madame Regnaud, hung above the reception and is an instant talking point. Eero Saarinen's Tulip chairs offset the grand decor of Restaurant le Meurice Alain Ducasse, which was initially inspired by the Salon de la Paix at the Château de Versailles. There are plenty of playful touches, from Philippe Starck's interactive frosted mirror to Zoulikha Bouabdellah's modern art sculpture, 'The Kiss', in the lobby. Le Meurice is a seriously impressive hotel, but part of its charm is that it doesn't take itself too seriously.

Le Meurice is one of Paris' 12 Palace Hotels - along with the likes of the grand Le Bristol (rumoured to be the Kardashian's hotel of choice in Paris) and Le Hôtel Plaza Athénée, an accolade that celebrates hotels that transcend usual standards of luxury and veer into the exceptional, often housed in grand, historic buildings - basically the crème de la crème of French hospitality.

The hotel first opened its doors in 1835 and was named after its original owner, Charles-Augustin Meurice. Over the years, it's undergone multiple renovations from creatives and designers who've put their own stamp on the interiors. Yet, the hotel has retained its original spirit as a place for creatives and thinkers in the heart of Paris, with a vibrant, lively atmosphere, particularly at Le Dalí restaurant and the dimly lit Bar 228, which plays live jazz every night of the week until 1 am.

ROOMS

Each of the 160 rooms and suites (121 rooms and 39 suites) is designed in the same style, 'modern Versailles' style, by design studio Lally & Berger, who fuse classic Louis XVI styling with contemporary touches. Try and book a park-view room if you can - there are just 40 in the hotel, complete with classic iron balconies and romantic French windows, so these book up quickly. The plush bathrooms are crafted from marble, with fluffy robes and towels, and all feature a free-standing tub and a separate, large walk-in shower with luxury toiletries from Maison Francis Kurkdjian. Complementary water, fruits, and artisan chocolates are replenished at the end of each day.

The suites are suitably jaw-dropping, with huge bathrooms, a walk-in wardrobe and classic Parisian dressing rooms. And let's not forget the views. For those lucky enough to stay in the Belle Étoile Penthouse, meticulously designed by Lally & Berger, the private rooftop offers spectacular panoramic views of the Tuileries Gardens and landmark sites like the Louvre, the Eifle Tower, and Notre Dame in the distance.

FOOD & DRINKS

The food at Le Meurice is one of its biggest draws, with the two-Michelin-starred Restaurant Le Meurice Alain Ducasse among the premier dining spots in Paris, housed in a beautiful space overlooking the Tuileries. For a fine dining experience, this luxurious restaurant offers a journey through French flavours.

The more relaxed Restaurant Le Dalí offers a lively setting to enjoy French classics, with a strong focus on local and seasonal ingredients. You'll find nods to the surrealist painter throughout the restaurant, including the hand-painted canvas by artist Ara Starck, depicting a series of dancers in bold shades, adding a little bit of theatrics to the surroundings.

For an aperitif or nightcap, the sumptuous Bar 228 is a luxurious den with dark wood pannelling and deep leather armchairs to sink into after a long day's exploring. Guests can also pop in for a high-brow pastry at La Pâtisserie du Meurice par Cedric Grolet, a charming pastry boutique dedicated to the hotel’s own pastry chef.

ACTIVITIES

At Le Meurice, the sights of central Paris are quite literally on your doorstep, and if you want to venture further afield, the Tuileries Metro stop (Line 1) is a short stroll away. For those exploring on foot, the Tuileries Gardens, offering a lush green oasis in the heart of the city, are a good place to start. As a bonus, the Eurostar is just 15 minutes away, so getting to the hotel is a complete breeze.

Back at the hotel, there's a small spa with four treatment rooms (two for couples and two for individuals), as well as saunas and steam rooms. Treatments are suitably luxurious, including Valmont facials and a wide range of massages, from hot stone to Swedish.

NEED TO KNOWS

Rooms at Le Meurice start at £1,277 per night, and you can book through the hotel's website.

Address: 228, Rue de Rivoli, Paris, 75001, France

From Splitsville to Lily Allen’s tell-all album, ethical non-monogamy has been having a bit of a PR crisis. Open relationships and swinging are often portrayed as messy, doomed, or a marriage on the brink of collapse. So when I sat down to watch The Invite—Olivia Wilde's new dinner-party comedy in which an ethically non-monogamous couple propositions their neighbours—I expected more of the same. I was wrong.

Without spoiling what happens, The Invite gives ENM the nuanced portrayal it rarely gets on screen. The story follows two couples whose dinner descends into arguments, flirtation and, eventually, a proposition. Yet, for once, the open couple (played by Penélope Cruz and Edward Norton) aren't the dysfunctional one. Instead, it's the supposedly "normal" monogamous pair (Olivia Wilde and Seth Rogen) whose relationship begins to unravel.

It doesn't suggest ethical non-monogamy is easier than monogamy, nor that one relationship model is inherently better than another. What it does do is resist the simplistic stereotypes that have dominated portrayals of open relationships for decades.

"For decades, open relationships have shown up on screen as a shorthand for chaos, imminent betrayal, or a marriage in crisis," explains Ruby Rare, Intimacy Expert at Feeld. "We rarely see them simply existing, how they're actually negotiated and experienced. It's refreshing to see The Invite, a glossy Hollywood production, flip this script, with the non-monogamous couple portrayed as having the healthier and happier relationship dynamic."

As someone who has dated people in open relationships, I know firsthand how often ethical non-monogamy is misunderstood. As open relationships, swinging, and polyamory become more visible, it feels more important than ever to move beyond sensationalism and ask what these relationships actually look like in practice.

So I spoke to four people living in ethical non-monogamy about the realities rarely shown on screen.

"People are not worried about sex—they're worried about what sex means"

Ben and Olivia have been together for two years. Ben is also married, and his wife and children have met Olivia, who also has a partner. "We operate a kitchen table style polyam where everyone knows each other and would hang out independently too," Ben explains.

He didn't grow up believing ethical non-monogamy was even an option. "I grew up in a very heteronormative culture, where the only exposure I can remember growing up was when my parents mentioned their coworkers had tried swinging and it had destroyed their marriages. Not exactly a glowing endorsement."

Like many people practising ethical non-monogamy, his understanding developed gradually rather than overnight. It was his wife's desire to explore her sexuality that first prompted them to reconsider what their relationship could look like, beginning with a threesome before eventually dating other people independently.

"I won't lie, there followed a period of unlearning, of understanding what each of our triggers and insecurities were," he says. "People are not worried about sex; they're worried about what sex means, about being abandoned, about not being loved. Monogamy or polyamory are not better or worse than each other, they are just different, but what polyamory does is force you to confront insecurities, to explore yourself and for your partner to do the same."

It's a perspective rarely reflected in mainstream storytelling. While films often treat non-monogamy as inherently dramatic, Ben describes something far less sensational: the ongoing work of communication, self-reflection and emotional honesty.

"Mainstream media tends to focus on it being an oddity, at the fringes of society, filled with strange, ugly queer people," he says. "There is also an obsession with ENM done wrong and failing… this does happen, but by people who were never ENM in the first place and just wanted to sleep around and didn't care if it hurt people."

That gap between lived experience and cultural representation is precisely what The Invite begins to challenge. Rather than presenting openness as evidence that a relationship is failing, it allows its characters the emotional complexity that monogamous couples have long been afforded on screen.

"Ethical non-monogamy isn't a band-aid"

Olivia came to ENM from a very different starting point: a long-term relationship in which she began to question whether exclusivity was her only option and a desire to explore her interest in women.

"I feared we'd have to break up if I wanted to do this," she says. Instead, her partner suggested an open relationship, something she hadn’t even considered possible."I was so relieved and grateful because I was deeply in love with them and didn't want to break up," she explains. "I had always been attracted to multiple people but had avoided exploring these connections for fear of hurting people. Now I had the opportunity… I dove into learning about how to do it conscientiously."

Like Ben, Olivia describes ethical non-monogamy not as the absence of commitment, but as a relationship structure that demands more intentional communication than many people realise. And while mainstream portrayals often frame open relationships as a last-ditch attempt to save something broken, she believes that's one of the biggest misconceptions.

"If you're considering opening things up, make sure you address relational problems before getting involved with other people. ENM is not a band-aid. Be as open and upfront as you can be."

She also challenges the idea that jealousy is inherently incompatible with non-monogamy: “Jealousy often comes from a place of fear; consider why you’re feeling it and what you need.” Rather than pretending jealousy doesn't exist, she says ethical non-monogamy has taught her to examine where those feelings come from instead of treating them as evidence that the relationship itself is failing.

And while ENM is often portrayed as emotionally volatile or unstable, she describes something more grounded. What’s missing from most depictions, she argues, is the “wonderful community that comes with being polyamorous as well.”

It's another aspect of ethical non-monogamy that The Invite hints at, but which popular culture has rarely been interested in exploring. Conflict makes for compelling cinema; healthy communication rarely does.

Redefining what commitment looks like

If Ben and Olivia arrived at ethical non-monogamy through existing relationships, Vic's experience began from a different place altogether. She was single when she first started dating someone who was also seeing other people. “It really didn't bother me. That felt refreshing and right for where I was,” she says. “I was getting to know this person with low pressure and without the relationship escalator ringing in my ear.”

For Vic, stepping outside the traditional expectation that every successful relationship should move through the same milestones allowed her to recognise patterns she'd previously struggled with.

"It set up the conditions to create a loving relationship that I have been in for the past six months. I struggled with losing myself in relationships and forgiving poor behaviour before. It was linked to a feeling of low self-worth."

What often gets lost in conversations about ENM, Vic suggests, is that it isn’t about replacing commitment, but redefining what commitment looks like. “My girlfriend and I have a very fulfilling sex life, but there are things I enjoy that she doesn't. She doesn't expect me to be fulfilled by one person, and I don't expect that either.”

Still, she is clear that intention matters. “For me, wanting to experience new things is such a normal part of life… I'm still a full human who needs to show up for people who are already in my life.”

Like many people practising ethical non-monogamy, Vic has encountered assumptions from people who know little about it. In her first polyamorous relationship, she told colleagues about her relationship, only for one to describe it as a "porn star relationship."

She believes media portrayals have helped reinforce those misunderstandings. "It's often sensationalised and misrepresents the power dynamics. Often, it is one person wanting it and the other acquiescing, or it's adding a third to an existing couple. Not everyone dates together in ENM. I date separately."

Why does popular culture still get ethical non-monogamy wrong?

Dylan* came to polyamory through a relationship with someone who was already practising ethical non-monogamy. Looking back, he believes that made the transition significantly easier than trying to open up an existing relationship.

"Polyamorous dating as a single person is much easier than trying to open up a previously closed relationship. The more variables you're dealing with at once, the more difficult it can be."

Across all these experiences, a pattern emerges: ENM is rarely about casual excess or emotional detachment, and yet, most depictions still fall back on familiar tropes. Dylan notes that many narratives are “written by people who have no personal experience of poly relationships,” which leads to predictable framing: “it being all about sex, rather than companionship” or a default “regular couple” structure where secondary partners are emotionally flattened out of the story.

What’s missing, in other words, is not drama, but accuracy. And as ENM becomes more visible in culture, from celebrity narratives to films like The Invite, the question is no longer whether it exists on screen, but whether it can be shown without being reduced. Ethical non-monogamy is certainly not the easy choice, but for many it’s the right one. It’s time we show healthy and committed polyamorous couples onscreen and stop reducing them to punchlines or plot twists. We need to start treating ENM as what it already is for many people: just another way of doing relationships, with all the complexity that implies.

*Names changed

There are moments when the climate crisis stops feeling like something that belongs to the future and becomes horrifyingly immediate.

Last week, the heat-struck UK got a dose of climate reality. Because the universe evidently loves irony, record-breaking temperatures coincided with London Climate Action Week. By mid-morning, day one, the Met Office issued its second-ever Red Warning for extreme heat and London Climate Week announced that several events on extreme heat would be cancelled due to… extreme heat.

To reflect the new reality, Greenpeace updated iconic tube station signs. Baker Street to Baking Street and London Bridge to London’s Burning. But many clung to the idea that heatwaves are joyous occasions, and all issues can be remedied with a Mr Whippy ice cream in the park.

"Heatwave Delusion" and the deadliest form of extreme weather

I call this the Heatwave Delusion. We can trace it back to the summer of 1976, when the UK saw two weeks of temperatures above 30 degrees Celsius and drought conditions, where it became normal to queue for water in the street.

But in time, the bad bits seem to have been forgotten, leaving a memory of the time Brits had fun in the sun and displayed true grit from their deckchairs. It’s so deeply embedded in our collective culture that even if you weren’t born (and I was only two), it has likely affected the way you think about heat, almost as a rare gift.

But what would that same heatwave look like in today's warming world, and in the Britain of 2056? Well, to open London Climate Week, I went to an event built around that one provocative idea.

Escaping into the cool basement of the Lightroom in King’s Cross, we congregated to watch three familiar faces - Laura Tobin, Clare Nasir and Peter Gibbs - deliver a weather forecast for 2056, modelled by scientists at the University of Reading working with the Met Office.

While the map looked reassuringly ordinary, the temperatures did not. In 2056, it showed London reaching 45 degrees Celsius. Scotland climbed into the high 30s. It showed a two-week heatwave in which somewhere in Britain would exceed 40 degrees Celsius for nine consecutive days.

Experts from climate science, food, agriculture, the ambulance service and a top surgeon from London Hospital, Great Ormond Street also took to the stage. They explained that heat isn't just uncomfortable; it’s the deadliest form of extreme weather, placing pressure on hospitals, transport, food systems and the people least able to keep cool. We were left in no doubt. Those summers regarded by previous generations as exceptional - including 1976 – are now becoming the baseline reality. In the future, we may look back on this as one of the cooler summers.

Science colliding with everyday life

Outside, it felt as if the science was colliding with everyday life. As the week wore on, London broke all heat records. London Ambulance broke callout records. At points, emergency call handlers were answering over 500 calls an hour, more than during Covid. Schools closed, and rail services faltered.

It became clear that our infrastructure is built for the past, not the present. I wanted to understand how we can adapt. Luckily, Climate Week was full of people who spend their time thinking of solutions. Emma Howard Boyd, Chair of the London Climate Resilience Review, told me how we need to redesign our lives for the climate we now have (not the one in 1976). That means more trees, less concrete paving, homes that stay cool naturally, neighbourhoods where shade is treated as essential infrastructure and public buildings that double as cool refuges.

Fighting for what you love

I discovered Cool off in Culture, a programme involving the BFI and Arts Council England, among others, that encourages us to use cinemas, theatres and museums as cool refuges during extreme heat. I like the idea of our cultural institutions offering not just escape into another world for a couple of hours, but escape from the heat too. Only three per cent of UK homes have air conditioning, so it makes sense for us to look differently at the shared resources we already have.

I learned about the emerging ‘shade-first’ movement, advocating for the cooling power of mature trees, awnings and green spaces (especially in our towns and cities, many of which act as heat islands – driving temperatures up). In a hotter Britain, shade can’t be a luxury. It becomes essential.

I caught up with influencer Nairn King. Originally from Arbroath in Scotland (which could experience temperatures in the mid 30s by 2056), Nairn's content is based on a passion for London life, especially weekend brunch. Looking at the 2056 forecast, I asked, ‘What are you thinking?’ Nairn paused. ‘The London summer is the point,’ came the reply. ‘And that won't be happening in 45-degree heat.’ A reminder that whatever it is we love, we need to fight for it.

When news broke that Anne Hathaway is expecting her third child in her forties, it reignited a familiar debate. Do celebrity pregnancies create unrealistic expectations around fertility? Offer women hope–or false hope?

After speaking to four women who became mothers in their late thirties and forties, I'm convinced we've been asking the wrong question. Because while fertility is undeniably part of the story, it isn't the whole story.

Instead, the women I spoke to wanted to talk about finances, careers, childcare, identity, birth, emotional readiness and the invisible calculations that many women tot up before becoming mothers in the first place.

Their fertility journeys couldn't have been more different. Bestselling author Catherine Gray conceived naturally within two months of trying at 41, despite assuming she'd need IVF. Jainnie Cho, meanwhile, spent five years and underwent ten rounds of IVF before welcoming her daughter at 46, describing the process as "my dark years".

Journalist Lisa Oxenham says becoming a solo mother in her forties was "deeply conscious and powerful", while Eleanor Willock believes one of the biggest realities we ignore has nothing to do with biology at all. "I was enraged to find out that you actually can't have it all," she tells me, describing how raising young children collided with the most demanding years of her career.

Fertility can, of course, become more uncertain with age, but waiting also brings financial stability, emotional resilience and a stronger sense of self for some women. Again and again, women describe feeling calmer, more intentional and more certain of the lives they wanted to build for their children. At the same time, they spoke candidly about IVF, birth interventions, childcare costs, career sacrifices and the emotional toll that often goes unmentioned.

Perhaps that's why reducing later motherhood to a conversation about fertility alone does women a disservice. Celebrity pregnancies can be inspiring; they can also be misleading. Both things can be true.

The reality is that there is no single story of motherhood after 40, only a series of trade-offs that deserve a more honest conversation.

Read four of those stories below.

I Thought I'd Need IVF To Become A Mother At 40.

Catherine Gray, 46, had her daughter Mia naturally at 42 .

My partner and I met when I was 40 and started trying on our first anniversary. We both assumed it was going to take a really long time to get pregnant and were braced that we'd need fertility treatment. So when I got pregnant within two months, we were stunned and not at all prepared.

I assumed I was one of a privileged few, but when I said to my midwife, "We're just so lucky that it happened naturally for us," she replied, "I wish more fortysomething mothers knew that that's actually the norm."

My heart truly goes out to those where that isn't the case—it must be utterly agonising—but the scientific reality of fortysomething fertility is much more hopeful than I had always believed.

The other challenge is that fortysomething mothering can mean the early years, that 0–3 gauntlet, collides with perimenopause. I went through a phase of intense rage, which I self-diagnosed as postnatal rage. As soon as I started HRT aged 45, I descended back down to my usual good-natured semi-irritability, with no surges of rage. That dovetail never directly affected my parenting, but it did affect my relationship, and I wish more women knew to watch out for that almighty collision.

Despite all of that, I think there were huge advantages to becoming a mother in my forties. I'm sincerely OK with leaving the party at 9pm, travelling being a distant memory, and spending my Sundays at National Trust properties. I've done enough partying to last a lifetime, and I satisfied my travelling bug hugely in my thirties by island-hopping, living abroad and diving with sharks.

Nowadays, give me a cream tea and some forest-bathing, followed by pyjamas with a cosy murder boxset. I think I'd be making those lifestyle choices anyway, now that I'm 46, so they don't feel like a sacrifice. Personally, I think I would have felt much more hobbled by motherhood in my thirties.

Finances played a huge part, too. I didn't buy my first property until I was 40 and, unlike most of my friends, I had no parental help. People have babies in rented accommodation all the time, of course, but I didn't feel secure enough when I was ping-ponging between rentals with a one-month notice period.

The "you just manage" truism is frequently trotted out by older generations, but we also have no regular familial help. There's no way on earth I could have afforded a £750–£950 a month childcare bill in my thirties.

When I see celebrity stories about women having children in their forties, I wish they'd tell women that it's not just something A-listers with outrageous incomes get to choose and that it can happen for us muggles too, even if we don't have endless IVF budgets.

I also wish we'd stop calling it selfish to have a baby later, when you feel more rooted emotionally, logistically and fiscally. Oftentimes, it's just not possible in our thirties. For many, including me, if forty-something parenting does work out, it could be the absolute best timing.

It Took Me Five Years And 10 Rounds Of IVF To Become A Mother At 46

Jainnie Cho, 46, got pregnant with her daughter Frankie via IVF at 45 and gave birth to her at 46.

I knew getting pregnant in my forties would be difficult, but there was also a part of me that mistakenly thought I might be an exception. When I started the IVF process at 41, I was in good physical condition, and all the fertility tests came out better than average for my age. However, the reality was that it ended up taking five years, ten excruciating and expensive rounds of IVF and what I now call "my dark years".

One thing that really surprised me was that, at 46, I'm able to do it. That includes breastfeeding for five months, which was painful, intense and nothing like what I expected. Practically, I'm in the most stable and affluent stage of my life in terms of my finances, so that's a huge advantage. Emotionally, I think I'm the most stable and at peace with myself in this decade than any other, which is a big help when you're faced with mini battles and constant newness with a baby.

There's a lot of media attention these days given to celebrity mothers in their forties and beyond. I think that can be misinterpreted. It can make it seem as though, with medical advances and increasing life expectancy, it's "easy" to get pregnant and give birth later in life. At least in my case, that definitely wasn't true.

Becoming A Mother In My Forties Was The Most Intentional Decision I've Ever Made

Lisa Oxenham had her daughter Eliza at 40 and her son Wolfgang at 49 last year.

Before I became a mother, I didn't think I fully understood how narrow the fertility window really is. Like a lot of women, I'd absorbed the idea that if you're healthy, fit, eating well, and still feel young, your body will somehow cooperate.

I knew fertility declined, but I'd never really looked into the science of it. It's very different when you're actually sitting in the clinic. It's very difficult to understand unless you're in it. The reality was completely brutal.

When I was doing IVF, it asked everything from me—physically, financially, emotionally and mentally. There were injections, scans and medication schedules. There was hope, then disappointment. I had to make all of these decisions alone and keep going even when things went wrong. It was financially crippling.

But I've always been someone who's up for a challenge. I'm a very determined person, and I kept going. The other side of that story is that I absolutely loved pregnancy, and I knew I would. I loved the raw physicality of it. I loved giving birth, even though it's really hard. I loved early motherhood. I loved the preparation. I loved everything about it.

While it was incredibly difficult to get there, the experience of becoming a mother later in life felt deeply conscious and powerful. I'm really proud of myself for doing that.

One thing that surprised me most was how much energy and love I still had for it. People talk about later motherhood as though it's only about tiredness and risk. But I have this enormous sense of purpose and joy. I literally don't think about my age at all. I feel more vital than I ever have.

I also think becoming a mother later means you know what you're choosing. You know the life you're giving up or changing. You know the cost, the responsibility and the loss of freedom—and you still choose it. That is incredibly intentional.

Looking back, I'm much more grounded than I would have been ten years ago. I know myself much better. My life is about going with the flow and being present. I don't stress about the small things. Everything is in perspective.

I didn't just choose solo motherhood. I built a business, a support structure and a new professional life around it. I had to think about money, childcare, work, home, health and support in a very practical way. When you've fought so hard to have a baby, you don't take any of it for granted. I feel ecstatically happy.

That doesn't mean I want to romanticise it. The financial side of later motherhood is hugely overlooked. People often talk about it as though it's simply a lifestyle choice, but fertility treatment can cost tens of thousands of pounds. Doing it alone means there's nobody sharing that financial burden. Then there's the stamina you need, and the emotional loneliness of solo parenting.

I'm lucky to have incredible friends and my mum around me, but I am still the emotional centre of my family, and the breadwinner. Sometimes it would be nice to have another adult there to say, "I've got this."

When I see celebrity pregnancies in women in their forties, I think they can be incredibly inspiring because they make later motherhood visible. For so long, women have been made to feel that once they reached a certain age, the conversation was over. But for ordinary women, later motherhood can involve fertility treatment, huge financial costs, uncertainty, grief, physical strain, emotional strain, work pressure and loneliness.

We see the beautiful photograph. We don't always see the years of trying, the injections, the miscarriages, the money or the privilege that make certain options possible. I don't think the answer is to be negative about later motherhood; I'm proof that it can be absolutely wonderful. I just think we need to tell the whole story.

I Was Told I'd Never Get Pregnant Again. Then I Conceived At 40

Eleanor Willock, 50, had her daughter at 38 and her son at 41.

My kids are now 13 and 9, and I'm 51 this year. We had failed IVF to get the first one, and then a surprise pregnancy the month after IVF finished. Our son was a complete anomaly. We weren't trying to get pregnant; we'd been told I'd never get pregnant again, and I conceived about four months after my 40th birthday.

The reality of that was very bleak. I was completely underprepared for a second child. We'd made a lot of lifestyle changes because we thought we were only going to have one. I became chronically depressed to the extent that I didn't tell my husband I was pregnant until I was 15 weeks gone. I went for eight private scans before that without telling him because I was so sure it was a mistake, or that I would lose the baby.

When I found out we were having a boy, I became even more depressed because my depressed brain was telling me that a boy would be difficult, and that I would never be able to love another child as much as I loved my first one.

The reality was that my age didn't make too much difference in terms of recovery from childbirth. I knew what I was doing the second time around, which really helped, and the depression lifted almost immediately.

Practically, though, having children later affected my career irredeemably. There are various reasons for that, but I underwent a complete career change four years ago because your children need you more, rather than less, as they get older.

As a woman born at a certain time, I had the advantages of a university education, a really great corporate career and, in general, access to everything I needed. I was enraged to find out that you actually can't have it all.

You can't be the managing director of a very successful PR company and expect to be there for your children on the same level. I believe that's one of the biggest challenges of later motherhood that people can't ignore. Being in a management position in any industry with young children, as women in their forties are more likely to be than women in their twenties or thirties, makes it extremely difficult. For men, it is not the same at all.

When I see stories about women like Anne Hathaway becoming mothers later in life, I don't think they reflect the reality for most women. Stories about older women using surrogates, egg donation and other routes to parenthood can make those options seem very accessible. They are if you have money. They're not if you don't.

As usual, so much comes back to the cost of childcare and the cost of raising a family. But fundamentally, if you'd asked me during the years when having children felt incredibly hard to come by, I would have looked at every single story of a woman becoming a mother and absorbed the drops of hope it gave me—that cannot be underestimated.

Stories like Anne Hathaway's should be celebrated, especially by other women, rather than criticised for being unrealistic or irresponsible. For me, they're a reminder that hope matters too.

We're spoilt for choice when it comes to hotel spas in the capital, with some of the most prestigious wellness spaces in the world residing in London's landmark hotels. The Peninsula Spa and Wellness Centre, housed in the Belgravia hotel, is a welcome addition—a subterranean oasis that instils a sense of calm with its nature-inspired interiors.

Dreamed up by world-famous architect and interior designer Peter Marino, it's a haven of tranquillity inspired by the surrounding nature found in Hyde Park, Green Park, and Buckingham Palace Gardens, with beautiful mosaic tiling creating abstract motifs inspired by local landscapes.

As with the rest of the hotel, which is known for its high-tech amenities (including 'spa mode' lighting in the bathrooms and wireless charging points), technology plays a significant role, with light panels that mimic natural light in the basement space and twinkly underwater music.

The Peninsula London first opened its doors in September 2023, with the spa opening following in December of the same year. This hotel is the first from the Peninsula brand in the UK, following properties in Hong Kong, New York, and Paris. It has quickly established itself as one of the most prestigious hotels in the area—a notable achievement, considering that historical icons The Berkeley and The Goring are its Belgravia neighbours.

This is everything you need to know about booking a luxury spa day at The Peninsula Spa and Wellness Centre, including the treatments to look out for and the most luxurious packages for a day of indulgence (or a lavish UK staycation).

THE SPA

Celebrated architect and interior designer Peter Marino designed the space, in collaboration with Hopkins Architects, taking into consideration the nearby green spaces. Lighting is considered, with overhead panels that stimulate natural light. Cleverly, the lights dim to an ambient glow as night falls. The spa is situated in the basement of the hotel, which is a commonplace for big London hotels. But rather than opt for the dark, cocoon-like atmosphere of, say, The Corinthia, which leans into its underground location with black marble and fire pits, the spa creates an illusion of space and light to complement its natural theme.

At the centre of the spa is a tranquil 25-meter heated pool, surrounded by intricate mosaic-tiled walls in shades of green and blue depicting abstract landscapes. Like the rest of the hotel, the spa is spacious, with the facilities spanning two floors. There are four thermal cabins with varying degrees of heat, as well as a sauna and steam room, located in the changing rooms.

The Peninsula Spa and Wellness Centre is available to guests staying at the hotel, but Londoners and tourists can also book a spa day or treatments to experience this serene bolthole in one of London's most desirable areas. For those staying at the hotel, there's an in-room Wellness Portal where guests can take yoga classes or try a meditation session from the comfort of their own rooms.

THE TREATMENTS

There are seven, cocoon-like treatment rooms, including a couple's room. The treatment menu is broad, with some lovely add-on treatments to tailor each experience, with beauty brand partners of Subtle Energies and Margy's Monte Carlo, as well as hair royalty Errol Douglas, who heads up the hotel's salon, The Atelier.

The holistic facials are a highlight, using products from Ayurvedic aromatherapy brand Subtle Energies. Visitors to the spa can add a guided meditation or Shirodhara, an Ayurdevic treatment that involves pouring warm liquid over the forehead for relaxation. The spa is the first in the UK to partner with the Swiss brand Margy’s Monte Carlo, offering the Ultimate InSkin Elixir Facial. This high-tech facial begins with a personal diagnosis, allowing the facialist to select an elixir and mask tailored to the individual's skin type.

There are also some sumptuous body treatments available, including chakra-balancing massages, detox body wraps and an exfoliating body polish that utilises mineral-rich Himalayan crystals. Guests can also opt for traditional Chinese medicine treatments, such as acupuncture, performed by one of the specialist practitioners-in-residence.

COLLABORATIONS

The Penisuala Spa introduced two new wellness packages this summer to further enhance their wellness offering—and they're worth getting excited about.

Cult LA-brand Ricari Studios brings its one-of-a-kind ‘Ricari Method’ to the hotel, which uses a combination of technology and human touch to sculpt and tone the body. 'Ricari' loosely means 'to re-charge' in Italian and works on the concept that we can rejuvenate the body through stimulating blood flow and boosting lymphatic drainage—a philosophy rooted in ancient wellness that's also very on trend right now. Devised by Anna Zahn in Los Angeles, this partnership marks the first time the method has come to the UK.

ONE: Personal Training, founded by former professional athlete Henry Barratt, offers personalised one-on-one sessions including strength and resistance training, functional movement, boxing, and Pilates.

PACKAGES

The Indulgent Relaxation package (£560)

• Personalised Holistic Massage (1 hour)
• Anti-Pollution Facial (1 hour)
• Body Wrap (45 minutes)
• Two hours of spa facility access, including our indoor 25m swimming pool, vitality pool and sauna

Holistic Escape (£450)

• Personalised Holistic Massage (1 hour)
• Holistic Age-Defying Facial (1 hour)
• Two hours of spa facility access, including our indoor 25m swimming pool, vitality pool and sauna

Time for tea (£535)

• Personalised Holistic Massage (1 hour)
• Holistic Age‑Defying Facial (1 hour)
• Afternoon Tea in The Lobby
• 2 hours facility access (pool, vitality pool, sauna)

NEED TO KNOWS

Spa days at The Peninsula London start at £250 for use of the facilities for three hours, and you can book through the spa's website. Alternatively, you can use the facilities free of charge if you book a 90-minute treatment.

You can view the full treatment menu and prices here.

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

Phone: 020 3959 2888

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.

How to Book

I travelled with Meliá Collection on the Once Upon a Life in Tanzania itinerary. Packages start from US$3,000 (approximately £2,265) per person, depending on travel dates, destination split and park entry fees.

What to Pack

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.