We don’t talk about the grey parts. The stretches where nothing’s wrong, but nothing’s right either. Where you’re functional, productive even, but operating at a removed state from your own life. The clinical term is anhedonia. The poetic one is ennui. Both describe the same flatness, the same muted existence where emotions arrive dampened, experiences feel secondhand.
Men experience this differently than we admit. We’re trained to identify problems we can fix. Broken car, yes. Conflict at work, manageable. But this pervasive sense of disconnection, this low-grade dissatisfaction that colours everything without announcing itself as depression or anxiety? We lack the vocabulary. We lack permission.
Sadness has texture, urgency. Ennui is the absence of texture. You’re at dinner with people you love, and you’re performing affection rather than feeling it. You achieve something significant and intellectually register the fact, yet experience none of the satisfaction. Sex happens to you. Music washes past.
The mechanisms function, but the meaning has leaked out somewhere you can’t identify. This matters specifically for men because our social acceptance relies on doing rather than being. We’re evaluated on our output, competence, and ability to maintain composure under pressure.
You can be deeply competent while feeling nothing about your competence. You can maintain relationships while experiencing them through glass. The performance continues. The interior atrophies. November’s focus on men’s mental health typically centres on suicide, addiction, and obvious crisis. These warrant attention. But ennui is the substrate beneath them, the years of progressive disconnection that precede the breaking point. It’s the man who seems fine until he isn’t. The one who kept all the plates spinning while slowly vacating himself.
Everyone and their therapist are surprised when the transition is complete. The risk factors are structural. Men are discouraged from expressing emotions in detail from childhood. We learn crude categories: angry, fine, tired. We’re rewarded for suppressing vulnerability, for powering through, for not making our internal states anyone else’s problem. This works until it doesn’t. The suppression becomes automatic. You lose access to the full range of feelings.
What remains is duty, obligation, the motions. Isolation compounds this. Male friendship often centres on shared activity rather than emotional disclosure. You have people with whom you do things. People you’ve known for years who couldn’t name what troubles you because you’ve never said, and they’ve never asked. This isn’t their failure or yours. It’s the operating system.
Work culture accelerates the process. You’re optimising, performing, producing. Your value is your utility. Your feelings are inefficiencies to be managed. You learn to operate in a state of mild dissociation, as full presence would make the grind intolerable. The coping mechanism becomes the condition. Testosterone’s role deserves scrutiny without biological determinism. Declining levels are correlated with reduced motivation, flattened affect, and a diminished pleasure response. But the relationship isn’t simple causation.
Chronic stress, poor sleep, sedentary existence, and social isolation all suppress testosterone while independently contributing to ennui. The hormonal and psychological reinforce each other in a downward spiral that’s difficult to arrest once established. The pharmaceutical response is predictable: diagnose depression, prescribe SSRIs. Sometimes this helps.
It’s existential more than neurochemical. You can correct serotonin reuptake while leaving untouched the fundamental question of why you’re going through these motions, what meaning you’ve constructed, whether the life you’re competently executing is one you’d choose if choosing were genuinely available. Recovery, if that’s the term, requires relearning presence. This sounds therapeutic and vague because the specifics resist generalisation.
For some, it’s physical: returning to the body through deliberate discomfort, through training that demands full attention, through sensation intense enough to penetrate the numbness. For others, it’s creative: making something for no purpose beyond the act of creating, reclaiming an activity divorced from productivity. Connection matters, but connection is hard when you’ve forgotten how to want it.
You must practice vulnerability in small doses with people who’ve earned your trust. You have to say true things about your internal state and tolerate the discomfort of being seen. You have to ask for what you need before you collapse from not having it. Purpose helps. Not the corporate mission statement version, but a genuine orientation toward something beyond self-maintenance.
This doesn’t require grand ambition. It requires identifying what actually matters to you beneath the accumulated shoulds, then aligning behaviour accordingly. Most men are executing someone else’s blueprint, wondering why completion feels hollow. The Movember conversation needs to expand beyond crisis intervention. Suicide prevention is crucial. So is addressing the decades of progressive disconnection that precede the crisis.
By the time we notice we can’t breathe, the air’s been thinning for years. You can’t fix this with listicles and self-care rhetoric. It requires structural changes to how men relate to emotion, to each other, and to measures of worth. It requires questioning whether the Stoic ideal serves us or diminishes us. It requires building friendship models that include emotional honesty. It requires workplaces that value people over profits.
Individually, it requires noticing the numbness before it becomes total. Asking whether you’re living or performing. Whether you feel things or remember feeling things. Whether the person operating your life is someone you’d want to be.
It doesn’t demand immediate attention. It’s patient. It waits while you optimise, produce, and maintain appearances. It will still be there when you finally stop moving long enough to notice you’ve been empty the entire time. The question is whether you’ll listen before you have to.
Joel Edgerton’s wife is sending him videos of polar bears.
“I haven’t had FOMO like this for years,” the 51-year-old actor says, settling into a big, plush sofa at the Ham Yard Hotel in Soho and swiping at his phone. Edgerton is married to Christine Centenera, the globe-trotting editor-in-chief of Vogue Australia, who is currently dispatching from a “conservation-type trip” in Manitoba, Canada. “They're literally 20 feet away from her! I was very nearly gonna go—I mean, I was invited—but I’ve got to talk about Train Dreams…”
I look down at my questions, note the distinct lack of anything remotely polar bear-related, and apologise for my part in all of this. That makes him feel bad. Now we both feel bad.
“No, no, no!” he jumps in, tucking the roly-poly killing machines back into his pocket. “Of all the press tours I've ever done, I'd say this is sort of the most pleasurable. It’s the rare scenario, which I've had a few times, where you have a really great process with a bunch of people that you really love, and the result, in my opinion, is really very special. It doesn't always line up that way.”
As you may have heard, that’s not just his opinion. Train Dreams, Netflix’s new feature-length adaptation of Denis Johnson’s 2011 novella, is quickly gaining traction as an unexpected best picture contender at the Academy Awards next year. Directed on a USD10 million budget by Clint Bentley, who also wrote the acclaimed 2023 prison drama Sing Sing, it tells the story of Robert Grainier, a stoic railroad labourer in the 1900s who spends months at a time cutting down trees and sawing up wood in the wilds of Idaho. In his younger years, on a contract job, Grainier dutifully lends a small hand in the attempted murder of a Chinese immigrant worker who has committed an unspecified crime. It’s not clear whether the man dies as he is thrown off the half-built railroad bridge—but the victim's spectre haunts Robert for the rest of his days.
Much of it was filmed under the canopy of tall trees—familiar territory for Edgerton, who grew up on the edge of a vast forest in rural Sydney. He's always tried to stay close to nature and, like the itinerant loggers in the film, he's also had his own close calls. Well, kind of. When he was a "poor, sort-of out-of-work actor" in the early 2000s, he went for a five-day hike in Yosemite National Park with one aim: to see a bear up-close. And just like today, he was plain out of luck. But when he went to the adventure store to return his rented supply bag—the same one he'd been using as a pillow at camp—they discovered an open packet of jelly beans in one of the compartments.
"Which could have been the end of me," he says. "The bear would have ripped through the tent. Death by jelly bean".
Edgerton lived to tell the tale and talk about Train Dreams, now out on Netflix. We spoke about how the film differs from the book, the parallels this very 20th century story has with our current moment, and how he sees AI fitting into the future of movies.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity
ESQUIRE: The novella is 100 or so pages long, is made up of vignettes and jumps between different time periods. When you first read Train Dreams, did you envision it working as a movie?
JOEL EDGERTON: Yes and no. I did enquire about getting the rights to the book myself [in 2018], but I was aware that the task ahead was going to be really complicated and challenging because it’s not really a straightforward adaptation. I think Clint harnessed the essence of the fragmented sense of memory while creating a more linear narrative for the audience to hold on to.
I say this with 100 per cent truth, I'm glad that the rights didn't land in my lap. Four years after I read the book, Clint asked if I would do the movie. The best thing about that, on a performance level, was that I had two two-year-old children by the time I shot it. The distance I had to stretch my imagination for some of the stuff in the film was so much shorter than it would have been pre-them being in my life. It was the perfect time. I'm in love, I'm a father, I have all the similar concerns around what kind of dad I am. What does it mean to be a dad who leaves for stretches of time? How do I make that work better? And in the pre-stages of them being born, partly because of my own paranoia and partly because of the complications around twins and being born early, in my worst days I was so fearful of them not making it into our lives. So, the prospect of doing the joy and the sorrow of the film felt so much closer to my own experience.
ESQ: What is it about the book, and Denis Johnson's writing in general, that speaks to men?
JE: I think men have sort of misrepresented themselves in film by over-masculinising themselves. The definition of whatever you think of as masculinity is often a very narrow view of the harder-edged aspects of what a whole man can be. I think there are more men than we imagine that actually do believe that it's just one end of the spectrum to be tough, capable, violent, and all those tough words. They long for the space and the acceptance to be more articulate and open, more sharing and kind. It feels like we sell ourselves short to not include that in the whole definition of masculinity.
We all hope that we'd be capable if we were living in Robert's world in Bonners Ferry. That we’d build a cabin. I believe we're all capable of that even if we don't back ourselves. I always say: you don't know who'd be a good soldier. The image of a soldier is the GI Joe [but] capability isn’t about an image, it's about necessity. If you place any human being in a position of fight or flight or necessity, hunger or desperation... resourcefulness and heroism is all forged by circumstance.
ESQ: There's a great line in the film—"We just cut down trees that have been here for 500 years. It upsets a man’s soul whether you recognise it or not"—which speaks to the elemental, spiritual nature of it all.
JE: Something that really breaks me up when I think about it is the kindness of strangers. Being in service of others; people who are willing to help someone they don't have an invested future with. I think it's one of our core values. And so this idea that everything is stitched together, that we're all interlinked, I feel like we have to remind ourselves that we are part of the planet.
We’re just an animal that happens to also be able to fucking build computers and cars and stuff, but we are an animal. We're not hovering above everything. We're at the mercy of the planet as much as the planet is in our mercy. I think we're connected to each other and I think, if everyone had a more metabolic affinity with each other, an understanding that we all are the same particles born into different shoes and different families, that maybe we'd all get along a bit better and share our suffering rather than inflict suffering.
ESQ: So much of the book and film is concerned with the relentless march of time and the technological progress of the 20th century. Do you see parallels with that experience and the rise of AI now?
JE: One hundred per cent. That moment where I'm trying to start the chainsaw, the other guy does it and I'm staring at it—it’s a very strong analogy for me and AI. Not just "How do I use this thing?" but "How is this thing going to effect my industry"? I started thinking a lot about my grandmother. She was sort of Robert's era. She died around the same age, a little bit later. When I first pointed a High 8 video camera at her [as a kid], she just sort of froze and smiled like she was waiting for me to take a still photo. And it was hard for her to wrap her head around the fact that this was me capturing her moving. She saw the invention of the telephone and went from living in a house without electric lights to then having electric lights. She saw all of that until she died. Now look at us—I feel like my grandmother now.
ESQ: It's harder and harder to get projects properly funded. What would you say to a young independent filmmaker who was considering the idea of using AI to make a film? Would you warn them against it?
JE: No, I wouldn't necessarily, because who are we to say we're right because we're living in the old ways? And actually, I have faith that for every kid that might go and make a movie on AI—and they might be right, that’s the future and why fight the future? I think it's worth incorporating the future, understanding it enough—but for every kid that's gonna do that, I'm seeing all these young bloods who are getting back to making film. There are these young filmmakers in Australia trying to reopen a Kodak lab. Charlie Polinger, who I just worked with on his first film [The Plague] that I helped him produce, he shot on 35mm. So, I feel like for everyone that's got their eyes set on the future of AI, there's a whole bunch of people that want bespoke boots and vinyl records and Kodak film labs to reopen.
On a creative level, when I'm thinking positively about it—when I'm not imagining the robot apocalypse and doom scrolling, which I’m prone to do—I'm also thinking: how do I make my creativity more muscular and cryptic and abstract and interesting, to run in tandem with whatever AI is doing? Not in unison necessarily, because I don't want to use technology to help me write anything. I just want to challenge my own way of finding a point of view that is interesting and hard to predict by zeros and ones. The example I always use is The Zone of Interest. Hearing that someone said: all right, I'm going to make a Holocaust film but I'm going to set it in the general's house, through the point of view of the general's wife and her decadent lifestyle on the other side of the wall? Where we know what's going on, because we've seen all those movies? I don't see AI creating that. Not unless super prompted by a human being.
That's where creativity lies. Human beings understand human beings. Human beings can find a different vantage point with which to tell a story. And then AI is going to learn that and then we're going to have to push the edge further away, you know what I mean? The optimistic part of me sees that as the challenge, but I wouldn't rag on kids or anyone for using the tools. I follow a few people on Instagram who are doing the most visually fucking radical stuff. I don't want to turn away from it. But I think I’m going to skip TikTok.
Originally published on Esquire UK
There’s a reason why “Gucci” has evolved to be a positive adjective within the youth vernacular, and it’s all to do with its enduring legacy of style and luxury. This festive season, passing on a piece of Gucci means handing over a piece of foundational fashion.
As this selection of gifting ideas by Gucci show—both for men and for women—timeless luxury is hardly boring or expected. Between the GG Monogram, the Horsebit, and even the emblematic green-red-green webbing, classic Gucci motifs are set against signature styles that are meant to accompany one on every stylish moment possible. The GG Monogram backpack, for example, would be an excellent everyday companion with its roomy size, and handsome exterior that's versatile enough to be carried around for most situations. Gucci's latest Gucci Besties—a series of playfully designed characters—are crafted to add personality to these timeless pieces, while being standouts on their own.
Whichever you end up choosing to gift, there's hardly any fault doing so with a piece of Gucci.
Discover more gifting ideas by Gucci in boutiques as well as online
Photography: Xerxes Lee
Jack Dorsey is bringing the Internet's most chaotic and cherished fever dream back. Resurrecting something that nearly for a decade was non-existent, Vine is making a comeback for a second run bringing an entire generation's inside jokes, early influencer culture and looping comedy.
One of the major platforms that made reel-making, goofy less than a minute skits and random comic sketches popular form of entertainment and engagement on social media, the return of Vine as a project, diVine, has been personally funded by Dorsey through his non-profit.
He is joined by Evan Henshaw-Plath, better known as Rabble, one of Twitter's earliest employees and together with him Dorsey is not only trying to bring the app back but also restoring a lost piece of Internet history.
At the launch, diVine is set to offer not only the nostalgia-driven features of the original app but also access to the original Vine archive—a treasure trove of tens of thousands of six-second clips that shaped early meme culture.
Many of these moments including "road work ahead", "what are thoossee!", "its an avocado, thanks", "I could have dropped my croissant" and in a way a generation's collective comic timing were all born out of the app, thus holding a special place.
Now, fans can revisit them in their native format, and creators will have the power to request takedowns of their old content if they choose. While diVine stays loyal to the iconic looping format, it’s stepping firmly into the present with modern tools and a clear, almost radical stance: no AI-generated content, period.
Rabble says the decision is a deliberate pushback against what he calls the “enshittification” of social platforms—a phenomenon writer Cory Doctorow popularised to explain how apps decay as they prioritise automation and profit over actual humans.
In a digital landscape where feeds feel increasingly synthetic, diVine aims to be a refuge, a human-first creative space, at a moment when that feels rare. And users seem ready. Early reactions online frame the platform as a much-needed safe zone from the rising tide of AI-assisted micro-content.
The timing helps. TikTok faces mounting political scrutiny, Instagram and YouTube are awash in machine-generated clips, and Elon Musk’s X is leaning heavily into AI video creation. Meanwhile, nostalgia for the messy charm of early-internet culture is peaking.
According to TechCrunch, after Twitter announced it was shutting down the short video app in 2016, its videos were backed up by a group called the Archive Team. This community archiving project is not affiliated with Archive.org but is rather a collective that works together to save Internet websites that are in danger of being lost.
So, diVine wants to bet on the past, on people and hopes that in 2025, six seconds is still enough to make the Internet laugh again.
Originally published on Esquire IN
While watching the hauntingly beautiful new film Train Dreams, I found myself thinking of the four hemlock pines that stood side-by-side in the grassy yard beside the house where I grew up. Their trunks were as tall and straight as ship masts. Who knows how old they were, but I’m guessing they were planted when the house was built in the 1920s. By the time I was a boy, their tops towered high above the roof.
We played endlessly beneath the cover of these pines, twirling madly on a single rope swing attached to one especially formidable branch. The ground there is probably still embedded with toys lost in the mud once upon a time. I remember the grown-ups saying that if a tornado ever struck the neighbourhood, these trees would guard our home as an immovable windbreak. That kind of emergency never happened, but as a child I found their presence reassuring. They were gentle sentinels, providing comfort in the shade and protection as a wall against the elements.
Trees have a powerful symbolic presence in director Clint Bentley’s Train Dreams, a Sundance favourite that is streaming on Netflix. They are resilient, but not indestructible, much like Joel Edgerton’s character at the center of this story. They give, but ask for little. They can be dangerous. They can also be easily unnoticed, blending into the background. But if you look closer, there is power and majesty to behold.
This film looks closer. It is an adaptation of the late Denis Johnson’s novella from 2011, and chronicles life on the frontier of the Pacific Northwest just as industrialisation is taking hold across the United States in the first half of the last century. Edgerton stars as Robert Grainier, a labourer whose two aspirations are the well-being of his loved ones and to live in harmony with nature, even as his axe helps fell the forests around him to clear paths for a new world to take over.
Bentley, who had an adapted screenplay Oscar nomination this past year for Sing Sing, grew up in a ranching family and told me that Johnson’s book reminded him of people like his grandfather, and others he once looked up to. We need more role models like them now, since the malignant types tend to fill the void. “My uncle was a logger and my dad was a jockey and a horseman,” Bentley tells me. “My dad broke a collarbone and then just kept racing because that's what they did. He was one of the toughest guys I met, but then he would also be so tender. They weren't educated or anything like that. It was just how they were. So it's an odd thing to be where we're at now. I don't know where it got distorted along the way.”
Train Dreams is harrowing at times, but you come away feeling cleansed (a good cry will do that) not to mention rejuvenated—maybe even a bit inspired. Is there compelling drama in a man trying to do his best, sometimes falling short, and picking himself up to do better? We’ve seen that there is in its opposite, There Will Be Blood, another film I love, about a similarly determined man from this same era of history, cutting a swath to the future. The difference is Daniel Plainview leaves behind ruin, and ends up with worse than nothing, despite his unspeakable wealth. Granier’s story is about living a different way, and you will root just as hard for his hopes and dreams as you did against the man who drinks everyone else’s milkshake.
Grainier is the embodiment of rugged individualism, but devoid of selfishness. He strives for a life of adventure, but also integrity and meaning. Devotion. Edgerton imbues him with impenetrable decency, manifesting outwardly in his heartfelt relationship with wife Gladys (Felicity Jones) and their young daughter, as well as their further-off neighbours and associates in the town of Bonners Ferry, Idaho. She is an equal partner; they are both workers in addition to being lovers. Both represent what everybody wants in a partner. Someone to stand sturdy alongside them, no matter what.
Robert cuts swaths through the forests for train tracks that eventually pump lifeblood into burgeoning new communities across America, but his primary purpose on this earth is to provide and care for those who rely on him and live in a way that, well, he can live with. “Preparing for this movie, trying to understand as much about the time as I could, I was reading a lot of diary entries and things like that from the early 20th century and in the 1800s, by sharecroppers and people and homesteaders in that part of the world,” Bentley says.
“Everybody is working hard and everybody's looking out for themselves, but then at the same time, when somebody has a fire and their cabin burns down, their neighbours take them in,” he adds. “Or somebody's wife dies or husband dies, and the neighbours come around and they bring a bunch of things to help each other along. Life full of those paradoxes, this rugged individualism while also taking care of each other and being an incredibly sturdy man for whatever that means. But also being very tender and sweet. I think just trying to get all of that in there: just life, for lack of a better way to say it.”
Train Dreams applies the stalwart qualities of nature to the journey of one individual. Men can see a positive model for living in this character, but the film’s joys are not reserved only for them. I imagine many women will find the same resonance. I bring up men in particular only because our current culture has spent many years now rightfully detailing the corrosive effects of toxic masculinity. Train Dreams highlights a different way of being. Let’s call it honourable masculinity. That’s not to say it’s perfect.
Edgerton’s Granier is fraught with his share of regret, especially after he witnesses the cruelty perpetrated against Chinese immigrants in the town where he resides. Since he was only a child then, there was little he could do but stand in shock. “Granier was baffled by the casualness of the violence,” goes the narration from actor Will Patton.
But even after he grows up, gets strong, and finds his own voice, he stands by as ruffians target fellow railway workers who again are deemed guilty of the crime of being Chinese. Granier knows this is wrong, and tries feebly to intervene at one point, but he relents quickly. Should he have done more? Absolutely. He will never forget that. He is not the kind of man who will perpetrate such wrongs, but he was not brave or bold enough to stop them. Forgiving himself is not an option, and he doesn’t ask it of anyone else, least of all the face of the one dead man he still sometimes sees staring at him from the dark.
These faults become scars he carries on his soul the way a pine carries the marks of fires or blades or lightning strikes it manages to survive. Granier would have it no other way, which is a testament to his character. He tries to be good, but doesn’t try to erase his bad.
We learn he grew up an orphan. Granier knows what it is like to be abandoned, and endeavours not to do the same to anyone else. He has no awareness of who his parents were, or how he even came to be in the train that takes him to Idaho. Alone from his earliest memories onward, he found a way to survive without becoming predatory or exploitative. He takes only what he needs; he gives back all that he can.
Despite this rough upbringing, there is a gentlemanliness about Edgerton’s character. He is respectful of women, and Jones’ dashing and charismatic Gladys has to strain hard to capture his attention and get through his veil of modesty. He has benefited from the generosity of unwelcome outsiders, like the Indian shopkeeper Ignatius Jack (Nathaniel Arcand), who keeps him employed with odd jobs and free bread when the family is especially in need. So Granier knows better than to harbour any kind of prejudice. He sees people for who they are beneath their exteriors.
“I was just trying to portray a certain type of person and not be anachronistic with it,” Bentley says. The character’s tolerance makes sense, despite his existence in a time when it was not the norm. There’s something important about that now, too.
There’s more to say about Robert Granier, Edgerton’s performance and the glories of Train Dreams, but I feel like doing that would spoil its revelations. It’s an immersive journey through beauty and heartbreak, and an emotionally gripping portrait of a man who tries his best, and ultimately a bittersweet guide to making sure that the inevitable marks you leave behind are benevolent ones. Even after suffering unspeakable loss, he refuses to inflict more pain on anyone else.
It may seem glib, but it struck me that Robert Granier is sort of like a tree himself. He is rooted to one spot, this little tract of land along a creekside where he has set his home with Gladys. He lives through the arc of a century, and sees the world change in unfathomable ways around him. Like Shel Silverstein’s famous book, he provides shelter, he indulges play with his curious little girl, and he gives all he can. A great portion of his life passes in loneliness as well, whether it is out working in the woods... or hoping against the odds to find what he has lost. He is mostly silent, often speaking only in whispers.
Reacting to the tree symbolism, Bentley remembers similar ideas crossing his mind as he examined forest locations for the shoot. “It's a tree.” He laughs. “It's doing its own thing. It's got its life, and yet there's all these ants moving up and down, and there are birds up making a nest, and there's a squirrel over here eating a nut. And the tree doesn't say, ‘Hold on, this is my bark. You’ve got to pay the ant tax. And if you're going to build a nest here, you’ve got to pay rent.’ That's very nice.” He laughed again at the simplicity of it. “That's a good lesson that we can maybe take.”
The metaphor isn’t perfect. Granier is a human being, after all. He wanders the countryside for work, and he could pick up and leave when tragedy strikes. But he stays. He is devoted. Ultimately, (without giving too much away) he reaches extraordinary heights. And then, someday, he is gone.
So are those four hemlock pines that once stood along the side of my old home. No shade covers that yard anymore. Few will even remember they were once there, but while they existed they brought a measure of grace to the small part of the world where they loomed large.
Some people are like that too. The ones I miss the most.
Originally published on Esquire US
Chris Hemsworth discovered something alarming a few years ago: The same DNA that helped the Australian actor achieve the sculpted physique of a Norse god and the penetrating eyes of a Hollywood leading man also contained a genetic code that predisposed him for Alzheimer’s disease. Now 42, he says he’s still doing fine, and taking steps to stay mentally and physically fit in an effort to stave off any symptoms that might eventually arise. But the abstract possibility of “someday” has lately hit closer to the here and now.
Hemsworth is revealing that his 71-year-old father, Craig, has been diagnosed with the active form of the disorder, and has already begun to experience Alzheimer’s corrosive effects on his memory and perception. Today the Thor star is not just trying to help his dad face a daunting health battle with Alzheimer’s—he’s also preparing for the day when he might have to fight it himself.
With that in mind, Hemsworth and his family decided to document their experiences on film. The actor was in the midst of making the National Geographic longevity series Limitless when he first learned that his DNA contained two copies of the Alzheimer’s-signifying gene APOE4, one from each parent. Since he confronted the issue on-camera then, the Hemsworths decided to do it again. The result is A Road Trip to Remember, an hour-long documentary that is now airing on Disney+.
“It was an interesting thing to even consider,” the actor says. “There was a lot of, as you’d expect, apprehension and concern about how will this be perceived or portrayed? I don’t want to feel like I’m manipulating any of it in any sense, so I asked him: ‘What did you think? What are your feelings about this?’ And he expressed a huge amount of enthusiasm to do it.”
Chris, who has a daughter and twin sons with wife Elsa Pataky, says his father’s cognitive struggles have made him live with more awareness and intent. He has come to see that some woes can’t be avoided. Our days may be shorter than we expect. And everyone can become stuck in a routine, even blockbuster actors.
“For sure, the biggest takeaway for me was the comfort crisis that we’re faced with,” Hemsworth says in this exclusive interview. “The removal of all the safety nets and actually seeking new adventure is healthy for the mind, the spirit, and the body. We settle for the familiar, even if it’s the wrong decision, because… well, it’s better than the I-don’t-know. And that’s the problem, I think. We become stagnant with that sort of mentality and there is a lack in our growth. To continually push back against that familiar path is where the true lessons come.”
His dad’s response to the news showed him that even a grim prognosis can be accepted without necessarily backing down. “He has a pretty incredible perspective around all of it,” Hemsworth says. “It causes fear and anxiety, but it’s a motivator to not take any of it for granted and, while he can, capture as many memories as possible and revisit the old ones.”
Going public for Craig was another way to face this—and maybe transform the bad news into something beneficial, for himself and others. “It’s not a topic that he speaks about a lot,” Chris says. “Maybe on some level he thought that [the show] might be a space and a time for him to open up more in regard to his feelings.”
At the time of filming last year, Craig’s symptoms manifested only sporadically. He experienced memory lapses and occasional moments of confusion, but he was otherwise largely lucid. Alzheimer’s is not, however, a disorder that ever improves. Time was not on their side, but it had not run out yet. So father and son hopped on a pair of motorbikes to outrun it, in a sense.. (Among his many different jobs over the years, Craig used to race professionally.)
Flanked by a camera crew, they ventured across Australia back to a house in Melbourne where the family lived in the early ‘90s, when Craig was employed as a child protective services officer. They also drove far afield into the Northern Territory, visiting a ranch where Craig had wrangled bulls and buffalo in the 1980s. One especially memorable quest was tracking down a particular bend in a creek in the Outback where the family had once played when Chris and his brothers, Luke and Liam, were just rowdy little boys.
A fading photo of Chris and his dad, and a vague memory of the location, was the only guide they had. In the snapshot, as with almost all photos of Craig from that era, the older man is the mirror image of his now-grown son—just with a big, bushy beard. “A lot of people, especially people who have grown up with him, say, ‘Oh gosh, you look just like your dad,’” Chris says. “And there’s certain photos where I kind of double-take at times.”
Chris’s mother, Leonie, appears throughout the documentary, talking about her husband’s experiences. But the expedition itself involves mainly Chris and his dad. “If nothing else, he and I got to have this little road trip away together to do something we had talked about for a lot of years,” Chris says. “I have two brothers and we’ve had this great childhood and upbringing, but it’s always been sort of all of us together. That one-on-one time is special.”
More than being an emotional trip down Memory Lane, Chris says the show was a kind of experiment in slowing the progression of Alzheimer’s, under the guidance Dr Suraj Samtani, a clinical psychologist at the Centre for Healthy Brain Ageing at the University of Sydney.
“It was the science around this reminiscence therapy that I found sort of a fascinating concept,” Chris says. “The exposure to memories are stimulating the hippocampus, which is the same part of the brain the Alzheimer’s is attacking.”
Reminiscence therapy is not new. It began in the 1970s, and clinical studios have shown no evidence that it reverses the physical degeneration of the disease, but there are other benefits. In 2005, the non-profit Cochrane Dementia and Cognitive Improvement Group of medical researchers reviewed 22 studies of the practice, involving 1,972 people with dementia.
“There is some evidence that TR can improve quality of life, cognition, communication and possibly mood in people with dementia in some circumstances, although all the benefits were small,” the review stated.
A 2024 assessment of a small group of patients in an eight-week group therapy session, conducted by Kagoshima University and Tokyo Medical University and published in the journal Geriatrics, showed “significant improvements” in morale, indicating that the practice may work best in care home settings.
The zeal to better understand and refine such treatments becomes especially important given the so-called “silver tsunami” predicted to hit as the global population ages. Just as the Hemsworths seek ways to confront the disease, countless other families around the world are doing the same.
Chris said one worry consistently loomed over him as he travelled with Craig: asking his silent-type dad to open up about his own thoughts about the diagnosis.
In the film, his father does finally come clean: “Some days, things are quite clear and I can make sense,” Craig says over a campfire in the midst of the trip. “And then some days it’s not so clear. It’s not so correct.”
Having been a caregiver all his life, whether as a father of three troublemaking boys or as a child protective officer, Craig was used to being the strong one, the protector, the fixer. He tells his son in the film that his greatest anxiety is, “I can’t look after myself, and [will] be reliant upon other people to make decisions for me. Being a burden is probably the biggest issue I think.”
Revisiting that now, Chris says he’s overwhelmed that his father’s primary concern is other people, not himself. “I remember when he said that,” Chris tells Time. “It was profound and heartbreaking at the same time. We have to keep reminding him: ‘Let us help you here.’”
Craig isn’t always the best patient, his son admits. That’s a conflict many families deal with when a loved one is battling Alzheimer’s. “The resistance to us assisting or taking the burden away or doing it for him, is sort of problematic at times,” Chris says. “It’s like, ‘Dad, you’ve got to let us step in at this point.’ And as time has gone on, there is a more openness to that. It’s day to day. But it says a lot about his character, his amount of deep integrity and compassion and selflessness.”
Today, many months after filming the documentary, Chris says his father is still fighting the destructive effects of the disease. “But he’s doing well, all things considered.”
A brain scan in recent months showed physical evidence of Alzheimer’s, and his son said medical evaluations show “a definite decline.” But then, there are unexpected positive fluctuations. “Funny enough, he had a cognitive test recently and there was an increase in some of his ability and memory-based exercises. [But] some dropped,” Chris says.
“The spectrum around the signs is quite vast and diverse. We are just trying to stimulate as much connection in his life as possible. With friends and family, we’re not having him isolate and be on his own, doing nothing.”
This disease may be genetically hardwired into his own future, so all of this is a lesson he is keeping in mind too. But for all the documentary’s emphasis on resisting and slowing the impact of Alzheimer’s, Chris says it helped him focus on making the most of right now.
“It became less about the reminiscence therapy, and the science around it,” he says. “What we came away with was connection. Whether we have another 20 years, or whether it’s another 20 days, it’s like: Hang on to every single moment. And connect on a deeper level as often and as frequently as you can.”
Originally published on Esquire AU
Buzzwords are aplenty when it comes to the highly lucrative industry that is health. Recovery seems the latest to join the fitness-wellness venn diagram. Call me old fashioned but I’m a staunch believer of good ol’ consistent sleep, sufficient hydration and a balanced diet. Gone are the days of passive recuperation though.
As recovery occupies its own commercial category with dedicated studios and devices, the rituals to recharge evolve into convoluted customs. Resting is now about how hard you can do it; speeding that sh–t up and ridding yourself of your disposable income while at it. Oddly enough, it’s starting to sound justified.
It’s not about answering the demands of modern lifestyles, but the recognition that exhaustion can go deeper than the physical. In this context, recovery means reclaiming equilibrium in a way that’s tailored to you.
Some find solace in stillness, others in pain. Results vary wildly. What works for one nervous system could do little for another. That’s why the notion is best approached as an experiment rather than prescription. When the output isn’t considered indulgence, but infrastructure for greater resilience.
This strategy–framing it this way changes things, doesn’t it?–comes in a variety of tools, but the universal method is to tune in to how your body responds. We don’t follow the fads, we test them for ourselves. And then write about it.
So I did. Enjoy.
In case you didn’t know, the Singapore International Film Festival 2025 is happening from now till the next few days. You’ll definitely want to check out any one of the 120 films from more than 45 countries that will be showcased—including Shu Qi’s award-winning directorial debut Girl / 女孩.
Once you’re done with that, consider signing up for something more interactive: FFIGS festival. Considered as “Singapore’s most unofficial film festival,” expect screenings, community-driven events, including themed parties, rooftop sessions, and quirky experimental showcases. To give you an even greater sense of what to expect, there’s going to be a Shu Qi Lookalike Party and a Bring Your Rejected Film Potluck where you can share your own films.
When: 29 November to 7 December 2025
Where: Goethe-Institut Singapore, 136 Neil Rd, Singapore 088865
More information here
Psychologists spend their lives studying the human mind and its infinite quirks, but what happens when they pick up a camera? Their photographs might land a little closer to heart than you’d expect.
Dr Michael J. Gerson, New York–based photographer and psychologist, will be showcasing his five-decade-long visual diary—capturing human portraits from bustling cities to rural landscapes, from rapturous joy to bleak melancholy. Think of it as a guided tour through the human condition, told by someone who has spent just as much time studying it as he has capturing it. By the way, the photographs are all available for sale, with all proceeds going to charity. Pretty awesome if you ask me.
When: Now till 8 December 2025
Where: Artitude Galeria, Block 9 Dempsey Rd, #01-11, Singapore 247697
Register your interest
Singapore's first local sneaker con, Sole Superior, returns tomorrow. Held at *SCAPE Playspace, the event will host sneakers, streetwear, collectibles, art, music and also allow a homegrown community to flourish for the past 12 years. Participating vendors include Placate the Gods, Bonsai Social Club and Crumpler.
When: 29 November 2025, from 11am to 8pm
Where: 2 Orchard Link, Singapore 237978
National Gallery Singapore is presenting Into the Modern: Impressionism from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, a substantial look at one of the largest impressionist collections outside France. Look for works by Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Édouard Manet, and other key figures who will anchor the exhibition.
Spread across three galleries and seven thematic sections, the show brings together more than 100 pieces, a scale rarely seen in Singapore. The installations will also trace how Impressionism shaped artistic developments in Southeast Asia.
Also, it's worth noting that tickets booked before 30 November 2025 come with a 30% discount—so you'll want to move quick if you’re planning a quiet afternoon at the gallery.
Where: National Gallery Singapore, Singapore 178957
When: 14 November 2025 to 1 March 2026
Get your tickets here
Here's a radical suggestion: stay in and watch a horror movie in the spirit of spooky season. We went around the office asking the Esquire SG staff about the horror films everyone swears by—films that are perfect for Halloween, and compiled them into a curated list. Check it out here.
To mark its 10th anniversary, SG Enable has opened the i’mable Collective Space—an 800-square-metre hub bringing together pan-disability creatives across design and the arts. The new space houses eight partners and blends retail, gallery, studio, and café experiences, spotlighting both inclusive enterprise and the range of artistic expression within Singapore’s disability community.
When: 1 October to 12 December 2025, from 10am to 7pm
Where: Young Gallery, i’mable Collective Space, Vista Block #02-02, Enabling Village, 20 Lengkok Bahru, Singapore 159053.
No registration required
Presented by Sculpture 2052, ‘Being Human: Forging Fields of Experience’ is an exhibition that features monumental works by Taiwanese sculptor Prof. Liu Po-Chun. The centrepiece—a six-metre-tall installation of 188 figures forged from recycled industrial steel—invites visitors to move through a maze of beams and silhouettes, where metal, sound, and space converge.
When: 31 October to 30 November 2025, from 9am to 6pm daily
Where: Artspace@Helutrans, 39 Keppel Rd, #01-05 Tanjong Pagar Distripark, Singapore 089065
No registration required
Science Centre Singapore and the Lee Kong Chian Natural History Museum join forces to host Dinosaurs | Extinctions | Us, an exhibition that transports you to the prehistoric world of Patagonia. At the centre of it is a 40-metre cast of Patagotitan mayorum—one of the largest creatures ever to walk the planet. Alongside it are 33 rare fossils and 60 full-scale models tracing 400 million years of evolution and extinction.
The showcase also turns its gaze to the five mass extinctions that have shaped Earth’s history, and a sixth one that’s currently unfolding before our eyes—including a look at species once native to Singapore. Tickets start at $25.90 and include a complimentary plushie.
When: Tuesday to Sunday, from 10am to 5pm
Where: Science Centre Singapore, 15 Science Centre Rd, Singapore 609081
Get your tickets here
Japanese whisky house Nikka Whisky is joining hands with Singapore’s homegrown perfumery Oo La Lab to create a limited olfactory workshop guided by the experts at Oo La Lab. Guests are invited to alchemise their own perfume, drop by drop, based on their interpretation of the Nikka From The Barrel whisky. However, the lab won’t limit you; you’re free to tweak and adjust your scent to your liking, based on over 20 different scents (I think, if my memory serves me right).
Each session not only begins with a welcome cocktail crafted with Nikka From The Barrel, but continues with tastings of Nikka From The Barrel served neat and diluted so guests can explore its base note in detail. But here’s the best part: tickets are priced at SGD98, but everyone gets to bring home a full-sized bottle of Nikka From The Barrel worth SGD85 on top of their personalised perfume. So you’re essentially paying SGD13 for a perfume workshop, which is a BARGAIN. The experience is limited to just 8 sessions for up to 25 participants, so you’ll want to move quick.
When: Thursdays at 6pm, and Saturdays at 2pm
Where: Oo La Lab, 2 Alexandra Rd, #02-04 Delta House, Singapore 159919
Get your tickets here
PREVIOUSLY
Singapore’s last remaining traditional Teochew mansion, The House of Tan Yeok Nee, reopens after careful restoration. Once a private residence, the 19th-century home welcomes the public for the first time in over 140 years. Expect guided tours led by the Society of Tourist Guides, a Teochew Food Festival featuring both heritage and modern dishes—think Chef Ivan Yeo’s braised classics, Ah Ma’s Legacy’s reinvented desserts, and teas from LimCha’s Teahouse Café—and a photography exhibition by the Teochew Sim Clan documenting ancestral roots and vanishing homes.
When: By appointment only
Where: 101 Penang Road, Singapore 238467
Register online for free here
A bold new sub-concept under Ginger.Lily is here. The bar transforms the space into a dedicated cocktail destination, offering guests an experience that blends flavour, culture, and creativity. The bar’s Synaesthesia 2.0 collection pairs each cocktail with a complementary bite, drawing inspiration from flavours such as shiitake mushrooms, tom yum, curry, and pasta.
Guests can enjoy a dedicated bar entrance flowing through a curated cocktail gallery and takeaway counter, while live DJ sets every Friday and Saturday set the tone for lively evenings. The launch week on 5 - 6 September includes guest appearances from Taiwan’s Bar Pine and East End Bar, and the interactive ‘Synaesthesia: Shaken by You’ initiative invites the community to co-create a Cocktail of the Month.
When: Every Friday and Saturday
Where: Hilton Singapore Orchard, 333 Orchard Rd, Level 5, Singapore 238867
Having made its rounds in Paris, London, and Colombia, Jurassic World: The Experience is now stomping its way onto our sunny shores—more specifically, into the cool, lush foliage of the Cloud Forest at Gardens by the Bay. Expect to encounter towering, lifelike animatronic dinosaurs, such as a roaring Tyrannosaurus emerging from a wreath of mist, or a Stygimoloch attempting to free itself from a freight container. There’s even an 8.5-metre-tall Brachiosaurus ready to greet you, surrounded by 3D replicas of long-extinct plants dating back to the Jurassic period.
Do be warned that the effects are highly realistic, so it’s worth mentally preparing your child if you have one of those. But if they do end up in tears, there are petting stations where baby dinosaurs are ready to sniff their hands and be petted.
When: Now till 31 December 2025, 9am to 9pm daily
Where: Cloud Forest, Gardens by the Bay, Singapore 018953
Get your tickets here
The finale of Marc Maron's acclaimed podcast, WTF with Marc Maron, came out 13 October after 16 years and more than 1,600 episodes. He appeared in the movie Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere. Maron, who's 62 and lives in Los Angeles, spoke with Esquire in August while he was in New York City promoting his latest standup special, Panicked. Below, Maron in his own words, edited and condensed.
I'M WEIRD. I CAN BE MORE OPEN in some ways with audiences than I can in interpersonal relationships.
LOOK, I'VE LIVED AND LEARNT over time. I’ve been a toxic person in my life. I’m not great at relationships. I used to do a joke where I think I’m about 85 percent woke and the other 15 percent I keep to myself.
THE PODCAST IS JUST ME AND MY PRODUCER, Brendan McDonald. It’s really about me and the arc of my life, and guests enter into that. Listeners have seen me move through almost everything one can in life, other than the birth of a child, because I don’t have that. The death of a partner, cats coming and going, women coming and going, career things coming and going, my own personal anxieties and mental health coming and going, politics.
THERE'S NOT A DAY that goes by where I don’t celebrate my decision not to have children.
WE WEREN'T GOING TO STOP podcasting until one of us was like, “All right.” And it happened. We were experiencing real burnout. If you’re a workaholic, you don’t really process that. But there are symptoms. There is a certain part of your emotional and psychological life that starts to buckle. It is somewhat consuming to show up, be engaged, and be empathetic—to have a genuine conversation.
I WANT TO HAVE MY LIFE BACK. I’d like to enjoy it without putting so much of myself out there, because there is an emotional responsibility to that.
THERE'S NO REASON to fade away if you don’t have to.
I GREW UP MIDDLE-CLASS. My old man was a doctor and had bread. Neither one of my parents really have money anymore. My dad screwed up everything. When I started doing comedy, whatever fallback I had in parents wasn’t there. And doing comedy at the beginning, it’s sparse, dude.
MY FRIEND MADE ME BUY THIS WATCH. It’s an Omega Speedmaster. It’s classic. You got to wind it, though. My girlfriend is like, “Doesn’t it just wind itself?” I’m like, “No. This is how watches used to be.” She’s a little younger than me.
I USED TO SAY THAT I NEVER REALLY FELT that life was going by quickly. When you’re in it, you’re like, “It’s plodding by.” Then, all of a sudden, it’s like, “Oh my God, how am I the oldest guy in the room?” I didn’t really have a sense of age of these younger comics, like John Mulaney or Nate Bargatze. I always saw them as my peers. Then you hit 60 and you’re like, “You guys are forty. What? When did that happen?”
I LIKE SPRINGSTEEN, but I’m not necessarily a Springsteen guy.
WHAT HAVE I LEARNT FROM BEING DIVORCED twice? Just give them the money. Please.
DRAMA IS A WAY TO AVOID INTIMACY. Even when you both end up crying, that doesn’t mean you’re being intimate. It just means you’re devastating each other.
I'M SURE THAT INTIMACY IN SEX with somebody that you love and have an openhearted relationship with can be amazing. Maybe I’ve experienced it a few times.
AS A MIDDLE-CLASS AMERICAN JEW, no one taught us how to use God. I was never taught to fear God or have a relationship with God. I knew I was a Jew and that was enough.
YOU DON'T REALLY REQUIRE a lot when you’re grieving. Just to show up in somebody’s dark time is an amazing service.
HAVE YOU BEEN TO A HOSPITAL? It’s fucking horrendous.
GRIEF ISN'T UNUSUAL. It’s a guarantee. You hope it’s not tragic. It’s nice if there’s an arc to it that makes sense.
WHAT HAPPENS TO US AFTER WE DIE? Not much. But is that so bad? Don’t we all need a nap for a while?
I THOUGHT COMEDY WAS a noble undertaking. The only rule of comedy is you should be funny. Outside of that, you can fucking do whatever you want onstage. If you can make it funny, you can be who you are.
I’M SURE HARDCORE PROGRESSIVES would call me a centrist. Whatever. That infighting is kind of an issue.
THERE WAS THIS IDEA on the anti-woke flank, “Don’t censor yourself at all.” And it’s like, no, that’s how civilisation works. That’s the way democracy works. You learn tolerance, and you behave properly in certain situations. Now that’s gone. I don’t know how democracy works without tolerance and compassion.
I WENT TO SEE A CONCERT. Behind me was a mentally-challenged kid, grown up. He was having a great time. Standing next to him was his father, I guess, who just had this look of, like, “It’s a hard life, and we do the best we can.” I don’t know. I’m like, “I get it, and I don’t need to use that word.”
TO GET VULNERABLE AND UNDERSTAND why you’re an asshole as opposed to double down on being an asshole is a choice.
IF YOU CAN CHANGE ONE OF TWO PEOPLE to either think differently or help them out, that’s not nothing. I don’t know what else I can do. I’m not going to run for office.
Originally published on Esquire US
This past fashion week season in Milan and Paris was the most supercharged in recent memory. It was mostly contributed by the high-stakes debuts of newly installed creative directors at some of the biggest fashion houses. Louise Trotter focused on luxurious craft and scrumptious silhouettes for Bottega Veneta, Dario Vitale rejigged Versace, Gucci gained renewed excitement at the hand of Demna, Duran Lantink showcased a daring vision perfect for Jean Paul Gaultier, and Matthieu Blazy modernised Chanel—only a sampling of what was on show.
With any new creative direction at such prestigious (and often, beloved) houses, criticisms and polarising reactions are inevitable. Fashion loses its allure when it’s universally appealing, and we don’t all have the same tastes nor sartorial inclinations. Imagine how bland it would be if a designer were to create a collection that was liked by everyone without challenging our perception of desirability and beauty, or worse, having no semblance of fresh ideas. Scroll through the social media comments and TikTok videos that have sprouted since the recent debuts, and you might notice a familiar trend of thought: “This doesn’t look like (insert brand name).” or “Bring back the old (insert brand name).”
Dior’s appointment of Jonathan Anderson—the same wunderkind who grew Loewe into the thinking man’s label of choice—as its sole creative director across both womenswear and menswear has undoubtedly reined in a new era for the House.
While Anderson’s starting point was to return the House’s logo to its 1946 typographic signature in place of the all-caps version that it has been sporting since 2018, both his womenswear and menswear collections for the House have been relatively logo-less. Save for a number of commercial ready-to-wear pieces, such as sweaters and ties, as well as a selection of bag shapes, Anderson opted for the silhouettes to pay reverence to the House. One may not be able to immediately connect a pair of oddly shaped cargo shorts to Dior, but upon further investigation, it would soon become apparent that the precise folds and drapes are adapted from one of Christian Dior’s iconic dresses, the Delft. Perhaps the most Dior piece in the entire collection—or at least one that even a casual follower of fashion could be privy to—is Anderson’s update of the Bar jacket that’s been reproportioned for men.
At Chanel, Blazy approached the revered House in a similar manner to how he redefined Bottega Veneta into the epitome of luxury. He built a collection that tapped into the emotions of Chanel while focusing on texture and construction, instead of plastering the double-C emblem on everything and anything. There was a considered thought process of retaining that Chanel aesthetic—the tweed, the pearls, and the heritage were all there—but nothing looked like it was a replication of Chanel past. The same goes for his successor at Bottega Veneta, Trotter, who focused on ensuring that the look and feel of her debut was incredibly luxurious with a spectacular use of materials and impeccable construction that made every piece appear expensive. And yes, Bottega Veneta may already have a minimal, unbranded aesthetic, but even Trotter’s manipulation of its signature Intrecciato spoke to a more subtle execution. The leather strips have been thinned down to their original size, resulting in a tighter Intrecciato with smaller woven squares.
“The shift we’re witnessing at the top of fashion is more than a creative shuffle. It’s a cultural correction to the years of obviously branded fashion that we’ve been inundated with.”
Questions and criticisms about whether a brand feels or looks like it should, point to a singular problem of familiarity—something that fashion shouldn’t be. What is the point, if after a change in creative direction, a collection by a brand still looks familiar? We’ve been conditioned to think that a brand must look like itself. And loudly so, in every stitch. There’s an obsession with recognisability that creatives like Anderson, Blazy and Trotter have been handed the reins to dismantle.
What does it even mean that a brand should look like itself? Does an obvious Gucci belt immediately signal that a look is inherently Gucci? (It is coming back by the way, thanks to Demna.) Does a rehashing of archival pieces and patterns revived with minor modern customisations count? Or would it make more sense for the spirit of a fashion house to be felt and seen through an entirely new lens? Fashion, at its core, is supposed to be a mirror to the times we’re living in, and familiarity seems like an antithesis to that.
The shift we’re witnessing at the top of fashion is more than a creative shuffle. It’s a cultural correction to the years of obviously branded fashion that we’ve been inundated with. I wouldn’t necessarily call it “quiet luxury”, but rather a further evolution of that, where luxury becomes a private experience. There’s absolutely no need for everyone else to know that you’re wearing a pair of Brunello Cucinelli loafers, or a sleek pair of trousers from The Row—what matters is that you do and you feel exceptional in them. Fashion shouldn’t be about broadcasting how attuned to trends you are or how much you’ve spent on a full-monogrammed suit; fashion should be about personal style.
It’s all in the numbers. The pendulum has swung back and it’s evident in how poorly luxury sales have been for brands capitalising on overtly branded fashion. LVMH’s recent financial reports reflect this slowdown. For the entire year of 2024, LVMH reported a revenue of EUR41 billion for its fashion division—a one per cent decrease from the previous year. And in the first nine months of this year, the same division suffered an eight per cent decline compared to the same period in 2024. The fashion and leather goods division is LVMH’s largest in its portfolio, and while the company doesn’t break down figures by brands, its two biggest fashion houses are Louis Vuitton and Dior, which are known to rely on branding on their products. Gucci’s parent company Kering, too is suffering the same fate, albeit in much more dire numbers.
I’ve heard of this old-fashioned way of thinking countless times, that if you’re spending thousands on a piece of luxury fashion, it should be distinctly obvious; if it doesn’t, it’s “not worth it”. To be fair, this approach may have its merits when applied to pieces that are signature to a brand, such as Tabi footwear by Maison Margiela, the Hermès Haut à courroies, or a Burberry trench coat. But they’re not loud in the sense that they’re distinguished solely by the branding that’s visible on the exterior—they’ve grown to be associated with the brands and are signifiers without the need for obvious branding. And even so, wearing one doesn’t immediately sell one as being stylish or having style.
Refinement should be the goal, and not recognition. The less one relies on branding to build an outfit, the more personal one’s style becomes. When you’re trained to be blind to logos and branding, you’re compelled to make more intentional choices based on silhouette, texture, proportion, and mood. You’d want your shirt to fall just right, and trousers to fit how you want them to because you understand what feels right for you based on your own individual identity. You’d want your wardrobe to tell a story instead of being a sales pitch.
We really don’t need fashion that’s indicative of where they come from or who they are by. Because, again, what is the point? Do we hunger for validation by others so much that we have to be clad head to toe in designer clothing? Is wearing look 60 from Balenciaga’s Winter 2025 collection straight from the lookbook a measure of true style? Hardly. In fact, it makes you look like a puppet without a sliver of consciousness.
So perhaps the question isn’t whether something looks “very Dior” or “very Chanel.” The real question should be: Does it look like it came from someone who knows who they are? And when you wear it, does it look like you know who you are?
If you’ve seen the neon face shields influencers wear for dermatological reasons, this is the full-body version of just that. Nothing too complicated; just basking in a red glow because raytanning doesn’t quite have a ring to it.
Low Level Laser Therapy (LLLT), or photobiomodulation as it is otherwise catchily known, hinges on specific wavelengths of red or near-infrared light. Exposure activates cytochrome c oxidase in mitochondria, the battery powering us all, apparently.
Adenosine triphosphate (ATP, the little molecule that stores the chemical energy Mr Mitochondria generates) production and cellular metabolism. Somehow our innate response to light in a certain hue is to stimulate collagen. Externally, this can look like reduced puffiness, wrinkle elimination, or brand new elastic baby’s bottom-esque complexion (exaggeration author’s own).
Those familiar with the process would know it’s as straightforward as stripping down to your undergarments and just, well, standing there. The equipment I was treated to was a panel that stood taller than me but not much wider, comprising numerous little bulbs and a timer on its side.
I did wish it was designed to revolve around me as I had to manually rotisserie chicken myself to achieve what I hoped would be equal reception across my skin. It helps that the crimson glare emits some heat; a tactility that makes you feel less of an idiot turning in circles on the spot every couple of minutes.
Emerging research suggests that red light exposure may slow myopia progression in children. Yet even behind protective eyewear, I could barely direct my closed peepers squarely towards the light. The myopia treatment probably employs a different method of administration. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m sadly well past adolescence.
Not to be a bummer, but this is yet another therapy that was challenging to justify based purely on results. It was also not the most fun. Still, many swearing by it should count for something. Maybe, just maybe, with steady adherence to multiple sessions, the real payoff is the mental recovery we make along the way.
REKOOP FLEX is located at 108 Joo Chiat Road #01-01, Singapore 427401.
To the layman, Apple’s latest wearables are status signals. I can’t be sure, but whenever someone has an AirPod or an Apple Watch, it immediately tells me that they are either doing well for themselves or are vapid show-offs. Then, I got myself an AirPod and an Apple Watch, and I created another category of users: the health-conscious. Or Bryan Johnson. Someone along those lines.
So, yes, while it is easy to recognise an Apple product, beneath its showiness, is what consumer health tech should be: subtle, integrated and useful when you actually move. We test out the AirPods Pro 3 and the Apple Watch Ultra 3 to see how these devices can help one live better.
There’s a markedly improved ANC and a more secure fit for ears, and it has IP57 water/sweat resistance. But we also found out how Apple’s AirPod Pro 2 can be used as hearing aids. The next generation of AirPod Pro still has that FDA-approved hearing aid feature, it also has a heart-rate sensor in the in-ear buds. A tiny photoplethysmography (PPG) sensor—a pulsed infrared LED that measures light absorption from blood flow—is fitted into the AirPods Pro 3 and is specifically designed to read your heart rate during workouts.
But why the ears? Well, the ear is a relatively stable site that is less affected by arm movement than wrist sensors and is able to yield better readings during activities. And if you run, you’re probably listening to a murder podcast or that “cool” playlist you’ve made; you might as well let your AirPods measure your heart rate.
But this shouldn’t be treated as a clinical heart monitor. For anything like arrhythmia detection, the ECG on the wrist is still the better tool... something like the Apple Watch Ultra 3.
I wore the Apple Watch Ultra 2 before having the Ultra 3 in my possession. The Ultra 3 expands on the longstanding Apple Watch suite—ECG, blood-oxygen measurements, irregular rhythm notifications, sleep tracking and guided breathing—and brings a larger display and longer battery life.
It has now caught up to the rest of the smart wearables and monitors your sleep health. Called Sleep Score, it is built into watchOS 26 and available on the Apple Watch Ultra 3. Sleep Score offers a simpler, deeper way to understand night-time rest. Rather than just logging hours asleep, it grades the quality of it.
Using built-in sensors that include heart rate, wrist temperature, blood-oxygen levels and respiratory data, all of these factors are extrapolated to deliver said Sleep Score. If the score is lacking, the Ultra 3 offers actionable insight into improving it.
Another favourite feature of the Apple Watch Ultra 3: dual-frequency GPS. This is very useful, especially when you’re running in challenging environments—dense forest, mountainous terrain, Yishun—the two frequencies correct for signal errors and reflections that can affect standard single-frequency GPS, thus allowing you to always know where you are and be able to find your way home.
The AirPods Pro 3 make heart-rate tracking genuinely wearable for people who already train with earbuds; the Watch Ultra 3 expands the definition of what a wrist device can do. Together, they form a practical ecosystem, where the result is a consumer health experience that prioritises long-term change.
Apple’s AirPods Pro 3 and Watch Ultra 3 are out now
