Forget fantasy football—what about a heavenly hotel? Imagine you could create one from scratch, cherrypicking the best aspects of the world’s most noteworthy recent openings and reopenings, combined into the perfect, impossible property. That’s what we’ve done, from the best rooftop restaurant for supper to the only beach club where’s it’s truly worth basking in the sun, this is the world’s ultimate hotel. The only thing we can’t arrange: the chance to check in.

FACADE                                                                                                                     Capella Sydney
Australia

It took seven years to turn this local landmark—the building once housed the departments of education and agriculture—into a luxury hotel. A honey-coloured jewel in a precinct awash with appealing sandstone facades, its crowning glory, literally, is the gleaming, four-storey glass addition that perches atop the structure like an architectural tiara.

SUITES
The Surrey, a Corinthia Hotel
New York City

After a full reimagining by Martin Brudnizki and its new operators, Malta-based Corinthia Hotels, this Upper East Side stalwart’s signature suites now include a quartet inspired by Central Park bridges. Mouldings nod to the structures’ architectural details, while hand-painted sketches inside the grandes armoires evoke the Ramble-adjacent Bow Bridge. 

RESTAURANT
Le Rooftop at Royal Mansour Casablanca
Morocco

Relax on the 23rd floor of this Art Deco-inflected skyscraper hotel and you’ll not only enjoy astonishing views over the water and toward the towering Hassan II Mosque, but you’ll also find yourself rubbing elbows with the coolest crowd in the city. Snag a sofa on the terrace before sundown and linger all evening. 

LOBBY
Peninsula London
England

Hong Kong’s Peninsula hotels are renowned for their fleet of high-end classic cars—a personal passion of billionaire owner Sir Michael Kadoorie. No wonder he struck a deal with Surrey’s Brooklands Museum for his latest opening in London: not only is the Claude Bosi-operated restaurant named in its honour, but the institution also makes available a rotating selection of outstanding vintage vehicles—most recently, a Bentley Blower and a Napier-Railton—for display in the eatery’s dedicated lobby, close to the Concorde nose installed overhead, sourced from Kadoorie’s personal collection.

BEACH CLUB
Borgo Santandrea
Italy

The dearth of standout beaches is the Amalfi Coast’s dirty secret, so this is a remarkable asset: walk down through the terraced, lemon-tree-filled gardens of this Gio Ponti-inspired hotel bolted to the steep cliffs by Conca dei Marini, and you’ll stumble upon its own beach club attached to the property. The restaurant sits in a renovated boathouse; feel free to snip some herbs from the mismatched pots filled with sage and basil.

SPA
Meritage Resort and Spa
Napa Valley

The naturally formed 2,044 m² Estate Cave, located 12 m underground, was already spectacular—its extensive menu of treatments includes both cave-stone massage and guided breathing and meditation sessions—but the $37 million rehab of this establishment thankfully doubled the size of the adults- only pool in front of Spa Terra. 

POOL
One&Only Za’abeel Dubai
UAE

This gravity-defying infinity pool, sitting atop the cantilevered link between the hotel’s two towers, has a clubby vibe, swim-up bars and sunken seating pods—and the fact that it’s Instagram catnip doesn’t hurt either. 

Photos by ADRIAN GAUT; BORGO SANTANDREA; PENINSULA LONDON; WILL PRYCE.

The logic behind staging a prestige automobile show on an island may, at face value, seem warped—history tells us that cars and water do not play nicely. The rationale twists further when said piece of land is a former shipyard that is, aesthetically, more workhorse ute than classic Ferrari. 

Scratch beneath the surface, however, and the decision to plant the Sydney Harbour Concours d’Elegance on Cockatoo Island for the second year running begins to make locational sense: the steel arch of the emblematic bridge acting as photogenic backcloth; the UNESCO World Heritage site’s previous guises as 19^th-century penal colony and eminent boat-building facility fleshing the show’s historical bones; the theatre of watching collectors delicately coaxing their four-wheeled artworks off a rusty roll-on/roll-off barge in the islet’s wharf before showtime. (After all, if owning a car in this stratosphere isn’t about projecting drama, then what’s the point?) 

Throw in an endless endowment of free Champagne for guests and VIP transport from the mainland via superyacht, and it barely matters that the three-day jamboree is, in the words of founder and curator James Nicholls, “a logistical nightmare”.

“People love the energy, the adventure” says the Anglo-Italian, a broadcaster, writer and photographer whose extensive resume includes various stints as a concours judge across the world. “There’s a great contrast between the luxurious motor cars and the industrial environment. The Turbine Shop [a timeworn, hanger-like space used to display the vehicles] is where ocean-going liners and propellers were built. People interested in cars are also interested in that kind of thing but it’s just a backdrop. Cars are the main focal point.”

The concours d’elegance concept (“concours” means “competition” in French) can be traced back to 17^th-century Paris, when aristocrats would flaunt horse-drawn carriages in local parks during summer months. Animals eventually gave way to automobiles, and the gatherings mutated into more organised contests in which these new-fangled contraptions were, in somewhat prescient fashion, judged solely on the appearance. The trend spread throughout European high society, before reaching America in 1950 with an inaugural pageant at Pebble Beach, California—a concours which has since evolved into a behemoth of the species, now billing itself as “the world’s most prestigious car show” and drawing 214 vehicles and spectators in the low five figures at the last annual meeting. Other concours are thriving globally, from spectacles in Lake Como in Italy (the longest running event, launched in 1929) to Udaipur in India. Vanity, it seems, remains in vogue.

Among this storied company, Sydney’s interpretation is playing catch-up. But Nicholls insists the local variant—launched in 2019, having occupied three other citywide locations—has no intention of locking horns with competitors. Not numerically, at least. 

“In 2024, we had 500 people over the three days; this year we’ll aim for 750. But we’re never going to become a 20,000-people show,” he says. “We want it to be bespoke and beautiful, so people don’t have to queue for a glass of Champagne. You can talk to the car owners, and everyone feels like a VIP.” The overarching aim is to become a “destination event” on the socialite calendar, on par with the Melbourne Cup or the Australian Grand Prix.

While keen to keep paying visitors guessing, Nicholls offers Robb Report a sneak peek into some of the 44 objets booked to occupy the coarse, exposed-brick viewing hall, ranging from turn-of-the-century rarities to modern-day exotics: a 1905 Eugène Brillié 20/24 HP Coupé Chauffeur, believed to be the only one of its ilk left; a 1955 Porsche Speedster 356 “Pre A”, examples of which are valued in excess of $750,000; a Lamborghini Miura 3400, a model famed for its starring role in the opening sequence to 1969’s The Italian Job movie; a 2021 Audi R8 Spyder, an iteration that is no longer being produced and thus quietly accruing kudos.

Up to seven “classes” will be open, including categories solely for Porsche Speedsters and pre-war Australian coachbuilt cars. Two 1930s Bugattis are slated for appearance, one of which is, as this article is being written, on a boat somewhere, on its way to Australia. A panel of seven judges, led by the first ever female concours head assessor, who also adjudicated in 2024, will select the overall “Best in Show” winner—scored last time out by a 1964 Ferrari 250 LM, a model line with a $24 million price tag attached. And in a progressive play designed to lure the oil-shunning generation, an “electric elegance” section will debut. Nicholls estimates the combined value of all this precious metal at around $80 million.

While it would provoke an illicit thrill to discover that frenzied super-collectors were slyly puncturing rivals’ tyres or keying priceless bodywork—skulduggery has plagued other pageants, from dog show Crufts (canine poisoning) to Miss World (rigging allegations)—the entrants are, in keeping with the show’s refined, English-garden-party profile—a gentlemanly bunch. To a point. “They like meeting up, the community that’s here, but they do get competitive,” says Mark Ussher, the Sydney Harbour Concours d’Elegance managing director, and on-the-ground organiser. “They care about their cars but they’re investors as well as collectors. If they win a concours anywhere around the world it adds value to the car.”

Which makes it doubly important that, surrounded by all that deep Harbour water, everyone remembers to put their handbrake on.

The Sydney Harbour Concours D’Elegance runs from February 28^th-March 2^nd 2025; sydneyharbourconcours.com.au

The third annual Citizen Kanebridge VHG Golf Open Day is happening again this year at Citizen Kanebridge Lodge in the Southern Highlands on Friday, February 21. Players will tee off from 8 am for a day of unrivalled bucolic hospitality in the spirit of friendly competition.

The Open unites forces with the operators of Mount Broughton in Sutton Forrest to stage the popular day, in which teams of four enter to enjoy 18 holes of unadulterated fun.

Players will meet at the clubhouse, where—golf aside—they will be served breakfast, lunch and liquid refreshments throughout the day before heading back to Citizen Kanebridge Lodge for a special dinner, fun awards ceremony and more drinks.

Located just 10 minutes from the Citizen Kanebridge Lodge in Berrima, the stunning Mount Broughton course gives players—male and female, and ranging from amateur to semi professional—the chance to compete in a golf day with plenty of high-jinks and food along with way.

Players break for a pop-up lunch, on site at Mount Broughton, presented by the chefs from Citizen Kanebridge Lodge before the day continues with nine holes after lunch.

The event is part of the new offering of Citizen Kanebridge, a private membership club based in Sydney. Citizen Kanebridge allows members to have access to the Robb Report Club(RR1) based in the United States of America, Citizen Kanebridge Lodge in the Southern Highlands of NSW, and The Royal Automobile Club of Australia (RACA) in Circular Quay, Sydney.

Members interested in Golf One Day, may enquire by reaching out to leanne@citizenkanebridge.com.au. For more information on Golf One day, you can download the information brochure here.

Love golf? jump to our golf connoisseurship package from the Spring 2024 issue of Robb Report ANZ.

The perfumer dips a tester into one of the tiny glass vials aligned on the desk in front of him. There are dozens of them, with labels identifying various dilutions of compounds such as methyl geranate, phenyl acetate, and akigalawood. He brings the paper to his nose and inhales. “Once in a while, I try to introduce my palette to new ingredients, to see if they’re interesting enough to create something with,” Francis Kurkdjian says. “Most of the time, they’re not.” With that, he tosses the strip into the trash.

To be a perfumer is to be a lifelong learner. Science advances, ingredients run out, regulations governing what you can use (or can’t) change. But Kurkdjian’s high standards and boundless curiosity have helped the 55-year-old become one of the industry’s best-known and most prolific noses, as those in the profession are often called. Since 2021, he has been Dior’s perfume creation director; before that, he cofounded his own house, Maison Francis Kurkdjian, and spent more than 25 years helping other companies articulate their olfactive identities. His hundreds of commissions—Jean-Paul Gaultier’s Le Male, Kenzo World, and Carven Pour Homme among them—have generated many millions of dollars for luxury’s leading lifestyle companies. Along the way, his increasing renown has helped bring perfumers from behind the scenes and into the spotlight.

“It’s a profitable business when you make a name for yourself, without a doubt,” says Robert Burke, CEO of luxury consultancy Taylor/Burke Communications. “In the past, brands oftentimes didn’t talk about who their perfumer was—it used to be a little more like a private label. Now, it’s a selling point.” And selling is the operative word. According to Statista, a sort of Google for market researchers, the global fragrance market will reach nearly $60 billion in revenue in 2024. Last year, LVMH reported that its perfumes and cosmetics division, of which Dior is the biggest player, moved over $8.2 billion worth of products.

In September, Kurkdjian will unveil his most significant project to date, and his first men’s fragrance for Dior: Sauvage Eau Forte. It’s a follow-up to Sauvage, a sensual and uncommonly long-lasting men’s eau de toilette designed in 2015 by Kurkdjian’s predecessor, François Demachy. And the stakes for this new flanker (the industry term for an iteration of a flagship scent) couldn’t be higher. Since 2022, the original Sauvage has been the world’s best-selling fragrance, men’s or women’s, surpassing even longtime champ Chanel No. 5. It’s estimated a bottle of Sauvage is sold every three seconds.

Still, selecting a fragrance is a deeply personal, even emotional, decision. Kurkdjian’s challenge was to make a big tent even bigger by offering a new—but not radically different—vision of something millions of men around the world already wear.

He started the project—where else?—at a desk covered in vials. Though a team of two associate perfumers works just down the hall from his office in Paris, one gets the sense that Kurkdjian prefers solitude. When I later ask one of his friends if Kurkdjian is shy or just French, they respond, “He’s shy. And French. Double whammy.”

But one-on-one, Kurkdjian is supremely self-assured, armed with the type of confidence you expect to see in a surgeon or first responder. “I don’t feel the pressure, to be honest, because I decided not to feel the pressure,” he says, in reference to the various demands of his role, including devising bestsellers, overseeing the other perfumers, managing Dior’s relationship with its flower growers in Grasse (the raw-materials capital of the French fragrance industry), and even training store associates how to express his ideas. “It’s not a job you can handle if you’re afraid, because fear is unproductive.”

Fortunately for Kurkdjian, he comes from brave stock. On both sides of his family are relatives who immigrated to France from the former Ottoman Empire early in the 20th century to avoid political persecution; his maternal great-grandmother and grandmother only narrowly escaped the Armenian genocide.

To instill a sense of pride in their heritage, Kurkdjian’s parents took him and his two siblings to the Armenian Cathedral of St. John the Baptist in Paris every week. He still attends regularly. “When I’m in my final box, that’s where I’ll go,” Kurkdjian says, with a slight smile at his own gallows humour.

But the family also put a premium on a French sense of personal style and savoir faire. He remembers his mother buying fabric used in past-season Chanel collections to make her own suits. It didn’t hurt that one of her best friends, Françoise, was a petite main who once made dresses in Dior’s couture atelier. After Kurkdjian’s mother died in 2013, Françoise, now 87, became a surrogate aunt—but she has long been a link to the man whose memory Kurkdjian is now tasked with upholding. Because she worked closely with Monsieur Dior himself, Kurkdjian still calls her “whenever I need to fact-check something.”

As a teenager, Kurkdjian stole spritzes of his father’s small selection of classic colognes, which included the fresh, citrusy Dior Eau Sauvage, released in 1966 and unrelated (in the olfactory sense) to the 2015 scent, as well as the suave, vanilla-forward Pour un Homme de Caron. His mother wore perfume in what was then a novel way: different scents for different occasions, seasons, and moods, instead of a single signature. “She was loyal to my father, but she was never loyal to perfumes,” Kurkdjian jokes.

At first, he thought he’d be a ballet dancer—“I wanted to be Nureyev,” he says—but he failed the rigorous entrance exam to the Paris Opera Ballet School. Then, for a time, he thought he could be a couturier, until he came to grips with the fact that he couldn’t draw.

When he was 14, he became fascinated with a collection of perfume samples his sister had put together. A few years later, Kurkdjian saw a magazine article about fragrances that sealed the deal. He remembers feeling jealous of the perfumers on the page and wanted to join their ranks. “I was choosing my life,” he says, before paraphrasing a quote from Jean-Paul Sartre: “‘Choosing not to choose is still choosing.’ And this is, like, almost tattooed in my brain. I don’t know if I always make good decisions, but I make decisions.”

In 1994, two years after Kurkdjian graduated from ISIPCA, a fragrance school in Versailles, the industry was dominated by a small handful of huge companies. Designers in need of new scents would send out requests for proposals, and perfumers would enter a knock-down, drag-out fight to win the bid. Thirty years later, not much has changed.

“They still make perfumers compete against each other, even within the same house,” says Dawn Goldworm, an olfactive expert who has been friends with Kurkdjian for over 20 years. “So at Firmenich, you have a lot of perfumers competing against each other on projects,” she explains, referring to the leading French firm, “but they’re also competing against perfumers at Givaudan, International Flavors & Fragrances, and Takasago. It doesn’t really create a collaborative spirit.”

A chance meeting with the executive who owned Jean-Paul Gaultier’s fragrance license would produce one of the industry’s most consequential partnerships. At the time, Kurkdjian was just 25 years old and had enrolled in a master’s degree program at Paris’s Institute of Luxury Marketing. Gaultier was soliciting bids from the major houses for a new men’s fragrance. His brief was to evoke the seductive side of clean sweat, something Kurkdjian later described as “the idea of sensuality where you want to practically bite into a man’s skin.” The exec gave him three weeks to submit a formula as a sort of training exercise; Kurkdjian had never designed a fragrance outside the classroom. He took the assignment anyway—and won.

His composition used lavender, mint, vanilla, and a hint of cumin to conjure the musky aroma the designer was after—and it beat designs from far more experienced perfumers. Housed in a torso-shaped bottle clad in a striped sailor motif (Gaultier’s idea), Le Male quickly became a sensation, notable for how different it was from other men’s scents on the market, which generally conformed to generic ideas about masculinity: You could smell either clean, like a fraternity pledge getting ready for Friday night (à la Davidoff’s Cool Water or Issey Miyake’s L’eau d’Issey Pour Homme), or powerful, in the vein of an old-money financier (think Creed’s Green Irish Tweed). Le Male was far more nuanced—a little sweet, a little floral, yet undeniably masculine. Released in 1995, it was perfectly positioned for the metrosexual trend of the late ’90s and early aughts, which heralded changing ideas about what it meant to be a man.

“It was a unique combination of the freshness of lavender with the warmth of the vanilla and amber in the base—it was very modern smelling,” says Sebastian Jara, a fragrance consultant in San Francisco. Though Kurkdjian’s initial formula has since spawned 55 flankers, Jara notes that people still wear the original. “It’s one of the icons of the perfume industry,” he says.

Le Male also made Kurkdjian an overnight star in his field. “Most perfumers at 25 don’t have the breadth or the facility to do a global bestseller,” Goldworm says. “Francis is an anomaly, because he’s just brilliant.”

But Kurkdjian learned early that success can come at a cost. In short order, a rumour went around Paris that his formula was selected only because he was sleeping with Gaultier.

“It was not true,” Kurkdjian clarifies, obviously still hurt by the accusation, even if it was partly based on a simple misunderstanding: “Jean-Paul had a boyfriend at the time whose name was the same as mine—Francis.” He believes the rumour stuck because “in France, people don’t like success. Success is always suspicious.”

Though he should have been on top of the world, he began avoiding industry events, socialising only with a tight circle of trusted friends. Even now, decades later and at the height of his powers, the lesson still lingers. Kurkdjian will go as far as to confirm that he’s gay, but he won’t divulge anything else about his romantic life to the press.

His work is another story, and Le Male opened the door to plenty of it. It helped him land a job as a perfumer for Quest, a Dutch-owned company later acquired by Givaudan, where he created a string of best-selling and critically acclaimed bottles: Elizabeth Arden’s Green Tea, in 1999; Lancôme’s Miracle Homme, in 2001; Narciso Rodriguez for Her, in 2003. He even devised two scents for Dior’s halo line of fragrances, La Collection Privée, in 2004.

It wasn’t just his early successes that made Kurkdjian stand out. Perfumers are a small community, by some estimates numbering as few as 200 professionals. “Many people use the analogy that there are more astronauts than perfumers,” says Linda G. Levy, president of the Fragrance Foundation, a New York-based trade group.

“There’s a stereotype of who [can be a perfumer], and perhaps a lack of welcoming into the industry,” she says. Though that has begun to change, when Kurkdjian’s star was on the rise, his peers were mostly straight, older men descended from families in or near Grasse whose members had made fragrances for generations. Kurkdjian was a young gay man with no connection to the industry, outperforming the other guys and making it look easy.

One factor has long leveled the playing field: Most perfumers aren’t widely credited for their work. It’s something that seemed unfair to Marc Chaya, a finance and strategy executive who was a partner at Ernst & Young in 2004, the year he met Kurkdjian at a birthday party for a mutual friend. “When I learned that he was the man behind some of these beautiful perfumes that I already had in my collection, I was very intrigued and surprised,” Chaya says.

They became fast friends, quickly learning they had a lot in common: They were both gay and wildly successful; Chaya, who’s Lebanese, saw overlaps in their families’ histories. And they were both hungry to work for themselves instead of making heaps of money for other people. “I guess we met at a time where we were both looking for something, and we found an answer in each other,” Chaya adds.

In 2009, the two formally became business partners, launching Maison Francis Kurkdjian, for which Chaya serves as CEO. From its inception, Chaya ensured Kurkdjian would receive credit for his compositions, because his name would be on every distinctively faceted bottle.

“We know fashion designers by their names, but we know fragrances by the name of the fragrance,” says Lana Todorovich, president and chief merchandising officer at Neiman Marcus, the first retailer to carry the maison’s fragrances in the United States. “They were both on a pretty significant mission to actually bring to light the incredible talent of perfumers.”

Chaya, who stayed with the company after LVMH acquired it in 2017, believes there’s still a way to go. “I’m not sure that many people know who Alberto Morillas is. I’m not sure that many people know who Calice Becker is, or who Jean-Claude Ellena is, or Christine Nagel,” he says, referring, respectively, to the creators of Calvin Klein’s CK One, Dior’s J’adore, Terre d’Hermès, and Jo Malone’s Wood Sage & Sea Salt. “It’s about time we respect what they’ve done.”

Kurkdjian has long compared what he does, especially for other brands, to being an actor. The briefs are like scripts, and exploring a new fragrance’s mood or avatar lets him step into identities he wouldn’t otherwise occupy—say, the modern London gentleman with a classic sense of style (Mr. Burberry) or the off-duty mogul just trying to put his workweek behind him (Armani Mania).

The job gives Kurkdjian a far bigger stage than he ever would have had as a ballet dancer. He calls leading Dior’s fragrance department the role of a lifetime—one he has been able to make entirely his own. “It’s not even work,” he insists.

Still, he takes pains to keep the businesses separate. Some of that is down to confidentiality, but other aspects stem from personal preference. Take flowers, for example. “I don’t put them so much at the forefront in my own house, but at Dior, they’re part of the founding act,” he says, referencing Christian Dior’s love of gardening and his practice of modeling dresses after various blooms. “They’re the DNA of the brand. So at Dior, I love working with flowers.”

He calls the Sauvage franchise “the story of lavender being the core flower of masculine perfume,” which he attributes to its use in traditional British shaving tonics. It’s the shared ingredient among all five iterations of the scent. (In addition to the fresh, citrusy, and woody original eau de toilette, François Demachy, Kurkdjian’s predecessor, made three more concentrated flankers that play up different elements of the flagship.) But if the original is smooth and urbane, Kurkdjian’s Sauvage Eau Forte is both fresher and more complex: a little green, a little peppery, with an earthy undercurrent like a warm breeze rolling through a desert oasis. Dior has leaned heavily into the imagery of water in its marketing for the scent, because Eau Forte uses water as its base instead of alcohol. The result—in addition to its opaque white appearance—is that the initial expression lasts longer than traditional scents, which tend to evolve over the course of the day.

During a span of about 10 months, Kurkdjian created 120 versions of the scent before arriving at the final formula. Though he won’t say which ingredients hit the cutting-room floor, the ultimate makeup includes a “cold spice” accord (it smells of elemi, cardamom, and black pepper), bleached lavender, and musky, woody notes. What he will say is that he rarely steps foot in the lab. He’s old-school, still writing out all his recipes with pencil and paper and handing them off to be mixed by one of his team. (“I am super lazy,” he admits. “And when you are lazy, you need efficiency, because you need things to run fast.”)

It’s one of several charming idiosyncrasies he has developed. He no longer drives because the traffic in Paris has gotten so bad that he can’t safely satisfy his need for speed. Every morning, instead, he’s driven to one of his two offices—Dior or Maison Francis Kurkdjian—around seven o’clock.

He hasn’t worn fragrances since he was in perfume school, where he was taught not to distract his nose from the formula in front of him. Occasionally, he’ll give scents he’s working on a test run or put something on for the odd party. Otherwise, his brain starts to work—and not in the good way. “Like, ‘Is that good enough? You should have done that. Why don’t you try this?’ So it’s not fun.”

He confirms the rumour that his nose is insured, though he won’t say for how much, which is one of many indications as to just how vital his role is to the bottom line. LVMH’s 2023 investor report lists four strategic priorities across its fragrance and beauty business. No. 2 is: “Focus on developing Parfums Christian Dior in harmony with couture.”

“I think it’s telling that that’s how important Christian Dior perfumes are in the entire portfolio of brands,” says Burke, the consultant. “For a brand like Dior, the fragrance category is absolutely key and a significant part of the business.”

So, yes, there’s serious money at stake. But despite the aggressive revenue targets, his ambitious schedule (he’s already working on fragrances for 2026), and the knowledge that thousands of people depend on his success, Kurkdjian tries not to take his work—or himself—too seriously.

“It’s important to put everything in perspective,” he says. “It’s just perfume. We’re not saving lives. We’re trying to make life even more beautiful.”

Scents of Occasion

Francis Kurkdjian is a firm believer in the olfactive wardrobe, the notion that you can be scented 24/7 for a range of moods and purposes. Here’s how five of his notable formulas square with what’s already in your closet.

The Wool Topcoat: Mr. Burberry Eau de Parfum

You might not wear this earthy, spice-laden fragrance year-round, but it’s an indispensable and versatile layer in the fall.

The Oxford-Cloth Button-Down: Maison Francis Kurkdjian Amyris Homme

Rosemary, cedar, and the titular Caribbean shrub combine to create an eau de toilette that’s as crisp and comforting as a clean white shirt.

The Peak-Lapel Tuxedo: Christian Dior La Collection Privée New Look 

Kurkdjian’s only Dior project without flowers is filled with soapy aldehydes, amber, and frankincense—the scent of masculine chic, bottled.

The Cashmere Crewneck: Maison Francis Kurkdjian Grand Soir

Soft, warm, and uniquely enveloping, this eau de parfum’s amber-vanilla accord has an alluring edge thanks to notes of resinous benzoin.

The Dressing Gown: Carven Pour Homme Eau de Toilette

A refined and relaxed blend of violet leaf, sandalwood, sage, and vetiver, codesigned with perfumer Patricia Choux.

Hero photo by Tiphaine Caro

It’s hard to say the word “vibe” five times in an hour without sounding partly comatose, yet somehow coveted new designer Giampiero Tagiaferri manages it. Behind his beaded necklaces and shiny black curls, he is a riddle of high sophistication and hometown modesty.

Tagliaferri, 41, is attached to some of the hottest projects in the world right now and he’s a man with plenty to “vibe” about. It’s thanks to artists like him that Italy has remained for centuries at the pinnacle of interior design and architecture. 

Deftly mixing modern interiors with historic design, his ventures are unexpected and emotionally complex. A riotous clash of colours and textures, his layered aesthetic mashes up eras and materials like he is designing the set of a film directed by Luca Guadagnino. But beyond his Prince Charming demeanour, Tagliaferri is bringing a sexiness back to architecture and design. 

“I love the ’70s aesthetic because it’s very sensual,” says Tagliaferri. “Back then, design was very experimental and there was a certain freedom or a feeling of being liberated.”

His knack of walking a tightrope between opulence and restraint has won him an illustrious fan base consisting of well-heeled Americans and Europeans who divide their time between the world’s most lavish playgrounds. “My work always tends to embody a tension between the two aspects of a quite formal aesthetic and a much more affordable or approachable set of materials or objects.” 

Humbly avoiding direct praise, Tagliaferri credits Milan for his stratospheric success, a city he says is embedded in his “DNA”. “Milan was bombed and so after the war it was completely rebuilt and I think that the modernism in Milan is what makes it so relevant today.” 

But Milan isn’t the only mood he’s playing with. Tagliaferri, who was born in Bergamo just north of Italy’s design capital, admits he has been seduced by the sense of space and sun in his adopted home of California, where he has lived for the past nine years. Each month he travels to Milan to oversee his European endeavours but chooses to live in Silver Lake, a spot where he can walk between his home and his studio.

The former creative director for Oliver Peoples—who took the brand’s global footprint from eight to 41 stores in six years—is now involved in some eye-watering projects, from palazzos in Venice to the new build of pop stars’ home in the Nevada desert. 

When we meet in on a sunny Venice day, he’s fresh from a site visit to oversee the re-fit of a 16th-century palazzo on the Grand Canal. He jumps off a wooden water taxi and lands on the side of the waterway dressed in a pale-blue linen suit. He shakes his black curls from his face like a breathtaking Medusa and gives a beaming white smile. “Allora.” 

The Venice building is just one in a clutch of exclusive projects that have been keeping Tagliaferri busy since he started his practice in 2022. Thanks to the Belgian serial entrepreneur Adrien Dewulf, who now serves as a partner in the business, he has studios in Los Angeles and Milan. He can barely keep up with demand.

The opening of the Oliver Peoples Milan flagship was a high point. The interior pays homage to the residential high style of Milanese apartments in the 1950s. Elegant wooden joinery, marble floors, grey stone and pale-blue walls are carefully offset by art and objects that build a visual narrative that’s nostalgic yet familiar. It was here that the owners of Minotti first saw Tagliaferri’s work and recruited him to design his first collection—an interesting choice for a serious manufacturer long led by the rationalist Italian architect Rodolfo Dordoni.

Less than 12 months after the first meeting, Tagliaferri unveiled his debut collection, Supermoon, at Milan Design Week, where people from all over the world stood in lines to see the series, which includes a seating system, outdoor setting, bed, desk, coffee and side tables. 

“With Minotti I wanted to design something that I felt was missing from their collection. Their collection is great, but it tends to be very serious. I wanted to create something that I could use in my own projects, something a little more playful, more rounded and more sensual.”

Minotti isn’t the only big Italian brand taking notice. His major new client Carolina Cucinelli—daughter of fashion designer Bruno Cucinelli—has also been drawn to his astute sensibility. She became friends with Tagliaferri after collaborating on an eyewear collection at Oliver Peoples. Now she’s tapped him to design the Los Angeles home she shares with her husband Alessio Piastrelli in Hollywood Hills as well as the Brunello Cucinelli offices and PR showroom in West Hollywood.

Extending his work for the Milanese restaurant group Sant Ambroeus, Tagliaferri’s use of fabric can be seen at their mountain cafe in Aspen. In a nod to mid-century Italian design, silk velvet upholstered Le Bambole chairs cosy up to two top tables while the floor is decked out with crazy pavers; the lustrous coffee bar plays with green marble and faux fur.

“I love the mix of vintage with modern,” says Tagliaferri. “I am not really into monochrome, and I am not a huge fan of patterns or prints, but I love fabric in general. I love the material aspect and how it can present a mix between the smooth and the rough. It can be plait-y, or fluffy, or have a low sheen. It brings in something that is a little bit magic.”

Perhaps it is this magic that has earned Tagliaferri so many fans after just two years in business. “Giampiero is a rock star,” says Tim Engelen, general manager of Australian interior design emporium dedece. “He’s a pirate. I was never a lover of fashion when it comes to furniture, but his collection is something new. It’s sexy and Minotti is brave.”

The new Prince Charming of design may be off to a fairytale start, but this magician is in firm command of the spells he is casting. 

Studio Giampiero Tagliaferri