How Perfumer Francis Kurkdjian Learned to Bottle the Zeitgeist
The vaunted French nose has spent 30 years devising best-selling fragrances for the world’s leading luxury brands. Can he work his magic reimagining the world’s best-selling fragrance, Dior Sauvage?
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
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Mauve on Up
Brisbane boutique stay Miss Midgley’s offers a viscerally human experience—especially if you dig pink.
On a sun-bleached corner of Brisbane’s New Farm, where the scent of frangipani mingles with the clink of coffee cups, stands a building that has lived more lives than most people. Once a premier’s residence, an orphanage, a hospital and a private school, the 160-year-old stone structure now finds itself reborn as Miss Midgley’s—a boutique stay that teaches a masterclass in how to make heritage feel modern.
Designed and run by architect-mother-daughter duo Lisa and Isabella White, Miss Midgley’s captures the cultural confidence of a city in bloom. Nowhere is that new confidence more visible than along James Street—the leafy, slow-burn heart of the city’s fashion and dining scene—where Miss Midgley’s sits quietly at the edge, its shell-pink façade glowing in the subtropical light.
Built of Brisbane’s rare volcanic tuff, the building’s soft mauves and pinks are more than aesthetic; they are its identity. Locals still remember its 1950s incarnation as the Pink Flats, and the Whites have honoured that legacy with a contemporary blush-toned exterior, chosen to harmonise with the stone’s peachy undertones. Inside, those hues continue in dusty terracottas, russets and the faint shimmer of brass tapware. “Design can’t afford to be for the sake of fashion,” Isabella White has said. “It has to respond to what’s in front of you.”
That sentiment is tangible in every corner. Five apartments, each with their own idiosyncratic floor plan, occupy the building. Ceilings bloom with heritage plasterwork, 19th-century wallpaper fragments have been preserved in the kitchens, and tiny hand-painted notes left by the architects point out original quirks: a misaligned beam here, a hidden archway there. It’s a kind of adult treasure hunt for design lovers, where discovery feels personal and unforced.
Even the picket fence, a heritage requirement, has been reimagined in corten steel—a sly nod to regulation turned into sculpture. It’s this blend of reverence and rebellion that gives Miss Midgley’s its edge: heritage without starch, nostalgia without sentimentality.
True to Brisbane’s easy elegance, luxury here is measured not in marble or minibar but in proportion, privacy, and personality. Each apartment—from the Drawing Room and the Assembly Hall to the Principal’s Office—is a self-contained sanctuary with its own kitchen, large bathroom and outdoor space. The ground-floor units open onto leafy courtyards and welcome small dogs; upstairs, the larger suites spill onto verandahs shaded by jacarandas.
At the heart of the property lies a solar-heated pool hemmed with tropical greenery and fringed umbrellas—more mid-century Palm Springs than colonial Brisbane. Around it, guests share a petite laundry, a communal library and that rarest of urban luxuries: a car park per apartment. The atmosphere is quietly collegiate—a handful of travellers who might nod to each other on the stairs but otherwise inhabit their own creative bubbles.
The hotel’s namesake, Annie Midgley, lends the project both its name and its spirit. An ambidextrous artist and teacher, she famously instructed two students at once, writing with both hands simultaneously—a fitting metaphor for the dual vision the Whites bring to the building: one hand rooted in history, the other sketching toward the future. “Not famous, yet known,” goes the property’s understated tagline—and indeed, Miss Midgley’s has quietly become that most desirable of addresses: the one whispered about by people who know.
Sustainability isn’t an accessory here; it’s structural. The adaptive reuse of the heritage building is its boldest environmental act. Solar panels power the property; an electric heat pump warms the pool; recycled decking and tiles frame the courtyard. The metre-thick tuff walls regulate temperature naturally, and the amenities follow suit—refillable bath products, biodegradable pods, Seljak blankets spun from textile off-cuts, and compendiums wrapped in Australian-made kangaroo leather. It’s slow luxury in the truest sense.
In a world of carbon-copy hotels, Miss Midgley’s feels deeply human—a place where history isn’t curated behind glass but lives in the warmth of stone and the flicker of afternoon light. The lesson it offers is simple and resonant: that the most elegant modernity often comes not from reinvention, but from listening to what’s already there.
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07/02/2026
My Brisbane…Monique Kawecki
The Queensland capital is carving its own distinctive take on Australian culture. Here, a clued-up local aesthete takes us around town.
It’s almost a given that all globally minded creatives will, at some juncture in their careers, choose a path that leads directly to one of the planet’s vital cultural hubs—metropolises with the cosmopolitan thrum of New York, the lofty elegance of Paris, the futuristic edge of Tokyo.
True to form, Monique Kawecki’s work odyssey transported her to the buzz of London for over a decade, but the editor and creative consultant now admits to “finding a balance” in Brisbane, using the Queensland capital as a base for generating international content. Together with her husband, industrial designer Alexander Lotersztain, she’s proud to call the fast-blooming city her home.
Driven by curiosity, Monique joins the dots between creative communities and helps bring visionary projects to life through her studio Champ Creative, a space she runs with her twin sister in Tokyo. Her work as co-founder and editorial director of Ala Champ Magazine, a print-turned-digital-media platform rooted in design, architecture and creative culture, allies thinkers and makers who are shaping the future.
EAT
Central
Step underground and you’ll find more than just a Hong Kong-inspired eatery. This vibrant enclave in the CBD is the vision of chef Benny Lam and young restaurateur David Flynn, combining an avant-garde space—designed by up-and-coming J.AR Office—with inventive Asian-fusion plates and a curated Chinese and Australian wine list. Every detail, from the menu to the disco-era soundscape, combines for a memorable experience.
Gerards
A restaurant that has long held its place among Brisbane’s primo venues, and its makeover by J.AR Office has confirmed it is a mainstay in the city. Rich, rammed-earth textures and sleek steel set the stage for the Levantine-inflected fare, where Queensland produce meets Middle Eastern tradition—all served on textured Sally Kerkin tableware that casts the eclectic dishes in an even more visually pleasing light.
DRINK
+81 Aizome Bar
Inspired by the hidden cocktail bars in Tokyo’s Ginza district, an intimate, indigo-hued 10-seater designed by Alexander Lotersztain. The dimly lit space presents drinks served over hand-cut Japanese ice and expertly crafted “neo cocktails” courtesy of mixologist Tony Huang. Champ Creative curated and sourced the artisan-made tableware and glassware from Japan, making sure the experience is as authentic as possible.
Bar Miette
Overlooking the Brisbane River, Australian chef Andrew McConnell has enlisted executive chef Jason Barratt to direct two of his standout dining ventures—this venue and Supernormal—on the waterfront at 443 Queen Street. Both offer stellar dining—the milk bun with mortadella and smoked maple syrup is simple yet sublime—but this is the spot to visit for a glass of wine accompanied by water vistas.
ART & CULTURE
QAGOMA
Together, the Queensland Art Gallery (QA) and Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA) form Australia’s largest modern and contemporary art gallery. Roosting on Brisbane’s South Bank, the establishment showcases exemplary art from Australia, Asia and the Pacific, and, as such, has become a firm favourite among both locals and tourists. By day, world-class exhibitions such as Danish artist Olafur Eliasson’s Presence—beginning December 6th—take centre stage; after dark, expect illuminated theatrics as GOMA permanently projects an intense, multi-hued James Turrell artwork onto its facade.
SHOP
BrownHaus
The experience of entering the luxurious, travertine-clad space is as beautiful as the creations the jewellery studio constructs. The culmination of founder Drew Brown’s 25 years of refining his craft, fine jewels and elevated everyday pieces for both men and women captivate your gaze, each example formed with the utmost intention and care. Moreover, Brown is redefining traditional artisanship and service in a new, modern way, ensuring the flagship store is accessible and exciting in equal measure.
James Street Precinct
For shopping, dining or even just perfecting the time-honoured art of people-watching, James Street is a one-stop hub where fashion, cinema, design and dining converge in Fortitude Valley. Wandering through the streets, discovering fresh, and established, ventures is a cinch. Restaurants sAme sAme and Biànca (from the team behind Agnes and the new Idle bakery) are hard to pass up; next door, be prepared to queue for a cone at Gelato Messina. A recent arrival to the zone is Heidi Middleton’s Artclub atelier, while Australian tailoring brand P. Johnson recently launched its new store, designed by the renowned Tamsin Johnson, across from The Calile hotel.
WELLNESS
The Bathhouse Albion
In Brisbane is home to multiple wellness centres in which one can work out or unwind, such as the five-floor, $80 million TotalFusion Platinum Newstead. This facility, designed by architectural practice Hogg & Lamb, presents a more serene, temple-like experience in the once-industrial Albion Fine Trades district, delivering a communal yet luxe bathhouse with spa, cold plunge, sauna, float, and steam room. With a separate area for hydration spruiking organic TeaGood loose-leaf teas, an hour session ensures a restorative reset.
DAY TRIP
Lady Elliot Island
Visiting one of the most pristine sections of the Great Barrier Reef in one day from Brisbane? Yes, it is indeed possible—and in style, too. With an early start from Redcliffe, around 40 minutes’ drive from the city, take a 90-minute flight to the 45-hectare island and then indulge in a glass-bottom boat viewing, an island tour, and a guided snorkel where you will swoon over mesmerising coral and other-worldly marine life. Lunch is included.
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Tropical Storm
Brisbane’s design-led renaissance is gathering momentum and redefining the city as a destination of distinction.
When it comes to the question of which Australian city can claim to be the country’s epicentre of cool, it’s always been a two-horse race between you-know-who. But challengers to the municipal hegemony do periodically raise their heads above the cultural parapet: Hobart has the world-class MONA in its corner; Perth flexes its white-sand beaches and direct flights to London; plucky Canberra enduringly punches above its weight, wielding a Pollock masterpiece or two at the National Gallery. Now, Brisbane— for decades ironically nicknamed “BrisVegas” as a jibe at its lack of places to see and be seen—is ready to assert itself as a serious contender to break the Sydney-Melbourne monopoly.
The Queensland capital is booming, buzzing and bougier than ever. In the past twelve months alone, Brisbane has seen the addition of $80 million ultra-luxe members’ wellness club TotalFusion Platinum, and earned a place on Condé Nast Traveller’s Hot List for hosting the second outpost of Andrew McConnell’s renowned restaurant Supernormal—both designed by Sydney-based multidisciplinary studio ACME. Since the latter’s opening, the upscale dining scene in the CBD—once steeped in starched white-tablecloth tradition—has come into its own with high-concept, slick and scene-y establishments you’ve likely already seen on Instagram.
Among them is Central, named Australia’s best-designed space at this year’s Interior Design Awards. The subterranean late-night dumpling-bar-meets-disco, designed by one-to-watch local firm J.AR Office, is bathed in bright white light and features a DJ booth built into the open, epicentral kitchen. A 10-minute walk along the river towards the Botanic Gardens reveals Golden Avenue, a buzzy collaboration between J.AR Office and Anyday, the Brisbane hospitality group behind some of the city’s most beloved restaurants of the last decade (Biànca, hôntô, sAme sAme, and Agnes). A skylit oasis where palm fronds cast slivers of shade over tiled tables laden with bowls of baba ganoush and clay pots of blistered prawns, the Middle Eastern-inspired eatery feels like Queensland’s answer to Morocco’s walled courtyard gardens.
That design-forward premises anchor much of the buzz around Brisbane’s new pulse points should come as no surprise. After all, this is an urban centre whose perception and personality were transformed in the 2010s by the brutalist breeze-block facades of the then-burgeoning James Street Precinct. Financed by local developers the Malouf family, and designed by Brisbane’s architecture power couple Adrian Spence and Ingrid Richards, the zone has become a desirable, nationally recognised address for flashy flagships and big-name boutiques (just ask Artclub’s Heidi Middleton and The New Trend’s Vanessa Spencer, who each unveiled plush piled-carpet stores along the strip in October).
But it wasn’t until the 2018 opening of The Calile Hotel that Brisbane truly shed its “big country town” image, staking its claim on the international stage. The Palm Springs-inflected urban resort—which, by now, surely needs no introduction—landed 12th in 2023’s inaugural World’s 50 Best Hotels ranking, ahead of Claridge’s and Raffles.
“That was really quite massive for the optics of what Brisbane has to offer the rest of Australia,” says Ty Simon, a born-and-bred Brisbanite and one of the four visionaries behind the Anyday group, along with his details-driven Milanese wife Bianca, executive chef Ben Williamson, and financial backer Frank Li. From that point on, the use of elite architects and designers became de rigueur across the enclave, weaving a sense of permanence into the local fabric. “We believe in what’s happening here,” says Marie-Louise Theile, creative director of the James Street Initiative and PR executive behind many of the city’s primo spots. “And we’re digging in.”
For in-demand Australian interior designer Tamsin Johnson, the mastermind behind some of James Street’s most carefully curated properties—including her husband Patrick Johnson’s P. Johnson Femme showroom, which opened in September—this momentum is “a wonderful thing”. Idle, Johnson’s August-launched first project with Anyday, is a prime example of what she calls a “contemporary sleekness” that feels intrinsic to the new mood taking hold in Brisbane. A modern-day answer to Milan’s 140-year-old gourmet emporium Peck, the site is a study in how mixed materials—glass, concrete, stainless steel and terrazzo—can create a sense of freshness with a 20th-century overtone.
It’s this dialogue between old and new, so intrinsic to Johnson’s work, that makes Brisbane such a compelling canvas for the Melbourne-born, Sydney-based creative. “I think Brisbane is striving hard for its own identity and voice in Australia, and it is clearly working,” she says. For Johnson, that evolution is also “a process of recognising what you have”, a nod to the strong bones the city has to work with and revisit. From the airy stilted Queenslanders to GOMA’s riverside glass pavilion and the subtropical modernism of Donovan Hill’s landmark C House, Brisbane’s design heritage is a quiet yet potent force, infused with what Johnson calls “the subtle memory of bucolic Australia”. Brisbane’s best contemporary architecture reflects what Richards and Spence described when designing The Calile as “a gentle brutalism”. It incorporates the style’s characteristic heaviness—concrete, rigid geometry and cavernous interiors—but, in response to the climate, does away with barriers between outside and in, and welcomes light, air and a feeling of weightlessness that creates spaces that feel open, relaxed and intimately connected to their surroundings.
Johnson will explore this language further in Anyday’s most ambitious venture yet: a four-level dining destination within the colonial-era Coal Board Building, just across from Golden Avenue. Its debut concept The French Exit—a wood-panelled brasserie with half-height curtains and a 2.00 am licence—is set to be unveiled by year’s end, ensuring the once-sleepy heart will beat well into the early hours.
Luring big names to lend the city their cool factor for one-off projects is one thing, but perhaps the most profound sign that Brisbane still bursts with promise is the fact that so many creative forces are choosing to stay, rather than take their talent elsewhere. “I never thought I’d still be in Brisbane,” laughs J.AR Office director Jared Webb, a local-for-life who started the firm in Fortitude Valley in 2022 after a decade spent working under Richards and Spence. “Trying to entice people to stay and see Brisbane as a city to live in, and to visit, is a big undertone of all our work on a much broader scale,” says Webb, whose designs rely heavily on steel, concrete and stone, both as a means to temper the tropical climate and evoke an aura of continuity he believes Brisbane’s built environment has lacked. (Once dubbed the demolition capital of Australia, the municipality lost more than 60 historic buildings during the ’70s and ’80s under former Queensland premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen, whose two-decade rule was recently revisited in a dramatised documentary available to stream on Stan).
Translating Brisbane’s current buzz into something lasting seems to weigh on the minds of many of the city’s creatives. Vince Alafaci, who forms one half of ACME with his partner Caroline Choker, shares this sentiment when reflecting on their design for Supernormal. “It’s about creating spaces that evolve with time, not ones that date,” he says. “We wanted every element to feel timeless—grounded, honest and enduring.” That pursuit of longevity is something Tamsin Johnson recognises, too: “It’s the people pushing for it that excite me the most. They’re committed,” she says, reflecting on the city’s creative ambition. “I think our designers, the most committed ones, want to leave landmarks and character, bucking against the trend of mundane, short-term and artless developments that all our capitals have experienced. And perhaps Brisbane is leading this mentality.”
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Holiday Gift Guide
The supreme Christmas wish-list awaits—maximum impact guaranteed.
Consider this your definitive shortcut to Christmas morning triumph. From museum-grade jewellery to objects of quiet obsession, this is a wish-list calibrated for maximum impact and minimal guesswork. Each piece in this round-up earns its place not through novelty, but through craft, heritage and that elusive quality collectors recognise instantly: desire with staying power. There are icons reimagined (Piaget’s Andy Warhol watch, a masterclass in pop-era permanence), feats of mechanical bravado (Jacob & Co.’s globe-trotting tourbillon), and indulgences that turn ritual into theatre—whether that’s a Hibiki 21 poured just so, or a Rolls-Royce picnic staged like a state occasion. Fashion, design, fragrance and fine drinking are all represented, but united by a single premise: these are gifts that signal intention. The kind that linger on the mantelpiece, wrist or memory long after the wrapping paper is cleared. The stocking at robbreport.com.au, as ever, is generously—and ingeniously—stuffed.
[main image, top] Tiffany & Co. Blue Book Collection Shell Green Tourmaline Brooch, POA; tiffany.com
Top Tip
Montegrappa limited edition 007 Special Issue fountain pen, $2,850, at The Independent Collective; theindependentcollective.com
Clear Winner
Alchemica ‘Transparent’ glass decanter, $1,000; artemest.com
Holding Court
Celine Halfmoon Soft Triomphe lambskin bag, $5,500; celine.com
Beauty and the Feast
Rolls-Royce picnic hamper, $59,676; rolls-roycemotorcars.com
Minutes of Fame
Piaget limited-edition Andy Warhol Watch Collage with 18-carat yellow gold caseback, $128,000; piaget.com
Fancy That
Graff High Jewellery fancy intense yellow oval, white oval and round diamond necklace, POA; kennedy.com.au
Momentos in Time
Christopher Boots Thalamos Keepsake trinket box, $859; christopherboots.com
Strapper’s Delight
Roger Vivier La Rose Vivier sandals in satin, $2,620; rogervivier.com
Sun Kings
Rimowa x Mykita Visor MR005 Aviator Sunshield, $940; rimowa.com
Take Your Best Shot
Hibiki 21 Year Old blended whisky, $1,399; kentstreetcellars.com.au
Making Perfect Scents
Creed Aventus, $559; creedperfume.com.au
Earth Hour
Jacob & Co. The World is Yours Dual Time Zone Tourbillon, $464,750; inspire@jacobandco.com.au
Glass Acts
Fferrone May coupe, $445 (set of two); spacefurniture.com
Fferrone May flute, $375 (set of two); spacefurniture.com
Worth the Wait
Masterson 2018 Shiraz. $1,000; available to order from the Peter Lehmann Cellar Door by calling (08) 8565 9555.
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Radek Sali’s Wellspring of Youth
The wellness entrepreneur on why longevity isn’t a luxury—yet—and how the science of living well became Australia’s next great export.
Australian wellness pioneer Radek Sali is bringing his bold vision for longevity and human performance to the Gold Coast this weekend with Wanderlust Wellspring—a two-day summit running 25-26 October 2025 at the RACV Royal Pines Resort in Benowa. Sali, former CEO of Swisse and now co-founder of the event and investment firm Light Warrior, has long been at the intersection of wellness, business and conscious purpose.
Wellspring promises a packed agenda of global thought leaders in biohacking and longevity, including Sydney-born Harvard researcher David Sinclair, resilience pioneer Wim Hof, performance innovator Dave Asprey and muscle-health expert Gabrielle Lyon. From immersive workshops to diagnostics, tech showcases, and movement classes, Sali aims to make longevity less a niche pursuit for the elite and more an accessible cultural shift for all. Robb Report ANZ recently interviewed him for our Longevity feature. Here is an edited version of the conversation.
You’ve helped bring Wellspring to life at a moment when longevity seems to be dominating the cultural conversation. What drew you personally to this space?
I’ve always been passionate about wellness, and the language and refinement around how we achieve it are improving every day. Twenty years ago, when I was CEO of Swisse, a conference like this wouldn’t have had traction. Today, people’s interest in health and their thirst for knowledge continue to expand. What excites me is that wellness has moved into the realm of entertainment—people want to feel better, and that’s something I’ve always been happy to deliver.
There are wellness retreats, biohacking clinics, medical conferences everywhere. What makes Wellspring different?
Accessibility. A wellness retreat can be exclusive, but Wellspring democratises the experience. Tickets start at just $79, with options up to $1,800 for a platinum weekend pass. That means anyone can learn from the latest thought leaders. Too often in this space, barriers are put up that limit who can benefit from the science of biohacking. We want Wellspring to be for everyone.
You’re not just an organiser, but also an investor and participant in this field. How do you reconcile passion with commercial opportunity?
Any investment I make has to have purpose. Helping people optimise their health has driven me for two decades. It’s satisfying not just as an investor but as an operator—it builds wonderful culture within organisations and makes a real difference to people’s lives. That’s the natural fit for me, and something I want to keep refining.
What signals do you look for in longevity ventures to separate lasting impact from passing fads?
A lot of what we’re seeing now are actually old ideas resurfacing, supported by deeper scientific research. My father was one of the first in conventional medicine to talk about diet causing disease and meditation supporting mental health back in the 1970s. He was dismissed at first, but decades later, his work was validated. That experience taught me to look for evidence-based practices that endure. Today, we’re at a point where great scientists and doctors can headline events like Wellspring—that’s a huge cultural shift.
Longevity now carries a certain cultural cachet—its own insider language and status markers. How important is that to moving the field forward?
Health is our most precious asset, and people have always boasted about their routines—whether it’s going to the gym, doing a detox, or training for a marathon. What’s different now is that longevity practices are gaining mainstream recognition. I see it as something to be proud of, and I want to democratise access so everyone can ride the biohacking wave.
But some argue that for the ultra-wealthy, peak health has become a kind of luxury asset—like a private jet or a competitive edge.
That’s short-sighted. Yes, there are extremes, but most biohacking methods are accessible and inexpensive. Look at the blue zones—their lifestyle practices aren’t costly, yet they lead to long, healthy lives. That’s essential knowledge we should be sharing widely, and Wellspring is designed to do that in an engaging way.
Community is often cited as a key factor in healthspan. How does Wellspring foster that?
Community is at the heart of it. Just as Okinawa thrives on social connection, we want Wellspring to be a regular gathering place where people uplift each other. Ideally, it would become as busy as a Live Nation schedule—but for health and wellness.
Do you worry longevity could deepen class divides?
Class divides exist, and health isn’t immune. But in Australia, we’re fortunate—democracy and a strong equalisation process help maintain quality of life for most. Proactive healthcare, like supplementation and lifestyle changes, isn’t expensive. In fact, it’s cheaper than a daily coffee. That’s why we’re one of the top five longest-living nations. The opportunity is to keep improving by making proactive health accessible to everyone.
Some longevity ventures are described as “hedge-fund moonshots.” Others, like Wellspring, seem grounded in time-tested approaches. Where do you stand?
There’s value in both, but I’m more interested in sensible, sustainable practices. Things like exercise, meditation, and community-driven activities are proven to extend life and improve wellbeing. Technology can support this, but we can’t lose sight of the human elements—connection, balance, and purpose.
Finally, what role can Australia—and Wellspring—play in shaping the global longevity conversation?
The fact that we can put on an event like Wellspring, attract world-leading talent, and already have commitments for future years says a lot. Australia is far away, but that hasn’t stopped great scientists and thinkers from coming. We’ll be here every year, contributing to the global conversation and, hopefully, helping more people extend their healthspan.
