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?
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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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Six standout Australian galleries to know now.
Australia’s gallery scene is booming. More galleries than ever before are going on the road to participate in art fairs in scene that is rapidly maturing. Meet the passionate local owners from around Australia who are energising the creative milieu with the abstract, the edgy, the Indigenous and the generally astounding.
Hugo Michell Gallery
The district may not roll off the artistic tongue like Paris’s Montmartre or London’s Shoreditch, and yet the prim hedges of Adelaide’s Beulah Park suburb provide cover to a stealth powerhouse of the Australian contemporary art movement, tucked away in a charming, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it converted Victorian workers’ cottage. Since 2008, the Hugo Michell Gallery has unflappably carried the torch for established and emerging acts with equal fidelity, across a broad sweep of mediums from photography to printmaking, textile to ceramic. “We try not to get caught up in the hype and handle each artist we represent with the nuance required for promoting their work,” says Michell, currently counting 28 artists on his books. One notable on this year’s busy docket is Melbourne-based Richard Lewer, a social realist—already snapped up by the National Galleries of Australia and Victoria, no less—who for a month from April 10th will probe the uneasy relationship between crime, sport and religion. While comfortable in the skin of his homely suburban bolthole, Michell is not averse to braving the rigours of the Australian art fair circuit (“They’re a bit of a circus, but who doesn’t love a circus?) and often undertakes house visits to acquaint himself with the whims of new customers. “One of the things that gives me the most joy is building a collection for a client,” he says. “We have worked with for 16 years, tailoring and sourcing works for them.” More proof that you don’t need a headline location to generate the biggest stories.
hugomichellgallery.com
Cassandra Bird Gallery
The art sphere often challenges the myth that married partners should not become gallerists—see Iwan and Manuela Wirth of Hauser & Wirth fame, among other examples. And so it is that Cassandra Bird and husband Fabian Jentsch are rapidly cementing a reputation as one the Australian art scene’s supercouples with their 2023-acquired Potts Point space, an expansive four-level heritage terrace fizzing with congeniality, making visitors feel like they have popped to a friend’s (expertly curated) home for elevenses. Which is no great shock: the property doubles as the duo’s own home. Bird brings a wealth of experience, and a hefty contacts book, thanks to long, respected stints in the Big Apple and Berlin, and nine years at Sydney’s RoslynOxley9 Gallery; Jentsch, meanwhile, is an experienced artist, exhibition maker and set designer. “We try to enthuse people, get them excited as we are about those we work with,” says Bird. Meander across the property’s wooden floorboards—perhaps diverting for a chat in the communal courtyard that doubles as a social hub and ideas-exchange forum—and you will enter the realm of Perth-born graphic painter Jedda Daisy-Culley, who has a hallway and wall dedicated to her work; venture upstairs and deep dive into locally based experimental photographer Laura Moore; head into the basement and peruse the collective works the Tennant Creek Brio, out of Warumungu Country in the Northern Territory. All 24 of the gallery’s artists unite under the theme of timelessness. “We are into investigating quality and showing transformational and breakout work from artists,” says Jentsch. “The work we choose must have something that is strong value for us.” Here’s to the sanctity of marriage.
D’lan Contemporary
It speaks volumes for the international reach of Indigenous art that D’lan Contemporary opened an outpost in New York long before expanding the gallery beyond its Melbourne roots to set up shop in Sydney. Then again, founder and director D’lan Davidson is not afraid of expanding his frontiers as a means of hawking Australia’s most vital cultural outpourings; in 2016, he left the Sotheby’s Australia auction house, where he was ensconced as head of aboriginal art, to launch D’lan Contemporary as the go-to gallery for secondary market First Nations art; and he recently travelled to Maastricht in the Netherlands for the prestigious European Fine Arts Foundation Art Fair, promoting a series of Western Arnhem bark paintings and works by Paddy Bedford, Emily Kame Kngwarreye, Rover Thomas and other. Closer to home, Davidson has surrounded himself with a team brimming with the requisite Indigenous art smarts, including chief curator and gallery director Luke Scholes. From May 8th-July 4th, the Significant exhibition, a mainstay of the Melbourne gallery for the past ten years, will show across all three of D’lan Contemporary’s locations. “Our exhibitions and all our advocacy work seek to further support and develop the burgeoning global interest in Australian First Nations art and artists,” says Scholes. As if further proof were needed of its commitment, the gallery donates 30 percent of its profit back to artists and their communities. Bravo.
N.Smith Gallery
Enter Nick Smith’s compact office and you notice how the walls are studded by the artworks of those he represents; this is a man, you feel, who has a more intimate connection to his stable than the average gallery chief—an instinct confirmed upon discovering that he has invested his entire life savings into the Surry Hills space. When we meet, Smith’s whiteboard is teeming with collaborative projects, hinting heavily at the kind of edgy, thought-provoking artists that his outfit—comprised of five full-time staff—is renowned for nurturing. “It’s constant, but amazing,” says Smith in his typically reserved manner, more studious scientist than reengage gallerist. “I wanted to contribute to culture in my own way.” The gallery’s current ascension allays any empathetic fears of impending financial doom. This past February, Smith—who cut his teeth at Philip Bacon Galleries in Brisbane and Sydney’s Sullivan+Strumpf—collaborated with the Australian High Commission in India to represent Darrell Sibosado at India Art Fair ’25, and throughout the year will be partnering with the Sydney chapter of Soho House to host a series of private viewings and artist studio visits. Even so, he now splits his time equally between private and public projects, often mentoring artists at all stages of their creative journeys. “It’s that forward momentum. It’s that feeling of progressions and going somewhere that I love,” says Smith. Indeed, the only way is up.
Palas
It is hard—nay, almost impossible—to imagine Palas founders Tania Doropoulos and Matt Glenn frantically trying to scoop up whoever is flavour of the month on Sydney’s perennially shifting art circuit. Here are young gallery partners prone to a slower, more considered approach, instead recruiting a tight roster of internationally famed artists, and choosing to nurture relationships that have been years, sometime decades, in the making. Case in point: video performance maestro Shaun Gladwell, who represented Australia at the 2007 Venice Biennale (a 20-year affiliate), and Melbourne-based artist and noise-musician Marco Fusinato (15 years), who also flew the artistic green and gold at the same festival in 2022. Add to that list Canadian multi-media artist Tamara Henderson and Irish sculptor Eva Rothschild, currently working out of London, and it is clear Palas have a formidable roll call to lean on. “We’re investing a huge amount of time into their processes as art makers,” says Doropoulos. “And I think by extension, we’ve got really good working relationships with other galleries throughout the world.” For its founders, the Palas gallery—which opened in Sydney’s resolutely hipster Waterloo suburb just over a year ago with a silkscreen painting medley by the aforementioned Fusinato—is somewhat of a flag-planting endeavour on home soil: both earned a certain amount of their stripes overseas—Doropoulos as former artistic director of Frieze London and Frieze Studios, and Glenn at Sadie Coles HQ, also in the British capital. Australian art disciples will no doubt be praying for a long domestic residency.
Coma
If Sotiris Sotiriou’s consciously balanced ensemble of black Saint Laurent suit, single gold chain and flash of bare chest are anything to go by, the Coma gallery founder wields a sharp eye—a handy attribute to have when your career depends on identifying aesthetic clout, what hits and what doesn’t. From humble beginnings in 2016 in a subterranean road space next to Elvis Pizza on Sydney’s New South Head Road, his enterprise gradually flowered, first to East Sydney, then Chippendale, before fully blooming at his current space in up-and-coming Marrickville, in what was once a coffee factory. The predominantly light-industrial area has witnessed around half a dozen new gallery debuts in recent years, and Coma’s door-fling, filled as it was with hip young Inner West couples sourcing bold, ambitious art for their homes and offices, suggests Sotiriou has timed his arrival to perfection. February’s opening exhibition was hosted by Australian (but Santa Fe based) figurative painter Justin Williams, whose approach riffs on the folkloric traditions of Russian and Polish art, rich with symbolism and psychological details; this work forms a striking counterpoint to the abstract expressionism of other Sotiriou recruits, such as Zara June Williams and her partner Jack Lanagan Dunbar. The Coma head honcho, who had a spell selling to wealthy clients at Nanda Hobbs, says that private clients now make up most of his customer base. This year, as he prepares to attend three international art fairs, he estimates his artistic head count to increase by 30 percent. He can, no doubt, also point you in the direction of a fine tailor.
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The ten contenders for the Car of the Year were not the only dream machines on show. The first day’s adventure kicked off at the Langham Hotel and included a midday pit stop at the glorious Beechmont Estate, where our fleet of drivers were greeted by a stunning array of vintage cars exhibited in a concours d’elegance-style display.
The sumptuous feast for the eyes on offer at Beechmont, a quaint country village located between the Lamington Plateau and Tamborine Mountain, was followed by a meal for the ages prepared by executive chefs Chris and Alex Norman at the property’s hatted restaurant, The Paddock.
Then, itching to remount our steeds, it was time to hit the road again, with our drivers—all sporting Onitsuka Tiger’s new driving shoes—hightailing it to Brisbane and The Calile Hotel, a property which has been scooping accolades like Jay Leno collects supercars.
After some much needed relaxation by the pool, that evening the drivers and press were joined by local luminaries in the hotel’s private dining room. Over an extravagant banquet they got to compare notes on marvels of engineering and design that they’d had the chance to pilot all day. They were also treated to a showcase of spectacular Jacob & Co. timepieces and Hardy Brothers jewellery and an elegant sufficiency of 40-year Glenfiddich whiskey served in gold cups worth $60,000 a pop. It made for animated discussions and more than a little impromptu shopping.
And did we mention the luxury yacht experience? After a full itinerary of adventures on the road, the day ended with an invigorating late-afternoon of luxuriating aboard two new Riviera Yacht releases—the 6800 Sport Yacht and the 585 SUV—where our intrepid drivers and assorted press got to literally and figuratively take their hands off the wheel and make a case for their car of the year. As the forthcoming pages attest, they were more than spoiled for choice. But who would take centre stage on the winners’ podium?
OVERALL WINNER
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BEST LUXURY HYBRID
BEST PERFORMANCE SUPERCAR
BEST ROADSTER
BEST CAR DESIGN
BEST ELECTRIC PERFORMANCE CAR
BEST SUV
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Mercedes-Benz’s CEO Ola Källenius is expert at racing a nearly four-tonne truck across a frozen lake. Can he steer the marque’s EV-focused future as adeptly?
Ola Källenius is standing in a cold, bare workshop just south of the Arctic Circle in his native Sweden. A heavily disguised prototype of the new electric G-Class SUV—not yet launched when we meet—has just returned from high-speed, low-grip testing on tracks cut into the frozen lakes nearby and is being hoisted into the air on a hydraulic lift for inspection. As it drips meltwater onto the concrete floor, Källenius, CEO of the Mercedes-Benz Group, eats his lunch (today, a premade sandwich and a carton of juice) and speaks in fluent German to the mostly Austrian engineers who spend months in this bleak locale ensuring that the company’s new models can cope with the types of conditions in which vanishingly few customers will ever actually drive. They discuss the truck’s handling on ice and the progress of its test program. Källenius compliments them on the car’s dynamics—how stable it remained even at speed, how safe he felt driving it—and asks them how long they’re here.
“There are some harsh realities to this job, and to the car industry,” he tells me later. “But this is what I love doing: spending time with our designers, or driving with you on an ice-lake in Sweden, or talking to these engineers. I wanted to congratulate them on what they’ve achieved. We get to enjoy a nice couple of days here, but they’re here for a long time.”
At 193 cm, Källenius might tower over most of them physically, but there’s nothing in his demeanor that hints at the disparity in their corporate statuses. Nor is this the kind of place you’d expect to find the head of one of the world’s great luxury brands: a man paid roughly $22 million last year to lead the 166,000 employees of a company valued at around $75 billion, whose founder, Carl Benz, invented the motor car and whose genuinely iconic logo has graced the nose of everything from popemobiles and Lewis Hamilton’s Formula 1 racer to the most expensive automobile ever sold at auction. In a recent report, investment analysts Bernstein described Mercedes-Benz under Källenius’s reign as a “four-wheeled cash-generation machine”.
Courtesy of Mercedes-Benz
But the celebrated car marques are not like luxury brands that make watches or couture or accessories or Champagne. Look beyond the alluring badge and bodywork for a moment: the objects Mercedes-Benz and its rivals produce are insanely complex, ever-changing and hugely capital-intensive—and must succeed in an utterly cutthroat market. Their impact on the environment and the economy has always made them perennial hot-button issues politically. But the electrification of the automobile has put these companies in the geopolitical crosshairs like never before, as governments swap tariffs and risk a global trade war to ensure that they keep their respective shares of the car industry, even as it undergoes an unprecedented transformation.
And of course, the cars need to be remade, too. Add the impact of electrification to Källenius’s own manifesto for Mercedes-Benz, and this storied marque is likely to change more in the next decade than it did in the previous 138 years. “It’s a once-in-a-century transformation,” he says. “We are reinventing our original invention.”
So who is the guy steering Mercedes through this tumult? What’s his plan? And what cars will he give us? Källenius has sat for plenty of interviews in his five years as CEO (his second five-year term is set to conclude in 2029), but this is the first time that he has offered anything more. Robb Report was invited to spend the weekend with him in Arjeplog, the tiny northern-Swedish town whose population swells fourfold each winter as the global car industry descends to test its secret new models on the area’s frozen lakes. Spy photographers abound, but to reduce the chance of its future lineup being scooped, Mercedes rents its own private expanse of sheet ice from a local landowner. I watch Källenius as he test-drives the electric G at his empire’s oddest and most northerly outpost, meets local staff and records social-media footage. He drives some other, more secret new electric AMGs that I am definitely not allowed to see, whose debuts are much further off and which, when not on the ice, remain hidden beneath their heavy covers outside the workshop.
Courtesy of Mercedes-Benz
Källenius has a reputation for being fearsomely intelligent, rational and efficient, but also not the type of hyper-alpha asshole who too often comes to lead a carmaker. Over the weekend, I see that sharpness not just in the logic of his answers, but in the nuance of the English prose, as perfect as his German, in which he delivers them.
I’m not sure I’d want those piercing blue eyes and that high-wattage intellect turned on me in a meeting if I didn’t have my numbers straight, but his non-asshole character dominates. It comes through in the easy egalitarianism he displays with the engineers in the workshop, or how he notices and thanks waitstaff, or the way he’s enjoying a casual dinner and a beer with a long table of employees of all stripes when I first arrive at the unglamorous Silverhatten hotel where he’s staying—a glorified bunkhouse for the United Nations of engineers and test-drivers who flock here. This is clearly a leader who sees the obligations of his office as clearly as its privileges: an attitude underpinned by a natural Nordic modesty and reserve.
Courtesy of Mercedes-Benz
“I guess your personality is something that forms in younger years, and I’m not sure you can fundamentally change it,” he tells me over coffee one morning. “There is a Swedish core in the way I act, and maybe most Swedes are not kick-the-door-down types. I believe this should be true for anybody who is at Mercedes or has the privilege to lead Mercedes: We are custodians of that star for a brief moment. It’s my job to hand it over safe and in better condition. The person is not the brand.”
Perhaps not, but the brand will look very different by the time this person is done with it in 2029. And you can add loyalty to that list of his qualities: Källenius has never worked anywhere else, having joined Mercedes-Benz in 1993 straight out of the Stockholm School of Economics, where he founded an American football team called the Traders, for which he was captain of the offense. True to form, he studied tapes of the Chicago Bears and New England Patriots in order to write the team playbooks. At Mercedes, he was a finance guy at first; an early posting took him to Alabama, to help set up the Mercedes factory in Tuscaloosa, where he became—and remains—a Crimson Tide fan.
In 2003, at the age of just 34, he was put in charge of the Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren supercar project; two years later, he was given control of Mercedes-Benz High Performance Powertrains, the firm’s in-house Formula 1 engine-maker. After a year as vice president and CEO of Mercedes-Benz US International back in Tuscaloosa, he was recalled to Germany in 2010 to become vice president and managing director of AMG, Mercedes’s high-performance road-car division. Then came two board positions to prove his breadth of ability—sales and marketing, followed by research and development—before he ascended to the top job in 2019 at the age of 50.
The electric G-Class we’re about to drive together (now officially if awkwardly named the “G580 with EQ Technology”) is a neat encapsulation of many of the things Källenius has tried to do at Mercedes. First, it’s an EV, which fits his initial plan to make everything electric—“where market conditions allow”—by 2030. Second, it’s expensive, with a starting price in the US of $161,500 (around $257,000, though likely to cost more in Australia). Another critical if controversial part of his manifesto is to shift Mercedes upmarket; he spun off the truck business early and is currently in the process of dropping high-volume, low-margin models including the A- and B-Classes. And lastly, he wants new models to still feel like Mercedes vehicles, even if the design that underpins them is radically different from what came before. And the G-Wagen—with its gloriously anachronistic overengineering that you can feel and hear every time you clunk a door shut—epitomises the Mercedes ethos whether the vehicle is gas or electric.
Other new Mercedes EVs go much further in their innovation, gaining greater advantage from their electric drivetrains given that they were designed as EVs from the outset. They use Mercedes’s new MB.OS operating system with built-in AI and receive fresh design cues inside and out—not least the mad, vast, almost full-width hyperscreen user interface—rather than the same upright, rectilinear lines first sketched out to suit the needs of farmers and soldiers when the G-Class was introduced 45 years ago.
But as shorthand for old Merc meeting new, the electric G is perfect, and it’s pleasing to be driven in it by the CEO on whose watch it was conceived and executed. “Yes, this is an electric G,” he says as he drifts it across the glassy frozen lake, “but it’s 100 percent G. The most important box for any G-Class to tick is the Schöckl mountain in Austria, to earn that Schöckl-proven plaque they all have. I did five trips up and down it in the electric G in the autumn, and not only can it do the Schöckl, I felt it could do the Schöckl best of all.”
His stints at AMG, in Formula 1, and with McLaren have turned this “spreadsheet guy” into a skilled driver, though most Swedes seem to have the ability to safely slide a car on ice coded into their DNA. Even with the G sideways at around 110 km/h, a plume of snow and ice billowing high behind it, Källenius has enough spare mental-processing capacity to adjust the screen settings while telling a funny story about the very first time an electric G even crossed his mind.
He was at the Detroit Auto Show in 2018, when the company was first showing the revised G-Class. Arnold Schwarzenegger came to the unveiling and asked Källenius’s predecessor, Dieter Zetsche, if an electric version was in the cards. “Dr. Zetsche said, ‘Yes, of course,’ Källenius recalls. “I was head of R & D at the time, and one of my colleagues turned to me and said, ‘Do we even have an electric G in the plan?’ I said that I guessed we did now.”
Those less keen on electric cars than Arnie and Ola might be pleased by the fact that the ambition to be battery-only by 2030 has fizzled fast. Mercedes now predicts that EVs and plug-in hybrids will account for only half of its sales by the late 2020s, and the company is refreshing its range of gas engines to keep them relevant and selling deep into the 2030s. This is a systemic issue and no reflection on Mercedes products; Källenius has always averred “where market conditions allow”, and market conditions currently don’t. But the retreat is still slightly awkward.
Courtesy of Mercedes-Benz
“The early adopter phase is over,” he tells me. “Now we need to convince every customer. I think it would be a mistake to say, ‘Okay, electric is growing a bit slower, let’s sit back, wait, and not do anything.’ Because if you put product into the market that is so convincing that most customers go, ‘Yeah, maybe I didn’t have iPhone 1, but iPhone 4 looks pretty good,’ you can get very quick, even exponential growth. And if you were the one that said, ‘I’m not going to set sail here; let’s wait and see what the weather does,’ all the other boats would be out on the ocean, and you’d miss the race.”
But if buyers are going to be sold on EVs by the technology rather than by brand power, what does Mercedes’ 138 years of history count for? With customers attracted to new EV marques that are able to innovate unconstrained by precedent—and one of those brands having a market cap 7.5 times that of Mercedes, despite selling a few hundred thousand fewer cars per year—does heritage become a liability rather than an asset?
“We also do unconventional things,” Källenius insists. “With blow-your-mind–type features like the crazy hyperscreen in the EQS and the EQE, a lot of people are looking at Mercedes who perhaps didn’t look before. We are one of the biggest automotive sponsors in e-sports. Formula 1 is off the charts; 53 percent of F1 fans are between 15 and 35, and 37 percent are women. When we do crazy things like the G-Class collaborations with Moncler or the late Virgil Abloh, you go beyond the traditional auto crowd to one that buys from other luxury brands. My test is if one of my kids sends me a picture and goes, like, ‘Dad, what is this?’ I got their attention.”
I wonder how the former finance guy now handles running one of the world’s great luxury brands and to whom he looks for inspiration. He acknowledges that he meets with Bernard Arnault at LVMH and Jean- Frédéric Dufour at Rolex but is coy about the nature of their discussions.
“We also reach out to people in other luxury businesses to understand how they think,” Källenius notes. “I had the good fortune to meet Brunello Cucinelli, and he invited me down to Solomeo, the hamlet which he has helped to restore. It’s one of the most beautiful villages I’ve ever seen. I learned a lot about fabrics, quality, stealth luxury, sometimes not emphasising the brand so much. A fine gentleman like that has a very clear understanding of what luxury means in his business. We brought some secret new-vehicle designs to show him and to get his input.”
Courtesy of Mercedes-Benz
“Maybe you can’t compare a high-intensity, high-engineering, high-capital-investment good like a car to a piece of clothing,” he adds. “They are different businesses. But good chefs eat in each other’s restaurants even though they have a totally different style of cooking, just to see what the others are doing. But when you go back into your kitchen, you’re still the chef, and you put together the recipe.”
I sense a slight frustration from the hyperrational Swede—perhaps that he believes he has gotten the recipe right but has to wait a bit longer for diners’ tastes to catch up. In many cases, judged on any objective criteria, the new Mercedes EVs will be the best cars the company has ever made, including the electric G. The customers, though, are as busy trying to get their heads around this brave new world as the automotive CEOs are.
“This is definitely the most transformative decade since the inception of the company,” Källenius agrees. “But we’ve always done this. The Swabian engineers who founded Mercedes didn’t look at the horseshoe and think, ‘How do we make this lighter to make the horse run faster?’ They wanted to get the horse out of the equation and do something new. That attitude hasn’t changed. We’ve always looked through the windscreen, not in the mirror.”
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Men at Play
Two restless entrepreneurs build a Belizean island paradise especially for those “aha! moments”.
Though he’s supposed to be in what he calls his “play years” now, Knoxville-based real-estate entrepreneur Steve Hall still finds himself working on vacation. After a trip to Belize, he got the itch to build something new and started meeting with developers. Hall hit it off with David Keener, CEO and owner of Vision Properties, and together they acquired an isolated tract on Placencia Caye, a private island just five minutes by boat from the mainland.
After two and a half years of work, they’ve recently started welcoming guests to Prana Maya, a secluded, wellness-focused retreat that enjoys expansive views of the Caribbean Sea, the island’s lagoon and the Maya Mountains. “We designed everything to inspire people,” Hall says of the property. “Every aspect of the resort is intentional. Every service we offer is designed to create that ‘aha! moment’ that will rock someone’s world.”
The property includes seven three- and four-bedroom villas featuring locally carved wooden doors. The breezy, secluded structures are sited to prioritise views of the water, and each has its own plunge pool. Rooms at the Inn—a collection of 10 airy, light-filled suites—face the ocean. Each guest has an assigned butler, and every bed at the resort is fitted with a custom grounding mat, designed to replicate a connection with nature; some studies suggest they promote mental and physical well-being.
Belize’s tropical landscape is the catalyst for getting outdoors. Its unique saltwater flats give sport-fishing aficionados a bucket-list opportunity: catching what the International Game Fishing Association calls the Grand Slam—permit, tarpon and bonefish—all in one day. So Hall and Keener recruited High Adventure Company, a global outfitter with 30 years of guiding expertise, to take guests on exclusive angling excursions. The resort will also offer cave-tubing, jungle-trekking, zip-lining and diving trips.
Courtesy of Prana Maya
If you’re in search of less rugged activities, head to the spa and wellness centre. The design team placed it on prime real estate: the Inn’s top floor, which has 360-degree water views and 5 m ceilings. Here, you’ll find a yoga studio, five private treatment rooms and a sound-therapy space. You can also enjoy Prana Maya’s private beach, the only sandy stretch on the island that isn’t shared with another property.
At The Grill, the open-air restaurant, executive chef Liesel Kirste cooks with indigenous ingredients—many sourced from the resort’s four-hectare farm. The menu includes elevated fare such as locally caught lobster, grilled and served over fresh pasta. Even components of more casual dishes are made from scratch: at the Island Club—with its outdoor kitchen, lawn games and forthcoming palapa-shaded pickleball court—the ketchup and mayonnaise are made in-house. That gives the culinary team the flexibility to design a bespoke menu, upon request, to suit your nutritional needs.
Ultimately, Prana Maya is the expression of a million small details (down to the reef-safe spa products, curated by a Belizean supplier) and the location’s natural majesty. “When you get out to the island site, see the spectacular views of the Caribbean, turn another direction and see the beauty of the Maya Mountains, it is such an awesome and almost overwhelming feeling,” Hall says. One he is determined to share with everyone who visits.
Top image: Benedict Kim/Courtesy of Prana Maya
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How to Use Your Dress Watch to Nail Casual Style This Autumn
The dress watch is back and more laid-back than ever. Here’s how to rock your Cartier and Piaget pieces with casual looks
After the seemingly never-ending hype around steel sports watches, dress watches have been making a comeback. But it’s not just the average 42 mm dress watch that’s sparking interest (although, those too, are in the running), but also funky vintage diamond-accented timepieces or small-sized, almost feminine pieces are trending. Recently, actor Paul Mescal was spotted on the red carpet of the Annual Academy Museum Gala wearing a Cartier Tank Mini with his tux, while sports legend Dwyane Wade wore a 28 mm diamond Tiffany & Co. Eternity watch with his black tie ensemble to the same event. While these guys were wearing dress watches in their intended setting, here we show you how to make a dress watch work for casual weekend wear too.
Try dabbling in unexpected pairings like an army green Ghiaia safari jacket with a vintage Chopard Happy Diamonds timepiece or Breguet Classique Ref. 7147 (the ultimate dressy timekeeper) with a Louis Vuitton sweatsuit and a Brioni overcoat. Anything goes these days and the more unexpected the timepiece, the stronger the statement. It’s good news all around—for your wardrobe and your investments in the vault.
Above: Blancpain 39.7 mm Villeret Ultraplate in 18-karat red gold, $69,675; Tod’s faux-shearling and denim jacket, $5,6859; Tom Ford cashmere and silk turtleneck, $2,535.
PHOTOGRAPHED BY MATALLINA. WATCH EDITOR, PAIGE REDDINGER. FASHION DIRECTOR, ALEX BADIA. STYLE EDITOR, NAOMI ROUGEAU.
Jaeger-LeCoultre 40 mm Reverso One Duetto Jewellery in 18-karat pink gold and diamonds, $79,560. Right: Chopard 32 mm vintage Happy Diamonds in 18-karat white gold and diamonds, $19,930, analogshift.com; Ghiaia cotton safari jacket, $1,426; Eton cotton T-shirt, 358; Hermès denim trousers, $1,674.
Audemars Piguet 34 mm vintage automatic ultrathin watch in 18-karat white gold and diamonds, $9,300, classicwatchny.com. Right: Cartier 41.4 mm Tortue in platinum, $35,600, limited to 200; Gabriela Hearst hand-knit cashmere sweater, $2,500; Officine Générale cotton-poplin shirt, $315.
Breguet 40 mm Classique Ref. 7147 in 18-karat white gold, $37,468; Brioni wool and cashmere overcoat, $12,233, and silk knit crewneck sweater, $2,224; Louis Vuitton wool track pants, $2,120, and wool hooded jacket, $5,002. Right: Patek Philippe 39 mm Calatrava Ref. 6119R-001 in 18-karat rose gold, $52,791.
Piaget 45 mm Andy Warhol in 18-karat rose gold, $69,198. Right: Rolex 29 mm vintage King Midas Ref. 4342 in 18-karat yellow gold, $28,301, classicwatchny.com; Brunello Cucinelli denim shirt, $1,586; Tom Ford cotton chinos, $1,259; Berluti leather belt, $1,132.
Model: Arthur Sales
Grooming: Amanda Wilson
Senior market editor and casting: Luis Campuzano
Photo director: Irene Opezzo
Photo assistant: Alejandro Suarez
Prop stylist: Elizabeth Derwin
