From Ankara’s tarmac to Lisbon’s tiles, from London’s salads to Denver’s rewilded plaza, each vignette is a locus where global forces intersect with local practices. As the social theorist Saskia Sassen (2008) reminds us, globalization is always “embedded in specific territories” (p. 7). It is there—in the entanglements of culture, economy, and policy—that new forms of agency and resistance arise. Across the Monocle, Semafor and ArtNews newsletter snippets from June 5-8, 2025, a constellation of themes emerges: the performativity of power, the self as project in neoliberal consumption, the militarization of economic priorities, and the resilient poetics of everyday spaces.

The newsletter’s opening piece by Hannah Lucinda Smith on diplomacy examines the entourage as a performative display of power, contrasting the lavish retinues of Middle Eastern royals and Kim Jong-Un with the restrained approaches of Northern European leaders and the practical opulence of the U.S. president’s “Beast.” This spectacle resonates with Thorstein Veblen’s The Theory of the Leisure Class (1899), where he describes “conspicuous consumption” as a means for elites to signal status and authority through extravagant wastefulness (Veblen, 1899/2007, p. 49). Here, the entourage becomes a modern extension of this, projecting not just personal wealth but national clout.

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Culturally, these differences reflect Geert Hofstede’s power distance index, which measures how societies accept hierarchical disparities (Hofstede, 1980). High power distance in the Middle East and North Korea manifests in grandiose displays, while lower power distance in Northern Europe favors modesty, potentially risking perceptions of weakness. Erdoğan’s massive security detail in Turkey, clashing with economic woes, underscores a tension between image and reality, echoing Albert Camus’s observation in The Myth of Sisyphus: “A man is always a prey to his truths” (Camus, 1942/1991, p. 31). Erdoğan’s insistence on grandeur amid crisis suggests a truth he cannot escape—power must be seen to be believed—yet it alienates a populace weary of excess.

Economically, the millions of lira spent daily on Erdoğan’s entourage highlight a “guns versus butter” dilemma (Mankiw, 2014), where resources for prestige compete with civilian needs, potentially destabilizing social cohesion. This performative diplomacy invites philosophical reflection on authenticity versus artifice, a theme Dostoevsky explores in Notes from Underground: “Man is a frivolous and incongruous creature, and perhaps, like a chess player, loves the process of the game, not the end of it” (Dostoevsky, 1864/1993, p. 30). The game of entourages may thrill leaders, but its end—public discontent—looms large.

The contemporary diplomatic stage, as highlighted in the newsletter, has evolved into a theater of grand gestures and symbolic power plays, where the size of an entourage or the drama of a no-show can speak volumes. This era of “big-stage diplomacy” is not merely about appearances but is a calculated display of a nation’s financial health and a leader’s domestic authority. The practice is particularly pronounced in the Middle East, where large retinues are a norm, and even the United States, with its presidential motorcade and “The Beast,” partakes in this political showmanship. North Korea’s Kim Jong-Un has even emulated this display of grandeur.

However, this performance of power is a double-edged sword. For leaders in tax-conscious Northern Europe, a more modest approach is often preferred, though it risks being perceived as a sign of weakness. In Turkey, President Erdoğan’s extensive entourage, a cornerstone of his strongman image, has become a source of public anger amid a severe economic crisis. The daily cost of his security detail, reportedly millions of lira, starkly contrasts with the economic hardships faced by ordinary Turks, underscoring the idea that an entourage’s impressiveness is ultimately tethered to the nation’s economic reality. This sentiment is echoed in the case of Ukrainian President Zelensky, whose solitary arrival at a diplomatic event mirrored his understated sartorial choices, presenting a different kind of power—one rooted in austerity and focus.

This dynamic recalls the observations of Guy Debord in “The Society of the Spectacle,” where he argues that in modern societies, direct experience is replaced by representation. The diplomatic entourage, in this sense, is a spectacle—a curated image of power that can either reinforce or undermine a leader’s legitimacy depending on the economic and social context. As Debord (1967/1994) wrote, “In a world which really is topsy-turvy, the true is a moment of the false” (p. 12). The “truth” of a nation’s strength is thus momentarily staged, yet vulnerable to the underlying realities of its economy.

The political theatrics extend beyond entourages. Vladimir Putin’s decision to abstain from a planned meeting with Zelensky in Turkey served as a potent power move, keeping the world in suspense. This act of strategic absence can be more impactful than a physical presence, creating a vacuum of uncertainty that others are forced to navigate. It is a stark reminder that in the theater of international relations, the script is often unwritten, and the most powerful statements can be made through silence and non-participation.

Hannah Lucinda Smith’s piece on the size of diplomatic entourages highlights how statecraft increasingly relies on theatrical display. The retinue becomes a form of “soft power” (Nye, 2004), in which prestige is communicated through sheer numbers and material opulence. In the Middle East, where royal households parade a “gilded” procession (Smith, 2025), the entourage functions as both a domestic legitimizer and an international branding exercise. As Michel Foucault (1977) argues, power is always “a right of inspection” and of “hierarchical observation”—the motorcade thus becomes a mobile panopticon, asserting gaze and control (Foucault, 1977, pp. 170–171).

Echoes of Shakespeare’s Macbeth resonate when leaders stage their arrivals, invoking the pageantry of regality: “Life’s but a walking shadow” becomes “a motorcade on tarmac” (Shakespeare, ca. 1606/1994, p. 81). Yet beneath the glitter lies what Ulrich Beck (1992) would call a “risk society”: Erdoğan’s massive security detail may signal strength, but Turkey’s deepening economic crisis reveals the ultimately brittle foundations of performative power (Smith, 2025).

The global economic landscape is undergoing a significant transformation, as evidenced by the changing composition of Europe’s top stock index. The displacement of French luxury giant Kering by German weapons manufacturer Rheinmetall in the Euro Stoxx 50 is a telling sign of our times. This shift reflects a world where the once-reliable luxury market is faltering under the weight of economic headwinds and trade tariffs, while the defense industry is booming due to geopolitical instability. The war in Ukraine and the uncertainty of American strategic support have compelled European nations to ramp up their defense spending, benefiting companies like Rheinmetall, whose stock price has tripled since January. This trend is not isolated, as other aerospace and defense firms like Dassault Aviation and Leonardo are also seeing their valuations rise, while luxury titans like LVMH experience a decline.

This economic pivot towards militarization raises profound questions about societal priorities. While the demand for luxury goods often reflects aspirations for beauty and status, the surge in defense spending points to a more primal need for security in an increasingly volatile world. This shift can be viewed through the lens of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, where the foundational need for safety is superseding higher-level needs for esteem and self-actualization, at least at the level of national investment.

In contrast to this large-scale economic realignment, a more intimate shift is occurring in the daily lives of Londoners. The rise of upscale, canteen-style restaurants like Farmer J and The Salad Kitchen signals a rebellion against the “al desko” dining culture. For a few extra pounds, workers are opting for vibrant, healthy salads over uninspired sandwiches, investing in their lunch hour as an act of self-care and a rejection of the relentless pace of corporate life. The detailed backstories of the ingredients at places like Farmer J, where “every chickpea comes with a CV,” speaks to a desire for connection and meaning even in the mundane act of eating. This trend, while seemingly minor, reflects a broader societal yearning for well-being and a more mindful approach to daily routines. It is a small but significant act of reclaiming time and prioritizing personal health in a world that often demands constant productivity.

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Blake Matich’s report on London’s upscale canteen-style restaurants signals a cultural shift from “dining al desko” to communal, health-conscious lunch hours. This trend aligns with Ray Oldenburg’s concept of “third places”—spaces beyond home and work fostering community (Oldenburg, 1989, p. 20). Farmer J and The Salad Kitchen, with their vivid salads and backstories, elevate eating into an experience, reflecting Pine and Gilmore’s “experience economy,” where value lies in meaningful engagement over mere consumption (Pine & Gilmore, 1999, p. 12).

Socially, this revival suggests a reclaiming of time and well-being, countering the alienation of modern work life that Marx critiqued in Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844: “The worker feels himself only when he is not working” (Marx, 1844/1988, p. 74). Londoners’ investment in lunch hours reasserts human connection over productivity’s tyranny. Economically, the willingness to pay more for curated meals indicates a market shift toward quality and narrative, challenging the commodification of food.

In cultural terms, the “smug” health focus evokes Michel Foucault’s notion of biopower, where individuals self-regulate for societal ideals (Foucault, 1978/1990). The ponzu sesame broccoli’s imagined podcast humorously nods to this, suggesting a performative wellness that Kafka might recognize as absurdly bureaucratic, akin to The Trial’s labyrinthine systems (Kafka, 1925/1998). This snippet thus reveals a deeper quest for meaning in urban life, balancing indulgence and virtue.

The “canteen-style restaurants” of London articulate a new form of conspicuous consumption: salads and provenance stories replace the baguettes of mid-market chains. Pierre Bourdieu (1984) famously observed that taste “classifies and classifies the classifier” (p. 6)—here, midday diners signal membership in an emergent “culinary intelligentsia” by paying a premium for curatorial storytelling (“every chickpea comes with a CV,” Matich, 2025).

This trend resonates with Arjun Appadurai’s (1996) notion of “gastro-power,” whereby the global circulation of food transforms ingredients into signifiers of cosmopolitan identity (Appadurai, 1996, p. 38). Yet beneath the “rainbow salad” veneer lies a reenactment of neoliberal subjectivity: the self as project, segmented into meal-by-meal investments (Beck, 2000).

Simon Bouvier’s analysis of Rheinmetall displacing Kering in the Euro Stoxx 50 encapsulates a geopolitical-economic pivot from luxury to defense, driven by the Ukraine war and U.S. strategic uncertainty. This shift mirrors Michael Porter’s “Five Forces” model, where the threat of new entrants (defense firms) and buyer power (governments) reshape industries (Porter, 1979). The “guns versus butter” model again applies, as Europe prioritizes military spending over civilian goods (Mankiw, 2014, p. 234).

Culturally, the decline of luxury giants like Kering reflects a sobering of consumer excess, perhaps a retreat from Veblen’s conspicuous consumption as security trumps status. Economically, Rheinmetall’s tripling stock price versus Kering’s 30% drop illustrates how conflict reorients capital, a phenomenon Hannah Arendt might link to imperialism’s inevitable crises in The Origins of Totalitarianism: “Expansion is everything” (Arendt, 1951/1973, p. 125). Here, defense expands while luxury contracts.

Policy-wise, this realignment forces Europe to bolster local arms production, echoing realist theories of self-reliance in international relations (Waltz, 1979). Philosophically, it recalls Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra: “War and courage have done more great things than charity” (Nietzsche, 1883-1885/2006, p. 33), suggesting a grim valor in this economic turn, yet one shadowed by ethical costs.

Simon Bouvier’s report on Rheinmetall’s entry into the Euro Stoxx 50 at the expense of Kering underscores the shifting investment landscape. The surge in defense stocks reflects heightened geopolitical instability since 2022, while luxury groups face “headwinds” from trade tensions (Bouvier, 2025).

David Harvey’s (2001) analysis of “accumulation by dispossession” helps explain Europe’s arms buildup: public funds are redirected from social welfare to military procurement, dismembering prior Keynesian consensus (Harvey, 2001, pp. 123–124). Conversely, the decline of heritage luxury brands echoes Friedrich Nietzsche’s (1872/2003) lament in The Birth of Tragedy on the “dissolution of all norms,” as once-stable markets become battlegrounds of risk (Nietzsche, 1872/2003, p. 12).

Stefan de Vries’s piece on Geert Wilders’ exit from the Dutch coalition over asylum policy highlights the fragility of multiparty governance and populist volatility. This collapse aligns with Arend Lijphart’s consociational democracy, where diverse factions struggle to cohere (Lijphart, 1969). Wilders’ retreat reflects Samuel Huntington’s “Clash of Civilizations,” framing asylum as a cultural battleground (Huntington, 1996, p. 258).

Socially, Amsterdam-Oost’s indifference to Wilders’ rhetoric underscores a resilient multiculturalism, resisting what Edward Said termed “Orientalism”—the othering of outsiders (Said, 1978/2003). Economically, the coalition’s fall amid a Nato summit risks Dutch credibility, a policy failure akin to Machiavelli’s warning in The Prince: “He who abandons what is done for what ought to be done, learns his ruin” (Machiavelli, 1532/1998, p. 61).

Culturally, the barista’s blunt dismissal of Wilders as a “toddler” evokes a Dutch pragmatism that Camus might admire as absurdly defiant (Camus, 1942/1991). This snippet reveals a society navigating identity and stability, with Wilders’ outsider role echoing Dostoevsky’s underground man—railing against a world that moves on without him.

Stefan de Vries’s portrait of Amsterdam-Oost offers a case study in “everyday resilience” amid political tumult. Geert Wilders’s collapse of the Dutch coalition evokes Hannah Arendt’s (1958) caution that totalitarian rhetoric often falters against the “banality of everyday life” (Arendt, 1958, p. 323). In Javastraat, mid-morning coffees at minimalist cafés insulate locals from grandstanding politics.

The neighborhood’s “unperturbed” routine challenges Carl Schmitt’s (1932/2005) notion that politics is always about “friend and enemy” distinctions; here, the community absorbs chaos and quietly “sweeps up the pieces” (de Vries, 2025). This aligns with James C. Scott’s (2010) concept of “infra-politics,” in which subaltern groups resist through everyday acts of adaptation rather than open confrontation (Scott, 2010, p. 7).

The recent collapse of the Dutch coalition government, precipitated by the withdrawal of Geert Wilders’s populist Party for Freedom (PVV), offers a compelling case study of the complexities of contemporary European politics. Wilders’s decision to walk away after his demands for a restrictive asylum policy were rejected highlights the inherent instability of coalitions that include far-right parties. While the PVV enjoys considerable support outside of major urban centers, Wilders’s reputation for unreliability has made him a problematic coalition partner for mainstream Dutch politicians.

The reaction in Amsterdam-Oost, a multicultural and mixed-income district where the PVV has little support, was one of relief and weary resignation. The sentiment on Javastraat, a street that has evolved from a working-class area with Turkish and North African businesses to one that also includes trendy cafes, was that Wilders is a disruptive force whose rhetoric fails to resonate with the lived reality of a diverse and integrated community.

The situation in the Netherlands is emblematic of a broader European struggle to contend with the rise of populism. As Jan-Werner Müller (2016) argues in “What Is Populism?”, populists claim to represent the “one true people” against a corrupt elite and often seek to exclude those who do not fit their narrow definition of the nation. Wilders’s anti-immigration stance and his appeal to a specific segment of the Dutch electorate align with this model. However, the Dutch political system, with its tradition of coalition governments, has so far managed to contain the populist challenge, leading to what is likely to be another centrist, multiparty government.

The upcoming national election, the ninth this century, underscores the political fragmentation that has become a feature of many European democracies. Yet, the pragmatism of the Dutch people, who “just sigh, climb on their bicycles and carry on,” suggests a resilience and a commitment to maintaining a stable and inclusive society, even in the face of political turmoil. The “tepid relief” on Javastraat, however, also points to an awareness that the underlying issues that fuel populism have not disappeared, and the task of “sweeping up the pieces” will be an ongoing one.

The escalating trade tensions between the United States and China are having a significant impact on the technology sector, with both countries leveraging their economic power to achieve strategic goals. Chinese regulators are reportedly delaying the rollout of Apple’s artificial intelligence systems, which involve a partnership with Alibaba, while the U.S. has restricted the sale of chip-designing software to China. These moves are not just about economic competition; they are part of a broader geopolitical struggle for technological dominance.

The situation places multinational corporations in a precarious position, caught between the competing demands of the world’s two largest economies. Nvidia, for instance, has forecasted revenue losses due to U.S. chip export curbs. The personal relationship between leaders, or the lack thereof, further complicates matters. President Trump’s characterization of Chinese President Xi Jinping as “extremely hard to make a deal with” and China’s apparent reluctance to engage in a direct call suggest that a resolution is not imminent.

This dynamic is forcing other countries to reassess their own positions. South Korea’s new president, Lee Jae-myung, faces the immediate challenge of navigating trade talks with the U.S. before a tariff reprieve expires. Experts predict he may try to buy time and observe how other nations fare, while also potentially offering concessions on military spending and investment in American industries.

The broader implications of this “decoupling” of the U.S. and Chinese tech ecosystems are profound. As argued by Graham Allison in “Destined for War: Can America and China Escape Thucydides’s Trap?”, the rivalry between a rising power and an established one can often lead to conflict. While the current tensions are primarily economic and technological, they have the potential to escalate. The competition for AI supremacy, in particular, is seen by many as a key battleground of the 21st century. The newsletter notes that Chinese firms are making significant strides in developing autonomous AI agents, closing the gap with their U.S. counterparts. This race for technological superiority is not just about commercial advantage; it is also about shaping the future of global power and influence.

Fiona Wilson’s coverage of Orgatec Tokyo showcases an office culture embracing flexibility and well-being, from Kokuyo’s Ing Cloud to Muji’s cardboard office. This evolution ties to “activity-based working,” where design supports diverse tasks (Appel-Meulenbroek et al., 2011). The Office Nap armchair nods to Japan’s cultural acceptance of rest, contrasting Western productivity obsessions.

Economically, these innovations reflect a circular economy ethos, prioritizing sustainability (Ellen MacArthur Foundation, 2013). Socially, they counter alienation, offering what Heidegger might call “Being-in-the-world”—a space attuned to human existence (Heidegger, 1927/1962, p. 78). Culturally, the blend of bold and minimalist design mirrors Japan’s aesthetic duality, seen in Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle: “The world is a balance of contradictions” (Murakami, 1997/1998, p. 312).

Policy-wise, this shift suggests a response to remote work’s rise, reimagining offices as communal hubs—a pragmatic adaptation Kant might praise as reason shaping experience (Kant, 1781/1998).

At Orgatec Tokyo, office design is recast for “gamers and traders” alike, and Japanese companies unveil furniture that invites “office naps” (Wilson, 2025). This post-industrial office aesthetic resonates with Jane Jacobs’s (1961) advocacy for “mixed uses” and human-scaled environments (Jacobs, 1961, p. 224). Yet it also reflects Zygmunt Bauman’s (2000) “liquid modernity,” in which even workspace furnishings must be ready to “assemble and dismantle” at short notice (Bauman, 2000, p. 10).

Moreover, Muji’s all-cardboard office recalls Martin Heidegger’s (1971) meditation on the “thingness” of objects: a chair or wall is not merely functional but discloses the world it inhabits (Heidegger, 1971, p. 165). The “sliding-door” cardboard office becomes, then, an exercise in revealing the temporality of workspace itself.

Andrew Tuck’s feature on Terremoto’s Denver project emphasizes regional specificity in landscape architecture, echoing Jane Jacobs’s The Death and Life of Great American Cities: “Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, they are created by everybody” (Jacobs, 1961/1992, p. 238). David Godshall’s localism resists top-down uniformity, fostering biophilic design that integrates nature for well-being (Kellert & Wilson, 1993).

Socially, this rewilding offers urban respite, countering Simmel’s “metropolitan overload” (Simmel, 1903/1971). Economically, it balances private ownership with public access, a negotiation of space Arendt might see as vital to the public realm (Arendt, 1958/1998). Culturally, it reflects a yearning for rootedness, akin to García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude: “The secret of a good old age is nothing but a pact with solitude” (García Márquez, 1967/1970, p. 383)—here, solitude with nature.

Andrew Tuck’s profile of Terremoto illustrates a manifesto against the standardization of landscapes, advocating instead for regional “rewilding” in Denver (Tuck, 2025). Henri Lefebvre (1991) insisted that space is socially produced, and that abstract, “one-size-fits-all” designs alienate inhabitants (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 36).

Terremoto’s insistence on “homegrown talent” echoes Amartya Sen’s (1999) emphasis on local capabilities in development: just as poverty reduction succeeds only when communities claim agency, so too must landscape architects cede authority to regional ecologies (Sen, 1999, p. 60).

In Lisbon, Maria Ana Vasco Costa’s tile façades channel a centuries-old craft, even as urbanization threatens standardization (Newsletter, 2025). Walter Benjamin (1936/1968) argued in “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” that authenticity erodes when objects are mass-produced (Benjamin, 1936/1968, p. 219). Vasco Costa’s geometric reliefs reclaim aura through hand-made anomalies, resisting the “drowning in data” that William Kentridge (2008) warns accompanies globalization.

Her fear that Portugal’s “architectural identity” may be dulled by new construction runs parallel to Clifford Geertz’s (1973) notion that culture is a “web of significance” spun by local actors (Geertz, 1973, p. 5). When tiles become uniform, the story of place is lost.

The “etail updates” section traverses pop-up gelaterias in Forte dei Marmi, Melbourne’s Informale in London, and Dubai’s House of Prose—all instances of curated consumer “moments.” Guy Debord’s (1967/1994) Society of the Spectacle resonates here: these are not merely places to buy ice cream or books, but staged experiences that foreground image over substance (Debord, 1967/1994, p. 12).

Yet they also reveal the paradox of late capitalism: as consumers seek “authenticity,” brands manufacture it through provenance narratives. This relentless commodification of “the local” evokes David Harvey’s (1989) critique of capital’s tendency to “annihilate space by time” (Harvey, 1989, p. 240).

These snippets weave a narrative of a world in flux—diplomacy flaunts power, societies seek connection, economies pivot to survival, politics fracture, and design reimagines space. They resonate with philosophical tensions between authenticity and performance, community and isolation, progress and tradition. As Virginia Woolf wrote in To the Lighthouse, “The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark” (Woolf, 1927/1981, p. 161). This newsletter captures such illuminations, revealing a global tapestry rich with contradiction and possibility.

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[Written, Researched, and Edited by Pablo Markin. Some parts of the text have been produced with the aid of ChatGPT, OpenAI, Grok, X Corp, and Gemini, Google, Alphabet, tools (June 9, 2025). The featured image is generated in Canva (June 9, 2025).]

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