Jakob Wirtz *Deadstock Fashion and 87 Metres of Possibility with (1/1)SAMPLE

87 Metres of Possibility with (1/1)SAMPLE

interview KLAAS HAMMER

What would fashion be without its countless young creatives who constantly turn new ideas, sustainable concepts, and extraordinary designs into reality, often with limited resources (money!). LE MILE spoke to one such young creative. Jakob Wirtz, a fashion student at „Hochschule Pforzheim“ currently in his fifth semester, has already completed an internship at Adidas in Herzogenaurach.He tells us what inspires him, where the name of his own label, (1/1)Sample, comes from and all about his latest collection.

(c) (1/1)SAMPLE

Klaas Hammer
What originally motivated you to study design, and what motivates you in your work today?

Jakob Wirtz
creating. I often set myself goals that scare me. I want to constantly evolve and push myself further. But in the end, it should always come back to a place where I feel comfortable and enjoy the process. Believing that the responsibility of introducing new fashion into today’s world should be approached with sensitivity, I think deeply beforehand about whether my work can live up to that responsibility, and then I give it everything I have.

What is the meaning behind the name of your brand?

A sample is an experiment, not something intended for sale. It is the first step an idea takes towards becoming reality. This is where you have to be brave, and where there is room to try things out. I like the perspective of also understanding the final garments of the brand as samples. Everything is a foundation for further development and something new that comes after it.

How would you describe your design (language) to someone discovering your work for the first time?

Simplicity and clarity are my top priorities. I strongly believe that the more general something is, the more personal it can become. I try to be creative within a very precisely defined framework set by the initial concept for a collection. My dream is to create something that a lot of different people can connect with. It doesn’t have to be the same connection. Creating inclusive access to fashion is a great challenge.

(c) (1/1)SAMPLE

(c) (1/1)SAMPLE

What was the starting point for your latest collection, and what idea or story do you want to convey through it?

A reality made entirely from a single fabric. The only individuality comes from the subject itself. Maximum minimalism. Minimalist maximalism. An attempt to find something exciting in between. The material we used is the entire remaining 87 meters of one of the worst-selling deadstock fabrics from a large deadstock company I have worked with. Together with them, I searched for a suitable fabric that many people would initially have considered ugly and undesirable. This fabric is used for the collection, the interior, and the set for the presentation. The set is designed based on the width of the fabric, meaning the fabric did not have to be cut and can be used in its entirety to produce the collection. Each piece has a label indicating the amount of fabric used to make it. I wanted to prove to myself that context alone can be enough to turn surplus into something limited.

Who are your fashion role models and your biggest sources of inspiration?

The list of fashion designers I admire is long, and there’s no one I would single out above the others. Fashion is so multifaceted that there isn’t anyone who excels in every discipline at the same time. It’s the diversity that truly brings beauty. I’m constantly discovering new fashion role models from whom I can learn something.

Inspiration literally comes from everywhere. Often, the greatest sources of inspiration are the impressions I get from real life. It can be anything. That’s why I try to always stay attentive and notice every little detail in the moment. I also share ideas with my friends, most of whom are creatives as well, and we work on them together.

(c) (1/1)SAMPLE

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creative direction + design JAKOB WIRTZ
set design FELIX STÖHR, JAKOB WIRTZ
commercial TIM KREISEL, SIMON BAKENECKER, JAKOB WIRTZ
lookbook TIM KREISEL, JAKOB WIRTZ
talent MARLON BOSSE TITUS PREIS
label SALMA SARAH BENAMAR, JAKOB WIRTZ
fabric FABRICHOUSE
special thanks to JOHN KURZ, FINN SCHÖN, HOCHSCHULE PFORZHEIM
fashion (1/1)SAMPLE

Fola Adeleke *Building Worlds Through Art, Culture and Memory

Fola Adeleke Makes Home Public

interview by SARA DOUEDARI

Fola Adeleke grew up learning early that the things that felt completely normal at home could look very different outside it. In East London, that meant Nigerian food, Yoruba, family functions, matching prints, gold and his mother’s gele existing alongside school, basketball and streetwear. Years later, those worlds meet again in his work. Adeleke builds images from memory, fashion, collage and digital tools, often returning to details he once tried to separate from his public self. What interests him now is the opposite. He wants African identity to occupy space without explanation, apology or adjustment, and to feel as natural in public as it does at home.

Fola Adeleke, Generations

Sara Douedari
How did you grow up in a Nigerian family in East London? What was home like?

Fola Adeleke
Home was, I believe, very cultured. I would say that about 80 per cent of the food in our fridge and cupboards was Nigerian. A fun fact I remember from growing up: I would see an ice cream container in the freezer and get really excited that there was ice cream at home. I’d get myself a plate, open it — and there would be soup inside. That kind of sums up how African the home was.

It was very cultured. The language my mother spoke to me and my siblings was Yoruba. The music was Nigerian. I think the main things that were really English were that we listened to hip-hop from an early age and watched UK television, from EastEnders to Neighbours and Home and Away. I think cereal was probably the most British thing we had. Beyond that, we had African home-cooked meals every single day. Whether it was lunch or dinner, it was always very Nigerian.

What traditions did your family keep alive?

We always ate together and prayed. That was something we always did. We also had our Saturday chores, which we all had to finish before breakfast. Mine was the bathroom. Once we had all collectively finished our chores, my mum would make what I would call an African breakfast — something really heavy — and we would eat together. While we were doing the chores, there was always music playing, usually Nigerian music. Even to this day, I don’t know which artists it was, but I remember it playing in the background.

Leaving the home, there was even more tradition. Saturdays were always a function. There was always someone’s birthday to go to, and there was always an outfit we were all meant to wear. My brother and I would, for some reason, always have the same thing on, even though we were four years apart. My mum always had an outfit that matched a bag — and she had several bags. I think she was a huge inspiration for what I do because she was the first powerful Black woman, or African woman, I saw. We followed her lead. It was a single-parent household, and I watched her just power through everything.

When did you first become aware of your cultural identity?

I think it was as early as school. I had an uncle who lived with us when I was really young, and he used to come and pick me up wearing open-toed brown sandals and a two-piece set of native clothing, always with prints, and a hat — the fila.

I used to be somewhat embarrassed because he was so different from everyone else who was picking up their kids. When he came to pick me up, I didn’t really want him to. I think I was around five at the time. That experience of being embarrassed by that difference made me aware that my culture was different from everyone else’s. Then, around the same time, my mum made me pack lunch for a school trip. It was beans with stew — quite a spicy stew — and plantain, which I loved at home. I never realised how different it was from what everyone else was going to bring. That was another embarrassing moment of being different. That was when I realised that my culture was different. At that time, there weren’t enough of us for that difference to feel positive. It often felt like we were somewhat alone in those spaces.

Fola Adeleke, Rich in Culture, Spirit and Presence

Fola Adeleke, Lagbaja

Did you ever feel caught between two cultures?

I would say I’ve always been caught between two cultures. Or at least I was. At this stage of my life, I blend both because I don’t believe I need to shape-shift to make anyone feel comfortable. I’ve come to understand that I don’t need to lower my tone, make myself smaller or adapt my culture to appease people or make them feel comfortable, because that’s not what the world is doing for anybody.

From a young age, I’ve always felt that anyone from Africa living in the Western world has to have a dual identity. It even shows in people’s names. Growing up, I knew a lot of people who were Oluwatosin or Oluwafemi, but all of a sudden one day their name was James or Peter. To me, that was them adapting and changing. I actually chose to shorten my own name because it was too hard and complicated for people to digest and say. I shortened it twice. Again, that was me being caught up in that, and I think a lot of people were caught up in it too.

I’m glad I never had an English name. I’m glad my mum never gave me one. But I think that can sometimes be an indication of families adapting to their surroundings so they can fit in rather than be seen as different. So, yes, I’ve always felt that way. But over the last few years, I’ve tried to blend both cultures because I should feel comfortable being who I am wherever I am.

What do you think the world still misunderstands about African culture?

There are so many things. I think the obvious one is the depiction of Africa that the Western world has created through adverts like Oxfam, showing areas of extreme poverty. There is extreme poverty in every country in the world. You can build a narrative that looks just as bad in any country where you see poverty. Maybe some places are more extreme, but that depiction of Africa is not the Africa that I know. Of course, there are places of poverty, but there are many more places of beauty, wealth and hardworking people across the whole continent.There is also this understanding that Africa needs help from everyone else. If we strip it back, Africa is extremely wealthy in minerals on its own. If it stood on its own two feet and was left alone by the colonial countries, I think Africa would be thriving amazingly.

On a lower level, people sometimes think we’re loud. I think we need to change that narrative. That loudness is actually confidence — extreme confidence in who we are. Africa is beautiful, and African culture is beautiful. There needs to be more said about the wealth and rich heritage of Africa. All of that is still misunderstood. And to link it back to my work, my biggest mission is to share the beautiful aspects of African culture and make sure they are seen. I actually believe the backbone of African culture is African women, and I need them to be seen in an amazing light. That’s my soul mission with the art I do.

Where does fashion enter that story?

For me, fashion has been around me before I even knew why I identified it as fashion. Every week, my mother, my siblings and I were off to another house party. Every week, my mother had another print, another gele, another outfit, matching shoes and a matching purse. I saw that all the time. But because, at a young age, there was no connection between African culture and coolness, there were these red threads of culture starting to bubble up in me without me really knowing. I created my own identity away from African culture. I played basketball. I travelled, represented England and travelled all over Europe playing basketball. That allowed me to see how different every culture was and made me curious from the age of 13. I travelled to Slovenia, Portugal, France, Italy, and eventually America.

I veered away from African culture through fashion, which is why I entered the realm of streetwear. But I think African culture was always close to my heart. It just took me away before it eventually brought me right back to where it all began, which is where I am now. I believe all of my pieces speak to different realms and practices. I see myself as a designer and a concept creator, and more so now as a composer — with art being the form of composition and storytelling.

I’m able to take one vision and put all of those things together to build a new world. I don’t think it was something I consciously meant to do. I just kept knocking on the door and scratching the surface until something started to form, which is what we see today. Every piece is more than the composition. It is aligned with storytelling that connects to my life, my fashion, my eye and my sense of composition.

When did you move from fashion into art?

That’s a good question. I don’t think I ever moved. By practice, I’m a designer. Art is a realm I’ve stepped into because I’ve created more and more concepts, and through creating those concepts, I started scratching the surface of an ongoing concept that has become a practice. Through that practice, art formed.I still consider myself a designer, an artist, a conceptual creator and a world builder. Sometimes I don’t feel worthy of the title artist because I still feel that I’m creating a world that exists. If I can create enough of that world, it will be seen from every angle, no matter what kind of collaboration it is. It will always be the same world.

I embarked on this journey about a year and a half ago. I had a conversation with a friend who told me, “I don’t know if you fit in the brief. You’ve given the client you were working for too much of who you are.” My thought was: the client came to me because they wanted my vision. That made me question what was better. Is it better to be a designer who can execute a brief, or is it better to be a designer who has refined his own ethos and aesthetic?

That one conversation led me to embark on my own vision wholeheartedly, without worrying about anyone’s opinion or trying to tread lightly to make people feel comfortable. That brought me to where I am today: storytelling from my own point of view through historical things, reference points, nostalgia, a conversational lens and world-building as a whole. So even though I am an artist, I believe there are lots of tiers to it. If anyone asked me what I am, I would say I’m a world builder.

What made you want to tell stories through images?

I think I have a lot to say. I have a lot in my mind. Part of my practice comes from my sporting background. I believe in reps. I believe that if you think something is the best idea, you need to do a hundred of them, and the best idea will come out at the hundredth one. So I’m trying to let out all of my ideas. And within letting those ideas out, I want conversations to happen. I feel like these conversations need to exist.

What I love about building stories through images is that I can show four different people and they can have four different conversations about the same work — about why something is the way it is. I remember creating a piece where one of my good friends said to me, “It doesn’t seem realistic because they look Nigerian but they’re wearing too much gold, and the amount of gold they’re wearing belongs to another culture.” I told him, “That’s fine.” We’re not trying to build a sense of reality. We’re trying to build something that intrinsically sparks conversation with people. There are a lot of conversations that need to happen in the creative space, and I believe I might be someone who can bridge that gap and help those conversations happen.

How would you describe your artistic language?

There are a number of words I would use to describe my artistic language: rich, African, proud and unapologetic. I would like to keep it as rich, loud and unapologetic.I think it’s very important not to be afraid to share your opinion and your point of view and to stand by it. It’s also important for me to share the beautiful aspects of Africa.

Fola Adeleke, Aunty Funke, Ola’s Mum & Uncle Dele

Your work combines photography, texture, graphics and digital composition. How do you build a piece?

I build a piece starting with storytelling. What is it I want to tell? What dots am I trying to bring together? In fashion, I normally come from a place of nostalgia. I think nostalgia is no different from sampling in music. That’s usually where I begin. Then I ask, what is the story I’m trying to tell? Once I can moodboard — which is similar to design, throwing a few images together to storyboard the idea — I build from there. I start collaging, bringing all my images together digitally through Photoshop and Illustrator, grading them, and then moving towards the accessories and prints I need as part of the story. Once I’ve done that, I try to blend everything using AI tools. My hope is that people see the composition and see beyond the image — that they see some of the storytelling. It doesn’t mean I need to scream from a rooftop what the story is about. If five people see the image and see something different, but it moves all of them and sparks a memory, then I’ve achieved something.

I remember creating an art piece about growing up. If you ask people, especially people who grew up in the 90s, where they would get their drink from at an African party, a lot of us would have to think because we couldn’t remember where we got our drinks from. But we actually got them from a bathtub full of ice. I created a piece with that memory in mind, and so many people commented and messaged me personally saying, “Wow, you’ve helped me unlock a memory I never knew existed because it’s been so long.” For me, it’s about sparking that nostalgia and building through all of those digital platforms.

Where does an artwork usually begin — an idea, a memory or something else?

For the most part, it’s a memory. Sometimes it’s a memory I didn’t actually live. Sometimes it’s an idea. I’m working on a piece that I haven’t quite finished yet. It’s taken me a long time to finish because it’s about the era when a lot of Africans moved to the Western world — America, New York, Houston, London — that first wave. What did that look like? That memory doesn’t exist for me because I was born first-generation. I didn’t have to come over and understand the difference.

I have a collection called Unapologetic, where some of the models and figures are wearing Western clothes, like grey-mile tracksuits, alongside head wraps and gold. They are so far removed from each other, but that must have been something that happened when people were merging cultures. They had just come from wearing what they wore in Africa — for me and my family, that would have been Nigeria — but at that point they would naturally have started mixing Western clothing with their native clothing. What did that look like? That comes from a memory I don’t possess. It comes from imagination. Some ideas come from memory, some from a futuristic ideology or a thought about how things could be, and others simply come from deep imagination and dreaming.

You also use AI in your process. Where does AI enter, and where does your own hand take over?

Similar to how I described my process, I build my work through collage and reference points, understanding design and composition. I build the structure and layout of the scene I want in order to strengthen the idea and message I’m putting together. It could be a seat at a table with a family of African royalty. I put that together through collage and research, understanding what kind of lighting I need, what scene needs to take place and what angle needs to be used to make it the strongest possible idea. Once I get to a good place, I use AI to blend the research and make everything more cohesive. Once I’m happy with that, I take it out of AI and go into a photo-grading process. That gives the image an overarching lighting mood and allows me to make sure the gold remains the statement piece — that the gold and the skin tone are married with the pattern, or that they have a significant centre-stage presence within the image. So AI is a secondary tool. After that secondary process, I step away from it again and find the grade that feels intrinsically like me.

Where do art, fashion and culture meet for you?

I think it’s interesting because they’ve always been married. They’ve always existed together, especially when your culture is rich in celebration. My culture is African culture, and African culture in general is so rich in celebration. Every moment of success — whether it’s a marriage, a birthday or a christening — is rich in ceremony and dressing. It’s a marriage. It’s something that is deeply rooted together.

Growing up, I never knew that watching my mother get changed and matching her gold with her outfits was a process. I didn’t think anything of it. But that was fashion. That was culture. And that was art. The fabric was art. The pattern was art. The composition of everything together was beyond art. It was a statement, and it was effortless. It didn’t feel like it was trying too hard. It just felt intrinsically African. I think that intersection has always existed. I’m trying to make people aware that it exists. I want the pieces I’m creating to make more African women want to wear their gele with denim on a regular day. Some of these pieces aren’t only for African functions. Some of them can become part of everyday life. That intersection has always existed. The question is whether we have been ready and confident enough to own it in a Western society. And I think this is the time. They have always been joined at the hip.

What kind of future do you want to help create through your work?

I want an abundance of my work to be displayed everywhere and used as reference points — for music videos, art, films, collaborations, anything — beyond simply being defined by my country or my nationality as a Nigerian. I want my art to make everyone feel comfortable being African. I’ve had messages from people saying, “Thank you. You make me proud to be Nigerian.”

I want this normality of fashion and art being intrinsically African to push people to be themselves outside of their homes. I don’t want people to feel that they have to change the second they leave their house. I would love for African people living in the Western world to feel confident enough to take their food into their corporate offices and warm it up in the microwave. I want to normalise African beauty and richness so that people don’t have to experience this huge difference between who they are inside their home and who they are outside of it. Because, at the end of the day, living like that is crippling. That’s part of the mission and why I want to show the beautiful aspects of Africa — because there are a lot of people who don’t know Africa looks as beautiful as I portray it to.

Fola Adeleke, African Elegance

Fola Adeleke, Husband and Wife

Xander Zhou on Fashion, Identity and Possibility

No Such Zone with Xander Zhou

interview with Xander Zhou
by Hannah Rose Prendergast

Ancient comes from the past or is packaged as the future.
Xander Zhou works here.
Not to resolve anything, but to establish a point of reference.

2026 SSAW XANDER ZHOU PRO SS26, All XANDER ZHOU PRO collection
/ (c) Xander Zhou

Pressure from reality, time, and my own doubt.

If a system stops responding to these pressures, it has already failed.

The body is an ongoing state of operation, not a destination.

It doesn’t belong to a fixed place or identity; it belongs to relationships as they unfold.
Thought forms through the body, and the body is continuously reshaped by thought.

Failure is not confrontation; it is knowing when to stop.

Ending what no longer holds is the most basic form of respect for both the system
and its development.

Some parts will always remain unlit.

Those unlit areas form the shadow.
They are not mistakes, nor something that needs to be eliminated; they are an inevitable
result of a system operating in reality.
I prefer to observe how the shadow shifts, and through that, reassess whether the structure
itself still holds.

2026 SSAW XANDER ZHOU PRO SS26, All XANDER ZHOU PRO collection
/ (c) Xander Zhou

2026 SSAW XANDER ZHOU PRO SS26, All XANDER ZHOU PRO collection
/ (c) Xander Zhou

Those who are willing to enter gradually take on its shape.

They are not being represented, but participating.
The work is not shaped by me alone; it forms through wearing, use, lived experience, and
new interpretations sparked by the images or concepts we put into the world.

Repetition often works like a cycle.

Sometimes it signals that a question has not yet completed its path; at other times it acts
as logic, emphasis, memory, or connection.
When conditions align again, certain structures naturally return into view.
These moments allow memories and images to be retested within new realities.

The materials that make me think differently create resistance.

It forces me to question whether I have become too comfortable with familiar design habits.
In this tension, a sense of freshness toward the unknown often leads to unexpected outcomes.

2026 SSAW XANDER ZHOU PRO SS26, All XANDER ZHOU PRO collection
/ (c) Xander Zhou

Without limitation, would gesture still carry meaning?

Gesture emerges through control, not as oppression but as a form of structural organization.
When the body is placed within limited space, when paths of movement are constrained,
gesture becomes necessary.
In a state of complete freedom, the body no longer needs to produce clear gestures.
Sometimes I ask myself: if one day consciousness could be uploaded, would we truly achieve
freedom?

The body is an ongoing state of operation, not a destination.

It doesn’t belong to a fixed place or a specific identity; it belongs to relationships as they are unfolding.
Thought forms through the body, and the body is continuously reshaped by thought.
Failure is not confrontation; it is knowing when to stop.
I let things fail when maintaining them goes against how they operate.
Ending what no longer holds is the most basic form of respect for both the system and its development.

It exists between order and reality.

In SSAW26, I focus on how formality, regulation, and identity are gradually losing their effectiveness.
We continue to act through these forms, but reality has already shifted.
The rift emerges in this misalignment: when structures keep functioning, yet can no longer truly
respond to the body, rhythm, or environment of the present.

2026 SSAW XANDER ZHOU PRO SS26, All XANDER ZHOU PRO collection
/ (c) Xander Zhou

2026 SSAW XANDER ZHOU PRO SS26, All XANDER ZHOU PRO collection
/ (c) Xander Zhou

Clarity does not come from the beginning.

It forms through continuous judgment, selection, reduction, and correction.
When unnecessary structures are removed, what truly works becomes visible.
Perhaps beneath every methodology, what ultimately matters is remaining honest with oneself
and the need to understand reality clearly.

“Possible” is a form of hope.

Real possibility does not come from unlimited choice, but from conditions that are still workable,
uncertain, yet full of the unknown.
As reality continues to shift, we need to preserve a belief in possibility.
It is not grand; it happens locally, within limits, perhaps moving closer to infinity
and maximum potential precisely because it is constrained.

2026 SSAW XANDER ZHOU PRO SS26, All XANDER ZHOU PRO collection
/ (c) Xander Zhou

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credits
header image: 2026 SSAW XANDER ZHOU PRO SS26, All XANDER ZHOU PRO collection / (c) Xander Zhou

Nhu Xuan Hua at Fotomuseum Winterthrur

Nhu Xuan Hua in the Afterlife of Images

written LE MILE

Nhu Xuan Hua works with images much like others work with language, carefully and intuitively, aware that every gesture carries the weight of memory. Born in 1989 and based in Paris, the French–Vietnamese artist moves between fashion photography and an increasingly expansive artistic practice that investigates inherited histories, diaspora, and the fragile architecture of remembrance.

Nhu Xuan Hua, Les oubliées, Archive from the year ’70, 2016-2021
(c) Nhu Xuan Hua, courtesy of the Galerie Anne-Laure Buffard

Her images often begin long before the shutter is pressed, as words, fragments of archives, gestures and symbols gather slowly until they form a constellation from which a photograph can emerge. In Hua’s work, memory appears as something unstable, a presence that returns, shifts, dissolves, and reappears in new forms.

Hua first became widely known through collaborations with international fashion houses such as Dior, Maison Margiela, Chanel and Gucci. Over the past years, her practice has moved steadily toward a more autonomous terrain where photography intersects with archives, mixed media, and conceptual storytelling. Her publication Tropism, Consequences of a Displaced Memory marked a pivotal moment. Built around photographs from her family albums, the project reflects on migration, distance and the ways history continues to echo across generations. Images become surfaces where personal memory and collective experience intersect.

This ongoing exploration now enters a new context in the exhibition One Another – Nhu Xuan Hua and the Collection of Fotomuseum Winterthur, where the artist’s work enters into dialogue with the museum’s photographic collection and expands toward broader questions of visual continuity, rupture and belonging.

Nhu Xuan Hua, Singer "How much love can be repeated?", 2020
(c) Nhu Xuan Hua, courtesy of the Galerie Anne-Laure Buffard

LE MILE
Memory appears as a driving force in your work; where does it first enter your process?

Nhu Xuan Hua
It is always lingering. I believe the foundation of creativity lies in memory and emotional experience, at least this is true for me. I trust my emotions to guide me. Remembering is both something we can summon and something that arrives unannounced. That duality is what I find beautiful. It is also what moves me. Creating, however, is different. The mind and the heart must allow a passage from the spirit into the physical world. There needs to be an opening.

Depending on the project, memory enters differently. For Tropism, Consequences of a Displaced Memory, I wanted to let things come toward me. I worked with instinct, intuition, and the unknown. It was almost a surrender. With commissioned work, the process shifts. When I am given a departure point (a new collection for a brand, the theme of a magazine issue) I find pleasure in digging into memory from that anchor. A starting point calls memories forward immediately. Then the work becomes excavation: connecting fragments, layering meanings, building dialogues that become more and more complex.

What stays unresolved for you when working with family archives?

It is an infinite, multilayered journey. I think many children of immigrants from my generation are trying to bridge an emotional distance, with our parents, our family history, our homeland. There is often a silence. Working with archives becomes a way to open a dialogue with what was never said. I have realised that even when bridges are built, they remain fragile. Communication can be restored, but there will always be new moments of loss, new quests to hold everything close. With time, I learned to accept this incompleteness. What shapes us is not the answers but it is the search itself.

Nhu Xuan Hua, Family portrait at the wedding, Archive from the year ’85, 2016-2021, (c) Nhu Xuan Hua, courtesy of the Galerie Anne-Laure Buffard

Nhu Xuan Hua, Swan, Archive from the year 2000, 2016-2021
(c) Nhu Xuan Hua, courtesy of the Galerie Anne-Laure Buffard

Tropism, Consequences of a Displaced Memory draws from inherited material; what responsibility do you feel toward images that predate your own authorship?

It was strange to learn to see these images as objects rather than as the people they represent. There is something almost violent in that shift. When communication is fractured, you invent other ways of speaking. In French, we distinguish between langue and langage. La langue is the shared tongue- a structured system we are supposed to master to understand one another. Le langage is expression: poetic language, the language of the body, the language of silence.

In my family, we never fully shared the same langue,French, Vietnamese, or French Sign Language. None of us completely mastered the same communication system, so clarity was always slightly out of reach. I chose poetry as my language, the language of the heart. Because it is a space where we can meet beyond grammar.
I will never alter the original archives. They belong to family albums carefully assembled by my grandparents on quiet afternoons when they were still alive. My responsibility is not to transform the originals, but to create a parallel language around them. To author the passage I build for myself.

Displacement runs through your practice as an emotional condition; how do you keep it present without illustrating it?

Repetition is essential. I feel like I am drawing a map from one exhibition to another, reusing symbols and gestures to anchor my family’s history, the way you carry certain objects with you each time you move houses. When you are displaced, what you keep becomes more revealing than what you leave behind.

Displacement also has something ghostly about it. A lingering presence. You do not need to see the details of a face to feel the weight of its gaze. I try to work with that sensation rather than illustrating displacement directly. It is a shared human experience. Loss is universal. You do not need to name it for it to take shape. The mind recognises familiar traces instinctively. Memory is something we all carry, it allows absence to remain present without being described.

How does the act of editing reshape the meaning of memory for you?

In Beloved, Toni Morrison speaks about the concept of “rememory”, an image that lingers beyond the boundaries of a single mind. A recollection. A re-membering, gathering the scattered pieces of a body so it can walk again. Editing reshapes that idea in my process. In Tropism, Consequences of a Displaced Memory, editing becomes a way to resist forgetfulness. It feels like an excavation a slow unveiling that perhaps only ends when every colour has been revealed. I see post-production as painting. There is a subject, a color palette, textures. You move from an undefined contour toward clarity. From blur into vision.

In your studio practice, what usually comes first? Is it image, gesture, or concept?

Usually, the concept comes first. Especially in commissioned work. I create constellations of words and images that I live with for a while. They circulate in chaos on paper, on my computer desktop, in my phone notes. I let them breathe before forcing structure onto them. Gradually, a framework emerges. Only then do I begin to think concretely about the photograph itself: the staging, the gesture, the image. The concept becomes a container where the image can exist.

Nhu Xuan Hua, Selfportrait

Your work often carries a dreamlike logic; how do you leave space for the unconscious to operate?

You have to be gentle with the world you create for yourself especially if it was born out of survival. For me, it is both a coping and a healing mechanism. It is rooted in observing my household. My father, who is orally deaf, carried his world through paintings and drawings. My mother built a perfect home for her family, that was her form of art. They both constructed illusions that made life more bearable.

In my own way, I created a similar theatre, where scripted plays meet reality. When you have to interpret language without the proper tools, you invent your own. If my grammar is not strong enough, then I expand my visual language to replace words. The unconscious enters through that expansion, through looseness, through trust, through allowing images to form before fully understanding them.

What changes for you when an image leaves the personal realm and enters public circulation?

When I was working primarily in fashion photography and commercial projects, the emotional involvement ended once the project was released. At the end of the day, the work promoted or sold something, it was ultimately a service. I infused my research into it, but only my creative team might have known the deeper layers. I did not have to speak about them publicly.

With exhibitions, everything changed. People come not only to see the work but to understand the thinking and the emotional process behind it. Releasing Tropism, Consequences of a Displaced Memory was a turning point. It revealed to me the lack of representation of stories from the Vietnamese diaspora. There was a public demand and a community demand, to see and hear these narratives. I felt it too. I was also in demand of it. It was overwhelming. I felt a sort of responsibility to carry a voice not only for children of Vietnamese immigrants in France, but for anyone who experienced displacement. Family archive images create immediate familiarity. They allow viewers to connect with something ordinary that has been elevated into something sacred. Something comforting. Like a hug.

When my work entered national collections and prestigious private collections, alongside exhibitions in institutional spaces, I felt immense gratitude. It felt like building a pantheon for my family, for ordinary people who endured so that we could arrive at this moment. When my gallery told me about my first national acquisition, I shared it with my family because they are the ones in those photographs. They answered: “You made us eternal.” Something felt sealed that day.

How did engaging with the collection at Fotomuseum Winterthur influence the way you thought about continuity and rupture?

At first, I approached the collection intuitively. I projected my intimate experiences onto it, searching for emotional dialogues. Through conversations with Alessandra Nappo, who curated the exhibition, I realised that shared experience often begins in the heart. Visual familiarity plays a crucial role in my practice, especially because visual interpretation shaped how I communicated with my parents.

I observe posture, gesture, the position of a body, whether human, animal, natural, or inanimate, and transfer meaning into it. Feeling a living presence in animals, nature, or objects is essential in this exhibition. It creates this bond I seek between all existing forms. How rupture, separation, displacement, disconnection, loss forces you to create a familiar environment in order to survive those catastrophes that life brings.

At this moment in your practice, what feels most urgent to protect from disappearance?

We are living through a moment where images can be generated endlessly. With the rise of AI, the boundaries between constructed, manipulated, and lived realities are becoming increasingly fluid. I am not against these tools, I believe they can expand vision, open new territories, and help us explore imagination in ways we could not before. But what feels urgent to protect is the emotional chaos at the origin of an image. An authentic image does not come from perfection. It comes from friction. From doubt. From memory that resists clarity. From vulnerability. From something unresolved. If AI becomes a tool that polishes everything into seamless surfaces, then we risk losing the trembling part, the hesitation, the fragility, that makes an artwork human. For me, truth in image-making is not about documentary purity. It is about emotional sincerity. About allowing the image to carry the weight of lived experience, even if that experience is fragmented, distorted, or dreamlike. Technology can assist vision, but it should not replace the internal necessity to create. What I want to protect is the space where imperfection, memory, and emotional disorder can still shape an image. Because that disorder is not a flaw it is the proof that a human being stood behind it. And that presence matters.

Nhu Xuan Hua, Untitled, Archive from the year ’72, 2016-2021
(c) Nhu Xuan Hua, courtesy of the Galerie Anne-Laure Buffard

Nhu Xuan Hua, Chen, 2016
(c) Nhu Xuan Hua, courtesy of the Galerie Anne-Laure Buffard

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One Another – Nhu Xuan Hua and the Collection of Fotomuseum Winterthur is on view at Fotomuseum Winterthur to 11 October 2026.

credits
header image: Nhu Xuan Hua, Home, Archive from the year ’72, 2016-2021
(c) Nhu Xuan Hua, courtesy of the Galerie Anne-Laure Buffard

The Personal Edit of Paula Viana *Copenhagen Fashion Week

#ThePersonalEdit

Paula Viana Opens HER Camera Roll From Copenhagen Fashion Week

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Paula Viana, aka @thebackstagetalks, opens her camera roll from Copenhagen Fashion Week, where days of shows, showroom visits and changing looks were mixed with friends, unexpected pauses and a little time away from the schedule.

As the voice behind The Backstage Talks, Viana has built her career around fashion communication, bringing an informed but accessible perspective to an industry she knows from the inside. More recently, she founded Spain Gallery, extending that work into a platform dedicated to connecting and promoting Spanish fashion and its creative community internationally. In Copenhagen, however, the commentary stays on her phone. From Collina Strada and showroom appointments to the outfits she wore, the people she spent the week with and the rainbow that sent her home, Viana shares the version of Fashion Week that existed around the shows.

Collina Strada Show

FW mood

Looks, looks and more looks.

Cool Kids in CPHFW

Levi´s House

Showroom visits every day

The FW where I´ve loved my looks the most (until next time).
Show Henri Viskov

Sharing is more

Heliot Emil party

That´s how Copenhagen said goodbye to us.

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all images
(c) Paula Viana

Loose Joints *Editing Photobooks, Materiality and Contemporary Photography

Editing the Language of Images at Loose Joints

written LE MILE

Around the world, photographers continue to return to the book as a place where images can gather, unfold and remain in conversation with one another over time. Within that landscape, Loose Joints has become one of the most attentive independent publishers shaping how contemporary photographic work enters the world as a physical object.

You Are What You Do by Daniel Arnold
Published by Loose Joints
© Daniel Arnold, 2025. Courtesy of Loose Joints

Founded in 2014 by Lewis Chaplin and Sarah Piegay Espenon, Loose Joints emerged during a moment of renewed energy around independent publishing, when new forms of self-publishing, book fairs and specialist bookshops began creating momentum around the photobook again. Rather than responding to a defined gap, the project grew organically from that atmosphere. The ambition was simple and precise, to publish the kinds of books the founders themselves wanted to see in the world and to work closely with artists whose practices demanded a carefully considered editorial form.

At the centre of Loose Joints lies a sustained conversation with artists, with each publication developing through an extended process that moves from editing and sequencing to design, production and distribution, all handled within the publishing house itself. This continuity allows the structure of the book to emerge slowly, with the pacing of images, the scale of the format and the tactile qualities of paper and binding becoming part of the work’s meaning.

The photobook becomes a space where visual thinking takes shape across pages. The rhythm of the sequence carries the reader through a field of images that gradually reveals its internal logic. Chaplin and Espenon reflect on that editorial process through a selection of recent titles: Roe Ethridge’s Rude in the Good Way, Hicham Benohoud’s The Classroom, Daniel Arnold’s You Are What You Do and Tealia Ellis Ritter’s The Model Family. Each project approaches identity, memory and authorship from a different angle while revealing the quiet intensity with which Loose Joints continues to shape contemporary photographic publishing.

The Model Family by Tealia Ellis Ritter
Published by Loose Joints
© Tealia Ellis Ritter, 2021. Courtesy of Loose Joints

LE MILE
Loose Joints was founded in 2014, at a moment when photography books were already abundant but attention was fragmenting. Looking back, what gap did you feel urgently needed to exist then, and how has that original intuition shifted over time?

Loose Joints
I wouldn’t describe 2014 as a moment of fragmentation in a negative sense. If anything, it was a moment of expansion. From around 2010 onwards, there was a significant resurgence of interest in independent photographic publishing — driven by new models of self-publishing, greater online accessibility, and a network of bookfairs and bookshops that created momentum around the format. Loose Joints emerged organically from that context. We didn’t start with a mission to fill a gap, but rather to make the kinds of books we wanted to see in the world by artists whose work wasn’t always finding a home in mainstream publishing. That early experimental impulse has remained central, but the scale and depth of what we do has grown with time.

What does independence actually mean on an editorial level, in the day-to-day decisions around selection, sequencing, scale, and pacing?


For us, editorial independence means being closely involved at every stage of the process. We rarely work with external editors or designers. Every book is the result of a direct and sustained conversation with the artist. Beyond the editorial side, we also handle our own production, distribution, fulfilment and press, which allows us to remain flexible and responsive. Independence isn’t just about content. It’s about being able to adapt and make decisions quickly and thoughtfully, from concept through to delivery.

The Classroom by Hicham Benohoud
Published by Loose Joints
© Hicham Benohoud. Courtesy of Loose Joints

The Classroom by Hicham Benohoud
Published by Loose Joints
© Hicham Benohoud. Courtesy of Loose Joints

What signals tell you that a body of work is ready to become a book rather than remain an exhibition, an archive, or a loose constellation of images?

We rarely approach books as translations of exhibitions. Most of what we publish has never been shown in a gallery context, and if it has, the book tends to take a different form entirely. We’re interested in work that feels like it belongs on the page, where the rhythm of the book adds something to the experience of the images. That often means the project has a certain internal coherence or narrative potential, but we also respond to a sense of urgency or necessity in the artist’s voice.

How do you balance editorial authorship with restraint, especially when the work touches on identity, politics, or intimacy?

It’s about building trust. Some projects require more input from us, others are already quite fully formed. But we always take time to understand the artist’s perspective and what they’re trying to communicate. When the subject matter is personal or political, our role is often to help create space for the work to speak clearly and with intention, without over-framing or reducing its complexity. That balance comes from knowing when to support and when to step back.

What does the book still offer that digital circulation cannot, particularly in relation to memory and authorship?

Books and digital platforms serve different purposes, and we see them as complementary rather than oppositional. We invest heavily in how our books are communicated online, through press materials, photography, video, and digital previews, because the majority of people will encounter the work that way. But the book remains a unique medium. It offers a structure, a rhythm, and a physical experience that can’t be replicated digitally. It allows for a sustained engagement with the work, and for many photographers, it remains the most meaningful and durable way of presenting their ideas.

The Classroom by Hicham Benohoud revisits work made decades ago but reads as sharply contemporary. What drew you to this project now, and how do you approach reactivating historical material without flattening its original context?

We had seen a small selection from The Classroom years earlier and were immediately struck by its visual language, a bold use of performance, politics and the body that felt surprisingly current. The work was created in the 1990s in Morocco by a self-taught photographer working with his students, using a darkroom he built next to the classroom. It was ahead of its time in many ways. For this new edition, we worked closely with Hicham to access the full archive of negatives, many of which had never been printed. Sarah Chaplin Espenon edited directly from the contact sheets, allowing us to revisit the material at its source and present a fuller, more nuanced reading of the work.

You Are What You Do by Daniel Arnold
Published by Loose Joints
© Daniel Arnold, 2025. Courtesy of Loose Joints

Daniel Arnold’s You Are What You Do draws from an immense archive of street photography. When editing a body of work drawn from such an immense archive, how do you decide what ultimately shapes the book?

Daniel’s working method is compulsive and nonlinear — he doesn’t build in series, so it was important to establish an internal logic that felt true to the work. Sarah and Daniel went through thousands of images, looking for visual threads and emotional contrasts that could shape the structure of the book. The aim was to reflect the depth and spontaneity of Daniel’s photography, while creating a form that gave the reader room to breathe. Compared to his earlier work, this book feels more reflective. it shows the full range of his practice, from the loud and absurd to the quiet and intimate.

How do you think about taste, desire, and discomfort when editing Rude in the Good Way by Roe Ethridge, where commercial, personal, and art photography intersect?

Rude in the Good Way began as a small idea — a fourth book to sit alongside Roe’s three earliest self-published titles, which we were reissuing as a set (In the Beginning). But over time it expanded into a standalone project, as Roe began exploring themes of sexuality and desire and we encouraged him to take this further. The editing process was about embracing the friction in his work — between polished and lo-fi, humour and vulnerability, image and intent. Roe’s practice is inherently layered, and this book allowed us to surface a different register within it.

The Model Family by Tealia Ellis Ritter deals with proximity, family, and long-term looking. How does editing change when the photographer is so deeply entangled with their subject, and when time itself becomes the main material?

Tealia’s work is emotionally complex: it’s about family, but it doesn’t romanticise. The photographs span decades and blend personal material with more inscrutable images, so part of the challenge was finding a structure that could reflect that fluidity. We deliberately avoided a chronological approach. The captions, placed along the bottom edge of the pages, create a kind of fractured timeline that shifts across generations. The aim was to build a book that reflects the instability and ambiguity of memory without simplifying the work’s emotional landscape.

The Model Family by Tealia Ellis Ritter
Published by Loose Joints
© Tealia Ellis Ritter, 2021. Courtesy of Loose Joints

Across these four books, identity appears as something unstable, negotiated, and often unresolved. How do you approach projects where identity is central but resists clear definition?

The projects we respond to tend to hold tension, or ambiguity, or complexity. In those cases, our role is to ensure the book holds space for those qualities without flattening them. That requires time and sensitivity — and often means spending extended periods with the artist to understand how the work relates to their broader practice and background.

Your books are immediately recognisable as objects, so how early do material decisions such as format, binding, or paper enter your process, and how closely are they tied to the psychological register of the work?

Those decisions are made early, often in parallel with the edit. We begin each project by thinking through its material and tactile qualities, as well as practical questions like scale, pricing, and durability. We design all our books ourselves, and for us, production is never a decorative layer, it’s an extension of the concept. The format, binding, and finish should all deepen the reader’s experience and reflect something essential about the work.

Many younger photographers look to independent publishers as cultural gatekeepers, so how do you remain open to new voices without reproducing a fixed aesthetic or house style?

We keep our submissions open, and over half our projects each year are initiated by us reaching out to artists whose work we’ve discovered or admired. We’re not interested in cultivating a house aesthetic. Our list is diverse by design, and what links the books we publish is a sense of urgency, clarity, and commitment. We look for work that feels essential to the artist, and for artists who see the book as a meaningful stage in the life of the work, not just a credential or endpoint.

Finally, when you imagine Loose Joints ten years from now, what do you hope will feel continuous, and what do you actively hope will have changed?

What I hope remains is the focus: a number of carefully developed projects each year, produced with care and rigour. We do not believe that growth is a sustainable model for both the world and for a publisher. What I’d like to see change is the level of structural support available to publishers. Production costs have risen dramatically in recent years — we’ve seen increases of over 40% since 2019 — and these increases create more reliance on outside funding to make books happen at the level and scope we set for our releases. Meanwhile, the wider photography ecosystem continues to lean heavily on independent publishers to support emerging voices and take creative risks and reveal the artists of tomorrow, often without commensurate funding. If that doesn’t shift, we’ll start losing the very publishers that play crucial roles in making the contemporary photography landscape as rich as it is.

Rude in the Good Way by Roe Ethridge
LuLu With Pink Bow Panties
Published by Loose Joints
© Roe Ethridge. Courtesy of Loose Joints

Rude in the Good Way by Roe Ethridge
Lindesey Lohan at a Gas Station in Miami for Interview Magazine
Published by Loose Joints
© Roe Ethridge. Courtesy of Loose Joints

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credits
header image: Rude in the Good Way by Roe Ethridge, Published by Loose Joints, ©Roe Ethridge, 2025. Courtesy of Loose Joints

The Personal Edit of Bass *Copenhagen Fashion Week

#ThePersonalEdit

Bass Opens His Camera Roll From Copenhagen Fashion Week

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Bass shares his camera roll from Copenhagen Fashion Week, taking us from the wait outside René’s show and showroom appointments to Henrik Vibskov and Paolina Russo — with a little time to sit down somewhere in between.

The Senegalese-born, Spain-based model and creative has built a world around fashion that extends well beyond getting dressed. Through his own platforms and projects, including TroubleMag and Barcelona creative collective Winner Circle, Bass has made style part of a wider conversation around culture, identity and creative independence. His Copenhagen pictures keep things much simpler. What he wore, where he went, the shows he wanted to see and the moments when Fashion Week briefly stopped being about fashion at all. This is CPHFW as it happened on his phone.

Waiting for René’s show.

Photos outside René’s show.

Showroom time

A little rest (needed)

At the Henrik Vibskov show.

At the Paolina Russo show.

A little rest pt 2.

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all images
(c) Bass

Dora Abodi *ABODI Transylvania and The Chronicles

As It Stands
The Chronicles of Dora Abodi

interview with DORA ABODI
story by HANNAH ROSE PRENDERGAST

ABODI Transylvania Wearable Art Collection: Chronicles 1

At the core of ABODI Transylvania is a world of stories.
Forms evolve, but the narratives endure.

My work has a literary dimension.
I create characters that inhabit each silhouette.

The Chronicles mirror the present.
Dracula embodies fear of the outsider and the cost of eternal youth.
Ancient gods represent natural forces we have lost touch with.

Antique hemp, handwoven fabrics, and vintage lace carry the passage of time.

ABODI Transylvania Wearable Art Collection: Chronicles 1

ABODI Transylvania Wearable Art Collection: Chronicles 1

The collection took a year and a half.
Two principal seamstresses and one pattern maker.
I sculpt the ceramic elements.

Wearable art is an autonomous object.
On the body, it transforms.

Elisabeth Báthory fascinates me.
She managed her own estates and was labelled a bloodthirsty monster.

When an idea feels right, I follow it, even if opinions differ.
I release only what I consider excellent, refusing to compromise on integrity.

Even the simplest garment, like a T-shirt, should be passed down through generations.

ABODI Transylvania Wearable Art Collection: Chronicles 1

ABODI Transylvania Wearable Art Collection: Chronicles 1

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ABODI Transylvania Wearble art collection Chronicles 1
creative director at ABODI Transylvania Dora Abodi
photograper Szilveszter Makó
talent Ursula Wångander

set design + illustrations Obsidian Lune
executive producer Siyan Chen
grooming Chiara Giangrossi
strategic consultant Peter Szurszabo

Tom Ducarouge *Industrial Design and Craftsmanship

Shaping the Future of Industrial Design with Tom Ducarouge

written + interview MELANIA MUSCI

Tom Ducarouge has shaped his creative identity between London and Paris. In the former, he began his studies and first approached the world of industrial design; in the latter, his birthplace, he returned to establish his own creative studio. Although several collaborations brought him back to London after his time at Central Saint Martins, Ducarouge found himself missing Paris’s decorative heritage. Those influences, combined with the professional network he had begun building in France before moving to London, became the springboard for a series of collaborations that positioned his name among the most notable in today’s international industrial design landscape.

stool design for GUCCI
/created by Tom Ducarouge

One of the defining traits of his work is the synergy between digital processes and craftsmanship. The world of craft and the stories it carries fascinates him more and more each day, pushing him to learn traditional techniques and explore how they can evolve to enhance the functionality of each object. Rimowa, On Running, New Balance, and many others are among the brands he has collaborated with so far, always managing to express his vision within each project. In a landscape where creating pieces for brand activations has become an increasingly compelling niche, Tom Ducarouge navigates it while remaining true to himself, designing pieces built to last.

portrait of Tom Ducarouge
/ photographed by Alfie Whiteman

Melania Musci
What sparked your initial interest in design, and what convinced you that this was the direction you wanted to pursue?

Tom Ducarouge
I trace my first real encounter with design back to the 2012 World Expo in Shanghai. It was the first time I understood how design could take shape within society. I remember being struck by the UK Pavilion designed by Thomas Heatherwick, a structure that combined thousands of seeds collected from around the world, each encased in optical fibers so that light passing through the building revealed them from within. It was an extraordinary fusion of architecture and design, and it remains one of my strongest memories of what creativity can achieve when supported by true technical mastery.

After that experience, I pursued a BA and then an MA in product and industrial design, which allowed me to explore the full spectrum of the discipline. Over time, I began to understand which direction within this world resonated most with me. Quite early, at the very beginning of my studies, I found myself naturally drawn toward design direction. Step by step, through specific installations and projects I encountered along the way, I reached the moment of clarity where I thought: this is exactly what I want to do.

After completing your studies in London, what ultimately drew you back to France? Was it a personal impulse, a professional opportunity, or something rooted in your creative identity?

Returning to France was, above all, a matter of identity. I grew up in Paris, and the city’s decorative heritage, its mouldings, parquet floors, and the way these classical elements can be reinterpreted through contemporary materials, has always been a strong source of inspiration for me. I’ve always felt a deeper connection to French decorative codes than to the British ones.
Paris was also where my personal and professional network was rooted. Even though our field increasingly operates across borders and new connections emerge in many cities, the community I felt most confident building my studio with was the one I already knew in France. Starting my practice in a place where I understood the ecosystem, and where people understood me, made the transition natural.
When I left London, I continued collaborating with the city for another year and a half through a project with Alexander McQueen, designing textile textures intended to support relaxation through breathing exercises. So I remained closely linked to London, and I still travel there often. I feel very connected to the city but my heart belongs to Paris.

What was the very first material you experimented with when you began designing? Do you still work with it today, or has your practice gradually shifted toward different material territories?

The first material I ever worked with was wood. It’s the most accessible starting point for any designer, because most workshops are equipped for woodworking, and it teaches the fundamentals: how to assemble and how to understand structure. At Central Saint Martins I spent a great deal of time in the wood workshop, learning those basics.
When I began working professionally, however, I shifted toward metal. It offered greater efficiency, shorter production times, and a level of strength and precision that allowed me to deliver projects within budget and with the clean finish I wanted. Wood is beautiful, but it’s more expensive and requires more time to handle properly. Metal became the practical solution, especially once I found an excellent workshop in France that I still collaborate with today.

Metal remains central to my practice, but over time our material palette has expanded. At my studio we now work with stone, glass, coloured glass, mirrors, and of course wood as well. Different materials coexist in our practice, each chosen for what it can express within a given project.

Amel Bench
/created by Tom Ducarouge + photographed by Charles Michalet

Amel Bench
/created by Tom Ducarouge + photographed by Charles Michalet

Your practice blends digital tools and handcraft in a remarkably fluid way. Digital processes come naturally to someone of your generation, but what about craftsmanship? Was it something passed down to you by someone, or did you seek it out independently?

For me, craftsmanship has always been tied to a love of learning. When I was a child, my favorite subject at school was history, because every day brought a new story. Working with craftsmen feels very similar: each encounter reveals a new story about a material or a technique that discovery process is what I enjoy most.

Industrial manufacturing is efficient, rational, and fast, and as professionals we rely on that. But I’ve always valued maintaining a balance between industry and craft. Taking the time to understand how things are made, meeting the people behind the techniques, and learning from them is a fundamental part of my practice.
Over the years I’ve built a kind of internal toolbox: the machines I like to use, the materials I know well, and others I’m still discovering. Working with recurring materials and techniques naturally creates a continuity in my design language. Whether I’m designing a small ring, a piece of packaging, or a large-scale installation for Louis Vuitton or New Balance, there are shared codes, finishes, shapes, gestures that come from that toolbox. In a way, that’s where my identity as a designer truly lies.

And which material from your toolbox do you find yourself returning to most often?

prefer not to single out one material, because every project has its own logic and its own constraints. Sometimes stone is the right answer: it’s heavy, stable, and ideal for outdoor pieces that need to remain in place and withstand time and weather. In other cases, aluminium becomes the most efficient solution, especially when a project requires a metal finish but must remain extremely lightweight, for example when it needs to be shipped by air or carried in a bag. In those situations, steel wouldn’t make sense, but aluminium would. So the choice always depends on the brief and on the final function of the object.

For your project with On Running, you created a heat‑sensitive table that shifts in tone upon touch, while your Jagged Chair was shaped through sand‑casting and surely you’ve explored many other techniques. Which process or method has been the most eye‑opening for you, the one that opened doors to new worlds?

There are many, but one of the first processes that truly struck me was hand‑riveting. It allowed me to assemble metal components without heavy machinery, just a simple rivet gun, which gave me a lot of freedom in the studio.

My work with heat‑sensitive materials also opened an entirely new field. Before the On Running table, I had already experimented with thermoreactive pigments for two commissions in London, creating cushions and seating pieces that changed tone upon touch. Translating that effect from fabric to metal, however, was a real challenge: fabric absorbs pigment, while metal doesn’t, so we had to develop a surface treatment that was durable, non‑scratch, and responsive despite the material’s natural temperature shifts. The On Table pushed the technique further than ever, and although it was demanding, the outcome and the feedback made the entire process incredibly rewarding.

You’ve already collaborated with major brands such as Gucci, Rimowa, New Balance, and Arc’teryx. These projects that exposed you to audiences and contexts far beyond traditional industrial design. Is there a field or world you haven’t explored yet that you would like to engage with in the future?

Absolutely. My long‑term goal has always been to work with proper furniture companies. Designing furniture is what I studied, and it’s what I still do every day in the studio. But when I entered the professional world, I quickly realised that the market for independent furniture designers is extremely small. Many brands rely on their existing catalogues, re‑editions, or simple colour updates, and they rarely take risks on new voices.

For a while, this was frustrating since I had imagined a different path after my studies. Then I found a niche that allowed me to keep designing furniture, but in a different context: creating pieces for brand activations. The stools we made for Gucci, the table for Louis Vuitton, the furniture for New Balance; these pieces are all kept, used, and circulated, which is incredibly rewarding, even if it’s not traditional retail design.
Still, my ambition remains the same: to collaborate with a furniture company like Vitra or Knoll and develop a line that enters production and stays in the world. That’s a life goal for me, and it’s the direction I’m actively working toward.

LVMH prize 2025 tables design
/ created by Tom Ducarouge

Louis Vuitton tables for a cocktail event in Palma
/ created by Tom Ducarouge

This issue of LE MILE revolves around the theme of identity. When working with global brands - projects that inevitably involve broader commercial frameworks - how do you preserve your own design identity? How do you balance your personal signature with the narrative of a large‑scale client?

In the beginning it was more challenging, because I still had to prove that I could deliver something aligned with what these brands were looking for. But today the dynamic is very different. Clients come to my studio because they trust my team’s vision and mine. They want our creative input, and that’s the core of the collaboration. We handle the manufacturing, of course, but the creative direction is the main reason they reach out.

What matters most is understanding the brief with absolute clarity. We need to meet the functional expectations of the project, but creatively there is no real struggle. That part is actually the most enjoyable moment of the process: we receive the brief, we respond with several creative options, and the dialogue begins. The real challenge usually lies in producing the piece at the highest quality within very tight timelines.

In what ways does sustainability shape the identity of your projects? Do you have practical examples of how this dimension influences your design decisions?

Sustainability is part of our process, but we don’t present ourselves as a “sustainable studio”. If we were truly sustainable, we wouldn’t produce anything new at all. What we do instead is make conscious decisions at every stage. For events, for example, we often combine what we manufacture with vintage or rental pieces. Over time we’ve built a strong network of galleries across Europe, which allows us to avoid remaking furniture for every project.
As our studio grows, we also work with more recurring clients, which means we can design pieces to be dismantled, stored, and reused. A good example is the furniture we created for ROA Hiking, an Italian brand part of Slam Jam. It was first used in Paris, then reused in Munich, and it will be adapted again for their next showroom. Around 90% of that collection is reusable, and we can keep modifying elements as needed. We apply the same logic with New Balance, designing pieces that can travel from one activation to another.

Material choices follow the same mindset. We often use raw aluminium or untreated wood so that components can be easily recycled or repurposed after an event. For me, this isn’t a separate “sustainability strategy”; it’s simply part of designing responsibly and avoiding unnecessary production whenever possible.

How do you imagine the evolution of your design identity in the coming years?

In the next few years, I’d love to develop more retail projects. We already have a few in progress, and it’s a direction that feels very natural for us; designing pieces that are meant to stay, not just serve a temporary activation. At the same time, as the studio grows, it becomes harder to carve out time for our own experiments, but keeping that space alive is essential. I want us to continue developing our own objects every year, not only client work. Another important direction is working abroad. Designing only for France feels too limited. What I learned at Central Saint Martins, being surrounded by dozens of nationalities, showed me how much richer design becomes when it’s shaped by different cultures and perspectives. That’s something I want to keep applying to the way we build the studio.

So the evolution I imagine is this: more retail, more international collaborations, more local manufacturing close to each project, and always the possibility to experiment. That balance is what will keep our identity growing.

Side table created for New Balance in Valencia as part of a custom furniture
/ created by Tom Ducarouge

WAVVYBOI *About Finding Beauty in the Dark

wavvyboi Believes Darkness Tells the Truth

interview + written KLAAS HAMMER

Some artists write songs; wavvyboi builds entire worlds. Blending alternative rock, gothic romance, and unapologetic emotional honesty, the rising artist has created a universe where vulnerability and theatricality coexist. From vampire-inspired symbolism to the intimate connection with his online community, every visual and every lyric feels like part of a larger narrative. In conversation with LE MILE, wavvyboi opens up about identity, transformation, digital intimacy, and why darkness can be one of the most beautiful ways to tell the truth.

wavvyboi wears top by ROKH, jacket by HAN KJØBENHAVN, and pants by HELMUT LANG

wavvyboi wears a total look by MARKE

Klaas Hammer
Your music and visual world feel deeply connected — where did the “vampire” aesthetic come from, and what does it represent for you personally?

wavvyboi
I think the vampire thing started less as a conscious aesthetic decision and more as a feeling that I kept coming back to. Ever since I was a child I've always been drawn to those kinds of movies and books, the dark, romantic and dramatic stories where beauty and danger exist in the same place. There is something about vampires that feels very lonely, theatrical and wounded but also powerful so I’m very fascinated by those dualities and I see myself constantly going through those stages in my life. Vampires are the perfect metaphor for feeling different from the daylight version of the world and my music wants to give those feelings a place to exist. The world of wavvyboi is all about being sensitive but intense, soft but dangerous on stage, full of glam but always honest. My wish is to turn loneliness and grief into something beautiful and in a way, that’s exactly what vampires do.

Who has inspired you the most throughout your musical journey — not only musically, but also in terms of attitude, fashion, or storytelling?

’ve always been inspired by artists who build entire worlds around themselves. My dad introduced me to so many great rockstars when I was young, from Jimi Hendrix to David Bowie, Placebo and My Chemical Romance. David Bowie has definitely been a huge inspiration for me because he made transformation feel like an art form. He showed that being different, theatrical and constantly changing can be powerful instead of something you need to hide. Brian Molko also helped me feel seen as a queer person at a very young age, and Kurt Cobain made me want to practise my instruments more and understand how storytelling can live inside music. Nick Cave probably influenced my attitude a little too much, haha.

When I started playing with my band as a teenager, I was already obsessed with the whole world around music, fashion and art. Everyone needed the right outfits, the pictures had to look right, the lights had to feel right, I was annoying everyone around me because everything had to be connected. That is just how my brain works.
Also very important: While other people were out hanging with friends, I was at home studying music videos, interviews and Wikipedia pages of artists I loved. I think every one of those artists gave me another piece of the puzzle that eventually became wavvyboi.

wavvyboi wears shirt by DSQUARED2, pants by MILK OF LIME, FASHION ARCHIVE shoes, and sunglasses by BALENCIAGA

A lot of your fans connect with the emotional atmosphere of your music online, especially on TikTok. How do you experience the relationship between your digital community and your artistic identity?

I think my digital community has become a very important part of my universe over the last few years, and I’m very happy about that because it is something I always wished for when I was younger. I want my world to give a voice to people who maybe don’t feel like they have one, and I want them to feel seen inside this community. I give them a piece of my emotional world, and they give it back to me with their own meaning attached to it. That exchange makes the music feel so much more alive.
Of course, I also had to learn that having an online community comes with impact and responsibility. The things you share can really affect people, so there is always a double-edged sword when it comes to art and social media and my screen time is sadly not the best (there are too many good edits out there).

But there is always something beautiful happening in our community: A few weeks ago, I noticed someone creating an animatic for my latest single “wanderlust,” and it completely blew my mind. We loved it so much that we decided to hire her to create a full lyric video for the song. Moments like that are amazing to me, because it means the music is inspiring other people to create their own art too. I like to call myself a digital vampire sometimes.

Your sound moves between vulnerability and (soft) darkness. Do you consciously try to balance emotional honesty with creating a mysterious persona?

I love that thought but I don’t think I consciously try to balance those things, because for me they naturally belong together. The darkness is not there to hide my vulnerability, somehow it is there to give it all a shape.

I write about very honest feelings: grief, vulnerability, desire, loneliness, pride, being used, wanting to escape your own body sometimes. Those are very real things to me. But I don’t always want to present them in a plain or realistic way. I need a world around them. I need drama, symbols, beauty, a little bit of mystery. It’s funny I always tell the people on my Twitch streams that I should be more nonchalant but somehow I can’t be, also I’m pretty bad at playing the game "among us" because I can’t lie whenever I need to play as an imposter. Online I can be very open, silly and direct but as soon as I enter the world of my music or step on stage, something changes and I fall into a more theatrical version of myself. Sometimes it is easier to say something deeply honest when you dress it in glitter, soft-darkness and drama (at least for me).

wavvyboi wears top by AUTEL and pants by HELMUT LANG

Social media often pushes artists to constantly reveal themselves. How do you maintain mystique while still staying connected to your audience?

You really need to get a feeling for it and I’m still searching for the perfect balance but somehow it is working fine for me the way I’m doing it right now. I try to share emotions more than explanations. I don’t need to show every private part of my life for people to feel close to me but I’ve developed a feeling for which things could be interesting and important. In the end you just need to be authentic and honest that's what it's all about.

I love being connected to my audience, and I’m very grateful that we can have such a direct conversation online. But I also think artists need shadows and times where they can study to become better artists. For example, when I’m in writing sessions or working in the studio, I might share a small glimpse of the process but the deeper emotional development is something I often keep to myself until the song is ready - people will discover it later through the music and not through the short sound on Tiktok.
There is a difference between being honest and being constantly available.

If someone entered the “world of wavvyboi” for the very first time — through one song, one visual, and one feeling — what would you want them to experience?

I want them to feel every emotion they were never allowed to feel before.
The song would probably be “black glitter,” because it feels like an entrance into my world and my emotions. It is the song that finally helped me shape my music and identity. All the dramatic guitars, all the honest emotions, it feels like an answer to all the people who did not accept me over the years. It tells them that I am not ashamed of the person I am, and that is what I want people to feel when they listen to it.

Visually, I would want them to see my “wanderlust” music video or live footage from one of my shows. The “wanderlust” music video shows the fragile, haunted and emotional side of my world, while the live footage shows who I become on stage, raw, theatrical, overdramatic, but still honest. I think those two sides together explain wavvyboi quite well: the fragile emotions and the dramatic guitars.
For the feeling: you are not too much here, and you are valid the way you are. If you feel different, wounded or unable to explain your emotions, there is a place for you in this world and hopefully my music can show you that. <3

wavvyboi wears shirt and jacket by DIESEL

wavvyboi wears a total look by MARKE

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talent WAVVYBOI
photography MARIO PALUFI
photography assistant NICOLAI SAUER
styling + interview KLAAS HAMMER
hair + make up PHILIPP VERHEYEN

credits
all Images (c) LE MILE and Mario Palufi

SKYE NEWMAN *SE9 Part 2, Healing, Identity and Taking Back Power

Why Skye Newman Had to Return to SE9

interview + written KLAAS HAMMER

With SE9 Part 2, available to stream on Spotify, Skye Newman delivers her most personal work to date. Exploring identity, inherited trauma, healing and self-discovery, the project transforms deeply intimate experiences into stories that resonate far beyond her own. In conversation with LE MILE, she reflects on the making of the record, the courage it takes to embrace vulnerability, the importance of setting boundaries, and the everyday inspirations that continue to shape her creative world.

Skye Newman
/ Sony Music

Skye Newman
/ Sony Music

Klaas Hammer
"SE9 Part 2" is named after the postcode that shaped your childhood. Looking back, what are the most important lessons and experiences from SE9 that still influence the artist and woman you are today?

Skye Newman
Looking back, the most important lessons and experiences from SE9 that still influence the artist and woman I am today are probably the ones I talk about in “Vicious Cycle” and “Too Far South.” Those two, in particular, really stand out to me because they’re about taking back my power, finding more strength in myself, and facing things that I didn’t necessarily feel comfortable facing a little while back.

I think they carry really important lessons in life. It’s about trying to do our best for the next generation and making sure we become better versions of ourselves before we have children. We need to be aware of how much the way we view ourselves affects our children. And “Too Far South” is also about being selfish with your life in the best way. I think so many people don’t realize that you need to put yourself first before you can be the best version of yourself for the people you love and the ones around you.

There are so many important messages throughout the project. You can definitely hear even more by just listening and really taking in the music.

Throughout the project, you explore themes such as inherited trauma, identity and emotional survival with remarkable honesty. Was there a particular song on the record that felt especially difficult—or liberating—to write?

There were definitely a few songs on the album that felt more difficult to write, but also incredibly freeing at the same time: “Too Far South,” “Traumatised,” “Vicious Cycle,” and I think “Family Matters” is a big one. I got to process a lot of emotion and heal so much through writing this album, which was such an incredible experience. That’s why I love music so much, and I’m so happy that my music has reached people and carried the message I wanted to share: that no matter where you come from or what you’re facing in life, you can do whatever you believe in. You just have to believe in yourself to get where you want to go.

So yeah, there were definitely times when I struggled in the studio. And I think “Woman I Am,” as beautiful as the song is, was definitely a turning point in my life. It was a moment where I realized how incredible women are and how amazing it is to have that love around me, but also to acknowledge the struggles I’ve had to go through in order to truly realize that.
But yeah, it was such a beautiful experience and such an amazing thing to be able to write about, so I’m very lucky.

Skye Newman
/ Sony Music

Skye Newman
/ Sony Music

One of your greatest strengths as a songwriter is transforming deeply personal experiences into stories that feel universally relatable. As your audience continues to grow, how do you balance vulnerability with the need to protect parts of your private life?

I would definitely say this is one of the hardest parts of my job: trying to balance vulnerability with the need to protect my private life and my own personal business. It can definitely be a struggle at times. Facing a lot of these issues in such a public space can be really, really scary, and I do get people overstepping boundaries or digging too deep into things. But I think you just have to trust the process, write your music, allow yourself to heal through it, and simply not answer questions you don’t feel comfortable with.

I’ve been in interviews where certain things have been said or questions have been asked, and I’ve just thought, “I’m not comfortable with that.” And I think that’s okay. It’s important to set boundaries. It’s definitely hard sometimes because there are certain subjects you may want to talk about more, but then it becomes a domino effect—more questions, more attention, and more people trying to get too deeply into your personal life.

I think you just have to set those boundaries and be aware that people are going to pry and people are going to want to know, but that doesn’t mean you have to tell them. Just do what you’re comfortable with.

Beyond music, what currently inspires you the most—whether it’s books, films, fashion, art or everyday moments—and how do those influences find their way into your creative world?

Beyond music, so many things influence and inspire me. That goes for films, clothing, my personal style, and fashion—I love it so much! I love putting an outfit together because it expresses how I’m feeling that day or the stage of life I’m currently going through. I definitely think all of that plays a part in creating my art. I think it all builds towards creating who you are as a brand and who you are as an artist to the world. I think a lot of people connect with my style and my love for fashion, and it allows me to share a little more of my story.

I also take so much inspiration from the people around me every day and from my experiences with them. Even a small conversation with a stranger can be inspiring. There’s so much inspiration in the world if you just step outside and talk to people. It’s crazy how much you can discover, and it’s such a beautiful experience that I then get to turn into music. So yeah, I’m very, very lucky. As I said, it’s amazing—and thank you guys for always giving me inspiration.

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all images courtesy of Sony Music

Régina Demina Shares Her Camera Roll: During the Making of SCRT

#ThePersonalEdit

Régina Demina Opens Her Camera Roll During the Making of SCRT

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Régina Demina shares a selection of personal images captured during the making of her EP SCRT. Recorded and developed between studio sessions, travels and moments away from the spotlight, the photographs offer a glimpse into the period that shaped her latest release.

Loup, my beloved friend and head of my label Hise, during the shooting of “Osaka Yama”. We edited and colour-graded it the night after. We did everything together during that period. I love her.

Based in Paris, Demina works across music, performance and visual art, building a sound that draws together pop, cloud rap, trap and witch house while reflecting influences from rave culture, suburban landscapes and her Eastern European roots. With SCRT, available to stream on Spotify, she approaches songwriting like a private diary, balancing intimacy with experimentation.

Shared directly from her camera roll and paired with her own captions, The Personal Edit follows the people, places and everyday moments surrounding the creation of SCRT, revealing the creative process through Demina's own perspective.

The original drawing I did in Japan last year, which I used for the cover of the SCRT EP. We reframed it and made it darker digitally with my friend Guillaume Hugon, Head of the creative agency Golgotha. We kept the original close-up for the alternative version of the EP, with slowed and sped-up versions.

The original version of another drawing of mine. I used the detail of the two faces kissing for the first single of the SCRT EP, “Oui ou Oui ou Non”, which I recorded with Vialice, whom I met at a rave in Paris. He lives in Chicago.

Vialice during his gig ans Paris

In a hotel room in Switzerland, during a film festival. I was acting in a film called Une chambre à elle by Lucie Martinez Garcia. During this trip, I rewrote the lyrics for “Cursed Words”, the last song on the EP. The song was not directly linked to the trip. The text was originally written three years ago, but I enjoy the space and bored time alone in hotels to write.

Me and Loup working on a song during a concert in a church Metz

On the way to the Hise studio in Montmagny, I had to bring my Focusrite in my handbag because the one at the studio had crashed. We had to finish the masters and some mixes that day.

Inside the Cathédrale de Metz. We shot the music video for “Osaka Yama” outside because I love churches, gothic things and Yung Lean.

A selfie to check my makeup before a showcase. I tried to recreate the makeup my friend Jennifer Lecorre often does for me. It’s cute, but her pencils are unmatched, and I missed her that day. The cute top is from my friend Harmony Coryn. I like being dolled up by my favourite people.

Loup and Jennifer in my building, searching for melodies for the unplugged versions of the EP. I’m happy Jenny was there that day because she gave me very cute glam, and we shot some reels for Instagram. She is like my sister now and was one of my first loves when I was a teenager. Today, she feels like family.

My nails freshly done and my favourite bag, thrifted in Japan, on the day of the EP release. I needed a small treat after all the hard work.

My favourite picture together with Loup. My booker Florence took it with a Polaroid.

all images
(c) Régina Demina

SILVIA NEGRI FIRMAN from NEGRI FIRMAN PR *Inside Fashion PR

#InsideFashionPR

Offline Prestige, Online Chaos, and the CEOs Who Call It All Just Another Day at Work

A Conversation with SILVIA NEGRI FIRMAN

interview + written CHIDOZIE OBASI

At a time when the creative industry keeps shifting at restless speed, the worlds of advertising, fashion communication and public relations are changing with it. Once anchored in print, physical presence and carefully built editorial relationships, the field now moves through digital platforms, social media strategies, data systems and the growing presence of Artificial Intelligence, all of which have accelerated the way stories are created, distributed and measured.

Still, the central task of communication has remained strangely consistent: to shape a story, to place it in the right context and to understand what gives a brand cultural relevance beyond visibility alone. Between printed pages and digital screens, between long-term image building and immediate online response, the industry continues to renegotiate its own language.

With this series, LE MILE speaks to industry insiders about the changing role of print, the pressure of digital speed, the use of AI, the value of storytelling and the future of fashion communication. This conversation continues with Silvia Negri Firman, Founder & Creative Director of Negri Firman PR, whose career began between styling, photography and the early years of Karla Otto before moving through Giorgio Armani and into her own agency. Her perspective is shaped by a long-standing understanding of image, reputation and communication as a practice that must evolve without losing depth, credibility or cultural intention.

Silvia Negri Firman
Founder & Creative Director of Negri Firman PR / photographed by Stefano Guindani

Chidozie Obasi
First things first: I’d like to get acquainted with how your journey into the realm of fashion communications began. Could you unpack it for us?

Silvia Negri Firman
My journey started quite early, and rather by chance. I’ve always been passionate about fashion and initially thought I wanted to become a fashion designer. After high school, I enrolled in university and, at the same time, started attending a fashion school. But I also wanted to work, so I began assisting a photographer—both as his assistant and as a stylist.

Before long, I started freelancing as a stylist, which led me to collaborate with a number of brands and PR agencies. At one point, I was offered a job at Karla Otto, and I accepted. In a way, you could say it was Karla who chose my future. She was just starting out herself, and I was the third person to join the agency—literally one of three. But we were already working with the most cutting-edge brands at the time, and the agency kept growing. A few years later, I joined Giorgio Armani—and the rest is history. I’ve always worked with dedication and passion, never shied away from challenges, and embraced every opportunity to learn and grow professionally. I’m still learning, still working with passion, and I still love what I do.

How have you seen this industry sector develop over the years?

This industry has evolved significantly over the years, constantly adapting to societal and cultural shifts as well as the rise of new technologies. We've seen major changes in both strategies and working methods, with technological advancements offering us increasingly sophisticated and efficient tools. To be truly effective, communication must reflect these societal changes. It’s crucial not only to recognize but also to anticipate new trends and shifts in consumer behavior in order to design successful campaigns.

What, in your opinion, has been the biggest shift in this field?

The most significant shift has undoubtedly been the advent of the internet and digital technology. These developments have transformed the world at large and have had a profound impact on the communication industry. They've revolutionized the way we connect, create, and share content, reshaping both strategies and audience expectations.

Could you argue the benefits and disadvantages between traditional practices of communication and the digital facet of social media?

In my opinion, there are no real disadvantages on either side—what truly makes the difference is the integration between traditional communication and digital platforms. Traditional practices offer structure, credibility, and depth, which are essential for building long-term reputation and authority. On the other hand, digital tools and social media bring immediacy, interactivity, and the ability to engage directly with a wide and diverse audience. When used together strategically, they complement each other and enhance the overall effectiveness of a communication campaign. It’s not about choosing one over the other, but about leveraging the strengths of both to deliver consistent, impactful, and meaningful messages.

In a world where social and cultural innovations are changing at an increasingly ferocious pace, what are your thoughts on AI?

I’ve personally embraced the rise of AI with great interest and enthusiasm. I see it as a potentially powerful and valuable tool in the field of communication. Its arrival has undoubtedly accelerated the pace of change in our industry, pushing us to rethink processes and explore new creative possibilities. That said, I believe it's still too early to fully measure AI's real impact, as many people are using it in a limited and somewhat superficial way. However, if integrated thoughtfully with other tools and channels, I’m convinced AI can be a highly positive force—enhancing efficiency, insight, and innovation across the communication landscape.

Will we ever reach the point where it’ll replace the work of humans?

I don’t think so.

In your opinion, will print and traditional means of communications ever die, or will they somehow stay afloat?

In my opinion, print and traditional media are not destined to disappear—they are simply evolving to take on a different, perhaps even more valuable, role than in the past. The rise of digital and online platforms has certainly challenged traditional media, leading to a significant shake-up and a necessary selection process. However, this shift has also given new meaning to print: it’s now seen as more curated, more intentional, and often more prestigious. Integration between platforms is essential, and each channel has its own strength. Print remains highly appreciated in certain contexts, especially where depth, quality, and tangible presence are key. Rather than dying out, traditional media are being redefined—and still have a meaningful place in a well-rounded communication strategy.

What are your hopes for the future of the media industry?

I hope to see a media industry that continues to evolve without losing sight of quality, credibility, and depth. I believe the future lies in a balanced integration of traditional and digital platforms, where each medium plays to its strengths. My hope is that print and legacy media will continue to be valued for their reliability and depth, while digital tools and AI drive innovation, accessibility, and speed. I’d like to see a media landscape that is both dynamic and responsible—one that embraces change but remains grounded in thoughtful, meaningful communication.

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This conversation is part of LE MILE’s series on print, fashion communications and the future of PR.

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Continue reading with

→ ALEXANDER WERZ, CEO & PARTNER OF KARLA OTTO

→ MARCO SCOMPARIN, CEO & FOUNDER OF MASC AGENCY

→ LUCA CONTARTESE, CEO & FOUNDER OF PREMIUM ID AGENCY

MARCO SCOMPARIN from MASC AGENCY *Inside Fashion PR

#InsideFashionPR

Offline Prestige, Online Chaos, and the CEOs Who Call It All Just Another Day at Work

A Conversation with MARCO SCOMPARIN

interview + written CHIDOZIE OBASI

At a time when the creative industry keeps shifting at restless speed, the worlds of advertising, fashion communication and public relations are changing with it. Once anchored in print, physical presence and carefully built editorial relationships, the field now moves through digital platforms, social media strategies, data systems and the growing presence of Artificial Intelligence, all of which have accelerated the way stories are created, distributed and measured.

Still, the central task of communication has remained strangely consistent: to shape a story, to place it in the right context and to understand what gives a brand cultural relevance beyond visibility alone. Between printed pages and digital screens, between long-term image building and immediate online response, the industry continues to renegotiate its own language.

With this series, LE MILE speaks to industry insiders about the changing role of print, the pressure of digital speed, the use of AI, the value of storytelling and the future of fashion communication. This conversation continues with Marco Scomparin, CEO & Founder of MASC Agency, whose path into fashion communications began outside the industry before moving through New York, digital PR and talent representation. As the founder of an agency built around male talent and high-level brand positioning, his perspective is shaped by relationships, cultural timing and the shift from traditional gatekeepers to a media landscape led by audiences, algorithms and real-time influence.

Marco Scomparin
CEO & Founder of MASC AGENCY

Chidozie Obasi
First things first: I’d like to get acquainted with how your journey into the realm of fashion communications began. Could you unpack it for us?

Marco Scomparin
It actually started far away from catwalks and red carpets; I was in the world of numbers and finance. I quickly discovered that it wasn’t for me—maybe because it felt too uncreative and, dare I say, a little too “old boys’ club” for my taste. So I took a sabbatical year and moved to New York, where I learned that PR wasn’t just the person selling you a ticket for nightclub entry; it could be so much more. That experience opened my eyes to the power of storytelling, brand positioning, and cultural influence. When I returned to Italy, I dove headfirst into fashion communications, working with brands across fashion, beauty, and lifestyle. Over time, I built MASC Agency—the first in Europe to represent only male talents—and became equally focused on high-level digital PR. At the heart of it all, my strength has always been relationships: I don’t just know who’s who; I know what makes them move.

How have you seen this industry sector develop over the years?

It has evolved from being an industry driven by glossy magazines and a small, elite group of people to one where a single Instagram story can shift brand perception overnight. We’ve moved from carefully curated, slow-burn campaigns to real-time, multi-platform storytelling. What’s interesting is that while tools and channels have changed, the core hasn’t: it’s still about influence—only now it’s in pixels. The power dynamic has also shifted: ten years ago, brands dictated the conversation, but today creators often lead it.

What, in your opinion, has been the biggest shift in this field?

The democratization of influence. In the past, the gatekeepers were editors, stylists, and PR directors. Now the gatekeepers are algorithms and audiences themselves. The most powerful shift is that credibility is earned in real time—you can’t fake authenticity for long. For agencies like mine, that means we have to be more agile, more transparent, and much more in tune with cultural timing. What works today won’t necessarily work tomorrow. You have to be brave enough to invest in the future (even if I don’t always fully understand it) and patiently trust the process.

Could you argue the benefits and disadvantages between traditional practices of communication and the digital facet of social media?

I often say that traditional communication was like a luxury cruise: steady, elegant, and predictable, while social media is a speedboat—fast, exciting, and sometimes a little chaotic. Traditional PR had authority, depth, and a certain timelessness, but it was slow to adapt and often accessible only to a select few. Social media changed all of that: suddenly anyone could be part of the conversation, and brands could have direct, real-time exchanges with their audience. The downside is that digital moves at such a pace that trends can burn out before a campaign is even over, and attention spans are shrinking dramatically. Personally, I believe the real magic happens when the two worlds meet—when you combine the prestige and storytelling depth of traditional media with the immediacy and interactivity of digital. That’s when communication becomes truly powerful.

In a world where social and cultural innovations are changing at an increasingly ferocious pace, what are your thoughts on AI?

AI is like having the world’s most efficient intern—brilliant at processing data, spotting patterns, and never asking for vacation. [Laughs.] But it’s still missing the human heartbeat that drives culture, emotion, and taste. In my field, AI can speed up research and analytics, but the magic happens in human decision-making, which will never be substituted by AI: knowing which influencer to pair with which brand because you’ve shared a dinner table with them, not just a spreadsheet. Often, clients give me a budget and I decide which influencers to include in the project. I choose not only those who are a good fit for the brand, but also the ones naturally suited to the activity and who connect well with each other. In 2025, there’s no room for a diva-like attitude anymore—not even international celebrities can get away with it, let alone influencers.

Will we ever reach the point where it’ll replace the work of humans?

AI might replace tasks, but it won’t replace taste and expertise like mine. It can simulate creativity, but it can’t live a night at the Venice Film Festival or sense the unspoken dynamics between a designer and a muse. My job is 50% strategy and 50% intuition—and intuition is born from lived experience, cultural awareness, and emotional intelligence. AI can be a phenomenal assistant, but in this industry, human nuance will always lead.

In your opinion, will print and traditional means of communications ever die, or will they somehow stay afloat?

Print will never fully die; it will just become more niche, more collectible, and more symbolic of prestige. Much like vinyl records, its value will lie in its tangibility and artistry. You might not buy a magazine every week anymore, but when you do, it feels like an occasion. For brands, print will remain a mark of legacy; for consumers, it will be a slower, more intentional way to engage.

What are your hopes for the future of the media industry?

I hope we move toward a media landscape that values depth as much as speed, that balances virality with substance, and that remembers audiences are smart—they can tell when they’re being sold to, and they appreciate honesty. My dream is for the industry to keep innovating technologically while doubling down on storytelling that’s truly human. In the end, trends fade, but stories—the good ones—last.

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This conversation is part of LE MILE’s series on print, fashion communications and the future of PR.

---

Continue reading with

→ ALEXANDER WERZ, CEO & PARTNER OF KARLA OTTO

→ SILVIA NEGRI FIRMAN, FOUNDER & CREATIVE DIRECTOR OF NEGRI FIRMAN PR

→ LUCA CONTARTESE, CEO & FOUNDER OF PREMIUM ID AGENCY

LUCA CONTARTESE from PREMIUM ID AGENCY *Inside Fashion PR

#InsideFashionPR

Offline Prestige, Online Chaos, and the CEOs Who Call It All Just Another Day at Work

A Conversation with LUCA CONTARTESE

interview + written CHIDOZIE OBASI

At a time when the creative industry keeps shifting at restless speed, the worlds of advertising, fashion communication and public relations are changing with it. Once anchored in print, physical presence and carefully built editorial relationships, the field now moves through digital platforms, social media strategies, data systems and the growing presence of Artificial Intelligence, all of which have accelerated the way stories are created, distributed and measured.

Still, the central task of communication has remained strangely consistent: to shape a story, to place it in the right context and to understand what gives a brand cultural relevance beyond visibility alone. Between printed pages and digital screens, between long-term image building and immediate online response, the industry continues to renegotiate its own language.

With this series, LE MILE speaks to industry insiders about the changing role of print, the pressure of digital speed, the use of AI, the value of storytelling and the future of fashion communication. This conversation continues with Luca Contartese, CEO & Founder of Premium ID Agency, whose path began inside the industry as a model before moving into marketing, communication and creator management. As the founder of an agency dedicated to content creators and influencers across fashion and beauty, his perspective is shaped by the rise of TikTok, the shift from audience to community and a media landscape where digital speed defines visibility, while print still holds symbolic weight within luxury.

Luca Contartese
CEO & Founder Premium ID Agency

Chidozie Obasi
First things first: I’d like to get acquainted with how your journey into the realm of fashion communications began. Could you unpack it for us?

Luca Contartese
I started my journey as a model, learning from the internal dynamics of the industry and how brands think and perceive things. At the same time, I continued my studies in marketing and communication, combining my insider experience with what I was learning academically. This broader vision of the industry made me realize that a phase of change was approaching—one in which the prospects I had observed until then would undergo a major shift. It was the end of 2019, I was 20 years old, and that’s when I truly began to approach the world of fashion communication, working on a first project that later led me to create an influencer marketing agency. Just a few months later, Covid drastically accelerated this process: that was when I noticed how influencer marketing was becoming the most requested tool and the one with the greatest expressive potential for brands. This led me to found Premium ID, an agency dedicated exclusively to managing content creators and influencers, which today collaborates with key partner brands across fashion and beauty.

How have you seen this industry sector develop over the years?

The sector has changed significantly and continues to evolve—it is a highly dynamic environment where every month can bring incisive innovations. Transformations are many, but first and foremost, the way brands approach communication has shifted. We’ve moved from a detached style of communication to an era in which brands can no longer avoid showing behind-the-scenes moments and speaking to audiences in an open, direct way. For example, consider how social media has reshaped communication during key moments of the year, such as fashion week. In my first runway shows, the event was accessible only to those attending in person, whereas today it has become a global media event with thousands of viewers connected via livestream. This allows users to experience a much closer and more direct connection with the brand. This evolution has been largely facilitated by content creators, who in most cases have become the faces and spokespeople of brands, innovating communication in a more immediate way. The concept of community has become central: the client has transformed into a supporter, demanding greater attention from the brand, which can no longer simply provide a product but must deliver an experience that fosters a sense of belonging and loyalty. This makes it essential to focus on the quality of content and to maintain an updated communication style, choosing faces that can best represent the brand in both aesthetics and values.

What, in your opinion, has been the biggest shift in this field?

The most significant change, in my opinion, came with the arrival of TikTok. The platform created many of today’s key creators and, more importantly, reshaped users’ online habits, which until then had been focused more on photos than on videos. Today, video content is the pinnacle of communication and the primary tool brands use to promote their products through creators—and the only truly effective medium for building communities.

Could you argue the benefits and disadvantages between traditional practices of communication and the digital facet of social media?

There are substantial differences, and since I lean toward digital communication, I tend to emphasize its advantages. Digital communication has brought many benefits compared to traditional practices, such as greater speed and ease in spreading messages. Today, news is consumed live, often even before it appears in print or on television. Another major advantage is interactivity: audiences can directly express opinions and, in turn, influence the spread of content. The greatest advantage, in my view, is that communication was once reserved for a select few, while with digital, anyone can share content and potentially reach an audience as large—or even larger—than a media channel. The downside compared to traditional media is speed: content becomes outdated almost immediately, whereas print, for instance, has a longer-lasting influence.

In a world where social and cultural innovations are changing at an increasingly ferocious pace, what are your thoughts on AI?

AI is a tool with enormous potential. Even today, it is possible to create entire content from scratch without any on-site shooting, thereby reducing costs and production time. I believe it is already part of the present and represents a major opportunity to further innovate the sector.

Will we ever reach the point where it’ll replace the work of humans?

Honestly, I think so, but it will be a long process. Some jobs will inevitably be replaced, but at the same time new ones will emerge. I believe human input will remain essential, especially when it comes to creativity and relationships—areas where technology can support but cannot fully replicate human sensitivity.

In your opinion, will print and traditional means of communications ever die, or will they somehow stay afloat?

I believe print still carries a symbolic value and a fascination that digital cannot entirely replace, especially in the luxury sector. When it comes to news and information, however, I think digital has completely overtaken traditional formats. In some fields, print will remain relevant, while in others it will gradually disappear. As for television, I believe that over time it will be completely overtaken by more flexible, on-demand platforms.

What are your hopes for the future of the media industry?

I envision a future where communication will increasingly focus on the quality of content, with new technologies playing a crucial role in raising the standard. My hope is that transparency will be preserved in the use of these technologies, ensuring that consumers remain aware and informed. Ultimately, I hope the industry continues to innovate without losing the human connection that makes communication authentic.

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This conversation is part of LE MILE’s series on print, fashion communications and the future of PR.

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Continue reading with

→ ALEXANDER WERZ, CEO & PARTNER OF KARLA OTTO

→ SILVIA NEGRI FIRMAN, FOUNDER & CREATIVE DIRECTOR OF NEGRI FIRMAN PR

→ MARCO SCOMPARIN, CEO & FOUNDER OF MASC AGENCY

ALEXANDER WERZ from KARLA OTTO *Inside Fashion PR

#InsideFashionPR

Offline Prestige, Online Chaos, and the CEOs Who Call It All Just Another Day at Work

A Conversation with ALEXANDER WERZ

interview + written CHIDOZIE OBASI

At a time when the creative industry keeps shifting at restless speed, the worlds of advertising, fashion communication and public relations are changing with it. Once anchored in print, physical presence and carefully built editorial relationships, the field now moves through digital platforms, social media strategies, data systems and the growing presence of Artificial Intelligence, all of which have accelerated the way stories are created, distributed and measured.

Still, the central task of communication has remained strangely consistent: to shape a story, to place it in the right context and to understand what gives a brand cultural relevance beyond visibility alone. Between printed pages and digital screens, between long-term image building and immediate online response, the industry continues to renegotiate its own language.

With this series, LE MILE speaks to industry insiders about the changing role of print, the pressure of digital speed, the use of AI, the value of storytelling and the future of fashion communication. We begin with Alexander Werz, whose career has moved from fashion design and show production into high-level communications, including his long-standing work with Karla Otto, where strategy, culture and brand identity sit at the centre of his practice.

Alexander Werz
CEO & Partner, Karla Otto

Chidozie Obasi
First things first: I’d like to get acquainted with how your journey into the realm of fashion communications began. Could you unpack it for us?

Alexander Werz
I was fascinated during my childhood about fashion when I was about12. I had access to Vogue Italia through my father, and I was dreaming about a career in fashion, so I decided at age 14 to do everything to do a fashion school in Paris. 5 years later I started at Studio Berçot fashion design. My first path was working with designers in the design department, but I was always good in organizing fashion shows, press meetings etc. so I decided to go that path.
Many years later, with a serious experience in communication but also in production, I joined Karla Otto in 2010.

How have you seen this industry sector develop over the years?

Of course, the sector developed a lot over 20 years, especially with the arrival of digital platforms, but also thanks to the globalization of fashion and luxury. What we needed to do for strategy was to improve communication skills to its perfection. We are working in a highly competitive, yet also sensitive business, storytelling and strategy is a great combination to support brands in many sectors in luxury. But for me the biggest question today is culture, what do we really want and what does a brand stand for?

What, in your opinion, has been the biggest shift in this field?

Digitalization was and is key to support our brands, nevertheless we need always to keep in mind a strategy which is in place to support a brand in communication, but also talent support, influencer marketing and event support. We support our brands in a 360° degrees approach.

Could you argue the benefits and disadvantages between traditional practices of communication and the digital facet of social media?

What we need in communication, depending on the brand, is a combination of traditional communication, PR services, obviously balanced with a digital communication strategy, where we work on a social media strategy but also on talent which is key.

In a world where social and cultural innovations are changing at an increasingly ferocious pace, what are your thoughts on AI?

I like the arrival of AI to a certain degree, but I believe in human touch which we need to preserve and can’t be replaced to 100%. It should be a fair combination. AI is a very useful and creative tool to support communication in a very distinctive use, nevertheless in creative business sometimes nuances and even little mistakes can bring immediate success. Aiming perfection is a goal but only aiming.
AI is a powerful support.

Will we ever reach the point where it’ll replace the work of humans?

I don’t think so, as humans are sensible and sensitive and these are key elements also in communication. I really believe that we can learn a lot from AI but to use it as a replacement would be a mistake… But the future will talk.

In your opinion, will print and traditional means of communications ever die, or will they somehow stay afloat?

I believe that print and the traditional side of communication is a pillar and a great foundation to utilize but the digital side of communication, of course will give an immediate outreach and a great support to our brands. The fast pace of our brands needs immediate result, therefore we are using the digital side on a 360 approach.

What are your hopes for the future of the media industry?

My hope for the future is also not to over communicate and to really measure the way how to communicate.
We know that the commercial pressure asks us to be not only proactive, but always to anticipate.
We want to provide a perfect communication strategy which is meaningful, authentic and with cultural value.

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This conversation is part of LE MILE’s series on print, fashion communications and the future of PR.

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Continue reading with

→ SILVIA NEGRI FIRMAN, FOUNDER & CREATIVE DIRECTOR OF NEGRI FIRMAN PR

→ MARCO SCOMPARIN, CEO & FOUNDER OF MASC AGENCY

→ LUCA CONTARTESE, CEO & FOUNDER OF PREMIUM ID AGENCY

VERONIKA GEORGIEVA *On Paper Surgery, Deconstruction and Memory

Ctrl + X
IT’S ABOUT THE CUT, THE WOUND AND THE IMAGE

interview + written HANNAH ROSE PRENDERGAST

Destruction isn’t more natural. Just easier.

Deconstruction, on the other hand, is Veronika Georgieva’s native language.

With her trusty scissors, she frees photographs, slides, and film from an eternity of official events. This version feels truer to how it actually happened.

Paper Surgery is a delicate operation to restore the soul; it’s also an SS 2010 ad campaign for Comme des Garçons.

Pulled from her own archive and that of complete strangers, the source material stings the same. The rest is just recovery.

No need to name the wound or explain the cut—the light will get to it. If not, a fashion magazine will.

Paper Surgery Series, Hannibal
Image courtesy of Veronika Georgieva

I Loved You For So Long. from Paper Surgery Series.
Image courtesy of Veronika Georgieva

Hannah Rose Prendergast
What’s lost when you try to replicate Paper Surgery digitally in Photoshop?

Veronika Georgieva
The imperfections in my work aren’t just visual; they’re conceptual. They challenge ideas of control. The accidental tears and unpredictable folds from physically manipulating paper are essential to the series. When you try to replicate this digitally, even with the most skilled attempts, the result feels too precise. It loses the raw touch that defines this aesthetic. And I’m just not interested in doing that. I love accidents too much.

All my works exist on the threshold between control and surprise, even for myself. Otherwise, I’d be bored by my own creativity. There’s good boredom and bad boredom—like good and bad cholesterol. I need the material to surprise me. I’m deeply annoyed when there’s no excitement of the unknown, no “accidental mistake.” I need a physical dialogue with the material, with its resistance, to feel that I’m an artist alive.

Why does deconstruction feel so natural to your creative process?

There’s absolutely no rule. But it’s important to distinguish between destruction and deconstruction. Destroying isn’t more natural—just easier. Deconstruction is harder because it’s analytical. Its goal is creation: building something new. I’d like to think creation is ultimately more natural for humans than destruction. At least, I want to believe that, even though recent years seem determined to prove the opposite.Deconstruction may look like destruction to anyone unwilling to engage with the process. People often ask, “Why did you ruin this dress?” or “Why cut up those photographs?” But I adore deconstruction. My methods break habitual perceptions of ordinary things, sometimes pushing them to the point of unrecognizability.

What are the risks of starting with a political message?

The risk isn’t politics in art, it’s politics as art’s predetermined script. The strength of art lies in interpretation. When it begins with a fixed political premise, it can end up privileging the artist’s authority over the viewer’s freedom to engage. A didactic mural about climate change, for instance, might dictate a single correct reading. But a more ambiguous work, like Anselm Kiefer’s scorched landscapes, leaves space for multiple, active interpretations.

True subversion doesn’t force the world to understand—it lets people feel and outspeak. Overtly political art can be easily co-opted. When power meets dissent, it often inoculates itself by sanitizing and selling it back. Think of Banksy’s anti-capitalist murals, auctioned off for millions. Starting with politics risks turning art into a gesture absorbed by the market as “radical chic.”

How does photography influence our collective memory and perception of truth?

Truth? What truth? Personal and collective memories are both unreliable. Photography has joined the club, thanks to Photoshop and AI. Even eyewitnesses can’t be trusted. Just look at the Rashomon effect, where the same event is recalled in contradictory ways by different people. Memories depend on identity and interests. Take the myth of George Washington cutting down the cherry tree—'I cannot tell a lie'—a story invented after his death to portray him as virtuous. Isn’t it symbolic? A story about honesty that's itself a lie.

Is there an image that becomes stronger by resisting capture?

Absolutely. Like gods or monsters left unseen in horror films, the viewer’s imagination always eclipses the reveal. But this principle extends beyond horror. Any image grows stronger by resisting fixation. The moment you try to pin it down, in a photograph, a painting, even in words, it loses its spectral charge. That’s why Resnais never showed the traumatic event in Last Year at Marienbad, and why Borges described the Aleph as “a point in space that contains all other points.” The most potent visions remain unfinished, demanding the mind’s collaboration to exist at all.

This is exactly why the hidden folds in Paper Surgery, or the dark voids built from layered slides, matter more than what’s visible. Meaning crumples into layers, interpretation becomes a dance between surface and depth. The unseen isn’t absence—it’s the image’s engine.

Page 9 from Paper Surgery Series.
Image courtesy of Veronika Georgieva

Do you see more character in fashion magazines today?

I don’t think so. It’s just a new grammar of control. To ask whether faces have “more character” implies we’ve agreed on what character is. Unpredictability? The marks of lived experience? Fashion magazines today reflect a cultural hunger for authenticity but deliver it as a product. Modern retouching tools simulate character (a freckle left intact, a wrinkle allowed to stay), but it’s a calculated rebellion—a corporate nod to realness.

Compare that to Corinne Day’s raw Polaroids of Kate Moss in the ’90s, where the awkwardness was unplanned—and therefore revolutionary. Today’s “flaws” are often focus-grouped: an illusion of imperfection.

How do you embrace conflict or tension in your work?

I’m currently working on a video installation for a ballet performance centered on barocco, a theme that deeply resonates with me. Barocco isn’t just a historical period; it’s a state of mind. It emerges when old systems fail—when something bursts beyond its frames, rupturing space, scale, and meaning. The ballet will unfold on an unconventional stage: a circular platform rotating around a massive metal cylinder. The venue, a former bread factory, offers almost no space for traditional scenery. The dancers appear like butterflies pinned to the cylinder, with no room to fly.
My idea is to deconstruct the cylinder with multi-channel video projections, puncturing it with virtual trompe l’œil corridors, expanding it through illusion. These corridors will stretch into receding depths, pulling viewers inward.

For inspiration, I revisited Last Year at Marienbad, those haunting black-and-white corridors shot in a German Rococo castle, that endless hall of mirrors. For weeks now, I’ve been losing myself in those imagined passageways. I want to go there, to see that place. Though I know reality could never match the film. Some inspiring places are better left unvisited, preserved only in the mind.

In a world where authorship is fragmented, what still truly belongs to the artist?

The process. The moment. The thrill. Love and death.
Everything belongs to the artist.
The decision to designate it as art.
The vulnerability of offering it to the world, knowing it will be rewritten, reclaimed, or erased.
The act of bravery belongs to the artist.

Page 57 from Paper Surgery Series.
Image courtesy of Veronika Georgieva

Page 55 from Paper Surgery Series.
Image courtesy of Veronika Georgieva

What image will you always return to?

Martin Kippenberger’s self-portrait. He stands with a crudely made sign around his neck, something you might expect to see on a lost child, a drunk, or an Alzheimer’s patient. Instead of a name or instructions, he scrawls: “Please, don’t send me home.” To me, it encapsulates the artist’s eternal paradox: the simultaneous search for home and flight from it—the dull comforts of the familiar. It’s desire rooted in impossibility: a lost paradise, forever out of reach, yet perpetually pursued.

A chaotic journey without a map.
The purpose of purposelessness.
Unfiltered traces of a personal destiny.
Moments of raw emotional gesture.
The coveted “mistakes.”
That time before morning arrives with its regrets and clean-ups.
The choice-free, guilt-free, unfiltered ride.

Can an image that wounds also offer healing?

I don’t know about healing, but I can tell you about the wound. In Camera Lucida, the French philosopher Roland Barthes introduces punctum—a term I adore. Punctum is an accidental detail in a photograph that “pricks” or “bruises” the viewer, creating a deeply personal, often painful resonance. As Barthes writes: “The punctum is a sting, speck, cut, little hole—it is also a cast of the dice. It wounds” me.

That’s why it remains elusive: punctum doesn’t reside in the image itself but in the collision between image and life. Barthes describes how a photograph of his mother evoked profound sorrow in him, though to others, it was just an ordinary snapshot. Punctum can’t be planned or manufactured; it arises spontaneously, unique to each observer, tethering emotion to image.

I suppose if you understand why an image reopens a wound, healing follows naturally. It lies in refusing to let pain stagnate. Like champagne, best drunk once opened, or it sours into vinegar and poisons you. As Rumi wrote: “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

Is there something you’ve cut that you wish you hadn’t?

Scissors are a girl’s best friend. They’ve never betrayed me. Not yet. Everything I’ve cut—and I’ve cut a lot—I’ve never regretted. When I was a young girl growing up in the Soviet Union, stores had limited clothing, and what they did have was usually ugly. But I always wanted to be stylish, so I learned to sew. I sewed everything, fromraincoats to pants, shorts to dresses, even a summer suit for my mom. I once designed and sewed an entire fashion collection.

With my architecture degree, paper models and cutting were already part of my routine. But after becoming a mother twice over, I only had time to cut. By then, I was living in New York City, surrounded by secondhand stores filled with more clothes than I’d ever dreamed of. To create unique designs that fit my figure, I cut endlessly.

Once, my dear friend Renata was shocked to learn where I’d gotten such a lovely belt. I’d started by cutting up a whole dress, but ended up trimming it down until only the belt remained—perfect for my vision.

When should you go offline?

I can tell you when not to go online: when you’re bored. Boredom is the mother of creativity—those who get bored turn to something new, something unique. It’s a huge problem, especially for kids today, who are never bored. They can fill every second with social media, immersed in the lives of others, forgetting their own. To create, you need a vacuum. Being online offers everything except a vacuum.

In his essay In Praise of Boredom, one of my favorite poets, Joseph Brodsky, frames boredom as a portal to self-awareness and existential clarity: “When hit by boredom, let yourself be crushed by it; submerge, hit bottom. In general, with things unpleasant, the rule is: the sooner you hit bottom, the faster you surface. The idea here … is to exact a full look at the worst. The reason boredom deserves such scrutiny is that it represents pure, undiluted time in all its repetitive, redundant, monotonous splendor.”

The notion of time is important for the artist. And when you’re online, time flies. The sad thing is, it flies unnoticed.

Comme des Garçons campaign. collaboration with Stephen j Shanabrook
Image courtesy of the artists & CdG

Helmut Newton Foundation *Rooms / Stages and One-off Album in Berlin

Why Helmut Newton Treated Rooms Like Stages

written SARA DOUEDARI

This summer, the Helmut Newton Foundation turns its focus away from the performer and toward the stage itself.

With Rooms / Stages and Helmut Newton’s One-off Album, two exhibitions opening simultaneously in Berlin, the institution explores how photography transforms physical spaces into sites of narrative, tension, and imagination.

Helmut Newton
Absolut Vodka, Sweden 1995
(c) Helmut Newton Foundation

Helmut Newton, Bernice, Monaco 1994 (c) Helmut Newton Foundation, Courtesy: Nicola Erni Collection. Annotation: “Berenice, Étoile du Ballet de Monte-Carlo, leg in an iron cage (built by a doctor in Berlin specially for me) at the Beach Club, Monte-Carlo, 1994”

Bringing together works by more than a dozen artists, Rooms / Stages examines the shifting relationship between architecture, presence, and absence. Empty interiors, theatrical settings, museums, underground stations, and meticulously constructed environments become subjects in their own right. Featured artists such as Götz Diergarten, Anna Lehmann-Brauns, Friederike von Rauch, Gregor Schneider, Paolo Ventura, and Robert Polidori challenge the traditional role of space as a passive backdrop, revealing it instead as an active force within the image.

George Rousse, Reims 2012, (c) Georges Rousse, Courtesy Galerie Springer Berlin

At the centre of the exhibition is Helmut Newton, whose work provides a compelling counterpoint to the contemporary positions on view. Throughout his career, Newton approached photography with the instincts of a film director, transforming hotel suites, city streets, private garages, and theatre stages into carefully orchestrated settings. His photographs are never merely about fashion. They are constructed worlds in which power, seduction, glamour, and psychological tension unfold with cinematic precision. Large-scale prints presented throughout the galleries highlight Newton’s remarkable ability to elevate ordinary locations into unforgettable stages.

Helmut Newton, One-off, Credit Phaidon

A selection of 51 Polaroids offers a rare glimpse behind the scenes. Used by Newton throughout his career to test composition, lighting, and spatial relationships, the instant photographs reveal the meticulous process behind images that often appear effortless. They also underscore a central idea of the exhibition: for Newton, space was as carefully cast as the models themselves.

The second exhibition, Helmut Newton’s One-off Album, presents a unique chapter of the photographer’s legacy. Created in 1999 together with collector Gert Elfering, the album brings together 103 original photographs selected by Newton himself. Iconic fashion images sit alongside Polaroids, advertising campaigns, unpublished working shots, and personal favourites, each accompanied by handwritten notes and anecdotes. Shown in Berlin for the first time, the collection offers an unusually intimate portrait of Newton’s visual universe and the stories behind some of his most celebrated photographs.

Together, the two exhibitions reveal photography’s ability to blur the boundaries between reality and performance. Whether through contemporary interpretations of architectural space or Newton’s unmistakable vision of glamour and control, Rooms / Stages demonstrates that every room has the potential to become a stage.

Rooms / Stages and Helmut Newton’s One-off Album are on view from 5 June to 15 November 2026 at the Helmut Newton Foundation, Museum für Fotografie, Jebensstraße 2, Berlin. For further information, visit www.helmut-newton-foundation.org.

Viktoria Binschtok, World of Details, diner seat, 2012 (c) Viktoria Binschtok / KLEMM´S Berlin

Paolo Ventura, Der Sturm No. 5, 2025, (c) Paolo Ventura, Jaeger Art Gallery

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Header Image
Götz Diergarten, o.T.1 (Berlin-Alexanderplatz), 2008, Diptychon (rechter Teil)
(c) the Artist

GIZEM EMRE *On Identity, Confidence, and Staying True to Yourself

Why Gizem Emre Is Done Measuring Herself Through Other People’s Eyes

interview + written THINLEY WINGEN

For years, Gizem Emre has been a familiar face on screens, red carpets, and across Germany’s cultural landscape. Yet despite growing up in the public eye, the actress describes herself as much quieter than many people might expect.

Gizem wears top, pants and jewelry by IOANNES, tights by FALKE and shoes by H&M Studio

"I think many people are surprised when they meet me in person because privately I'm much calmer and more reserved," she tells LE MILE. Born and raised in Berlin, Emre grew up between cultures and learned early on how to navigate different expectations while staying connected to herself. Over the years, she has developed a stronger sense of confidence, letting go of constant comparison and placing greater value on how she feels rather than how she is perceived. "I think the older you get, the more important it becomes how you feel about yourself instead of constantly thinking about how you appear to others." Below, the actress reflects on public perception, belonging, self-confidence, and finding moments of calm in an increasingly noisy world.

Gizem wears look by ELISABETTA FRANCHI and shoes by IOANNES

Gizem wears a dress by DIESEL

Thinley Wingen
Many people feel like they already know you before you've even said a word. How do you experience the difference between public perception and who you actually are?

Gizem Emre
Because I play many different roles and show different sides of myself through them, I’m not even sure if people have one specific image of me. I actually think many people are surprised when they meet me in person because, privately, I’m much calmer and more reserved than some might expect at first glance. As a viewer, you often only see fragments, a role, an appearance, or an interview, but not necessarily the person behind it.

You have been in the public eye for many years. What has changed about being a woman who is constantly seen and judged?

A lot has changed over the years. I’ve become much more confident, I know myself and my body better, and over time, I’ve learned not to compare myself to others all the time. You grow up with certain beauty ideals, and especially in the public eye, you are constantly being judged, consciously or unconsciously. It used to affect me more, but today I see things much more calmly. I think the older you get, the more important it becomes how you feel about yourself instead of constantly thinking about how you appear to others.

Gizem wears a dress by DIESEL

You often come across as very confident and present. Are there still moments when you feel misunderstood or reduced to a certain image?

Being able to speak freely also means allowing yourself to be seen without filters, and I think the fear of being misunderstood or not being taken seriously has been with me for a very long time. Especially when you enter the public eye at a young age, you quickly develop the feeling that you constantly have to prove yourself.

How has growing up in Berlin and as a Turkish-German woman shaped your understanding of belonging, strength, and identity?

I grew up between two cultures, and I see that as a gift. Of course, it can also come with a certain sense of being torn between different expectations or perspectives. But I was lucky enough to grow up in a very liberal family, which meant I never felt like I had to choose one side over the other.

What has helped you stay true to yourself over the years, despite public attention, social media, and outside expectations?

Above all, spending time with myself. I think it’s incredibly important to keep coming back to yourself and sorting through your own thoughts. Especially in a world where so much is constantly coming at you from the outside, you need that sense of calm to stay grounded.

Gizem wears top, pants and jewelry by IOANNES, tights by FALKE and shoes by H&M Studio

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talent GIZEM EMRE
photography NIC SCHOPPET
hair + make up FINA BOATENG
styling KLAAS HAMMER
interview THINLEY WINGEN
management BTA / CAROLINA DACHS

The Personal Edit of Callum Scott Howells: Behind the Scenes of Madfabulous

#ThePersonalEdit

Callum Scott Howells Opens His Camera Roll From the Making of Madfabulous

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Callum Scott Howells shares a selection of personal images taken during the making of Madfabulous, in which he takes on the lead role of Henry Paget, the eccentric fifth Marquess of Anglesey whose extravagant life became the subject of one of Britain’s most remarkable true stories.

Known to many for his BAFTA-winning performance in It's a Sin, Howells spent months inhabiting a character whose life moved between aristocratic privilege, excess and self-invention. The images collected here sit alongside that process, capturing moments on set, between takes and during the production of a film that brings Paget’s singular world back into view. Shared directly from his camera roll and accompanied by his own captions, The Personal Edit offers a personal record of the journey behind Madfabulous, arriving as the film reaches cinemas June 5.

Meet the 5th Marquess of Anglesey and his big old ship folks

Extra curricular cast + crew trip to Zip World

Just your average, every day Victorian mother and son

“I placed this warm coat on the chair here next to me to save it for you Mr Everett”

“I’ll sit here thanks”

Nothing to see here apart from my slippers

On a serious note, Nadia Stacey is a genius and the GOAT fr

Tom holding Nadia’s Oscar (just to officially back up my above statement)

As Founder of the Ruby Stokes Fan Club, I’m delighted to inform you she’s the real deal

“First position please Mr Scott Howells”

Believe it or not, this was actually a job

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all images
(c) Callum Scott Howells