Hublot’s latest Essential Series release takes the Hublot Spirit of Big Bang somewhere unexpected. Taupe, of all colours. A quiet, warm, and slightly dusty taupe. The kind of tone that’s usually reserved for cashmere interiors in old Bentleys or the suede lining of a Berluti shoe bag, not for a brand that built much of its modern identity impressing people with a “Bing Bang”.

Still, it works. Better than expected, actually.

The new Spirit of Big Bang Essential Taupe arrives in two sizes – 42 mm and 32 mm – both limited to 200 pieces and sold exclusively online. Hublot has done these annual “Essential” editions before, always centred on a single monochromatic theme, though earlier iterations leaned heavily into shades of grey. Grey felt industrial. Taupe feels more mature. Less eager to announce itself across the room.

The larger 42 mm model remains recognisably Spirit of Big Bang, with its elongated tonneau case, layered construction, exposed screws, and enough facets to catch every stray beam of light in a restaurant. The case is titanium throughout, including the side bumpers that Hublot usually renders in rubber. That detail matters more than it sounds; the metal bumpers sharpen the watch visually and give the case a cleaner continuity.

At 14.1 mm thick, it still has presence. You’ll know it’s there on the wrist. But the muted palette softens the architecture considerably. For once, the case shape takes centre stage rather than the colour.

The dial deserves a closer look too. Hublot borrowed the closed chequerboard motif first seen on the Coal Blue collection earlier this year, though here the execution feels richer because of the monochromatic treatment. The woven pattern alternates satin-brushed and polished squares, creating a texture that almost resembles carbon fibre viewed through soft focus. Under direct light, the dial shifts constantly. It’s surprisingly nuanced for a brand often accused of subtlety deficiency.

The chronograph registers sit deep within the dial, framed and snailed, while the peripheral track picks up matching grooves that tie the whole composition together neatly. Even then, legibility remains strong thanks to luminous numerals and broad hands. Hublot tends to over-style details occasionally, but this one feels disciplined.

Inside sits the HUB4700, essentially a modernised descendant of the Zenith El Primero. That alone gives the watch a certain credibility among collectors who still care about what powers the thing beneath the dial. The movement runs at 5 Hz, delivers 1/10th-second chronograph timing, and offers about 50 hours of power reserve. Through the sapphire back, the architecture still carries traces of the original El Primero layout, which enthusiasts will recognise instantly.

The more interesting release, oddly enough, may be the smaller 32 mm model.

For the first time, Hublot has omitted the diamond-set bezel on the smaller Spirit of Big Bang. A sensible decision. Diamond bezels tend to push watches into a very specific lane, and removing them opens the design considerably. The result feels cleaner, more architectural, and honestly more contemporary. Plenty of collectors — men included — will probably find this version more compelling than previous iterations.

The stainless steel case measures 10.8mm thick and retains the same tonneau silhouette, though the proportions work particularly well at this size. There’s a cleaner elegance here. The smooth taupe flange slopes inward while applied markers stretch outward across the dial, creating depth without unnecessary decoration.

Inside is the HUB1120 automatic calibre, based on the Sellita SW1000. Reliable, compact, practical. No fireworks, though nobody buying the 32 mm Spirit of Big Bang expects a high-frequency chronograph movement anyway.

Both watches come fitted with Hublot’s One Click strap-change system and include two interchangeable taupe straps in rubber and fabric. Naturally, everything matches. Hublot committed fully to the monochrome idea here, and credit where due — they resisted the temptation to add some unnecessary accent colour just to prove they could.

Each version is limited to 200 pieces and sold exclusively through Hublot. The 42mm chronograph is priecd at CHF 20,600 / EUR 24,300 and the 32mm automatic costs CHF 12,400 / EUR 14,600.

The post Hublot’s New Spirit of Big Bang Essential Taupe Is Surprisingly Refined appeared first on Luxatic.

Baz Luhrmann has designed a railway carriage for Belmond, which somehow makes complete sense once you’ve had a moment to think about it properly.

If you’ve ever seen one of his films – Moulin Rouge!, The Great Gatsby, that Elvis one where everybody seemed permanently damp with emotion – you’ll know subtlety has never really been his preferred setting. So giving him an actual 1930s Pullman carriage and telling him to “do whatever you like” was always going to end one of two ways: either an extraordinary triumph of theatrical design, or something resembling Liberace’s conservatory after a small electrical fire.

The result is called Celia, and it’s the latest addition to Belmond’s British Pullman train. A private dining carriage for just 12 guests, due to launch in summer 2026, it sits somewhere between old-world railway glamour and the sort of fever dream you’d have after falling asleep halfway through a Noël Coward box set.

The British Pullman itself has always been gloriously unnecessary. That’s why people love it. Ten restored carriages from the 1920s and ’30s, all polished brass, absurd upholstery, and people serving cocktails while the English countryside drifts by outside as if it’s performing a show for you personally. The train leaves from London’s Victoria Station, which means your journey begins in one of the least romantic places imaginable before abruptly turning into an Agatha Christie fantasy about half an hour later.

Celia, though, takes things much further.

Luhrmann worked on this dreamlike carriage with Catherine Martin, his long-time collaborator and the woman responsible for making half of modern cinema look far more extravagant than real life has any right to be. Together they invented an entirely fictional backstory for the carriage, because apparently simply restoring a train wasn’t enough.

So Celia is named after an imaginary 1930s West End actress who, according to the tale, delivered such a magnificent performance as Titania in A Midsummer Night’s Dream that she was gifted her own Pullman carriage afterwards. That sounds exactly like the sort of thing Baz Luhrmann would say with complete sincerity while standing beside a velvet curtain.

Inside, the carriage looks less like transport and more like a theatrical set someone forgot to dismantle.

There are marquetry panels showing dreamy English pastoral scenes. Oak floors decorated with floral motifs. Pansies everywhere, because Titania apparently liked them. The colours bounce between rich greens, deep reds, yellows and purples in a way that ought to feel overwhelming but somehow doesn’t. Or perhaps it does, slightly, but deliberately so. Like stepping into a cocktail cabinet designed by Shakespeare after a week in Paris.

Even the ceiling fabric was engineered to improve acoustics for live performances onboard, which is one of those details that makes you pause and think: this is either wonderfully committed or faintly mad. Probably both.

And then there’s the scent.

Yes, Celia has its own bespoke fragrance, co-created by Luhrmann and Martin. Of course it does. You can almost imagine the meeting where someone said, “Should the carriage smell normal?” and Baz immediately replied, “Absolutely not.”

Still, there’s genuine craftsmanship underneath all the theatricality. Martin sourced tableware from British makers including Duchess China, with glassware from Tom Dixon and cutlery by David Mellor. Those details matter. Luxury tends to collapse when someone hands you a mediocre fork.

The food sounds reassuringly traditional too. Beef Wellington. Chicken liver parfait. Proper rich railway dining. The sort of meal that belongs on a train moving slowly through Oxfordshire while rain taps politely against the windows.

Guests will also have access to a cocktail menu created by Monica Berg of Tayer + Elementary, which means drinks are unlikely to involve blue syrup or dry ice theatrics. Thank heavens for that. You can apparently stock the bar with your own favourites as well, which opens the door to either refined elegance or complete disaster depending on your friends.

And really, that’s the point of Celia.

Belmond isn’t selling transport here. Nobody books this because they urgently need to reach Bath. They’re selling atmosphere. Escapism. A moving little pocket of unreality where people can spend a few hours pretending life still contains glamour and ceremony and dinners that last longer than a quick glance at a delivery app.

The itineraries themselves sound suitably eccentric. Day trips to Oxford or Blenheim Palace. Goodwood Revival weekends. Murder mystery lunches rolling through the countryside while someone in evening wear pretends to poison the viscount.

It all feels gloriously British in that very specific way where luxury becomes faintly absurd and therefore deeply charming.

Gary Franklin from Belmond described Celia as “creating your own world,” and for once that sort of corporate phrase actually seems accurate. Most luxury experiences today try far too hard to appear modern and effortless. Celia heads in the opposite direction entirely. It leans into fantasy. Into storytelling. Into the idea that perhaps dinner should occasionally feel like a scene from a film nobody would dare make anymore.

And perhaps trains, more than almost anything else, still allow for that.

Launching in early summer 2026, Celia will be available on all British Pullman journeys departing primarily from London Victoria Station, with routes winding through various parts of the British countryside. Which means you can now travel to places like Oxford or Bath inside what is essentially Baz Luhrmann’s imagination upholstered in velvet.

Exclusive hire of the carriage starts at £15,000 – about $20,500 at current exchange rates – which initially sounds faintly ludicrous until you remember people routinely spend half that amount flying privately to Ibiza in tracksuits.

And at least this comes with proper cutlery.

The post Baz Luhrmann’s New Belmond Train Car Looks Like a Film Set on Rails appeared first on Luxatic.

Lamborghini has made a 1,015-horsepower special-edition Revuelto for North America because apparently the standard Revuelto wasn’t already attention-seeking enough. It’s called the Revuelto NA63, only 63 examples will exist for the US and Canada, and every single one will almost certainly disappear into a temperature-controlled garage next to a Senna, a GT Black Series, and a pair of very white trainers.

The “63” references the year Ferruccio Lamborghini founded the company. Sant’Agata absolutely loves this stuff. Every number has meaning, every stripe tells a story, every badge arrives wrapped in mythology and expensive stitching. Still, North America buys a colossal number of Lamborghinis, so giving the region its own limited-run V12 hybrid halo car makes complete sense.

And to be fair, they’ve done more than throw a plaque at it.

The launch specification comes painted in Blu Marinus with matte white and red stripes running over the bonnet, roof, and rear deck. There are matching details on the splitter, side skirts and diffuser blades because modern Lamborghinis can never really leave anything alone visually. The whole thing nods toward American and Canadian colors without turning into a mobile fireworks display.

Just about.

You can also spec it in three other configurations if your local dealer knows your dog’s birthday and decides you’re worthy. One combines Grigio Serget with blue accents, another pairs Bianco Sideralis with Rosso Mars detailing, while the darker Grigio Acheso version gets black and orange highlights and looks exactly like the sort of thing someone would valet outside a restaurant in Beverly Hills while pretending not to notice people filming it.

What’s funny about modern Lamborghinis is that they should be completely absurd. The shapes are cartoonish, the names sound like rejected energy drinks, and the cabins resemble gaming laptops designed by an angry 14-year-old. Yet somehow they still have presence. Proper presence. A Revuelto parked next to almost anything else still looks like it escaped from five years in the future.

And underneath all the visual nonsense sits a genuinely fascinating car.

Because the Revuelto had a difficult job from day one. Lamborghini needed to electrify the V12 without sucking all the life out of it. Plenty of manufacturers have discovered that hybrid systems can flatten character faster than a speed hump in a rental Fiat. The fear was that the Revuelto would end up clinically fast but emotionally distant.

Instead, it’s completely mental.

The naturally aspirated 6.5-litre V12 remains the star of the show. Thank God. It still revs with that hard-edged violence Lamborghinis do so well, where the final couple thousand rpm feel less like acceleration and more like mechanical aggression. You hear the thing clear its throat behind your head and immediately forgive every lurid angle on the bodywork.

The hybrid system simply fills the gaps. There’s electric torque from low speeds, sharper response everywhere else, and enough combined output to produce 1,015 horsepower and 807Nm of torque. Which is obviously ridiculous. We’ve reached the point where family crossovers make 600 horsepower and two-tonne EVs launch harder than Le Mans cars from twenty years ago, so manufacturers keep pushing numbers into the stratosphere just to maintain shock value.

Even so, the Revuelto still feels dramatic in a way many fast cars don’t anymore.

Part of that comes from the engine itself. Turbocharged supercars often deliver speed in one enormous elastic shove. Efficient. Devastating. Slightly sterile. The Revuelto has texture to it. You work through the rev range and feel layers of vibration, induction noise, gearbox aggression, little pulses through the chassis. There’s an old-school savagery buried under all the computing power.

Which probably explains why people have responded to it so strongly.

Performance figures are predictably ludicrous. Lamborghini claims 0-100 km/h in 2.5 seconds and a top speed beyond 350 km/h. Numbers like that barely mean anything now because nobody experiences cars this fast properly outside a runway or the autobahn at sunrise, but the Revuelto still manages to feel special because it behaves like a Lamborghini should. Slightly intimidating. Slightly theatrical. A bit immature, honestly.

That matters more than outright speed.

The NA63 keeps all the technical hardware from the standard car — the carbon-intensive chassis, active aerodynamics, torque-vectoring wizardry and the rest of the engineering vocabulary every modern hypercar now arrives with. But realistically, nobody’s buying one because they’ve compared suspension geometries on a spreadsheet.

They want the noise. The rarity. The giant stupid theatre of it all.

And the truth is, Lamborghini understands its customers better than most manufacturers ever have. Buyers don’t want subtlety from a V12 hybrid wearing tricolour stripes and producing four-digit horsepower. They want an event every time they open the garage door.

The post Lamborghini Made a Special Revuelto for North America – And It Might Be the Craziest One Yet appeared first on Luxatic.

Tod’s has built a summer collection around Marlin, the 1930 yacht once owned by the Kennedys and now restored and sailed by Diego Della Valle, and the result has that polished ease Italians like to call sprezzatura – though here it comes with salt air and old-money Cape Cod associations. You can almost smell the varnished teak. Or maybe that’s the point.

The collection arrives wrapped in a certain fantasy, naturally. JFK in Hyannis Port. White polo shirts. Long weekends where nobody seemed to sweat, even in August. Yet Tod’s approaches the story with more restraint than costume. There’s no theatrical Americana here. No stars, no stripes, no heavy-handed nostalgia. Just fragments. Materials. Gestures. A mood.

And honestly, Tod’s knows this territory well. The company has spent decades selling a version of leisure that still carries discipline underneath it — the kind of luxury that prefers texture over logos and assumes you already understand the references.

The collection draws directly from the yacht itself, a 52-foot mahogany-and-oak vessel designed by naval architect Walter McInnis and purchased by Joseph P. Kennedy in the 1950s. It became part of Kennedy family life in Hyannis Port — not merely symbolic, but functional. JFK reportedly even conducted cabinet meetings aboard while sailing with Jackie. That detail alone says everything about the old Kennedy mystique: power delivered casually, preferably near water.

Della Valle bought Marlin in 1998 and restored it meticulously before bringing it into the slower rhythms of the Tyrrhenian Sea. You can feel that personal attachment throughout the collection. This isn’t branding wallpaper someone in marketing invented after a weekend in Nantucket.

Tod’s even included a leather playing-card case, which sounds faintly absurd until you picture Kennedy himself hunched over a bridge table below deck while the water knocks softly against the hull. Then it suddenly feels charming. Slightly eccentric, too, which helps.

The clothes stay close to that same rhythm. A cotton piqué polo with striped cuffs and collar carries a quiet Ivy League undertone without tumbling into prep parody. There’s a baseball cap with a leather back strap and hand-embroidered monogram that feels less “merchandise” and more something forgotten on the rear seat of a vintage woody wagon.

The palette comes directly from the yacht. Deep bottle greens. Oyster whites. Canvas creams. Browns that resemble sun-warmed decking after years of sea spray and polishing cloths. Fashion brands talk endlessly about storytelling through color, though usually it’s just a mood board taped to a studio wall. Here, the colors actually belong to something tangible.

The Marlin bomber may be the strongest piece in the collection because it avoids trying too hard. Technical cotton body. Soft nappa leather around the collar and pockets. A sailor’s knot attached to the zipper pull — one small detail, easy to miss, though exactly the sort of thing Tod’s tends to get right. Luxury often lives in those tiny decisions nobody announces.

Then there are the boat shoes, obviously. Tod’s practically owns that category at this point. The Marlin version comes in natural-grained calfskin with an image of the yacht printed inside the sole, alongside the signature Gommino pebbled outsole that has become synonymous with the house. In brown, they look understated and handsome. In the tricolor version — brown, cream, green — they suddenly resemble the yacht itself stretched into footwear form. Long lines. Low profile. Smooth curvature from heel to toe. Nautical design translated almost literally.

Some designers would’ve pushed the maritime theme until everyone looked ready to board a regatta in Saint-Tropez. Tod’s keeps things grounded. There’s a crisp cotton shirt with an airy weave that feels made for humid afternoons near the water, and a silk foulard printed with a stylized rendering of Marlin that lands somewhere between souvenir and collector’s object.

The accessories carry particular weight here. A canvas-and-leather shopping tote arrives with the sort of rigid construction Italians admire in both tailoring and boats. There’s also a Greca belt in elastic canvas with an interlocking leather buckle, plus a leather two-glass holder stamped discreetly with the Tod’s x Marlin insignia. That last item feels especially European — practical in theory, decadent in spirit.

Still, the collection works because Tod’s resists the temptation to romanticize too loudly. The clothes don’t scream “Kennedy summer.” They suggest fragments of a life: afternoons on deck, card games after lunch, polished brass catching late sunlight. Quiet rituals. Old habits. Expensive things used often enough to soften around the edges.

And perhaps that’s why the collection feels convincing. Della Valle didn’t borrow this mythology for a season. He bought the actual boat. He restored it. He lives with it. Fashion audiences can usually sense the difference between manufactured heritage and the real thing. This one has the reassuring weight of authenticity, even in something as simple as a leather card case lined in deep sea green.

You imagine JFK would’ve appreciated that detail most of all.

The post Tod’s New Collection Feels Like a Weekend With the Kennedys appeared first on Luxatic.

Auberge Collection has officially arrived in Africa, bringing its particular brand of understated luxury to the plains of Tanzania with a new portfolio of safari lodges and camps that feels far more thoughtful than a typical hospitality expansion. The new Auberge Safari collection spans nine properties across some of East Africa’s most extraordinary landscapes, from the Serengeti to Lake Manyara, and quietly positions the brand inside a category where authenticity matters far more than thread counts or marble bathrooms.

The move also marks a significant moment for Auberge itself. Until now, the Friedkin Group-owned hospitality brand had carefully built its reputation through intimate resorts in destinations like Greece, Mexico, Italy, and the American West. Safari changes the conversation entirely. Guests here care about migration routes, conservation corridors, and the instincts of a guide who can spot a leopard hidden in the trees from half a mile away.

That’s likely why Auberge chose to build this collection around operators already deeply embedded in Tanzania rather than arriving as an outsider attempting to reinvent safari culture. The new platform brings together Legendary Expeditions, part of the Friedkin Group’s conservation-focused safari business, and Chem Chem Safari, the quietly influential luxury safari company founded by Fabia Busch.

Together, the two brands map out a notably seamless route through northern Tanzania. The journey could start in Arusha among shaded coffee estates, continue into the Serengeti during the migration season and eventually slow beside Lake Manyara as elephants emerge at dusk along centuries-old wildlife paths. Safari, by nature, is about constant motion, though today’s travelers tend to prefer itineraries that feel considered instead of overpacked. Auberge understands the distinction.

Several of the camps sit directly along the Great Migration route, including Nyasi in Lamai, in the Northern Serengeti, where wildebeest crossings unfold with startling intensity during the season.

Nearby, Songa places guests beside the Mara River in Kogatende, an area famous for its dramatic herd movements and enormous crocodile populations waiting patiently below the surface.

In Nyasirori, Mila offers a version of the Serengeti that feels a touch more intimate and atmospheric. Lions dominate the landscape here and drives tend to revolve around watching them lounge beneath acacia trees as the light softens toward evening.

It all feels almost too cinematic to be real until you find yourself lingering over dinner outside, under an impossibly luminous sky, hearing unseen movement somewhere beyond the lantern glow.

Mwiba Lodge may ultimately become the collection’s defining property. Set within the Greater Mwiba Protected Wildlife Area, the lodge’s ten tented suites rest atop granite outcrops overlooking an enormous private reserve protected by the Friedkin Conservation Fund.

The setting feels intentionally removed from the busier safari circuits farther north. Guests spend their days on game drives, visiting local Datoga communities, or simply sitting on expansive private decks watching animals gather below in silence.

Closer to the grasslands themselves, Mwiba Plains offers a more intimate camp experience, particularly during calving season when newborn wildebeest and zebra begin appearing across the savannah in staggering numbers.

There’s a tenderness to this phase of the migration that often gets overlooked beside the spectacle of river crossings.

Back in Arusha, Legendary Lodge serves as the collection’s quieter counterpart to the bush camps. The property occupies a historic coffee estate framed by lush gardens and Mount Meru in the distance, with twelve cottages, a spa, and the sort of calm atmosphere that feels deeply restorative after several early mornings bouncing across dirt tracks in a Land Cruiser.

The Chem Chem properties bring a very different rhythm. Chem Chem Lodge, Little Chem Chem, and Forest Chem Chem all sit within the Burunge Wildlife Management Area, which connects Tarangire and Lake Manyara National Parks through one of the region’s most important wildlife corridors. The camps have long been associated with what owner Fabia Busch calls “Slow Safari,” a style of travel centered less around racing between sightings and more around spending time within the landscape itself.

“Slow Safari was never about doing less. It was about feeling more,” Busch said in a statement announcing the partnership.

That philosophy lingers throughout these camps. Little Chem Chem offers particularly strong opportunities to encounter the region’s famous Big Tusker elephants, while Forest Chem Chem places guests beneath a dense canopy where leopards occasionally emerge from the shadows with unnerving elegance. Days unfold at a gentler pace here. Long breakfasts stretch into late mornings. Wildlife appears unexpectedly rather than according to itinerary.

Conservation remains central to the entire venture, and Auberge has leaned heavily into that message from the outset. Every stay directly supports both the Friedkin Conservation Fund and the Chem Chem Association, organizations dedicated to preserving migration routes, wildlife habitats, and the communities surrounding them.

Christian Clerc, Auberge Collection’s President and CEO, described the partnership as part of the Friedkin family’s decades-long stewardship of Tanzania’s ecosystems and wildlife habitats, an area where luxury travel companies increasingly face pressure to demonstrate genuine environmental involvement rather than simply attaching themselves to conservation language.

The Auberge Safari collection is now open for bookings, with rates ranging from approximately $1,505 to $3,230 per night depending on the property, season, and accommodation category.

The post Auberge Collection Is Expanding Into Africa With 9 Extraordinary Safari Camps appeared first on Luxatic.

ER Yacht Design has unveiled a new 65-metre explorer yacht concept called Super-Expedition, a vessel designed to blur the line between luxury superyacht, expedition platform and floating operations base for owners who apparently find ordinary cruising a bit dull.

And unlike many explorer concepts we’ve seen lately, this one actually seems to have been designed by people who understand how ships work.

The main idea behind Super-Expedition is adaptability. The yacht uses a removable modular system that will allow owners to reconfigure the vessel depending on the purpose of the voyage. You can install or remove more guest accommodation, scientific laboratories, storage units, expedition support spaces and other specialist modules using the yacht’s onboard crane.

Which sounds complicated, but it’s surprisingly straightforward. The modules lock into dedicated mounting points built into the vessel, while plug-in connections handle electricity, plumbing and onboard services. So the yacht can shift from luxury cruiser to research platform without needing an entire rebuild every time the owner develops a new obsession with underwater archaeology or Arctic photography.

ER Yacht Design says the concept was created for people who want “the elegance of a superyacht” combined with “the practicality of a support vessel,” and that balance comes through quite clearly in the design itself.

Visually, Super-Expedition avoids the bloated look many explorer yachts suffer from. The profile is clean and angular, with a purposeful stance that feels more offshore-capable than floating hotel. There’s a slight industrial edge to it too, which helps. Some modern superyachts look so polished you suspect they’d panic at the sight of actual weather.

The modular approach also appears properly engineered rather than simply added for attention. ER Yacht Design says the removable units were positioned carefully around the vessel’s centre of gravity to maintain balanced flotation and stability, which is reassuring because modularity on boats usually sounds like the sort of idea that ends with somebody calling the coastguard.

The concept can operate in several configurations as well. One version carries a full set of modules across the deck, another uses only a partial arrangement concentrated on the main deck, while a cleaner module-free setup transforms the yacht into something closer to a traditional luxury explorer.

The aft deck is where the whole thing becomes particularly ambitious. Super-Expedition offers roughly 375 square metres of open space there, an unusually large amount for a yacht this size according to the studio. That area can accommodate removable accommodation units, expedition vehicles, support equipment, tenders up to 15 metres long, submarines and various owner-specific toys that wealthy adventurers inevitably collect.

There’s also a ten-by-five-metre infinity pool which converts into a helipad because modern yacht design now insists every object should perform at least two unrelated functions.

Accommodation is pretty restricted by current superyacht standards. But it’s an explorer yacht after all. The vessel can host up to 10 guests across four guest staterooms and a VIP suite, while the yacht itself carries a 12.3-metre beam and a 3.5-metre draft.

What makes the concept interesting isn’t necessarily the luxury side of it. Plenty of yachts already offer pools, helicopters and submarines. The more compelling part is that ER Yacht Design seems to have approached the vessel as a genuinely usable offshore platform rather than another glamorous render meant to sit on Instagram for a week before everyone forgets about it.

There’s a practical logic running through the entire project. You can see it in the open deck arrangement, the modular layouts, the engineering considerations and the overall profile. Even the aesthetics feel disciplined. Nothing appears overly theatrical.

That’s fairly rare in this corner of the industry, where concepts often resemble villain headquarters from a Bond film.

Super-Expedition could still deliver the extravagance expected from a modern superyacht, of course. You don’t build a 65-metre vessel with a convertible helipad-pool arrangement for modest weekends along the coast. But there’s enough realism behind the concept to make it feel plausible, which somehow makes the whole thing more interesting.

The post ER Yacht Design’s Super-Expedition Concept Turns Into Whatever Its Owner Wants appeared first on Luxatic.

There’s a new house for sale in Villefranche-sur-Mer and it costs a cool $69 million. Which sounds absurd until you remember this is one of the most sought after spots of the French Riviera, where even the sunlight seems expensive and every second driveway appears to contain either a vintage Ferrari or a retired hedge fund manager in linen trousers.

The property, listed through Côte d’Azur Sotheby’s International Realty, sits on nearly two acres above the bay, tiered down the hillside in neat white blocks and sheets of glass. Very contemporary. Very geometric. The sort of place where you suspect every cushion has been karate-chopped into shape before guests arrive.

The sea sits directly ahead, vast and annoyingly beautiful, shimmering away toward the horizon exactly as postcards insist it should.

The house itself spans almost 10,000 feet, terraced down the hillside in stages. You move through it gradually, with rooms opening toward the sea at almost every turn. And the best thing is that every level seems to open onto another garden, another lounge area, another place to sit with a drink and quietly wonder where your life went wrong financially.

Inside, the architecture stays clean and contemporary without drifting into that cold, echoing emptiness many modern mansions suffer from. The double living room splits into two sections, one of them rising up beneath a double-height ceiling that probably improves acoustics for saying things like, “Darling, where’s the sommelier?”

Still, there’s warmth here. Huge stone walls break up the polished surfaces, and textured wood paneling gives the space some actual character. You can imagine living in it without feeling as though you’re trapped inside a luxury watch boutique.

And the glass. There’s miles of it.

Massive sliding doors framed in black steel open straight onto terraces overlooking the grounds below. I suspect the owners spend most evenings drifting in and out with alarming quantities of rosé while the sun slowly dissolves into the Mediterranean. Frankly, fair enough.

The kitchen leans heavily into the sort of understated extravagance wealthy people adore. A giant island carved from Bianco Curia marble stretches through the middle of the room and doubles as a breakfast bar for six. Though I imagine “breakfast” here probably involves fresh figs, tiny pastries, and someone discussing offshore banking before noon.

Warm timber cabinetry softens the room nicely, and there’s a suspended pot rack hanging above the island which gives the whole thing a faintly serious culinary atmosphere, even though no one spending $69 million on a house has cooked their own pasta sauce since the Sarkozy administration.

Nearby, the dining room carries on the natural-material theme with brass accents, sculptural stone artwork, and a chandelier that resembles some glowing geological specimen discovered in a cave by archaeologists wearing black turtlenecks.

Elsewhere in the house, things become increasingly decadent in that wonderfully Riviera way.

There’s a library, naturally. A cinema room. A games room with its own bar. A gym. A wine cellar and tasting room, because simply drinking wine in France apparently no longer suffices without a dedicated ceremonial chamber attached to it. There’s also a separate guest apartment, which is useful because wealthy people seem constitutionally incapable of visiting one another without requiring independent accommodation.

The house has seven bedrooms and seven bathrooms, though the primary suite clearly receives most of the attention – as expected. You have floor-to-ceiling glass doors that slide open directly onto a private balcony overlooking the sea and then then there’s the main bathroom. It has dual rain showers opening toward another balcony where a copper soaking tub sits outside in the sea air.

Outside, the grounds continue almost indefinitely. There are landscaped gardens arranged around shaded lounge spaces, alfresco dining areas beneath pergolas, several koi ponds and reflecting pools, and a summer kitchen built for long lunches that quietly become dinners.

The swimming pool overlooks the coastline below, naturally. Because at this level of property ownership, even your pool has a better view than most boutique hotels.

And then, because this is southern France and people here remain committed to leisure with almost militant determination, there’s also a turf padel court and a pétanque court tucked into the gardens.

Which rather sums the whole thing up. For $69 million it could be yours.

The post Perched Above the Mediterranean, This $69 Million French Riviera Estate Is Unreal appeared first on Luxatic.

Few watchmakers understand the strange poetry of the clock quite like Jaeger-LeCoultre. At this year’s Milan Design Week, the manufacture unveiled two new Atmos creations that lean hard into decorative arts while still reminding everyone that the Atmos remains one of horology’s most improbable machines.

The new Atmos Régulateur Enamel Colibris and Atmos Régulateur Wood Marqueterie are clocks, certainly, though they also feel like moving sculptures built around the quiet obsession of measuring time without touching it too much.

The Atmos remains one of the more unusual achievements in mechanical horology because it operates with almost no external energy input. Originally developed in 1928, the clock draws power from minor changes in ambient temperature. A fluctuation of one degree Celsius provides sufficient energy for about two days of operation, thanks to a sealed capsule filled with gas that expands and contracts as the temperature changes.

Energy consumption is so low that the torsion pendulum inside the movement oscillates extremely slowly. Watching an Atmos in operation can feel slightly surreal at first because almost nothing appears to move. The mechanism advances with such little force that friction reduction becomes critical throughout the calibre.

Like most contemporary Atmos models, both clocks are housed in glass cabinets that leave the movement entirely visible. That transparency has become one of the defining aspects of the Atmos over the decades. Unlike a wristwatch where decoration is confined mostly to the dial and bridges, the Atmos allows artisans to work across a larger architectural structure.

Both new models rely on the same Calibre 582 regulator movement, which separates the hour and minute indications in the old observatory style once favoured for scientific precision. There’s also a moon phase display accurate enough to deviate by a single day only after 3,821 years. Slightly academic, perhaps, but wonderfully excessive in the way only high horology can justify.

The layout suits the Atmos especially well. Concentric displays float within the open architecture of the clock, creating depth without visual clutter. Your eyes wander naturally between the suspended elements, the slow torsion pendulum, the layered indications. Few contemporary clocks manage this kind of balance. Most either drown in decoration or retreat into sterile minimalism.

The Atmos Régulateur Enamel Colibris takes the more romantic route. Jaeger-LeCoultre will produce just three examples, each decorated with elaborate scenes of hummingbirds surrounded by flowers and dense foliage executed in Grand Feu enamel. The technique itself is brutal in the best possible way. Multiple layers of enamel must be applied and fired repeatedly at temperatures exceeding 800 degrees Celsius, and one small flaw during firing can destroy hours of work instantly.

The scale makes things worse for the artisan. Enamel behaves unpredictably even on small watch dials. Here, the panels are far larger, with broad green surfaces that require remarkable consistency across the entire composition. Layer after layer builds the background before miniature painted details are added and fired individually. The hummingbirds almost disappear into the greenery until the light catches them from a different angle. Then suddenly the whole scene comes alive.

There’s also a softness to the colours that photographs struggle to capture properly. Enamel has this peculiar depth under natural light, almost wet-looking at times. You move around the clock and the reflections shift constantly. The gold leaf chapter rings and markers help too, adding just enough warmth against the rich greens without tipping into ornament overload. Jaeger-LeCoultre says the enamelling work alone requires around 230 hours, which honestly sounds believable once you start noticing the tiny details buried within the panels.

The Atmos Régulateur Wood Marqueterie heads somewhere entirely different. Limited to five pieces, it trades organic imagery for geometry and sharp Art Deco influences, though there’s still plenty of warmth thanks to the material itself.

Its decorative panels consist of 52 individual wood veneer pieces cut wafer-thin and tinted in varying shades of blue. Some lean pale and airy while others carry the darker tone of deep water just before dusk. The arrangement creates a surprisingly strong illusion of depth, almost architectural in places, especially once the rhodium-finished metal ribs frame the composition.

Marquetry can sometimes feel overly nostalgic, but this doesn’t. Here, the wood is integrated successfully into the broader architecture of the Atmos because the geometric pattern remains relatively disciplined. The rhodium-plated ribs separating the veneer sections also help sharpen the overall structure visually.

Blue lacquer elements continue across the regulator display and moon-phase aperture. The moon-phase itself is particularly well executed, with textured cloud forms underneath a polished moon disc set against a deep blue background.

The regulator display works especially well in both executions because the separation between indications leaves enough negative space for the decorative elements to remain visible. On conventional dials, métiers d’art techniques often end up partially obscured by hands, indexes, or typography. The Atmos avoids that problem almost entirely because the movement itself already functions as part of the display.

The post Jaeger-LeCoultre’s New Atmos Clocks Might Be the Most Beautiful Yet appeared first on Luxatic.

Bentley has decided that one tyre-smoking film wasn’t enough, so now it’s selling the souvenirs as well. Proper souvenirs, too. Tiny cars. Screen prints. The sort of things middle-aged men with suspiciously expensive shelving units tend to call “collectibles” while pretending they haven’t just spent the price of a decent dishwasher on a 1:18 scale model.

This all stems from Supersports: FULL SEND, Bentley’s unexpectedly chaotic gymkhana-style film starring Travis Pastrana. And yes, Bentley doing gymkhana still feels faintly absurd. Like seeing a duke enter a skateboarding competition. Yet somehow, it worked.

The film itself took place at Bentley’s factory in Crewe, which is normally associated with walnut veneers, hushed conversations about leather grain, and men named Alastair measuring stitching tolerances with the seriousness of a heart surgeon. Then came along Pastrana in a 666 PS Bentley Supersports, sliding sideways through the place in clouds of tyre smoke while security guards probably reconsidered their career choices.

So Bentley leaned into it.

They’ve now released two replica versions of the #199 Supersports used in the film, available in 1:18 and 1:43 scale. Tiny enough to fit on a desk, expensive enough to make you briefly stare at your bank app in silence. Still, they do look rather good.

The detail is the important bit here. Bentley clearly understood that collectors are strange creatures who’ll happily spend half an hour examining a miniature rear diffuser with the concentration of archaeologists uncovering Roman pottery. So the models replicate everything: the huge fixed rear wing, the dive planes, the aggressive side sills, and the sort of aerodynamic addenda that modern performance cars wear like military decorations.

Then there’s the livery.

Bentley collaborated with London artist Deathspray, whose work tends to occupy that lovely overlap between motorsport obsession and controlled visual chaos. The monochrome paint scheme gets interrupted by acidic green accents, green-tinted windows, and wheels painted green at the front and white at the rear. It sounds dreadful on paper. A bit like a nightclub owner’s ski jacket. Yet on the Supersports, it somehow fits the mood perfectly.

Probably because the whole project has that slightly unhinged energy about it.

Even the hydraulic handbrake appears inside the miniature cabin. That detail amused me more than it should have. Bentley spent decades refining luxury interiors so occupants could glide silently across Europe in total serenity, and now collectors can admire the tiny lever used specifically to fling one sideways through a factory corridor. Civilisation evolves in mysterious ways.

The artistic prints are perhaps even more interesting. Bentley added two limited-edition screen prints to the collection, each individually numbered and printed by hand. One captures the enormous burnout from the opening scene. The other freezes the Supersports mid-slide inside the Pyms Lane facility, looking as though someone accidentally gave a luxury GT car too much caffeine.

I rather like that Bentley didn’t over-polish any of this.

Luxury brands often panic when they attempt something playful. They smooth the edges off. Add marketing jargon. Put everyone in cream knitwear beside a marina at sunset. Here, there’s actual tyre smoke. Actual aggression. The car looks slightly dangerous, which is refreshing because modern performance launches often feel engineered by compliance departments and scented candle consultants.

Apparently the idea first emerged back in April 2024, when Bentley wanted to create something completely different from its usual films. You can imagine the Board meeting. One executive proposing another cinematic montage of continental touring while someone at the back quietly says, “What if we let Travis Pastrana drift through the factory instead?”

Amazingly, they approved it.

Bentley’s R&D department then converted a development Supersports into something suitable for Pastrana’s driving style, which presumably involved reinforcing anything that might otherwise detach itself and fly into Cheshire. Filming eventually took place in September 2025 at the famous Pyms Lane campus, itself massively expanded over recent years as Bentley continues its transition into this strange new world where heritage craftsmanship coexists with social-media spectacle.

And honestly, that balance matters.

Because the Supersports still feels unmistakably Bentley underneath all the smoke and theatrics. Huge power. Ridiculous speed. Vast presence. There’s still that sense that it could cross Europe effortlessly after demolishing a set of tyres for the cameras. Few manufacturers manage both.

Production of the actual customer Supersports begins in late 2026, with deliveries expected in early 2027 across major markets including Europe, the United States, Canada, Australia, Japan and parts of the Middle East.

Until then, collectors can settle for the miniature version.

The post Bentley Somehow Made Collectible Model Cars Feel Cool Again appeared first on Luxatic.

The Philippines’ Lagen Island Resort has reopened its doors following a sweeping redesign that feels unusually sensitive for a luxury resort in 2026. The private island resort, tucked into the limestone cliffs of El Nido in Palawan, already had one of the most extraordinary settings in Southeast Asia. The renovation simply gives it more room to breathe.

That alone feels refreshing.

Sex across six hectares, the re-imagined property now unfolds through 42 redesigned accommodations going from Water Villas to Forest Rooms, with a new arrival pavilion, clubhouse, spa, dive center, sunset bar, and chapel woven into the landscape. The renovation work was led by WATG and Wimberly Interiors in collaboration with Ayala Land Hospitality, though the most impressive part of the project might be what they chose not to do.

Most of the original resort structures remain intact.

That’s surprisingly rare now, especially in luxury hospitality, where developers tend to flatten perfectly good buildings the second the word “repositioning” enters the conversation. Here, the existing structures became the foundation for the redesign. Old nara wood flooring was repurposed into wall paneling. Architectural elements were adapted rather than replaced. The island itself still feels familiar somehow, even after the overhaul.

New resorts frequently resemble immaculate film sets in the beginning – visually perfect, yet still searching for the rhythm of everyday life. Lagen, El Nido already carries a sense of age and softness. The humidity has settled into the wood. The pathways disappear into greenery. Nothing feels overly staged.

The setting does a lot of work, of course. Massive limestone cliffs rise almost vertically from turquoise water, while dense rainforest wraps around the resort from every direction. Boats drift slowly through the bay, adding to the sense that everything here moves at a different speed. In the early morning, the island becomes nearly silent save for birdsong and the gentle break of waves against the shoreline.

The redesigned arrival hall opens directly toward those views. Its architecture references traditional Filipino Paraw boats through curved forms and carved detailing, though thankfully without leaning too hard into the theme. Resorts sometimes become oddly theatrical when they start interpreting local culture too literally. This feels more relaxed than that.

Traditional weaving and carving techniques from the Philippines appear throughout the interiors in quieter ways. Woven textures show up in furniture, lighting, and wall panels. Handcrafted wood details frame corridors and guest rooms. Some references come from Tagbanua, Tausug, and Maranao traditions, though you don’t need to recognize every influence to appreciate the atmosphere they create.

The Water Villas push guests as close to the sea as possible. Large openings frame uninterrupted ocean views, while sunken lounge seating and subtle screening create privacy without cutting off the connection to the water.

The interiors stay fairly minimal, which was probably the right move. With colors outside like these, adding too much inside the room would’ve been a mistake.

The Forest Rooms feel entirely different.

Hidden among mature trees with glimpses of the shoreline beyond, they lean into darker timber tones and deep green accents that blur nicely into the surrounding landscape. There are references to traditional bahay kubo architecture throughout the rooms, especially in some of the wall treatments and partitions, though none of it feels forced. You notice details gradually here.

The Clubhouse now serves as one of the social centers of the resort, with a moodier palette inspired by local pottery traditions and handcrafted materials. The bar counter incorporates woven detailing that catches the light differently throughout the evening, especially around sunset when the entire space starts glowing amber for about twenty minutes before everything fades blue again.

Nearby, the beachfront Sunset Bar takes cues from traditional Pangko boats, with curved rooflines and low seating positioned directly toward the horizon. Which, admittedly, sounds like exactly the sort of thing every tropical resort claims to have. But El Nido sunsets are irritatingly beautiful in person. There’s no real way around describing them.

What makes the redesign work is its balance. The resort doesn’t constantly remind guests how luxurious or sustainable or culturally immersive it is. Nobody seems desperate to prove anything here. The architecture opens toward the landscape, the interiors rely heavily on local craftsmanship, and the island remains the focal point almost everywhere you go.

Even the pathways through the property feel intentionally understated. Some are barely lit at night except for small pools of warm light filtering through the trees. You hear insects, wind, distant waves. Then suddenly the jungle opens up and there’s the sea again.

The post One of The Philippines’ Most Iconic Resorts Just Reopened After a Massive Renovation appeared first on Luxatic.