Most middle-aged men, throughout the year, resort to a very limited range among all the possibilities that fashion offers. Faced with the infinite possibilities it provides, they tend to opt for discreet pieces, neutral tones, predictable outfits, and unpretentious silhouettes. But summer temporarily alters this established order. The climate, holidays, and the feeling of being outside the routine open a small crack in this monotony. And it is precisely through this crack that such an unexpected and revealing piece slips in: the Hawaiian shirt.When we see this shirt, with floral prints and the name it has been given, we quickly suppose it represents the essence of this Pacific archipelago and the cultural past of Polynesia. But the reality is very different. Far from referring to ancestors, these shirts were born in the thirties of the 20th century, when Hawaii had lost its independence for decades and lived under American rule. Turned into a plantation economy, the islands attracted successive migratory waves, especially from China and Japan, thanks to which fabrics, artisanal techniques, and ways of dressing also arrived. In this context, the Japanese tailor Koichiro Miyamoto began to make them in 1935 under the name Aloha Shirts.The first manufacturers resorted to the materials they had at hand: rolls of Japanese fabric originally intended for making kimonos. For this reason, the first prints showed bamboo plants, fans, cherry blossoms, waves, or cranes (tsuru), motifs typical of Japanese iconography. Asian fabrics but on a garment with the morphology of the North American sports shirt. The Hawaiian shirt was therefore not the expression of an intact culture, but the product of a colonial society in which American patterns, Japanese fabrics, and Asian hands had ended up sewing a new identity. Once again, history showed that cultural purity resembles fiction much more than reality.In the late thirties, Hawaii was already a tourist destination for Americans, a phenomenon that after World War II intensified with the popularization of commercial aviation. And, with tourism, the shirt also became tropicalized: cranes gave way to hibiscus, surfers, and ukuleles. The finishing touch, however, was given by Hollywood, when it invented a consummately idyllic Hawaii. Elvis Presley, with Blue Hawaii (1961), ended up stereotyping it as a cultural myth of paradisiacal beaches, surf, women dancing hula and floral necklaces. The return of thousands of soldiers stationed in the islands also contributed, bringing back photographs, ukuleles, and shirts.And if we fell captivated by the warm sound of Elvis's steel guitars, the private detective Magnum finished the job. What man didn't want to wear a Hawaiian shirt if this meant living, even if just for a few days, the carefree and eternally summery life of Thomas Magnum: living in a mansion by the sea, drifting a red Ferrari, and the promise that happiness could be worn with a floral print?

«Kini» is no longer just the end of bikini: has become almost a suffix. Over the past few decades, it has been combined with all sorts of words to designate new ways of dressing – or undressing – the body on the beach. From the foundational bikini to monokini, the trikini, the tankini, the microkini, the burkini, the seekini or the most recent skirtkini. But if there was a turn that few of us saw coming it was the facekini: a piece that, instead of revealing more skin, completely covers our face to enter the sea. Before, however, that the brother-in-law reflex is activated and someone says that "the fashion world has once again invented another stupidity," it is worth giving it the benefit of the doubt. Because this disconcerting piece, in addition to the face, hides a story much less frivolous than it seems and, above all, offers an opportunity to question the way we look at clothes when they come from other cultures.

It's hot. Very hot. Too much. And I don't formulate this evidence as an experienced climatologist, but as a simple inhabitant of a world increasingly close to boiling point. Faced with this climatic exceptionality, which is already sensed as the new normal, the much-coveted air conditioning units, despite the immediate well-being they provide, contribute to heating the outside even more. Perhaps that's why, in the midst of a climate emergency, the oldest solutions are once again proving their validity. And is there anything more ancestral than a fan?Just a few years ago it seemed that this object had been relegated to a simple folkloric souvenir, adorned with inevitable kitsch Hispanism motifs. Today, on the other hand, it has regained its place as one of humanity's oldest, simplest, and most sustainable technologies. But, has this always been its function: to make wind? And, despite being an inseparable complement to the flamenco stereotype, is Spain really its place of origin?

With the arrival of good weather, sunglasses become much more than an accessory to protect your vision. They are an essential complement that defines style, adds personality, and completes any summer look. This season, trends combine classic designs with daring proposals to satisfy all tastes. We have selected five models that stand out for their aesthetics, versatility, and ability to set trends so you can choose the perfect sunglasses to enjoy the summer.

The French beach of Pampelonne, which during the seventies and eighties became one of the great symbols of European body liberation, is far away. Press photographs showed stretches of sand dotted with umbrellas and bodies where the "topless was not the exception, but the rule. Neither were the Costa Brava, the Costa Daurada, the Costa del Sol or Ibiza, where the spirit hippy and the impulse of the sexual revolution turned the bare breast into an expression of freedom. Slim Aarons' photographs immortalized that carefree way of inhabiting Mediterranean leisure, where the semi-naked bodies of bathers were part of the landscape naturally, without dramatization or scandal. It was not about sexualizing the body, but precisely about freeing it from the gaze that turned it into an object and lightening it from the weight of centuries of moral demonization.That landscape, however, today seems almost an archive photograph. Not only because fifty years have passed, but also because the reality it represented has been fading away. The topless, which for decades was part of the usual landscape of Mediterranean beaches, is today an increasingly exceptional practice. Data suggests that, compared to the eighties, it has decreased by two-thirds. And the paradox is that the women who continue to practice it the most are precisely those who grew up during the sexual revolution. The youngest, on the other hand, have barely even incorporated it. What has happened for what seemed like a conquest of bodily freedom to have retreated?Breasts are exactly the same as forty years ago. What has changed is the world that observes them. When a woman decided to leave them exposed, she knew who would see them, how, and for how long. Upon leaving the beach, that exposure also ended. Today, however, a woman can leave the sand, but if someone has taken a photograph of her, her image will continue to circulate indefinitely on others' screens, becoming, in the best case, content for social media and, in the worst, an advertisement for sexual content pages. The moment a photograph escapes our control, so does a part of our body.Furthermore, social networks, along with the media, have exponentially intensified the pressure on bodies, which seem to have to respond more than ever to canons of perfection to deserve to be shown. Beaches and swimming pools have ceased to be friendly spaces for body diversity. Bodies forced to coexist with the scrutinizing gaze of others and, above all, with their own, often even crueler, the result of low self-esteem eroded by a system that turns insecurity into a business.When the feminist struggles of the seventies denounced the sexualization of women's bodies, they already sensed that this battle would not be easy. Half a century later, it continues to be one of the great open fronts. There will be those who consider it inevitable to sexualize female breasts, as if it were a natural instinct against which it were useless to rebel. But history shows precisely the opposite. During the first half of the 20th century, male nipples were also the object of censorship and scandal. Only when men began to uncover their torsos normally on beaches did that moral burden gradually fade. The sexualization of the body, therefore, is not immutable, but simply the result of a cultural construction, even if we want to dress it up as natural.The paradox is that we have never lived with so many images of naked bodies and, yet, for decades these have not been so unfree. Captives of aesthetic pressure and the surveillance society, the youngest have inherited more images of the body than their mothers, but less freedom to inhabit it.

Mango has sold 7.2% more in the first six months of this year than in the same period last year, after discounting inflation: the Catalan brand has invoiced 1,852 million euros between January and June.

Fashion is political. When we decide to wear flat shoes instead of heels, put on ripped jeans, or tie a tie, we are making a statement about how we want to position ourselves in the world. As feminists proclaimed in the seventies, drawing heavily on countercultural thought, the personal is political. It is no wonder, then, that throughout history institutions, ideologies, and parties have tried to appropriate the symbolic power of clothing to persuade, construct identities, and, at times, also dominate.The latest episode has been starred by Pedro Sánchez's government, which a few days ago presented DMOCRACIA, a graphic campaign built with all the codes of a streetwear brand, with a slogan that leaves no room for doubt: "When you dress, you position yourself". The initiative, framed within the acts commemorating fifty years of democracy, aims to bring this political system closer to the younger generation, with an urban aesthetic and the accompaniment of a battalion of influencers. The first reaction, I confess, is to look around for the hidden camera. It's hard to decide if we are facing an institutional campaign or a parody of gigantic proportions. But, once the absurdity is accepted, it's worth asking: is it a genuinely Spanish extravagance, or does dressing political ideals have a history older than it seems?The Neoclassical painter Jacques-Louis David, known for works such as The Death of Marat or The Oath of the Horatii, played an active and committed role in the French Revolution. Convinced that, in addition to establishing a new political and social order, it was also necessary to give it a visible form, he designed various outfits to define the appearance of the new republican citizen. Through the three colors of the flag, references to Republican Rome, and inscriptions such as Liberty, Equality or French People, he aimed to create a new visual code for a society governed by revolutionary ideals.However, the project did not prosper. History has shown that, apart from regimes that impose a certain appearance – as in the People's Republic of China, where the Zhongshan suit (Mao suit) became hegemonic attire under strong pressure – fashion is not adopted by decree. People do not simply wear what a government prescribes, but what emerges from a complex network of desires, identifications, aspirations, and social dynamics. Politics can try to dress an ideology, but not decide what society will wear.

Why does a family continue to work with centuries-old fabrics when everyone consumes new clothes that may not even last a year in the closet? In an era dominated by Shein and Temu – among other fast-fashion giants – there is a shop in Barcelona's Gothic Quarter that defies this logic and works in the exact opposite direction. At L’Arca, sheets, bedspreads, and curtains from the late 19th and early 20th centuries are transformed into wedding dresses or pieces of ready-to-wear. Its raw material is not just quality cotton, silk or linen: it is time. “It is part of a history and we are only writing a new chapter,” summarizes Carmina Pairet, one of the current managers of the space she shares with her sister Nina Balmes.This way of understanding fashion is not a recent trend, but the result of two family lines – one with roots in Maresme and the other in Garrotxa – that have revolved around lace for almost two centuries. The exhibition Treasures of L'Arca, which this year is hosted by the Museum of Arenys de Mar, recovers this history and shows how lace was much more than a decorative element: it also constituted a powerful industry, a business with international projection and a heritage that has managed to reinvent itself. But to understand why a family continues to work today with centuries-old fabrics, we must go back to Catalonia in the mid-19th century.When the tip was luxury, culture, and merchandise

In 1856, at the height of Barcelona's industrial boom, Casa Vives was founded, one of the companies that best understood the commercial potential of Catalan lace. Beyond the romantic imagery that surrounds it, lace was much more than an ornament: it was a prosperous industry, a business with an export vocation, and a product capable of competing in major international markets. The firm's participation in the Universal Exhibitions of Barcelona (1888) and Chicago (1893) is a good example of this. "Lace was luxury, culture, and merchandise," summarizes Carmina Pairet.

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What is urban fashion? Also known as street wear or street fashion? It is that aesthetic of clothing originating from the United States in the eighties, from the urban tribes of that time, from breakdance fashion. It consists of wearing jeans combined with a tracksuit jacket, a baseball cap, a sweatshirt with the logo of baseball or basketball teams, Puma sneakers, and clothing brands like Lois. Greatly influenced by cinema, by films like Porky's and Teen Wolf – the jacket worn by Michael J. Fox is pure street wear–, by Boy George, by George Michael. The Wrangler jeans that Freddy Mercury wore at Queen's legendary performance at the Live Aid concert in 1985 at Wembley Stadium. Or the yellow Champion t-shirt that he himself made very fashionable. Or when he wore Puma sneakers and Adidas signed him. Who wore Lois and made the brand famous? Well, Abba, Rod Stewart, John Lennon, and Johan Cruyff.

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We are immersed in Paris Haute Couture Week. The collections presented these days have left absolutely spectacular pieces, especially from Daniel Roseberry for Schiaparelli and Jonathan Anderson in his haute couture debut for Dior. But, despite the creative display that is capturing all eyes these days, there is a dress that is eclipsing them all. A very unique dress because, in reality, no one has seen it yet. And the more time passes without knowing what it looks like, the more conversations, speculations, and expectations it generates. I'm referring to the one Taylor Swift wore at her wedding to American football player Travis Kelce, held on July 3rd.Beyond the possibility that the images will be reserved for a future exclusive, this situation fits perfectly with the logic of the attention economy. In fact, a good part of the fashion world revolves around a concept that has become commonplace in the sector: hype. More than promoting a product, hype consists of building desire for it before it exists – or before it is accessible – by feeding rumors, leaks, small clues, and waiting periods that keep the conversation alive. In short, hype is the art of turning waiting into desire, because whoever controls time also controls the narrative and decides when, how, and who will have access to what everyone is waiting to see. Precisely at a time when we have become accustomed to getting almost anything immediately, it is here that marketing strategies manage to trap us. Desire, after all, usually reaches its peak intensity when we don't yet have what we want, but it dissolves with surprising speed as soon as we get it.

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Few people set trends in Hollywood as much as Zendaya, who always makes daring and personal stylistic choices. The actress has once again proven she is unbeatable on the red carpet by appearing at the premiere of The Odyssey in a dress that left no one indifferent. In the film, she plays the goddess Athena, and Zendaya has decided to dress in keeping with her role: she chose a sculptural design from the firm Schiaparelli that surprises with a white breastplate-like upper body that accentuates her breasts and ribs. The corset, in fact, can be reminiscent of an ancient Greek sculpture, undoubtedly a nod to the film in which she participates, an adaptation of Homer's epic poem.

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Teyana Taylor, an American actress and singer, presented the iconic show "Saturday night live" in January dressed in an unexpected piece: a white t-shirt, completely embroidered with sequins, featuring one of the most iconic logos of the 20th century: "I❤️NY". The piece was part of Chanel's Métiers d'Art 2025/26 collection, the line with which the French house showcases its maximum artisanal virtuosity each year. This time, however, the most exquisite luxury had allied itself with one of the most kitsch objects of tourist culture: the souvenir t-shirt. The episode could have remained an anecdote if it weren't for the fact that, since then, other celebrities – especially from Generation Z – have also revived this same symbol.

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There is an idea that we have normalized to the point of not seeing it: that happiness can be bought. And we are not talking about that one-off acquisition of a long-desired object, but about a happiness built on a constant drip of small purchases, apparently insignificant but which, in perspective, draw a pattern of behavior and almost a horizon of meaning. Through consumption we build ourselves, we relate to each other, we articulate our free time and, in short, we shape our lives. This way of inhabiting the world is consolidated especially from the Second World War, when in the United States consumption projects itself beyond the strictly economic sphere to become an identity factor, even patriotic, and a mechanism of social stabilization that will end up being exported on a global scale. And, among the areas that most intensely participate in this logic, we find, in a paradigmatic way, fashion. But why does buying a new sweater or acquiring seasonal shoes make us happy?The key to this feeling is not so much in the acquisition itself, nor even in the moment we wear that skirt we liked so much in the store for the first time. The decisive moment — the one in which dopamine is activated, more linked to desire and expectation than to satisfaction — occurs just before the purchase: when we look for the item, pursue it, imagine ourselves wearing it, or leave it waiting in the digital cart. It is in this interval, in this tension between what we do not yet have and what we project, where the most intense peak of pleasure is concentrated. The purchase, on the other hand, does not end it: it reactivates it. The cycle resumes immediately, and with it the need for a new object, a new impulse.However, although the collective imaginary has associated compulsive buying addiction almost inseparably with women, it should be understood that it is a transversal behavior, inscribed in the very logic of capitalist economies. The idea that women cannot restrain themselves in front of a pair of shoes is constructed throughout the 19th century, in a context of profound contempt that uses this stereotype to question their moral capacity and justify their exclusion from the rights and freedoms derived from liberal revolutions. Consumption thus appears as proof of supposed weakness, of an inability to govern one's own impulses, in contrast to a masculinity defined by self-control.

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Victor von Schwarz (his surname in German means "black"; Sabadell, 1988) is the artistic name of the fashion designer who has dressed some of the most popular artists on the music scene, such as Aitana, Lola Índigo or Rosalía, and who is part of the Shein X program. The designer has matured an androgynous style —influenced by his time in Taiwan—, with a constant presence of pink and "cute aesthetics, which was reflected in the pink jersey-top that Rosalía wore in the music video for Milionària. For wine, Von Schwarz is true to his brand: when he can choose, he chooses black.

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Once upon a time, footballers seemed to have only one dimension: when they weren't sweating it out on the field, they were always seen in tracksuits. People programmed solely to perform athletically, as if there were no boundary between athlete and person. And when they appeared in street clothes, they conveyed the same discomfort as men who only dress up for weddings: outfits that seemed to wear them rather than the other way around. Times that, seeing the national teams' arrivals at the World Cup, seem absolutely past. But this transformation has taken several World Cups to crystallize.

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The Lux Tour is arguably Rosalía's most ambitious tour to date. Everything is meticulously planned, including the wardrobe. Now that the singer has begun the North American leg of the tour, she has decided to make changes to some of the outfits she wears, and the novelties have come from Jonathan Anderson, creative director of Dior, who has designed four exclusive looks for her, which were already seen at the concert she gave in Boston. The French house has shared several videos on Instagram showing the creative process and allowing us to see Rosalía trying on the outfits she will wear in the concerts she still has to perform. It should be remembered that since 2024 Rosalía has been a global ambassador for Dior.

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On Tuesday, June 2, the presenter of the TVE program Al cielo con ella, Henar Álvarez, starred in an unusual scene that soon went viral. During her usual opening monologue, she complained that not a week goes by without some viewer asking her why she presents the program "dressed as a man". The question is not anecdotal.

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Tulles, bows, sequins, pearls, corsets... could be the ingredients of a Parisian haute couture fashion show, but these days they are part of one of the great stages of world sport: Roland Garros. Tennis player Naomi Osaka has once again turned her entrance onto the court into a visual event, with a series of outfits designed by Swiss creator Kevin Germanier that have generated as much conversation as some of the tournament's matches. It wasn't the first time. Last year she had already surprised with a spectacular Robert Wun dress inspired by a jellyfish. This year, Osaka took to the court dressed to the nines, with a transparent tulle skirt and a bodice made from recycled pieces. Once in place, however, she sheds this first layer to reveal another, copper-colored one that blends with the clay court, but at the same time emits metallic reflections inspired, according to Germanier himself, by the night lighting of the Eiffel Tower. An authentic scenic transformation thus occurs: first Naomi the celebrity appears, almost as if walking down a red carpet; then Naomi the sportswoman emerges, ready to compete. This structure of revelation traditionally belongs to the language of fashion and spectacle rather than sport. It is not surprising that some commentators have coined the term court-ure, a fusion of court and couture, to describe this phenomenon. And all of this takes on a curious historical resonance when we consider that the scene takes place on the Suzanne Lenglen court, the great French tennis player who, at the beginning of the 20th century, understood before anyone else that transforming the players' clothing also meant transforming their place in society.

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Lola Casademunt, one of the benchmark Catalan fashion brands, celebrated its 45th anniversary this Wednesday with a fashion show at Barcelona's Llotja de Mar, where it presented the spring-summer 2027 collection, a proposal greatly inspired by the city's spirit. "La Joya [collection name] aims to pay homage to Barcelona, the city that is part of our DNA and has inspired us for 45 years. The architecture, the light, the colors, and this unique blend of tradition, art, and modernity have guided the entire collection," explains Maite Casademunt, president and creative director of Lola Casademunt.

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When we talk about beautiful bodies, we tend to imagine a kind of natural grace or exceptional physical attributes that only a minority of people are lucky enough to have received at birth. But what we consider beauty is not a universal or immutable reality, but a cultural construction that each society defines according to its values, imaginaries, and ways of looking. A beauty that, far from being sought for the personal enjoyment of inhabiting one's own body, needs the external gaze to exist and acquire meaning through the approval of others. It is no coincidence, then, that throughout the 20th century and as the means of reproducing and disseminating images multiplied, beauty ideals became increasingly conditioned by technologies of visibility.

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