Spectator Life

Those who have visited Venice in the summertime will have witnessed the masses who descend into the heart of the labyrinthine islands, clogging their historic stone arteries and beautiful atria in a gormless and sclerotic trance. Meandering along the canals can always lead to some duomo or piazza that merits a standstill and an upward gawp. If you’re at all like me, after sweating through those tight streets with other tourists, one day certainly feels like enough. So it went on my recent visit. After popping my head in for as much of the Biennale that was still on display, a Bellini at Harry’s, lunch at Staffa and an inspiring visit to the Fondazione Querini Stampalia, I decided to get in the car and leave.

It’s easy to not quite get the Super Bowl. What exactly is it: a sporting event, a music show, a fashion parade for the world’s coolest pair of shades, a new version of the Chippendales with the hunks wearing tight trousers and skid lids? Or, in its latest incarnation, a chance for the world’s most frenetic lawmaker to sink his last putt in a round of golf with Tiger Woods, board Air Force One and say: "Fly me to New Orleans." Or is it a chance to watch several vast and amiable black guys bulging out of their suits and bantering away about a possible three-peat, while Trombone Shorty plays a touching version of "America the Beautiful" and an announcer calls for a moment’s silence to mark the importance of "faith, family and football"?

The US Senate narrowly confirmed Robert F. Kennedy Jr. as health and human Services (HHS) secretary in a 52-48 vote. Democrats voted along party lines — against former Democrat RFK — as did Republicans, with the exception of Senator Mitch McConnell. Expressing his view of RFK’s appointment, McConnell said in a statement: I’m a survivor of childhood polio. In my lifetime, I’ve watched vaccines save millions of lives from devastating diseases across America and around the world. I will not condone the re-litigation of proven cures, and neither will millions of Americans who credit their survival and quality of life to scientific miracles... a record of trafficking in dangerous conspiracy theories and eroding trust in public health institutions does not entitle Mr.

Minus a few big plays, the Super Bowl match-up between the Philadelphia Eagles and the Kansas City Chiefs itself was a bit of a snoozer. But everyone knows the main event is not really the main event at the Super Bowl. Prior to kickoff, there’s the panning of the cameras to show the famous folk in attendance. Taylor Swift was mercilessly booed, and she didn’t seem to know how to react to the derision. In her defense — who would? Say what you will about Swift, but having your face appearing on a jumbotron elicit jeers loud enough to be heard from inside your swanky private box must be soul-shattering, no matter how many billions you have in the bank. President Donald Trump’s appearance had the opposite effect: the crowd goes wild!

File this under sentences that shouldn’t have to be written, but President Donald Trump just signed an executive order barring biological males from participating in women’s sports. The Keeping Men Out of Women's Sports order, reports ESPN, “gives federal agencies, including the Justice and Education departments, wide latitude to ensure entities that receive federal funding abide by Title IX in alignment with the Trump administration's view, which interprets ‘sex’ as the gender someone was assigned at birth.” The move seems like a no-brainer, and most Americans will likely roll their eyes, turn on the Super Bowl this weekend to watch the most testosteroned of muscley, macho men bash each other to the ground and not give the chromosomes a second thought.

Last Friday afternoon, amid the menswear shows for Paris Fashion Week, a crowd of influencers, shoppers, celebrities and fashion journalists waited for Dior’s latest collection. Attendees, however, weren’t chatting about what they expected from the clothes, or the staging, or the state of the brand, or what they were hoping to see. Instead, it was all about the fate of its designer. The show received strikingly positive reviews, with critics raving over Dior Homme’s return to simple form and immaculate craftsmanship. But before, throughout, and after, one question saturated the air: would this be the last show by its men’s creative director, Kim Jones?

It was the first day of the spring semester when masked individuals burst into the classroom, shouting and throwing posters at students. As they yelled, the professor asked the protestors calmly, and in Arabic, to leave. The class was on the History of Modern Israel, the campus was Columbia University, and the protestors were part of the highly engaged and increasingly extreme “Palestine liberation” movement. It transpired that the masked students did not speak Arabic, that they did not intend to engage in a dialogue, and their primary concern was causing disruption and documenting that disruption for social media.

My friend Dan Foster voiced a theory about Robert F. Kennedy Jr. today that strikes me as particularly accurate. In response to a comment from the New York Times’s Ross Douthat giving credence to RFK’s belief that Lyme disease could be the result of a materially engineered bioweapon, he noted: “The reason I think Kennedy gets confirmed is because every single American agrees with him on one of his fringe things. He’s like the Captain Planet of kook.” This is the ultimate expression of voter antipathy toward traditional politicians, laid atop suspicions that everyone holds about something on the edge of appropriate discussion. It goes like this: “Well, yeah RFK’s probably wrong about X, and definitely about Y, but Z? He’s the only guy who tells the truth about Z!

What do the musicians Paul Weller and Daryl Hall, the gallerist Iwan Wirth, and the actor Gary Oldman have in common? A taste in tailors. I meet Tom Arena, who's just set up a regular pop-up atelier, in his suite-cum-studio on the Chelsea Hotel’s fourth floor. He has just finished a morning of fittings with “Young British Artist” Liam Gillick and the makeup queen Bobbi Brown. I’m here for my second suit from Arena and the sheer abundance of cloth and swatch books of the world’s finest yarns makes my head spin: Fox Brothers tweeds, Dormeuil cottons, Caccioppoli linens and silks, exquisite Venetian linings and trimmings.

In Los Angeles earlier this month, it wasn’t just the buildings that burned — they were homes, family businesses and places of worship. Yet, the Pacific Palisades community still stands. Sarah Peterson was at home when she got a text about a nearby fire. Fires near the Palisades weren’t uncommon, but when she opened her front door to check, she was only greeted by a wall of smoke. “I’ve been through other fires before, but I could tell this one was really, really close — and too big to ignore,” she said. Her first thought was of family. “You grow up with a feeling of community, and family, and home, So obviously your immediate thought is to make sure that everyone is OK,” she said.

The insanity displayed by the pro-Hamas crowd never ceases to amaze. But the latest salvo feels extreme even by the extremist standards that have come to define the global political climate post-October 7. According to some of the most vocal online anti-Zionists, the raging inferno now overwhelming much of Los Angeles is not the result of government neglect or poor urban planning or even climate change. No, the thousands of homes and tens of thousands of acres now destroyed across Southern California are the handiwork of Jews and Zionists and Israel.  There are many streams leading to this nonsensical conclusion — all rooted in time-worn tropes of nefarious Jewish alliances and global domination.

Los Angeles witnessed something astonishing this week — ninety-mile-per-hour hurricane-force winds fanning the flames of uncontrollable wildfires. It is in extraordinary circumstances that the ordinary becomes all the more critical. Functioning fire hydrants, properly staffed public safety departments, an available mayor: all basics of government which citizens should come to expect. Yet Angelenos found the basics sorely lacking in response to the fires that ravaged the Palisades, Malibu and other coastal communities.   While no single person or decision could have prevented the resulting devastation, an assessment of local government’s preparation for and response to this crisis shows a litany of failures that have become all-too familiar to Californians.

“Whitney Cummings, it is time for you to roast the year,” Andy Cohen said Tuesday night, an invitation he would perhaps go on to regret. Cohen and Anderson Cooper let Cummings loose on 2024 as part of CNN's New Year's Eve coverage. Cummings quickly breezed through a laundry list of controversial and touchy jokes in four or so minutes on live TV. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-IL-p-fKS08&ab_channel=WhitneyCummings She addressed “our” wistful obsession with murderers (the Menendez brothers, Gypsy Rose Blanchard, Luigi Mangione), the increased sale of baby oil, Hunter Biden's laptop, white supremacy in relation to Ariana Grande, cryptocurrency as "astrology for men" and the drones in New Jersey that the government surely knows about...

After years of crushing inflation, "woke" priorities and bureaucratic overregulation, Donald Trump and the Republican Party achieved a resounding victory in November. Part of that victory was built upon his promise to challenge the status quo in our healthcare system and to “make America healthy again.” The first step? Ending patient-last policies in Medicare, Medicaid, drug pricing and health insurance that prioritize the health of the healthcare system over the health of patients, driving up the cost of care at the expense of patients and taxpayers.  Healthcare is the only market where customers discover the price after consuming a good or service, and these surprising costs are contributing to crushing medical debt. It doesn’t have to be this way.

"Insane, isn’t it?!” Kyle yelled from thirty feet below, leaning back on his snowboard to watch me struggle. I summoned every ounce of strength in my jet-lagged body to prize my legs, still attached to skis, from several feet of fresh snow. Wedged sideways, I pulled myself up by a tree root, alternating between hysterical laughter and acute panic as little progress was made in five minutes. I’d come to Japan for the powder — and I’d sure found it on my first morning in Furano, Hokkaidō. Fighting to stand up, I steeled myself to tackle the impossibly light powder reaching my armpits, on the widest skis I’d ever clipped into. It really did feel different to snow in the US or Europe. This would take some getting used to. “You said you wanted ‘Japow’!