With Christmas exactly one month away, and our neighbourhood's lighting ceremony on Thursday evening, one can't help but get a little caught up in all the holiday excitement. Here are a few things on our list, from the kinds of pieces that feel made for this in-between moment of the year, when November is slipping quietly toward winter and everything seems to slow under the softer light.
WE SENT our Holiday Wishes to subscribers before Christmas and shared a quick update of life lately on Christmas Eve. While this note was meant for Christmas Day itself, we think the warmth of the season still lingers enough for a day-late greeting.
Explore our December discoveries, from museum wanderings to French château histories, perfume reviews to holiday mood boards—a curated collection of winter musings and festive inspirations.
Discover thoughtful, unique gift ideas tailored for those who appreciate artful living, impeccable style, and culinary flair—perfect presents for everyone on your list this holiday season.
Cosy cashmere and a whimsical porcelain sculpture that's nearly too charming to give away; beautiful objets d'art and an incredibly chic brass lighter case; fine jewellery and fashion jewellery...
YES, I KNOW, the holidays are over, and we (sadly) took down the tree yesterday and all the lights, but there are still so many beautiful photos we took in the past month that just didn’t think it would be right not to share them.
AS THE Christmas season is upon us, we find ourselves revisiting the perennial debate over holiday decor: should one choose multicolored or white lights to adorn the tree and home?
I AM ONLY vaugely aware of the enduring debate of multicoloured vs white holiday lights. I say vaugely, because at our place, it’s always elegant white lights, with no debate.
WE'LL BE the first to admit that this first instalment of our TIG Holiday Gift Guide is more like a personal shopping list of the things we've been coveting (such as the beautiful electric bicycle made in Brooklyn and the Céline Fair Isle jersey) rather than a straight-up gift guide.
IT IS ONLY the second week in January, and yet it feels like a lot more time has passed since the holidays. The decorations are still up and we're still turning on the white Christmas lights in the evenings, glittery in their delicate glass globes and strung along the archway of the built-in bookcase in the corner, instantly making things feel festive. For the past two weeks, it's been busy, busy, which is the reason why it feels like so much time has passed.
April is the cruellest month because we are stuck. We’ve stopped dead and we’re going rotten. We are living in the demesne of the crippled king, the Fisher King, where everything sickens and nothing adds up, where the imagination is in shreds, where dark fantasies enthrall us, where men and women are estranged from themselves and one another, and where the cyclical itch of springtime—the spasm in the earth; the sizzling bud; even the gentle, germinal rain—only reminds us how very, very far we are from being reborn.
P SENDS me texts such as How much bay leaf (I was making refrigerator pickles) or Do you want a mini quiche when he's out picking up bits and pieces at the shops. I love these texts, with their lack of punctuation and misspellings, because they very much showcase how he prefers to get things done, and get them done quickly, rather than worry about the small details when he knows I'll know what he means.
TWO YEARS ago we introduced you to the beautiful holiday decorating trend of sculptural garlands. The trend is still very much alive today, and here are a selection of our favourites this year, from traditional red and green to red berries and black branches, a beautiful floral arrangement by floral designer Philippa Craddock and more ...
“Time — a few centuries here or there — means very little in the world of poems.” There is something reassuring about Mary Oliver’s words. Especially in an era of rapid change, there is comfort to be had in those things that move slowly. But oceans rise and mountains fall; nothing stays the same. Not even the way poetry is made.
During one of my more desperate phases as a young novelist, I began to question whether I should actually be writing my own stories. I was deeply uninterested at the time in anything that resembled a plot, but I acknowledged that if I wanted to attain any sort of literary success I would need to tell a story that had a distinct beginning, middle, and end.