The New Seki-Han

December 11, 2025November 28, 2025

Tobia Scarpa, born in 1935, is one of Italy’s most distinguished architects and designers. The son of Carlo Scarpa and husband to the late Afra Scarpa, he is celebrated for his poetic approach to buildings. He talks to Deyan Sudjic about the Seki-Han, an early design for Flos that followed the Fantasma lamp, which marked the beginning of his relationship with the company. Seki-Han is once again in production, reflecting the continuing relevance of Tobia Scarpa’s work

Photography Robert Rieger

Tobia Scarpa did not make his first visit to Japan until some years after the Seki-Han light was launched in 1963, but both he and his father were already fascinated by Japanese culture. In the late 1960s Tobia was commissioned to design an exhibition of Italian furniture staged in Tokyo, and travelled to oversee that installation in person. Italy at the time was developing its own version of modernity, filtering a range of influences and at the same time making the transition from skilled artisan workshops to industrial production.

Scarpa, both the father and the son, were born and educated in Venice. They are products of that unique city with its special craft traditions and a very specific historical context shaped by France and Austria – two of the powers that once controlled it. Tobia explains the significance that Japanese culture has had for him: “We need to take a step back to the first half of the last century, during which my father developed his knowledge and artistic sensibility. From the point of view of cultural influences, it was a very complex period. an evolved central structure was emerging, similar to that of France, whose quality of thought Italy aspired to, while the country was simultaneously looking with curiosity at Austrian culture and falling in love with Japanese culture. There still wasn’t sufficient energy or knowledge to bring order, but cultural forms were taking shape that were the sum of many origins, and Italy, all things considered, had a greater capacity to bring all these origins together.

“My father studied the Japanese world in depth, and there were always many publications on the subject at home. I love books, which is perhaps why I was already curious and familiar with this culture even before visiting the country.” In fact, it was the fees from Tobia’s exhibition commission that allowed him to fund his father’s first trip to Japan, “to visit all those places he had so longed for and deeply loved, known until then only through books.”

Carlo Scarpa was an architect and a designer who built comparatively little, but made a remarkably powerful impact with every project. The showroom that he designed for Olivetti in St Mark’s Square in Venice, the Brion family tomb and his work on the historic Castelvecchio Museum in Verona in particular have left an indelible mark on the architecture of his time. It is a tribute to both father and son that Tobia and his late-wife, Afra, established themselves with a body of work that is clearly their own and yet reflects his father’s poetic sensibility. “I learned everything from my father. He didn’t teach me anything, but he took me with him everywhere, and let me ‘steal’ everything from him.”

Seki-Han’s literal meaning in Japanese is ‘red rice’, a dish associated with celebration, and the phrase has taken on that added meaning. The light was launched in 1963, the year that Sergio Gandini took on the management of Flos, founded a year earlier in Brescia by Dino Gavina and Cesare Cassina, two of the key figures in post-war Italian design. “Everything was just beginning then and anything was possible,” says Tobia. “Everything could be invented and built. As a designer, I was able to use a pencil to generate ideas. I proposed things that didn’t exist at the time, and they weren’t always understood by those I proposed them to. We were able to do tests and simulations quickly, and so, through experimentation, products were born and Flos was born, and it grew through the evolution of dialogue with designers.”

Seki-Han is developed in two versions – a floor lamp and a pendant – designed for use either standing or suspended. “We wanted the extreme simplicity of the design to make it suitable for all situations where a formally essential floor lamp of minimal bulk is needed. The possibility of suspending it horizontally made it suitable for lighting worktables in spaces intended for offices.” Tobia and Afra met as architecture students and set up a studio together that worked on projects that ranged in scale from furniture to the Benetton factories. “Afra and I were always involved in all the projects. The studio was very small, and it still is today.”

Piero Gandini, who took the decision to put Seki-Han back into production, first worked with Scarpa in 1991 when Flos was run by Gandini’s father. Tobia says, “I was working on the Pierrot desk lamp, as Piero himself reminded me during one of his visits to my studio to talk about the Seki-Han lamp. When he first joined the company, he asked his father if he could develop a project independently with the help of a technician. He selected a lamp that I had recently designed. Gandini’s account of it suggests that every time we reviewed the project, I urged him strongly to find better technical solutions, but I can say that, not remembering the events very well, he may have exaggerated a little.” The rate of technological change is much faster for lighting than it is furniture, and the new Seki-Han features modern electronics and an LED light source.

“The impetus to put it back into production came from Piero, who had a childhood memory of this object in a room in his family home. One day he took the lamp, loaded it into his car and rushed to my studio with a proposal to reissue it for the market, updating its technological apparatus. It was the chance to breathe new energy into a dormant – or abandoned – project that over time retains the value of the thinking that generated it. It brings me great joy to see the new vitality of this product and I observe with curiosity the result that emerges from it.”

Photography Robert Rieger

This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here

Barbacoa

December 3, 2025November 27, 2025

Coastal cooking in Costa Chica tells stories of Afro-Mexican history and tradition

As a child born into a West African immigrant household, the concept of being of both and of neither has always held significant weight.

Costa Chica, a sparkling coastal crown on the Pacific, also symbolises this duality. Extending south from Acapulco to the bioluminescent lagoons of Chacahua, Oaxaca, this land is now witnessing severe loss of biodiversity, dried-up fishing communities, and land grabs by foreigners and wealthy white Mexicans. It is also a treasured place known for sovereign birds that dart through mangroves, and seaside settlements of self-emancipated Afro-descendants. I have watched terracotta-brown fishers, elders and swimmers moving through water with textured hair coils, recalling those who escaped colonial ships to create new life in Mexico.

After immigrating to Mexico 10 years ago, my sense of belonging has finally rooted in the ways I trace pieces of my West African ancestry to everyday life. Being raised on stews rich in red palm oil and goat, I can smell and taste natal flavours that bind me to this new home.

In Tenochtitlán, now Mexico City, vestiges of Costa Chica and Guerrero’s roots are manifested in the Michelin-starred Expendio de Maíz. Chef and owner Jesús Salas Tornés operates the kitchen as a collective, refusing hierarchy or dictatorship – a likely reverence to the cyclical societies of Afro-Indigenous traditions that endured entrapment and erasure. There is no menu, no head chef, no reservations and zero arrogance. Despite its high-grade culinary concepts, this is a restaurant grounded in fair pricing for patrons and investment in a microeconomy of hyper-local farmers and providers. On my first visit with a girlfriend and her daughter, we started with pig-shaped blue tortillas and queso de campo rolled into tiny hands. I was served the most divine maize-wrapped barbacoa, piled high with flowering coriander, and sitting in a rich bath of sauce.

The term barabicu – translated to ‘fire pit’ in Taíno, an ancient language of the Caribbean’s first nations – is a technique reflected in Central and West Africa, when food is wrapped with flame-resistant foliage like agave and palm leaves, and later braised in the earth for harvest ceremonies and communal eating. Traditional Guerrero and Costa Chica-style barbacoa starts with sirloin cap or goat (a meat with a smaller carbon footprint), smothered in tomatoes and chillies, and fragranced with aromatics like clove and cinnamon, wrapped and cooked in banana leaves. The cooking process renders the most tender meat in a slick, spicy sauce and ready to be gently tucked into tortillas.

Every time I take a small savoury bite into barbacoa, fried plantains or even okra, I’m reminded of all the Afro-descendants that brought over their heritage of foodways to Mexico: slim seeds of rice and black-eyed peas secretly braided into hair; centuries’ worth of recipes kept safely stored behind the cloudy eyes of great-grandmothers who made the voyage to Latin America, all just to whisper that ‘I belong everywhere’. That we are everywhere.

Photography David Hanes-Gonzalez, shot on location at Mercado Jamaica in Mexico City

This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here

Hidden in Transit

December 1, 2025November 27, 2025

Photography Vera van Dam, styling Georgia Thompson

Dress FENDI Shoes SAINT LAURENT BY ANTHONY VACCARELLO

Photography Vera van Dam

Styling Georgia Thompson

Photography assistant Elmer Driessen

Hair and makeup Kathinka Gernant

Model Anneliek c/o Mo at Platform Agency

This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here

Answering Empires

November 28, 2025November 27, 2025

Empires fall, but symbols endure. In cloth, structure, language and form, Samuel Ross channels centuries of defiance and reinvention. After stepping into the role of artistic director at the London Design Biennale, a new chapter begins

Photography Christian Cassiel

The building of empires demands particular personality types. In the final quarter of the 19th century, as the Scramble for Africa began, a generation of young, sharp-elbowed and exceptionally skilled soldiers began to percolate up into the most senior ranks of the British Army. Many identified the colonies as the arena within which they might prove themselves, and perhaps fill their boots. One of the most successful specialists in the execution of these complex campaigns was Garnet Wolseley, a veteran of many punitive imperial expeditions and one of the most decorated soldiers of the colonial era. He was not only a brilliant tactician: he seemed to relish these kinds of operations. In 1857, as a member of the British forces sent to suppress the Indian Rebellion, Wolseley expressed a longing to exterminate the “beastly” locals, of a wish to shed “barrels and barrels of the filth which flows” in their veins. For many, the colonial project was not about control of territory, and for men like Wolseley, this was never just a job.

By 1874 Wolseley had honed and hardened his strategic skills, and around him the army had assembled a team of exceptionally effective insurgency specialists. He was called upon to lead what would become a career-defining assignment. His orders were clear: invade the Gold Coast, the uniquely resource-rich West African region, and defeat its armies, bring its leadership to heel and lay waste to its lands. Wolseley was nothing if not scrupulously thorough, and within months of arrival his forces had burned the capital city of Kumasi to the ground, destroyed the Asante royal palace – the Asante is an Akan ethnic group native to Ghana – incarcerated the king and plundered the state treasury. Garnet Wolseley would be knighted on his return to London. Upon the smouldering ashes of the old Asante kingdom, the British constituted a Crown Protectorate, led by a British governor and underwritten by British laws. But the British were not wholly satisfied; although they searched, although they interrogated and threatened the local population, they could not find the spiritual symbol of the Asante state: the legendary Golden Stool. To complicate matters, the civilian populace were almost perversely indefatigable; they simply would not fully capitulate. Even as the British instituted their new colony, the inhabitants of the Gold Coast began to push back, writing petitions, crafting newspaper campaigns, training their own lawyers to fight for their freedom. In what could have been a time of humiliation, the local populace found a renewed pride, and in what should have been a time of victory, the British seemed frustrated. And when the exasperated British governor demanded the Golden Stool so that he could publicly sit upon it, the local population simply ignored him.

The people had lost their leadership, their independence – but they refused to give up their dignity, their sense of self. They would coalesce around powerful symbols of continuity; they would seek unity in their heritage, art and customs. Cloth became a badge of pride and defiance. And when, two generations later, Africans began to broker for independence, it would be Ghanaians (the children of the very communities attacked in 1873) who would emerge from the old Gold Coast as the people of the first sub-Saharan African country to break free. On the evening that President Kwame Nkrumah took up the baton of leadership as Africa’s first post-colonial head of state in 1957, his whole cabinet would join him on the podium – not wearing Savile Row suits but proudly decked in African cloth. Every Ghanaian – not just those present, but the millions of Africans who watched and read about the independence celebrations, the millions who could draw some genealogical, spiritual, emotional link to West Africa, and the millions yet to be born – knew what it meant. They knew how cloth, that most fragile of creative media, had, like the African spirit, found ways to endure.

Photography Christian Cassiel

That irresistible power of African cloth continues to pervade down generations, continues to ripple out across geography, forging connections between peoples: Kente, a symbol of pride; Adire, a symbol of continuity; resist-dyed batiks material evocations of the past. Thwarting empires also requires particular personality types and sophisticated tools – and that wider, deeper campaign of aesthetic resistance spread upon the cultural winds to touch disciplines like the visual arts (the glorious El Anatsui and Yinka Shonibare immediately come to mind). That beautiful spirit of dignified defiance would cross geography and generation from Ozwald Boateng to Grace Wales Bonner, to the formidably thoughtful polymath Samuel Ross, each deploying cloth, shape, form and spirit to evoke these same poignant histories.

This year Ross adds another role to his impressive portfolio of projects, as he takes on the role of artistic director of the London Design Biennale. Ross is the right choice for this time. He is a man with a story to tell in a time when the world needs new narratives. He is steeped in these histories, this heritage, but has found ways to deploy them to shape his vision for the future. An eloquent and hugely charismatic designer, Ross says he feels compelled to “oratise”. He is an unusual fashion designer. He has used fashion as a foundation upon which to craft compelling bodies of practice in a variety of creative disciplines, whilst always finding mental space to mentor and sponsor younger generation designers. And with every manifestation of his formidable talent, it is evident his innovation is steeped in history.

Ross was born in Brixton, where his family lived in a flat above the market. When he was young the Ross family relocated to Northamptonshire. Raising a child in the countryside offered his parents the freedom to immerse their son into their unusual world. His father was a stained-glass artist and an activist who preached in churches. His mother came from a line of pastors: she had studied at Goldsmiths before becoming a painter. Ross was home-schooled, his parents augmenting the traditional school curriculum with philosophy, politics and the histories of struggle and liberation. From that unusual, loving beginning, Ross acquired a reinforced concrete moral compass and a passion for change. His parents would inculcate him with their race consciousness, their love of history and Pan-African politics, but also their healthy disrespect for traditional disciplinary boundaries.

This upbringing and this closeness to his parents imbued Ross with the feeling of being part of that older Windrush generation. He inherited their wisdom, learned from their historical perspectives and observed their quiet rage. Every year the family would visit the Caribbean, where they would spend long afternoons debating, discussing politics, deliberating upon passages of the scriptures and pre-colonial African history. Ross might be told stories of the Kingdom of Kush or muse upon African philosophy. He remembers it as an “idyllic, nurturing, unique upbringing”. As he says, “growing up was all about reinforcing our connection to West Africa and the Caribbean – I learned to first think and feel in patois, and then in English.” It is this history that would inform his fashion output in ways that are overt and subtle. It was an upbringing that offered Ross an unusual perspective on the world. He would go on to study graphic design at De Montfort University, before coming to the conclusion that fashion was where his destiny lay; fashion as the platform through which he might best deliver his ambition for wider change.

Photography Christian Cassiel

If Ross’s career hinged upon a single moment, then it would be an encounter in 2012, not long after graduating, when Ross connected with Virgil Abloh on Instagram. It was an immediate meeting of minds. In his early 20s, just out of university, Ross would begin a professional collaboration with Abloh, one of the most influential and sought-after figures in the fashion industry. Abloh was in the process of building a team and on an upward trajectory: he had just launched his label Pyrex Vision, and had begun working with Kanye West. It was the perfect start for Ross. They shared an African sensibility, as Ross put it: “Virgil was a West African, and I’m not quite first generation, but perhaps a 1.5-generation immigrant – we had things to say.” They shared a mission to communicate, “to tell that African story, and to do so through abstraction, modernism, minimalism.” It was a match made in heaven. Abloh possessed some of the inspirational traits of Ross’s parents. He brilliantly combined unlikely skills and modes of thinking and he was driven by a passion for social justice. Abloh was a Renaissance man with a moral agenda, who had studied civil engineering and architecture before becoming a designer, and he possessed an uncanny ability to distil complex ideas and capture the zeitgeist. “We spoke about the areas of the arts where we might contribute – we talked about new vernaculars and new religious thinking, but of course we focused on design and architecture”. And as with Ross’ childhood learning, much of the intellectual inspiration came from West Africa and figures like Francis Kéré.

Although their professional relationship would not endure with the same intensity, what Ross learned in those years with Abloh would open up Ross’ mind to how to work effectively in multiple disciplines. They would remain close friends. Abloh would go on to found Off-White, work with figures like Jay Z, lead Louis Vuitton’s menswear and have his work collected and displayed in renowned museums. Shockingly and tragically, Virgil Abloh would die in his prime, succumbing to cancer at 41. But one of Abloh’s many legacies would be the resetting of the bar. He had proved that fashion could be the arena for the kind of change that Ross had envisaged.

This was the perfect apprenticeship; the perfect catalyst. Ross would go on to design collections that armed their users for contemporary life, crafted and cut with a couturier’s eye and an artist’s vision. He would veer towards a dark palette but create visual richness and complexity through cut and line, through texture and fold. His work is a form of sartorial sculpture. You can detect layers and layers of history in his aesthetic, but the materials and the cutting feel of the future.

His two main commercial enterprises are A-COLD-WALL*, his fashion label which he has now sold, and SR_A SR_A, his industrial design company. His fashion serves to arm a generation; perhaps his signature garment is the reimagining of the gilet. Though crafted with Savile Row precision, it borrows from the aesthetics of body armour whilst having the lightness of a fencer’s lamé. These are clothes that speak to the 21st century. They are practical, unfussy, but quietly beautiful. They look bulletproof and they make you feel it too, but whilst balancing some of the aesthetics of utilitarian-ware, they are made with finesse, crafted from materials that speak of luxury.

In Ross’s industrial design output he also collaborates with the very best, working with companies like Apple, and their subsidiary, Beats. Getting close to design aristocracy like Marc Newson and Jony Ive, but wherever we went he carried that ‘Ross’s design integrity and wider consciousness. One of his most marked interventions in the Beats range was the mahogany headphones: a pair of headphones crafted in a sumptuous, melanin-rich tone echoing the skin of a person of African descent. As Ross would proudly say, “it’s the first headphone that sits comfortably upon Black people’s skin”. In an industry where content and consumers are deeply ethnically diverse, this feels important. Ross takes this kind of sensitive integrity into every project that he works on, creating an industrial design practice defined by striking beauty and moral authority.

Photography Christian Cassiel

As ever Ross wants more, pushing his industrial ideas and imagination further. He has begun moving into what he calls ‘functional sculpture’, working with volcanic ash and found objects. He has begun creating ranges drawing inspiration from West Africa to root us all back in these important stories.

Although Ross is hugely in demand, he has somehow found time to give back. He has established a foundation to support global majority and Black creatives. He has funded more than 60 young artists with 100 grants. This year he has taken on the role as the artistic director of the London Design Biennale. He wanted to use it as a platform to ask: how do we recontextualise what design means? As he says, “Design should be rooted in empathy – political but non-political.”

The building of empires demands particular personality types. If Ross is on his way to building an empire then it is one that answers many of the needs of today. He has the sensitivity, the guile and the bravery to take on big challenges, but he is armed with a deep knowledge base and a rock-solid moral compass. He has inherited that gift of understanding how to re-shape swords into exquisite ploughshares, to take anger and fashion it into beauty, to arm us with tools that draw inspiration from our past, and to remain fearless and optimistic about the future. And for the future, Ross continues to build his reputation in the atelier space with new seasonal collections. But as ever his imagination is uncontainable, that ambition to test and change discipline is undimmed. After overseeing the London Design Biennale, he is creating new large sculptural steel artworks for shows in Miami, and for Saatchi and Sculpture in the City. But one senses he is most excited about what lies beyond the immediate horizon. He has just purchased a Grade II-listed rural property surrounded by three acres of land and various annexes to house his new artistic and fashion projects. “I’m quite keen to establish a destination of sorts, gradually over time,” he explains. If the rebuilding of empires requires particular personality types, then Ross has the imagination and the indefatigability.

Photography Christian Cassiel

This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here

Port launches Issue 37 with Church’s

November 27, 2025

Exclusive photos of Port’s Issue 37 launch at Church’s and Quo Vadis

Port in collaboration with Church’s celebrated the launch of Issue 37 featuring Richard E. Grant with friends and contributors at Church’s, followed by a drinks reception at Quo Vadis. Special guests included Richard E Grant, Andrea Riseborough, Siobhán Donaghy, Brett Staniland, Scott Staniland, Calum Lynch, Florence Keith-Roach, Charity Wakefield, AJ Odudu, Dennis Okwera, Amelia Gething, Fiona Jane, Fehinti Balogun, Wilfred Cisse and Jacobs Scipio. Special thanks to Church’s, Quo Vadis and to everyone who has shown their support.

Photography Dave Benett, supported by Church’s

Coffee and Butter

November 26, 2025November 26, 2025

In a small alleyway in Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, Malaysia, an 80-year-old coffee shop becomes a site of memory and rediscovery

It was the first time coming back to Kuching after my father died. Each year I’d return to eat at the places that were his favourites, to fit into his schedule (he’s busy, I’m on holiday), to make the annual trip to reconnect with his side of my Indigenous Bornean identity, and to eat the durian he always found for me even when out of season.

I haunt the places we went the last time I saw him, six months before the world closed down and a virus took him along with millions. I find that they are still the best: laced with nostalgia, the taste is sweeter. Being in the city that was his but without him is both dislodging and full of discovery. I have no schedule but my own to eat by.

Central Kuching, on the waterfront, is one of the oldest parts of town. It has become touristy, with its old shopfronts and small, winding streets. I sometimes forget that it’s still a place for locals. Friends of mine, cultural academics who are also coffee nerds, tell me about a spot in an alley, ironically named Hiap Yak Tea Shop. A Chinese kopitiam (‘coffee house’) that serves coffee and kaya toast is one of the oldest in Kuching, and it has been run by the same family for over 80 years. It is small, with a few tables and plastic chairs. It reminds me of childhood, when travelling upriver with my dad and stopping at riverside towns.

They serve a particular type of coffee, or kopi. It’s hot and served in small, cream ceramic cups with a green pattern and a knob of butter, a tradition that few places still do. The coffee is roasted dark, rich with chocolate and caramel flavours, and very often has sweetened condensed milk sitting at the bottom to be stirred. Everything about it is straight from a Malaysian and Singaporean’s nostalgia fever dream.

Sarawak’s food, drink and coffee culture is exciting, innovative and delicious – where traditions meet modern approaches that feel organic and natural. Specialty coffeeshops are rethinking the kopitiam, and are introducing Indigenous fine dining and traditional rice wines brewed by Gen Z. Yet these snapshots of the past are not about romanticising Sarawak: they are about remembering the rich and complex culinary heritage of this part of the world. This little kopitiam was a rediscovery of how my past sits beside my present and my future.

Photography Amani Azlin, shot on location at Hiap Yak Tea Shop in Kuching, Malaysia

This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here

Land-ho!

November 24, 2025November 19, 2025

Rolex has launched a new collection, but that’s not the only remarkable thing about it

Photography Adam Goodison. Land Dweller, 40mm, Oystersteel with white gold bezel. Rolex at David M Robinson, £13,050 davidmrobinson.co.uk

Rolex is a brand that likes to do things slowly. Small changes, little shifts, it doesn’t deal in revolutions. You just have to look at the furore when it moved a crown from the right to the left on the GMT-Master II a few years ago – a sure sign that incremental changes at the Crown pack a rather large punch. So, you can imagine the levels of excitement in the halls of Palexpo – the space in Geneva where Watches & Wonders is annually held – when rumours rippled through that Rolex was not only announcing a brand-new collection, but one that contained a brand-new movement housing Rolex’s new escapement.

This is the first new watch from Rolex for 13 years. As its name – Land-Dweller – indicates, it joins the ‘Dweller’ family, following on from 2012’s Sky and 1967’s Sea. However, it is not a combination of these two nor does it really share much of their DNA, apart from a fluted bezel, looking good in steel, and a crown on its dial. This is an entirely new beast with its own unique heartbeat.

Reportedly the brief was first handed down from management five years ago. The team was tasked to design a timepiece that was modern, but which took inspiration from the integrated bracelet style of two specific timepieces. The first was the ref. 5100, a Datejust Quartz from 1969, the other the rare ref.1630 from 1974 – a two-tone Oyster Perpetual Datejust that looks like the famed Oysterquartz but preceded it by three years and is, in fact, automatic. The new addition also had to have a movement that ran at 5Hz (or 36,000 oscillations per hour), as opposed to the usual 4Hz (28,800p/h) speed that is typical at Rolex. There is a logic to raising the oscillating rate – the number of times the balance wheel swings back and forth. A higher frequency means a watch that is less sensitive to shock and accelerations. To do this however, Rolex had to redesign its regulating system.

What Rolex has done with its new escapement, which it calls Dynapulse, is completely overhaul the Swiss lever escapement. This method, by which the release of power from the mainspring is regulated, was invented in 1754 by Thomas Mudge and uses a small fork attached to the mainspring that, in turn, through a back-and-forth rocking motion, moves the escape wheel around as the prongs alternately come into contact with its teeth. Most of the watchmaking world uses this system. And now Rolex has come up with an alternative.

With the Dynapulse, two interconnected wheels that look like sci-fi flowers enmeshed together, take turns in flicking a two-pronged fork between each other as the balance wheel swings. The wheels are made from silicon using the DRIE (deep reactive-ion etching) process, which means that the tooth tips are polished, and their surface is curved not flat, so there is no sliding friction as the wheels connect and pass, but more of a rolling motion. This means that there is little need for oil, which is used but dispensed using a curved precision needle and on a nanolitre scale. Add in an extremely strong white ceramic balance staff that has been polished smooth on a nanometric scale, an ‘optimised brass’ balance and a hairspring in Rolex’s proprietary silicon, Syloxi, and you have a movement that is upgraded to the max.

That alone would have been enough newness for anyone, let alone Rolex, for whom a tiny adjustment is newsworthy. However, the Land Dweller also comes with a brand new bracelet design. The last time Rolex put a watch on some new links was the President – a three-link design with semi-circular components created especially for the launch of the Day-Date in 1956. Before that there was 1945’s Jubilee and prior to that the Oyster, which had been in the collection since the 1930s. For the Land-Dweller, we now have the Flat Jubilee – so named because it is basically the flattened underside of the Jubilee, with its same construction of two larger outer pieces and three internal links – except here, instead of being beaded, they are flat. As an added extra, Rolex has reinforced it using ceramic inserts at the first articulated link, limiting stretch over time.

The result is a bolder and more geometric Rolex than people are maybe used to. It isn’t a ‘professional’ watch but sits in Rolex’s ‘classic’ category sartorially somewhere between the DateJust and Day-Date; a refined design with a sporty vibe that feels destined to spend time on the deck of a yacht or in a bar with a night-time view of a cinematic skyline. The finishing on the case is unusual for Rolex, given that it has gone for a satin finish on the flat surfaces, polished sides and chamfers on the case. The honeycomb dial is a new pattern as well, for which Rolex has used a femtosecond laser – an ultrafast precise beam – to etch the pattern, which gives it its texture.

All of which adds up to Rolex’s decision to enter the integrated bracelet club; something it has not been a part of for many years. And it has certainly entered it with aplomb. This is a 10-strong collection in 36 or 40mm, with everything from steel with white-gold bezel to full platinum with a diamond-set dial and bezel. Obviously, it’s been a hit. This is Rolex’s world; everyone just lives in it.

Photography Adam Goodison

Set design Maya Angeli

10:10 Issue 13 is included with Port Issue 37. To continue reading, order your copy or subscribe here

Between the Static

November 19, 2025November 18, 2025

Photography Suffo Moncloa, styling Mitchell Belk

Shirt HERMÈS Rollneck HERMÈS Trousers LOUIS VUITTON Belt HERMÈS

Shirt LARDINI Trousers LARDINI Sweater CELINE Tie LARDINI Shoes LORO PIANA

Shirt FENDI Trousers FENDI Boots SAINT LAURENT BY ANTHONY VACCARELLO

Waistcoat LORO PIANA Trousers LORO PIANA Shoes CANALI

Shirt HERMÈS Rollneck HERMÈS Trousers LOUIS VUITTON Boots HERMÈS Belt HERMÈS

Photography Suffo Moncloa

Styling Mitchell Belk

Model Finn @ Rapture

Casting Ikki Casting

Production Myself

This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here

Richard E Grant

November 17, 2025November 10, 2025

Richard E Grant likes to think of himself as a sharp flavour added at just the right moment. It’s a modest description for an actor whose career spans Withnail and I, an Academy Award nomination for Can You Ever Forgive Me?, and collaborations with the likes of Scorsese, Campion and Altman. Now, in his “condiment years”, Grant looks back on the friendships, films and insatiable curiosity that continue to define his life and work

Grant wears Church’s, photography Douglas Irvine, styling Nilo Akbari

“My wife said that I was in the condiment years of my career,” Richard E Grant recalls fondly, sitting in his study on a bright September morning. “I’m brought into a film like vinegar or mustard or a spice. I feel that is a very accurate description of what I’m doing at this age.” Grant, with a long and storied career under his belt and the likes of Martin Scorsese, Jane Campion and Robert Altman among his previous directors, is in his element. This year alone he appears in no fewer than four feature films, while a quick glance at Grant’s IMDB profile confirms a further 10 upcoming projects across genres and formats, from a voice performance in Wildwood, the much-anticipated animated film from Laika, to playing the father of magazine icon Isabella Blow in The Queen of Fashion. The “condiment years” are being kind to Grant, who is fitting in our conversation before an afternoon of ADR voice work in central London. He’s busy – but that’s very much the way he likes it.

“I write every day, I collect stuff, I work in my garden,” he explains. “I’m like an ant, I suppose, I don’t sit still for very long.” Even when he’s not at work, Grant is at the theatre, the opera, a museum or the cinema, or (more often than not) reading. “I think that’s partly to do with where I grew up,” he suggests. “There wasn’t television, there was only the BBC World Service on the radio, so reading was a way into the outside world.” When I ask, offhandedly, what he’s been reading lately (Parallel Lines by Edward St Aubyn, by the way), Grant mentions he has “five or six” titles on the go at any given moment. “I’m a voracious reader, I get through about three or four books a week,” he explains. I suddenly feel both woefully unambitious about my timekeeping and impressed by his boundless energy. “When I was a little boy, my father used to say I was hypercurious, and that hasn’t changed,” Grant muses. “I like to squeeze as much out of my life as possible, because you only get one go at it.”

This inherent excitement about the world and everything in it has shaped Grant’s career, leading him in 1982 from Eswatini to seek his fortune as an actor in London, where he would break out in bombastic fashion a few years later as the eponymous flamboyant alcoholic in Bruce Robinson’s wine-soaked dramedy Withnail and I. “When I worked with Daniel Day-Lewis on The Age of Innocence I prostrated myself and thanked him for turning down Withnail, because without that I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you today,” Grant says. Perhaps it’s kismet as much as curiosity. The two forces have also brought Grant to James Vanderbilt’s Nuremberg, in which he plays Sir David Maxwell Fyfe, part of the prosecution team tasked with trying and sentencing the surviving members of Adolf Hitler’s inner circle at the end of the Second World War. His small but pivotal role – a condiment part – comes years after Grant found himself studying the rise of Hitler for his History A-Level. “It felt like familiar territory from a very formative age,” Grant explains. “And the beauty of it was – as well as all the reading I’d done, including the biography of Maxwell – the footage of the real trials are readily available to watch on YouTube, so I could really see the man I was playing in exactly the moment I would be playing him. I’ve never had that opportunity before, and it was incredibly exciting to me.”

The film, some 13 years in the making, is based on the experiences of psychiatrist Dr Douglas Kelley, who assessed the defendants’ mental capacity to stand trial – chief among them Hermann Göring, known as the “right hand of Hitler”, who remained unrepentant for his part in the Holocaust until the day he died by suicide, swallowing a cyanide capsule the night before he was to be executed for war crimes. In Nuremberg, Grant is part of a starry ensemble: Russell Crowe plays Göring, with Rami Malek opposite as Douglas Kelley, and Michael Shannon cast as US lead prosecutor Robert H Jackson. They’re joined by Leo Woodall, Colin Hanks and John Slattery. For Grant, it was an intimidating but electrifying experience. “The day on set that we shot the climactic courthouse scene where Jackson finally confronts Göring, I knew that Michael and Russell obviously had a lot to say, because the scene on paper was about 25 pages,” Grant recalls. “I only had a small part of dialogue, so I thought, ‘Great, I can relax today and be ready to shoot my part tomorrow.’” But then, just before lunch, Vanderbilt informed him that Crowe and Shannon wanted to shoot the entire scene in one take. Without a rehearsal. Grant smiles as he recalls the memory. “I couldn’t let James see me panic obviously, so we went ahead and did it. And not a single person flubbed a line. At the end, when I said my final line, and we see Göring realise he’s been defeated… it felt like there was a minute of silence. Then the entire crew of 600 Hungarian extras stood up and applauded.” He thinks for a moment, then elaborates: “I have only experienced that once before, when I shot The Iron Lady, and Meryl Streep delivered her first Falklands speech to parliament as Margaret Thatcher. A roomful of men in pin-drop silence, just awe-struck.”

Grant speaks about his experience on Nuremberg with demonstrable passion. He recalls the way that the cast, despite the incredible weight and darkness of the subject material, found camaraderie and kinship during the shoot. “We were all staying together in the same hotel, so we’d go out for dinner and drink together, staying up late,” he grins. “It was a real friendship-forming time, and we’re all still in contact.” I mention that I’m a great admirer of Michael Shannon, and saw his excellent performance in Eugene O’Neill’s A Moon for the Misbegotten at London’s Almeida Theatre (which, naturally, Grant also caught before the run ended). “I’d never dared dream I would be calling Michael a friend before this,” he says, “but he has the most lethal, dry wit,” Grant remarks fondly. “And a face that looks like it could have been carved into Mount Rushmore.” 

Nuremberg is the final film of Grant’s spectacularly busy year, but there’s another I have to ask him about: Julia Jackman’s delightful genre-defying 100 Nights of Hero, in which he briefly appears as the villainous omnipotent deity Birdman. How did he end up having a tiny role in a queer indie fantasy film that counts Emma Corrin, Maika Monroe, Charli XCX and Nicholas Galitzine among its achingly chic cast? “I had an in,” Grant laughs. “My daughter was the casting agent, and she – without my knowledge, I must say – put me up for the role. I was very happy to be involved, because it’s based on such an unusual graphic novel, and Julia was a director I admired. But it was a nepotism hire,” he jokes. Grant’s daughter, Olivia (who did an excellent job casting Jackman’s film), also had a say in one of her father’s most iconic roles. “When my daughter was about eight years old, she was totally possessed by the Spice Girls,” Grant says. “So when she found out I was being offered the role of their manager in Spice World, she was absolutely ecstatic.”

“I was berated by some people in my profession for taking that part,” Grant continues. “But Adele, with whom I share a birthday but not a bank balance, is a huge Spice World fan, and she kindly sent me some tickets to her sold-out tour at the O2… so it paid off in the end.” It was that very performance as Clifford the Spice Girls’ manager which brought Grant to the attention of a young Lena Dunham, who would later ask Grant to guest star on her smash-hit series Girls as Jasper, who has a brief dalliance with Jemima Kirke’s Jessa after they meet in rehab. Recently Dunham came calling again, offering him a role in her London-set Netflix sitcom Too Much as adman Jonno. “I never thought that Spice World would have that sort of legacy, and it comes with its own sort of cult following,” Grant says. “But then again, I never thought that I would be BAFTA and Oscar-nominated for a role at 62, for a film where I had replaced another actor last minute.” He’s referring to his turn as the charming rogue Jack Hock in Marielle Heller’s sublime crime drama Can You Ever Forgive Me?, for which Grant received critical acclaim and a nomination for Best Supporting Actor at the 2018 Academy Awards. (Chris O’Dowd had been slated to play the role before the part ended up with Grant.) 

Considering the garlands that Can You Ever Forgive Me? received at that point in his career, I ask Grant if there are any films from his past that he looks back on and thinks deserved more attention than they got. “I don’t tend to think about things like that unless I’m forced to, like you’re doing now.” He gamely considers my question all the same. “I had a great time working on The Portrait of a Lady and I don’t know if that film ever found its audience,” he says. “Nicole Kidman and Viggo Mortensen were delightful, but Jane Campion is so specific as a director, and at that time I don’t think I’d worked for a female director on a movie before, and I will never forget the atmosphere she created on set, because she was surrounded by this incredible team of women working on this adaptation of a book written by Henry James and giving so much to the female gaze and interpretation of that text,” Grant explains. “It made for a very different atmosphere, and it made a deep impression on me.”

Grant has continued to work with many female filmmakers since, now counting Dunham, Heller and Jackman among them, as well as Emerald Fennell, Phyllida Lloyd and Thea Sharrock. “You can’t generalise, but I will,” he says mischievously. “When I work with a female filmmaker, it always feels more collaborative, and that people’s opinions matter. Working with Emerald Fennell was extraordinary because she sounds so posh, and she is, but this crew of 200 were ready to jump off a cliff for her, because she has this gift of making everyone feel their opinion counts, and that it informs what everyone’s doing. You feel valued as somebody on her set, and included, and if she offered me work for the rest of my career I’d be very delighted.”

Then again, he’d have to make more time for Fennell’s films. A scan of his thriving Instagram account this month shows Richard has been to see the V&A’s new Marie Antoinette exhibition; cuddled some puppies at the Toronto International Film Festival with his Nuremberg co-stars, and even popped down to see Ralph Fiennes directing As You Like It in Bath, starring Charlie Rowe, whom Grant acted alongside in 2010’s The Nutcracker in 3D. If these are, as his wife once told him, the condiment years, it seems Richard has developed an incredibly refined palate. 

Grant wears Church’s

Photography Douglas Irvine

Styling Nilo Akbari

Photography assistant Tom Buller

Styling assistant Roksi

Grooming Bjorn Krischker @ The Wall Group

Production The Production Factory

This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here

Kate Winslet

November 13, 2025November 13, 2025

The Oscar-winning actress, known for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Steve Jobs and The Reader, is stepping behind the camera for the first time. Her directorial debut, Goodbye June – a stirring family drama, written by her son – marks a new chapter. Kate Winslet speaks about the surprising strength of midlife, the freedom of turning 50, and how, as a longtime Longines ambassador, she’s begun to think of time not just in hours, but in stories told

Anticipating the arrival of Kate Winslet – actress, producer, now director, and all-round leading light of the film world – in a busy central London hotel bar, I am enjoying the knowledge that at any moment a frisson of excitement may descend on the crowd as a bona fide Hollywood A-lister sweeps through their midst. While lost in this thought, a petite woman wearing thick-rimmed glasses and a backpack bustles over, thrusting her outstretched hand toward mine. I quickly try to place her. Behind the huge specs, her skin glows and she has a beautiful cupid’s bow. It is, I realise with a start, Winslet. The bar-goers remain oblivious.

“Whenever I put my glasses on, I just seem to disappear,” she says a little later as we settle down on her balcony, drinks poured. “I’m much shorter than people think I’m going to be. I am this, sort of, little person with my backpack on, and I just barrel on through like everybody else.” She has been riding the underground regularly, undisturbed: “I take the tube every day of my life at the moment. Everyone’s just on their phone; no one’s looking up.”

Winslet has long had the kind of megawatt silver screen presence that can be turned up – in Revolutionary Road, Titanic and on the red carpet – or dialled right down, as in Dominic Savage’s bracing 2022 tale of teenage mental illness, I Am Ruth, in which she plays a weary single mother to Freya, played by her real-life daughter, Mia Threapleton. In person, she sits somewhere in the middle – a pretty, healthy woman, embracing midlife – “I’m feeling very good, solid, you know. I feel strong” – and is every bit as warm and disarming as one might expect (“Shall we sit outside?” “Do you want a glass of wine?” “I just love the architecture around here…”)

Big topics – mortality, loss, motherhood – hang in the air at our meeting, as Winslet makes her directorial debut this winter with Goodbye June, a deeply moving tale of four adult siblings coming together as their mother is diagnosed with terminal cancer at Christmas time. The film is inspired by her family’s loss of their matriarch in 2017, reworked into an extraordinarily capable script by Winslet’s own son, Joe Anders – still only 21 years old. (It is not, however, she stresses, autobiographical: “No, no, no, definitely not.”) She explains that it came about because Anders won a place at screenwriting school where he was encouraged by “a brilliant teacher” to write about what he knows. “He, of course, had remembered when his grandmother, my mum, had died – he was a teenager at the time – and his clearest memory of it all was how everyone came together, and how we were able to give her a passing that she deserved. It struck him how, for so few families, can that possibly be the case, based on how difficult those interconnected relationships might be.” As she mentions her mum, she inhales quickly and her eyes mist with tears. We sit quietly for a moment. It’s a remarkably sage observation for someone so young, I say. “I know…” she breathes.

Anders’ work clearly signals (A-list pedigree aside) the arrival of an exciting new talent. His writing is purposeful and mature, light and shade employed as carefully as by anyone twice his age. And Winslet brings his words to life with a dream-team cast – “How lucky, for fuck’s sake!” Timothy Spall and Helen Mirren are father and mother Bernie and June: he, seemingly emotionally devoid, later hinting masterfully at oceans of unexpressed feeling, and she almost unrecognisable – physically ailing but internally steadfast, guiding the family ship home in the night. Winslet plays daughter Julia, alongside Andrea Riseborough, Toni Collette and Johnny Flynn, all bringing their A-game. “It’s magical when you have actors at that level, and they bring things to a story that just utterly floor you,” she enthuses. “But when you have a cast like that, such phenomenal performers, the key thing was to make them all disappear into the parts that they were playing. That mattered to me a great deal, you know – keeping it really… feeling very grounded, and very British, and keeping it in the world of a family people could relate to. That was critical.” The spectrum of relatable familial life is there: humour, frustration, resentment, joy, pain. (“Some of the most complicated relationships we have in our lives are with the people we love the most in the whole wide world,” Winslet observes.)

It’s tempting to declare that the resulting intimate, vulnerable performances could only have been drawn out by an actor-cum-director. “I’ve always had a dream as an actor to just act in a room with the cameras locked off and no crew, and we were able to do that a few times on this film. Not always, because often the camera needs to move, and you need to feel as though there’s a looseness to what you’re experiencing – but in some of the quieter, more still scenes, the cameras were set and locked off, the focus was set, everyone would walk away, and the actors would be left entirely alone in those spaces.” She also wanted to do away with the conventional overhead boom mics. “So, we had a lot of hidden microphones, as well as radio mics on actors. This is not a particularly unusual thing, but we were really religious about it.”

I ask her which veterans of the profession influenced her own directorial approach: “I have always been a huge Mike Leigh fan – I feel like most actors say that, and if they don’t, they probably should – because of the way in which he is able to capture pieces of life and is unafraid to just stand back and observe from the corners of rooms.

“For me, it was about trying to find something that I could offer , that might give them a framework to feel free in, that perhaps was unusual enough that it would do something to the quality of what they felt, the quality of those performances… how quiet it can sometimes be. Just making them feel alone and unobserved. That was something I’d thought about a lot before we started.” Clearly, trusting and ceding control to the performers was incredibly important to her. “The most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had as an actor are when I have really been absolutely given the reins.”

Later I will speak to Spall, who brims with affection for this production, calling it one of his best professional experiences. “There was this sense that she really had our backs, you know,” he tells me. “She created an esprit de corps that was totally natural – this purely infectious, positive energy and also this confidence in being delighted that you were doing it with her, and for her.”

Unsurprisingly, Winslet’s conversation crackles with love of the craft: “Actors are just so different and wonderful and free and eccentric and curious. There’s nothing more exciting than being in a room full of extraordinary actors. I remember Richard Eyre saying that to me – when I did Iris with him, and I was only 25 and I’d just had Mia – and it’s absolutely true.”

With Goodbye June, the viewer feels they are pulling back the curtain and seeing the nucleus of a regular, unassuming family – its beating heart. (Spall, rather beautifully, describes the movie as depicting “a kind of broken-down true love.”) “It mattered to me a lot that as they emotionally start to creep closer to one another, I wanted to do that with the camera. I wanted to feel that that’s when you go in closer, and you see literally every single wrinkle and every pore and every mark, and you see the closeness of the backs of hands and the beautiful translucency of Helen’s extraordinary skin.”

Anyone who has been through the kind of loss depicted will identify with the film’s close observation. I tell Winslet that I found it incredibly moving, having lost my dad to cancer last year and recognising so much of my own experience in the film: “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She tells me that some of the cast had been through similar bereavements, and some hadn’t: “So there was a huge amount of sharing that went on in rehearsal and consistently throughout. It was a very private, special bond that we all formed, largely because of sharing all those kinds of stories, really, which happens with actors all the time, but it especially happens with actors who are prepared to really give it everything.” That’s not to say that this is a gloomy work – far from it. Winslet notes that much of the feedback has been that people have laughed and cried and laughed again, throughout. The lasting effect is utterly uplifting, a potent reminder to count one’s blessings.

The Kate Winslet filmography is difficult to pin down. Her roles are complex – increasingly so, as she ages – powerful, often likeable. Even her Oscar-winning performance in 2008’s The Reader, as an SS guard in Auschwitz – almost certainly her most ignominious character – is a reservoir of wide-eyed emotion, goading us to feel for her in her moral malignance. “I’ve never wanted to do anything that was predictable or that anyone would anticipate I might do. I’m quite sort of… not ‘out of the box’, but I like to just keep ducking and diving.” For many younger adults, Winslet is first and foremost Clementine Kruczynski, in Michel Gondry’s Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind – a phenomenon bordering on a cult classic. “There’s that brilliant line that Charlie wrote,” she smiles, adopting the character’s soft New York accent: “‘I’m just a fucked-up girl, who’s looking for her own piece of mind. Don’t assign me yours.’ Oh, my God, it’s such a good line. I still can’t believe I got to say it!”

Now, over 20 years on, what are Winslet’s memories of that period? “Well, I mean, the experience itself of making the film was that it was extremely cold. It was a particularly cold New York winter, and I had little tiny Mia, so I remember the phenomenal juggle of it.” Did she find it particularly stretching when working with a director known for such unpredictability? “Those scenes in the street with the elephant – that was extraordinary. I’d finished work for the night and Michel Gondry called me at 2am. He said , ‘I ’ave thees wonderful ideea… There is a carnival! The circus is coming into town, and they bring all the elephants down Fifth Avenue. We’re going to shoot!’ I was like, ‘Amazing. When is it? Tomorrow?’ He said, ‘No. It’s now!’ I thought, ‘Are you fucking mad?’ I jumped out of bed; I think I got in a taxi, and we just improvised this wonderful scene in the middle of the night.

“A lot of that experience with Michel was very spontaneous,” Winslet continues. “We went out to Montauk to shoot the sequence in the bed on the beach. We woke up that morning and it was, like, three and a half feet of snow… and I thought, ‘Oh, well shit, what are we going to do? We can’t shoot in the snow’. I found Michel and said, ‘So, what are we gonna do?’ And he said, ‘Ees so fantastique! We’re gonna shoot in that!’ So off we went, put the bed on the beach, woke up in the snow,” she hoots with laughter. “It was a real adventure.”

At the time of our meeting, Winslet is a few days from her 50th birthday, and she reflects on this milestone. “I definitely find myself thinking, God, where did I think I’d be at 50? I didn’t think I would feel as strong or capable and resilient. I feel quite surprised by how comfortable I am with myself. It’s fucking great. I’ve been one of those people who would look in the mirror and really have to not look again because I would hate what I see,” she admits. “I see so many young people now who scrutinise themselves, and it makes me sad. That part of my life has absolutely evaporated; it just doesn’t exist for me anymore, and that’s a nice feeling.”

She attributes her self-belief to several factors, including a small group of close friends, mainly outside of the industry; her husband, Ned; and the joy she takes in her profession. “I love what I do; I really do, and I love it more all the time… The overwhelming feeling I have right now is of being very fortunate, and I feel extremely lucky that I am married to somebody who literally, I mean, not just supports, but encourages me to do these things and to fill that cup.”

Winslet is an invigorating person to be around. Her intelligence is immediately obvious, but so too is her desire to pull everyone around, particularly women, up with her. “I really do care about championing other women. We have to lift each other up, otherwise we are literally fucked; both on set and off, in the world, in life, as mothers, partners – all of it – sisters, friends. We have to lift each other up.” She’s acutely aware of structural inequality in her own industry and puts her money where her mouth is, insisting that the 2024 film, Lee – about war photographer Lee Miller – which Winslet co-produced and starred in, had a female director – Ellen Kuras: “Because I felt that it was right that a woman should be telling that story, but also because we do still have such a shortage of female directors being offered those opportunities and stepping into that creative space.” Of her own move to director, Winslet is justifiably cautious about how press scrutiny might differ were she a man: “It’s so exciting for young male actors who are becoming directors; it’s wonderful, it really is. But they can just get on and do it. Whereas for women, there’s a whole bunch of, ‘Okay, so, what’s this… your vanity project?!’”

A mother-son director-scriptwriter combination is a unique thing. (“The pride that I feel is absolutely enormous, but you can’t keep telling a colleague you’re so proud of them all the time!” she laughs.) “I hope that the film creates conversation amongst families, either about a family dynamic or about a loss that they have had, or that might be coming, and what they can do to… lean on each other, because it’s fucking tough out there. Now more than ever.

“I hope that we’ve made a film that feels real and tender around this subject,” she says warmly, “and that ultimately feels loving, because that was what Joe wrote. He didn’t write a film about a death; he wrote a film about a family.”

Kate wears Longines throughout

Photography Liz Collins

Styling Naomi Miller

Make-up Lisa Eldridge using Lisa Eldridge Beauty

Hair Dayaruci @ The Wall Group using Hair by Sam McKnight

Production The Production Factory

Photography assistant Tom Ayerst

Styling assistant Elizabete Pakule

This article is taken from Port issue 37. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here