GRI­GOR DI­MI­TROV

by GREG LO­TUS by VIN­CEN­ZO MAR­TUC­CI fa­shion edi­tor DAN­NY SAN­TIA­GO

L'UOMO VOGUE - - CONTENTS - fo­to di Greg Lo­tus te­sto di Vin­cen­zo Mar­tuc­ci fa­shion edi­tor Dan­ny San­tia­go

Gri­gor Di­mi­trov è all’in­se­gui­men­to di se stes­so sul­la scia di una rac­chet­ta da ten­nis, ma è trop­po di­strat­to dal­la vi­ta. Bul­ga­ro, 26 an­ni, con quel sor­ri­so, del re­sto, può fa­re quel che vuo­le. Ha af­fa­sci­na­to col­le­ghe fa­mo­sis­si­me co­me Se­re­na Wil­liams e Ma­ria Sha­ra­po­va, e og­gi è le­ga­to al­la can­tan­te del­le Pus­sy­cat Dolls Ni­co­le Scher­zin­ger. Con lei ha tra­scor­so le va­can­ze a Ca­pri. L’Uo­mo­lei il più bel Vogue: ten­ni­sta “Gri­sha”,del Tour? con­cor­da: è Gri­gor Di­mi­trov: No, di­rei “Fe­li”, Fe­li­cia­no Ló­pez. So­no sem­pre sta­to un suo am­mi­ra­to­re, è sem­pre a po­sto, in for­ma, con quei ca­pel­li lun­ghi e la bar­bet­ta giu­sta. Vor­rei ave­re le sue gam­be, è co­sì for­te, ogni vol­ta che va in doc­cia, gli di­co: “Mo­stra­mi an­co­ra i pol­pac­ci”. E lui ri­de. L’U.V.: Ma Fe­li non vin­ce tan­to co­me lei, che ha fir­ma­to il Ma­sters 1000 di Cin­cin­na­ti, ed è sta­to nu­me­ro 8 del mon­do. G.D.: Io an­co­ra non so­no ar­ri­va­to al li­vel­lo che vor­rei, ave­vo e ho gran­dis­si­me am­bi­zio­ni da rea­liz­za­re. Mi con­si­de­ro in evo­lu­zio­ne co­stan­te, con tan­to da im­pa­ra­re, dal fi­si­co al­la tec­ni­ca, dal­la tat­ti­ca al­la ge­stio­ne di un pro­fes­sio­ni­sta, den­tro e fuo­ri del cam­po. L’U.V.: È per que­sto che al­la vi­gi­lia de­gli Us Open si è al­le­na­to con Na­dal al­la sua scuo­la di Ma­ior­ca? G.D.: Ra­fa è an­che un ami­co, par­lia­mo tan­to, ed è un la­vo­ra­to­re in­stan­ca­bi­le e pre­ci­so, pro­prio un pro­fes­sio­ni­sta idea­le, un esem­pio, un’ispi­ra­zio­ne. Al­le­nar­mi con lui è sem­pre un ono­re e un pia­ce­re, ol­tre che uti­lis­si­mo per va­lu­ta­re il li­vel­lo di pre­pa­ra­zio­ne. Per­ché con­tro di lui non sai mai che co­sa aspet­tar­ti. Cer­te vol­te quan­do so­no in dif­fi­col­tà, mi chie­do fra me e me: “Che co­sa fa­reb­be ades­so Ra­fa?”. L’U.V.: Ep­pu­re, ten­ni­sti­ca­men­te, lei è sta­to pa­ra­go­na­to piut­to­sto a Ro­ger Fe­de­rer. An­zi, era chia­ma­to “Ba­by Fed”. G.D.: Nel ge­sto ten­ni­sti­co ci so­no ana­lo­gie; Fe­de­rer re­sta un esem­pio per chiun­que gio­chi que­sto sport, ma io so­no lon­ta­no da quell’eti­chet­ta. Che ren­de­reb­be co­mun­que or­go­glio­so qua­lun­que atle­ta. L’U.V.: Si di­ce:

INTERVIEW/ LUCA LARENZA di Si­mo­ne Mon­guz­zi

(Se­gue da pag. 32) dal gial­lo ac­ce­so pas­san­do per il blu elet­tri­co, fi­no a toc­ca­re le nuan­ce del ro­sa pa­stel­lo. «Mi pia­ce la de­fi­ni­zio­ne ea­sy chic e cre­do in­car­ni al­la per­fe­zio­ne la fi­lo­so­fia del mio mar­chio. Il mio in­ten­to è quel­lo di crea­re ca­pi in­dos­sa­bi­li e iro­ni­ci, do­ve la qua­li­tà e il fat­to di es­se­re com­ple­ta­men­te ma­de in Ita­ly sia un va­lo­re ag­giun­to che sin­te­tiz­za l’este­ti­ca uni­ca che noi ita­lia­ni pos­se­dia­mo. Amo gio­ca­re con i con­tra­sti e se per que­sta col­le­zio­ne mi so­no con­cen­tra­to sul­la ma­glie­ria co­lo­ra­ta e su pantaloni dai ta­gli ri­go­ro­si e dal­la si­lhouet­te slim, per le pros­si­me sta­gio­ni vor­rei esplo­ra­re mag­gior­men­te il mon­do dei ca­pi­spal­la, svi­lup­pan­do­li se­con­do la mia per­so­na­le este­ti­ca».

SAM SMI­TH di Craig McLean

(Se­gue da pag. 68) fat­ta di ae­rei, ho­tel, con­cer­ti, studios, shoo­ting. Vai in tut­to il mon­do, ma sei fuo­ri dal mon­do... S.S.: No, non è per nien­te co­sì. Que­sto an­no e mez­zo di pau­sa in real­tà è sta­to mol­to di­ver­so. Mi ha fat­to sen­ti­re par­te di quel­lo che suc­ce­de. Ho viag­gia­to e pas­sa­to il mio tem­po a go­der­mi i po­sti in cui so­no an­da­to. So­no an­da­to a New York per il Gay Pri­de – quel­la sì che è sta­ta una fe­sta! Non mi ri­cor­do mol­to di quel­lo che ho fat­to! So­no an­da­to an­che a My­ko­nos, e an­che lì è sta­ta una fe­sta. So­no an­da­to in Spa­gna in­sie­me al­la mia fa­mi­glia – al­cu­ni miei pa­ren­ti vi­vo­no lì – c’è un gi­gan­te­sco cam­po di ri­fu­gia­ti dal­la Si­ria. È sta­to or­ri­bi­le ma, an­che que­sta vol­ta, un viag­gio mol­to po­ten­te. L’U.V.: Di re­cen­te hai par­la­to con El­ton John per un gay li­fe­sty­le ma­ga­zi­ne bri­tan­ni­co. Hai det­to che “odi” es­se­re fa­mo­so ma che al tem­po stes­so è una co­sa che “ado­ri”. È un con­flit­to che con­ti­nua? S.S.: Oh sì, as­so­lu­ta­men­te. Se le co­se con­ti­nua­no co­sì pen­so che sa­rà il tor­men­to del­la mia vi­ta. Ma non leg­go le re­cen­sio­ni; sto lon­ta­no da ciò che è il la­to ne­ga­ti­vo del­le co­se. Non so­no mol­to trol­la­to – qual­co­sa di omo­fo­bo ogni tan­to, e dei com­men­ti sul mio pe­so. Amo la mu­si­ca, e pen­so che tut­ti quel­li che vo­glio­no esi­bir­si da­van­ti a mi­glia­ia di per­so­ne so­no dei su­pe­rin­si­cu­ri – è una sen­sa­zio­ne di cui io ho bi­so­gno. Un fee­ling che mi man­ca. E ado­ro sen­ti­re la gen­te can­ta­re le mie can­zo­ni. Quan­do si trat­ta di mu­si­ca, so­no com­ple­ta­men­te coin­vol­to e ado­ro es­se­re fa­mo­so.

GRI­GOR DI­MI­TROV di Vin­cen­zo Mar­tuc­ci

(Se­gue da pag. 75) “Di­mi­trov è trop­po bel­lo per es­se­re vin­cen­te”. G.D.: Il pro­ble­ma, per quan­to ri­guar­da i ri­sul­ta­ti a li­vel­lo di tor­nei più im­por­tan­ti, è sta­to mol­to le­ga­to al sa­per se­le­zio­na­re e sce­glie­re i col­pi giu­sti al mo­men­to giu­sto. So­prat­tut­to per uno crea­ti­vo co­me me, in tut­te le co­se del­la vi­ta. È par­te di quel­la cre­sci­ta an­che uma­na che sto fa­cen­do ma che, a 26 an­ni, è an­co­ra in cor­so. L’U.V.: Ma il se­gre­to del­la vit­to­ria qual è? G.D.: Di­ver­tir­si nel fa­re ciò che al­la fi­ne è un la­vo­ro. Io amo il ten­nis da sem­pre, sin da quan­do pa­pà – che fa­ce­va l’al­le­na­to­re – mi ha mes­so una rac­chet­ta in ma­no e io ho de­ci­so che un gior­no sa­rei di­ven­ta­to un pro­fes­sio­ni­sta di quel­lo sport. Non ho mai cam­bia­to idea. Per que­sto ho la­scia­to ca­sa mia, bam­bi­no, e ho gi­ra­to e gi­ro tut­to­ra il mon­do per ot­te­ne­re il massimo. An­che se è sta­ta du­ra, lon­ta­no dai miei fa­mi­lia­ri e dal­la mia Bul­ga­ria, gli an­ni da ju­nior so­no sta­ti i più bel­li del­la mia vi­ta. Per­ciò mi ri­ten­go for­tu­na­to, an­che nei mo­men­ti più du­ri di un mat­ch e ne­gli al­le­na­men­ti, e so­no pron­to a fa­re tut­to ciò che ser­ve per af­fron­ta­re an­che gli osta­co­li più dif­fi­ci­li. L’U.V.: Di­mi­trov, Na­dal, le col­le­ghe Vip, la fi­dan­za­ta che tut­ti in­vi­dia­no: con­ti­nuia­mo a par­la­re di bel­lez­za. G.D.: Ognu­no ha la sua idea di bel­lez­za. Io ho la mia. Se­guo la mo­da e mi di­let­to an­che di giar­di­nag­gio. E poi da un po’, ne­gli ho­tel, ho pre­so l’abi­tu­di­ne di chie­de­re un cer­to ti­po di bian­che­ria e al­tri com­fort che mi fan­no sen­ti­re a ca­sa. An­che que­sto con­tri­bui­sce al­la se­re­ni­tà di un atle­ta che de­ve met­te­re in­sie­me non im­ma­gi­na­te nem­me­no quan­te si­tua­zio­ni per espri­mer­si al massimo, con la men­te li­be­ra, per pen­sa­re so­lo ai ge­sti da ese­gui­re. E crear­si il pro­prio de­sti­no. Io ho sem­pre pre­te­so mol­to da me stes­so, e sto im­pa­ran­do a ge­sti­re la ten­sio­ne del mo­men­to in cui de­vi vin­ce­re con­tro i gran­di nei gran­di tor­nei. Co­sì co­me sto im­pa­ran­do ad ave­re più equi­li­brio: non bi­so­gna vo­la­re trop­po in al­to e nem­me­no sot­to­va­lu­tar­si, ave­re co­gni­zio­ne del­la scon­fit­ta e del­la de­lu­sio­ne

che ne con­se­gue, ma non aver­ne pau­ra, mai. Il bel­lo di Di­mi­trov.

PATRIZIO DI MASSIMO di Mi­lo­van Fer­ro­na­to

(Se­gue da pag. 79) dai cor­pi tur­gi­di, dai na­si pre­mi­nen­ti e da­gli oc­chi stra­buz­za­ti. I se­ni co­me le na­ti­che non ri­spon­do­no al­le leg­gi di gra­vi­tà e guar­da­no in al­to. C’è un asten­sio­ne dal tem­po e dal­lo spa­zio de­fi­ni­to da po­chi em­ble­ma­ti­ci ele­men­ti. C’è sem­pre lui, Patrizio, spes­so con lei, Ni­co­let­ta, la com­pa­gna, che in “Self Por­trait as a mo­del” lo so­sti­tui­sce die­tro la te­la men­tre lui po­sa per lei. Lui si pre­sen­ta spes­so nu­do ma di spal­le o di pro­fi­lo, al­tri­men­ti è in­te­gral­men­te co­per­to, che sia un’ar­ma­tu­ra o un len­zuo­lo bian­co. C’è mi­ste­ro, com­mo­zio­ne, fra­gi­li­tà nel com­pia­ci­men­to del tem­po che pas­sa. C’è qual­co­sa di mar­cio co­me nel pro­fu­mo “Odo­re di San­ti­tà” rea­liz­za­to nel 2015 e ab­bi­na­to a due te­le iden­ti­che e ge­mel­le se non fos­se che una por­ta a det­ta­glio quel­la che l’al­tra so­lo ab­boz­za. C’è la bel­lez­za ab­bi­na­ta al grot­te­sco. La fra­gi­li­tà è an­che un do­no e il mar­cio non è ne­ces­sa­ria­men­te una col­pa. È il cor­po so­spin­to da un’ac­ce­le­ra­zio­ne im­prov­vi­sa. Un’iper­tro­fia. Un’espe­rien­za per­so­na­le, for­se, un in­ci­den­te, una ca­du­ta, un im­pre­vi­sto… una ri­ve­la­zio­ne.

GRIL­LO DE­MO.THE GOOD LIFE di Fa­bia Di Dru­sco

(Se­gue da pag. 88) da­to l’idea di far­ne dei gio­iel­li. Ave­vo por­ta­to gli schiz­zi da tan­ti gio­iel­lie­ri che non ne ave­va­no vo­lu­to sa­pe­re, poi Carolina Herrera è ve­nu­ta a una mia mo­stra a Madrid, ha vi­sto un luc­ky charm con un fio­re di smalto che in­dos­sa­vo e mi ha det­to: “Fac­cia­mo una col­le­zio­ne in­sie­me”». Le per­so­ne più in­te­res­san­ti che ha in­con­tra­to? Ju­lian Sch­na­bel, “un ge­nio, un gi­gan­te”, co­no­sciu­to a Ibi­za e che Gril­lo ha poi rag­giun­to in Ame­ri­ca quan­do la sua mi­glio­re ami­ca Ola­tz ne è di­ven­ta­ta la com­pa­gna. È lui che lo ha in­tro­dot­to sul­la sce­na ar­ti­sti­ca new­yor­che­se, spin­gen­do­lo a espor­re. In­grid Si­schy, “in­tel­li­gen­tis­si­ma” edi­tor-in-chief di Interview, che do­po aver vi­sto gli ac­qua­rel­li che Gril­lo di­pin­ge nei suoi dia­ri gli com­mis­sio­na i ri­trat­ti del­le ce­le­bri­ties che com­pa­io­no sul gior­na­le. Nei wee­kend, quan­do lei è fuo­ri cit­tà, Gril­lo sta a ca­sa sua a fa­re il cat sit­ter di un fe­li­no che non si de­gna mai di usci­re da sot­to il di­va­no. Al­tra per­so­na fon­da­men­ta­le: «Ser­ge Lu­tens, una mia ispi­ra­zio­ne di sem­pre, per il suo ge­nio co­me per il suo vi­ve­re lon­ta­no dai ri­flet­to­ri. Non vor­rei mai di­ven­ta­re un uo­mo da pho­to­call. Per il mio com­plean­no il team di Vogue Bra­sil mi ha por­ta­to a co­no­scer­lo a Marrakech. Il suo pa­laz­zo è il po­sto più in­cre­di­bi­le do­ve sia mai sta­to in vi­ta mia: una se­rie in­ter­mi­na­bi­le di stan­ze, co­me un con­ven­to, e poi di col­po un’esplo­sio­ne di pal­me e bu­gan­vil­lee. E Lu­tens che mi di­ce che il pa­laz­zo è una mi­se en scè­ne, che in real­tà lui vi­ve in un po­sto sem­pli­cis­si­mo a un’ora dal­la cit­tà». D’in­ver­no, Gril­lo tor­na in Ar­gen­ti­na, a Ra­fae­la, dai suoi ge­ni­to­ri, nel­la sua stan­za ri­ma­sta im­mu­ta­ta: «La pa­tria di un uo­mo è la sua in­fan­zia. A Ra­fae­la han­no fi­nal­men­te aper­to un mu­seo, do­ve espor­rò al­cu­ne ope­re. Spe­ro di po­ter es­se­re un’ispi­ra­zio­ne per qual­cu­no, do­po che tan­te per­so­ne han­no ispi­ra­to me».

CHAR­LES & RAY EA­MES di Mar­co Sam­mi­che­li

(Se­gue da pag. 101) tra­sfor­ma­ta in un gran­de ci­ne­ma. Qui si po­trà ve­de­re l’este­sa pro­du­zio­ne fil­mi­ca e au­dio­vi­si­va dei de­si­gner. “Ideas and In­for­ma­tion. The Ea­mes Films” trat­ta que­sta in­ten­sa ere­di­tà non co­me un ac­ces­so­rio ma co­me una di­re­zio­ne au­to­no­ma e spe­ri­men­ta­le del­la lo­ro ri­cer­ca. Gli Ea­mes scel­se­ro il vi­deo co­me stru­men­to di co­mu­ni­ca­zio­ne, di­vul­ga­zio­ne e di­plo­ma­zia. Lo di­mo­stra­no i ca­si di “Think” per l’IBM Pa­vi­lion del 1964 al­la Fie­ra di New York, “Ma­the­ma­ti­ca: A world of Num­bers… and Beyond” per il Ca­li­for­nia Mu­seum of Scien­ce and In­du­stry nel 1961 e “Glimp­ses of the U.S.A.” per l’Ame­ri­can Na­tio­nal Ex­hi­bi­tion del 1959 a Mo­sca, in pie­na guer­ra fred­da. “Char­les & Ray Ea­mes. The Po­wer of De­si­gn” è in­fi­ne la quar­ta mo­stra che chiu­de il cer­chio del­la ce­le­bra­zio­ne con un’im­po­nen­te espo­si­zio­ne di ol­tre cin­que­cen­to pez­zi tra cui mo­bi­li, tes­su­ti, co­stu­mi tea­tra­li, di­se­gni gra­fi­ci, scul­tu­re e di­pin­ti che rac­con­ta­no la straor­di­na­ria in­te­sa tra i due de­si­gner. L’amo­re per il co­lo­re e per il mo­vi­men­to del­le for­me era sta­to tra­smes­so a Ray Ea­mes dall’astrat­ti­sta-espres­sio­ni­sta te­de­sco Hans Ho­f­mann. Il pit­to­re na­tu­ra­liz­za­to ame­ri­ca­no la in­tro­dus­se al­la le­zio­ne del Bau­haus. Un in­se­gna­men­to che si ri­tro­va nel­le va­ste gam­me di co­lo­ri con cui ve­ni­va­no tin­te le scoc- che del­le se­du­te. Scel­te al tem­po con­si­de­ra­te ec­cen­tri­che. Char­les fu an­che pro­fon­da­men­te in­fluen­za­to dall’ar­chi­tet­to fin­lan­de­se Eliel Saa­ri­nen, pa­dre di Ee­ro, che a sua vol­ta di­ven­ne ami­co e col­la­bo­ra­to­re de­gli Ea­mes. Quel­lo con l’ar­chi­tet­tu­ra fu un rap­por­to con­flit­tua­le già dai tem­pi dell’uni­ver­si­tà quan­do ab­ban­do­nò il per­cor­so di stu­di a St. Louis per dis­si­di do­vu­ti al­la vi­ci­nan­za con Frank Lloyd Wright e a un’idea di pro­get­ta­zio­ne trop­po mo­der­na per l’Ame­ri­ca del tem­po. La mo­stra espo­ne pro­get­ti no­ti, spes­so na­ti a sei ma­ni con il con­tri­bu­to di re­gi­sti co­me Bil­ly Wil­der – per cui di­se­gna­ro­no una ca­sa – o il­lu­stra­to­ri co­me Saul Stein­berg – a cui chie­se­ro di per­so­na­liz­za­re con fi­gu­re di don­ne al­cu­ne ce­le­bri se­du­te – o an­co­ra col­le­ghi co­me Ale­xan­der Gi­rard. Con lui vi­si­ta­ro­no l’Ita­lia, viag­gi che as­so­mi­glia­va­no più a spe­di­zio­ni et­no­gra­fi­che che a va­can­ze. Si par­ti­va da Fi­ren­ze, sem­pre al­la ri­cer­ca di sa­pe­ri ar­ti­gia­ni a cui at­tin­ge­re, da cui trar­re ispi­ra­zio­ne. Pre­di­let­te era­no la To­sca­na e le re­gio­ni me­ri­dio­na­li. Gli Ea­mes fu­ro­no no­ta­ti da Gio Pon­ti ver­so la me­tà de­gli an­ni 40. L’ar­chi­tet­to ita­lia­no de­di­cò lo­ro lun­ghi ser­vi­zi sul­le pa­gi­ne di Do­mus e qua­si vent’an­ni do­po, nel 1966, li fe­ce in­vi­ta­re a un’edi­zio­ne di Eu­ro­do­mus al­la Fie­ra di Ge­no­va per pre­miar­li con una pre­sti­gio­sa ono­ri­fi­cen­za. Non man­ca­no al­tre par­te­ci­pa­zio­ni im­por­tan­ti nel no­stro pae­se. Il pri­mo in­vi­to de­gli Ea­mes al­la Trien­na­le di Mi­la­no ri­sa­le al 1954, men­tre il più biz­zar­ro fu quel­lo del Fe­sti­val del Film di Fan­ta­scien­za di Trie­ste nel 1979.

THE BODY AS A HOU­SE di Oc­ta­ve Per­rault

(Se­gue da pag. 103) la­vo­ra­to­ri, di­rit­ti che in gran par­te sot­to for­ma di leg­gi e sti­li di vi­ta. Og­gi il ri­tor­no al­la na­tu­ra po­treb­be sem­bra­re un fe­no­me­no main­stream, se guar­dia­mo al­la gran­de quan­ti­tà di op­zio­ni sa­lu­ti­ste di­spo­ni­bi­li ovun­que a Los An­ge­les e nel­le al­tre cit­tà del mon­do – per non par­la­re di tut­ti i cen­tri di yo­ga e fit­ness e del­le app per pra­ti­ca­re la me­di­ta­zio­ne. Ma a ben ve­de­re il ri­tor­no al­la na­tu­ra rap­pre­sen­ta an­co­ra og­gi una fron­tie­ra ri­vo­lu­zio­na­ria. Co­me fa­ce­va­no i pio­nie­ri del pri­mo de­cen­nio del No­ve­cen­to, ci si ap­pel­la an­co­ra al­la na­tu­ra con­tro il con­ser­va­to­ri­smo del­la tra­di­zio­ne pa­triar­ca­le. Og­gi ma­ga­ri la lot­ta è più con­tro la tec­no­lo­gia di­gi­ta­le che con­tro i mac­chi­na­ri in­du-

stria­li, op­pu­re ri­guar­da me­no le ca­sa­lin­ghe e le fab­bri­che e più il gen­der, la raz­za, l’im­pe­ria­li­smo. È un con­cet­to di na­tu­ra che in­clu­de tut­ti i cor­pi e tut­ti i ti­pi di ses­sua­li­tà, che è po­st-gen­der e po­st co­lo­nia­li­smo e in cui i con­cet­ti di ma­schi­le e fem­mi­ni­le so­no di­stin­ti dal­la for­ma che ha un cor­po. Que­sta body cul­tu­re con­tem­po­ra­nea ha an­che i suoi spa­zi in cui sen­tir­si si­cu­ri, la sua mo­da e, co­me an­che al­lo­ra di­ce­va Schind­ler, «le sue ca­se do­ve ri­las­sar­si in­sie­me, do­ve go­der­si la li­ber­tà e l’ar­mo­nia che c’è nei mo­vi­men­ti di un ani­ma­le che cam­mi­na e che si ri­po­sa, che è poi quel­lo che sia­mo» – e che sia­mo sem­pre sta­ti, na­tu­ral­men­te.

MILLIE BOBBY BROWN by Dan Tha­w­ley

It’s ear­ly Sep­tem­ber and the Bri­ti­sh ac­tor Millie Bob­bie Brown is back in NYC, sat front row at Raf Si­mons’ so­pho­mo­re ou­ting for 205W39NYC, his new ap­pel­la­tion for Cal­vin Klein’s ru­n­way collection. Hair gel­led back in a whi­te silk shift, she’s the spit­ting ima­ge of any Hol­ly­wood in­gé­nue, a dar­ling of the fa­shion sce­ne and a re­fre­shing pre­sen­ce on the red car­pet (and sil­ver screen, too). So, what’s the cat­ch? Oh wait, she’s thir­teen. Spea­king to L’Uo­mo Vogue ju­st hours be­fo­re, Brown prof­fe­red a keen in­tel­lect and in­qui­si­ti­ve mind – la­be­led Ge­ne­ra­tion Z due to the ine­sca­pa­ble fact that she was born in 2004. Her ra­pid ca­reer tra­jec­to­ry saw her shoot to fa­me in the Net­flix phe­no­me­non Stran­ger Things, a sci-fi dra­ma set in Midd­le Ame­ri­ca in whi­ch she played the cha­rac­ter Ele­ven – a young girl who esca­pes from a se­cret lab fa­ci­li­ty and de­ve­lops psy­cho­ki­ne­tic powers. She’s ju­st wrap­ped the se­cond sea­son, out Oc­to­ber 27th . «We we­re asked to wat­ch The Goo­nies, and Stand By Me, and E.T.!» she says, of her pre­pa­ra­tion for the show, a trip back in ti­me to the ana­log days of the 1980’s – so­me­thing she’s ne­ver ex­pe­rien­ced fir­st-hand. «The Duf­fer bro­thers li­ved in In­dia­na, and they taught us a lot about what the 80’s was about. For me it didn’t feel alien, it felt be­lie­va­ble – ju­st ve­ry dif­fe­rent to my life now. I ju­st couldn’t ima­gi­ne not ha­ving wi-fi! That said, the­re are a lot of re­la­tion­ships and the sort of day-to-day stuff in the show that we can all re­la­te to: being the odd one out, bul­ly­ing at school – and the di­rec­tors real­ly in­cor­po­ra­ted their own ex­pe­rien­ces whi­ch is what ma­de it so au­then­tic». Born in Spain to Bri­ti­sh pa­ren­ts, Brown is ho­me-schoo­led via in­ter­net. «I don’t miss ha­ving twen­ty class ma­tes as friends», she mu­ses, «I pre­fer to ha­ve fi­ve be­st friends who I can turn to at any mo­ment, and bet my life on. In­stead I’ve been able to travel with my job. I’ve been eve­ry­whe­re! NYC feels li­ke my se­cond ho­me now, af­ter LA. I’m off to Me­xi­co, Spain, Au­stra­lia, and Ba­li – all this year!». At ti­me of prin­ting, Brown has wrap­ped fil­ming on her fir­st fea­tu­re film, Godzilla: King of the Mon­sters, sla­ted for a 2019 re­lea­se. «It has ju­st been so ama­zing – one of the har­de­st and mo­st chal­len­ging ex­pe­rien­ces but I ha­ve had so mu­ch fun with the ca­st. It’s been su­ch an ho­nor. Espe­cial­ly Ve­ra Far­mi­ga, it’s ju­st in­cre­di­ble to think I can wat­ch so ma­ny films and think – oh, the­re’s my “mo­ther” again! Ky­le Chand­ler is an ama­zing ac­tor and a great per­son to work with too, I mean, I think I’ve seen eve­ry sin­gle epi­so­de of Fri­day Night Lights! O’Shea Jack­son Jr. and Char­les Dan­ce too – in my book, they are all A-class ac­tors that are awe­so­me to work with, great people, and look ama­zing on screen». As for her fu­tu­re, it seems a per­ma­nent mo­ve to­wards fea­tu­re films will be a na­tu­ral step for Brown, with Godzilla ju­st the tip of the ice­berg, with other film gen­res keen­ly in her sights. «I lo­ve wat­ching co­me­dy and it real­ly in­te­rests me to ex­plo­re it. I al­so lo­ve mu­si­cals and sin­ging. So­me people are ve­ry spe­ci­fic about the cha­rac­ters that they want to play, but I’m at a point in my ca­reer whe­re if I li­ke so­me­thing, then I’m ju­st going to do it».

SAM SMI­TH by Craig McLean

On the small stage of a con­ver­ted cha­pel in ea­st Lon­don, a smi­ling Sam Smi­th is soa­king in the emo­tion. The au­dien­ce are chan­ting his na­me and screa­ming be­fo­re his band ha­ve played even a no­te. Eve­ryo­ne is rap­tu­rou­sly in the mo­ment, espe­cial­ly be­cau­se eve­ryo­ne’s mo­bi­le pho­ne has been po­li­te­ly con­fi­sca­ted by ve­nue staff. It’s a rai­ny Fri­day in mid-Sep­tem­ber. Al­rea­dy this week the En­gli­sh sin­ger/song­w­ri­ter has per­for­med in Los An­ge­les and New York. Two days from now he’ll be doing the sa­me again in Ber­lin. The au­dien­ce ca­pa­ci­ties are small – ea­ch of the ve­nues holds less than 1000 people – but the ex­pec­ta­tions are, well, hu­ge. Four club-si­zed sho­ws, four ti­me zo­nes, one week: this is how an are­na-fil­ling glo­bal su­per­star co­mes back af­ter 18 mon­ths’ si­len­ce – and co­mes back af­ter sel­ling over 12 mil­lion co­pies of his de­but al­bum In The Lo­ne­ly Hour (2014) and win­ning four Gram­mys, th­ree Brit Awards, an Oscar and a Gol­den Glo­be (the lat­ter two for Wri­ting’s On The Wall, his the­me to the Ja­mes Bond film Spec­tre). And, right now, the fan reac­tion in this old church is ap­pro­pria­te­ly ado­ring and de­vo­tio­nal. It’s gi­ving a ner­vous Smi­th so­me mu­ch-nee­ded reas­su­ran­ce. “F*ck!” the 25-year ex­claims with a grin at the be­gin­ning of his 55-mi­nu­te con­cert. «It’s good to be back. I’ve been drea­ming about this for so long». In No­vem­ber, Smi­th re­lea­ses The Th­rill Of It All. It’s a se­cond al­bum full of soa­ring bal­lads, deep blue hear­ta­che and emo­tio­nal an­thems de­sti­ned to be sung all over the world for mon­ths – years – to co­me. The omens are good: on the day of the Lon­don show, the fir­st sin­gle, Too Good At Good­byes, hi­ts Num­ber One in charts in mul­ti­ple in­ter­na­tio­nal ter­ri­to­ries. When we meet, four days la­ter, in a pub near his Nor­th Lon­don ho­me, the tall, new­ly-trim mu­si­cian ad­mi­ts to mo­re re­lief. Now he’s per­for­med the­se dee­ply per­so­nal new songs for the fir­st ti­me. Now he can re­lax – a lit­tle. L’Uo­mo Vogue: It was ob­vious at the Lon­don show that you we­re ge­nui­ne­ly mo­ved and hum­bled by the re­spon­se. Sam Smi­th: Yeah, I’m shat­te­red af­ter this week. Ju­st be­cau­se emo­tio­nal­ly it’s been a lot to get my head around. Tho­se sho­ws we­re, I think, for me the mo­st im­por­tant part of my ca­reer so far. L’U.V.: Real­ly? S.S.: Yeah. Tho­se four small sho­ws re­min­ded me to learn my tra­de again, and ma­de me sca­red again. Going in­to [ma­king] this re­cord, I ne­ver wan­ted to re­st on my lau­rels. I wan­ted to chal­len­ge my­self al­ways. Whe­ne­ver I re­lea­se a re­cord I want it to feel li­ke the fir­st re­cord. And be­cau­se my mu­sic’s so per­so­nal as well, it was ama­zing to get people in a room wi­thout their mo­bi­le pho­nes! L’U.V.: Can you de­scri­be your fee­lings about star­ting your co­me­back? S.S.: I’ve been thin­king about the­se mo­men­ts for the la­st year-and-a-half. I’ve al­ways tried to stay away from the word “pres­su­re”, but f*ck [lau­ghs]:

re­lea­sing the fir­st sin­gle from my se­cond al­bum af­ter re­lea­sing In The Lo­ne­ly Hour is a tou­gh thing to do. That al­bum did f*cking well! That sca­red me! But af­ter all the tou­ring, I got to a pla­ce whe­re I was back ho­me in Lon­don, and it was ju­st all about the mu­sic again. So this re­lea­se feels real­ly or­ga­nic to me, and at the right ti­me. I don’t feel ru­shed. And I’m proud of the work. L’U.V.: Too Good At Good­byes is ve­ry per­so­nal – you’ve de­scri­bed it as a “song… about a re­la­tion­ship I was in and it’s ba­si­cal­ly about get­ting good at get­ting dum­ped». So, you we­re in­spi­red by a di­sa­strous re­la­tion­ship? S.S.: It wa­sn’t di­sa­strous, and it wa­sn’t even that mu­ch of an in­ten­se re­la­tion­ship. It was a fi­ve-, six-mon­th re­la­tion­ship. I went in­to it not real­ly li­king my­self, and I left the re­la­tion­ship [fee­ling] even wor­se! So yeah, I jum­ped in, and things en­ded, and then ca­me the­se two or th­ree mon­ths of real self-ana­ly­sis – and a lot of the mu­sic ca­me from the­re. L’U.V.: Let’s di­scuss the song Pray, whi­ch is being tal­ked about as the pos­si­ble se­cond sin­gle. S.S.: Pray was one of the la­st songs; it ca­me to me when we we­re wri­ting in LA. I’d ju­st been on a trip to Iraq, with the cha­ri­ty War Child – they’re in­cre­di­ble and I want to start with wor­king with them mo­re. They took me to the re­fu­gee camps around Mo­sul. Ob­viou­sly it was a life-chan­ging ex­pe­rien­ce. And when I ca­me back I felt so guil­ty that the­re was no­thing on my al­bum that was spea­king about what’s going on in the world. I al­ways go back to what Ni­na Si­mo­ne said: it’s im­por­tant for ar­tists to speak about the ti­mes that they’re in. So I wro­te Pray. L’U.V.: Is it a po­li­ti­cal song? S.S.: I didn’t want to wri­te a pre­a­chy song. I wan­ted it to be mo­re about me and my re­la­tion­ship with the things we’re seeing in the news. Pray to me is about my nai­ve­ty and how I feel qui­te em­bar­ras­sed that I ju­st didn’t read the news enou­gh as a kid. I ju­st tur­ned my head [away] from eve­ry­thing that was going on, be­cau­se it’s ea­sier to do that. But I’m get­ting ol­der now and I’m star­ting to rea­li­se how im­por­tant it is to be in­vol­ved and ha­ve an opi­nion. L’U.V.: That’s the pa­ra­dox of ha­ving glo­bal pop suc­cess, espe­cial­ly on the sca­le you had it: you’re going around the world re­pea­ted­ly, but in a bub­ble of flights, ho­tels, con­certs, studios, pho­to­shoo­ts. You’re in the world but not in the world… S.S.: No, not at all. And that’s what this year-and-a-half break was about, ac­tual­ly. It was about fee­ling part of things. So I tra­vel­led and real­ly spent ti­me going to pla­ces and en­joy­ing them. I went to New York for Gay Pri­de – that was a par­ty! I don’t ha­ve a mas­si­ve re­col­lec­tion of that one! I went to My­ko­nos as well, and that was a par­ty too. I went to Spain with my fa­mi­ly – [so­me of them] li­ve the­re. I ob­viou­sly went to Iraq, and I went to Oman as well with War Child – the­re’s a mas­si­ve camp the­re of Sy­rian re­fu­gees. That was hor­ri­fic but, again, a po­wer­ful trip. L’U.V.: You re­cen­tly tal­ked to El­ton John for a Bri­ti­sh gay li­fe­sty­le ma­ga­zi­ne. You told him you “ha­ted” fa­me but al­so that you “ado­red” it. Is that con­flict on­going? S.S.: Oh, com­ple­te­ly. I think it will be the ba­ne of my life if this all car­ries on. But I don’t read re­views; I’m ju­st stay­ing away from the ne­ga­ti­ve si­de of stuff. I don’t get too mu­ch trol­ling – you get the odd ho­mo­pho­bic thing, and stuff about my weight. But I lo­ve mu­sic, and I think all people who want to per­form in front of thou­sands of people are su­per-in­se­cu­re – and I cra­ve that fee­ling. And I miss that fee­ling. And I lo­ve hea­ring people sing my songs. When it’s about the mu­sic, I’m ful­ly in the­re and I lo­ve the fa­me.

YIN­KA ILO­RI by Ker­ry Ol­sen

It’s shor­tly af­ter Lon­don’s Gren­fell to­wer tra­ge­dy when I interview fur­ni­tu­re de­si­gner Yin­ka Ilo­ri, a fir­st-ge­ne­ra­tion Brit born to Ni­ge­rian pa­ren­ts who grew up on a Nor­th Lon­don esta­te. Th­ro­wing a new per­spec­ti­ve on un­wan­ted fur­ni­tu­re by in­jec­ting rio­tous Afri­can prin­ts that re­call his mo­ther’s dres­ses, bold co­lour, and a new nar­ra­ti­ve, his art­ful ma­sh-ups span fur­ni­tu­re to in­stal­la­tions and mi­ne his fa­mi­ly back­ground. La­te­ly, Ilo­ri has ex­ten­ded his rea­ch in­to the in­stal­la­tion sce­ne. “Esta­te Play­ground”, a work com­mis­sio­ned by ci­ti­ze­nM ho­tel in Sho­re­dit­ch [from Sep­tem­ber 2017] and un­vei­led du­ring Lon­don De­si­gn Week has tran­sfor­med the ho­tel’s lob­by in­to a play­ground in­spi­red by the de­si­gner’s me­mo­ries of gro­wing up on a coun­cil esta­te. «Gro­wing up in Isling­ton it was black, whi­te, Asian, the­re we­re people from Chi­na, Gha­na, Ni­ge­ria, Tur­key and it wa­sn’t about how mu­ch mo­ney you had, but it was about being one com­mu­ni­ty, being to­ge­ther, lo­ving ea­ch other, play­ing to­ge­ther, and this stuck with me, even now as an adult. This fee­ling of to­ge­ther­ness has been mis­sing for a long ti­me he­re [in Lon­don] and I want to bring it back in my work». As the son of an im­mi­grant he says he was ini­tial­ly en­cou­ra­ged to be­co­me an en­gi­neer. «All my fa­mi­ly ha­ve hi­gh-fly­ing ca­reers as doc­tors or law­yers», he quips. He stu­died at the Lon­don Me­tro­po­li­tan Uni­ver­si­ty and a grant from The Prin­ce’s Tru­st; a cha­ri­ta­ble tru­st foun­ded by the Prin­ce of Wa­les kick-star­ted his bu­si­ness. He re­calls his fa­ther, a sto­re ma­na­ger for the Bri­ti­sh hard­ware company B&Q brin­ging ho­me so­me po­wer tools in or­der for him to crea­te his fir­st collection on the gar­den ta­ble. «My un­cle is a car­pen­ter in Ni­ge­ria, but my fa­mi­ly ha­ve ne­ver real­ly spo­ken about whe­re my pas­sions co­me from. It’s odd be­cau­se in Ni­ge­ria and a lot of Afri­can coun­tries, fur­ni­tu­re de­si­gners are cal­led car­pen­ters. Car­pen­ters are not re­spec­ted, it’s con­si­de­red a lo­w­ly job, but when I vi­sit [Ni­ge­ria] and see them ma­king chairs, I al­ways think you’re not a car­pen­ter, you’re are a de­si­gner». In the­se vo­la­ti­le and un­cer­tain ti­mes, the im­mer­si­ve in­stal­la­tion’s aim is to pro­mo­te uni­ty; so­me­thing the ci­ty is mu­ch in need of fol­lo­wing the Gren­fell tra­ge­dy and the ci­ty’s chan­ging nar­ra­ti­ve. A chil­d­hood friend with a fa­mi­ly pia­no bu­si­ness of­fe­red the de­si­gner se­ve­ral in­stru­men­ts whi­ch guests will be able to play, mi­nia­tu­re roun­da­bou­ts fea­tu­re Ilo­ri’s chairs as their cen­tre­pie­ces, a see-saw, ba­sket­ball court, and swings are co­ve­red with Afri­can prin­ts by the Dut­ch Wax fa­bric company Vli­sco. «The idea is to bring eve­ryo­ne to­ge­ther, dif­fe­rent ages, dif­fe­rent ra­ces, and ju­st play, en­joy co­lour, en­joy the play­ground fur­ni­tu­re and ha­ve a good ti­me. That’s how I re­mem­ber my chil­d­hood in Nor­th Lon­don. I may ha­ve been sur­roun­ded by a lot of ne­ga­ti­vi­ty but what kept me to­ge­ther was the people around me in the esta­te, my pa­rent’s lo­ve, and my nei­gh­bour’s lo­ve. I miss this fee­ling, the ci­ty’s ju­st not the sa­me, and I want to en­cou­ra­ge people to re­mem­ber». Eclec­tic mu­sic bla­ring from the esta­te ma­de qui­te the im­pres­sion on a young Ilo­ri, he stres­ses eve­ryo­ne em­bra­ced ea­ch other’s sound. «In our hou­se we’d play Afri­can mu­sic li­ke Fe­la Ku­ti and King Sun­ny Adé, but others

would be li­ste­ning to Lio­nel Rit­chie or Scep­ter. I lo­ved it». The li­kes of po­wer ly­ri­cists su­ch as Ku­ti and the tra­di­tio­nal folk ta­les his pa­ren­ts would share du­ring his chil­d­hood are a key the­me for the Brit de­si­gner who aims to eek out the wi­sdom, and in­fu­se his work with their sa­ge snip­pe­ts. His break­th­rou­gh collection en­ti­tled, “If Chairs Could Talk” re­flec­ts fi­ve cha­rac­ters from Yin­ka’s chil­d­hood. A re­cent col­la­bo­ra­tion with the Lon­don-ba­sed art and de­si­gn plat­form Plin­th, led him to in­te­rior de­co­ra­ting a Geor­gian to­w­n­hou­se using re­pur­po­sed ma­te­rials along­si­de pho­to­gra­phy from the Ma­gnum pho­to­gra­phy archive. «I’m try­ing to tell nar­ra­ti­ves th­rou­gh fur­ni­tu­re people ha­ve th­ro­wn away. Its for­mer ow­ners might think it’s do­ne, it’s over, but I li­ke to view fur­ni­tu­re as people, gi­ve it a se­cond chance, a new sto­ry». Sour­cing fur­ni­tu­re from se­cond hand sto­res or Ebay, the de­si­gner what he lo­ves the mo­st is fin­ding a di­scar­ded pie­ce on the street. «I li­ke the unex­pec­ted na­tu­re of it, I try to un­ra­vel the chair, the per­son who left it, and then in­cor­po­ra­te my own he­ri­ta­ge on­to that chair. Lon­don is a mel­ting point of cul­tu­re and iden­ti­ty, and for me to be able to il­lu­stra­te that on a chair is in­cre­di­ble, I can do what I want with that chair, the pos­si­bi­li­ties are end­less, and share it, whe­ther on­li­ne or th­rou­gh an ex­hi­bi­tion and start a con­ver­sa­tion». When he star­ted out, and be­fo­re he had a stu­dio, the thir­ty-year old would haul chairs on­to the bus. «I’d get a few odd looks wre­stling with four old chairs». Hu­mour asi­de, Ilo­ri re­calls his chil­d­hood as at ti­mes con­fu­sing at­temp­ting to re­con­ci­le his Bri­ti­sh­ness with his pa­rent’s Afri­can he­ri­ta­ge. He still has fa­mi­ly in Ni­ge­ria and vi­si­ts twi­ce a year. «I’ve al­ways found it qui­te hard to un­der­stand whe­re I’m from, and who I am, my pa­ren­ts we­re born in Ni­ge­ria and had years and years of its cul­tu­re, smells, lan­gua­ge and food, but you know I was born in Lon­don, I lo­ve it he­re, but I lo­ve bo­th cul­tu­res but I didn’t know how to re­con­ci­le them. At ho­me, my pa­ren­ts spo­ke to us in Yo­ru­ba, and yet ou­tsi­de I was a Nor­th Lon­don gee­zer, it was li­ving two dif­fe­rent li­ves, but now I feel my work co­vers bo­th bases».

THE BODY AS A HOU­SE by Oc­ta­ve Per­rault

ge­les. It has been a cen­tu­ry that the avant-gar­de of the 1910s in­fu­sed the ci­ty with the ty­pi­cal “back to ear­th” spi­rit cha­rac­te­ri­sing Ca­li­for­nia to this day. In Los An­ge­les mo­re than any­whe­re el­se, the re­turn to na­tu­re that was pio­nee­red then is well ali­ve and has now go­ne main­stream in ma­ny ways. The dif­fe­ren­ce ho­we­ver is that the na­tu­re to re­turn to to­day isn’t the sa­me than the one from a cen­tu­ry ago, be­cau­se the­se no­tions of na­tu­re we­re de­fi­ned in reac­tion to dif­fe­rent hi­sto­ri­cal mo­men­ts. The fir­st ve­gan re­stau­rant of Los An­ge­les ope­ned its doors exac­tly hun­dred years ago, in 1917. Ac­cor­ding to its mis­sion sta­te­ment, the Ri­ch­ters’ un­coo­ked and blood­less cui­si­ne was, si­mi­lar­ly to to­day, again­st in­du­strial food and meat pro­duc­tion and again­st the che­mi­cal di­stor­tion of na­tu­ral good­ness th­rou­gh coo­king. The Ri­ch­ters al­so ad­vo­ca­ted ra­w­ness to get rid of the sto­ve be­cau­se for them this do­me­stic ma­chi­ne has been re­spon­si­ble for the ex­ploi­ta­tion of hou­sewi­ves in kit­chens sin­ce im­me­mo­rial ti­mes. The na­tu­re ex­pres­sed th­rou­gh ve­ga­ni­sm then was reac­ting to the ill­ness and evils of ur­ban life of the ti­me. It was in­vo­ked to re­si­st the op­pres­sion of so­cial ru­les and the in­hu­ma­ni­ty of in­du­stria­li­sa­tion. It hel­ped open a pre-ci­vi­li­sa­tion ima­gi­na­ry, the vi­sion of a gar­den of eden whe­re life hadn’t been cor­rup­ted by ri­gid con­ven­tions and com­pro­mi­sing dog­mas. Be­si­des the ve­gan re­stau­rant, another pio­nee­ring pla­ce for the Los An­ge­les “back to ear­th” li­fe­sty­le was at the hou­se of Pau­li­ne Gi­bling and Ru­dol­ph Schind­ler in We­st Hol­ly­wood. Built by the mar­ried cou­ple in 1921 as a li­ve and work coo­pe­ra­ti­ve for two young fa­mi­lies, the hou­se was open­ly in­ten­ded again­st the do­me­stic norms of the ti­me. The hou­se was ma­de out of inex­pen­si­ve in­du­strial ma­te­rials that we­re con­si­de­red inap­pro­pria­te for do­me­stic architecture and its plan was di­rec­tly re­jec­ting the ty­pi­cal di­vi­sion of spa­ce ar­ran­ged around the pro­duc­ti­ve func­tions su­ch as ba­thing, di­ning and slee­ping. The spa­ce was in­stead com­po­sed as a se­ries of in­te­rior and ex­te­rior rooms whe­re ea­ch per­son could “ex­press his or her in­di­vi­dua­li­ty”, a con­cep­tion of life clo­ser to what would be cal­led “loft li­ving” to­day. The hou­se was gi­ving an ar­chi­tec­tu­ral form to the life that the Schind­lers aspi­red to, and was the ar­chi­tec­tu­ral fa­cet the to­tal rein­ven­tion of life that the avant-gar­de of the ti­me was col­lec­ti­ve­ly fighting for. From the food they ate to the clo­thes they wo­re, from the spa­ces they oc­cu­pied to the so­cial in­te­rac­tions they en­ga­ged with, no aspect of eve­ry­day life was spa­red from the re­de­si­gn. Th­rou­gh the 1920s and 1930s Pau­li­ne Gi­bling Schind­ler ho­sted re­gu­lar sa­lon ga­the­rings at the hou­se whe­re she would in­vi­te the ar­tists, mu­si­cians, ac­tors and va­rious ra­di­cal thin­kers that we­re ei­ther in Los An­ge­les or pas­sing th­rou­gh the ci­ty. Among­st tho­se who at­ten­ded we­re Frank Lloyd Wright, John Ca­ge, John Bo­ving­don, Sa­da­ki­chi Hart­mann, Gal­ka Scheyer. The ow­ner’s of the ve­gan re­stau­rant we­re re­gu­lars, and it is al­so th­rou­gh the­se ga­the­rings that the na­tu­ro­pa­th doc­tor and LA Ti­mes heal­th co­lum­ni­st Phi­lip Lo­vell com­mis­sio­ned the fir­st hou­se to Schind­ler, the Lo­vell Bea­ch Hou­se, and Ri­chard Neu­tra’s fir­st ar­chi­tec­tu­ral pro­ject, a fit­ness cen­tre in Do­wn­to­wn Los An­ge­les. The “re­turn to na­tu­re” of the ti­me was a means to re­vi­se the mo­st en­tren­ched aspec­ts of dai­ly life. For exam­ple, in­vo­king na­tu­re al­lo­wed to com­bat the church and the sta­te’s ideo­lo­gy re­gar­ding gen­der ro­les on their grounds sin­ce they all ac­ti­ve­ly re­lied on ren­de­ring the­se ro­les as na­tu­ral. Again­st this nor­ma­ti­ve Eden, the Schind­lers and their friends prac­ti­ced a non-mo­no­ga­mous se­xua­li­ty, their doc­tors dia­gno­sed dai­ly co-ed nu­di­sm and they rai­sed their chil­dren col­lec­ti­ve­ly. Even thou­gh the­se ex­pe­ri­men­ts we­ren’t free from abu­se – mi­so­gy­ny and ra­ci­sm re­mai­ned sad­ly ram­pant – it had a ve­ry for­ward-thin­king mo­men­tum that did de­fi­ni­te­ly in­fluen­ce our con­tem­po­ra­ry ti­mes for the bet­ter. Be­si­des spea­rhea­ding mu­ch of the ethos found in con­tem­po­ra­ry heal­th and beauty pro­duc­ts and prac­ti­ces, it was al­so a ve­hi­cle for the de­fen­se of wo­men and wor­kers rights for exam­ple, ma­ny of tho­se that we­re la­ter in­ter­na­li­sed by so­cie­ty as la­ws or li­fe­sty­les. To­day’s re­turn to na­tu­re might look main­stream when loo­king at the sheer quan­ti­ty of heal­th op­tions that are ubi­qui­tou­sly avai­la­ble in Los An­ge­les and other ci­ties world­wi­de to­day – not to men­tion the ma­ny yo­ga studios, fit­ness cen­ters and me­di­ta­tion apps. But to­day’s re­turn to na­tu­re still has a re­vo­lu­tio­na­ry fron­tier to the ones who da­res loo­king. Li­ke the pio­neers of the 1910s, na­tu­re is still in­vo­ked again­st the con­ser­va­ti­ve pa­triar­chal le­ga­cy. The strug­gle to­day might be less about in­du­strial ma­chi­nes than di­gi­tal ma­chi­nes, or al­so less about hou­sewi­ves and fac­to­ries Heal­th & fit­ness, body cul­tu­re and the de­si­re to li­ve a mo­re na­tu­ral life are pro­mi­nent cul­tu­ral fea­tu­res of Los An-

than gen­der, ra­ce or im­pe­ria­li­sm. The na­tu­re that is en­vi­sio­ned is in­clu­si­ve of all bo­dies and all se­xua­li­ties, it is po­st-gen­der and de­co­lo­ni­sed so that for in­stan­ce ma­scu­li­ni­ty and fe­mi­ni­ni­ty are dis­so­cia­ted from the form of a sex or a body. This con­tem­po­ra­ry body cul­tu­re al­so has its sa­lons, its sa­fe spa­ces, its fa­shion and, as Schind­ler was al­so say­ing then, «its hou­ses whe­re to re­lax to­ge­ther, whe­re to in­dul­ge in the free har­mo­nious mo­tions of a wal­king and a re­sting ani­mal, whi­ch we are» – and al­ways we­re, na­tu­ral­ly.

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