The (quiet) City
Exploring the modern
metropolis on foot
6amInternationalParisFRBarcelonaESLos AngelesUSNew YorkUSRomeIT
SeoulArtist Haegue Yang steps
outside her gallery
MetropoleThe COS collection for women
as modelled by Guinevere van Seenus
New YorkHonouring the oldest living tree
in Manhattan
BerlinAngelika Taschen powers through Prenzlauer BergCloserA focus on the textures of
new garments
IntersectionThe COS collection for men,
with Robin Ahrens, Tidiou M’Baye and Isaac Brown
ParisAround the Ninth with Rose Carrarini of Rose BakeryCityA promenade around town with the most striking wallets, bags and clutches.ShanghaiLeo Xu circumnavigates his contemporary art empire
6am international
Five still-slumbering cities at the
start of a new day, captured by
photographer and early bird
Daniel Riera
6am international

Place de la

At 6 am on Sunday the sound of Paris is that of sweeping. A brigade of gilet fluo-wearing cleaners swooshes water from the bouches de lavage along the gutters. Their vivid green plastic bristles resemble the twigs they replaced. The sound of plastic on wet asphalt and cobbles creates a gentle chorus that is overridden only by the grumble of a dustcart. When I step into the not-quite-light Place de la Concorde, a movie comes to mind. In 1976 the director Claude Lelouch made the eight-minute-and-39-second film C’était un Rendezvous by attaching a camera to a car and driving at high speed non-stop from the Paris Périphérique at Porte Dauphin to the Sacré- Coeur. The car is thought to have been a Mercedes, but the soundtrack is the dubbed roar of the director’s Ferrari. The film was shot at around 5.30 one morning in early summer. The segment in which Lelouch flies off the ChampsÉlysées takes a right and swerves anticlockwise around the obelisk into the Quai des Tuileries is particularly vivid. On this Sunday I approach the square on foot from the Tuileries at the time when the sun is just beginning to make an impression on the golden point of the obelisk. I hear the sound of the brooms. But the imaginative hold of Lelouch’s film is such that I find myself glancing to my left in anticipation of an unruly sports car.

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Plaça Joan
Carles I,

The tranquillity of dawn is punctuated by the cries of diving swallows and the start-up of a moto somewhere, a medieval door creaking ajar, the hum of a waiting taxi and the street cleaning team, their vans sweeping up last night’s debris. The majority of those awake now in the Catalan capital are post-party revellers, swaggering up Las Ramblas, the city’s main artery. Away from this hub, the streets are pretty much deserted: Barcelona’s residents are at slumber, apart from an early dog walker or ten (this is a canine capital, after all). The compactness of the city ensures that for many the commute to work is minimal: no stress, no urgency, no rush. Twenty minutes by bike, anyone? The only ones rushing are the departing tourists, dragging their souvenir-heavy suitcases over the cobbles heading to El Prat for another no-frills flight. Oh, and let’s not forget the hardcore early-morning runners and rollerbladers pacing the Barceloneta coastline, soaking up that unique, majestic light, sea air and horizon. Time for a café con leche or two, because before that, nothing much will get done at all.

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Los Angeles

There are two 6 ams in Los Angeles. There is the 6 am of obligations, of weekdays. This 6 am is defined by its relation to New York, where it is now nine o’clock and the day has officially begun. The market bell has rung, inboxes are filling and phones are ringing. Anything that was due in the morning and wasn’t sent the night before is about to be officially late. This 6 am is the sound of a starting pistol for a day of playing transcontinental catch-up. This 6 am holds the promise of knocking off work around the time that kids are leaving school – quite early by industry standards – and while the city’s light is still golden. It is an up-front investment in late-afternoon freedom. The other 6 am is indifferent to what hour it is on the East Coast. This 6 am is an hour of still, sound sleep under the duvet, under the slow whirr of the ceiling fan. This 6 am is a jog through the canyon while there’s still a crisp edge to the air, before the summer heat rolls in. On weekends, this 6 am is a ride home from a warehouse art party out on San Fernando Road. This 6 am is coffee on the porch, listening to the soft rustle of the trees and inhaling the last of the night jasmine.

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New York

The dandelion sun began to rise 31 minutes ago, creeping up and sliding between the terracotta buildings and steel towers. But New York hasn’t been sleeping, merely dozing. The only sounds: the low hum of the 24-hour pharmacy and the rumble from the subway. Joining this symphony, a lone cab, flashing that rarely illuminated word, ‘TAXI’, as it speeds and bumps through the intersection, though there’s no traffic to beat. Then a clang and a creak as the gates of Madison Square Park spread wide, unveiling the grass still untouched by three-inch heels. Five blocks north another door opens – the bagel shop welcoming its first customer, who’s waiting like a sprinter in the blocks. The smell of blueberry-flecked dough and the hiss of scalding coffee snake downtown. They carry with them the promise of a chance to do it all again, to try again, refuelled and refocused. To redraw the city, sharper and brighter than yesterday. These are minutes of hope and belief. The soft footsteps of a few will soon become an advancing stampede on the quickly warming concrete. For now, once more, anything is possible.

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There are some great ‘Rome at 6 am’ scenes in Paolo Sorrentino’s Oscar-winning 2013 film La Grande Bellezza which, for the uninitiated, serves as a helpful introduction to Rome’s magnificence. The main character, the eternal enfant terrible of literature Jep Gambardella (played ably by Tony Servillo with masterful control over his facial musculature), is wandering the streets of the Aventine Hill after yet another party. He washes his face in a public fountain, encounters some happy young nuns, then observes the beauty of the Vatican through a hole in the wooden door of a secret garden. It’s been a long, long night, and another terrible Roman day is about to begin, with its gridlocked traffic and brutish inhumanity disguised as good humour. It’s only at night, bathed in the strange artificial orange glow of the streetlamps, that the great beauty of Rome reveals itself before dissipating. At 6 am, the vampire city is at its most ravishing.

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The dynamics of today, reflected in
a collection that can be worn with
great confidence and elegance.
Photography by Alasdair McLellan
Styling by Jane How


Grey cotton knitted top, and black wool coat with bomber collar and flared back.
Crisp white poplin shirt, and loden green wool coat, over straight-legged cropped jeans, and black leather shoes with tan rubber strap.
Saffron-orange cashmere polo-neck jumper, and black A-line leather jacket, worn with loden green wool skirt, and loden wool pumps.
Saffron-yellow felted wool jacket.
Deconstructed dress in oatmeal wool, and black leather backpack.
Crisp white poplin shirt, sky-blue ribbed lambswool sweater, Harris tweed herringbone coat in earth tones, worn with black wool trousers, black leather shoes with tan rubber strap, and black leather clutch.
Crisp white poplin shirt, and black wool pea coat.
Contouring sweater in black and grey mélange wool, flared black wool skirt, and black leather shoes with tan rubber strap.
Grey cotton knitted top, and black wool coat with bomber collar and flared back, worn with flared black wool skirt.
Deconstructed long-sleeved top in oatmeal wool, worn with deconstructed raw-cut skirt in sky-blue wool.

Grey cotton knitted top, and black wool coat with bomber collar and flared back.

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Practical and powerful – three men
sporting a collection that crosses
formality with a sense of ease.
Photography by Alasdair McLellan
Styling by Jane How


Washed-denim shirt, and grey bonded-jersey coat.
Crisp white poplin shirt, and loden green wool coat, over straight-legged cropped jeans, and black leather shoes with tan rubber strap.
White T-shirt, grey mélange boiled-wool jumper, grey mélange flight jacket with detachable wool collar, and stonewashed denim jeans.
Blue mélange linen-and-cotton jumper, and navy cotton flight jacket with detachable wool collar.
White corduroy shirt, navy bomber jacket, and navy wool tweed trousers, with black suede sneakers.
White Oxford shirt, black bomber jacket with golden zip, and black wool-and-cashmere trousers, with black high-top sneakers in nubuck and grained leather.
Light-blue denim shirt, charcoal-grey down jacket.
White T-shirt, utility green sweatshirt with detachable zipped hem, worn with black leather trousers, and black leather cap.

Grey cotton knitted top, and black wool coat with bomber collar and flared back.

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