Euro Summer Styling
our 2026 version has updated geotags
This year, we’re having a blast. And if you’re not enjoying yourself, we hate to be the bearers of bad news, but you might be the problem.
There’s something in the air. The Knicks are winning (by time this is posted I hope they have won!), the World Cup is coming to North America in just a month, and by July 19, when the biggest sporting event in the world wraps up, Euro Summer will officially be in full swing. Recently, our international friend group got together and compared summer plans. June was easy: most people are staying stateside, embracing the heat and enjoy the World Cup. But when the conversation turned to late July and August, the answers were surprisingly diverse.
A few friends are heading to the Netherlands. Others are skipping the Mykonos crowds altogether and opting for a boat trip through Paros, Antiparos, and Milos before finishing in Athens. A large group is making its way to Croatia, with Split and Hvar firmly on the itinerary. Some are exploring Georgia, venturing well beyond Tbilisi. Others will spend their summer tanning along the coasts of Albania and Montenegro. If France is on the schedule, Biarritz followed by a drive to San Sebastián remains one of the best combinations so far. Comporta is no longer a secret, which almost makes it a mandatory stop even if it is for three or four days.
The reality is that our friend group isn’t 18 anymore. We no longer need Ibiza to define a summer. While plenty of people in New York are still chasing the same high they’ve been chasing for years at La Guérite, we’ve done that repeatedly since our teenage years. Today, those places feel increasingly crowded with people more interested in being seen than actually having fun. The real international crowd is looking elsewhere. They’re discovering new destinations, embracing different cultures, and seeking experiences beyond the obvious choices. That doesn’t mean anyone is completely abandoning the classics. Everyone is still doing their own thing. But the trend is clear: people are trading predictable itineraries and Instagram photo ops for a broader mix of experiences, places, and perspectives. The era of building an entire summer around the same handful of destinations is fading. The new luxury is variety.
These are just a few of the destinations our friend group is heading to this summer, and every look in this curation was inspired by the places, people, and energy that make them worth visiting. Which begs the question: Where are you going?
Because summer is already here, the world is wide open, and the most interesting people we know aren’t following the crowd—they’re finding their own corner of it.
BIARRITZ
The Biarritz person has quietly retired from trying to impress strangers. They used to be a hardcore St. Tropez regular, but now, if you mention Indie Beach they get the chills. Ten years ago, they wanted the table everyone could see. Today, they want the table nobody can find.
They’ll tell you they’re “doing the Basque Coast” rather than saying they’re going to France and that’s intentional, because they do not want you to go there. They check into Hôtel du Palais because it’s legendary, or Regina Experimental because they prefer their luxury with a touch of plausible deniability.
Mornings begin at Miremont overlooking the ocean and drinking a double espresso. Afternoons disappear somewhere between Les Halles, a surf lesson they’ll never admit they enjoyed, and a lunch that was supposed to last an hour but somehow stretches into sunset with the same group of friends they started the day with. Europemaxxing at its finest! Dinner is at Chistera & Coquillages, Chez Albert, or, more likely, across the border in San Sebastián because someone from the group suddenly decided the group absolutely needed cheesecake from La Viña.
Nobody is rushing anything in Biarritz. Nobody is shouting. Nobody is ordering bottle service. Nobody is doing the frat flick on a table. It is peaceful. The local luxury is appearing completely unavailable despite having absolutely nothing to do.
The giveaway: They will return with a fabulous tan and pretend they didn’t bust their ass during the surfing lessons.
TBILISI
Tbilisi is where people go after they’ve become bored of telling everyone they’re going to Lisbon.
The city attracts a very specific character: the friend who always seems to know something six months before everyone else. The one sending restaurant recommendations nobody can pronounce and dropping pin locations without explanation, as if guidance would be insulting. This is the friend who knows their wine—not because a TikTok sommelier explained Château Margaux to them in a photo dump, but because their parents’ best friend owns a vineyard in Saint-Émilion and once poured them something they were too young to understand but never forgot. So yes, they’ll politely tell you to get on with the program.
They also know that Saperavi is not something you “discover” on a menu in Dalston with a natural wine list and a €14 glass. It’s something you respect. This is also the same friend who started wearing Salomons before they were “styled” on the Lower East Side, back when they were still just hiking shoes and not a personality trait.
They’re staying at Stamba Hotel or Rooms Hotel. Officially because they appreciate the design. Unofficially because everyone they know whose taste they trust has already stayed there first. Officially also because they somehow know 20 Georgian people—and every single one of them, without coordination or hesitation, has recommended the exact same two hotels.
Coffee becomes lunch and there is always a cigarette involved. Lunch becomes wine. Wine becomes dinner. Dinner easily transforms into a 2 AM type of event.
They begin at Shavi Lomi, somehow end up at Barbarestan, and spend the rest of the trip chasing recommendations from locals who immediately dismiss every recommendation they received the day before.
Every bar feels like a hidden gem. Every gallery visited feels accidental. Every conversation lasts longer than indented. The city is full of architects, photographers, founders, artists, and people who claim they’re “between projects.” and that is why your friend going there loves it.
By the time everyone else arrives in Tbilisi, they’ve already moved on—probably to a place you can’t pronounce yet, and won’t be able to find on Google Maps until next summer.
The giveaway: They come home talking about orange wine as if they personally discovered it.
MILOS
Milos is where former Mykonos people go to recover.
This is your friend whose Instagram Stories at 18 years old consisted of IV recovery drips, yacht parties, Scorpios seven days a week, and a villa large enough to require its own transportation plan. Today, they are a self-proclaimed health and wellness enthusiast who suddenly won’t stop talking about magnesium, sleep optimization, cold plunges, and the importance of protecting their peace. In reality, they’re recovering from what ten consecutive Julys and Augusts can do to a person. They arrive after one too many summers paying absurd amounts of money for beach clubs they secretly hated, standing next to people they didn’t particularly like, listening to music they weren’t even sure they enjoyed.
They’re staying at Skinopi Lodge or Domes White Coast, where every room looks suspiciously like it was designed specifically for a travel magazine cover. If not, they’re staying at the house of a childhood friend from TASIS whose family bought in Milos before anyone knew where Milos was.
The itinerary is refreshingly simple: Boat. Swim. Lunch. Change. Dinner. Repeat.
A skipper takes them to Kleftiko. Somebody immediately announces it’s the most beautiful place they’ve ever seen. Nobody argues because, frankly, it is what it is. Lunch happens at Medusa in Mandrakia. Dinner drifts between O! Hamos! and whichever taverna was recommended by the captain, a fisherman, somebody’s cousin, or a local whose directions consisted entirely of hand gestures.
Nobody dresses up and everyone somehow looks incredible. The group chat goes quiet. Instagram stories become suspiciously infrequent. Nobody is documenting every second because for the first time in years, nobody feels the need to prove they’re having fun. There is little care in the world because Milos feels like an actual vacation. Not a performance. Not a networking event disguised as a holiday. Not a competition to see who can spend the most money in a twenty-four-hour period.
You lose track of what day it is…Nobody seems to know. Nobody seems to care.
The giveaway: They suddenly begin using the word “authentic” in every conversation.
THE ALBANIAN RIVIERA
The Albanian Riviera attracts the thrill-seekers of luxury travel. Not because it’s dangerous, but because they enjoy feeling like modern-day explorers.
These are the same people who arrive home and tell stories as if they personally discovered the destination. Pedro Álvares Cabral landing in Brazil. Vasco da Gama finding India. Their version just happens to involve an EasyJet flight and a WhatsApp recommendation.
They secretly love saying, “You should go now before everyone finds out and ruins it.” The “low-key” at the end is important. It helps them feel less responsible for what they’re about to do.
The trip begins in Dhërmi and slowly drifts south. They’re staying at Zoe Hora, La Brisa, or whichever boutique hotel was forwarded into the group chat by the one friend who’s always six months ahead of everyone else and somehow never wrong. Days disappear between Drymades Beach, Gjipe Beach, hidden coves, beach clubs that still feel relaxed, and lunches that accidentally consume entire afternoons. This is the same excitement that once consumed tables at Casa Jondal. The difference is that nobody is fighting for reservations, nobody is checking who just walked in, and nobody is pretending they’re having the best summer of their life. They’ve traded paella for tavë kosi and the trade has been well received.
At dinner, half the table is discussing how beautiful Albania is. The other half is calculating how many summers remain before Condé Nast writes a feature about it and a direct flight from New York appears.
Everyone agrees on one thing: No geotags. No hotel tags. No restaurant tags. No location sharing. Someone inevitably posts anyway. The group chat responds immediately: “Delete this.”
The Albanian Riviera is what happens when people who claim not to care about exclusivity suddenly discover they care about exclusivity very, very much.
The giveaway: Their Instagram captions suddenly become elusive.
MILAN
Milan is not a vacation. It’s a personality test (which many do not pass!).
The people who love Milan are deeply suspicious of people who don’t. They hear someone say they prefer Rome, Florence, or the Amalfi Coast and immediately conclude that person simply doesn’t get it.
The people who love Milan don’t need sunsets. They need excellent shopping, great museums, an espresso that changes their mood, and somewhere to be in forty-five minutes.
Milan is for people who appreciate the finer things in life and understand that the perfect summer consists of half city, half beach. A few days of civilization before disappearing to the Mediterranean. Their agenda is packed with plans that tourists and first-timers simply wouldn’t understand. They’re having lunch somewhere nobody can get a reservation. They’re seeing an exhibition nobody has heard of yet. They’re meeting friends of friends for aperitivo and somehow ending up at dinner with twelve people from six different countries.
A night at Yapa turns into the bartender recognizing them from previous summers. Before long, menus are irrelevant and custom cocktails begin arriving at the table (Guilty!!!).
They’re staying at Portrait Milano or Casa Cipriani. Not because they’re trying to impress anyone, but because they appreciate operational excellence.If not, they’re staying in their own apartment. It’s perfectly located, immaculately furnished, and they’ve somehow managed to mention it exactly zero times despite owning it for years.
Breakfast is at Marchesi. Lunch is at Langosteria. Aperitivo starts at Bar Basso and inevitably destroys whatever plans existed afterward. After all, you are too tipsy and all you can do is bask in the noise consuming the sidewalk.
Every afternoon includes a pilgrimage through the Quadrilatero (not necessarily to buy…just to check!). You maybe pop at Loro Piana. Maybe Bottega. Maybe Larusmiani. Maybe all three?Milan rewards people who understand that style is less about what you buy and more about how quickly you pretend you didn’t buy it.
The city is full of people who claim they don’t care what others think while spending an extraordinary amount of time perfecting exactly how little they appear to care. And somehow, against all odds, it works.
The giveaway: They return home referring to New York as “a little chaotic.”
