The capsule wardrobe concept, popularized in the 1970s by Susie Faux, proposes an exercise in synthesis: a compact set of versatile pieces, capable of combining in countless ways to suit different occasions. In visual culture, there are a few metaphors for this: in cartoons like Doug Funnie or Dexter's Laboratory, opening the closet revealed rows of identical clothes, ready to simplify life (and, in the case of animators, the work). In the real world, figures like Steve Jobs turned this logic into a method, adopting a daily uniform to eliminate the small but recurring decision of "what to wear?", freeing up time and energy for more important matters.

For others, however, this would be far from a burden. Choosing what to wear is a pleasurable moment, capable of setting the tone for the day and influencing one's mood. In this sense, the wardrobe is also an extension of identity, a space where practical and symbolic choices meet. Unsurprisingly, expressions like "coming out of the closet" or "skeleton in the closet" are deeply rooted in language, revealing the cultural dimension of this element of the home. In contemporary interior design, this notion has gained new layers: the wardrobe can define the character of a space, guide circulation, influence perception, and even shape the atmosphere of an environment.

Surfing is, without a doubt, one of the most visually striking and fascinating sports. A fluid choreography that combines strength and delicacy, like a dance on the waves, gathers enthusiasts across the world's oceans. Yet, behind this image of freedom and connection with nature, the sport also carries contradictions. It is a symbol of outdoor life and respect for the ocean, but on the other hand, it is marked by territorial disputes over waves and by an environmental footprint that rarely receives the same attention given to its aesthetics. In times of climate crisis, this paradox becomes even more evident. Surfing depends directly on the health of marine ecosystems, the very ones most affected by pollution and global warming. This tension has been pushing a new generation of shapers, architects, and material designers to seek alternatives, from plant-based and recycled foams to the reuse of industrial waste, in order to reconnect the sport with its ecological dimension.

Work and learning environments have undergone profound transformations in recent decades. In offices, cubicles and compartmentalized rooms have given way to open, collaborative layouts. In schools and universities, traditional classrooms with rigid layouts, blackboards, and rows of desks have been replaced by more dynamic, flexible, and interactive spaces. In both contexts, the goal was to encourage integration, creativity, and constant exchange. But this openness has also introduced new challenges: increased distractions, sensory overload, and the difficulty of finding moments of focus or introspection. The more we remove barriers in favor of fluidity and collaboration, the more essential it becomes to provide moments of quiet, intimacy, and sensory balance for those who need to self-regulate. The challenge is both spatial and psychological, raising a fundamental question for architecture: how can we support connection and withdrawal, activity and silence, at the same time?

Two students sit one desk apart. One excels in science. The other struggles. One receives praise, the other criticism. One gains confidence, the other slowly loses it. It's easy to assume the difference comes down to effort, parenting, or natural ability. But what if the real factor was the classroom itself? Imagine the student who fell behind sat at a desk flooded with glare from poorly placed windows every single day. With fixed homeroom seating, they couldn't move. Over time, that small but constant distraction turned into disengagement, and disengagement eroded their confidence. A chain reaction triggered not by effort, but by design.

The Design-Build model is an increasingly attractive project delivery method, offering benefits such as enhanced control, reduced risks, cost efficiencies, and quicker completion times. Central to this approach is teamwork and collaboration, contrasting sharply with the traditional method of separate design and fixed-price bidding by contractors. Design-Build naturally motivates all participants to seek ways to boost productivity and quality, ensuring fairness and transparency in costs.

In recent decades, a quiet revolution has reshaped how we interact with the objects and systems in our daily lives. What once required cranks or rotary mechanisms, and later the press of a button, is now giving way to experiences that are increasingly fluid, intuitive, and touchless. This shift is evident in public restrooms, where minimizing physical contact promotes better hygiene and reduces the spread of pathogens. It also reflects a broader change in paradigms of comfort, accessibility, and efficiency. Touchless devices, once restricted to isolated applications in hospitals, airports, or corporate buildings, have become standard in projects that prioritize user experience and sustainability.

Since its opening in 1987, Four Winds Field — home of the AA Minor League team South Bend Cubs — has undergone several transformations. In each of them, brick has remained a central architectural element, evoking tradition, permanence, and a distinct urban character. Now, with a major expansion underway, the stadium reaffirms this legacy while embracing innovative construction techniques, most notably, the integration of thin brick as a contemporary solution that honors the past without compromising technical performance.

What does it mean to build with care, using what others leave behind? This question shapes the work of the Matter Matters Lab, an initiative founded by architect and researcher Catherine Söderberg Esper during the isolation of the pandemic. Drawing from experiences across cultures and motivated by a personal transformation during motherhood, Catherine began to investigate everyday waste as raw material for regenerative construction systems. Her first experiment involved gluing her own cut hair using white glue, initiating a radically intimate and handmade approach. Since then, the lab has focused on transforming organic waste into low-impact architectural materials, inspired by Indigenous knowledge systems and aiming to break from extractive models in construction. Projects like the Avocado Bricks, made from discarded avocado seeds, exemplify this approach of local, circular, and rooted in the idea of reciprocity between matter, place, and care, offering a new way of building with waste.

Humanity rarely embraces major transformations right away, often held back by fear, skepticism, or attachment to what already works. Gutenberg's press raised fears of misinformation; urban electrification drew warnings from doctors; and office computerization sparked concerns over the devaluation of human experience. Such ruptures often provoke resistance, but they tend to open space for critical reflection and innovation.

Today, with the rise of artificial intelligence and the rapid succession of technological innovations, we are living through another of these inflection points. The debate is broad, inevitable, and, as always, necessary. At the TRUE Conference 2025, hosted by Midea Building Technologies (MBT), this discussion takes on practical and strategic dimensions by linking digital advancements with tangible goals for sustainability, efficiency, and quality of life.

The new Arden Station in Melbourne goes beyond its functional role as a transportation hub. Opened as a key component of the Metro Tunnel project, the station expands the city's rail infrastructure by relieving pressure on other lines and improving service frequency and, at the same time, establishes itself as a defining element in the urban transformation of Melbourne's northern precincts. Located on a former industrial site undergoing revitalization, it anchors the future development of a new district projected to accommodate up to 34,000 residents and 15,000 jobs in the coming decades.

The theorist André Corboz, known for his contributions to the critical reading of territory, proposes that the cities should be understood as a palimpsest. That is, a surface continuously rewritten, where traces of previous layers remain visible even after successive interventions. For him, the city is not a static entity, but an organism in constant transformation, where historical, functional, and symbolic layers overlap. This is why working on restoration or rehabilitation projects for historical buildings is particularly complex, requiring careful thought about the approach to be taken: should extensions and renovations seek complete coherence with the original language, or assert themselves as architectural expressions of their own time?

The trajectory of glass in architecture reflects the technological evolution of humankind. For centuries, it was a fragile, opaque material, restricted to small openings in churches or aristocratic residences, limited in size, with uneven transparency and a largely secondary role. With the Industrial Revolution and advances in manufacturing processes, this condition changed dramatically. From artisanal and imperfect stained glass, we now have a wide range of architectural applications, from fully glazed skyscraper facades to translucent pedestrian bridges, lightweight roofs, smart partitions, and movable elements. One of the most surprising uses, once thought to be impractical, is the direct interaction of glass with large volumes of water. Today, we see pools with transparent walls or floors that project out from buildings, float above streets, or visually merge with their surroundings, creating striking sensory experiences. A remarkable feat, especially considering that for a long time, glass was considered too fragile for submerged environments.

At the Steirereck am Pogusch restaurant, architecture and gastronomy seem to speak the same language: that of the sensitive transformation of raw materials. Local ingredients, like leaves, roots, and flowers, are turned into surprising dishes, where simplicity is elevated to the extraordinary. Likewise, the building, far from being a static structure, offers a unique tactile and visual experience. One of the most intriguing elements is the use of stabilized foamed aluminum panels that, rather than evoking the coldness and rigidity often associated with metal, have been manipulated to transcend their conventional characteristics. They seem to breathe, with their porous, textured surfaces absorbing and reflecting light, creating a play of shadow and brightness that evokes the lightness and organic quality of natural materials.