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I didn’t grow up in the presence of glamour. I did not even know that word or what it represented until much later in life. My world was measured in square meters—a single-bedroom rumah petak where the morning air always smelled of the coconut rice my mother prepared to sell at my school after she’d drop me off. My father, on the other hand, felt like a made-up character, leaving before I even finished my shower and returning long after I’d gone to bed. In those four walls, life was never about finery; it was about how we could survive the coming week.
But weekends were different. While my father finally isolated himself in the bedroom, my mother transformed. In the same space where we ate and slept, she would pin her hair up and paint her lips a deep, doll-like red, and replace her faded daster with beads and lace, before dragging me to wedding receptions in neighbors’ houses, sometimes even spilling out into the streets, for people she barely knew. “It wouldn't be right to the neighbors if we didn't show up,” she’d say. I didn’t get it then. I just knew that for those few hours, she would move through the plastic chairs, beam her smile to everyone, and sing through the live music, while I waited on the side with my bottomless free lunch. In those times, she wasn't the woman selling rice boxes at my school gate. She was a woman like the ones I saw on evening TV programs, and she was having a ball.
When I finally learned about glamour, I thought of it as something inaccessible. It was the world I saw on soap operas or Disney movies—with grand ballrooms and crystal chandeliers, big puffy dresses, and wide, sprawling staircases. To me, it was a world that required an invitation I didn't have. I believed it was something you bought, inherited, or were born into. For a long time, I thought if you didn't pass the velvet rope, you simply didn't have the glamour.
Ironically, I’ve spent my career behind the velvet ropes. But after a decade of navigating this sparkly world, transforming others into curated versions of perfection, I’ve realized that what my mother was doing is perhaps the purest form of glamour there is. It isn’t the luxury label or the flashing bulbs; it is the dignity of the ritual. It is the effort she made to feel extraordinary, even when her circumstances told her otherwise—to make her life and herself feel a little bit better, even if only for a few hours. After all, the word glamour originally meant a spell, and I see now that my mother was probably the most powerful caster I’ve ever known.
So this issue began with a question: what is the very essence of glamour? Who gets to experience it? And does it have a place in our troubling time?
In one of our main stories, Inaya Pananto and Torik Danumaya explore whether glamour must be witnessed to be real, or whether it can exist entirely in solitude. Taking a cue from my mother—and perhaps from the Indonesian mejeng culture—Elizabeth Kezia and Christabelle Adeline invite us to a very opulent place: the wedding reception. Elsewhere, Farid Renais captures the faces behind the grandeur of Hotel Borobudur. We always wonder what those who maintain the spectacle actually think about the magic they create.
Finally, our question took us somewhere unexpected: into sport. When Kris Dayanti, now known as Mimi, agreed to talk to our writer Januar Kristianto, about stepping into the world of wushu—something we are still pinching ourselves over—she reminded us that glamour is not tied to chandeliers or evening gowns. It appears wherever someone decides to transform.
And as if that weren’t grand enough, we asked prominent creative director, Agra Satria, to illustrate one of our covers. Seeing his intricate artworks of the Five Animals of Shaolin entwined with Kris Dayanti’s presence on our cover has been one of the most satisfying experiences in creating this issue.
During the last few weeks of bringing these pages to life, the world once again feels heavy—as it so often does. Between the headlines and the constant talk of global conflict, creating anything—let alone a fashion magazine—can feel surreal. There are moments when I look at these images and wonder: Will any of this matter if the world is on fire?
But then I remember those weekends. My mother didn't put on her lace and red lipstick because she thought the upcoming Monday was going to be 'fine.' She did it precisely because she knew it was going to be tough. It’s clear to me now that her glamour wasn’t a denial of her reality—it was her strategy for surviving it.
The world may be on fire, but we still have to find the strength to walk through it, and for us creators, producing this issue has been our 'charger.' It’s the energy we need to gather before we step back out and face whatever is coming next. With this issue, I hope that—just like my mother did—you’ll find the magic to cast your own spell and have a ball.
