Every time Christmas approaches, I feel everyone around me accelerating like never before. Work becomes an endless loop no one seems able to step out of. Traffic grows heavier, drivers more frustrated. Prices go up, shops overflow with desperate buyers searching for the perfect gift, and everything feels as though it’s spiraling out of control. The way people exhaust themselves before Christmas is something I still can’t quite make sense of.

Recently, I stumbled upon an article about our obsession with constant growth. This determination to do more, be better, run through life and barely remember any of it, instead of slowing down and actually living. What would it look like if we simply enjoyed our accomplishments without the constant urge to chase the next milestone? Or cherished our loved ones without a to-do list humming in the background?

Because this topic fascinates me, and because it feels even more relevant at the end of another year, I invited Răzvan – better known as Sartrowski – to share his thoughts on what happens when growth stops making sense. Next, Oana Titică, a food and dog lover who has been running Good Food Magazine for many years, shares her recommendations for pet-friendly places around the country, so you won’t have to leave your pup at home this cold season.

For the last edition of the year, two inspiring women in very different stages of their lives share their journey with us and what drives them. Young fashion designer Mara Popa sits down with Andreea Leța for a deep conversation about craftsmanship, while I talk with writer and director Chris Simion about resistance and the birth of Grivița 53, the first Romanian theatre built from scratch in a few dozen years. And because no December issue can exist without a little Christmas magic, Alina Vasiliu writes about the Constanța Casino – what its rebirth has meant for her and for the people of Constanța, and why you should put it on your list this holiday season.

There’s a lot waiting for you below, so settle into your favourite spot, grab a hot chocolate, and enjoy.

Laura x

When growth stops making sense: how acceleration became our default setting

Wake up before dawn. Find time for a 12 step morning routine. Turn a nice little breakfast, make sure there’s enough fiber in it, make sure there’s enough protein, you’ll need it. Go for a jog, hit that VO2 max, post your 5k to your 12k followers, shower and off for the first call of the day. It’s nearly the end of the quarter, the last push to make better numbers than ever.

Growth has become the closest thing we have to a secular commandment. One of the guiding values of our age, sure, but hasn’t intention been replaced with reflex? Something that no longer asks whether it serves us at all, only whether it expands? I see this in the small things at first. A hobby stops being a playground the moment it’s asked to sustain itself economically. The act that once clarified the self, now becomes another ledger entry. You start broadcasting your practice sessions because content carves a spot out for you in collective attention. You track metrics for something that was never meant to be measured. You feel guilty for not monetising a skill fast enough, while finding new ways to conscript leisure into production. There’s always a new target to hit, some graph to sit at the top of, new avenues for growth.

The corporate version just adds more zeroes to the same logic. Public companies promise shareholder returns that surely beat the market with a sort of kingly adolescent confidence. They fail, they scramble, they merge, their winnings and failures metabolised into an ascending rolling average of your choosing. The market moves quietly but solidly up. The 7% yearly, this bizarre eternal springtime, floats like a law of physics. It’s sewn into our world. But nothing in nature grows indefinitely. Forests mature. Ecosystems find balance. Even empires plateau. Capital, meanwhile, rejects whatever we might call enough. Stagnation is failure. Self-improvement culture is just the internalised version of this corporate theology. Yoga, sound-baths, cold plunges, fasting, they may be rooted in the spiritual. They may have obvious health benefits, but the tempo reveals a paradox: these practices are often less about presence and more about optimisation. You can watch the rhetoric morph into something managerial. Your body’s called a temple but treated like a project. Mobility, endurance, slowing aging, losing weight, hell, even resting becomes performance recovery. Feels like we’ve built a culture where doing for the sake of doing is morally suspect, unless it somehow affects your output later.

The trouble is that all this motion, this ceaseless tinkering, upgrading, investing, is the logic of a tumor. Once growth stops being a means and turns into a purpose, what we get is a nefarious organism that’s preprogrammed to multiply infinitely, and at all cost. A child grows toward adulthood. It’s directional, purposeful and time-bound. A tumor grows toward nothing. Its only purpose is its own expansion. Vitality starts looking a lot like velocity. Marinetti and his circle worshipped velocity not because it solved anything, but because it obliterated hesitation. Acceleration was, in a sense, pure. A forward lunge so violent that the past was to be shaken off completely. They believed motion itself was transcendence. After all, if you move fast enough, you become the immutable object.

Our contemporary love for growth hides the same impulse, sanitised and embedded everywhere. The futurists were not shy about crushing down the old world under the tracks of mortar, metal and petrol. Today, we pursue acceleration, hiding behind the benign elegance of spreadsheets, wellness routines, and shareholder decks. The aesthetic changed but the physics of it didn’t.

In trying to build a world safe from friction, failure, and the decadence of stillness, our modern-day accelerationists have found a proper way out. Press the pedal through the floor, take the train off the tracks and accept velocity as destiny. he futurists glorified war for being the most intense form of movement, we glorify disruption. What was purity through destruction is now a trendy, better sounding slogan: move fast and break things.

Pausing, for even the tiniest of bits, feels dangerous. We’ve all become miniature engines that must not idle, not only to avoid violating the sanctity of acceleration, but because we’re now rolling at such a speed that braking threatens to throw us down into the ground. It’s hard to admit for all the motion, disruption and betterment, the lack of purpose has turned our tracks into a treadmill. We’re pedalling away into nothing. So how do we go about this? Is it still safe to slow down? Do we shop for a purpose that fits the steps we’re taking? I don’t know. I’m not sure the case I’m making is that growth is inherently bad, but once you strip away this awful decor of financial reports, fitness trackers, KPIs, self-branding and productivity cults, what remains is a couple bewildered humans that are trying to justify their place in the world through perpetual acceleration. But meaning is more often found in rhythm. Growth is vital, but it’s a hell of boon when coupled with the all too necessary stasis and decay.

I can’t advocate for a return to nature and its intrinsic guiding wisdom. For all intents and purposes, we’ve built a world so far from natural, yet so nurturing to a lot of us. But we’ve come to a point where we have to recognise that expansion cannot be the only measure of value. Not in a finite world. Some things are meant to widen, others to deepen. Some seasons are fertile, others are not. A world that cannot tolerate the down-turns ends up exhausting its soil, its people and its imagination. We’re living, breathing creatures of purpose, intelligence, and leisure and myth. We’ve built a fast moving world where only the competitive, the efficient, and the spectacular thrive. And we’re given an opportunity to slow down, one we should take before running ourselves into a wall.

The myth of endless growth is seductive, but we’re alive, and life is not linear. However hard we try to fight it, it’s cyclical, stubborn and uninterested in quarterly expectations. For better or for worse.

Răzvan Corneci, also known as Sartrowski, is an actor, writer, illustrator and slow reader. Currently running the opinion segment on tele:gen, in collaboration with Gen, Știri. You can find him on YouTube and Twitch every week.

5 pet-friendly spots Oana Titică absolutely loves

It’s the season for cozy gatherings inside, and for many of us, no gathering is the same without our loved pups, so we invited foodie & dog owner Oana Titică to share with us some of her favourite pet-friendly places around the country worth discovering this season.

Bistro de l’Arte (Brașov)
If you were to look up “comfort food” in an imaginary Romanian culinary dictionary, Bistro de l’Arte in Brașov would be the first to come up. The taste of everything here is perfect. If I could live inside a bowl for the rest of my life, it would be in a bowl of ciorbă at Bistro de l’Arte.

Alma Via Guesthouse (Alma Vii, Sibiu)
I am hopelessly in love with this place. Hidden in the most quiet Saxon village in the heart of Transylvania, the food at Alma Via is a gourmet experience, with locally sourced ingredients that taste like nothing you’ve ever had. If you see anything with “beurre noisette” on the menu, please order it. Also, make sure to book a table in advance.

Grain Trip (Bucharest)
Almost every weekend, I take a long walk with my dog to Grain Trip, located on Nerva Traian, one of our favourite bakeries in Bucharest. For myself, I buy one cruffin (croissant × muffin × cream cheese × jam), one spanakopita (but not as you know it), and a luscious Tarte Tatin. For Magda, my golden retriever, I always buy one quiche with “babic”, a very sexy Romanian specialty, that we end up sharing on a bus station bench.

Pasticceria Up (Sighișoara)
A small café right beneath the Sighișoara Citadel, in all its medieval glory. Pasticceria Up serves specialty coffee and some lovely sweets & pastries. If the weather is nice, enjoy your flat white on the cobbled terrace, alongside a very chocolatey brownie and a flaky croissant filled with pistachio cream. And with your dog next to you, of course.

Arzu (Bucharest)
The place that really loves dogs and food, Arzu is “unapologetically indulgent”. I love everything here, especially now when the seasonal menu includes “șorici prăjit” (or crispy pork crackling) and the majestic “salam de biscuiți”, a childhood dessert that’s been turned into a decadent version with a little bit of orange extract.

Oana Titică is the owner of Chicineta, a Romanian brand of cheeky dinnerware and former editor-in-chief of Good Food Magazine. She often collaborates with B365.

Butterflies, scars & the rise of young designer Mara Popa

Mara Popa can rightly be referred to as a prodigy of the Romanian fashion industry. Awarded many times for her style, Mara is a young designer coming from Cluj-Napoca, who made an impact not just through her designs but also with how she has been exposing her vulnerability by using a series of signature-motifs. In the short interview below, she talks about remaining loyal to her inner world, where every emotion catches the form of a beautiful clothing piece.

You are one of the most sensitive Romanian designers of your generation. Which are the biggest challenges in being a young designer today and how do you manage to overcome them?

Sensitivity is the place where everything I create begins. In order to protect this inner world, I need discipline and a quiet strength that can support me in facing the challenges of the industry. The greatest difficulties a young designer faces are quite universal: limited financial resources and the attempt to enter the market with a fair price for our deeply personal work, in a world where labels still matter, even when we offer unique, meaningful pieces. I believe in a rhythm of things that cannot be forced and in the power of patience to maintain the integrity of creation.

We also experience social media pressure, which can distort our perception and pace. I choose to transform this pressure into a dialogue with myself and remain anchored in my path. With each new collection comes the self-imposed pressure to surpass everything I have created before, but I have learned that this challenge becomes a creative engine when it is supported by study, discipline, and authentic work.

There are some elements that appear in almost all of your collections – like the butterfly, or the beautiful architectural lines. Which are the most intense feelings you struggle with and how do these come to life through your designs?

My sources of inspiration have always emerged from a deeply personal space, from stories, vulnerabilities and experiences that have shaped me until now. In my latest collection, created for MBBFW, these personal narratives intertwined with cultural ones, expanding the horizons of my universe. Emotion remains the starting point of every form and my earliest collections reflected a need to present myself honestly in this industry, to transform my inner world into a visual language. This is how scars, both real and metaphorical, came to life, and from them, the symbol of the butterfly, born from a painful yet essential experience, which transformed my vulnerability into creative strength.

My creative process is natural, but never linear. It begins with reflection, then moves through sketches, fabrics, experiments and prototypes, before finally taking shape in the hours devoted to handcrafted details. It is a process full of challenges. Yet it is also the place where I feel most authentic.

I remember one of your early collections that featured your childhood drawings printed on fabric. This year you received several important international awards for your latest collection, where we see a reinterpretation of the Romanian lace, for which you used an original technique. How do you put together craftsmanship and the new technologies?

The collection inspired by my childhood marked the moment when my creative universe truly began to take shape. It was then that the motif of the little flying creatures emerged, gradually becoming a defining element of my collections. At that stage I experimented for the first time with digital printing and the handcrafting of the insect brooches. This year I wanted to explore a new territory, learning to digitally model butterflies, later brought to life through 3D printing. It was the moment I realized that technology does not compete with craftsmanship but it can highlight its value.

I remain deeply attached to handmade work, yet I believe in the dialogue between the human gesture and the innovative technique. That is why I also used a 3D printing pen for my latest collection, in which I reinterpreted Romanian point lace in a contemporary form, manually redesigning the woven threads. For me, technology will never replace craftsmanship and that remains sacred. But I believe it can become an extension of it, a tool that, when used with care and respect, can open new paths for artistic expression.

What feelings do you get when you think about the near future? What path are you interested in taking as a designer and how do you envision developing your eponymous brand?

In February I will begin a master’s program at Polimoda in Florence, which I see as a necessary step in my journey as a designer. Until now, I have been guided by sensitivity and the freedom to experiment, and this next step will provide the structure I need to create wearable collections, without losing my artistic essence. Over the past few years, I have defined my direction and creative voice so now I’m looking forward to transforming that voice into a prêt-à-porter line, while maintaining the couture line as a space for my most authentic expression. I believe this will help me build a sustainable business.

At the same time, I will continue my doctoral studies at UAD, because I feel the need to stay connected to the academic world and absorb as much knowledge as possible, refine my critical thinking. I firmly believe that this is the only way to evolve and create work that is lasting and meaningful over time. The future remains unpredictable, but I face it with openness, trusting that my path will unfold at the right pace, guided by study, intuition, and courage.

Andreea Leța is a fashion journalist and stylist with a passion for art, architecture, and literature. Over the years, she has collaborated with various artists and publications, from Marie Claire Romania to Pagina de Psihologie, and is currently the fashion editor of Alist Magazine.

Chris Simion on resistance and the birth of a theatre

I’ve known Chris Simion for a very long time, and she’s always been a force of nature. From opening Lăptăria lui Enache as a place for creation to her fight with cancer and the books she wrote about it, she is the epitome of perseverance and resistance. A woman who always stood up for her principles and believed in her wildest dreams — such as building a theatre from scratch in Bucharest, a dream she had for more than 15 years.

Today, that theatre is Grivița 53 — a miracle that came true with the help of a growing community that Chris and her husband gathered around them through nine years of hard work and unimaginable challenges. I remember when my mom and I bought a brick for her dream, and I was in my early twenties. Talking to her now about it in the lobby of the theatre feels surreal. But here we are.

When did the first thought of a new cultural space emerge and what made you go on with it?

When I was a student, I wanted a space for myself and others, but after trying several times to obtain one, I realized it was impossible — because I was exposed to all kinds of challenges, negotiations, and extremely humiliating moments, including from people who could have offered us that kind of space.

Grivița 53 arose from the need not to compromise — not to sleep with a theater director in order to stage a play at the theater he runs, nor to share
fees with theater directors. Common-sense stuff, which is actually about self-respect. I wanted to respect my values, some of which I inherited from my parents, others that I discovered through my own life experience. I was not willing to give them up because it never crossed my mind to give up my job, my path, and what I felt was my calling. And so, between making compromises and going my own way, I chose to go my own way. And that is how the intention to build a space was born. But because all the people in high positions who had the power to help us didn’t, the only solution I had that seemed feasible was to sell my grandmother’s house. So I asked my mother if she would allow me to sell my grandmother’s house and use the money to look for a plot of land. And so it began. We sold my grandmother’s house, then Tiberiu, my husband, who is a more rational person and has expertise in marketing, took a pen and paper and calculated how many square meters we would need for my dream. Then we realized that it wasn’t utopian. And that through solidarity we could find people who believed in the project.

The community funding model has never been applied in the local cultural landscape, at least not in recent history. What were the biggest challenges encountered?

Firstly, the relationship with the authorities. Beyond bureaucracy, I also encountered a great deal of ill will. You make all kinds of plans and then you find yourself in a mess, not even knowing where all these obstacles are coming from and why you are not allowed to build a theater, especially since you are not asking the authorities for any money. We thought that, being a cultural project, we would be supported by everyone in Romania — from the theatre industry to the authorities. We thought the whole industry would come to our aid, but very few people supported us. Including multinational companies, which we thought would be the first to support a Romanian cultural project. And I’m talking about companies that boast about supporting cultural and educational projects, but it’s all just theory. In practice, it’s pure hypocrisy. Our expectations were naive, to say the least.

It has been nine years of uninterrupted work, of experiences that I believe Kafka himself would have envied had he lived to see them. We had the wisdom and intelligence not to fall into the trap of anger or judgment, but to use every obstacle to test our desire to see this project through to completion.

Do you think the model can be replicated and generate a new form of civic responsibility?

I don’t know if it can be replicated, I have no idea. I only know that a project like this can be inspirational for many and can revitalize a neighborhood. I am convinced that the appearance of this theater in the Grivița neighborhood will encourage others — maybe not necessarily to build from scratch, but to open up necessary spaces. But when we talk about this kind of model, we are also talking about education and culture, and we don’t have that in Romania. We didn’t necessarily have a strategy. Grivița 53 is a miracle, and behind it is a lot of work that I don’t know how many people are willing to put in. I don’t know how many people would go door to door, get turned away, and try a second time, a third time, a tenth time, until they manage to get a crumb, and then another crumb is added to that crumb, and another, and another, and eventually bread is made. For us, it was more of an irrational thing. We went on intuition. We didn’t think for a second that it was hard or easy. We knew only one way, and that was forward.

The theater opens this weekend. What are you preparing for its first few months?

We already have the first six sold-out performances this month. The theater’s first show is called 5 plus 3 equals 9 and is a dance-theater performance created by Ștefan Lupu, inspired by the untold story of Grivița 53. It will be complex, with text, dance, and live music created especially for the show.

In January, Andreea Gavriliu will start working on a show, and Alexandru Dabija in March. Also in March, there will be three weeks dedicated to Eugenio Barba, who celebrates his 90th birthday. He will be present in Bucharest and will have plays, workshops, and dialogues with the audience. He chose Grivița 53 from all the theaters in the world that invited him, which for us is a unique international validation that we could not have hoped for.

Grivița 53 is opening its doors this weekend and you can find more about it on their website.

The return of a symbol: Constanța Casino celebrating its first Christmas

When you read Casino, the emblematic building of Constanța it might sound like a cliché were it not entirely true. Even back when it had been reduced to a pitiful ruin on the seafront, Constanța’s residents and tourists still came to see it, torn between nostalgia and indignation; newlyweds continued to take their ritual photographs on its steps. Even in its grim decay, the Casino preserved its meaning, its history, and its aesthetic spirit.

Over the years I wrote about politicians’ empty promises of renovation, about attempted sales, about one disappointment after another and more recently about the building’s rebirth, at a time when few still believed such a thing was possible. All the stages of the Casino’s agony and resurrection passed before my eyes: I had seen it with its blind windows, blackened by mold, then wrapped in scaffolding, then freed from it again. I had stepped inside while the work was still unfinished and the restorers were carefully tending to the final details of the bas-reliefs. Gradually, I grew accustomed to no longer feeling anger at the sight of it, but gratitude, calm, pride, and delight.

For the 200,000 visitors who have crossed its threshold since its official reopening in May 2025, the Casino is a museum of rare beauty. Beyond the aesthetic experience of its architectural and decorative details, beyond its participation in a history at times heroic, stormy, spectacular, or tragic – highlighted by exceptionally knowledgeable guides – the Casino now offers original exhibitions and high-quality cultural events.

These days it greets us with a towering natural Christmas tree, tastefully and delicately adorned – just enough to achieve that dreamlike perfection cherished by Christmas enthusiasts. Visitors can even enjoy festive photo sessions set against this seasonal backdrop. If you go inside and down into the museum’s basement, you’ll find an immersive video projection that transports you into a fairytale winter at the end of the nineteenth century, when the fir trees King Carol I desired for his royal Christmas celebrations became the seed of the legend behind the construction of Peleș Castle, in Sinaia. Approximately in the same period of time when the king was also laying the foundations of the Casino itself. The story draws a graceful, Christmassy thread between these two monuments, both symbolic witnesses to the making of modern Romania. It seems the Casino has entered a fortunate constellation, reclaiming once more its role as the symbol of the city. While becoming an important part of a therapeutic process for the people of Constanța – a reconciliation with their own identity. This place, once an open wound, has healed, and now it offers healing in return.

Alina Vasiliu is an editor at the cultural magazine TOMIS and artistic consultant at Constanța State Theatre.

EDITOR’s PICKS

Every month I share with you the things that caught my eye during my trips around the city or around the world. Below you’ll find my latest obsessions and the places I recommend.

A restaurant I’ve been to and totally recommend is La Hambar, in Singureni. It seems far away and I bet for many of you this is one of the main reasons you haven’t been here, but trust me, it’s so worth it. Chef Alexandru Dumitru does magic with every dish he creates. I honestly can’t wait to go back!

A place I recently visited and impressed me was Cinema Studio, in Timișoara. I mean, wow! To have such a beautiful cinema venue in your city might feel quite special. From the way people greet you at the end, to their programme and the comfy seats, you are in for a treat! Cinema Studio has been opened exactly a year ago in the city’s efforts to open up all the old cinemas in the centre.

A movie I’ve seen and totally fell in love with is Nouvelle Vague, by Richard Linklater. A movie about the world of movies. More exactly, french cinema. It was so wonderful to immerse in the world of Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut, Jean Seberg and all the icons of the 60’s that I’ve read so much about. Definitely a must-see!

Wishing you a peaceful holiday season, filled with moments lived fully and enjoyed with genuine ease!