Myles Away: Cannes, In Silk And Sunlight
By the time I reached Cannes, the pace had shifted. Gone was the stillness of Avignon - in its place, a city electric with anticipation. The Croisette shimmered like a runway, each passerby part of a living tableau. Cameras flashed, linen danced in the breeze, and every glance hid behind a pair of oversized sunglasses.
Preparing for the week ahead
My home for the week - the Canopy by Hilton, a modern sanctuary perched just above the marina. From my room, the Mediterranean glittered - boats bobbing like silver buttons on a tailored coat. The adjoining pool glowed azure, and the downstairs café hummed with the gentle din of espresso machines and dealmaking. It became my base of operations: a place to meet, recharge, and people-watch between screenings and soirées.
View from suite at Canopy by Hilton
Festival week is a blur of velvet ropes and whispered names. I drifted from premieres to press events, from Campari cocktails with The Hollywood Reporter to vespers in the mirrored dining rooms of the Martinez. Days glistened while discussing films in the pipeline at the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc; nights sparkled in the storied halls of The Carlton - where Saint Laurent-clad silhouettes moved like shadows against moonlit stone. But the true magic of Cannes wasn’t always on stage. It lived in the margins.
Mornings began with flaky croissants and bitter coffee from a quiet café tucked just behind Rue d’Antibes. Afternoons wandered through villa gardens and designer boutiques, the air perfumed with sea salt. On Sunday, I wandered into the town square, where a weekend flea market had bloomed overnight. Cases of vintage jewelry leaned against venetian glass and antique bronzes… and old cobblers displayed worn leather shoes like heirlooms.
Weekend Antique Market on the Promenade
It was here, not far from the frenzy, that I found a different kind of storytelling - one stitched into leather and fabric. I wore linen and silk like a second skin, a wardrobe somewhere between Riviera ease and Armani precision. Fashion here is not about being seen - it’s about inhabiting a role, one you write as you walk.
In between meetings at the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc
And walk I did. From yacht decks to cobblestone lanes, from whispered industry gossip to spontaneous swims in the sea. I met directors whose hands trembled with ambition, actors whose stories spilled out over rosé. I carried my camera, but often left it in my bag. Some moments weren’t meant to be captured - only remembered.
A marina of yachts
Cannes isn’t just a festival, it’s a mirage - a waltz between the sacred and the superficial, the cinematic and the fleeting. And in the spaces between - between a screening and a sunrise, between couture and chaos - I found my own rhythm. A rhythm of presence, of beauty, of becoming.
This was a story of silk and sun. This was Cannes. GR8T
Images courtesy of Myles Yaksich
