Tom Aspinall | A Fighting Maestro
A deep dive into the athletic and human score of the UFC Undisputed Heavyweight Champion of the World, and a modern Champion icon: Tom Aspinall
During Paris Fashion Week, in collaboration with Champion, we unveiled Fighting as Art, an exhibition celebrating the artistic force of the global fighting universe and its many cultural expressions. Within this unique intersection of sport and art, Tom Aspinall emerges not merely as a leading figure, but as its most complete and compelling global representative.
At a special talk hosted by Athleta Mag and presented by Champion, held at the Champion Building in Milan before a packed audience of Italian fans, we were able to capture the testimony of a true king of the Octagon: a refined and instinctive fighter who still finds a sense of home in the complex geography of grappling exchanges, striking combinations, and knockouts; a thoughtful man, widely recognized for his commitment to autism awareness; and an extraordinary athlete, remarkable for his size, aerobic capacity, and technical precision… A natural embodiment of the brand he represents.
What emerged is a biographical and experiential sketch, shaped by the vision of a contemporary fighting maestro.
You grew up in Atherton, Greater Manchester, in a family where MMA is a cultural legacy. Now, having reached the very summit of the sport, how strongly do you still feel the influence of your roots? And what does it mean to you to represent your family tradition, specifically the knowledge passed down through your father, at the highest level of MMA?
Tom Aspinall: “Like you said, for me MMA was never really a choice. A lot of people discover it by watching it on TV and then decide to give it a go. For me, it was always just a family thing. We’ve been doing it from the very beginning. It’s something that naturally fits my relationship with my dad, and now I’m even starting to see my kids get interested in it too. So I guess it might carry on into the next generation. I’ve always been drawn to fighting. I don’t know exactly why, but if I walk out of a shop and see two people fighting, I’ll stop everything just to watch. I’m obsessed with it. From a very young age, it’s always fascinated me. Fighting with my family in the living room, training in the gym: it’s just always been part of who I am.”
We recently launched the photography exhibition ‘Fighting as Art’ in Paris, in collaboration with Champion. In the eyes and mind of a UFC Heavyweight World Champion, when does MMA become a form of art? Do you see yourself as an artist of the Octagon?
Tom Aspinall: “Absolutely, MMA is a form of art to me. Anyone can practise it at a basic level. You can obviously learn how to punch and kick, but performing at the highest level requires intelligence. You have to be able to express yourself through movement. It’s not just two guys punching each other; again, anyone can throw a punch. To truly compete across all disciplines, and to do it well, you need to be smart. That’s when it becomes art. That’s when you become an artist.”
The exhibition also explored the cultural impact and value that Champion has held, and continues to hold, within the global fighting landscape. How does it feel to stand as a contemporary symbol of a brand that has shaped, and still shapes, the aesthetics and visual language of combat sports worldwide?
Tom Aspinall: “Champion is more than just a brand: even the word itself carries so much meaning, both inside and outside of fighting. I’ve respected Champion for as long as I can remember. It just keeps growing and growing, and now that it’s fully involved in combat sports, it’s something I’m genuinely proud to be a part of.”
Earlier we spoke about the art of fighting. You rose to the top of the UFC through one of its most artistic and ecstatic moments: the ultimate finish, the knockout. You’ve also earned multiple Performance of the Night awards for it. How is that final, defining moment created inside the Octagon? What thoughts and sensations run through you in those seconds?
Tom Aspinall: “Honestly, every time I knock someone out, my first thought is: thank God it’s not me. It can always be you, that’s the reality. There are two guys in there, both big, both among the best in the world, and that’s what makes it so exciting and so dangerous. Because it can always be you, when it’s the other guy, there’s a sense of relief. Managing those moments comes down to experience more than anything. I’ve had a lot of fights — MMA, boxing, kickboxing, wrestling — throughout my life. The more experience you have, the easier it becomes to handle those emotions when everything is on the line.”
What can you tell us about the ‘00:02:02’ detail shown on the pieces of the Heavyweight Champion Collection dedicated to you?
Tom Aspinall: “As far as I know, that was my average fight time: two minutes and two seconds, across my first ten UFC fights. The shortest average fight time ever. It’s definitely something I’m proud of. The secret? You just have to punch them as hard as you can in the face.”
Ascending Milano, Transcending Football | Inter | Chapter 5
On the Montagnetta, Milano’s historic, remarkable peak, the ‘nerazzurro’ paves its way to new dimensions through its union with Nike ACG, a journey told through a special editorial series that now comes to a close with a focus on its final and most meaningful moment: Inter Special
With the presence and active participation of Vice President Javier Zanetti, a large group from Inter Special, the experimental Paralympic football team, took part in a shared training session alongside boys and girls from Inter’s youth academy. A moment of mutual growth and learning, and a manifesto of Interismo understood as a form of family identity and human progress through football.
Not an isolated episode, but the continuation of a long-standing journey that has seen the club committed for years to the development of inclusive football, recently expanded to include powerchair football and a team of visually impaired athletes. Above all, a way of cultivating the Interismo of the future, on and off the pitch, as explained by Lorenzo Lanzoni, Head of ASD Sporting 4E: Inter’s partner in this field.
Through Lanzoni’s voice, we were able to step inside this dimension of Inter, understanding its natural connection to everything that surrounds it in black and blue.
After exploring different dimensions, first and foremost the outdoor one, the final day of the black-and-blue ‘Montagnetta’ was dedicated to the social sphere, and in particular to Inter Special. How important is it for a club like Inter to cultivate this dimension?
Lorenzo Lanzoni: “Cultivate is exactly the right word: and it’s important to cultivate properly. Very often, it wouldn’t take much: by regulation, professional clubs are required to provide sporting equipment to Special teams competing in a league. A club could stop there. Over the years, Inter has done far more. Together, we’ve cultivated a deep relationship, one that builds trust and motivates the athletes themselves, who feel involved, valued and recognised. For them, it’s a daily challenge. Feeling included and being able to do more each time, like taking part in this event on the ‘Montagnetta’, within a much broader series of initiatives, is incredibly important. And then there’s the place itself: for every Milanese, the ‘Montagnetta’ carries a strong historical significance. Even for us coaches, it’s meaningful to see how our athletes respond to moments like this, which are anything but taken for granted.”
Another key word over these days has been cross-pollination. Here, we see a shared training session involving the Inter Special team and members of Inter’s youth academy, both men’s and women’s. What does it mean for the new Inter generation to take part in initiatives like this?
Lorenzo Lanzoni: “Achieving full integration on the pitch isn’t simple, in the sense that Special football doesn’t allow for the active participation of able-bodied players in competition, unlike other disciplines such as Baskin. But in these shared sessions, integration works perfectly. It works in terms of growth, maturity and development. In recent years, we’ve increasingly involved the youth academy, and the response has been incredible. We often run educational sessions within the academy and then see the same young players coming back as assistants or helpers. The dynamic is always the same and always makes you smile: at first, they sit on the sidelines; then they realise they can play, have fun, and explore an essential human dimension. That’s what cross-pollination is: an enriching exchange for everyone involved.”
The ‘Montagnetta’ also became a place to reflect on Inter’s identity, represented on this special occasion by its very quintessence: Vice President Javier Zanetti, a black-and-blue legend synonymous with values and integrity. Can you speak about your connection with Zanetti, and about how Inter Special fits into Inter’s identity?
Lorenzo Lanzoni: “Vice President Zanetti has been closely involved in the project for about eight years, and he has always conveyed a strong sense of equality and belonging to the same family. Family is a word we use often, we used it today as well, because that’s exactly what this is. Whether you’re the Vice President or an Inter Special player, the level of commitment and representation is the same. And it’s significant that this dynamic is consciously cultivated by everyone involved.”
How would you describe the current state of Inter Special, and the objectives set for its future?
Lorenzo Lanzoni: “It’s growing, growing tremendously. This year, Inter decided to broaden the scope of both the clubs involved and the types of disabilities addressed. Previously, the Special programme focused on athletes with intellectual and relational disabilities. Now, Inter has expanded its vision to include powerchair football and a project dedicated to visually impaired athletes, increasing the number of teams. We can only be proud, proud to be pioneers. Not proud of being the only ones, because in this case, uniqueness would mean a missed opportunity for others. This is a field that can and should involve more clubs. Overall, Inter Special is always in motion. What we try to do is enjoy the present.”
As the person in charge, how would you explain Inter Special’s approach to football training to an audience that may not be familiar with this world?
Lorenzo Lanzoni: “The core idea behind training doesn’t change compared to a team made up entirely of able-bodied players. For Special athletes, football is football. Just as my son leaves home to train twice a week and play a match at the weekend, the same approach applies to those who are part of Inter Special. It’s identical, and that’s precisely why it works. Key factors such as team dynamics, group identity and the pursuit of a shared goal help manage different disabilities and personal identities. One of Inter Special’s strengths lies in the number of participants: this year we have 37 registered athletes, divided across multiple teams. We train all together, so the more advanced players can support those who are still developing, motivating them. The large group also allows everyone to play at the level best suited to their abilities. In the end, everything falls under one simple banner: football.”
Does Interismo run through these teams and these athletes?
Lorenzo Lanzoni: “For us coaches, absolutely. The athletes themselves, however, aren’t all black-and-blue supporters. The incredible thing, something that always makes me reflect positively, happens when we attend Serie A matches together. For example, we recently went to Inter–Como, and many of our athletes accompanied the players onto the pitch. About half of them were Inter fans. But the moment Inter scored, everyone erupted in celebration and supported the team for the entire match. I think that image alone helps define the idea of family I mentioned earlier. It’s all about feeling part of something bigger: something that places everyone on the same level, as it should.”
Sport Photography as a cultural window - Chris Gurney
On the west coast of Australia, where the continent falls away into wind and swell, Chris Gurney learned to read the world through water and sports rituals
First came the dream of professional football, then the pull of surfing, and finally the quiet click of a camera that would change everything. What began as a teenager’s way of staying close to the lineup has become a lifelong practice of looking – at bodies in motion, at landscapes shaped by weather, at small communities held together by shared rituals of play.
Today Gurney’s work sits where sport dissolves into something larger: memory, migration, class, geography, belonging. His photographs move from remote surf breaks to suburban basketball courts, from rural ovals to city clubs built on decades of quiet resistance.
In a visual culture that asks us to scroll faster, Gurney chooses to move slowly. He builds trust, returns to the same places, lets stories thicken over years rather than days. Sport, for him, is not an end in itself but a key: a way into communities, into histories, into the emotional weather of a country still working out how to see itself.
This is the journey of a storyteller tracing the delicate, enduring line between the games we play and the lives we live.
An Australian Journey into Photography
“I grew up in Western Australia, surrounded by an endless coastline and surf culture. At first, those places were just the backdrop to my life – where I went to play, to surf, to hang out. Over time, they stopped feeling like scenery and started to feel like subjects in their own right.
As a kid I was a surfer, but first I was a football player. My dream was to become a professional. Around the same time I got into surfing, I picked up a camera. Different injuries from playing football nudged that transition along. Gradually, my focus shifted. The interest in photography overtook the interest in surfing, partly because I realised I was simply better at it. I first picked up the camera because of injuries, but also because I was a surfer who knew the sport from the inside. I’d spent my teenage years in the water, obsessed with the feeling of being in the lineup. Shifting to viewing surf through a lens, from the shore or swimming with a housing, changed the way I see sport. Very quickly, among my school friends, I became “the guy who takes surf photos”. That gave me a new sense of identity and purpose. The more you lean into that role, the more interested you become in the act of seeing.
I think I really became interested in photography off the back of surfing when I was about 14. Surf photography is incredibly immersive. Often you’re swimming in the water with your subject, trying to read the ocean. You’re completely at the mercy of natural light. You have to work quickly, understand changing weather conditions, and accept both the possibilities and the limitations of that environment. From early on, my work wasn’t just tied to “nature” in a broad sense; it was tied to a very specific place – Western Australia. Exploration made me realize that the state is massive, and there are good waves just about everywhere if you’re willing to look for them. I’d drive 15 hours north just to reach a surf spot.
Even then, as I started moving away from surf photography that focused purely on the act of surfing, I realised I was much more interested in the whole journey. For a long time, surf magazines were almost entirely about the action: the wave, the turn, the barrel. But on a typical surf trip, the actual surfing is a relatively small part of the experience. I was drawn to everything else – the overnight drives, the search for the spot, eating in the van, the small rituals and frustrations that sit around the session itself. To me, that was always the interesting part.
So it’s been this combination of a surf background and my own personal interests that pushed me to pick up a camera and start shooting seriously. It’s always been a space I’m comfortable in. That comfort kind of birthed my journey with photography, especially living in a place where you have so much access to land and ocean. All of these elements – the environment, the sport, the culture – started to blend, and I began thinking about how they influence and affect one another.”
Surf Culture
“I was incredibly obsessive about surfing back then – watching surf movies, reading magazines. There was a strong artistic element to surf culture at the time, and I was drawn to that. Bit by bit, I started looking at surfing in a more abstract way, trying to capture it less traditionally than what I was used to seeing in those magazines.
The photographers and artists I look up to, the ones whose work has really stayed with me, are generally people who commit to long-term projects. Their work feels more substantial, more layered. You gain more from engaging with it. The years of effort that go into those projects come through on the other side; you feel the energy and care when you encounter the final piece.
There was one film in particular that had a huge impact on me. I used to go to the VHS rental store and take out the same tape over and over again: The Endless Summer II by Bruce Brown, a surf documentary filmmaker who has passed away now. The film follows two surfers travelling the world – Africa, Tahiti, Australia, France and beyond. But what stayed with me wasn’t the surfing. The story is really about the travel, the journey, everything happening outside the water. It’s a bit cheesy, and incredibly enjoyable to watch. It affirmed, for me, the importance of the entire story, not just the action.
Visually, it was shot on film, it had a great soundtrack, and there’s this narration running throughout that ties everything together. I watched it so many times. It became a huge influence on how I think about sports imagery – that the context, the road trip, the meals, the waiting, the local communities – all of that is as important as the peak moment when someone stands up on a wave.”
The value of Reportage
“Starting from surfing, my work gradually moved into different communities – remote areas of Australia, the South Sudanese basketball community in Perth, and other pockets of culture where sport is the anchor. Sport is often described as universal – everyone, everywhere, has some relationship to it. But when you’re photographing specific communities, you’re dealing with very local histories, social conditions and cultural codes. To honour that, I do a lot of research before I ever raise a camera. My mum was a journalist, and I studied journalism at university, so I’ve always been interested in the narrative behind things: the story, the fact-checking, the responsibility to be accurate and fair.
Collaboration is essential. I talk to people, I ask questions before I approach a scene. If I’m unsure about something, I try to have a conversation about it. I explain what I’m hoping to do and emphasise that I don’t want anything to feel inauthentic or inaccurate. People should feel empowered to speak up if something doesn’t sit right with them.
Over time, you also develop an internal sense of art direction – an instinct for what feels clichéd, exploitative or just visually wrong. You learn to avoid those images. You want the message to come through in the subject themselves, to help them communicate their own story through the image. A lot of my work is narrative-based: it’s rarely just one photograph standing alone. It’s a series built over days, weeks, sometimes in different settings, and together those images create a stronger, more complex story.”
Enter and respect the community
“Entering those spaces as an outsider and a storyteller requires a huge amount of trust. That’s non-negotiable, especially when you’re working with minority communities or groups who have been surrounded by negative media coverage, as the South Sudanese community in Australia has been at times. With that project, I really wanted to look at the positive side – the strength, contribution and joy in that community, and the positive impact they have in Australia.
For me, that starts with speaking to people in real life, spending time on the ground, building relationships. You can’t just barge in with a bunch of cameras ready to go. You need to explain what you’re trying to do, to show people that you want to portray them honestly. Most of my work comes from a place of reverence. I photograph the things I like and care about; I’m not there to highlight negativity. I think people can sense that when they see my images.
Over the years I’ve done a lot of work with communities like that and tried to portray them in respectful, nuanced ways. That body of work becomes part of the conversation when I meet someone new now. I can show it, talk through it, and I think that helps dissolve some initial doubts. Another important part is managing the output – being clear that they will have the chance to see the work, to give feedback, and that we’ll move through the process together. It’s collaborative. You’re not just parachuting in, taking pictures, and disappearing. Ideally, it becomes an ongoing relationship, something you continue to build with them.”
Deeper than Sport
“When I think about sports, I’m always looking for more than the single action moment – the dunk, the kick, the finish line. Those are visually exciting, of course, but they’re only one small part of the story. When you’re working on something with depth, you give equal emphasis to every chapter.
That might mean portraits of an athlete or a team with their family or community. It might mean documenting the place where they practise – the worn field, the overgrown vegetation around it, the changing rooms, the details that signal a specific geography and a specific time. Through those images you try to build a sense of place that feels tangible. The more intimate the spaces you can access, the better the work often becomes. Again, that’s about trust. If someone invites you into their house and there’s a photo of them at six years old with a medal around their neck, you suddenly understand so much more about who they are behind the sporting act. Those small details and connections tell you who the person is long before the whistle blows.
That idea – equal emphasis on every part of the story – is what genuinely interests me. I think people can feel that when I approach them. If I’m pitching a story or asking to document someone, they’re reading me, trying to figure out whether I’m there for the right reasons, whether I’m bringing a good heart into their space. If there’s a story to be told in a sensitive, respectful but also compelling way, I’m in. And I think that sincerity comes through, because I’ve had a pretty good track record of connecting with people. Generally, they feel that I’m open and trustworthy, and that’s the foundation everything else is built on.
When I think about where I sit on the spectrum of sports photography, I see it as something that’s constantly shifting – an evolving journey rather than a fixed position. When I first started, I was much more focused on the act of sport itself: the tackle, the turn, the shot, the immediate action. I’m still interested in that, but now I’m far more drawn to everything that surrounds it. More and more, I see sport as a starting point – the hook that pulls you into a much wider narrative space. I’m interested in how sport exists within a broader realm of culture, place, identity and community. That’s led me deeper into longer-form documentary projects, where the sporting element might be central, or it might just be the thread that ties everything together. Sport, for me, is a door to culture and to local communities: I find it exciting when sports stories become a way of talking about social structures, memory, migration, class, geography – all of it.”
Independent vs commissioned
“On the brand and editorial side, I live in this intersection between magazines, cultural reportage and commercial campaigns – Nike, On, other brands who are increasingly interested in new types of sports storytelling. Navigating across these different platforms means acknowledging that each has its own visual language and its own constraints.
Honestly, you can’t always bring your full personal vision into a commercial job. You’d love to, but there are compromises baked into that world. There are commercial considerations, brand guidelines, stakeholders – you have to accept that you won’t always get to push as far as you’d like. What I’m getting better at is seeking out clients, projects and ideas that are more aligned, where my sensibility actually adds value rather than being diluted.
Editorially, I tend to work with clients who choose me precisely because of the way I see sport and culture. They want me to approach the story in my own way, and they trust that point of view. With publications like Victory Journal, it’s been a genuinely great relationship. We’re very aligned in how we think about sport, so those projects feel natural – there’s a shared vision and shared curiosity, and the work grows from that.
When I think about the current sports imaginary – the way we collectively picture sport today – I feel like we’re saturated. Images are everywhere, and trends move incredibly fast. A particular look or approach will be everywhere for a year or two; then it disappears and something else replaces it. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’s just the reality of the visual ecosystem we’re in.
The platforms we consume most imagery through – Instagram and other social media – are so fleeting. The content cycle moves at a pace that doesn’t always serve the work, especially when it comes to deeper sports stories. You do come across extraordinary photography there, but the experience is often compressed into a couple of seconds of scrolling.”
Future Goals
“What I’d love to see more of are sports projects presented in spaces that encourage slowness and reflection: exhibitions, long-term bodies of work, projects that have been built over years rather than days. I’m as guilty as anyone of not yet having the “definitive” body of work in that sense, but that’s what I’m aspiring to – and what I’d love to see more widely.
In the end, you can’t beat a genuinely strong idea. Original concepts are hard to come by, especially in sports, but when you know you’ve found one, you feel it. The challenge is to trust that instinct, commit to the story, and give it the time it needs. Some stories can’t be told in a week; they might take years to reach their full depth. I’m trying to be more intentional about that – to move slower, to resist the urge to put work out immediately, and instead build projects that will hopefully stand the test of time. The goal is for the impact to come from the strength of the story and the concept, not just the immediate visual hit. Could this become a book? An exhibition? A long-form feature? Even if you eventually share some of that work online to promote it, the core ambition is often to see it live in a more permanent, physical form. That’s just where my values lie. I respond more strongly to a book, an exhibition, a film – something you sit with – than I do to a single post in a feed.
Looking ahead, I definitely have stories I want to tell that sit at the intersection of sport, place and local culture – projects that keep me curious and motivated. Many of my dream projects are documentary and travel-based. Within Australia alone, there are countless rural sporting events that fascinate me. Australia as a whole is a strong sporting nation. Sport is a powerful connector here. With players from all kinds of racial and cultural backgrounds on the field it becomes this shared space that holds the community together. That gives me a certain level of empathy and curiosity around stories of migration, identity and belonging. I’m naturally drawn to highlight those narratives.”
Ascending Milano, Transcending Football | Inter | Chapter 4
On the Montagnetta, Milan’s historic, remarkable peak, the ‘nerazzurro’ paves its way to new dimensions through its union with Nike ACG. We explore this synergy in a special editorial series, this time by gathering voices from the Crusher Running crew, which brought to life a black-and-blue–infused trail race, merging social connection with sporting epic
Lautaro Martínez shouts toward San Siro. He calls it to himself, and every tier answers back, amplifying his energy. He has just pulled a match back from the brink, Inter-Pisa, born in the storm and carried forward by unpredictability. The air is electric, epic, destined only to swell further, until the final ecstasy of a 6-2 victory. The comeback from 0–2, dressed in the Fourth Kit, becomes an explicit symbol of the outdoor experience: its exertions, its moments of transcendence.
Just a few hours later, a similar emotional current is shaped by the Crusher running community, engaged in a trail race across the paths of the ‘Montagnetta’. Rain and puddles. Shared emotion and mutual drive. Within the dialogue Inter has crafted between football and the outdoors to mark its partnership with ACG, running finds its own voice: a language that speaks fluently to the contemporary Beautiful Game, sharpening the contours of what Inter represents today, and what it is becoming.
We discover how, through the voices of some of the runners who took part in this special, and epic, event.
Running is an individual sport; football is a team sport. Yet in your case, running becomes a collective experience. How do the concept of a football team and that of a running community speak to one another?
Sofia Verme: “The meeting point lies in the shared spirit you find both in football teams and in running groups like Crusher. When we talk about community, the ultimate goal is mutual support. That affinity, to me, is exactly this: having someone pushing you forward: just like what happened here on the Montagnetta during the relay. And then, of course, there’s the desire that underpins every sporting practice.”
Francesco Palmisano: “I think it’s quite simple. In football there’s the ball, of course, but you’re always running for a teammate or against an opponent. In trail races, the same thing happens: you move in relation to others, whether you’re pushing the pace or chasing. The connection is less subtle than people might think. With community running, everyone obviously runs for themselves, but also for the collective, for their team. And the exact same thing happens in football.”
Vittoria Beatrice: “In football you rely on a teammate to reach a shared goal, and running can be seen in the same way. When running becomes collective, as it does with Crusher, a common objective is set: maybe improving performance or beating a personal time. To achieve that, it becomes essential, almost inevitable, to rely on others. That’s the analogy I see between the two sports.”
Simone Gambardella: “When I think of a community like Crusher, the connection with football lies in teamwork, in moving together. It helps people stay motivated, push harder, give their best: not only to discover sport, but also to build something more, like genuine networking. Running with Crusher is a social moment, a moment of sharing where passions bring people together. And I believe the same dynamic exists in any football team, at any level.”
Inter and ACG have come together to celebrate the outdoor spirit. What role do the outdoors, its unpredictability and its beauty, play in your life?
Sofia Verme: “The outdoors and its unpredictability make me think about finding a way out: even on a climb, even on a really tough route. For me, the outdoors is about finding the strength that allows you to reach the summit, the goal you’ve set for yourself, and truly enjoy it.”
Francesco Palmisano: “I’ll start with unpredictability. I’m a football referee, and by professional instinct I always expect the unexpected. When you’re out running, it’s the same. You prepare, put on thermal layers and gloves, and then it starts pouring. Or the opposite: you’re ready for rain and suddenly there’s full sun. The outdoors is a rollercoaster. It’s exactly like a climb: you’re on the verge of giving up, then you reach the top: here, the ‘Montagnetta’. You look at Milan. You feel fulfilled. That’s the beauty of the outdoors: the effect of elevation, which is also, in a way, the effect of life.”
Vittoria Beatrice: “The outdoors prepares you for life in every sense. The unexpected is always around the corner. In trail running, anything can happen, and that helps you think ahead: about what might go wrong and how you’ll face it. Beauty is always present. So is fatigue, of course, but you enjoy nature, companionship, and the personal satisfaction of finishing a race, like today. It’s a combination of many elements, all moving toward beauty.”
Simone Gambardella: “The outdoors is fundamental for those of us who mostly live in big cities. We experience daily stress and the crowded side of urban life, especially in a city like Milan. Finding ourselves in the outdoor realm is essential: it’s something we aim for whenever we can. When we do, we fully enjoy every moment, including its unpredictability and beauty. So yes, the outdoors is a fundamental part of my life.”
The emotion of a goal and that of a Personal Best. Do you see any affinities between these two sporting milestones?
Sofia Verme: “To achieve a personal best, you have to give everything, just like when scoring a goal. Building a move, progressing from your own half and finishing it… it’s all the result of tactics and preparation. The same applies to a PB. Even if you know the course and are perfectly prepared, in the end it’s you out there, in that moment, and you have to give your absolute best.”
Francesco Palmisano: “To me they’re slightly different. A PB is deeply personal, whereas a goal certainly brings personal satisfaction but also joy to your fans, your team, your club. That said, the difference is subtle: after a PB you’re happy, and that happiness spreads to your family and to those who accepted all your ‘no’s because you had to train. So yes, they’re different, but also, in a way, similar.”
Vittoria Beatrice: “When you score a goal, you feel fulfilled: you’ve achieved your objective. You explode with joy, and so does the stadium. A PB is the same. You’ve scored the ‘goal of your life’. Friends support you before and during, like they did here with Crusher, and you feel deeply satisfied. Then, of course, you immediately look to the next goal, just like in a match. But in that moment, you truly feel happiness.”
Simone Gambardella: “To reach a PB you have to work really hard. The emotions you feel when you achieve it are indescribable. A goal feels more like an instant, a moment of ecstasy. A PB is something you sweat over for months; when you reach it, it feels like living a dream.”
What does it mean to you to represent a new, contemporary chapter of an iconic club like Inter and, more broadly, to embody a point of contact between football culture and running culture? And how do you view this choice on Inter’s part?
Sofia Verme: “I’m happy to represent a moment that brings together football and trail running: it’s a beautiful way to unite these two sports. I don’t think trail should speak only to trail runners, just as football shouldn’t communicate only with football fans. Things evolve and cross-pollinate, as recent years have shown. Being part of this process has been truly interesting.”
Francesco Palmisano: “I don’t think it’s possible anymore to practice, or be passionate about just one sport. Cross-training and multidisciplinarity are exactly what Inter is elevating through this connection with the outdoors and trail running. I’ve also appreciated the recent links with snowboarding and cycling. It’s great to see Inter highlighting and drawing value from this mix of disciplines. It shows that football is much more than 90 minutes.”
Vittoria Beatrice: “I’m incredibly proud and genuinely satisfied to represent this union and parallel together with Crusher. It’s not something obvious, it’s a very intelligent formula. Trail running and football aren’t naturally associated, yet I’m happy to give voice to their connection. It’s a huge personal satisfaction. I also believe approaching football through a running community can create new forms of interest and perspective toward a sport traditionally seen as very mass-oriented. It’s an excellent point of mutual access.”
Simone Gambardella: “I see it as a very bold choice, perfectly aligned with the contemporary moment of running. At Crusher, we care deeply about making running democratic: allowing everyone to express themselves and feel good. We want running to be as inclusive as possible. If football, a club like Inter, and the passion surrounding it can act as a driver for our community, then all the better. Growing this sentiment and continuing this cross-pollination is essential. If other sporting dimensions are involved in the process, there’s only more to gain. Here, on the ‘Montagnetta’, I see a perfect pairing.”
The Montagnetta is an iconic place that, today, under these extreme conditions, radiates sporting epic. What does this place mean to you? And how do you see the idea of epic reflected in running, as it is in football?
Sofia Verme: “I’m originally from Palermo, but I quickly understood how strategic the ‘Montagnetta’ is for Milan. It allows you to experience trail running right in the city. When you run here, you feel both in Milan and outside of it. On rainy days like this, the ‘Montagnetta’ truly conveys a sense of epic. After the effort, reaching the summit and seeing the landscape from above is beautiful.”
Francesco Palmisano: “The epic dimension is immediately evident, even in the installation Inter placed here: a mountain refuge on the ‘Montagnetta’. This is an iconic place for Milanese people, especially for the city’s athletes. It’s the only real outdoor spot, a kind of escape from Milan’s dynamism. You feel like you’re in the mountains, your legs burn… I’ve always seen it as an outpost. In sport, epic lies in the journey: in football it can mean chasing a title or survival; in running, beating a time, covering more distance, reaching a personal goal.”
Vittoria Beatrice: “I’ve been living in Milan for four years, and the Montagnetta is tied to a strong memory for me: last summer, when I first experienced vertical running on a mountain right in the heart of the city. I never imagined running uphill in Milan. Every trail runner gathers here; it’s the city’s only real trail hub. The ‘Montagnetta’ is undoubtedly iconic, and I’m glad it was central to the Inter-ACG project because I associate it with epic moments in my relationship with trail running.”
Simone Gambardella: “Epic is definitely the right word. On the ‘Montagnetta’ you spill blood, sweat and effort, but it’s also where you see results. It’s where you turn tears and sacrifice into strength, where training becomes performance. I think football is the same: there’s effort, demand and hard training to pursue a goal. That’s why the ‘Montagnetta’ remains iconic for Milan: it’s the place of sacrifice. You run harder, the effort is greater, but the result is inevitably higher.”
What reflections come to mind knowing that, in these days, Inter decided to be a platform to show the world an Italian excellence that goes far beyond the Beautiful Game itself, elevating and cross-pollinating other creative, sporting and social dimensions, such as the Crusher community?
Sofia Verme: “It’s very interesting, because it allows a different Milan to be shown outside of Italy. And it works the other way around too: trail lovers, thanks to the Inter-ACG partnership, have gained access to football. That’s not something to take for granted.”
Francesco Palmisano: “I can confirm that the entire outdoor world talked about this synergy: every page, every outlet. Football too. The resonance was enormous, also thanks to the perfect storm of Inter-Pisa: the downpour, the emotions of a 6–2 win. These two realities coexisted perfectly and showed the world something many thought impossible. And of course, visibility extended to partners like Crusher as well.”
Vittoria Beatrice: “Football is the most widespread sport in the world, and a club like Inter is globally recognised. I think this created a fantastic launch platform for many outstanding local realities, like Crusher, as well as musical and artistic scenes. The visibility is huge. I’m proud to be a voice for all this, and I’m glad Inter chose to give space and voice to communities like ours.”
Simone Gambardella: “The right word is cross-pollination. Right now we’re bringing football into running and trail, and running into football: running understood as passion, physical exercise, attitude, mindset and community. I see a perfect synergy, because it opens up new horizons far beyond the pitch, beyond the ball and even beyond the finish line. It’s an exercise in style, in the highest sense of the term. And it’s the right thing to do, because it helps people discover new meeting points and new passions they may never have encountered otherwise… And here, they suddenly feel much closer than expected.”
Ascending Milano, Transcending Football | Inter | Chapter 3
On the Montagnetta, Milano’s historic, remarkable peak, the ‘nerazzurro’ paves its way to new dimensions through its union with Nike ACG. We explore this synergy in a special editorial series, this time through the thoughts and feelings of the DJs who performed at a special event that brought together Interismo, Milan’s clubbing community and outdoor-inspired vibes
“The goal, is always a ‘do de pecho’: a full-throated high C that could strike Caruso dumb forever; the crowd goes mad, and the stadium forgets it is made of concrete, breaks free from the earth, and lifts into the air,” wrote Eduardo Galeano. Football and music. Music and football. It is impossible not to recognize the correspondences between two realms bound by natural affinities, above all emotional and sensorial ones.
On the ‘Montagnetta’, Inter acknowledged and elevated those affinities, merging Milano’s clubbing culture and its communities, represented by four young, talented DJs, with the ideas underpinning its contemporary partnership with ACG. The city’s most iconic outdoor vantage point was transformed, through the sounds of Clement, Thera-P, Jacopo Galletta and BR1, into a high-altitude dancefloor, where these rising figures of the Italian music scene were able to show the world precisely what Galeano himself had theorized.
A fusion of energies, passions, excellence and beats, which we recount through the voices of those who shaped the day.
Over these days, Inter has once again allowed itself to be shaped by other artistic and cultural spheres: something deeply rooted in the club’s tradition. What does Inter represent for you? When you think of this club, what comes to mind?
Clement: “When I think of Inter, I think of concepts like innovation and creativity. I’m tempted to use the term ‘new generation’. Thanks to the club, a series of new events and moments are being created in Milano, like this one with ACG, but also with many other brands and partners. Inter is shaping a new reality that was missing in the city. I was at the stadium for Inter–Pisa, and I go to San Siro quite often. What strikes me is seeing so many families, so many young people. It’s something I really appreciate, and it’s something that benefits the city as a whole.”
Thera-P: “I associate Inter with modernity, with openness toward young people and culture. You don’t usually see events like this: I haven’t seen anything similar from other football clubs. Being here is important to me. I’ve always played football and I’m a huge fan, which is why I also see Inter as a structured, established club. For all these reasons, Inter represents the idea of a club that is truly present.”
Jacopo Galletta: “I’m not a football fan, but I’ve always seen Inter as one of the most fascinating teams in Italy. I like the vision behind it: the fact that it goes beyond football culture, that it doesn’t focus solely on the sporting side, but expresses itself as a 360-degree dimension. For example, the collection with ACG is genuinely beautiful from a design perspective. It’s not something you’d normally expect to see in football.”
BR1: “I have a lot of friends who are huge Inter supporters, so the first thing and name that comes to mind is Zanetti. Then San Siro. In general, the word Inter makes me think of elegance: I don’t know why, maybe it’s the colours themselves. Yesterday was my first time at San Siro: an incredible experience. The crowd, the atmosphere after every goal… everything was unbelievable.”
As representatives of a new creative generation, what do you think of the philosophy Inter has applied in celebrating this synergy with ACG: a philosophy that sees football as a platform capable of elevating other dimensions as well, such as design, the outdoor world and music?
Clement: “I think football is expanding its horizons enormously. You can see it clearly in fashion: just think about how tracksuits have been replaced by fleeces that, until recently, would never have been associated with clubs or players. Football has become lifestyle. Even people who don’t follow the sport can be drawn in by a product, a special collection, or an event like this one. Music is now in tune with this world. Players themselves are becoming lifestyle symbols. Football has stopped being just a sport. Musical outdoor moments like this, on the ‘Montagnetta’, have never happened before: it’s a first for Milano. Seeing so many people gathered here is beautiful.”
Thera-P: “As I said earlier, Inter represents a step forward. It connects different realities, different worlds, that would never have met before this ‘new era’. No one would have imagined fashion and football as a single entity. As a fan and a player myself, I know football has often been seen as something rough, street-level. Initiatives like these bring together completely different audiences, new generations interested in music, for example, and help football become much more than it used to be.”
Jacopo Galletta: “Beyond the match itself, a club has the opportunity to express itself in many different ways. It’s great to see an off-stadium culture emerge. And it’s important that Inter allows itself to be influenced: for example, by clubbing. Seeing a major football club that doesn’t want to be just football really matters.”
BR1: “I loved the fact that the jersey and the kit weren’t presented as something purely football-related. The campaign was executed beautifully and, in my eyes, it goes far beyond the game itself, also thanks to this series of moments on the ‘Montagnetta’. Until yesterday, I saw it as a project driven mainly by fashion and design; then I watched the kit on the pitch, and it completely blew me away.”
Speaking of cross-pollination, how do football and music intersect in your view? Where and how do you perceive music within the Beautiful Game?
Clement: “Just think about pre-match moments in San Siro: there’s always a DJ set now. A few years ago, that would have been unthinkable. Recently, music and sport have started to resonate with each other, just as art and music have done for years. These dimensions are no longer parallel; they’re communicating, moving in the same direction. There’s no reason to be surprised when different worlds collide. Beyond live music and stadium intros, chants are another clear point of contact. Singing at the stadium creates release, just like being at a DJ set. Music is everything for me: smiles, tears, everything. And that ‘everything’ is the same thing football creates for every Inter supporter. There’s also the physical act of football: you run to a beat, every athletic gesture has rhythm. In the end, everything is musical.”
Thera-P: “At the stadium, everything is music: the anthem, the chants. Football has always had musical foundations; now they’re simply being amplified. On the pitch, I love Brazilian football, the art of dribbling. To me, a dribble is a dance step, a completely musical movement.”
Jacopo Galletta: “First of all, I think music helps players stay focused on what they’re doing or about to do. The image that comes to mind is their arrival at the stadium with headphones on. If everyone listens to something, there’s a reason: focus, emotional drive. Music is present on the pitch during every move. Just as three notes form a chord, players involved in a combination need the same kind of harmony. If one player is off-key, you feel it, and possession is lost.”
BR1: “Football and music are naturally connected. The stadium is a place of life and enjoyment, just like music and clubbing, so it makes perfect sense for them to come together. Music, for me, is pure emotion. I’m sure every player has two or three songs they need to listen to before stepping onto the pitch. Music is also one of the most powerful art forms: it releases things few others can. Honestly, I don’t know what the world would be without music. Stadium chants are pure rhythm, deeply musical. It’s no coincidence that Kanye sampled Inter’s curva chants. In the end, I think 99% of the world is musical in some way.”
Different Milanese communities came together on the ‘Montagnetta’ under the banner of Inter. Events like this, and partnerships like Inter-ACG, place Milan, and the diversity of its scenes, at the centre of the world. What does this process mean to you?
Clement: “A city like Milano can’t just speak to itself: it has to speak to the world. The same applies to Inter. It’s important to show what happens here, to prove that we are an extremely international reality. Hosting outdoor events on the ‘Montagnetta’ that bring together music, community and football shows that Milano has nothing to envy other global cities or scenes: we’re doing our own thing.”
Thera-P: “For days now, I’ve been seeing black, blue and orange everywhere on social media. It’s truly global. Every page I follow is talking about Inter-ACG and the events on the ‘Montagnetta’. It’s clear that this collaboration has worked. I never imagined I’d be part of something like this, playing here. It’s an opportunity to showcase my talent among people I know, but also in front of many more people around the world. Of course, I’m happy.”
Jacopo Galletta: “First of all, receiving this invitation was unexpected. For that reason, it’s a huge honour to play here on the ‘Montagnetta’ during an event like this. I have to thank Inter, because until recently I could only imagine something like this in my journey. I’m also glad that this event has an international reach. Italian music culture and its movement are far broader than people think, and the fact that a football club can showcase it to a global audience is undoubtedly a boost for all of us artists.”
BR1: “For me, everything was incredible. I’m not a supporter, I’m not a football fan, yet this series of events, this merging of worlds that was amplified everywhere, brought me closer to football and to Inter. I think I’ll return to San Siro many times. I want to relive those emotions. At the same time, I want to thank everyone for the opportunity: it’s not a given to have a platform like this, with such global resonance.”
Which Inter player is the most ‘musical’?
Clement: “Thuram. He’s musical in his freshness, in his style: you feel it immediately.”
Thera-P: “Çalhanoğlu. He’s the most suave for me. Pure technique. Whenever he has the ball, I always appreciate his musicality.”
Jacopo Galletta: “As I said, I’m not a football expert. But I can associate an artist with Inter based on the vibes I perceive, I’d say Kaytranada: personality, style, concept.”
BR1: “Thuram. Definitely trap.”
Ascending Milano, Transcending Football | Inter | Chapter 2
On the Montagnetta, Milan’s historic, remarkable peak, the ‘nerazzurro’ paves its way to new dimensions through its union with Nike ACG. We explore this synergy in a special editorial series, here voiced by an Inter legend and global football icon: Francesco Toldo
The ‘Montagnetta’ and San Siro face one another from different heights. Different places. Different forms. Different architectures. Yet they are bound by a shared devotion to the epic, an epic forged through beauty, passion and all conditions: those that shaped the adrenaline-charged universe of Inter-Pisa, culminating in a spectacular 6-2; and those that led some of the most luminous figures in Inter’s history to the summit of Monte Stella, where the synergy with ACG was celebrated alongside fan clubs from across the world.
Among them stood Francesco Toldo: an icon in black and blue, and a goalkeeper who left an indelible mark on the history of football. In a measured and meaningful exchange, the former Inter No.1 reflected on the themes underpinning the Inter-ACG partnership: extreme conditions, cultural cross-pollination, football as a vehicle for all-around exploration, and a Milan capable of being both root and origin point, giving rise to an Inter identity that is increasingly global. Finally: talent.
The Inter–ACG synergy reflects the unpredictability and all conditions that define a realm known for them: the outdoors. Conditions echoed, in their own way, by the weather surrounding Inter–Pisa. What were the most extreme situations you experienced on the pitch while wearing the Inter shirt?
Francesco Toldo: “San Siro’s evening climate has always been extremely humid. In my days, you would warm up before the match, step onto the pitch and hold on. But by the second half, there was no way to properly reheat, and I still remember the feeling of frozen feet, constantly. Today things have changed: players reactivate before the second half and suffer less. Abroad, I don’t have strong memories of matches played in particularly extreme or adverse weather conditions: at least none that come to mind now. Playing in the rain, even heavy rain, was never a problem for me. It was fun. The way you calculated the ball changed. Its bounces were different. I had to be careful with every save, but I always felt comfortable on wet pitches.”
Quality and performance in adverse conditions are certainly a matter of training, of automatisms refined over the years, especially for a goalkeeper, but also of natural talent. During these Montagnetta days, Inter chose to give space to and elevate new local talents, from music, through the DJ sets curated for the occasion, to graphic design, as seen in the bespoke patches created for these activations. As one of the most talented goalkeepers in Inter’s history, and in Italian football more broadly, what does talent represent to you?
Francesco Toldo: “That’s a beautiful question. I believe talent is one of many qualities a person must have in facing their work and their life. I will always say that, beyond talent, there must be something else: passion, perseverance. It’s thanks to these factors that you can achieve important results. In the end, every profession requires talent, but humility must remain central. This is something I believed in from my very first approach to football and to Inter: no one is born fully formed. It’s essential to study and to learn from those who came before you when you begin a career. In my case, I learned an enormous amount from Walter Zenga. I watched him, I observed him when I was young. That wasn’t talent: it was humility. The combination of these two elements is what takes you to the highest level, in any field.”
This on- and off-the-pitch synergy once again places Inter at the centre of global attention, thanks to its ability to transcend the game itself—allowing it to be shaped by, and in turn to shape, other artistic and cultural dimensions. In this broader sense, the partnership between Inter and ACG can be read as a celebration of Milan’s own soul. You arrived in the city very young, from the Veneto countryside: what impact did Milan have on you as a human being, and how did it expand and reshape your perspective?
Francesco Toldo: “Honestly, at the beginning I struggled a lot. I thought the world ended outside my region. When I first arrived in Milan at sixteen, homesickness was intense, and it brought a certain amount of suffering with it. Over time, though, that suffering turned into something more: into reaction. Living away from home opened up new horizons for me, showed me how to approach the world and life itself in different situations. Leaving home as a boy and finding myself in Milan really opened my mind. I think, for example, of my contact with fashion. As an Inter player, you might be invited to a fashion show, and you had to be ready. You had to be up to the situation. Fortunately, I believe that when you become a high-level professional—sport, in my case—it becomes somewhat natural to be prepared. You know you must be ready in other contexts too, not just on the pitch. At the same time, I firmly believe it’s equally important to remain yourself. Whether it was at a fashion show or at San Siro, I always tried not to change that, and to stay true to who I was and still am.”
Milan’s soul is, by definition, an international one: a notion that, between the Montagnetta and San Siro, takes on multiple meanings. What does it mean to you to represent a club that, once again demonstrated by this historic first partnership with ACG, continues to step confidently onto the global stage, asserting itself as an Italian excellence abroad?
Francesco Toldo: “The world is something to be discovered, and I understood that thanks to Inter as well. From a marketing and global presence perspective, the thirty-year collaboration with Nike certainly allowed the club to reach and establish itself in landscapes far broader than the Italian one. It’s a synergy that has become so solid over time that today it allows the club to take risks—to dare—as it has done with this project. And that’s exactly how it should be.”
Ascending Milano, Transcending Football | Inter & ACG | Chapter 1
On the Montagnetta, Milan’s historic, remarkable peak, the ‘nerazzurro’ paves its way to new dimensions through its union with Nike ACG. We explore this synergy in a special editorial series
Seen from above at dusk on a late January evening, Milan reminds you of Edmund Burke and the painting of the sublime, transposed into the metropolitan realm. Urban sublime. A barrier of fog and uncertainty that allows only fleeting glimpses, more imagined than seen, of its most iconic architecture, dense with historical meaning and contemporary rhythm. King amongst them all: San Siro.
Moments earlier, the slopes of the city’s only vertical outcrop, Monte Stella, opened onto a trail marked by black-and-blue flags edged in orange. Now, the air begins to thin, recalling the Alps, where only days earlier Inter and ACG brokered a partnership inspired by football, but not solely defined by it.
“I love football deeply, but it’s not everything.” One of the most celebrated quotes by Armando Picchi, legendary captain of Inter, echoes throughout the ascent, as the fifty meters of elevation draw closer and closer. The climb mirrors the movement of the groups themselves, explorers driven by curiosity, witnesses to a historic first; an unexpected convergence of codes and languages: faith, design, identity, nature, timeless iconicity, and emerging talent.
The path winds like the scales of a snake through the damp trails of what the Milanese simply calls Montagnetta di San Siro. At the same time, it absorbs the deeper meaning of this artificial construction, born from the rubble of the Second World War as a symbol of reconstruction. It is a symbol of a past that, even through pain, learned to recognize itself and shape the future.
At the summit of this atypical mountain stands a physical, geometric installation. Here, the black-and-blue community becomes the bearer of Vittorio Sereni’s verses, one of the foremost voices of Interismo in its poetic vision. In his vision, football, and Inter in particular, offer “a reflection of the variety of existence, mirroring it, or rather, reflecting it, in its ebb and flow, in its unpredictability (…)”.
It is precisely that unpredictability which speaks through the textures of the Fourth Kit and the collection unveiled in this dystopian, avant-garde alpine refuge: a place that nonetheless remains firmly anchored in the present. They speak of outdoor football and football outdoors. Of a ‘biscione’ that transforms into a climbing rope, or perhaps the other way around. Worlds that merge and blur. Above all, they speak of Inter itself: a club whose very genetic code locates unpredictability at the heart of its legacy, and at the core of the beauty of its triumphs.
A metaphor for existence. A diagram of destiny. Inter’s faith and essence, at least in Sereni’s reading, reach the summit on this first ascent of the Montagnetta, erupting into a chorus of musical vibrations, stories passed down by legends, and a shared sense of humanity. A testament in relentless construction, imbued with respect and progress, where San Siro ceases to signify only a pitch, and Inter becomes more than just football. A place where legacy is a constant, mutable trademark that has never submitted to imposed paradigms or limits.
This is the context behind the Milanese inauguration of the Inter–ACG partnership, set to manifest itself across the ninety minutes of Inter–Pisa. It is a partnership destined to breathe life and inhabit the air of the Montagnetta. It is a creative alliance that we will recount in full through a special editorial series unfolding in the days to come.
Fighting as Art | Boogie
Athleta Mag and Champion join forces for a special event in Paris, where the art of fighting is explored through a photographic exhibition shaped by the lens of Boogie. ‘Fighting as Art’ opens today at the Champion showroom on Rue de Turenne. To mark the opening, we spoke with the Serbian photographer about his personal and artistic relationship with fighting
“Boxing is an oblique form of self-definition.” Storyteller Joyce Carol Oates waxed poetic about the infinite expressive potential contained within the ring. The same can be said of the broader realm of fighting. When human beings reach the apex of physical confrontation, where everything is exposed and stripped bare, movement is molded by primal instinct, endless repetition, and flow. In that fragile, electric space, fighting transcends competition and becomes art: the most direct expression of the self, of identity.
From Muay Thai camps in Thailand to Serbian kickboxing, through the ultras subcultures of Spartak Moscow and Naples to boxing gyms in Jamaica and the United States, Boogie’s anthropological gaze affirms the raw and lyrical nature of fighting. His work captures this multi-faceted sporting culture that spans the globe. It finds voice within those grey areas where fighting emerges as both a timeless muse and a reflection of life itself.
Ahead of the official opening of ‘Fighting as Art,’ taking place this evening at 5 pm at the Champion showroom on Rue de Turenne in Paris, we explored the direct relationship between the Serbian photographer, protagonist of the exhibition, and the world of fighting.
The bell is about to ring. If you’re in Paris, you can join this celebration of fighting. In the meantime, let’s turn to Boogie’s reflections.
Let’s start from your roots and from the core of the exhibition ‘Fighting as Art’. You were shaped by cities like Belgrade and New York. What role did fighting, understood as a social, sporting, and cultural force, play in your personal journey?
“I’ve trained martial arts and fighting pretty much since I was a kid. Karate was the first sport I practiced. Back then, those disciplines were just starting to spread, and the process was always the same: you’d go to the movies, watch a Bruce Lee film, and the next day every kid would be imitating the moves and enrolling in a karate school. That’s how it worked where I grew up. You were led to learn how to punch properly from a very young age. So when I see a grown man who doesn’t know how to throw a punch, it feels strange to me. But again, that’s my upbringing. I don’t know how it works in other cultures. Where I come from it’s normal to have some basic fighting skills: at least enough to defend yourself.”
As you shared, you’ve been practicing fighting in different forms for your entire life. How has this realm influenced your photographic path?
“My whole life has been a form of fighting: physically, mentally, fighting for something. No one ever gave me anything, so I had to fight for everything. There’s a direct correlation there.”
The Paris audience will see a series of images shot in Surčin, a raw district of Belgrade. After the Yugoslav wars, kickboxing took on multiple meanings in places like the Topic Team Gym. What were you trying to capture through those images?
“I never try to say anything or moralize through my work. I just capture what’s in front of me. I try to get as close as possible to the person: in this case, to the fighters. And people respond to my energy. I’m not trying to explain anything: I’m showing things as they are. These guys love fighting, they live it. To be good at something, you have to live it. I live photography. They live fighting. You have to be one with what you do.”
Moving to another section of the exhibition, in Thailand fighting carries a strong spiritual dimension. What struck you most while documenting Muay Thai?
“I trained Muay Thai in Bangkok for a month. It’s brutal, especially if you didn’t grow up there. The humidity makes it hard to breathe, and every training session is excruciating. That was the only trip where I realized I couldn’t both train and shoot. Even something as simple as jumping rope feels like torture: the ropes are basically rubber hoses, and when they hit your toes, it really hurts. You finish training surrounded by a puddle of sweat. Muay Thai is a poor people’s sport. Educated people with stable lives in Thailand don’t practice it. Fighters start very young, and by the time they’re 20 they risk being completely worn out. From what I saw, the best possible outcome is becoming a trainer, but even that eventually destroys your body. Honestly, I think the spiritual side is mostly decorative. It looks good and works well for tourists, but when you see the living conditions in those camps, you understand that it’s really about survival. When you’re dirt poor, you don’t think about rituals or gods, you think about your next meal.”
Let’s focus on the exhibition title, ‘Fighting as Art’. Drawing from your direct experience, when does fighting move beyond pure physical confrontation and become an artistic form?
“To execute a punch well, you need to repeat it thousands of times. To be good at anything, you need years and years. When you can turn off your brain and act without thinking: that’s when it becomes art. Thinking is the enemy of fighting, of photography, of art. The moment you think, it’s gone. Good things happen when instincts take over. A true fighter, a true artist of fighting, is the most peaceful person in the world. He doesn’t need to prove anything. He avoids fighting outside the ring. But once he enters it, he switches. Mike Tyson said it best. First: “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.” No thinking. No plans. You follow your rhythm. He also said he cried before every fight. He was terrified. I’m the same before a shoot. The day before, I don’t leave my hotel room. I freak out. But once it starts, it’s like a switch flips. If you’re not scared, it means it doesn’t matter, or you’re about to get knocked out.”
Champion has long been an integral part of fighting culture, and its presence continues to support the evolution of this realm within contemporary sport and beyond. What do you think about the role of such an iconic brand in shaping a shared sporting and cultural language?
“Rocky. When I think Champion, I think Rocky. You don’t need anything else. That scene of him running up the steps in Philadelphia, along with the most iconic moments of the early Rocky movies, defined, in my view, the soul of the brand itself. Some moments, some cultural crossovers, have the power to define a brand forever. From that point on, Champion became real to me. Old-school. Timeless. No bullshit. Push-ups on your fists.”
Another chapter of the ‘Fighting as Art’ exhibition focuses on street fighting in Thailand. What did Bangkok’s streets reveal to you?
“It was organized street fighting, matched by weight. And it was actually very interesting, because the guys who looked invincible usually got knocked out first. The underdogs won. I always root for the underdog. And that connects to Champion as well. It’s not about showing off. It’s about proving yourself without superficial layers. And not going down.”
From Asian streets to Caribbean gyms: what does boxing reveal in countries like Jamaica, and did you notice any stylistic differences compared to other boxing schools, such as the Serbian one?
“It shows that if there’s a will, there’s a way. You don’t need fancy equipment. If you want it badly enough, you find a way. There’s no real difference from other places in terms of style. The main difference is time. In the past, fighters everywhere trained three or four times a week. Today, even amateurs have to dedicate their entire lives to it. Once money got involved heavily, boxing became a global business.”
In this regard, how does the morphology of boxing change when your gaze shifts to gyms in the United States, another key thematic focus of the exhibition?
“In the U.S., it’s pure survival. It’s business. Competition is fierce, financially and in terms of talent. Vintage, Rocky-style gyms barely exist anymore. In places like Russia, they still do. Real boxing gyms, built for boxing from the start. Simple. Functional. Honest. Punching bags go up, warm-up starts, bags go down, training begins.”
The final chapter of Fighting as Art moves beyond the ring and into the stadium, exploring the ultras subculture from Spartak Moscow to Naples. How do you read this phenomenon, which plays such a significant role in your documentary work? And how does fighting take shape in the spaces surrounding a stadium?
“I’m always surprised by how seriously people take the ultras subculture. Sure, it’s often connected to gangs, drugs, territory… And some people do make money out of it. But dedicating your life to a football club still feels strange to me. Life is hard. Negativity builds up. People need a release. You go there, you scream, you fight, sometimes even in the woods, like the Russian ultras, and then you go home calm, until the next game. There’s also a strong sense of belonging. A second family, especially if your first one failed you. Napoli was completely different from Moscow. Pure positivity. The Scudetto gave everyone a reason to celebrate. In Napoli, they take it to another level: face paint, total devotion… Like it’s going to change your life, even if your fridge was empty before the Scudetto and it’s still empty after. That’s why I’m fascinated by it.”
“Between the LAAX Lines” with Zalando
Suspended above the Rhine Gorge, in the canton of Graubünden, we had the chance to experience the adrenaline-charged emotional lines drawn by the LAAX Open 2026 presented by Zalando
A white, vertical amphitheatre that Switzerland guards inside the Superpipe of Crap Sogn Gion at over 2.000 metres, the LAAX Open isn’t simply a stop on the Snowboard and Freestyle World Cup circuit—it’s a cultural institution of winter feats at the edge of what’s possible. A meeting point where freestyle, greenstyle and lifestyle stop being labels and return to being gesture, choice, vision—and glorification.
Here, freestyle ceases to be just a discipline and becomes intellectual heritage. You understand it by looking into the athletes’ eyes, by how their lines become a signature—up in the packed stands where the air turns into sighs, trick after trick, leaving everyone wide-eyed. Where for many it’s only performance, here every jump becomes an artistic composition. And as the crowd tightens around the Pipe, the cold grows thinner: because when a community firmly believes in what it’s witnessing, the sporting atmosphere rises to the level of the Swiss mountains.
The LAAX Open is all of this: a global sporting appointment, of course, but also a festival of the mountain community. An ecosystem of people, music, DJ sets, talks, films, rail sessions and happenings moving between summit and valley.
During this snow-covered, multidisciplinary special weekend, invited by Zalando—the event’s presenting partner—we had the opportunity to dive into “A Line We Draw”, the first episode of the docu-series “Between the Lines”, a three-chapter project following four Swiss freestyle athletes—Mathilde Gremaud, David Hablützel, Giulia Tanno and Nicolas Huber—through the most delicate stretches, thoughts and details of their preparation for an extraordinary winter season.
Just hours after the release of “The Risk We Take”, and while awaiting the third and final episode, “And Where We Land”, out on 9 February, we relive preparation, fragility, discipline, solitude, community through the voices of the protagonists of this singular production, which investigates the human component of high-performance sport. The part that—loud and intimate in the very same instant—rarely finds space while the rankings scroll by. A dialogue in which dreams of victory aren’t an abstract concept, but a routine built from attempts, from snow, from falls that become method, from the idea that before the result there exists an equally important personal trajectory.
Mathilde Gremaud, Freeskier – Olympic champion, multiple X-Games medalist, and winner of the LAAX Open 2024
“It took me some time to realize, but after my ACL tear in 2017 I had pretty quickly a lot of success again, but I think I carried this injury for longer than I thought. Therefore, the biggest challenge for me was mentally to trust myself again: my body, my ability, my capacities. All the ups and downs from my career so far shaped me. It is a big cliché, but every time I have a challenge, a hard moment, or a down, I really focus on coming back stronger, learning from my mistakes, and growing. I always try to see the positive in whatever has happened to me that definitely feels negative in the first place.
I really, really love competing. I love the nerves and having no choice but to do what you do best in that one precise moment. So I’m always excited to get back into that state of pressure, looking forward to it, the excitement. It’s just something I like a lot: competing and having a bib on my shoulders. My biggest challenge is that I feel like I’m not skiing enough. I would love to spend more time skiing with my friends on all different types of skis and not only training in the park because what I love before everything is just skiing. So I think it’s a big challenge now as I’m 25 to just accept that I love it, yes, but it’s also my job and not only my passion and a hobby that I do whenever I can.
I think people see a lot of the good sides and the results and the Instagram posts and stuff like that. And even though that’s changing a bit now with at least having the possibility to be their own news channel, I think people really forget sometimes about how much we travel, how much we’re away from home, and how much we train when no one is watching. And I think as I said, with us being our own news channel, people start to see all of this way more than before, but I think what most people don’t know actually is how it really feels.”
David Hablützel, Snowboarder – Three-time Olympian and halfpipe specialist
“The biggest mental and physical challenge I had to overcome to get where I am today is clearly my strong drive to strive for peak performance. I’ve had seven knee surgeries, four ACL tears alone, which meant four full years away from sport. Despite that, I always managed to fight my way back to the very top of snowboarding.
The moments that shaped me most were clearly the times when I wasn’t able to do what I love most. During those periods, I spent a lot of time reflecting on myself and learned qualities that I could never have gained through tricks, results, or medals. I learned relatively early that success can only come through failure. My goal has always been to strive for the best and make the most out of every situation. Looking back, I’m even grateful for the time I had to spend in rehabilitation, focusing on myself. Setbacks motivate me to come back stronger and teach me how important it is to look at things objectively. They remind me that life always has highs and lows, and that my challenge is to grow through defeat. Every season, I look forward to being on the board with my friends or my entire family—just being creative, forgetting about the world and everyday life for a moment, and expressing myself through snowboarding.
What many people don’t realize is that professional sport can be very tough and lonely. People usually only see the shining moments, but most of the time is hard work that doesn’t always look glamorous. That said, the feeling when everything comes together in a dream run is absolutely incredible. Through snowboarding, I learned how powerful it is to shape your perception of the world through your own input. I focus on myself, and through that inner focus, I’m able to create beautiful things externally as well. My biggest dream now is to be able to snowboard healthily for the rest of my life. I also want to motivate and inspire people to fully live out their own passions.”
Giulia Tanno, Freeskier – Five-time medalist at the X-Games
“When I think about my career, the moments that stand out most are the successes where everything really came together, especially the 2019/20 season, when I stood on the podium five times in a row. But other moments stand out as well, not only successes. For example, moments when I learned a new trick, and of course some setbacks from which I took important lessons for my future career.
Skiing has taught me an incredible amount about myself: my limits, how to handle my body, and how important it is to listen to my own feelings. And the learning process never stops, you’re never truly “done learning” in this sport. I’ve also learned what kind of support I need, which people are good for me, and which conditions help me perform at my best. I’ve learned how to deal with setbacks and that results don’t define you as a person.
What makes the sport so special away from the cameras is the freedom it gives you. You can push yourself in any direction you choose. It’s also fascinating that everyone has a slightly different perspective on the sport, and yet it connects us all. Our scene is a real community that sticks together. My biggest dream, beyond medals and titles, is to have a positive impact on women’s skiing. I want more girls to feel inspired to try freeskiing, discover this passion, and see that women truly belong in this sport. Have fun and surround yourself with people who are good for you, who motivate you, and who bring out the best in you. Listen to yourself, give it your all, and enjoy this time, because it’s limited.”
Nicolas Huber, Snowboarder – Multiple medalist at the Slopestyle World Championships
“For me, the most important thing was learning how to deal properly with setbacks and never losing faith in myself. Every setback holds the chance to move one step forward. Getting back up again and again – that’s the key. I firmly believe that we grow the most – both as people and as athletes – through failure. Failure is not an obstacle; it is the path to success. In 2023, I finished third at the World Championships in Georgia. I will never forget that moment. I had trained so hard for it, and in the decisive moment I was able to perform at my best – an incredible feeling.
I’m a person full of passion for snowboarding. That passion fills me with happiness – and that happiness is something I want to share with the world. Sport has taught me discipline, perseverance, and the joy of small steps. When I’m snowboarding, I feel totally free. No one tells you what to do – you choose your own path. What I hope is to be able to snowboard healthily and with joy well into old age – ideally together with my children. Knowing your own limits is crucial in order to stay healthy throughout the seasons. Constant travel and hardly ever having a real home isn’t easy. And the ongoing pressure to perform is very real – being able to deal with it is an essential part of the job.”
A FRAGILE AND SOCIAL ART, LIKE CYCLING - LUCA DI MAGGIO
Between street art, craftsmanship, and two wheels: a ride alongside the conscious artistic philosophy of Luca Di Maggio
“Cycling is not only suffering, it’s also pleasure. You’re in nature, in the landscape, in the world. You’re with people, among people. You live in a state of eternal youth,” said Alfredo Martini, a hero of the sport and one of its most thoughtful interpreters: someone who helped frame cycling as a social and artistic expression, not just a competitive discipline.
That vision echoes throughout the work, and the identity, of Italian artist Luca Di Maggio. Di Maggio’s practice, shaped by influences from around the world and across historical eras, finds a natural resonance with cycling culture. His work feeds on it, both lyrically and tangibly. In his pieces—balanced between large-scale street art and meticulous handcraft—the essence of cycling emerges as a medium for collecting, sharing, and elevating a wide range of themes.
The simple yet intricate geometry of bodies and frames. The raw, human contact with others, and with the world around us. The recognition of our collective fears, vulnerabilities, and fragilities. And, too, the beauty of motion—both individual and communal—as a way to explore the present, or simply to navigate the city and make it one’s own.
Every narrative thread in Di Maggio’s creative process rhymes with the shapes and messages he studies firsthand on what Dino Buzzati once called ‘noble horses’: his poetic term for bicycles. Buzzati, a multidimensional storyteller himself, often found inspiration in cycling. “Racing is wonderful,” he once titled a piece on the Giro d’Italia. The same sentiment flows through Di Maggio’s work.
The visual gallery accompanying this editorial deep dive is authored through the lens of Alessandro ‘Zuek’ Simonetti, and originates from a production created for Roy Roger’s Workwear, to whom we extend our thanks.
THE ORIGINS OF A DUAL, YET SHARED PHILOSOPHY
“Art entered my life almost naturally, but first and foremost as a necessity: as a form of therapy. After my father passed away, I had to find a way to let it out, to keep from losing my mind. At the time, I was studying law, but I knew deep down that path wasn’t mine. So, I left everything behind, enrolled in an evening course in graphic design, and began my artistic journey. Back then, art had a very specific function: it became a way to better understand myself, to heal the pain I was carrying inside. I never cared about saying, ‘I’m an artist.’ For me, art is something more intimate, more personal… It’s always been a means to express what I can’t say with words.
Cycling followed art in parallel. I was never a huge fan of it as a kid, but I was always riding, just for the joy of moving. I still remember my first bike… it was stolen, and I cried for days. My father bought me another one: it wasn’t the same, but it was enough. That bike became my adventure companion. Eventually, the two passions intersected. I still remember the day Cinelli gave me a frame ‘in exchange’ for one of my works. With that frame, I started riding seriously: alone, but with this inexplicable urge to improve. From that moment on, it’s been a continuous discovery. Cycling became a way of life, a tool to navigate the world.”
AN ARTISTIC AND CYCLING TOUR
“In the 2000s, I lived for five years in Eastern Germany: a place where the bicycle is more than a way of transport. It’s part of everyday life, it’s culture. I used my bike for everything: grocery runs, work, hauling materials. That’s where I learned the importance of balance, like using front panniers to stay stable on a downhill. It’s not just technique: it’s a mindset, a way of moving through the world. Germany was a school of life for that, and for much more. During those years, I collaborated with all kinds of artists, even with people who used to design punk posters during the GDR. I lived in a building full of artists. We’d have breakfast together, we shared the production itself. We talked about art without complicated theories or intellectual posturing.
In Germany, I lived something real: human exchanges that were simple, and deep. During that time, I also refined my use of large-scale tools: rollers, buckets, tarps. It all started with homemade stencils and graphics I’d create in the evenings after work. Then I moved to walls: bigger and more challenging ones. I never stopped studying or seeking inspiration: museums, galleries, catalogues, art books. If I had to define my creative process, I’d say it’s driven by curiosity: by a thirst for knowledge. I love discovering things, diving into them, turning them into works of art. Whenever I create something, it always starts from a simple idea: there’s art inside all of us, but we need to truly know ourselves to uncover it. The better you know yourself, the less you fear. It’s just like in sports: knowing exactly where you are in space and time gives you confidence. It’s not about aesthetics, it’s about awareness.”
Before Germany, I lived in Vienna during the ‘90s. That’s where I discovered snowboarding, underground magazines, small creative shops. I’d flip through Burton catalogues like they were art books… I biked everywhere whenever the weather allowed it. The city had—and still has—a real street culture, a culture of movement. The cycling infrastructure was already way far ahead of Italy’s. I remember in driving school they taught you to look for bikes before checking for pedestrians… a totally different mindset. After returning to Italy, where I’m now based, I realized that in many areas, we’re still missing that extra step: that willingness to fully open ourselves up. But you learn something new every day. And I keep learning.”
STREET ART ON TWO WHEELS – AND TWO WHEELS IN STREET ART
“I believe cycling, and sport in general, is a vast form of language. It allows us to tell endless stories. I truly believe in that. And I think creating a work of art is a bit like approaching a climb on a bike: at first, it’s tough, but then you reach the top, and every time, you get to see the world from a new perspective. It’s an effort that’s worth it. Cycling, after all, is a sport born in the streets, among people. It makes you move slowly, but it lets you live the places you pass through, meet people… Every stage can be translated into narrative, or pure aesthetics. Take the Giro d’Italia, for example. To me, it’s not just sport: it’s a poem crossing the country. It’s like street art: color moving on wheels, color populating sidewalks.
I’ve never liked the institutional art world. I prefer the street: real contact with people. I’ve always felt like real things happen in the street. People stop, look at you, talk to you, share their stories, even if just for a few minutes. Working in public spaces, for me, carries immense responsibility. I mostly paint in neighborhoods I know well: on old, decaying walls, I recover rusted billboards and try to transform them into something new. One time, a passerby told me, ‘We couldn’t stand looking at that wall in that condition anymore.’ That sentence captured the essence of my work: I don’t want to make art for art’s sake, I want to give a voice to places, to people. Today, I think of my work as a craft. I still feel a deep need to create, to build, more as a craftsman than as an artist. Real work, for me, is done through effort, through encounter, through relationships. That’s where true, authentic storytelling is born. Spontaneous storytelling.
When I talk about spontaneity, I mean that the more time you spend among people, the better you can understand, communicate, and translate reality into art. I’ll say it again: I don’t feel like an ‘artist.’ But I do feel an innate need to draw, to express myself through gesture and movement: as if it were a kind of athletic instinct. Creating large-scale works is, in some way, a physical act, it’s like a sport. You move your whole body. There’s adrenaline. When I work on pieces like that, I’ll often be on my feet for ten hours a day, and that makes me feel alive. One of my greatest dreams was to travel constantly with a cargo bike full of paints, brushes, buckets… and just paint. I did it once: riding from Milan to Lecco on my own. It’s tough, but the purpose is deeply meaningful: to move, and to leave a trace.”
OF FRAGILITY AND FORM
“Another recurring theme in my work, one that also relates closely to the cycling world, is fragility. It’s incredibly important to me. I often use paper, precisely because it crumples, it folds, it carries its marks… just like every human being. While paper shows its creases, though, people try to hide theirs. We live in a time of filters and masks, and it’s harming us. Social media, for example, offers many opportunities, no doubt. But it also tends to amplify ego, not the substance of who we really are. Paper, on the other hand, is something truly exposed, truly authentic.
When I think about fragility, I can’t help but reflect on Pantani: a man as fragile as he was powerful. He had that ability to push, to accelerate when he wanted to, without worrying about tactics or numbers. And yet, he was destroyed by the very fragility inside him. Still, he left behind something real: something we still celebrate at every race. Unlike many others, he didn’t have a team to shield him. He isolated himself. He shut down. He got lost. In my view, admitting your fragility isn’t a weakness: it’s a strength. It makes you human. The same is true for paper: if you color it, if you build a story on it, it becomes strong. It comes alive. In my life, I’ve experienced many types of fear: often manifesting as panic attacks. But when I’m on the street, painting, all of that disappears. Because in that moment, I feel real, and fragility, or fear, fades away.
Talking about form, I always see geometry in cyclists: two inverted triangles, full and empty, broken lines… The body becoming bike, and the bike becoming body. It’s a huge challenge to portray that kind of fusion, but a beautiful one. The tandem bike is another recurring image in my work. To me, it’s a powerful symbol. It represents trust, complicity: one person leads, the other supports. It’s like life: where we all need those around us.”
THE FINISH LINE
“In both my life and my art, I try to follow an unwritten rule: you have to know how to play. Yes, you have to take yourself seriously, but without ever losing your sense of lightness. I have a five-year-old nephew, and I spend a lot of time with him. He reminds me how important it is to stay in touch with that part of ourselves that remains free, unafraid. Children carry truth. Among adults, that truth is fading: we’re losing it. We present ourselves, but we don’t really know ourselves. We think, we talk, but we do very little. We put ourselves out there, but without truly showing up. Appearance has taken the place of presence. And that scares me. There’s something I often repeat to myself, something I want to say out loud: don’t be afraid to live. Don’t waste the time you have. Don’t just be alive, live fully. With spontaneity, with courage, with the desire to leave something real behind. In art. In cycling. Wherever you are.”
