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At Watches and Wonders in Geneva, Janhvi Kapoor is not trying to out-speak the collectors. She is here with Baume & Mercier for the Maison’s 2026 novelties, and the fair is her first real immersion into the world of watchmaking. “I’ve never been to an expo like this,” she says. “To see so many watch enthusiasts, all the craftsmanship and artistry, it’s been a very special experience.”

Her own relationship with watches begins less technically. The watch she wears most often is the one gifted to her by her parents. “It was my first watch,” she says. That is what makes an object stay in her wardrobe: memory first, then how often she can actually wear it. A piece has to move across occasions, and it cannot make her feel like she has walked into a room carrying a neon sign.

That last part matters because Kapoor is more self-conscious about attention than her public presence suggests. “Wearing something that grabs too much attention makes me feel very shy and conscious,” she says. Her sister Khushi, she adds, teases her for owning beautiful things and then not wearing them because they feel like too much. Then comes the caveat, because of course there is one. “When it’s an amazing garment or look and I’m on a red carpet, then I want everyone to look at me,” she says, laughing.

This is where her everyday wardrobe makes sense. The pieces she returns to are simple because they lower the stakes of getting dressed: a white T-shirt, jeans, black loafers, neutrals. “The only thing that matters to me is comfort,” she says. If something demands too much of her before she has even left the house, it usually stays in the wardrobe.

Watches are still becoming a habit for her. “I haven’t gotten into the habit of wearing a watch in my everyday life,” she says. “But when I’m going out, when I want to feel super elegant and mature, I feel like a lovely watch does that always.” She likes them when they behave like jewellery: something that can make her feel more dressed without making her self-conscious.

The Baume & Mercier piece she wore in Geneva follows that line of thought. Steel, textured, set with diamonds. “It’s stunning,” she says. The point, for Kapoor, is not horological vocabulary. It is whether she can wear it with the clothes she already reaches for, and whether it will make her feel dressed without making her self-conscious.

The same idea shows up when she talks about her Miu Miu spectacles, which she reaches for when she wants an outfit to feel less basic. “I feel like I make more sense every time I wear these glasses,” she says. “I look smarter, so I sound smarter.” She knows the logic is absurd. She also knows it works for her.

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Sreeleela stepped out in an ivory anarkali from Mrunalini Rao in a look shaped through a corset-structured bodice that opens into a sweeping, floor-grazing skirt. Her neutral, yet not vanilla, outfit is proof that a silhouette alone can do the heavy lifting.

Her three-piece set comprises an anarkali kurta, matching pants and a dupatta, all crafted in matka silk. The floor-length anarkali features chudi sleeves and a scooped neckline that frames the décolletage. The bodice sits close before releasing into a full, voluminous skirt. The skirt is deliberately free of heavy embellishment, allowing the eye to travel upward to where the real craftsmanship lies.

Floral and paisley motifs are articulated through fine hand embroidery, including zardozi work that’s further accentuated by delicate pearl detailing. The chudi sleeves carry a bold iteration of the same motifs, making it an extension of the story the bodice is telling. At the back, the anarkali opens into an exposed cut, adding a sensual element to the otherwise traditional silhouette. The accompanying dupatta, finished with a scalloped border that mirrors the kurta’s embroidery, completes the set.

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Cast your mind back to The White Lotus season one. Real estate agent Shane (Jake Lacy) has just married journalist Rachel (Alexandra Daddario) and now they’re “enjoying” their Hawaiian honeymoon. Except, well, something’s afoot. While Shane basks in an almost comical level of ignorant bliss, tension simmers beneath the surface. Rachel knows that this man, who wears pastel polos and a Cornell cap unironically, isn’t “the one”. Because we all know, really, don’t we. Shane is what some have recently taken to calling a “placeholder partner”. As in, a partner who looks like the real deal—maybe you live together, maybe you’re even married!—but, crucially, isn’t.

Of course, all of these newly minted dating terms—“soul ties”, “micro-cheating”, “orbiting”—mean very little in the grand, amorphous, technicolour scheme of things. Every relationship is different. Not one experience is the same. And the concept of “the one” is a strange one. But I do think there’s something to be said about the singular experience of play-acting a relationship in the hopes it might stick—or, indeed, until something better comes along. The worst thing about being a placeholder partner is that you often don’t know you’re one—or you do know, somewhere deep in the dark recesses of your subconscious, but you choose to ignore it.

What is a placeholder partner?

As with everything else in this godforsaken life, the term “placeholder partner” originated on TikTok and quickly gained traction from there. Again, it refers to a partner that occupies a temporary space, rather than a long-term one. “But isn’t that just… dating?” I hear you ask. I mean, yes, but there’s an element of “future faking” at play here. You’re doing all the things that look like two people in a genuinely committed relationship, except one of you privately isn’t invested. Think: Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s character Tom in 500 Days Of Summer or Aishwarya Rai’s Saba in Ae Dil Hai Mushkil—those are placeholder partners.

How do you know if you are a placeholder partner?

Online, the common consensus seems to be that any type of vagueness or mixed signals, however subtle, usually indicates that you’re the placeholder partner as opposed to “the dream girl”. “Is he bad at communication? Is he bad at making plans? Is he bad at texting back? Is he vague about how he feels about you?” asks one TikToker. “If you are his dream girl, he is going to lock that shit down as quickly as possible.” If you’re still unsure, rewatch the cult 2009 rom-com He’s Just Not That Into You.

Of course, “reading the signs” isn’t always easy if you have a partner who makes empty promises about a shared future—marriage, kids, whatever—as a way to keep you around, without ever really meaning it. Though I do suspect that most of us know the true status of our relationship and what space we occupy within it if we listen to our gut properly. Even Shane on The White Lotus probably knew deep down—and he didn’t know anything!

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I have always been a hopeless romantic. It’s something I am too embarrassed to admit to myself, but also a truth that becomes painfully obvious to ignore when I listen to 2000s Bollywood songs. All it takes is the percussive opening of ‘Pehli Nazar Mein’ (Race), the first few synth notes of Khuda Jaane (Bachna Ae Haseeno) or the breathy flute at the start of Hosanna (Ekk Deewana Tha), and I melt into a puddle in the ground. In an instant, however, I am reassembled by the voices of KK and Atif Aslam, and transported into the body of my 10-year-old self sitting on a couch in the living room watching 9XM, eyes glued to the television as if in a trance.

Getting dressed for school every morning followed a familiar ritual in most Indian households: before the school bus arrived, we would be dragged around the house by our mothers, hair being pulled into braids while hurrying to replace the books in our backpack from the previous day’s timetable. All of this happened at 8am while 9XM shuffled the most heartaching love songs one minute and electric party songs the next, with alien blobs Bade and Chote dutifully pitching in with their banter, and Bheegi Billi, a down-on-his-luck cat, strumming his guitar and singing plaintively.

Today, even though Spotify has us musically figured out through its sophisticated algorithms and YouTube Music occasionally sends an underrated banger our way, nothing comes close to the ineffable magic of 9XM playing a song just when we needed it. It’s probably why there’s a whole genre of playlists on YouTube titled “POV: It’s a 9XM morning” with millions of views keeping that nostalgia alive. As an only child with working parents, I remember spending most of my weekday evenings after school in front of the television without adult supervision, switching to 9XM during ad breaks on Sony Max or Disney and becoming so engrossed with the music videos that I would forget to switch back to my episode of Doraemon. Writer Srijan D believes 9XM was so popular because instead of defining itself by what it was, it defined itself by what it wasn’t: no reality TV, no audio or video sketches, no serious talk, no themed variety shows—just a workhorse jukebox that served and served. “When MTV became what it was and Channel V couldn’t decide what part of the globe it came from, there was a sudden vacuum of music video channels in India,” he says. “Hindi music fans who had evolved from Chitrahaar to Gaaney Anjaaney deserved a moment and 9XM delivered it, right in time as music videos began serving the youth and indie music was on the uptick. 9XM stuck to the wildly radical formula of… playing music.” For Srijan, 9XM was revolutionary in its recipe of ‘music, some patter, then more music.’ “You could switch it on and go about your day. Indeed, many households I knew had it on all day,” he recalls. “There was always music playing in the house and it wasn’t tragic if you missed Bade-Chote’s most recent disagreement on something silly.”

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Red needs no introduction in occasion wear, but Kajol’s deep maroon Torani sari set gives the colour a sharper treatment. Called Farishti Zareen, the look works because the richness sits in the construction and embroidery, not just the palette.

The sari set is pre-draped and cut in georgette, with a front-facing pleated skirt and a pallu that sweeps over the shoulder. Along the hem and pallu, a scalloped border carries intricate embroidery in antique gold. The blouse departs from convention, taking the form of a structured corset with visible boning that shapes the torso. It is fully encrusted with matching embellishment, featuring floral and geometric motifs that mirror the embroidery on the sari. The cape-style jacket adds another layer, with a sheer base and printed border that works against the heavier surface of the blouse.

Styled by Radhika Mehra, the accessories were kept minimal yet statement-making. The actor ditched predictable gold pieces in favour of a diamond-and-pink-sapphire necklace with coordinating drop earrings and a ring from Joyalukkas. Makeup, too, was deliberately understated, featuring a nude lip and smoky eye. Her hair, pulled into a sleek chignon, kept the focus on the neckline and the necklace.

The look works for occasion wear because it has drama without relying on weight. The burgundy tone and antique-gold embroidery bring richness, while the georgette sari and sheer cape keep the silhouette lighter.

From Kajol to Malavika Mohanan, this week’s best looks were wrapped in jewel tones and golden zari

Kajol’s Manish Malhotra gilded sari brings handwoven tissue and brocade together

Nita Ambani’s Jamdani sari was woven over 24 months by a Padma Shree awardee