Paris, London and New York are more often associated with culture, finance and history than with dangerous heat. Yet each summer all three are increasingly exposed to extreme temperatures they were never designed to withstand.

Like many dense urban areas, they amplify heat through what is known as the “urban heat island effect”. This reflects the way that warmth is trapped in concrete, asphalt and glass, turning hot days into hazardous ones.

With skyscrapers made of glass and steel, roadways encased in cement and blocks of residential apartments, New York traps heat like few other metropolitan centres. In fact, the city has one of the highest urban heat island effects in the United States, a measurement of thermal difference between urban and rural areas.

Heat kills more than 500 New Yorkers every year, a grim statistic that exacerbates inequalities along the lines of race and class. While many people escape to the seaside or countryside to find relief, others remain in cities where the heat can be harder to avoid and more difficult to endure. Yet these uneven experiences of urban heat are not new. In cities such as London, Paris and New York, coping with hot summers has long been shaped by inequality.

Across the 19th and 20th centuries, urban residents developed a range of strategies to manage extreme heat in densely built environments. Our research for the Melting Metropolis project examines everyday experiences of heat. Here are some of the ways people have coped with these conditions in the past and what they reveal about living with heat in the city.

London

For most historic urbanites, escaping the confines of their home provided the greatest relief from the heat. In the mid-20th century, some Londoners escaped to the roof of their apartment building to catch the cooling breezes that swirled above the city’s streets.

For many others, since the 19th century, public spaces have provided the greatest respite from heat in their homes. Londoners turned to the shade provided by trees in nearby parks, paddled in water fountains or went for cooling dips in lidos and ponds.

Historic urbanites have also tried to cope with the heat at home. In contrast to those who sought relief from the heat in public spaces, wealthier Londoners used money and technology to keep cool. In the 19th century they purchased imported ice from Norway or employed servants to operate fans.

Paris

In the heatwaves of the 19th century, Parisians also headed out in search of relief. Like Londoners, they made extensive use of the parks that urban planners embedded into the fabric of the city during the late 19th-century Haussmann-era redesign. But it was not only dense greenery that provided respite from the heat: the trees planted along the avenues of the city offered shelter from the rays of the sun on hot summer days.

Although the Seine held great potential for cooling down, bathing in its waters was banned in the middle of the 19th century. Despite the official ban, photographic records show that some Parisians in search of freshness broke the law and took the plunge.

To keep cool indoors, the more privileged 19th-century Parisians used ice imported from northern regions or collected locally during the winter and stored in ice houses until temperatures rose. Ice remained a luxury item until the late 1870s, when technological developments allowing ice to be made artificially lowered its cost and widened its accessibility.

Daily life in Paris – including in the summer – had undergone thorough transformations by the middle of the 20th century. Air conditioning began to gain momentum but some traditional ways to cool down have remained at the core of summer life: crowds continue to swarm café terraces, the banks of the Seine stay packed with people, 19th-century water fountains are still used to refill water bottles.

New York

In the 19th century, the tenements of New York City were filled with people sleeping on roofs, sweating on fire escapes, and avoiding the sweltering indoors. The wealthy simply fled the city for countryside estates. Newspapers called these seasonal migrants “heat refugees”.

When seeking outdoor relief, most 19th-century New Yorkers headed to the beach – the city is an island, after all. But by the 20th century, they were also planing block parties with plenty of ice from corner store bodegas. On occasion, they also cracked open fire hydrants – a relief strategy that has become a classic trope of New York City summers.

Future heat waves

For as long as episodes of extreme heat in cities have affected urban life, urbanites have developed ways to cope. Today, cities are taking heat more seriously when they look to the future and working towards adaptation strategies. The disastrous heatwave of 2003 served as a wake-up call in Paris, which implemented a heat plan the following year and continues to work on ways to make the city more liveable in the summer.

Central to New York’s climate resilience plans, air conditioning has become a political battleground in activists’ fight for a “right to cooling” (a bundle of legislation championed by local environmental justice organisations).

Though it can compound the problem of climate change, technologically aided cooling keeps people alive as we all find ways to weather the intensifying heat. In May 2026, the UK’s Climate Change Committee declared that the British way of life is under threat from heat.

In June, London will launch its heat plan for the capital, a first step in supporting the city and its residents to live better with extreme heat.

About the author: Chloe Dutell is a Postdoctoral Research Associate, School of Histories, Languages and Cultures Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Liverpool.

The article is reproduced from The Conversation thanks to a Creative Commons licence

Under a mirage of glowing escalators inside Bogotá’s Ágora Convention Center, the catwalks of Bogotá Fashion Week opened Tuesday with more than fabrics and silhouettes on display. Behind the runway lights lies a larger ambition: to turn Colombia’s capital into a regional fashion export hub and bring designers from Bogotá’s workshops and popular commercial districts onto the global stage.

Now in its ninth edition, Bogotá Fashion Week (BFW), led by the Cámara de Comercio de Bogotá, has become the city’s main commercial and promotional platform for fashion, bringing together 145 brands, 28 runway shows, more than 80 international buyers and 755 business meetings aimed at strengthening Colombia’s presence in international markets.

For Ovidio Claros Polanco, president of the chamber, the event is no longer simply about showcasing collections, but about transforming fashion into a driver of economic growth and international competitiveness.

“In Bogotá, the fashion sector represents 33% of the city’s economic activity and brings together approximately 35,000 active companies, the majority of them microenterprises,” Claros said. He added that between 220,000 and 250,000 people are directly linked to the industry, with its impact extending into tourism, hotels, gastronomy and transportation.

The strategy, he said, is to move beyond the traditional notion of fashion as an exclusive industry and instead position it as an economic ecosystem capable of generating employment and export opportunities across all levels of the city.

That vision is particularly visible through [PUENTE] Internacional, a program created by the chamber to connect entrepreneurs from Bogotá’s traditional commercial districts such as San Victorino and Restrepo with major global fashion circuits including New York, Madrid, Dubai and Paris.

This year, eight Bogotá-based brands — Alanna, A Modo Mio, C’emadier, Más Cincuenta y Siete by Love Me Jeans, Lorant & Co, Lyenzo, Liza Herrera and Kernel Leather — were selected to present their autumn-winter collections during Fashion Designers of Latin America (FDLA) at New York Fashion Week in February.

The initiative marked one of the strongest international pushes yet for Bogotá’s so-called “popular fashion” sector, traditionally associated with local manufacturing districts rather than luxury runways.

“We are committed to the internationalization of Bogotá’s popular fashion because it is a powerful vehicle for economic growth and job creation,” Claros said. “We want the best of Bogotá’s design talent to arrive in the global capitals of fashion stepping forward with strength.”

The selection process involved curators and industry figures including Albania Rosario, founder of FDLA, José Forteza, former senior editor of Vogue México, Colombian designer Jorge Duque and stylist Estefanía Turbay.

For Albania Rosario, the initiative reflects the growing relevance of Latin American fashion beyond its domestic markets.

“Each of these brands represents not only the excellence of Bogotá’s design, but also the resilient and visionary spirit of our creative community,” Rosario said. “It is a reminder of the transformative power of Latin American fashion on the global stage.”

The international agenda continues well beyond Bogotá Fashion Week. Following the local runway events this week, [PUENTE] designers are scheduled to participate in Pasarela Madrid later in May, followed by Dubai Fashion Week in September, New York Fashion Week’s spring-summer season, and Paris Fashion Week later that month.

Inside Ágora, the business focus is equally visible. Alongside runway presentations from designers such as Kika Vargas, Francesca Miranda and Alejandro Crocker, the event hosts wholesale meetings between Colombian brands and international buyers seeking new suppliers and partnerships.

A multi-brand retail space open to the public and a series of 24 industry talks with more than 60 speakers also seek to bridge the gap between creative design and commercial scalability.

For organizers, integrating districts like San Victorino and Restrepo into this model is essential. Rather than separating emerging luxury labels from mass-market producers, the chamber is pushing for a unified ecosystem where independent designers, small workshops and large buyers operate within the same commercial conversation.

“There is a need to remove the idea that fashion belongs to only a few people,” Claros said. “This belongs to everyone. Countries change through actions like these.”

As Bogotá Fashion Week expands its global ambitions, the challenge will be whether Colombian brands can translate visibility into long-term exports and sustained international demand.

For now, however, the city is betting that fashion — from the ateliers of Chapinero to the workshops of San Victorino — can become one of Bogotá’s strongest international calling cards.

At Nohra Haime Gallery, in Manhattan’s white-walled Chelsea district, Cartagena-based artist Ruby Rumié is asking a deceptively simple question: How are the children?

It is not a casual greeting, nor the sentimental title of a new exhibition. Instead, it draws from the Maasai expression “Kasserian Ingera,” a phrase that measures the wellbeing of an entire community through the condition of its youngest members. If the children are well, the society is functioning; if they are not, everything else is called into question.

For Rumié, whose socially engaged practice has long examined dignity, memory and the politics of the body through installation and portrait photography, the question becomes the conceptual spine of her latest New York presentation. The exhibition, titled ¿How Are the Children?, marks a significant moment for the Cartagena-based artist, bringing her work once again into an international conversation that moves between Latin America, the Caribbean and the wider Global South.

Rather than beginning with a grand theoretical premise, the project emerged from something quieter: an old newspaper clipping documenting the disappearance of several children on a distant island. Nearly lost among family albums and forgotten papers, the fragment offered no resolution, only a trace. For Rumié, that absence became more powerful than explanation.

The result is an exhibition that does not attempt to solve a mystery but instead inhabits a state of unresolved concern. It asks viewers to remain with discomfort rather than consume a narrative neatly packaged for closure. In a cultural moment increasingly shaped by speed, certainty and spectacle, this refusal feels deliberate.

Within the work’s imagined structure, eleven children leave behind the violences of contemporary life: the pressure to perform, the normalization of fear, and the relentless demand to adapt to adult systems of productivity and control. Their destination is a volcano, a symbol that carries both danger and possibility.

Rumié anchors that image in a distinctly Colombian geography: the Totumo Mud Volcano, located between Cartagena and Barranquilla on Colombia’s Caribbean coast. Known locally as both a tourist curiosity and a place of ancestral ritual, the volcano is less about eruption than immersion. Visitors descend into a dense crater of warm mineral mud, confronting the instinctive fear of sinking—only to discover that the body floats.

This paradox sits at the heart of the exhibition and of Rumié’s photographic narratives.

Using portrait photography staged on the sandy slopes surrounding Totumo, she transforms her young subjects into something resembling living ceramics. Their bodies, coated in volcanic mud, appear sculptural and elemental – figures suspended between portrait and artifact, between childhood and myth. The mud gives them a tactile permanence, as though they have emerged from the earth itself rather than simply stood before the camera.

Here, mud is not scenic backdrop but primary material and metaphor. It is organic and mineral, medicinal and unsettling. It obscures the body while revealing something more essential beneath the surface. Covered in mud, distinctions of age, class, gender and origin begin to dissolve. The body ceases to be an object for display and returns to its simplest state: matter.

There is a quiet political force in that gesture. In a world saturated by images and increasingly hostile standards of beauty, the act of covering oneself in mud becomes a rejection of polished performance. It resists visibility as spectacle and proposes instead a form of symbolic density—one in which the body is not consumed but encountered.

The children in Rumié’s exhibition do not perform innocence. They do not dramatize suffering for the viewer’s emotional satisfaction. Instead, they surround the volcano with calm insistence, each holding a red ribbon that descends from its summit into their hands. The ribbon suggests connection rather than rescue, lineage rather than alarm. The volcano ceases to be a site of threat and becomes something closer to a shared origin: a matrix, a beginning.

That restraint is perhaps the work’s greatest strength. Rumié avoids the familiar traps of political art that over-explains its intentions or aestheticizes trauma into digestible symbolism. Instead, she builds an atmosphere of attention. The exhibition trusts silence. It asks not for interpretation alone, but for ethical presence.

This has been a defining feature of Rumié’s extensive projects. Her work often moves between installation, photography and social intervention, examining how communities remember violence and how institutions choose to see – or not – the vulnerable. Her native Cartagena, with its layered histories of colonialism, tourism and exclusion, remains both context and counterpoint.

Showing this work in New York adds another dimension. Chelsea galleries are not typically spaces associated with collective care or recetive to questions of social reparations. Yet that friction is productive. To pose “How are the children?” in the commercial heart of the international art market is to redirect attention from value to responsibility.

It is also a reminder that contemporary Latin American art is often at its most compelling when it resists exotic labels and insists on moral complexity instead. Rumié does not offer folklore, nor easy allegory. She offers a question as elusive as the landscape itself, echoing the vast and shifting terrains once depicted by the Prussian explorer Alexander von Humboldt during his travels across the continent.

And perhaps that is Rumié’s point. The exhibition offers no definitive answers, nor any final declaration of hope or despair. Instead, it leaves visitors carrying the weight of the original inquiry – returned intact, urgent and impossible to ignore, just like a volcano.

¿How Are the Children? opens on 7 May at Nohra Haime Gallery

Nohra Haime Gallery: 500A West 21st Street, New York.

The US Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) has authorized the entry of Colombian shell eggs destined for industrial processing, according to an announcement made by Diana Marcela Morales Rojas, Minister of Commerce, Industry and Tourism (MinCIT). This decision expands the export capacity for Colombia’s poultry sector by allowing the product to enter the US market without requiring additional import permits or sanitary certificates from the Colombian Government.

The authorization by APHIS follows technical and commercial discussions between US and Colombian regulatory bodies. Minister Morales Rojas stated that the outcome enables the poultry industry to expand its presence in international markets and integrate into higher-standard value chains.

The regulatory modification is the result of collaboration between the Government of Colombia, the Instituto Colombiano Agropecuario (ICA), the Ministry of Commerce, Industry and Tourism, the Embassy of Colombia in the United States, and the Federación Nacional de Avicultores (Fenavi), the trade association representing the poultry sector.

Six US facilities have been designated to receive the Colombian shell eggs for processing. These plants are situated in the states of New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Arkansas, and Georgia. The direct entry authorization for industrial use simplifies the logistics and required sanitary compliance for the export of the product.

Above photo: Colombia’s Minister of Commerce, Industry and Trade, Diana Marcela Morales (courtesy MinCIT)