Beirut has the unique ability to bend, shape and mold brand identity to fit its flamboyant clientele. When Hermes opened it doors in Beirut Souks, the brand’s tradition and timelessness suggested that it might not be as susceptible to the same affection for flash to which so many fall prey. But, once again, the city proved that few are immune to its call to opulent arms.
Never mind that the abounding platform stilettos sunk straight into the grassy sod laid especially for the opening on Hermes’s corner of Marfaa Street. Never mind that the generator powering the crane swinging an angelic dancer above the crowd was so loud that it drowned out the music played for the spectacle. And never mind that the restricted entrance and exit, due to Prime Minster Hariri’s presence, meant that the tree-enclosed soiree was packed like a can of extremely expensive sardines.
The July 30 opening of the Hermes boutique was an example of brazen one-upmanship that we all should have expected.
But the sheer scale of it all, the extravagance, the excess, and the obvious staggering cost begs the question: what happens after the party? When the guests have gone and Hermes’s executives go home to Paris, who will be minding the store and what happens if the worst comes around to downtown Beirut again?
Why would Hermes, and all the other luxury brands invading downtown of late, take the risk of having to close a store if Lebanon’s cancerous instability comes out of remission?
They do it because the risk is not their’s to take.
Most of Beirut’s monobrand luxury boutiques are franchises, Hermes included. This means the location, and entire inventory of the store, is financed by the local franchise partner. Every item is bought and paid for before it hits the floor, which is why many developing markets, often being franchise-heavy, feature products at a significant mark-up.
So if any of downtown’s gleaming luxury palaces were forced to close their doors, it is local companies who would lose, with the brand escaping conflict with nothing more than a PR scratch. This is not to say that the embarrassment and public relations snafu of closing a store means nothing to an industry whose value is rooted in image. Luxury brands care what happens to their products, and especially their name.
On the day of the opening, Hermes International Chief Executive Officer Patrick Thomas told Executive that he chose Galop SAL as Hermes’s franchise partner out of many interested parties for its “long term” vision and singular focus. Michele Garzouzi, Galop’s president, said that she was not interested in offering, as many regional luxury franchises do, a smattering of trendy items and iconic pieces. She offered the full line and it nearly sold out in the first weekend.
And though her savvy buying strategy and dedication to Hermes — Galop’s only luxury brand — is proof of her long-term thinking, she has no contingency plan for Hermes’s fate if a conflict should crop up.
“You cannot plan for it really,” said Garzouzi. “When you have such an unstable situation you can’t really have a ‘Plan B’.”
Garzouzi is not alone in knocking on wood and hoping for the best; everyone hopes Lebanon will have no need for contingencies. But frankly, we should all stop being so grateful that these luxury titans are opening in our tailor-made shopping havens. We’re spending the money and taking all the risk, so bring on the absurdly extravagant parties downtown — we’ve earned them.
