There is a dark blue Ferrari that is often parked, for weeks at a time, outside one of Beirut’s most prestigious hotels. The number plate is Saudi Arabian. The valets cluck around it like mother hens, dusting and wiping, as it sits, waiting for its owner to gun the engine and pull out into the tree-lined streets of Ashrafieh. A home away from home? Who knows? But distilled into this mini montage is everything modern Lebanon can deliver to the discerning: luxury, beauty, service, and ambiance.
At the risk of sounding smug, I am going to venture that Lebanon and Beirut possess a cachet that other Arab capitals don’t. Fairly or unfairly, the Lebanese are known for their high living in a way that the Jordanians, Syrians, Iraqis and Palestinians simply are not, while gleaming new cities of the Gulf – the thrusting, efficient, commercial powerhouses that they are – do not have Beirut’s distressed elegance. The Lebanese are seen as the “European” Arabs and as such have carved out a unique niche for themselves in the enjoyment and purveyance of luxury living.
Even the diaspora has exported this reputation for joie de vivre and extravagance. True, the French apparently have a phrase for us “comme les Libanais” (in effect, a bit too much jewelry) and the English may wince at how we behave in their better nightclubs and have made the foodhalls at Harrods and Selfridges our own, but the overwhelming sense is that we are a nation of travelers and traders who live to live well and consume in style. Lebanese restaurants from London to Sydney have been elevated above mundane ethnic fare. Chateau Musar stands alongside the best Bordeaux and, while, to the world, the Greek Ouzo is seen as the drink of the cheery tourist, Arak is held up as the real deal, a drink for those in the know. It is all to do with perception and, despite everything, we have still held onto our mystique.
Ironically, the war may have further whetted our appetite for luxury and brand consciousness. It forced a new generation to leave and make their fortunes, while those who could afford to decamp to the capitals of Europe and the Americas merely consolidated their knowledge of Western retail habits. This know-how has been shipped back by the container load and today, 15 years after the guns fell silent and four years after the events of 9/11 shifted the Arab tourist dynamic to cobbled streets of downtown Beirut, Lebanon is settling into its rightful role of the region’s cornucopia.
Just as important is that our fellow Arabs recognize this in us and want us to sell it to them with all the panache of our Phoenician ancestors. High net worth clients and a nation of boutique owners: a match made in heaven.
We have the best goods but we also have the chutzpah. A shopper knows that if he walks into even the finest boutique or jeweler, he can put his cards on the table and negotiate a deal, because we are the original dealmakers. Try doing that in Milan or London or even Dubai and you will get an awkward look and a lecture on policy. The only policy in Lebanon is to sell.
And we do it in style. Our service is in itself a luxury item. Our human resources – shop assistants, waiters and concierges – look a million dollars, can converse in two, sometimes three, maybe even four languages and above all know how to talk to their fellow Arabs. The importance of this, especially when selling a luxury item, is impossible to overestimate. In a world where the concept of service is in decline and where the Arab is often viewed as a potential trouble maker, the fact that a Saudi Arabian woman can arrive in Beirut, anonymously drop $1 million on jewelry, watches and clothes and have them dropped off at her hotel within 30 minutes, is not only good retailing, it’s a national asset. Go to London, once the benchmark for this kind of thing and see what you are now faced with: clueless asylum seekers from Eastern Europe and equally scatterbrained Australians and South Africans on a gap year.
Women, commonly accepted, especially in the Arab world, to be the most frequent and ravenous shoppers, can feel free in Beirut. If they are from the Gulf countries, none of the strictures of home apply and there will also be none of the suspicious looks they might get in Europe. Petty crime is almost non-existent, while the security threats that cow the Americans and the Europeans are dismissed by the Gulf Arabs who live with similar anxieties in their own countries. They will and do take their chances.
And let us not forget the triple assets of ambiance, architecture and temperature. Not only does Lebanon have the goods at the right price, for those who live in an air-conditioned bubble, it offers the chance off shopping and dining in a Mediterranean atmosphere in a country that was not built in the last 60 years and in a climate that won’t kill you if there is a power outage. No wonder, wealthy Arabs and expatriate Lebanese are paying top dollar to live in the downtown where they can moor their boat, shop and dine in an environment unlike anywhere in the region.
For the Lebanese, there is now less and less need to travel to shop, no more tiresome shopping expeditions to Europe’s capitals. The names they so covet abroad – Les Galleries Lafayette, Harvey Nichols and Printemps – have all hinted that they will open up shop in Beirut. The Downtown’s retail dynamic is full of promise. Already the area that borders Rues Foch and Allenby has become the epicenter of fine shopping and one that will eventually become Beirut’s Bond Street. And there is more to come. The Souks, with roughly 52,000 m2 of retail space – including a 15,000m2 dept store – will simply add to the critical mass and could easily achieve revenues of $270 million in its first year, nearly 10% of Lebanon’s retail sector.
Lebanon has also moved into the modern retail culture with a remarkably efficient VAT refund system (operated by Global refund and the Ministry of Finance) that has been in operation since 2002. Not only does this offer the immediate attraction of getting one’s money back but it also demonstrates a degree of regulation in the local retail sector.
Finally, at the risk of painting a picture of mindless consumption, local retailers will tell you that the tourist shopper does not come to Beirut to spend on necessities. Interestingly enough when it comes to sales of premier fashion clothes, watches and jewelry, Beirut compares well to Dubai, the new kid on the block, but loses out to the Emirate on electronic goods: Dubai – technical and new – versus Lebanon – sensual and old.
“They are on holiday and want to buy a bauble, not a stereo,” said one market watcher. A Rolex slid across the table during dinner, the thrill of a new Cartier necklace, worn as the waves lap at the beach at sunset, a kilo of finest Beluga caviar or even the throaty roar of a pedigree sportscar. Beirut can offer it all.
