Michael Karam: Lebanese take time to be convinced by big brands

The Lebanese consumer is cautious about embracing new brands, writes Michael Karam.

In 2014, the Federation of the Swiss Watch Industry exported 28.6 million watches worldwide, with the Middle East’s two leading markets – the UAE and Saudi Arabia – recording a growth in sales of 8.9 per cent and 11.1 per cent respectively.

It’s a far cry from the grim days of 2009, when the recession bit and global exports fell by 22 per cent.

And there’s never been a better time to be a watch lover, especially for men. Gone are the days when a man was expected to have one solid watch for all occasions. Today’s chap about town will not be considered overly flashy if he not only has a work watch but also a weekend or dress-down watch; a sports watch and even, should the mood take him, something slim and discreet for the evening.

Manufacturers have tapped into our sense of romance and adventure and we love it. We drool over watches designed to be worn at depths that would crush a human skull when all we want to do is sit in a hot tub.

My own love affair with timepieces began in 1985, when my brother-in-law gave me a Rolex that was lent to him in the mid- 1960s by a Saudi Arabian friend at boarding school in England. When they both left some three years later, his bountiful buddy told him he could keep it.

Eighteen years later, my sister bought him a spanking new Rolex and suggested he give the old one to me. I’ve had it ever since and it still keeps immaculate time. The trouble is that it’s only had two services in the past 30 years, prompting my buddy Ziad Annad, Lebanon’s Rolex agent, to suggest I bring it in to the Beirut shop so his resident watchmaker can take a peek under the bonnet, as it were.

I arrived to find Ziad admiring a selection of Tudor watches with his sales team. For those non-watch nerds, Tudor is Rolex’s sister brand, created in 1946 by the Rolex founder Hans Wilsdorf, who felt there was demand for a relatively affordable, no-nonsense and dependable watch for a post-war Europe blighted by austerity.

Tudor owners saw themselves as practical, understated people who appreciated quality but didn’t want to be associated with what many saw as Rolex’s flashiness. The British in particular loved the Tudor brand, even if it was unfairly perceived as the poor man’s Rolex.

In the past five years, however, Tudor has enjoyed a huge revival mainly due to Rolex’s decision to combine Tudor’s impressive sports legacy – motor racing and diving in particular – with modern styling. The upshot is that the Tudor caterpillar is now a glorious butterfly, a luxury brand in its own right, with vintage models commanding thousands of dollars at auction.

But, and here’s the rub, the Lebanese consumer is not convinced, and hasn’t embraced Tudor in the same way as the European, American and Chinese consumers. “These are really stunning watches with a heritage that harks back to a romantic era of exploration and fast cars,” Ziad said with a shrug.

At another watch shop, not 100 metres from Rolex, the salesman gave me a breakdown of the Lebanese watch buyer. “There are basically three brands they look for,” he told me. “Rolex, Cartier and Audemars Piguet. They are the ones that are easily identifiable. They say ‘Look at me, I have a certain status, I have made it’.”

My father’s generation talked in terms of bab il awal (literally the first door) when they wanted to talk about the best level goods, from food to ceramics to household goods to cars – basically anything where there was a choice of quality. He didn’t believe settling for second best. His motto was “We are too poor to buy cheap”.

Bottom line, I guess it’s all about trust in an uncertain world, or at the very least in an uncertain society. No one wants surprises and this in a way might go some way to explain the inherent Lebanese paranoia that someone is always out to get them – hence they won’t take a chance.

But there is hope for brands that have yet to convince. In 1996, I bought a Seat Ibiza and everyone laughed at me, even when I told them it was basically a VW made in Spain. Now they are one of Lebanon’s best-selling cars. I guess we just need time.

Michael Karam is a freelance writer who lives between Beirut and Brighton.

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