We’re losing sight of what it means to be Lebanese, and I’m going to be using big words when describing the purpose behind this piece: decolonizing daily rituals.
Hyper-consumerism has made us forget the value of what we already have. We’re constantly encouraged to consume newer, faster, and more convenient things, even when they don’t really add anything to our lives.
And I think there’s something very chic about pushing back against that.
When did we allow hypermarkets to take over spaces (albeit small) that carry our most cherished memories? Supporting local doesn’t simply mean choosing Lebanese snacks at Spinneys. It also means showing love to your neighborhood dekkeneh that’s been around for years—generations even.
Also read: In the Era of the Hypermarket, Don’t Forget Your Local Dekkeneh
When did we normalize eating fresh croissants? What happened to packing a good old 3arous labne?
Lathering labne on pita bread with a drizzle of olive oil and a slice of cucumber is a lost art, especially when you unravel it from the aluminum foil and it turns out kind of wonky.
Lebanese people reverse colonize the French in the funniest ways. Who cares if we butcher the language? They’ve historically done worse to most of the world.
From now on, we’ll be speaking French with the most obnoxious Lebanese accent. We don’t care about passé composé or verbe être and avoir. We actually think it’s iconic when 3ammo l dekkene says “banjor” instead of bonjougggghhhh.
This applies to everyone, but specifically to those who don’t live in their day3a and get to visit every once in a while. There was once a time when we dreaded the drive and greeting random people who would say “ekher marra sheftik kente hal2ad” then gesture to their knee.
Now, we appreciate the community even more. We love greeting people we’ve known for years, and sometimes people we’ve never met before but who grew up with your jeddo, so you love them by proxy. It’s actually VERY chic to love your day3a.
Our gossip will never compare to our teta’s generational gossip. If you ever thought that you’ve been beating the dead horse for too long, your teta’s been beating the same one for a good 45 years too. And we love that about her.
Go on cute dates with your teta or simply enjoy fenjen ahwe with her bel jnayneh. Take lots of pictures together. She’s your best friend.
Knefeh in a kaake, doused in syrup at 8 AM before we head to the office. We don’t care if it’s unhealthy and packed with carbohydrates. It’s the most comforting food out there.
We don’t care that the sugar spike will make you crash by 12 PM. Just have another one. Problem solved!
The best feeling is when you’re stuck in the worst 3aj2a of your life and you think you’ll be arriving at least 40 minutes late to the function, only to find out that you’re the first one there. It would probably suck if you had to wait for 40 minutes for all your friends to arrive, but arriving early was an unexpected turn of events.
You surely gain a few aura points for that.
After a night out, nothing—and we mean, absolutely NOTHING—hits as good as a sandwich from Barbar. Chowing down on an extra cheesy fajita with your chin covered in sauce, but you couldn’t give less of a shit because it’s just that good.
And no one will judge you. Barbar’s sidewalk is the most judgement-free zone in the country, and that’s honestly very chic. More chic than an overpriced deli sandwich that won’t fill you up unless you eat at least five.
We love posting those cliché “This isn’t Bali, this is Lebanon” posts (even though we’re sure no one thought it was Bali, just saying), but some of you are all talk.
Performatively romanticizing Lebanon for clicks is not chic at all. In fact, spending your summers in Lebanon and acting like a tourist in your own country is so chic.
What other things do you find very chic in Lebanon?