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Those who run Dubai's malls concede that their competition includes stores in Europe (but not the U.S.). "Our main competition is Knightsbridge and Selfridges," says Eisa Ibrahim, the general manager of the BurJuman mall. Yet back in the mid-1990s, when BurJuman was gearing up to open (it, too, is in the process of expansion), most luxury brands turned down retail space. Now, even space that won't be ready until 2009 is leased.
As for the U.S., Alanoud says her family rarely visits these days. "It's such a long way, and there's so much happening around this part of the world that going there isn't necessary anymore." Nof doesn't travel there either, mostly because her husband forbids it. "We used to go a lot. We'd hop around to New York, L.A., Las Vegas," she says wistfully. "But my husband is from Ra's al Khaymah—that's the most northern emirate—and one of the bombers on the 9/11 planes was from there." Instead, they go to London, where Nof's husband prefers that she not wear the abaya. "It attracts attention," she says. "Although without it, my mother's friends pass by and don't realize it's me. They don't usually see me in jeans and a top with my hair down."
They have probably never seen her on skis either. We have come to ski, and Alanoud is determined, changing into ski pants and a jacket while Nof slips a long padded parka over her abaya. Nof needs no encouragement to try tobogganing and even has a go at skiing after Alanoud, who is proficient, demonstrates where to position poles and skis. We might be in the middle of the desert, but it feels as if we are in the Alps: chairlifts lead up to the black-diamond run, and it's cold enough to fear frostbite.
The après-ski plan includes an invitation to Burberry's store opening, where ceo Rose Marie Bravo surveys the crowd. "The consumer is so elegant here!" she says of the Dubai women outfitted in subtly customized abayas, designer handbags popped over their shoulder. "Aren't they gorgeous? They look stunning," Bravo continues. "They say, 'Well, you all wear uniforms in the Western world too,' and look at us," she says with a laugh, indicating how she and I are dressed. "They're right. We're in black as usual!"
Another day, another mall. The next morning, Alanoud shows me around BurJuman mall with her friend Raghda Bukhash, the designer of the gutra clutch bags. Under the label Pink Sushi, she also designs slogan Ts, and she gives me a peek at the one she has on under her abaya. "It translates as, 'Shake your hips, little ducky,'" Raghda says, laughing. "So now you know I'm a rock chick Madonna with my customized T and my micromini and my black tights and bright green jeweled shoes!"
Raghda is cute, and she's also ambitious. "I'd like my designs to represent my country and my culture in the wider world and to show we're not just rich kids who don't do anything," she says. Her idol is Gwen Stefani. "I love her! She's kashka. That's the Emirati word for cool. "
It's now afternoon, and Alanoud has a work meeting she can't miss. In any case, I have an appointment with David Dessureault, the buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue at BurJuman. As she leaves, Alanoud invites me to dinner at a place called Spectrum. "They do the best virgin mojitos," she says. (We end up having more fun on mocktails than I thought possible.)
But there's another surprise in store, literally, and it's not Dessureault's revelation that 495 Balenciaga bags have sold at Saks in just six weeks. Instead he leads me behind a boudoir-pink wall to a pretty blond in a matching pink uniform. She's wrapping a stack of saucy lingerie items for two women who are entirely veiled, including burqas. When they leave, Lisa Hastings, the manager of Agent Provocateur, explains that they are a mother and daughter shopping for the daughter's wedding lingerie, adding that she sells plenty of "playful" underwear to women wearing abayas. The shop's best-selling item? "The jeweled whip," Hastings says. "We can hardly keep them in stock."