Recessionista on the Riviera

Recessionista on the Riviera by Jane Tolbert

I was a recessionista before the term was coined. As a graduate student, I shopped at thrift and consignment stores, limiting pricey purchases to the occasional splurge on a Hermès scarf or Prada glasses. Now with the recession in full swing, the frugal approach to fashion has replaced ostentatious consumption of the fashionista era. Many artifacts of a consumer culture are now relegated to the back corners of a closet. No one wants to look the extravaganista now.

Even on the French Riviera, the recession has brought about a shift in the geography of spending. The Americans have long been displaced as symbols of affluence. After 9-11, even more so. But now even the British and Russians have faded from the landscape. Although a British investor is transforming an early 20th-century hotel at the edge of the Cap d’Antibes into luxury apartments and hotel suites, his fellow countrymen no longer lap up properties in the Mougins area. The Russian bodyguards who drove convertible Mercedes in front of the casino in Juan-les-Pins have vanished. In September 2008, the much talked-about sale of the Villa Leopolda in Villefranche to a Russian did not materialize—the selling price was to have been a heafty 500-million euros. Although the wealthy people here still live off their rentes—those private incomes and annuities, they have shortened their international trips. The locals with day jobs are cutting back on expenditures—less money goes to food, and this past winter, they bundled up in more sweaters to avoid paying a higher heating bill. Although the summer vacation is somewhat sacred here, the news media predict more families will be staying in camping grounds rather than at hotels or large resorts.

In an area in which tourism is a major source of income, the recession has affected the hotel business. Some hotels closed during the winter; others reported a 10 percent decrease in business. Some attempted to lure in new clients with offers of bargain weekends. In response to the downturn, swank restaurants began offering affordable noon menus.

The retail businesses found little relief with the Christmas season. For a few months this winter, the Rue d’Antibes in Cannes seemed devoid of people with shopping bags. The Cap 3000 had a full parking lot, but clients made only modest purchases. Department store sales, formerly limited to twice a year—July and January--extended to entice reluctant customers.

Some signs of opulence remain. Luxury cars still abound on the Riviera—Maserati, Aston Martin, and the ever-present Ferraris and some Lamborghinis. The smaller cars—the Smart and the retros (the Fiat 500 and the Mini)--have also become popular. After all, you can fit a shopping bag in the backseat if necessary. But a true sign of a firmly entrenched recession would be chic Vespas cluttering street corners. With a Vespa, a pair of stilettos and a billowing skirt, and a shopping bag between the knees, anyone would look the true recessionista.


With predictions of the French economy shrinking by 3 percent in 2009, it has become fashionable, even on the Riviera, to be recessionista. Before I returned to the States, I planned a day of shopping at friperies and dépôts ventes (thrift and consignment), all within proximity of the palatial Cannes hotels, where I hoped to find that little soupçon of luxury. Would that gently used D & G handbag now be affordable?

The day I went to Cannes, the rain dampened my enthusiasm for shopping. I visited only one consignment store where I tried on a D & G cotton dress that carried a tag for 100 euros, likely 20 percent of the original price. I planned to return another day with more enthusiasm. But the rains continued, and instead I went to the Cap 3000 where 100 euros bought much more at the H & M. Cannes would have to wait. But perhaps when I returned another year, the recessionista would have also gone the way of the fashionista. And perhaps we would all go shopping with our Vespas.
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