The Media Line: Beirut’s Nightlife Booms Even as Lebanon’s State Systems Fray 

Beirut’s Nightlife Booms Even as Lebanon’s State Systems Fray 

Packed terraces, pricey cocktails, and dollar-based venues keep the capital’s after-dark economy running through crisis and decay 

By Taylor Thomas / The Media Line 

It’s Friday night, and Beirut’s terraces are packed. People stand with drinks in hand, chatting to unwind from the week. Music pounds inside every establishment, but that doesn’t stop the venues from filling up. The financial crisis that has shaken the country for nearly seven years is still felt in household budgets, even if a quick glance at the trendiest neighborhoods wouldn’t suggest it. The reminder comes in small, sharp details: Syrian refugees weaving through the crowds, selling plastic flowers for a couple thousand liras. 

Mar Mikhael, Hamra, Gemmayze, Badaro, and Monot are among the city’s hippest areas, where many Lebanese pregame before heading out. Downtown is also seeing a revival, attracting the fanciest clients. Every week, a new spot—chicer than the last—opens in the city, and it’s hard to keep track of what’s hottest. Sidewalks are broken, public transportation is nonexistent, and trash hasn’t been picked up for days, but the bars and clubs look spotless, with original decor and pricey cocktails. Despite the collapse of the Lebanese state, Beirutis can boast of their nightlife—and little else. 

In the Lebanese capital, visitors can find a party almost any night of the week, in nearly any style. Some venues lean into 2000s Arab pop, while others book traditional bands to play old classics. Deeper into the night, house and techno events swell, with hundreds of people pulled in by the relentless beats. “There is nothing like this in the region,” said Giselle, screaming in the middle of one of the huge parties. An Ibiza-based German DJ played nine hours into another Lebanese sunrise, with the ruins of the port on the horizon. “I came from Paris for this,” she told The Media Line. 

Beirutis love to party, and party lovers worldwide know Beirut is the place to be. Many see the nightlife as a coping mechanism—a way to escape the daily grind of political paralysis and economic strain. With few public spaces to unwind, people turn to the city after dark; when the music starts, problems get drowned out in local beer. After-hours, some head for the industrial quarters of Karantina, Burj Hammoud, or the Seaside Road, hunting for an underground club with a $25 minimum entrance fee, drinks not included. Lebanon holds the Guinness World Record for the longest party in the world: In 2017, in collaboration with the Ministry of Tourism, Nurai Beirut—then one of the country’s top nightclubs—hosted a 56-hour party. Today, it appears on maps as permanently closed. 

Lebanon’s party scene has long been unique in the Arab world, offering a rare sense of freedom—often reserved for those with dollars in their pockets. But Lebanese are known for resourcefulness, too. The queer community has carved out space in the darkness of nightclubs, finding places to party, be themselves, and not spend a fortune. “Beirut is a place where it’s easier to navigate as a queer person, because many people who live here come from rural areas and in Beirut, they don’t feel like they’re under the scrutiny of their community,” Malek, a queer activist who prefers not to share his real name for security reasons, told The Media Line. 

“Our country has a long history of queer visibility in its media, folklore, and narratives, and this has allowed Lebanese people to realize that queer people exist,” he added. That oasis has been tainted in recent years, after an extreme Christian group known as Soldiers of God attacked a drag show in a Beirut queer-friendly bar in the summer of 2023. The aggression came amid a broader political and religious backlash against LGBTQIA+ rights: Calls for violence by religious and political leaders, bans on rainbow imagery in education, and efforts to ban media such as the Barbie movie on moral grounds. Slowly but surely, the queer community is rising from the ashes—and its queer-friendly spaces are, too. 

Beyond its symbolism in a war-torn country and a mostly conservative region, Beirut’s nightlife is also an economic pillar. Restaurants, bars, clubs, and the broader after-dark economy have become essential to Lebanon’s survival, with many establishments operating in dollars and relying heavily on private investment. There is an $80 billion gap in the banking sector, the Lebanese pound has lost more than 90% of its value, and gross domestic product has contracted by nearly 40%. The 2024 Israeli aggression further damaged the economy, inflicting widespread harm on tourist areas. The World Bank estimated the total cost of the conflict at $7.2 billion, with reconstruction needs reaching $11 billion. 

As the UAE and Kuwait lift travel bans to Lebanon and private investors fuel a boom in luxury tourism, the country’s economic future appears to hinge on privatization. Beach clubs, rooftop lounges, curated VIP experiences, and high-end cocktail bars are popping up nationwide, many operating outside the formal economy. Lebanon’s agricultural and industrial sectors remain in ruins, and rebooting tourism—especially targeting Gulf countries—looks like the key to survival. Recently, President Joseph Aoun traveled to Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and the UAE to present Lebanon as “open for business.”