1. Home
2. Culture
3. Cosmetic Counterfeits: Lebanon Grapples with the Surge of Fake Beauty Products (2/3)

Part two of our investigation. In Lebanon, counterfeit beauty products are flooding Instagram and WhatsApp. Cut-price luxury sets, polished sales talk, and a total absence of regulation: customers are lured in, deceived… and left to deal with the consequences.

On Instagram, just a few clicks on reseller accounts or sponsored stories plunge you into a sleek, alluring world where top brands — Lancôme, Estée Lauder, Guerlain, Dior, La Roche-Posay — are sold at slashed prices. Descriptions sound convincing: “imported from the US,” “end-of-line stock before packaging update,” “personal stash brought from France.” At first glance, it all feels reassuring — and deeply tempting!
Guerlain’s Abeille Royale sets for $60, Dior trios for $45, and a 500 ml bottle of Bioderma micellar water for $8 — deals too good to be true. For the shop’s anniversary, Instagram stories announce: “To celebrate two years, we’re giving away three Dior gift sets to our first customers!” The strategy is well-honed. A delighted first buyer shares her package in a story, tags the seller, and within hours, messages pour in. Digital word of mouth turns shopping into a collective reflex.

But one nagging question remains: how can these products, supposedly imported from Europe or the US, be sold in Lebanon at prices lower than those of official wholesalers, especially through promotions, sales, or limited-time offers?

Counterfeit products sold at rock-bottom prices on AliExpress. © This is Beirut

Behind the Screen, the Trap of Direct Messaging

Once the customer is hooked, the seller suggests finalizing the order directly through Instagram DMs. In other cases, the conversation shifts to WhatsApp, where a full, regularly updated product list is shared, complete with seasonal bundles and “holiday packs.”

No official website, no registration number, no invoice, no traceable information — yet no one seems deterred. The packaging looks pristine, the photos are enticing, and the messages are written with polite professionalism.

M.S., 52, a corporate executive, recalls:
“A friend sent me a link to a page selling Bioderma, CeraVe, La Roche-Posay’s Lipikar, Avène, among others, at unbeatable prices. I thought it was a good opportunity to restock my favorite products. The visuals were flawless, the packaging identical to the originals, and the seller claimed everything came from Europe as 'end-of-line' items. The shop was supposedly celebrating its second anniversary and, on that occasion, promised a Dior gift set to the first three buyers. Of course, each customer was led to believe she was one of the lucky winners — often after being encouraged by a friend who was herself convinced. I started to have doubts when I saw that same Dior gift set offered for $50, especially after noticing that other accounts were selling the same products at the exact same prices. I hesitated, then reached out via WhatsApp to ask for more information.”

Her doubts quickly deepened. She cancelled her order. The exchange — which she agreed to share — speaks volumes:

— Sorry for the late message, but I’d like to cancel my order. All the best.

— No worries at all. But may I ask — was there anything about our service that concerned you?

— Hi X, To be honest, yes. I found most of your products on AliExpress for even less. If I’m going to buy counterfeits, I’d rather not buy at all. Sorry, but several other Lebanese sites offer the same gift sets for $50, and since every seller adds a profit margin, there’s no way an Estée Lauder, Chanel, or Dior set could cost $20 wholesale. I’d rather pay a bit more and be sure of the product’s quality and authenticity. Have a great day.

— I understand your concerns. But I assure you, we are known for offering original products. Even pharmacies buy from us. We stand behind everything we sell. I respect your decision. Wishing you a great day too.

That final claim is particularly unsettling: is it just a clever sales tactic — or could some pharmacies really be sourcing from these informal sellers? The question lingers, feeding the unease.


The famous Dior gift set offered to the first three buyers! © This is Beirut

When Everything Looks Real… But Isn’t

Doubt isn’t just a safe reflex — it’s often justified. One customer said she received a bottle of Lipikar AP+ that looked identical to the pharmacy version, but had a slightly darker cap, a faint fragrance (even though the original is unscented), and a nearly identical texture. She noticed similar issues with a tube of Cicaplast Baume B5. “I’ve started doubting my own products. Every time I open a cream, I wonder if it’s real or fake,” she confided.

The fakes are so convincing that some women fall into what might be called cosmetic paranoia, unable to tell real from fake without a lab test.

Regulatory Chaos, Lebanese Style

In Lebanon, double standards abound. On one hand, customs may block a single box of vegan gummies legally imported from France “pending Ministry of Health review.” On the other, entire shipments of fake Chanel creams and perfumes circulate freely on Instagram.

“This country blocks a collagen booster I ordered from France, but turns a blind eye while cartons of fake skincare and Chanel perfumes flow freely on social media. It’s maddening,” said one frustrated buyer.

The Ministry of Health, clearly overwhelmed by its most basic public health responsibilities, exercises no systematic control over cosmetics sold online. Customs, for their part, apply arbitrary controls. Worse still, there is currently no law regulating cosmetic sales via social media.


An example of online shops operating on Instagram and TikTok. © This is Beirut

Pages Disappear, Customers Pay the Price

The most alarming aspect is probably the near-total impunity. These online shops regularly change names, hop from one account to another, delete negative comments, and start anew elsewhere. There is no reporting mechanism, no recourse for scammed buyers, and no transparency about the products’ origin.

The rule should be simple: buy only from authorized agents, pharmacies, or official websites. But in a country in crisis — where purchasing power has collapsed and trust in institutions has eroded — these illusions of affordability remain enticing.
Sometimes at the cost of one’s health.

Coming up: Tomorrow, the final part of our investigation — a practical guide to spotting fake skincare products and shopping safely. Warning signs, red flags, shady platforms… everything you need to know to avoid getting scammed.

Read also
Fake Beauty, Real Risks: Investigating Cosmetic Counterfeits (1/3)