A quarter of a century ago, I had a memorable encounter with Mohamed Al Fayed which resulted in two prominent realisations.
The first was a durable lesson that assisted me throughout my journalism career, a concept that I came to refer as ‘Al Fayed’s law’: the wealth of an individual is in negative correlation to their capacity to accept criticism.
The second was more of a fleeting recognition, an incidental detail about the ambience or demeanor of a person which you file away, uncertain of its relevance. However, it seemed significant enough to warrant a mention in the article I penned about him. Following the publication of this article, Al Fayed was so outraged that he proclaimed he was cancelling his plans to shift the world headquarters of Harrods’ online operations to Dublin. This is an application of Al Fayed’s law aforementioned.
Worth noting is the fact that to my knowledge, none of his staff had any inkling about his intention to relocate Harrods’ online commerce division to Dublin, or of his plans to even begin such a business. Regardless, due to the offence he took, a plan that might never have seen fruition was now indeed cancelled.
My conversation with Al Fayed had been progressing smoothly, until I touched upon the topic of the young women dressed in mini-skirts in his office. Post that, matters took a turn for the worse.
This led to a barrage of angry emails, legal threats and an unpleasant severance of ties with my PR contact. The instigating factor was my description of his personal staff as young, exceptionally attractive women dressed suggestively in short skirts. Al Fayed contested this characterization vehemently, contending that they were, in fact, dressed in trousers during my visit. I clearly remembered the swooshing sound of skirts around their knees.
Originally, I presumed my encounter with Al Fayed was reasonably successful until we disagreed over skirt lengths. I passed an entire afternoon in his company in which he showed me around Harrods, standing proudly before a garish gold sculpture of himself in pharaoh attire, before withdrawing to his upstairs office. Even now, I possess an unappealing, equine-themed silk scarf in a Harrods branded box and a “Who Murdered Diana and Dodi?” VHS tape he handed over with a flourish when I was leaving.
I felt a touch of sympathy for Mr. Fayed. Despite his enormous fortune, he appeared to me to be paranoid, given to vulgarity, overly eager to curry favour with higher-ups, and curiously germophobic. Above all else, he was visibly tortured by his grief. My job was never to pen an article to his liking, but the reaction I received was rather unexpected.
He was less than pleased with me describing him as “hysterical” – a term I used to denote amusing, but he took to mean unhinged. He also took offense at my last impression of him, a grieving father full of outrage, being labelled “a bit pathetic”. However, his biggest upset came from the issue of skirts which unleashed violent outbursts of anger and blame, something I now assume the young ladies in his office would find eerily familiar, but at that time, I found it somewhat laughable and engaging.
The so-called “skirtgate” incident, as my newspaper peers dubbed it, came to mind recently when new accusations against him emerged. The man I once thought was a pitiful figure; a depressed, lonely elderly gentleman heartbroken over the death of his beloved son, now stands accused of being a habitual predator and rapist, comparable to figures such as Jeffrey Epstein or Harvey Weinstein.
A recent BBC documentary and podcast series, “Al Fayed: Predator at Harrods”, includes the testimonies of five women who claim they were victimised by him and over twenty subsequently came forward. The unsettling narratives continue to emerge – to date, 37 women claiming abuse by him have sought legal advice.
[Mohamed Al Fayed faced with multiple allegations of rape and sexual assault].
Our comprehension of the tactics exploited by predators has significantly improved; understanding how individuals such as Al-Fayed, Jimmy Savile from the UK, George Gibney or Eamon Casey managed to perpetuate their crimes under everyone’s noses. It was Al-Fayed’s wealth and influence that fed his predatory behaviour. However, his peculiar personality and calculated eccentricity were convenient diversions.
I struck a chord when hinting at his fondness for youthful and attractive women. What eluded me was the environment of apprehension they were ensnared in. I didn’t notice the surveillance cameras that we have now discovered were present in his office and staff apartment, or the STI tests that they or many of their co-workers were required to undergo to stay employed.
Who else noticed something irregular? Who was aware? Who abetted his actions? Who were responsible for hiding his tracks? The response is disappointingly repetitive. A substantial number. Al Fayed faced interrogation from detectives only a single time – in 2008 regarding the supposed sexual mistreatment of a 15-year-old girl, a claim that was later retracted. Evidence against him was subsequently handed over by the police to the UK’s Crown Prosecution Service. He was never indicted. UK authorities have reported that 19 women, between 2005 and 2023, made accusations against Al Fayed – three of them were allegations of rape. These complaints were dismissed.
Al Fayed passed away the previous year at the age of 94, with his vast fortune and existence unaffected by the demolished lives he left in his wake.
The query that arises is not about the women waiting until his death to reveal their experiences, but why they didn’t feel safe enough to share their ordeals while he was alive, or why their pleas were left unheard when they reached out. The answer self-evident. Al Fayed gambled on the reality that his wealth and status would form an impervious barrier around him. To our dismay, he was proven correct.