Stone, craft, and the new luxury logic

Lately, I have had an influx of international friends visiting me in Oman. I observe myself building itineraries the way you build a story, with a beginning that feels rooted and a middle that surprises people into attention. The first thing we do is go to forts.
There is something about an Omani fort that resets the body. The thick walls hold memory. The light moves across carved doors and worn steps like it has done for centuries. You stand there, and you can feel in your bones that heritage is craft, protection and patience.
Then we do something our forefathers would recognise: the gathering, the hospitality, the ritual of sitting together, and still would never imagine we take coffee inside those same walls, at tables where the view is history itself. The air smells of cardamom and stone. At sunset, the light softens the edges of doors and makes the restored woodwork glow. We attend curated evenings where fine dining and architecture meet, where the mood is deliberate, and where the service carries local knowledge in every gesture: the way tea is poured, the stories offered with the meal, and the unhurried pacing that refuses to perform for cameras. In these moments, luxury becomes a way of hosting, restoring and translating heritage into a living experience.
Jewellery follows naturally. Gold and silver here carry more than shine. They carry lineage, the logic of gifting, weddings and celebration. A piece can be delicate and still feel permanent. It teaches the same lesson forts teach: value is built over time and time contributes to value. This is circularity in a different form: inheritance as a luxury model, where provenance is lived rather than manufactured.
This intuition I have developed through playing host also has an economic dimension. Earlier this month, I came across recent Lombard Odier research on luxury under pressure. By 2030, Gen Z and Millennials are expected to account for up to 70 per cent of global luxury spending, with $83.5 trillion passing to them by 2048.
What they reward is telling. They are drawn to experiences that feel immersive, culturally resonant and real. Sustainability is woven into this shift. The research shows 69 per cent of Gen Z luxury consumers prioritise environmental conscience, with two-thirds concerned about greenwashing, where proof is becoming part of pleasure.
Part of this year, I worked as an environmental advocate with a Swiss watch project focused on circular luxury. The work trained my eye differently. I started noticing what could be repaired, what stories could survive questions about sourcing and labour and what claims could hold up under scrutiny. When I walk through a restored fort now, I see circularity in stone. It keeps heritage alive through restoration and livelihoods. Integrity shows up in material choices, including craft and experiences designed with restraint instead of imitation.
Continuity is becoming desirable again. Around 40 per cent of Gen Z consumers plan to buy pre-owned watches. Objects with a past are no longer a compromise. They are a choice. Oman has been practicing this logic for generations: through inherited gold, through forts that become gathering spaces, through craft that passes from hand to hand without announcing its sustainability credentials.
When my friends leave, they remember the forts, the gold, the hospitality and the feeling of being guided through a country that knows what it is. Clarity itself becomes a form of luxury: knowing what you are and refusing to perform otherwise. Oman has the chance to shape luxury's next chapter in its own image: stone, craft, generosity and proof.